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diff --git a/old/2011-09-19-37482-0.txt b/old/2011-09-19-37482-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 252a442..0000000 --- a/old/2011-09-19-37482-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8613 +0,0 @@ - THE POSTMASTER - - -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 http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Title: The Postmaster - -Author: Joseph C. Lincoln - -Release Date: September 19, 2011 [EBook #37482] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POSTMASTER *** - - - - -Produced by Roger Frank, Mary Meehan, and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. - - BY JOSEPH C. LINCOLN - - Author of "The Depot Master," "Cap’n Warrens Wards," - "Cap’n Eri," "Mr. Pratt," etc. - - _With Four Illustrations_ - _By_ HOWARD HEATH - - A. L. BURT COMPANY - _Publishers New York_ - - _Copyright, 1912, by_ - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY - - Copyright, 1911, 1912, by the Curtis Publishing Company - Copyright, 1911, 1912, by the Ainslee Magazine Company - Copyright, 1912, by the Ridgeway Company - - Published, April, 1912 - - Printed in the United States of America - - ———— - -[Illustration: _Seems to me I never saw her look prettier._] - - ———— - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER I—I MAKE TWO BETS—AND LOSE ONE OF ’EM - CHAPTER II—WHAT A "PULLET" DID TO A PEDIGREE - CHAPTER III—I GET INTO POLITICS - CHAPTER IV—HOW I MADE A CLAM CHOWDER; AND WHAT A CLAM CHOWDER MADE - OF ME - CHAPTER V—A TRAP AND WHAT THE "RAT" CAUGHT IN IT - CHAPTER VI—I RUN AFOUL OF COUSIN LEMUEL - CHAPTER VII—THE FORCE AND THE OBJECT - CHAPTER VIII—ARMENIANS AND INJUNS; LIKEWISE BY-PRODUCTS - CHAPTER IX—ROSES—BY ANOTHER NAME - CHAPTER X—THE SIGN OF THE WINDMILL - CHAPTER XI—COOKS AND CROOKS - CHAPTER XII—JIM HENRY STARTS SCREENIN’ - CHAPTER XIII—WHAT CAME THROUGH THE SCREEN - CHAPTER XIV—THE EPISTLE TO ICHABOD - CHAPTER XV—HOW IKE’S LOSS TURNED OUT TO BE MY GAIN - CHAPTER XVI—I PAY MY OTHER BET - - ———— - - THE POSTMASTER - - ———— - - - - -CHAPTER I—I MAKE TWO BETS—AND LOSE ONE OF ’EM - - -"So you’re through with the sea for good, are you, Cap’n Zeb," says Mr. -Pike. - -"You bet!" says I. "Through for good is just _what_ I am." - -"Well, I’m sorry, for the firm’s sake," he says. "It won’t seem natural -for the _Fair Breeze_ to make port without you in command. Cap’n, you’re -goin’ to miss the old schooner." - -"Cal’late I shall—some—along at fust," I told him. "But I’ll get over -it, same as the cat got over missin’ the canary bird’s singin’; and I’ll -have the cat’s consolation—that I done what seemed best for me." - -He laughed. He and I were good friends, even though he was ship-owner -and I was only skipper, just retired. - -"So you’re goin’ back to Ostable?" he says. "What are you goin’ to do -after you get there?" - -"Nothin’; thank you very much," says I, prompt. - -"No work at _all_?" he says, surprised. "Not a hand’s turn? Goin’ to be -a gentleman of leisure, hey?" - -"Nigh as I can, with my trainin’. The ’leisure’ part’ll be all right, -anyway." - -He shook his head and laughed again. - -"I think I see you," says he. "Cap’n, you’ve been too busy all your life -even to get married, and—" - -"Humph!" I cut in. "Most married men I’ve met have been a good deal -busier than ever I was. And a good deal more worried when business was -dull. No, sir-ee! ’twa’n’t that that kept me from gettin’ married. I’ve -been figgerin’ on the day when I could go home and settle down. If I’d -had a wife all these years I’d have been figgerin’ on bein’ able to -settle up. I ain’t goin’ to Ostable to get married." - -"I’ll bet you do, just the same," says he. "And I’ll bet you somethin’ -else: I’ll bet a new hat, the best one I can buy, that inside of a year -you’ll be head over heels in some sort of hard work. It may not be -seafarin’, but it’ll be somethin’ to keep you busy. You’re too good a -man to rust in the scrap heap. Come! I’ll bet the hat. What do you say?" - -"Take you," says I, quick. "And if you want to risk another on my -marryin’, I’ll take that, too." - -"Go you," says he. "You’ll be married inside of three years—or five, -anyway." - -"One year that I’ll be at work—steady work—and five that I’m married. -You’re shipped, both ways. And I wear a seven and a quarter, soft hat, -black preferred." - -"If I don’t win the first bet I will the second, sure," he says, -confident. "’Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands,’ you know. -Well, good-by, and good luck. Come in and see us whenever you get to New -York." - -We shook hands, and I walked out of that office, the office that had -been my home port ever since I graduated from fust mate to skipper. And -on the way to the Fall River boat I vowed my vow over and over again. - -"Zebulon Snow," I says to myself—not out loud, you understand; for, -accordin’ to Scriptur’ or the Old Farmers’ Almanac or somethin’, a -feller who talks to himself is either rich or crazy and, though I was -well enough fixed to keep the wolf from the door, I wa’n’t by no means -so crazy as to leave the door open and take chances—"Zebulon Snow," says -I, "you’re forty-eight year old and blessedly single. All your life -you’ve been haulin’ ropes, or bossin’ fo’mast hands, or tryin’ to make -harbor in a fog. Now that you’ve got an anchor to wind’ard—now that the -one talent you put under the stock exchange napkin has spread out so -that you have to have a tablecloth to tote it home in, don’t you be a -fool. Don’t plant it again, cal’latin’ to fill a mains’l next time, -’cause you won’t do it. Take what you’ve got and be thankful—and -careful. You go ashore at Ostable, where you was born, and settle down -and be somebody." - -That’s about what I said to myself, and that’s what I started to do. I -made Ostable on the next mornin’s train. The town had changed a whole -lot since I left it, mainly on account of so many summer folks buyin’ -and buildin’ everywhere, especially along the water front. The few -reg’lar inhabitants that I knew seemed to be glad to see me, which I -took as a sort of compliment, for it don’t always foller by a -consider’ble sight. I got into the depot wagon—the same horse was -drawin’ it, I judged, that Eben Hendricks had bought when I was a -boy—and asked to be carted to the Travelers’ Inn. It appeared that there -wa’n’t any Travelers’ Inn now, that is to say, the name of it had been -changed to the Poquit House; "Poquit" bein’ Injun or Portygee or -somethin’ foreign. - -But the name was the only thing about that hotel that was changed. The -grub was the same and the wallpaper on the rooms they showed to me -looked about the same age as I was, and wa’n’t enough handsomer to -count, either. I hired a couple of them rooms, one to sleep in and smoke -in, and t’other to entertain the parson in, if he should call, -which—unless the profession had changed, too—I judged he would do pretty -quick. I had the rooms cleaned and papered, bought some dyspepsy -medicine to offset the meals I was likely to have, and settled down to -be what Mr. Pike had called a "gentleman of leisure." - -Fust three months ’twas fine. At the end of the second three it -commenced to get a little mite dull. In about two more I found my mind -was shrinkin’ so that the little mean cat-talks at the breakfast table -was beginnin’ to seem interestin’ and important. Then I knew ’twas time -to doctor up with somethin’ besides dyspepsy pills. Ossification was -settin’ in and I’d got to do somethin’ to keep me interested, even if I -paid for Pike’s hats for the next generation. - -You see, there was such a sameness to the programme. Turn out in the -mornin’, eat and listen to gossip, go out and take a walk, smoke, talk -with folks I met—more gossip—come back and eat again, go over and watch -the carpenters on the latest summer cottage, smoke some more, eat some -more, and then go down to the Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and -Shoes and Fancy Goods Store, or to the post-office, and set around with -the gang till bedtime. That may be an excitin’ life for a jellyfish, or -a reg’lar Ostable loafer—but it didn’t suit me. - -I was feelin’ that way, and pretty desperate, the night when Winthrop -Adams Beanblossom—which wa’n’t the critter’s name but is nigh enough to -the real one for him to cruise under in this yarn—told me the story of -his life and started me on the v’yage that come to mean so much to me. I -didn’t know 'twas goin’ to mean much of anything when I started in. But -that night Winthrop got me to paddlin’, so’s to speak, and, later on, -come Jim Henry Jacobs to coax me into deeper water; and, after that, the -combination of them two and Miss Letitia Lee Pendlebury shoved me in all -under, so ’twas a case of stickin’ to it or swimmin’ or drownin’. - -I was in the Ostable Store that evenin’, as usual. 'Twas almost nine -o’clock and the rest of the bunch around the stove had gone home. I was -fillin’ my pipe and cal’latin’ to go, too—if you can call a tavern like -the Poquit House a home. Beanblossom was in behind the desk, his funny -little grizzly-gray head down over a pile of account books and papers, -his specs roostin’ on the end of his thin nose, and his pen scratchin’ -away like a stray hen in a flower bed. - -"Well, Beanblossom," says I, gettin’ up and stretchin’, "I cal’late it’s -time to shed the partin’ tear. I’ll leave you to figger out whether to -spend this week’s profits in government bonds or trips to Europe and go -and lay my weary bones in the tomb, meanin’ my private vault on the -second floor of the Poquit. Adieu, Beanblossom," I says; "remember me at -my best, won’t you?" - -He didn’t seem to sense what I was drivin’ at. He lifted his head out of -the books and papers, heaved a sigh that must have started somewheres -down along his keelson, and says, sorrowful but polite—he was always -polite—"Er—yes? You were addressin’ me, Cap’n Snow?" - -"Nothin’ in particular," I says. "I was just askin’ if you intended -spendin’ your profits on a trip to Europe this summer." - -Would you believe it, that little storekeepin’ man looked at me through -his specs, his pale face twitchin’ and workin’ like a youngster’s when -he’s tryin’ not to cry, and then, all to once, he broke right down, -leaned his head on his hands and sobbed out loud. - -I looked at him. "For the dear land sakes," I sung out, soon’s I could -collect sense enough to say anything, "what is the matter? Is anybody -dead or—" - -He groaned. "Dead?" he interrupted. "I wish to heaven, I was dead." - -"Well!" I gasps. "_Well!_" - -"Oh, why," says he, "was I ever born?" - -That bein’ a question that I didn’t feel competent to answer, I didn’t -try. My remark about goin’ to Europe was intended for a joke, but if my -jokes made grown-up folks cry I cal’lated ’twas time I turned serious. - -"What _is_ the matter, Beanblossom?" I says. "Are you in trouble?" - -For a spell he wouldn’t answer, just kept on sobbin’ and wringin’ his -thin hands, but, after consider’ble of such, and a good many -unsatisfyin’ remarks, he give in and told me the whole yarn, told me all -his troubles. They were complicated and various. - -Picked over and b’iled down they amounted to this: He used to have an -income and he lived on it—in bachelor quarters up to Boston. Nigh as I -could gather he never did any real work except to putter in libraries -and collect books and such. Then, somehow or other, the bank the heft of -his money was in broke up and his health broke down. The doctors said he -must go away into the country. He couldn’t afford to go and do nothin’, -so he has a wonderful inspiration—he’ll buy a little store in what he -called a "rural community" and go into business. He advertises, "Country -Store Wanted Cheap," or words to that effect. Abial Beasley’s widow had -the "Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods Store" -on her hands. She answers the ad and they make a dicker. Said dicker -took about all the cash Beanblossom had left. For a year he had been -fightin’ along tryin’ to make both ends meet, but now they was so fur -apart they was likely to meet on the back stretch. He owed 'most a -thousand dollars, his trade was fallin’ off, he hadn’t a cent and nobody -to turn to. What should he do? _What_ should he do? - -That was another question I couldn’t answer off hand. It was plain -enough why he was in the hole he was, but how to get him out was -different. I set down on the edge of the counter, swung my legs and -tried to think. - -"Hum," says I, "you don’t know much about keepin’ store, do you, -Beanblossom? Didn’t know nothin’ about it when you started in?" - -He shook his head. "I’m afraid not, Cap’n Snow," he says. "Why should I? -I never was obliged to labor. I was not interested in trade. I never -supposed I should be brought to this. I am a man of family, Cap’n Snow." - -"Yes," I says, "so’m I. Number eight in a family of thirteen. But that -never helped me none. My experience is that you can’t count much on your -relations." - -Would I pardon him, but that was not the sense in which he had used the -word "family." He meant that he came of the best blood in New England. -His ancestors had made their marks and— - -"Made their marks!" I put in. "Why? Couldn’t they write their names?" - -He was dreadful shocked, but he explained. The Beanblossoms and their -gang were big-bugs, fine folks. He was terrible proud of his family. -During the latter part of his life in Boston he had become interested in -genealogy. He had begun a "family tree"—whatever that was—but he never -finished it. The smash came and shook him out of the branches; that -wa’n’t what he said, but ’twas the way I sensed it. And now he had come -to this. His money was gone; he couldn’t pay his debts; he couldn’t have -any more credit. He must fail; he was bankrupt. Oh, the disgrace! and -likewise oh, the poorhouse! - -"But," says I, considerin’, "it can’t be so turrible bad. You don’t owe -but a thousand dollars, this store’s the only one in town and Abial used -to do pretty well with it. If your debts was paid, and you had a little -cash to stock up with, seems to me you might make a decent v’yage yet. -Couldn’t you?" - -He didn’t know. Perhaps he could. But what was the use of talkin’ that -way? For him to pick up a thousand would be about as easy as for a -paralyzed man with boxin’ gloves on to pick up a flea, or words to that -effect. No, no, ’twas no use! he must go to the poorhouse! and so forth -and so on. - -"You hold on," I says. "Don’t you engage your poorhouse berth yet. You -keep mum and say nothin’ to nobody and let me think this over a spell. I -need somethin’ to keep me interested and ... I’ll see you to-morrow -sometime. Good night." - -I went home thinkin’ and I thought till pretty nigh one o’clock. Then I -decided I was a fool even to think for five minutes. Hadn’t I sworn to -be careful and never take another risk? I was sorry for poor old -Winthrop, but I couldn’t afford to mix pity and good legal tender; that -was the sort of blue and yeller drink that filled the poor-debtors’ -courts. And, besides, wasn’t I pridin’ myself on bein’ a gentleman of -leisure. If I got mixed up in this, no tellin’ what I might be led into. -Hadn’t I bragged to Pike about—Oh, I _was_ a fool! - -Which was all right, only, after listenin’ to the breakfast conversation -at the Poquit House, down I goes to the store and afore the forenoon was -over I was Winthrop Adams Beanblossom’s silent partner to the extent of -twenty-five hundred dollars. I was busy once more and glad of it, even -though Pike _was_ goin’ to get a hat free. - -This was in January. By early March I was twice as busy and not half as -glad. You see I’d cal’lated that the store was all right, all it needed -was financin’. Trade was just asleep, taking a nap, and I could wake it -up. I was wrong. Trade was dead, and, barrin’ the comin’ of a prophet or -some miracle worker to fetch it to life, what that shop was really -sufferin’ for was an undertaker. My twenty-five hundred was funeral -expenses, that’s all. - -But the prophet came. Yes, sir, he came and fetched his miracle with -him. One evenin’, after all the reg’lar customers, who set around in -chairs borrowin’ our genuine tobacco and payin’ for it with counterfeit -funny stories, had gone—after everybody, as we cal’lated, had cleared -out—Beanblossom and I set down to hold our usual autopsy over the -remains of the fortni’t’s trade. ’Twas a small corpse and didn’t take -long to dissect. We’d lost twenty-one dollars and sixty-eight cents, and -the only comfort in that was that ’twas seventy-six cents less than the -two weeks previous. The weather had been some cooler and less stuff had -sp’iled on our hands; that accounted for the savin’. - -Beanblossom—I’d got into the habit of callin’ him "Pullet" ’cause his -general build was so similar to a moultin’ chicken—he vowed he couldn’t -understand it. - -"I think I shall give up buyin’ so liberally, Cap’n Snow," says he. "If -we didn’t keep on buyin’ we shouldn’t lose half so much," he says. - -"Yes," says I, "that’s logic. And if we give up sellin’ we shouldn’t -lose the other half. You and me are all right as fur as we go, Pullet, -and I guess we’ve gone about as fur as we can." - -"Please don’t call me ’Pullet,’" he says, dignified. "When I think of -what I once was, it—" - -"S-sh-h!" I broke in. "It’s what I am that troubles me. I don’t dare -think of that when the minister’s around—he might be a mind-reader. No, -Pul—Beanblossom, I mean—it’s no use. I imagined because I could run a -three-masted schooner I could navigate this craft. I can’t. I know twice -as much as you do about keepin’ store, but the trouble with that example -is the answer, which is that you don’t know nothin’. We might just -exactly as well shut up shop now, while there’s enough left to square -the outstandin’ debts." - -He turned white and began the hand-wringin’ exercise. - -"Think of the disgrace!" he says. - -"Think of my twenty-five hundred," says I. - -"Excuse me, gentlemen," says a voice astern of us; "excuse me for -buttin’ in; but I judge that what you need is a butter." - -Pullet and I jumped and turned round. We’d supposed we was alone and to -say we was surprised is puttin’ it mild. For a second I couldn’t make -out what had happened, or where the voice came from, or who ’twas that -had spoke—then, as he come across into the lamplight I recognized him. -’Twas Jim Henry Jacobs, the livin’ mystery. - -[Illustration: _As he come across into the lamplight I recognized him._] - -Jim Henry was middlin’-sized, sharp-faced, dressed like a ready-tailored -advertisement, and as smooth and slick as an eel in a barrel of sweet -ile. Accordin’ to his entry on the books of the Poquit House he hailed -from Chicago. He’d been in Ostable for pretty nigh a month and nobody -had been able to find out any more about him than just that, which is a -some miracle of itself—if you know Ostable. He was always ready to -talk—talkin’ was one of his main holts—but when you got through talkin’ -with him all you had to remember was a smile and a flow of words. He was -at the seashore for his health, that he always give you to understand. -You could believe it if you wanted to. - -He’d got into the habit of spendin’ his evenin’s at Pullet’s store, -settin’ around listenin’ and smilin’ and agreein’ with folks. He was the -only feller I ever met who could say no and agree with you at the same -time. Solon Saunders tried to borrow fifty cents of him once and when -the pair of ’em parted, Saunders was scratchin’ his head and lookin’ -puzzled. "I can’t understand it," says Solon. "I would have swore he’d -lent it to me. ’Twas just as if I had the fifty in my hand. I—I thanked -him for it and all that, but—but now he’s gone I don’t seem to be no -richer than when I started. I can’t understand it." - -Pullet and I had seen him settin’ abaft the stove early in the evenin’, -but, somehow or other, we got the notion that he’d cleared out with the -other loafers. However, he hadn’t, and he’d heard all we’d been sayin’. - -He walked across to where we was, pulled a shoe box from under the -counter, come to anchor on it and crossed his legs. - -"Gentlemen," he says again, "you need a butter." - -Poor old Pullet was so set back his brains was sort of scrambled, like a -pan of eggs. - -"Er-er, Mr. Jacobs," he says, "I am very sorry, extremely sorry, but we -are all out just at this minute. I fully intended to order some to-day, -but I—I guess I must have forgotten it." - -Jacobs couldn’t seem to make any more out of this than I did. - -"Out?" he says, wonderin’. "Out? Who’s out? What’s out? I guess I’ve -dropped the key or lost the combination. What’s the answer?" - -"Why, butter," says Pullet, apologizin’. "You asked for butter, didn’t -you? As I was sayin’, I should have ordered some to-day, but—" - -Jim Henry waved his hands. "Sh-h," he says, "don’t mention it. Forget -it. If I’d wanted butter in this emporium I should have asked for -somethin’ else. I’ve been givin’ this mart of trade some attention for -the past three weeks and I judge that its specialty is bein’ able to -supply what ain’t wanted. I hinted that you two needed a butter-in. All -right. I’m the goat. Now if you’ll kindly give me your attention, I’ll -elucidate." - -We give the attention. After he’d "elucidated" for five minutes we’d -have given him our clothes. You never heard such a mess of language as -that Chicago man turned loose. He talked and talked and talked. He knew -all about the store and the business, and what he didn’t know he guessed -and guessed right. He knew about Pullet and his buyin’ the place, about -my goin’ in as silent partner—though _that_ nobody was supposed to know. -He knew the shebang wa’n’t payin’ and, also and moreover, he knew why. -And he had the remedy buttoned up in his jacket—the name of it was James -Henry Jacobs. - -"Gentlemen," he says, "I’m a specialist. I’m a doctor of sick business. -Ever since my medicine man ordered me to quit the giddy metropolis and -the Grand Central Department Store, where I was third assistant manager, -I’ve been driftin’ about seekin’ a nice, quiet hamlet and an -opportunity. Here’s the ham and, if you say the word, here’s the -opportunity. This shop is in a decline; it’s got creepin’ paralysis and -locomotive hang-back-tia. There’s only one thing that can change the -funeral to a silver weddin’—that’s to call in Old Doctor Jacobs. Here he -is, with his pocket full of testimonials. Now you listen." - -We’d been listenin’—’twas by long odds the easiest thing to do—and we -kept right on. He had testimonials—he showed ’em to us—and they took -oath to his bein’ honest and the eighth business wonder of the world. He -went on to elaborate. He had a thousand to invest and he’d invest it -provided we’d take him in as manager and give him full swing. He’d -guarantee—etcetery and so on, unlimited and eternal. - -"But," says I, when he stopped to eat a throat lozenge, "sellin’ goods -is one thing; gettin’ the right goods to sell is another. Me and -Pullet—Mr. Beanblossom here—have tried to keep a pretty fair-sized -stock, but it’s the kind of stock that keeps better’n it sells." - -"Sell!" he puts in. "You can sell anything, if you know how. See here, -let me prove it to you. You think this over to-night and to-morrow -forenoon I’ll be on hand and demonstrate. Just put on your smoked -glasses and watch me. _I’ll_ show you." - -He did. Next mornin’ old Aunt Sarah Oliver came in to buy a hank of -black yarn to darn stockin’s with. With diplomacy and patience the -average feller could conclude that dicker in an hour and a quarter—if he -had the yarn. Pullet was just out of black, of course, but that Jim -Henry Jacobs stepped alongside and within twenty minutes he sold Aunt -Sarah two packages of needles, a brass thimble and a half dozen pair of -blue and yellow striped stockin’s that had been on the shelves since -Abial Beasley’s time, and was so loud that a sane person wouldn’t dare -wear ’em except when it thundered. She went out of the store with her -bundles in one hand and holdin’ her head with the other. Then that Jim -Henry man turned to Pullet and me. - -"Well?" he says, serene and smilin’. - -It was well, all right. At just quarter to twelve that night the -arrangements was made. Jacobs was partner in and manager of the "Ostable -Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods Store." - - - - -CHAPTER II—WHAT A "PULLET" DID TO A PEDIGREE - - -In less than two months that store of ours was a payin’ proposition. Jim -Henry Jacobs was responsible, that is all I can tell you. Don’t ask me -how he did it. ’Twas advertisin’, mainly. Advertisin’ in the papers, -advertisin’ on the fences, things set out in the windows, a new gaudy -delivery cart, special bargain days for special stuff—they all helped. -Of course if we’d limited ourselves to Ostable the cargo wouldn’t have -been so heavy that we’d get stoop-shouldered, but that Jim Henry was -unlimited. He advertised in the county weekly and sent a special cart to -take orders for twenty mile around. The early summer cottages was -beginnin’ to open and ’twas summer trade, rich city folks’ trade, that -the Jacobs man said we must have. And we got it, one way or another we -got it all. Most of the swell big-bugs had been in the habit of orderin’ -wholesale from Boston, but he soon stopped that. One after another Jim -Henry landed ’em. When I asked him how, he just winked. - -"Skipper," says he—he most generally called me "Skipper" same as I -called Beanblossom "Pullet"—"Skipper," he says, "you can always hook a -cod if there’s any around and you keepin’ changin’ bait; ain’t that so? -Um-hm; well, I change bait, that’s all. Every man, woman and suffragette -has got a weak p’int somewheres. I just cast around till I find that -particular weak p’int; then they swaller hook, line and sinker." - -"Humph!" I says, "Miss Letitia ain’t swallowed nothin’ yet, that I’ve -noticed. Her weak p’ints all strong ones? or what is the matter?" - -He made a face. "Sister Pendlebury," says he, "is the frostiest -proposition I ever tackled outside of an ice chest. But I’ll get her -yet. You wait and see. Why, man, we’ve _got_ to get her." - -Well, I could find more truth in them statements than I could -satisfaction. We’d got to get her—yes. But she wouldn’t be got. She was -the richest old maid on the North Shore; lived in a stone and plaster -house bigger’n the Ostable County jail, which she’d labeled "Pendlebury -Villa"; had six servants, three cats and a poll parrot; and was so -tipped back with dignity and importance that a plumb-line dropped from -her after-hair comb would have missed her heels by three inches. Her -winter port was Brookline; summers she condescended to shed glory over -Ostable. - -To get the trade of Pendlebury Villa had been Jim Henry’s dream from the -start. And up to date he was still dreamin’. The other big-bugs he had -caged, but Letitia was still flyin’ free and importin’ her honey from -Boston, so to speak. Jacobs had tried everything he could think of, -bribin’ the servants, sendin’ samples of fancy breakfast food and -pickles free gratis, writin’ letters, callin’ with his Sunday clothes -on, everything—but ’twas "Keep Off the Grass" at Pendlebury Villa so far -as we was concerned. ’Twas the biggest chunk of trade under one head on -the Cape and it hurt Jim Henry’s pride not to get it. However, he kept -on tryin’. - -One mornin’ he comes back to the store after a cruise to the Villa and -it seemed to me that he looked happier than was usual after one of these -trips. - -"Skipper," says he, "I think—I wouldn’t bet any more’n my small change, -but I _think_ I’ve laid a corner stone." - -"With Miss Pendlebury?" says I, excited. - -"With Letitia," he says, noddin’. "I haven’t got an order, but I have -got a promise. She’s agreed to drop in one of these days and look us -over." - -"Well!" says I, "I should say that _was_ a corner stone." - -"We’ll hope ’tis," he says. "Ho, ho! Skipper, I wish you might have been -present at the exercises. They were funny." - -Seems he’d managed—bribery and corruption of the hired help again—to see -Letitia alone in what she called her "mornin’ room." He said that, if -he’d paid any attention to the temperature of that room when he and she -first met in it, he’d have figgered he’d struck the morgue; but he -warmed it up a little afore he left. Miss Pendlebury just set and glared -frosty while he talked and talked and talked. She said about three words -to his two hundred thousand, but every one of hers was a "no." She -didn’t care to patronize the local merchants. The city ones were bad -enough—she had all the trouble she wanted with _them_. She was not -interested; and would he please be careful when he went out and not step -on the flower beds. - -He was about ready to give it up when he happened to notice an ile -portrait in a gorgeous gold frame hangin’ on the wall. ’Twas the picture -of a man, and Jim Henry said there was a kind of great-I-am look to it, -a combination of fatness and importance and wisdom, same as you see in a -stuffed owl, that give him an idea. He started to go, stopped in front -of the picture and began to look it over, admirin’ but reverent, same as -a garter snake might look at a boa-constrictor, as proof of what the -race was capable of. - -"Excuse me, Miss Pendlebury," he says, "but that is a wonderful -portrait. I have had some experience in judgin’ paintin’s—" he was clerk -in the Grand Central Store framed picture department once—"and I think I -know what I’m talkin’ about." - -Would you believe it, she commenced to unbend right off. - -"It is a Sargent," says she. - -Now I should have asked: "Sergeant of militia, or what?" and upset the -whole calabash; but Jim Henry knew better. He bows, solemn and wise, and -says he’d been sure of it right along. - -"But any painter," he says, "would have made a success with a subject -like that gentleman before him. There is somethin’ about him, the height -of his brow, and his wonderful eyes, etcetery, which reminds me—You’ll -excuse me, Miss Pendlebury, but isn’t that a portrait of one of your -near relatives?" - -She unbent some more and almost smiled. The painted critter was her pa -and he was considered a wonderful likeness. - -Well, that was enough for your uncle Jim Henry. He settled down to his -job then and the way he poured gush over that painted Pendlebury man was -close to sacreligion. But Letitia never pumped up a blush; worship was -what she expected for her and her pa. He’d been a member of the -Governor’s staff and a bank president and a church warden and an -alderman and land knows what. His daughter and Jacobs had a real -sociable interview and it ended by her promisin’ to drop in at the store -and look our stock over. ’Course ’twa’n’t likely ’twould suit her—she -was very exacting, she said—but she’d look it over. - -We looked it over fust. We put in the rest of that day changin’ -everything around on the counters and shelves, puttin’ the canned stuff -in piles where they’d do the most good, and settin’ advertisin’ signs -and such in front of the empty places where they’d been afore. Even -Pullet worked, though he couldn’t understand it, and growled because he -had to leave the musty old book he was readin’ and the "genealogical -tree" he’d begun to cultivate once more. Jacobs was pretty well -disgusted with Pullet. Said he was an incumbrance on the concern and -hadn’t any business instinct. - -All the next day and the next we hung around, dressed up to kill—that -is, Jim Henry’s togs would have killed anything with weak eyes—waitin’ -for Letitia Pendlebury to come aboard and inspect. But she didn’t come -that day, or the next either. Jacobs was disapp’inted, but he wouldn’t -give in that he was discouraged. The fourth forenoon, when there was -still nothin’ doin’, he and I went on a cruise with a hired horse and -buggy over to Bayport, where we had some business. We left Pullet in -charge of the store and when we came back he was lookin’ pretty joyful. - -"Who do you think has been here?" he says, in his thin, polite little -voice. "Miss Letitia Pendlebury called this afternoon." - -"She did!" shouts Jacobs. - -"Did she buy anythin’?" I wanted to know. - -No, it appeared that she hadn’t bought anythin’. Fact is, Pullet had -forgot he was supposed to be a storekeeper. When Letitia came in he was -roostin’ in his family tree, had the chart spread out on the counter and -was fillin’ in some of the twigs with the names of dead and gone -Beanblossoms. He couldn’t climb down to common things like crackers and -salt pork. - -"But she was very much interested," he says, his specs shinin’ with joy. -"When she found out what I was busy with she was _very_ much interested, -really. She is a lady of family, too." - -"She _is_?" I sings out. "What are you talkin’ about? She’s an old maid -and an only child besides, and—" - -"Hush up, Skipper," orders Jacobs. "Go on, Pullet—Mr. Beanblossom, I -mean—go on." - -So on went Pullet, both wings flappin’. Letitia and he had talked -"family" to beat the cars. She had ’most everything in the Villa except -a family tree. She must have one right away. She simply must. - -"And I am to help her in preparin’ it," says Pullet, puffed up and -vainglorious. "The Pendlebury family tree will be an honor to prepare. -Of course it will require much labor and research, but I shall enjoy -doing it. I told her so. Her father would have prepared one himself, had -often spoken of it, but he was a very busy man of affairs and lacked the -time." - -My, but I was mad! I cal’late if I had a marlinspike handy our coop -would have been a Pullet short. But Jim Henry Jacobs was so full of -tickle he couldn’t keep still. He fairly dragged me into the back room. - -"Skipper," he says, "here it is at last! We’ve got it!" - -"Yes," I sputters, thinkin’ he was referrin’ to Beanblossom, "we’ve got -it; and, if you ask me, I’d tell you we’d ought to chloroform it afore -it does any more harm." - -"No, no," he says, "you don’t understand. We’ve got the old girl’s weak -p’int at last. It’s genealogy. Pullet shall grow her a family tree if I -have to buy a carload of fertilizer to-morrer. Think of it! think of it! -Why, she won’t give him a minute’s rest from now on. She’ll be after him -the whole time." - -"But I can’t see where the trade comes in," says I. - -"You _can’t_! With our senior pardner head forester? My boy, if any -other shop sells Pendlebury Villa a dollar’s worth after this, I’ll -Fletcherize my hat, that’s all!" - -He knew what he was talkin’ about, as usual. The very next forenoon -Letitia was in to consult with Pullet about huntin’ up her family -records. Afore she left Jacobs took orders for thirty-two dollars’ worth -and I’d have bet she didn’t know a thing she bought. After dinner, Jim -Henry sent Pullet up to see her. He stayed until supper time. Next day -he had supper at the Villa. A week later he made his first trip to -Boston, to the Genealogical Society, to hunt for records. And Jacobs -stayed in Ostable and kept the Villa supplied with the luxuries of life. -If the Pendlebury servants didn’t die of gout and overeatin’, it wasn’t -our fault. - -By August the whole town was talkin’. They had it all settled. ’Cordin’ -to the gossip-spreaders there could be only one reason for Pullet and -Miss Letitia bein’ together so much—they was cal’latin’ to marry. The -weddin’ day was prophesied and set anywheres from to-morrer to next -Christmas. I thought such talk ought to be stopped. Jim Henry didn’t. - -"Why?" says he. - -"_Why!_" I says. "Because it’s foolishness, that’s why. ’Cause there’s -no truth in it and you know it." - -"No, I don’t know," says he. "Stranger things than that have happened." - -"_She_ marry that old fossilized pauper!" - -"Why not? He’s a gentleman and a scholar, if he _is_ poor. She’s rich, -but if there’s one thing she isn’t, it’s a scholar." - -"Humph! fur’s that goes," says I, "she ain’t a gentleman, either—though -she’s next door to it." - -"That’s all right. Skipper, there’s some things money can’t buy. -Pullet’s got book learnin’ and treed ancestors and she ain’t. She’s got -money and he ain’t. Both want what t’other’s best fixed in. If old -Beanblossom had any sand, I should believe 'twas a sure thing. I guess -I’ll drop him a hint." - -"My land!" I sang out; "don’t you do it. The fat’ll all be in the fire -then." - -"Skipper," says he, "you’re a cagey old bird, but you don’t know it all. -There’s some things you can leave to me. And, anyhow, whether the -weddin’ bells chime or not, all this talk is good free advertisin’ for -the store." - -'Twa’n’t long after this that the genealogical man begun to seem less -gay-like. He and Letitia was together as much as ever, the Pendlebury -tree and the Beanblossom tree—he worked on both at the same time—was -flourishin’, after the topsy-turvy way of such vegetables—from the upper -branches down towards the trunks; but there was a look on Pullet’s face -as he pawed through his books and papers that I couldn’t understand. He -looked worried and troubled about somethin’. - -"What’s the matter?" I asked him, once. "Ain’t your ancestors turnin’ up -satisfactory?" - -"Yes," he says, polite as ever, but sort of condescendin’ and proud, -"the Beanblossom history is, if you will permit me to say so, a very -satisfactory record indeed." - -"And the Pendleburys?" says I. "George Washin’ton was first cousin on -their ma’s side, I s’pose." - -He didn’t answer for a minute. Then he wiped his specs with his -handkerchief. "The Pendlebury records are," he says, slow, "a trifle -more confused and difficult. But I am progressin’—yes, Cap’n Snow, I -think I may say that I am progressin’." - -The thunderbolt hit us, out of a clear sky, the fust week in September. -Yet I s’pose we’d ought to have seen it comin’ at least a day ahead. -That day the Pendlebury gasoline carryall come buzzin’ up to the front -platform and Letitia steps out, grand as the Queen of Sheba, of course. - -"Cap’n Snow," says she, and it seemed to me that she hesitated just a -minute, "is Mr. Beanblossom about?" - -"No," says I, "he ain’t. I don’t know where he is exactly. He was in the -store this mornin’ askin’ about a letter he’s expectin’ from the -Genealogical Society folks, but he went out right afterwards and I ain’t -seen him since. I s’posed, of course, he was up to your house." - -"No," she says, and I thought she colored up a little mite; "he has not -been there since day before yesterday. Perhaps that is natural, under -the circumstances," speakin’ more to herself than to me, "but ... -however, will you kindly tell him I called before leavin’ for the city. -I am goin’ to Boston on a shoppin’ excursion," she adds, condescendin’. -"I shall return on Wednesday." - -She went away. Pullet didn’t show up until night and then the first -thing he asked for was the mail. When I told him about the Pendlebury -woman he turned round and went out again. - -Next day was Saturday and we was pretty busy, that is, Jim Henry and the -clerk was busy. I was about as much use as usual, and, as for Pullet, he -was no use at all. A big green envelope from the Genealogical Society -come for him in the morning mail—he was always gettin’ letters from that -Society—and he grabbed at it and went out on the platform. A little -while afterwards I saw him roostin’ on a box out there, with his hair, -what there was of it, all rumpled up, and an expression of such -everlastin’, world-without-end misery on his face that I stopped stock -still and looked at him. - -"For the mercy sakes," says I, "what’s happened?" - -He turned his head, stared at me fishy-eyed, and got up off the box. - -"What’s wrong?" I asked. "Is the world comin’ to an end?" - -He put one hand to his head and waved the other up and down like a pump -handle. - -"Yes," he sings out, frantic like. "It is ended already. It is all over. -I—I—" - -And with that he jumps off the platform and goes staggerin’ up the road. -I’d have follered him, but just then Jim Henry calls to me from inside -the store and in a little while I’d forgot Beanblossom altogether. I -thought of him once or twice durin’ the day, but ’twa’n’t till about -shuttin’-up time that I thought enough to mention him to Jacobs. Then he -mentioned him fust. - -"Whew!" says he, settin’ down for the fust time in two hours. "Whew! I’m -tired. This has been the best day this concern has had since I took hold -of it, and I’ve worked like a perpetual motion machine. We’ll need -another boy pretty soon, Skipper. Pullet’s no good as a salesman. By the -way, where _is_ Pullet? I ain’t seen him since noon." - -Neither had I, now that I come to think of it. - -"I wonder if the poor critter’s sick," I says. Then I started to tell -how queer he’d acted out on the platform. I’d just begun when Amos -Hallett’s boy come into the store with a note. - -"It’s for you, Cap’n Zeb," he says, all out of breath. "I meant to give -it to you afore, but I just this minute remembered it. Mr. Beanblossom, -he give it to me at the depot when he took the up train." - -"Took the up train?" says I. "Who did? Not Pul—Mr. Beanblossom?" - -"Yes," says the boy. "He’s gone to Boston, leastways the depot-master -said he bought a ticket for there. Why? Didn’t you know it? He—" - -I was too astonished to speak at all, but Jim Henry was cool as usual. - -"Yes, yes, son," he says. "It’s all right. You trot right along home -afore you catch cold in your freckles." Then, after the youngster’d -gone, he turns to me quick. "Open it, Skipper," he orders. "Somethin’s -happened. Open it." - -I opened the envelope. Inside was a sheet of foolscap covered from top -to bottom with mighty shaky handwritin’. I read it out loud. - - "_Captain Zebulon Snow_, - - "_Dear Sir_: - -"Polite as ever, ain’t he?" I says. "He’d been genteel if he was writin’ -his will." - -"Go on!" snaps Jacobs. "Hurry up." - - "_Dear Sir_: When you receive this I shall have left Ostable, it - may be forever. I have made a horrible discovery, which has - wrecked all my hopes and my life. In accordance with Mr. Jacob’s - kindly counsel, I recently summoned courage to ask Miss - Pendlebury to become my wife. - -"Good heavens to Betsy!" I sang out, almost droppin’ the letter. - -"Go on!" shouts Jacobs. "Don’t stop now." - -"But he asked her to _marry_ him!" I gasps. "In accordance with your -advice—_yours_! Did _you_ have the cheek to—" - -"_Will_ you go on? Of course I advised him. We’d got the Pendlebury -trade, hadn’t we? Can you think of any surer way to cinch it than to -have those two idiots marry each other? Go on—or give me the letter." - -I went on, as well as I could, everything considered. - - "She did not refuse. She was kinder than I had a right to - expect. I realized my presumption, but—" - -"Skip that," orders Jim Henry. "Get down to brass tacks." - -I skipped some. - - "She told me she must have a few days’ time to consider. I - waited. To-day I received a communication from the Genealogical - Society which has dashed my hopes to the ground. It was in - connection with my work on the Pendlebury family tree. For some - time I have been very much troubled concerning developments in - that work. The later Pendleburys have been ladies and gentlemen - of repute and worth, but as I delved deeper into the past and - approached the early generations in this country, I—" - -"Skip again," says Jacobs. - -I skipped. - - "And now, to my horror, I find the fact proven beyond doubt. - Ezekiel Jonas Pendlebury—whose name should be inscribed upon the - trunk of the tree, he being the original settler in America—was - hanged in the Massachusetts Bay Colony for stealing a hog upon - the Sabbath Day." - -Then I _did_ drop the letter. "My land of love!" was all I could say. -And what Jacobs said was just as emphatic. We stared at each other; and -then, all at once, he began to laugh, laugh till I thought he’d never -stop. His laughin’ made me mad until I commenced to see the funny side -of the thing; then I laughed, too, and the pair of us rocked back and -forth and haw-hawed like loons. - -"Oh, dear me!" says Jim Henry, wipin’ his eyes. "The original Pendlebury -hung for hog stealin’!" - -"Stealin’ it on Sunday," says I. "Don’t forget that. Sabbath-breakin’ -was worse than thievin’ in them days." - -"Well, go on, go on," says he. "There’s more of it, ain’t they?" - -There was. The writing got finer and finer as it got close to the bottom -of the page. Poor Pullet had caved in when that revelation struck him. -Honor compelled him to tell Letitia the truth and how could he tell her -such a truth as that? She, so proud and all. He had led her into this -dreadful research work and she would blame him, of course, and dismiss -him with scorn and contempt. Her contempt he could not bear. No, he must -go away. He could never face her again. He was goin’ to Boston, to his -cousin’s house in Newton, and stay there for a spell. Perhaps some day, -after she had shut up her summer villa and gone, too, he might return; -he didn’t know. But would we forgive him, etcetery and so forth, -and—good-by. - -His name was squeezed in the very corner. I looked at Jacobs. - -"Well," I says, some disgusted, "it looks to me, as a man up a tree—not -a family tree, neither, thank the Lord—as if instead of cinchin’ the -Pendlebury trade your ’advice’ had queered it forever." - -He didn’t say nothin’. Just scowled and kicked his heels together. Then -he grabbed the letter out of my hand and begun to read it again. I -scowled, too, and set starin’ at the floor and thinkin’. All at once I -heard him swear, a sort of joyful swear-word, seemed to me. I looked up. -As I did he swung off the counter, crumpled up the letter, jammed it in -his pocket and grabbed up his hat. - -"Skipper," he says, his eyes shinin’, "there’s a night freight to -Boston, ain’t there?" - -"Yes, there is, but—" - -"So long, then. I’ll be back soon’s I can. You and Bill"—that was the -clerk—"must do as well as you can for a day or so. So long. But you just -remember this: Old Doctor James Henry Jacobs, specialist in sick -businesses, ain’t given up hopes of this patient yet, not by any manner -of means. By, by." - -He was gone afore I could say another word, and for the rest of that -night and all day Sunday and until Monday evenin’s train come in, I was -like a feller walkin’ in his sleep. All creation looked crazy and I was -the only sane critter in it. - -On Monday evenin’ he came sailin’ into the store, all smiles. ’Twas some -time afore I could get him alone, but, when I could, I nailed him. - -"Now," says I, "perhaps you’ll tell me why you run off and left me, and -where you’ve been, and what you mean by it, and a few other things." - -He grinned. "Been?" he says. "Well, I’ve been to see the last of Miss -Letitia Pendlebury of Pendlebury Villa, Ostable, Mass. Miss Pendlebury -is no more." - -"No more!" I hollered. "No _more_! Don’t tell me she’s dead!" - -"I sha’n’t," says he, "because she isn’t. She’s alive, all right, but -she’s no more Miss Pendlebury. She’s Mrs. Winthrop Adams Beanblossom -now," he says. "They were married this forenoon." - -"_Married?_" - -"Married." - -"But—but—after the hangin’ news—and the hog-stealin’—and—Does she know -it? She wouldn’t marry him after _that_?" - -"She knows and she was tickled to death to marry him. Skipper, there was -a P.S. on the back of that letter of Pullet’s. You didn’t turn the page -over; I did and I recognized the life-saver right off. Here it is." - -He passed me Beanblossom’s letter, back side up. There was a P.S., but -it looked to me more like the finishin’ knock on the head than it did -like a life-saver. This was it: - - "P.S. I have neglected to state another fact which my researches - have brought to light and which makes the affair even more - hopeless. My own ancestor, at that time Governor of the Colony, - was the person who sentenced Ezekiel Pendlebury and caused him - to be hanged." - -"And that," says I, "is what you call a life-saver! My nine-times -great-granddad has your nine-times great-granddad hung and that removes -all my objections to marryin’ you. Oh, sure and sartin! Yes, indeed!" - -He smiled superior. "Listen, you doubtin’ Thomas," says he. "You can’t -see it, but Sister Letitia saw it right off when I put Pullet’s case -afore her at the Hotel Somerset, where she was stoppin’. _Her_ ancestor -was a hog-stealer and a hobo; but Beanblossom’s ancestor was a Governor -and a nabob from way back. If by just sayin’ yes you could swap a -pig-thief for a governor, you’d do it, wouldn’t you? You would if you’d -been braggin’ ’family’ as Letitia has for the past three months. I saw -her, turned on some of my convincin’ conversation, saw Pullet at his -cousin’s and convinced him. They were married at Trinity parsonage this -very forenoon." - -"My! my! my!" I says, after this had really sunk in. "And the Pendlebury -tree is—" - -"There ain’t any Pendlebury tree," he interrupts. "It’s the kindlin’-bin -for that shrub. But the _Beanblossom_ tree, with governors and judges -and generals proppin’ up every main limb, is goin’ to hang right next to -Pa Pendlebury’s picture in the mornin’ room of Pendlebury Villa. And the -head of Pendlebury Villa is the senior partner in the Ostable Grocery, -Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods Store." - -He was wrong there. Letitia Pendlebury Beanblossom had another surprise -under her bonnet and she sprung it when she got back. She sent for -Jacobs and me and made proclamation that her husband would withdraw from -the firm. - -"I trust that Mr. Beanblossom and I are democratic," she says. "Of -course we shall continue to purchase our supplies from you gentlemen. -But, really," she says, "you _must_ see that a man whose ancestor by -direct descent was Governor of Massachusetts Bay Colony could scarcely -humiliate himself by engaging in _trade_." - -So, instead of gettin’ out of storekeepin’, I was left deeper in it than -ever. But Jim Henry cheered me up by sayin’ I hadn’t really been in it -at all yet. - -"This foundlin’ is only beginnin’ to set up and take notice," he says. -"Skipper, you put your faith in old Doctor Jacobs’ Teethin’ Syrup and -Tonic for Business Infants." - -"I guess that’s where it’s put," says I, drawin’ a long breath. - -"It couldn’t be in a better place, could it? No, we’ve got a good start, -but that’s all it is. Before I get through you’ll see. We’ve got to make -this store prominent and keep it prominent, and the best way to do that -is to be prominent ourselves. Skipper, I wish you’d go into politics." - -"Politics!" says I, soon as I could catch my breath. "Well, when I do, I -give you leave to order my room at the Taunton Asylum. What do you -cal’late I’d better try to get elected to—President or pound-keeper?" - -He laughed. - -"Both of them jobs are filled at the present time," I went on, -sarcastic. "So is every other I can think of off-hand." - -"That’s all right," says he. "Some of these days you’ll hold office -right in this town. We need political prestige in our business and you, -Cap’n Snow, bein’ the solid citizen of this close corporation, will have -to sacrifice yourself on the altar of public duty." - -"Nary sacrifice," says I. Which shows how little the average man knows -what’s in store for him. - - - - -CHAPTER III—I GET INTO POLITICS - - -When I shook hands with Mary Blaisdell and left her standin’ under the -wistaria vine at the front door of the little old house that had -belonged to Henry, all I said was for her to keep a stiff upper lip and -not to be any bluer than was necessary. "Ostable’s lost a good -postmaster," says I, "and you’ve lost a kind, thoughtful, providin’ -brother. I know it looks pretty foggy ahead to you just now and you -can’t see how you’re goin’ to get along; but you keep up your pluck and -a way’ll be provided. Meantime I’m goin’ to think hard and perhaps I can -see a light somewheres. My owners used to tell me I was consider’ble of -a navigator, so between us we’d ought to fetch you into port." - -Her eyes were wet, but she smiled, rainbow fashion, through the shower, -and said I was awful good and she’d never forget how kind I’d been -through it all. - -"Whatever becomes of me, Cap’n Snow," she says, "I shall never forget -that." - -What I’d done wa’n’t worth talkin’ about, so I said good-by and hurried -away. At the top of the hill I turned and looked back. She was still -standin’ in the door and, in spite of the wistaria and the hollyhocks -and the green summer stuff everywheres, the whole picture was pretty -forlorn. The little white buildin’ by the road, with the sign, -"Post-office" over the window, looked more lonesome still. And yet the -sight of it and the sight of that sign give me an inspiration. I stood -stock still and thumped my fists together. - -"Why not?" says I to myself. "By mighty, yes! Why not?" - -You see, Henry Blaisdell was one of the few Ostable folks that I’d known -as a boy and who was livin’ there yet when I came back. He was younger -than I, and Mary, his sister, was younger still. I liked Henry and his -death was a sort of personal loss to me, as you might say. I liked Mary, -too. She was always so quiet and common-sense and comfortable. _She_ -didn’t gossip, and the way she helped her brother in the post-office was -a treat to see. She wa’n’t exactly what you’d call young, and the world -hadn’t been all fair winds and smooth water for her, by a whole lot; -but, in spite of it, she’d managed to keep sweet and fresh. She and -Henry and I had got to be good friends and I gen’rally took a walk up -towards their house of a Sunday or managed to run in at the post-office -buildin’ at least once every week-day and have a chat with ’em. - -When I heard of Henry’s dyin’ so sudden my fust thought was about Mary -and what would she do. How was she goin’ to get along? I thought of that -even durin’ the funeral, and now, the day after it, when I went up to -see her, I was thinkin’ of it still. And, at last, I believed I had got -the answer to the puzzle. - -Half the way back to the "Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes -and Fancy Goods Store," I was thinkin’ of my new notion and makin’ up my -mind. The other half I was layin’ plans to put it through. When I walked -into the store, Jim Henry met me. - -"Hello, Skipper," says he, brisk and fresh as a no’theast breeze in dog -days, "did you ever hear the story about the office-seekin’ feller in -Washin’ton, back in President Harrison’s time? He wanted a gov’ment job -and he happened to notice a crowd down by the Potomac and asked what was -up. They told him one of the Treasury clerks had been found drowned. He -run full speed to the White House, saw the President, and asked for the -drowned chap’s place. ’You’re too late,’ says Harrison, 'I’ve just -app’inted the man that saw him fall in.’" - -I’d heard it afore, but I laughed, out of politeness, and wanted to know -what made him think of the yarn. - -"Why," says he, "because that’s the way it’s workin’ here in Ostable. -Poor old Blaisdell’s funeral was only yesterday and it’s already settled -who’s to be the new postmaster." - -Considerin’ what I’d been goin’ over in my mind all the way home from -Mary’s, this statement, just at this time, knocked me pretty nigh out of -water. - -"What?" I gasped. "How did you know?" - -"Why wouldn’t I know?" says he. "I got the advance information right -from the oracle. I was told not ten minutes since that the app’intment -was to go to Abubus Payne." - -I stared at him. "Abubus Payne!" says I. "Abubus—Are you dreamin’?" - -He laughed. "I’d never dream a name like 'Abubus,’ he says, ’even after -one of our Poquit House dinners. No, it’s no dream. The Major was just -in and he says his mind is made up. That settles it, don’t it? You -wouldn’t contradict the all-wise mouthpiece of Providence, would you, -Cap’n Zeb?" - -I never said anything—not then. I was realizin’ that, if I wanted Mary -Blaisdell to be postmistress at Ostable—which was the inspiration I was -took with when I looked back at her from the hill—I’d got to do -somethin’ besides say. I’d got to work and work hard. And even at that -my work was cut out from the small end of the goods. To beat Major -Cobden Clark in a political fight was no boy’s job. But Abubus Payne! -Abubus Payne postmaster at Ostable!! Think of it! Maybe you can; _I_ -couldn’t without stimulants. - -You see, this critter Abubus—did you ever hear such a name in your -life?—had lived around ’most every town on the Cape at one time or -another. He and his wife wa’n’t what you’d call permanent settlers -anywhere, but had a habit of breakin’ out in new and unexpected places, -like a p’ison-ivy rash. He worked some at carpenterin’, when he couldn’t -help it, but his main business, as you might say, had always been -lookin’ for an easier job. In Ostable he’d got one. He was caretaker and -general nurse of Major Cobden Clark. His wife, who was about as -shiftless as he was, was the Major’s housekeeper. - -And the Major? Well, the Major was a star, a planet—yes, in his own -opinion, the whole solar system. He was big and fleshy and straight and -gray-haired and red-faced. He belonged to land knows how many clubs and -societies and milishys, includin’ the Ancient and Honorable Artillery -Company of Boston and the Old Guard of New York. He had political -influence and a long pocketbook and a short temper. Likewise he suffered -from pig-headedness and chronic indigestion. ’Twas the indigestion that -brought him to Ostable and Abubus; or rather ’twas his doctor, Dr. -Conquest Payne, the celebrated food and diet specializer—see -advertisements in ’most any newspaper—who sent him there. Abubus was -Doctor Conquest’s cousin and I judge the two of ’em figgered the Clark -stomach and income as things too good to be treated outside of the -family. - -Anyway, the spring afore I landed in Ostable, down comes the Major, buys -a good-sized house on the lower road nigh the water front, hires Abubus -and his wife to look out for the place and him, and settles down to the -simple life, which wa’n’t the kind he’d been livin’, by a consider’ble -sight. But he lived it now; yes, sir, he did! He lived by the clock and -he ate and slept by the clock, and that clock was wound up and set -accordin’ to the rules prescribed by Dr. Conquest Payne, "World Famous -Dietitian and Food Specialist"—see more advertisin’, with a tintype of -the Doctor in the corner. - -Nigh as I could find out the diet was a queer one. It give me dyspepsy -just to think of it. Breakfast at seven sharp, consistin’ of a dozen nut -meats, two raw prunes, some "whole wheat bread"—whatever that is—and a -pint of hot water. Luncheon at quarter to eleven, with another -assortment of similar truck. Afternoon snack at three and dinner at -half-past seven. He had two soft b’iled eggs for dinner, or else a -two-inch slice of rare steak, and, with them exceptions, the whole bill -of fare was, accordin’ to my notion, more fittin’ for a goat than a -human bein’. He mustn’t smoke and he mustn’t drink: Considerin’ what -he’d been used to afore the "World Famous" one hooked him it ain’t much -wonder that he was as crabbed and cranky as a liveoak windlass. - -However, it—or somethin’ else—had made him feel better since he landed -in Ostable and he swore by that Conquest Payne man and everybody -connected with him. And if he once took a notion into his tough old -head, nothin’ short of a surgeon’s operation could get it out. He’d -decided to make Abubus postmaster and he’d move heaven and earth to do -it. All right, then, it was up to me to do some movin’ likewise. I can -be a little mite pig-headed myself, if I set out to be. - -And I set out right then. It may seem funny to say so, but I was about -as good a friend as the Major had in Ostable. Course he had a tremendous -influence with the selectmen and the like of that, owin’ to his soldier -record and his pompousness and the amount of taxes he paid. And he and I -never agreed on one single p’int. But just the same he spent the heft of -his evenin’s at the store and I was always glad to see him. I respected -the cantankerous old critter, and liked him, in a way. And I’m inclined -to think he respected and liked me. I cal’late both of us enjoyed -fightin’ with somebody that never tried for an under-holt or quit even -when he was licked. - -So that night, when he comes puffin’ in and sets down, as usual, in the -most comfortable chair, I went over and come to anchor alongside of him. - -"Hello," he grunts, "you old salt hayseed. Any closer to bankruptcy than -you was yesterday?" - -"Your bill’s a little bigger and more overdue, that’s all," says I. "See -here, I want to talk politics with you. Mary Blaisdell, Henry’s sister, -is goin’ to have the post-office now he’s gone, and I want you to put -your name on her petition. Not that she needs it, or anybody else’s, but -just to help fill up the paper." - -Well, sir, you ought to have seen him! His red face fairly puffed out, -like a young-one’s rubber balloon. He whirled round on the edge of his -chair—he was too big to move in any other part of it—and glared at me. -What did I mean by that? Hey? Was my punkin head sp’ilin’ now that warm -weather had come, or what? Had I heard what he told my partner that very -mornin’? - -"Yes," says I, "I heard it. But I judged you must have broke your rule -about drinkin’ liquor, or else your dyspepsy has struck to your brains. -No sane person would set out to make Abubus Payne anythin’ more -responsible than keeper of a pig pen. You didn’t mean it, of course." - -He didn’t! He’d show me what he meant! Abubus was the most honest, able -man on the whole blessed sand-heap, and he was goin’ to be postmaster. -Mary Blaisdell was an old maid, good enough of her kind, maybe, but the -place for her was some kind of an asylum or home for incompetent -females. He’d sign a petition to put her in one of them places, but -nothin’ else. Abubus was just as good as app’inted already. - -We had it back and forth. There was consider’ble chair thumpin’ and -hollerin’, I shouldn’t wonder. Anyhow, afore ’twas over every loafer on -the main road was crowdin’ ’round us and Jim Henry Jacobs was pacin’ up -and down back of the counter with the most worried look on his face ever -I see there. It ended by the Major’s jumpin’ to his feet and headin’ for -the door. - -"You—you—you tarry old imbecile," he hollers, shakin’ a fat forefinger -at me, "I’ll show you a few things. I’ll never set foot in this rathole -of yours again." - -"You better not," I sung out. "If you dare to, I’ll—" - -"What?" he interrupts. "You’ll what? I’ll be back here to-morrow night. -Then what’ll you do?" - -"I’ll show you Mary Blaisdell’s petition," I says. "And the names on -it’ll make you curl up and quit like a sick caterpillar." - -"Humph! I’ll show _you_ a petition for Abubus Payne, next postmaster of -Ostable, with a string of names on it so long you’ll die of old age -afore you can finish readin’ ’em. Bah!" - -With that he went out and I went into the back room to wash my face in -cold water. - -I wrote the headin’ to the Blaisdell petition afore I turned in that -very night. Next mornin’ I hurried over and, after consider’ble arguin’, -I got Mary to say she’d try for the place. All the rest of that day I -put in drivin’ from Dan to Beersheby gettin’ signatures. And I got ’em, -too, a schooner load of ’em. I had the petition ready to show the Major -that evenin’; but, when he come into the store, he had a petition, too, -just as long as mine. And the worst of it was, in a lot of cases the -same names was signed to both papers. Accordin’ to those petitions the -heft of Ostable folks wanted somebody to keep post-office and they -didn’t much care who. They wanted to please me and they didn’t like to -say no to the Major. - -He was mad and I was mad and we had another session. But he wouldn’t -cross the names off and neither would I and so, after another week, both -petitions went in as they was. All the good they seemed to do was that -we each got a letter from the Post-office Department and Mary Blaisdell -was allowed to hold over her brother’s place until somebody was picked -out permanent. And every evenin’ Major Clark came into the store to tell -me Abubus was sure to win and get my prediction that Mary was as good as -elected. One week dragged along and then another, and ’twas still a -draw, fur’s a body could tell. The Washin’ton folks wa’n’t makin’ a -peep. - -But old Ancient and Honorable Clark was workin’ his wires on the quiet -and I must give in that he pulled one on me that I wa’n’t expectin’. The -whole town had got sort of tired of guessin’ and talkin’ about the -post-office squabble and had drifted back into the reg’lar rut of -pickin’ their neighbors to pieces. The Major had set ’em talkin’ on a -new line durin’ the last fortni’t. He’d been fixin’ up his house and -havin’ the grounds seen to, and so forth. Likewise he’d bought an -automobile, one of the nobbiest kind. This was somethin’ of a surprise, -'cause afore that he’d been pretty much down on autos and did his -drivin’ around in a high-seated sort of buggy—"dog cart" he called -it—though 'twas hauled by a horse and he hated dogs so that he kept a -shotgun loaded with rock salt on his porch to drive stray ones off his -premises. - -"Who’s goin’ to run that smell-wagon of yours?" I asked him, sarcastic. -He kept comin’ to the store just the same as ever and we had our reg’lar -rows constant. I cal’late we’d both have missed ’em if they’d stopped. I -know I should. - -"Humph!" he snorts; "smell-wagon, hey? If it smells any worse than that -old fish dory of yours, I’ll have it buried, for the sake of the public -health." - -By "fish dory" he meant a catboat I’d bought. She was named the _Glide_ -and she could glide away from anything of her inches in the bay. - -"But who’s goin’ to run that auto?" I asked again. "’Tain’t possible -you’re goin’ to do it yourself. If she went by alcohol power, I could -understand, but—" - -"Hush up!" he says, forgettin’ to be mad for once and speakin’ actually -plaintive. "Don’t talk that way, Snow," says he. "If you knew how much I -wanted a drink you wouldn’t speak lightly of alcohol." - -"Why don’t you take one, then?" I wanted to know. "I believe ’twould do -you good. That and a square meal. If you’d forget your prunes and your -nutmeats and your quack doctorin’—" - -He was mad then, all right. To slur at the "World Famous" was a good -deal worse than murder, in his mind. He expressed his opinion of me, -free and loud. He said I’d ought to try Doctor Conquest, myself, for -developin’ my brains. The Doctor was pretty nigh a vegetarian, he said, -and my head was mainly cabbage—and so on. Incidentally he announced that -Abubus was to run the new auto. - -"Abubus!" says I. "Why, he don’t know a gas engine from a coffee mill! -He wouldn’t know what the craft’s for." - -"That’s all right," he says. "He’s been takin’ lessons at the garage in -Hyannis and he can run it like a bird. He knows what it’s for. He! he! -so do I. By the way, Snow, are you ready to give up the post-office to -my candidate yet?" - -"Give up?" says I. "Tut! tut! tut! I hate to hear a supposed sane man -talk so. Mary Blaisdell handles the mail in the Ostable post-office for -the next three years—longer, if she wants to." - -"Bet you five she don’t," he says. - -"Take the bet," says I. - -He went out chucklin’. I wondered what he had up his sleeve. A week -later I found out. Congressman Shelton, our district Representative at -Washin’ton, came to Ostable to look the post-office situation over and, -lo and behold you, he comes as Major Cobden Clark’s guest, to stay at -his house. - -When Jim Henry Jacobs learned that, he took me to one side to give me -some brotherly advice. - -"It’s all up for Mary now," he says. "She can’t win. Clark and Shelton -are old chums in politics. There’s only one chance to beat Payne and -that’s to bring forward a compromise candidate—a dark horse." - -"Rubbish!" I sung out. "Dark horse be hanged! Shelton’s square as a -brick. Nobody can bribe him." - -"It ain’t a question of bribin’," he says. "If it was, you could bribe, -too. Shelton is square, and that’s why he’d welcome a compromise -candidate. But if it comes to a fight between Mary Blaisdell and Abubus -Payne, Abubus’ll win because he’s the Major’s pet. Shelton knows the -Major better than he knows you. Take my advice now and look out for the -dark horse." - -But I wouldn’t listen. All the next hour I was ugly as a bear with a -sore head and long afore dinner time I told Jacobs I was goin’ for a -sail in the _Glide_. "Goin’ somewheres on salt water where the air’s -clean and not p’isoned by politics and automobiles and congressmen and -Paynes," I told him. - -I headed out of the harbor and then run, afore a wind that was fair but -gettin’ lighter all the time, up the bay. I sailed and sailed until some -of my bad temper wore off and my appetite begun to come back. All the -time I was settin’ at the tiller I was thinkin’ over the post-office -situation and, try as hard as I could to see the bright side for Mary -Blaisdell, it looked pretty dark. The Major would give that Shelton man -the time of his life and he’d talk Abubus to him to beat the cars. I -couldn’t get at the Congressman to put in an oar for Mary and—well, I’d -have discounted my five-dollar bet for about seventy-five cents, at that -time. - -I thought and thought and sailed and sailed. When I came to myself and -realized I was hungry the _Glide_ was miles away from Ostable. I came -about and started to beat back; then I saw I was in for a long job. Let -alone that the wind was ahead, ’twas dyin’ fast, and if I knew the signs -of a flat calm, there was one due in half an hour. I took as long tacks -as I could, but I made mighty little progress. - -On the second tack inshore I came up abreast of Jonathan Crowell’s house -at Heron P’int. Jonathan’s just a no-account longshoreman or he wouldn’t -live in that place, which is the fag-end of creation. There’s a -twenty-mile stretch of beach and pines and such close to the shore -there, with a road along it. The first eight mile of that road is pretty -good macadam and hard dirt. A land company tried to develop that section -of beach once and they put in the road; but the land didn’t sell and the -company busted and after that eight mile the road is just beach sand, -soft and coarse. The strip of solid ground, with its pines and -scrub-oaks, is, as I said afore, twenty mile long, but it’s only a half -mile or so wide. Between it and the main cape is a tremendous salt -marsh, all cut up with cricks that nobody can get over without a boat. -Jonathan’s is the only house for the whole twenty mile, except the -lighthouse buildin’s down at the end. The land company put up a few -summer shacks on speculation, but they’re all rickety and fallin’ to -pieces. - -I knew Jonathan had gone to Bayport, quahaug rakin’, and that his wife -was visitin’ over to Wellmouth, so when the _Glide_ crept in towards the -beach and I saw a couple of folk by the Crowell house, I was surprised. -I didn’t pay much attention to 'em, however, until I was just about -ready to put the helm over and stand out into the bay again. Then they -come runnin’ down to the beach, yellin’ and wavin’ their arms. I thought -one of ’em had a familiar look and, as I come closer, I got more and -more sure of it. It didn’t seem possible, but it was—one of those -fellers on the beach was Major Cobden Clark. - -"Hi-i!" yells the Major, hoppin’ up and down and wavin’ both arms as if -he was practicin’ flyin’; "Hi-i-i! you man in the boat! Come here! I -want you!" - -That was him, all over. He wanted me, so of course I must come. My -feelin’s in the matter didn’t count at all. I run the _Glide_ in as nigh -the beach as I dared and then fetched her up into what little wind there -was left. - -"Ahoy there, Major," I sung out. "Is that you?" - -"Hey?" he shouts. "Do you know—Why, I believe it’s Snow! Is that you, -Snow?" - -"Yes, it’s me," I hollers. "What in time are you doin’ way over here?" - -"Never mind what I’m doin’," he roared. "You come ashore here. I want -you." - -If I hadn’t been so curious to know what he was doin’, I’d have seen him -in glory afore I ever thought of obeyin’ an order from him; but I was -curious. While I was considerin’ the breeze give a final puff and died -out altogether. That settled it. I might as well go ashore as stay -aboard. I couldn’t get anywhere without wind. So I hove anchor and -dropped the mains’l. - -"Come on!" he kept yellin’. "What are you waitin’ for? Don’t you hear me -say I want you?" - -I had on my long-legged rubber boots and the water wa’n’t more’n up to -my knees. When I got good and ready, I swung over the side and waded to -the beach. - -"Hello, Maje," I says, brisk and easy, "you ought not to holler like -that. You’ll bust a b’iler. Your face looks like a red-hot stove -already." - -He mopped his forehead. "Shut up, you old fool," says he. "Think I’m -here to listen to a lecture about my face? You carry Mr. Shelton and me -out to that boat of yours. We want you to sail us home." - -So the other chap was the Congressman. I’d guessed as much. I went up to -him and held out my hand. - -"Pleased to know you, Mr. Shelton," says I. "Had the pleasure of votin’ -for you last fall." - -Shelton shook and smiled. "This is Cap’n Snow, isn’t it?" he says, his -eyes twinklin’. "Glad to meet you, I’m sure. I’ve heard of you often." - -"I shouldn’t wonder," says I. "Major Clark and me are old chums and I -cal’late he’s mentioned my name at least once. Hey, Maje?" - -The Major grinned. I grinned, too; and Shelton laughed out loud. - -"I never saw such a talkin’ machine in my life," snaps Clark. "Don’t -stop to tell us the story of your life. Take us aboard that boat of -yours. You’ve got to get us back to Ostable, d’you understand?" - -"Have, hey?" says I. "I appreciate the honor, but.... However, maybe you -won’t mind tellin’ me what you’re doin’ here, twelve miles from -nowhere?" - -The Major was too mad to answer, so Shelton did it for him. - -"Well," he says, smilin’ and with a wink at his partner, "we _came_ in -the Major’s auto, but—" - -He stopped without finishin’ the sentence. - -"The auto?" says I. "You came in the auto? Well, why don’t you go back -in it? What’s the matter? Has it broke down? Humph! I ain’t surprised; -them things are always breakin’ down, 'specially the cheap ones." - -_That_ stirred up the kettle. The Major give me to understand that his -auto cost six thousand dollars and was the best blessedty-blank car on -earth. It wa’n’t the auto’s fault. It hadn’t broke down. It had stuck in -the eternal and everlastin’ sand and they couldn’t get it out, that was -the trouble. - -"But Abubus can get it out, can’t he?" says I. "Abubus runs it like a -bird, you told me so yourself. Now a bird can fly, and if you want to -get from here to Ostable in anything like a straight line, you’ve _got_ -to fly. By the way, where is Abubus?" - -Three or four more questions, and a hogshead of profanity on the Major’s -part, and I had the whole story. He and Shelton had started for a ride -way up the Cape. They was cal’latin’ to get home by eleven o’clock, but -the machine went so fast that they got where they was goin’ early and -had time to spare. Shelton happened to remember that he’d sunk some -money in the land company I mentioned and he thought he’d like to see -the place where 'twas sunk. He asked Abubus if they couldn’t run along -the beach road a ways. Abubus hemmed and hawed and didn’t know for -sure—he never was sure about anything. But the Major said course they -could; that car could go anywhere. So they turned in way up by Sandwich -and come b’ilin’ down alongshore. Long’s the old land company road -lasted they was all right, but when, runnin’ thirty-five miles an hour, -they whizzed off the end of that road, ’twas different. The automobile -lit in the soft sand like a snow-plow and stopped—and stayed. They tried -to dig it out with boards from Jonathan Crowell’s pig pen, but the more -they dug the deeper it sunk. At last they give it up; nothin’ but a team -of horses could haul that machine out of that sand. So Abubus starts to -walk the ten or eleven miles back to civilization and livery stables and -the Major and Shelton waited for him. And the more they waited the -hungrier and madder Clark got. ’Twas all Abubus’s fault, of course. He -ought to have had more sense than to run that way on that road, anyhow. -He ought to have known better than to get into that sand, a feller that -had lived in sand all his life. He was an incompetent jackass. Well, I -knew that afore, but it certainly did me good to hear the Major confirm -my judgment. - -I went over and looked at the automobile. It had always acted like a -mighty lively contraption, but now it looked dead enough. And not only -dead, but two-thirds buried. - -"Well?" fumes Clark, "how much longer have we got to stay in this hole?" - -"It’s consider’ble of a hole," says I, "and it looks to me as if she’d -stay there till Abubus gets back with a pair of horses. Considerin’ how -far he’s got to tramp and how long it’ll be afore he can get a pair, I -cal’late the hole’ll be occupied until some time in the night." - -That wa’n’t what he meant and I knew it. Did I suppose he and Shelton -was goin’ to wait and starve until the middle of the night? No, sir; the -auto could stay where it was; he and the Congressman would sail home -with me in the _Glide_. - -"I hope you ain’t in any partic’lar hurry," says I, lookin’ out over the -bay. There wa’n’t a breath of air stirrin’ and the water was slick and -shiny as a starched shirt. "The _Glide_ runs by wind power and there’s -no wind. This calm may last one hour or it may last two. As long as it -lasts I stay where I am." - -What! Did I think they would stay there just because I was too lazy to -get my whoopety-bang fish-dory under way? Stay there in that -sand-heap—sand-heap was the politest of the names he called Crowell’s -plantation—and starve? - -"Oh," says I. "I won’t starve. I’m goin’ to get dinner." - -Dinner! The very name of it was like a life-preserver to a feller who’d -gone under for the second time. - -"Can you get us dinner?" roars the Major. "By George, if you can I’ll—" - -"Not for you I can’t," I says. "You live accordin’ to the Payne -schedule, on prunes and pecans and such. The prune crop ’round here is a -failure and I don’t see a pecan tree in Jonathan’s back yard. No, any -dinner I’d get would give you compound, gallopin’ dyspepsy, and I can’t -be responsible for your death—I love you too much. But I cal’late I can -scratch up a meal that’ll keep folks with common insides from perishin’ -of hunger. Anyhow, I’m goin’ to try." - - - - -CHAPTER IV—HOW I MADE A CLAM CHOWDER; AND WHAT A CLAM CHOWDER MADE OF ME - - -Well, sir, even the Major’s guns was spiked for a minute. I cal’late -that, for once, he’d forgot all about his dietizin’ and only remembered -his appetite. He gurgled and choked and glared. Afore he could get his -artillery ready for a broadside I walked off and left him. He’d riled me -up a little and I saw a chance to rile him back. - -I went around to the back part of the Crowell house and tried the -kitchen door. ’Twas locked, for a wonder, but the window side of it -wasn’t. I pushed up the sash and reached in fur enough to unhook the -door. Then I went into the house and begun to overhaul the supplies in -the galley. I found flour and sugar and salt and pepper and coffee and -butter and canned milk and salt pork—about everything I wanted. Jonathan -and I was friendly enough so’s I knew he wouldn’t care what I used so -long as I paid for it. If he had I’d have taken the risk, just then. - -The wood-box was full and I got a fire goin’ in the cookstove, and put -on a couple of kettles of water to heat. Then I went out to the shed and -located a clam hoe and a bucket. There’s clams a-plenty ’most anywheres -along that beach and the tide was out fur enough for me to get a -bucket-full of small ones in no time. I fetched ’em up to the house and -set down on the back step to open 'em. - -The Major and Shelton was watchin’ me all this time and they looked -interested—that is, the Congressman did, and Clark was doin’ his best -not to. Pretty soon Shelton walks over and asks a question. "What are -you doin’ with those things, Cap’n Snow?" says he, referrin’ to the -clams. - -"Oh," says I, cheerful, "I’m figgerin’ on makin’ a chowder, if nothin’ -busts." - -"A chowder," he says, sort of eager. "A clam chowder? Can you?" - -"I can. That is, I have made a good many and I cal’late to make this -one, unless I’m struck with paralysis." - -"A clam chowder!" he says again, sort of eager but reverent. "By George! -that’s good—er—for you, I mean." - -"I hope ’twill be good for you, too," says I. "I’m sorry that Major -Clark’s dyspepsy’s such that 'twon’t be good for him, but that’s his -misfortune, not my fault." - -Shelton looked sort of queer and went away to jine his chum. The two of -’em did consider’ble talkin’ and the Major appeared to be deliverin’ a -sermon, at least I heard a good many orthodox words in the course of it. -I finished my clam openin’, went in and got my cookin’ started. The -flour and the butter made me think that some hot spider-bread would go -good with the chowder and I started to mix a batch. Then I got another -idea. - -'Twas too late for huckleberries and such, but out back of the shed, -beyond the pines, was a little swampy place. I took a tin pail, went out -there and filled the pail with early wild cranberries in five minutes. -As I was comin’ back I noticed an onion patch in the garden. A chowder -without onions is like a camp-meetin’ Sunday without your best -girl—pretty flat and impersonal. Most of those left in the patch had -gone to seed, but I got a half dozen. - -After a short spell that kitchen begun to get fragrant and folksy, as -you might say. The coffee was b’ilin’, the chowder was about ready, -there was a pan of red-hot spider-bread on the back of the stove and a -cranberry shortcake—’twould have been better with cream, but to skim -condensed milk is more exercise than profit—in the oven. I’d opened all -the windows and the door, so the smell drifted out and livened up the -surroundin’ scenery. Clark and Shelton were settin’ on a sand hummock a -little ways off and I could see ’em wrinklin’ their noses. - -When the table was set and everything was ready I put my head out of the -window and hollered: - -"Dinner!" I sung out. - -There wa’n’t any answer. The pair on the hummock stirred and acted -uneasy, but they didn’t move. I ladled out some of the chowder and the -perfume of it got more pervadin’ and extensive. Then I rattled the -dishes and tried again. - -"Dinner!" I hollered. "Come on; chowder’s gettin’ cold." - -Still they didn’t move and I begun to think my fun had been all for -myself. I was disappointed, but I set down to the table and commenced to -eat. Then I heard a noise. The pair of ’em had drifted over to the -doorway and was lookin’ in. - -"Hello!" says I, blowin’ a spoonful of chowder to cool it. "Am I givin’ -a good imitation of a hungry man? If I ain’t, appearances are -deceitful." - -"_Hog!_" snarls Clark, with enthusiasm. - -"Not at all," says I. "There’s plenty of everything and Mr. Shelton’s -welcome. So would you be, Major, if there was anything aboard you could -eat. I’m awful sorry about them prunes and nutmeats. I only wish Crowell -had laid in a supply—I do so." - -The Major’s mouth was waterin’ so he had to swallow afore he could -answer. When he did I realized what he was at his best. Shelton didn’t -say a word, but the looks of him was enough. - -"My, my!" says I, "I’m glad I made a whole kettleful of this stuff; I -can use a grown man’s share of it." - -Shelton looked at Clark and Clark looked at him. Then the Major yelps at -him like a sore pup. - -"Go ahead!" he shouts. "Go ahead in! Don’t stand starin’ at me like a -cannibal. Go in and eat, why don’t you?" - -You could see the Congressman was divided in his feelin’s. He wanted -dinner worse than the Old Harry wanted the backslidin’ deacon, but he -hated to desert his friend. - -"You’re sure—" he stammered. "It seems mean to leave you, but.... Sure -you wouldn’t mind? If it wasn’t that you are on a diet and _can’t_ eat I -shouldn’t think of it, but—" - -"Shut up!" The Major fairly whooped it to Jericho. "If you talk diet to -me again I’ll kill you. Go in and eat. Eat, you idiot! I’d just as soon -watch two pigs as one. Go in!" - -So Shelton came in and I had a plate of chowder waitin’ for him. He -grabbed up his spoon and didn’t speak until he’d finished the whole of -it. Then he fetched a long breath, passed the plate for more, and says -he: - -"By George, Cap’n, that is the best stuff I ever tasted. You’re a -wonderful cook." - -"Much obliged," says I. "But you ain’t competent to judge until after -the third helpin’. And now you try a slab of that spider-bread and a cup -of coffee. And don’t forget to leave room for the shortcake because.... -Well, I swan to man! Why, Major Clark, are you crazy?" - -For, as sure as I’m settin’ here, old Clark had come bustin’ into that -kitchen, yanked a chair up to that table, grabbed a plate and the ladle -and was helpin’ himself to chowder. - -"Major!" says I. - -"Why, _Cobden_!" says Shelton. - -"Shut up!" roars the Major. "If either of you say a word I won’t be -responsible for the consequences." - -We didn’t say anything and neither did he. Judgin’ by the silence ’twas -a mighty solemn occasion. Everybody ate chowder and just thought, I -guess. - -"Pass me that bread," snaps Clark. - -"But Cobden," says Shelton again. - -"It’s hot," says I, "and it’s fried, and—" - -"Give it to me! If you don’t I shall know it’s because you’re too -rip-slap stingy to part with it." - -After that, there was nothin’ to be done but the one thing. He got the -bread and he ate it—not one slice, but two. And he drank coffee and ate -a three-inch slab of shortcake. When the meal was over there wa’n’t -enough left to feed a healthy canary. - -"Now," growls the Major, turnin’ to Shelton, "have you a cigar in your -pocket? If you have, hand it over." - -The Congressman fairly gasped. "A cigar!" he sings out. "You—goin’ to -_smoke_? _You?_" - -"Yes—me. I’m goin’ to die anyway. This murderer here," p’intin’ to me, -"laid his plans to kill me and he’s succeeded. But I’ll die happy. Give -me that cigar! If you had a drink about you I’d take that." - -He bit the end off his cigar, lit it, and slammed out of that kitchen, -puffin’ like a soft-coal tug. Shelton shook his head at me and I shook -mine back. - -"Do you s’pose he _will_ die?" he asked. "He’s eaten enough to kill -anybody. And with his stomach! And to smoke!" - -"The dear land knows," says I. To tell you the truth I was a little -conscience-struck and worried. My idea had been to play a joke on -Clark—tantalize him by eatin’ a square meal that he couldn’t touch—and -get even for some of the names he’d called me. But now I wa’n’t sure -that my fun wouldn’t turn out serious. When a man with a lame digestion -eats enough to satisfy an elephant nobody can be sure what’ll come of -it. - -The Congressman and I washed the dishes and 'twas a pretty average -sorrowful job. Only once, when I happened to glance at him and caught a -queer look in his eyes, was the ceremony any more joyful than a funeral. -Then the funny side of it struck me and I commenced to laugh. He joined -in and the pair of us haw-hawed like loons. Then we was sorry for it. - -Shelton went out when the dish-washin’ was over. I cleaned up -everything, left a note and some money on Jonathan’s table and locked up -the house. When I got outside there was a fair to middlin’ breeze -springin’ up. Shelton was settin’ on the hummock waitin’ for me. - -"Where—where’s the Major?" I asked, pretty fearful. - -"He’s over there in the shade—asleep," he whispered. - -"Asleep!" says I. "Sure he ain’t dead?" - -"Listen," says he. - -I listened. If the Major was dead he was a mighty noisy remains. - -He woke up, after an hour or so, and come trampin’ over to where we was. - -"Well," he snaps, "it’s blowin’ hard enough now, ain’t it? Why don’t you -take us home?" - -"How about the auto?" I asked. - -The auto could stay where it was until the horses came to pull it out. -As for him he wanted to be took home. - -"But—but are you able to go?" asked Shelton, anxious. - -What in the sulphur blazes did we mean by that? Course he was able to -go! And had Shelton got another cigar in his clothes? - -All of the sail home I was expectin’ to see that military man keel over -and begin his digestion torments. But he didn’t keel. He smoked and -talked and was better-natured than ever I’d seen him. He didn’t mention -his stomach once and you can be sure and sartin that I didn’t. As we was -comin’ up to the moorin’s in Ostable I’m blessed if he didn’t begin to -sing, a kind of a fool tune about "Down where the somethin’-or-other -runs." Then I _was_ scared, because I judged that his attack had started -and delirium was settin’ in. - -Shelton shook hands with me at the landin’. - -"You’re all right, Cap’n Snow," he says. "That was the best meal I ever -tasted and nobody but you could have conjured it up in the middle of a -howlin’ wilderness. If there’s anything I can do for you at any time -just let me know." - -There was one thing he could do, of course, but I wouldn’t be mean -enough to mention it then. The Major and I had, generally speakin’, -fought fair, and I wouldn’t take advantage of a delirious invalid. And -just then up comes the invalid himself. - -"See here, Snow," says he, pretty gruff; "I’ll probably be dead afore -mornin’, but afore I die I want to tell you that I’m much obliged to you -for bringin’ us home. Yes, and—and, by the great and mighty, I’m obliged -to you for that chowder and the rest of it! It’ll be my death, but -nothin’ ever tasted so good to me afore. There!" - -"That’s all right," says I. - -"No, it ain’t all right. I’m much obliged, I tell you. You’re a -stubborn, obstinate, unreasonable old hayseed, but you’re the most -competent person in this town just the same. Of course though," he adds, -sharp, "you understand that this don’t affect our post-office fight in -the least. That Blaisdell woman don’t get it." - -"Who said it did affect it?" I asked, just as snappy as he was. That’s -the way we parted and I wondered if I’d ever see him alive again. - -I didn’t see him for quite a spell, but I heard about him. I woke up -nights expectin’ to be jailed for murder, but I wa’n’t; and when, three -days later, Shelton started for Washin’ton, the Major went away on the -train with him. Abubus and his wife shut up the house and went off, too, -and nobody seemed to know where they’d gone. All’s could be found out -was that Abubus acted pretty ugly and wouldn’t talk to anybody. This was -comfortin’ in a way, though, most likely, it didn’t mean anything at -all. - -But at the end of two weeks a thing happened that meant somethin’. I got -two letters in the mail, one in a big, long envelope postmarked from the -Post-Office Department at Washington and the other a letter from Shelton -himself. I don’t suppose I’ll ever forget that letter to my dyin’ day. - - "Dear Captain Snow," it begun. "You may be interested to know - that our mutual friend, Major Clark, has suffered no ill effects - from our picnic at the beach. In fact, he is better than he ever - was and has been enjoying the comforts of city life to an extent - which I should not dare attempt. Whether his long respite from - such comforts helped, or whether the celebrated Doctor Conquest - was responsible, I know not. The Major, however, declares Doctor - Payne to be a fraud and to have been, as he says, ’working him - for a sucker.’ Therefore he has discharged the doctor and - discharged the cousin with the odd name—your fellow townsman, - Abubus Payne. The mishap with the auto was the beginning of - Abubus’s finish and the fact that no indigestion followed our - chowder party completed it. And also—which may interest you - still more—Major Clark has withdrawn his support of Payne’s - candidacy for the post-office and urged the appointment of - another person, one whom he declares to be the only able, - common-sense, honest _man_ in the village. As I have long felt - the appointment of a compromise candidate to be the sole - solution of the problem, I was very happy to agree with him, - particularly as I thoroughly approve of his choice. When you - learn the new postmaster’s name I trust you may agree with us - both. I know the citizens of Ostable will do so. - - "Yours sincerely, - - "_William A. Shelton._ - - "P.S. I am coming down next summer and shall expect another one - of your chowders." - -My hands shook as I ripped open the other envelope. I knew what was -comin’—somethin’ inside me warned me what to expect. And there it was. -Me—_me_—Zebulon Snow, was app’inted postmaster of Ostable! - -Was I mad? I was crazy! I fairly hopped up and down. What in thunder did -I want of the postmastership? And if I wanted it ever so much did they -think I was a traitor? Was it likely that I’d take it, after workin’ -tooth and nail for Mary Blaisdell? What would Mary say to me? By time, -_I’d_ show ’em! It should go back that minute and my free and frank -opinion with it. I’d kicked one chair to pieces already, and was -beginnin’ on another, when Jim Henry Jacobs come runnin’ in and stopped -me. - -No use to goin’ into particulars of the argument we had. It lasted till -after one o’clock next mornin’. Jim Henry argued and coaxed and proved -and I ripped and vowed I wouldn’t. He was tickled to death. The -post-office was the greatest thing to bring trade that the store could -have, and so on. I _must_ take the job. If I didn’t somebody else would, -somebody that, more’n likely, we wouldn’t like any better than we did -Abubus. - -"No," says I. "_No!_ Mary Blaisdell shall have—" - -"She won’t get it anyway," says he. "She’s out of it—Shelton as much as -says so—whatever happens. And she don’t want the title anyway. All she -needs or cares for is the pay and I’ve thought of a way to fix that. You -listen." - -I listened—under protest, and the upshot of it was that the next day I -went up to see Mary. She’d heard that I was likely to get the -appointment—old Clark had been doin’ some hintin’ afore he left town, I -cal’late—and she congratulated me as hearty as if ’twas what she’d -wanted all along. But I wa’n’t huntin’ congratulations. I felt as mean -as if I’d been took up by the constable for bein’ a chicken thief, and I -told her so. - -"Mary," says I, "I wa’n’t after the postmastership. I swear by all that -is good and great I wa’n’t. I don’t know what you must think of me." - -"What I’ve always thought," says she, "and what poor Henry thought -before he died. My opinion is like Major Clark’s," with a kind of half -smile, "that the appointment has gone to the best man in Ostable." - -"My, my!" says I. "_Your_ digestion ain’t given you delirium, has it? No -sir-ee! I’m no more fit to be postmaster than a ship’s goat is to teach -school." - -"You mustn’t talk so," she says, earnest. "You will take the position, -won’t you?" - -"I’ll take it," says I, "under one condition." Then I told her what the -condition was. She argued against it at fust, but after I’d said -flat-footed that ’twas either that or the government could take its -appointment and make paper boats of it, and she’d seen that I meant it, -she give in. - -"But," says she, chokin’ up a little, "I know you’re doin’ this just to -help me. How I can ever repay your kindness I don’t—" - -I cut in quick. My deadlights was more misty than I like to have ’em. -"Rubbish!" says I, "I’m doin’ it to win my bet with old Clark. I’d do -anything to beat out that old critter." - -So it happened that when, along in November, the Major came back to -Ostable to look over his place, afore leavin’ for Florida, and come into -the store, I was ready for him. He grinned and asked me if he had any -mail. - -"While you’re about it," he says, chucklin’, "you can pay me that bet." - -Now the very sound of the word "bet" hit me on a sore place. I’d lost -one hat to Mr. Pike and the letter I’d got from him rubbed me across the -grain every time I thought of it. - -"What bet?" says I. - -"Why, the bet you made that the Blaisdell woman would be postmistress -here." - -"I didn’t bet that," I says. - -"You didn’t?" he roared. "You did, too! You bet—" - -"I bet that Mary would handle the mail, that’s all. So she will; fact -is, she’s handlin’ it now. She’s my assistant in the post-office here. -If you don’t believe it, go back to the mail window and look in. No, -Major, _I_ win the bet." - -Maybe I did, but he wouldn’t pay it. He vowed I was a low down swindler -and a "welsher," whatever that is. He blew out of that store like a toy -typhoon and I didn’t see him again until the next summer. However, I had -a feelin’ that Major Cobden Clark wa’n’t the wust friend I had, by a -consider’ble sight. - -You see, that was Jim Henry’s great scheme—to hire Mary to run the -office as my assistant. He didn’t say what salary I was to pay her, and, -if I chose to hand over three-quarters of the postmaster’s pay to her, -what business was it of his? I told him that plain, and, to do him -justice, he didn’t seem to care. - -But he did rub it in about my declarin’ I’d never go into politics. - -In a little while the mail department was as much a part of the "Ostable -Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods Store" as the calico -and dress goods counter. We bought the Blaisdell letter-box rack and -fixin’s and set ’em up and they done fust-rate for the time bein’. I was -postmaster, so fur as name goes, but ’twas Mary that really run that end -of the ship. It seemed as natural to have her come in mornin’s, as it -did for the sun to rise; and, if she was late, which didn’t happen -often, it seemed almost as if the sun hadn’t rose. The old store needed -somethin’ like her to keep it clean and sweet and even Jim Henry give in -that she was the best investment the business had made yet. - -As for business it kept on good, even though the summer folks had gone -and winter had set in. Our order carts kept runnin’ and they _took_ -orders, too. The store was doin’ well by us both and I certainly owed -old Pullet a debt of thanks for workin’ on my sympathies until I put my -cash into it. There was consider’ble buildin’ goin’ on in town and, when -spring begun to show symptoms of makin’ Ostable harbor, Jim Henry got -possessed of a new idea. I didn’t pay much attention at fust. He was -always as full of notions as a peddler’s cart and if I took every one of -’em serious we’d either been Rockefellers or star boarders at the -poorhouse, one or t’other. ’Twa’n’t till that day in April when old -Ebenezer Taylor came in after his mail and went out after the constable -that I realized somethin’ had to be done. - -You see, Ebenezer’s eyes was failin’ on him and, to make things worse, -he’d forgot his nigh-to specs and had on his far-off pair. Consequently, -when he headed for the after end of the store, he wa’n’t in no condition -to keep clear of the rocks and shoals in the channel. Fust thing he run -into was a couple of dress-forms with some bargain calico gowns on 'em. -While he was beggin’ pardon of them forms, under the impression that -they was women customers, he backed into a roll of barbed wire fencin’ -that was leanin’ against the candy and cigar counter. His clothes was -sort of thin and if that barbed wire had been somebody tryin’ to borrer -a quarter of him he couldn’t have jumped higher or been more emphatic in -his remarks. The third jump landed him against the gunwale of a bushel -basket of eggs that Jacobs was makin’ a special run on and had set out -prominent in the aisle. Maybe Ebenezer was tired from the jumpin’ or -maybe the excitement had gone to his head and he thought he was a hen. -Anyhow he set on them eggs, and in two shakes of a heifer’s tail he was -the messiest lookin’ omelet ever I see. Jacobs and me and the clerk -scraped him off best we could with pieces of barrel hoop and the cheese -knife, and Mary come out from behind the letter boxes and helped along -with the floor mop, but when we’d finished with him he was consider’ble -more like somethin’ for breakfast than he was human. - -And mad! An April fool chocolate cream couldn’t have been more peppery -than he was. He distributed his commentaries around pretty general—Mary -got some and so did Jacobs—but the heft was fired at me. He hated me -anyhow, ’count of my bein’ made postmaster and for some other reasons. - -"You—you thunderin’ murderer!" he hollered, shakin’ his old fist in my -face. "’Twas all your fault. You done it a-purpose. Look at me! Look! my -legs punched full of holes like a skimmer, and—and my clothes! Just look -at my clothes! A whole suit ruined! A suit I paid ten dollars and a half -for—" - -"Ten year and a half ago," I put in, involuntary, as you might say. - -"It’s a lie. ’Twon’t be nine year till next September. You think you’re -funny, don’t you? Ever since this consarned, robbin’ Black Republican -administration made you postmaster! Postmaster! You’re a healthy -postmaster! I’ll have you arrested! I’ll march straight out and have you -took up. I will!" - -He headed for the door. I didn’t say nothin’. I was sorry about the -clothes and I’d have paid for 'em willin’ly, but arguin’ just then was a -waste of time, as the feller said when the deef and dumb man caught him -stealin’ apples. Ebenezer stamped as fur as the door and then turned -around. - -"I may not have you took up," he says; "but I’ll get even with you, Zeb -Snow, yet. You wait." - -After he’d gone and we’d made the place look a little less like an -egg-nog, I took Jim Henry by the sleeve and led him into the back room -where we could be alone. Even there the surroundin’s was so cluttered up -with goods and bales and boxes that we had to stand edgeways and talk -out of the sides of our mouths. - -"Jim," says I, "this place of ours ain’t big enough. We’ve got to have -more room." - -He pretended to be dreadful surprised. - -"Why, why, Skipper!" he says. "You shock me. This is so sudden. What put -such an idea as that in your head? Seems to me I have a vague -remembrance of handin’ you that suggestion no less than twenty-five -times since the last change of the moon, but I hope _that_ didn’t -influence you." - -"Aw, dry up," says I. "You was right. Let it go at that. Afore I got the -postmastership this buildin’ was big enough. Now it ain’t. We’ve got to -build on or move or somethin’. Have you got any definite plan?" - -He smiled, superior and top-lofty, and reached over to pat me on the -back; but reachin’ in that crowded junk-shop was bad judgment, ’cause -his elbow hit against the corner of a tea chest and his next set of -remarks was as explosive and fiery as a box of ship rockets. - -"Never mind the blessin’," I says. "Go ahead with the fust course. Have -you got anything up your sleeve? anything besides that bump, I mean." - -Well, it seems he had. Seems he’d thought it all out. We’d ought to buy -Philander Foster’s buildin’, which was on the next lot to ours, move it -close up, cut doors through, and use it for the post-office department. - -"Humph!" says I, after I’d turned the notion over in my mind. "That -ain’t so bad, considerin’ where it come from. I can only sight one -possible objection in the offin’." - -"What’s that, you confounded Jezebel?" he says. - -"Jezebel?" says I. "What on airth do you call me that for?" - -"’Cause you’re him all over," he says. "He was the feller I used to hear -about in Sunday School, the prophet chap that was always croakin’ and -believed everything was goin’ to the dogs. That was Jezebel, wasn’t it?" - -"No," says I, "that was Jeremiah; Jezebel was the one the dogs _went_ -to. And she was a woman, at that." - -"Well, all right," he says. "Whatever he or she was they didn’t have -anything on you when it comes to croaks. What’s the objection?" - -"Nothin’ much. Only I don’t know’s you’ve happened to think that -Philander might not care to sell his buildin’, to us or to anybody -else." - -That was all right. We could go and see, couldn’t we? Well, we could of -course—and we did. - - - - -CHAPTER V—A TRAP AND WHAT THE "RAT" CAUGHT IN IT - - -Foster run a shebang that was labeled "The Palace Billiard, Pool and -Sipio Parlors. Cigars and Tobacco. Tonics, all Flavors. Ice Cream in -Season." The "Palace" part was some exaggeration and so was the -"Parlors," but the place was the favorite hang-out of all the loafers -and young sports in town and the church folks was tumble down on it, -callin’ it a "gilded hell" and such pious profanity. The gilt had wore -off years afore and if the hot place ain’t more interestin’ than that -billiard saloon it must be dull for some of the permanent boarders. - -We found Philander asleep back of the soft drink counter and young -Erastus Taylor—"Ratty," everybody called him—practicin’ pin pool, as -usual, at one of the tables. "Ratty" was Ebenezer Taylor’s only son and -the combination trial and idol of the old man’s soul. Ebenezer thought -most as much of him as he did of his money, and when you’ve said that -you couldn’t make it any stronger. He’d done a heap to make a man of -"Rat"—his idea of a man—even separatin’ from enough cash to send him to -a business college up to Middleboro; but all the boy got from that -college was a thunder and lightnin’ taste in clothes and a post-graduate -course in pool playin’. Pool playin’ was the only thing he cared about -and he could spot any one of the Ostable sharps four balls and beat ’em -hands down. He’d sampled two or three jobs up to Boston, but they always -undermined his health and he drifted back home to live on dad and look -for another "openin’." I cal’late the pair lived a cat and dog life, for -Ratty always wanted money to spend and Ebenezer wanted it to keep. The -old man was the wust down on the billiard room of anybody and his son -put in most of his time there. - -Me and Jim Henry woke up Philander and told him we wanted to talk with -him private. He said go ahead and talk; there wa’n’t anybody to hear but -Ratty, and Rat was just like one of the family. So, as we couldn’t do it -any different, we went ahead. Jacobs explained that we felt that maybe -we might some time or other need a little extry room for our business -and, bein’ as he—Philander—was handy by and we was always prejudiced in -favor of a neighbor and so on, perhaps he’d consider sellin’ us his -buildin’ and lot. Course it didn’t make so much difference to him; he -could easy move his "Parlors" somewheres else—and similar sweet ile. -Philander listened till Jim Henry had poured on the last soothin’ drop, -and then he laughed. - -"Um ... ya-as," he says. "I could move a heap, _I_ could! I’m so durned -popular amongst the good landholders in this town that any one of ’em -would turn their best settin’-rooms over to me the minute I mentioned -it. Yes, indeed! Just where ’bouts would I move?—if ’tain’t too much to -ask." - -Well, that was some of a sticker, ’cause _I_ couldn’t think of anybody -that would have that billiard room within a thousand fathoms of their -premises, if they could help it. But Jim Henry he pretended not to be -shook up a cent’s wuth. That was easy; ’twas just a matter of -Philander’s pickin’ out the right place, that was all there was to it. - -Philander heard him through and then he laughed again. - -"You’re wastin’ good business breath," he says. "I wouldn’t sell if I -could, unless I had a fust-class place to move into, and there ain’t no -such place on the main road and you know it. I’m doin’ trade enough to -keep me alive and I’m satisfied, though I can’t lay up a cent. But, so -fur as movin’ out is concerned, I expect to do that on the fust of next -November. I’ll be fired out, I judge, and prob’ly’ll have to leave town. -Hey, Rat?" - -Ratty Taylor, who’d been listenin’, twisted his mouth and grunted. - -"Yes," he says, "I guess that’s right, worse luck!" - -"You bet it’s right!" says Philander. "As I said, Mr. Jacobs, if I could -sell out to you and Cap’n Zeb I wouldn’t, without a good handy place to -move into. And I can’t sell any way. There’s a thousand dollar mortgage -on this shop and lot; it’s due June fust; and, unless I pay it off—which -I can’t, havin’ not more’n five hundred to my name—the mortgage’ll be -foreclosed and out I go." - -This was news all right. Then me and Jim Henry asked the same question, -both speakin’ together. - -"Who owns the mortgage?" we asked. - -Foster looked at Ratty and grinned. Rat grinned back, sort of sickly. - -"Shall I tell ’em?" says Philander. - -"I don’t care," says Ratty. "Tell ’em, if you want to." - -"Well," says Foster, "old Ebenezer Taylor, Ratty’s dad, owns it, drat -him! and he’s tryin’ to drive me out of town ’count of Rat’s spendin’ so -much time in here. Ratty’s a fine feller, but his pa’s the meanest old -skinflint that ever drawed the breath of life. Not meanin’ no -reflections on your family, Rat—but ain’t it so?" - -"_I_ shan’t contradict you, Phi," says Ratty. - -Jacobs and I looked at each other. Then I got up from my chair. - -"Jim Henry," says I, "I don’t see as we’ve got much to gain by stayin’ -here. Let’s go home." - -We went back to the store, neither of us speakin’, but both thinkin’ -hard. It was all off now, of course. If old Taylor owned that mortgage, -he’d foreclose on the nail, if only to get rid of his son’s loafin’ -place. And he wouldn’t sell to us—hatin’ us as he did—unless we covered -the place with cash an inch deep. No, buyin’ the "Palace" was a dead -proposition. And there wa’n’t another available buildin’ or lot big -enough for us to move to within a mile of Ostable Center. - -"Humph!" says I, some sarcastic. "It looks to me—speakin’ as a man in -the crosstrees—as if that wonderful business brain of yours had sprung a -leak somewheres, Jim. Better get your pumps to workin’, hadn’t you?" - -He snorted. "I’d rather have a leaky head than a solid wood one like -some I know," he says. "Quiet your Jezebellerin’ and let me think.... -There’s one thing we might do, of course: We might advance the other -five hundred to Foster, let him pay off his mortagage, and then—" - -"And then trust to luck to get the money back," I put in. "There’s more -charity than profit in that, if you ask me. Once that mortgage is paid, -you couldn’t get Philander out of that buildin’ with a derrick. He don’t -want to go." - -"But we might make some sort of a deal to pay him a hundred dollars or -so to boot and then—" - -"And then you’d have another hundred to collect, that’s all. I wouldn’t -trust that billiard and sipio man as fur as old Ebenezer could see -through his nigh-to specs. No sir-ee! Nothin’ doin’, as the boys say." - -Next forenoon I met old Ebenezer Taylor on the sidewalk in front of the -Methodist meetin’-house and, when he saw me, he stopped and commenced -chucklin’ and gigglin’ as if he was wound up. - -"He, he, he!" says he. "He, he! I hear you and that partner of yours, -Zebulon, want to buy my property next door to you. Well, I’ll sell it to -you—at a price. He, he, he! at a price." - -[Illustration: _'Well, I’ll sell it to you—at a price.’_] - -"So your hopeful and promisin’ son’s been tellin’ tales, has he?" says -I. "I wa’n’t aware that it was your property—yet." - -He stopped gigglin’ and glared at me, sour and bitter as a green -crab-apple. - -"It’s goin’ to be," he says. "Don’t you forget that, it’s goin’ to be. -And if you want it, you’ll pay my price. You owe me for them clothes you -ruined, Zeb Snow—for them and for other things. And I cal’late I’ve got -you fellers about where I want you." - -"Oh, I don’t know," says I. "You may be glad enough to sell to us later -on. What good is an empty buildin’ on your hands? Unless of course you -intend rentin’ it for another billiard saloon." - -That made him so mad he fairly gurgled. - -"There’ll be no billiard saloon in this town," he declared. "No more -gilded ha’nts of sin, temptin’ young men whose parents have spent good -money on their education. No, you bet there won’t! And that buildin’ may -not be empty, nuther. I know somethin’. He, he, he!" - -"Sho!" says I. "Do you? I wouldn’t have believed it of you, Ebenezer." - -I left him tryin’ to think of a fittin’ answer, and walked on to the -store. Mary called to me from behind the letter-boxes. - -"Mr. Jacobs is in the back room," she says, "and he wants to see you -right away. Erastus Taylor is with him." - -"’Rastus Taylor?" I sung out. "Ratty? What in the world—?" - -I hurried into the back room. Sure enough, there was Jim Henry and Ratty -caged behind a pile of boxes and barrels. - -"Ah, Skipper!" says Jacobs; "is that you? I was hopin’ you’d come. Young -Taylor here has been suggestin’ an idea that looks good to me. Tell the -Cap’n what you’ve been tellin’ me, Ratty." - -Rat twisted uneasy on the box where he was settin’ and give me a side -look out of his little eyes. I never saw him look more like his -nickname. - -"Well, Cap’n Zeb," he says, "it’s like this: I’ve been thinkin’ and I -believe I’ve thought of a way so you and Mr. Jacobs can get Philander’s -lot and buildin’." - -"You have, hey?" says I. "That’s interestin’, if true. What’s the way?" - -"Why," says he, twistin’ some more, "that mortgage is due on the first -of June. If it ain’t paid, Philander’ll be foreclosed and he’ll move out -of town. It’s only a thousand dollars and Phi’s got half of it. If -somebody—you and Mr. Jacobs, say—was to lend him t’other half, why then -he could pay it off and—and—" - -"And stay where he is," I finished disgusted. "That would be real lovely -for Philander, but I don’t see where we come in. This ain’t a billiard -and loan society Mr. Jacobs and I are runnin’, thankin’ you and Foster -for the suggestion." - -"Wait a minute, Skipper," says Jim Henry. "Your engine is runnin’ wild. -That ain’t Ratty’s scheme at all. Go on, Rat; spring it on him." - -"Philander wouldn’t be so set on stayin’ where he is, Cap’n Zeb," says -Rat, quick as a flash, "if he had another place to move into; another -place here on the main road, convenient and handy by. And I think I know -a place that could be got for him." - -I didn’t answer for a minute. I was runnin’ over in my mind every -possible place that might be sold or let to Philander Foster for a -"Palace." And to save my life I couldn’t think of one. - -"Well," says I, at last, "where is it?" - -Ratty leaned forward. "What’s the matter with Aunt Hannah Watson’s -buildin’ up the street?" he says. "She’s been crazy to sell it for a -long spell. And the lower floor would make a pretty fair billiard room, -wouldn’t it?" - -I was disgusted. I knew the buildin’ he meant, of course. Jacobs and I -had talked it over that very mornin’ as a possible place to move the -"Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods Store" to, -but we’d both decided it wa’n’t nigh big enough. - -"Humph!" says I, "that scheme’s so brilliant you need smoked glass to -look at it. Do you cal’late as good a church woman as Aunt Hannah Watson -would sell or let her place for a billiard room? She needs the money bad -enough, land knows; but she’s as down on those ha’nts of sin as your dad -is, Rat Taylor. She’d never sell to Phi Foster in this world." - -"_She_ mightn’t, I give in," answered Rat. "But her nephew up to Wareham -is a diff’rent breed of cats. And since she moved over there to live -along with him, he’s got the handlin’ of her property. I found that out -to-day. From what I hear of this nephew man he ain’t as particular as -his aunt. And, anyway, ’tain’t necessary for Philander to make the deal. -You and Mr. Jacobs might make it for him." - -I thought this over for a minute. I begun to catch the idea that the -young scamp had in his noddle—or I thought I did. - -"H’m," I says. "Yes, yes. You mean that if we’d lend Philander enough to -pay the balance of his mortgage on the buildin’ he’s in now and would -fix it so’s Aunt Hannah’d sell us her place, under the notion that _we_ -was goin’ to use it—you mean that then, after June fust, Foster’d swap. -He’d move in there and turn over the old ’Palace’ to us." - -He and Jim Henry both bobbed their heads emphatic. - -"That’s what he means," says Jim. - -"That’s the idea exactly, Cap’n," says Rat. "I think Philander might be -willin’ to do that." - -"Is that so!" says I, sarcastic. "Well, well! I want to know! But, say, -Ratty, ain’t you takin’ an awful lot of trouble on Foster’s account? -You’re turrible unselfish and disinterested all to once; or else there’s -a nigger in the woodpile somewheres. Where do you come in on this?" - -He looked pretty average cheap. He fussed and fumed for a minute and -then he blurts out his reason. "Well, I’ll tell you, Cap’n," he says. -"Philander’s about the best friend I’ve got in this bum town and I get -more solid comfort in his saloon than anywheres else. If he’s drove out -of Ostable, I’ll be lonesomer than the grave. I don’t want him to go. -And besides—well, you see, the old man—dad, I mean—has got a notion -about settin’ me up in business here. And I don’t want to be set up—not -in his kind of business. I know the kind of business I want to go into, -and ... but never mind that part," he adds, in a hurry. - -I smiled. I remembered what old Ebenezer had said about the "Palace" -buildin’ not bein’ empty on his hands very long and about somethin’ he -knew. It was all plain enough now. He intended openin’ some sort of a -store there with his son as boss. I almost wished he would. ’Twould be -as good as a three-ring circus, that store would, if I knew Ratty. But I -was mad, just the same, and when Jim Henry spoke, I was ready for him. - -"Well, Skipper," says Jacobs, "what do you think of the plan?" - -"Think it’s a good one, if you’re willin’ to heave morals and common -honesty overboard—otherwise no. To put up a trick like that on an old -widow woman like Aunt Hannah Watson—to land a billiard room on her -property, when she’d rather die than have it there, is too close to -robbin’ the Old Ladies’ Home to suit me. I wouldn’t touch it with a -ten-foot pole. So good day to you, Rat Taylor," says I, and walked out. - -But Jim Henry Jacobs didn’t walk out. No, sir! him and that young Taylor -scamp stayed in that back room for another half hour and left it -whisperin’ in each other’s ears and actin’ thicker than thieves. I -wondered what was up, but I was too put-out and mad to ask. - -"I’ll look it over right after dinner to-morrer," says Jacobs, as they -shook hands at the front door. - -"Sure you will, now?" asks Ratty, anxious. "Don’t put it off, ’cause it -may be too late." - -"At one o’clock to-morrer I’ll be there," says Jim Henry, and Rat went -away lookin’ pretty average happy. - -Jacobs scarcely spoke to me all the rest of that day nor the next -mornin’. As we got up from the boardin’ house table the follerin’ noon -he says, without lookin’ me in the face, "I ain’t goin’ back to the -store now. I’ve got an errand somewheres else." - -"Yes," says I, "I imagined you had. You’re goin’ down to look at that -buildin’ of poor old Aunt Hannah’s. That’s where you’re goin’. Ain’t you -ashamed of yourself, Jim Jacobs?" - -"Oh, cut it out!" he snaps, savage. "You make me tired, Skipper. You and -your backwoods scruples give me a pain. I’ve lived where people aren’t -so narrow and bigoted and I don’t consider a billiard room an annex to -the hot place. If, by a business deal, I can get that buildin’ next door -to add to our establishment, I’m goin’ to do it, if I have to use my own -money and not a cent of yours. Yes, I _am_ goin’ to look at that Watson -property. Now, what have you got to say about it?" - -"Why, just this," says I; "I cal’late I’ll go with you." - -"You will?" he sings out. "_You?_" - -"Yes," says I, "me. Not that I feel any different about skinnin’ Aunt -Hannah than I ever did, but because there’s a bare chance that her place -may be big enough for us to move the store and post-office to, after -all. With that idea and no other, I’ll go with you, Jim." - -So we went together, though we never spoke more than two words on the -way down. We got the key at the jewelry and hardware shop next door and -went in. The Watson place was an old-fashioned tumble-down buildin’ with -a big open lower floor and two or three rooms overhead. I saw right off -'twouldn’t do for us to move into, but likewise I saw that the lower -floor _might_ do for Foster, though 'twa’n’t as good as where he was, by -consider’ble. - -Jim Henry looked the place over. - -"No good for us," he snapped. - -"None at all," says I. - -"Humph!" says he, and we locked up and came down the steps together. As -we did so I noticed someone watchin’ us from acrost the road. - -"There’s our friend, Jim Henry," says I. "And, judgin’ by the way he’s -starin’, he’s got on his fur-off glasses and knows who we are." - -He looked across. "Old Taylor, by thunder!" says he. "Well, if my deal -goes through we’ll jolt the old tight-wad yet." - -"Do you mean you’re goin’ on with that low-down billiard-room game?" I -asked. - -"Of course I do," he snapped. - -"Then you’ll do it on your own hook. _I_ won’t be part or parcel of it." - -"Who asked you to?" he wanted to know. And we didn’t speak again for the -rest of that day. It made me feel bad, because he and I had been mighty -friendly, as well as partners together. The only comfort I got out of it -was that, judgin’ by the way he kept from lookin’ at me or speakin’, he -didn’t feel any too good himself. - -But that evenin’ Ratty drifted in and the pair of 'em had another -confab. And next day, after the mail had gone, Jacobs got me alone and -says he: - -"Well," he says, "I think I ought to tell you that I’ve written that -nephew in Wareham and made an offer on the Watson property. I did it on -my own responsibility and I’ll pay the freight. But I thought perhaps I -ought to tell you." - -"What did you offer?" I asked. He told me. - -"I’ll take half," says I, "because I consider it a good investment at -that figger. But only with the agreement that the billiard saloon -sha’n’t go there." - -"Then you can keep your money," he says, short. And there was another -long spell of not speakin’ between the two of us. - -Mary noticed that there was somethin’ wrong, and it worried her. She -spoke to me about it. - -"Cap’n Zeb," she says, "what’s the trouble between you and Mr. Jacobs? -Of course it isn’t my business, and you mustn’t tell me unless you wish -to." - -I thought it over. "Well," says I, "I can’t tell you just now, Mary. -It’s a business matter we don’t agree on and it’s kind of private. I’ll -tell you some day, but just now I can’t. It ain’t all my secret, you -see." - -"I see," says she. "I shouldn’t have asked. I beg your pardon. I wasn’t -curious, but I do hate to see any trouble between you two. I like you -both." - -I nodded. I was feelin’ pretty blue. "Jim’s a mighty good chap at -heart," I says. "I owe him a lot and he’s consider’ble more than just a -partner to me." - -"He thinks the world of you, too," says she. "He’s told me so a great -many times. That is why I can’t bear to see you disagree." - -I couldn’t bear it none too well, either, but Jim Henry showed no signs -of givin’ in and I wouldn’t. So we moped around, keepin’ out of each -other’s way, and actin’ for all the world like a couple of young-ones in -bad need of a switch. - -A couple more days went by afore the answer came from Wareham. When I -saw the envelope on the desk, with the Watson man’s name in the corner, -I knew what it meant and I was on hand when Jim Henry opened it. He was -ugly and scowlin’ when he ripped off the envelope. Then I heard him -swear. I was dyin’ to know what the letter said, but I wouldn’t have -asked him for no money. I walked out to the front of the store. Five -minutes later I felt his hand on my shoulder. He had a curious -expression on his face, sort of a mixture of mad and glad. - -"Skipper," he says, "we’re buncoed again. We don’t get the Watson -place." - -"Don’t, hey?" says I. "All right, I sha’n’t shed any tears. I wa’n’t -after it, and you know it. But I’m surprised that your offer wa’n’t -accepted. Why wa’n’t it?" - -"Because somebody got ahead of me. Here’s the letter. Listen to this: -’Your offer for my aunt’s property in Ostable came a day too late. -Yesterday I gave a year’s option on that property, for five hundred -dollars cash, to—’" - -"Land of love!" I interrupted. "Only yesterday! That was close haulin’, -I must say." - -"Wait," says he, "you haven’t heard the whole of it. ’A year’s option -... for five hundred dollars cash, to Mr. Taylor of your town.’" - -"Taylor!" says I. "_Taylor!_ My soul and body! The old skinflint beat us -again! Well, I swan!" - -"Um-hm," says he. "I size it up like this. He saw us come out of there -the other day and guessed that we thought of buyin’ and movin’. So, as -he owed us a grudge, and because the Watson property is, as you said, a -good investment anyhow, he makes his option offer on the jump, and beat -me to it." - -I whistled. "I cal’late you’ve hit the nailhead, Jim," says I. "Well, to -be free and frank, I’m glad of it." - -"So am I," says he. - -_That_ was a staggerer. I whirled round and looked at him. - -"You _are_?" I sung out. - -"Yes," says he, "I am. Of course I had my heart set on gettin’ that -’Palace’ for an addition that would give more room and extry space to -our place here; and the only way I could see to get it was to take up -with that Rat’s proposition. I haven’t any prejudice against billiards—" - -"Neither have I, but—" - -"I know. And you’re right. Old lady Watson has, and to run Foster’s -establishment in on her would have been a low-down mean trick. I’ve felt -like a thief, but I was so pig-headed I wouldn’t back down. Now that -I’ve got it where the chicken got his, I’m glad of it, I really am. -Partner, will you forget my meanness and shake hands?" - -Would I? I was as tickled as a youngster with a new tin whistle. And so -was he. - -"There’s only one thing that keeps me mad," he says, "and that is that -old Ebenezer’s got the laugh on us again. As for more room for the -store—well, we’ll have to think that out." - -We thought, but it wa’n’t us that got the answer. 'Twas Mary Blaisdell. -I told her what our fuss had been about, and she agreed that I was right -and that Jim Henry’s sharp business sense had sort of run away with him -for the time bein’. - -"But," says she, "we certainly do need more room, both in the mail -department and the store. I’ve had an idea for some time. Let _me_ think -a while." - -Next day she told Jacobs and me what her idea was. ’Twas that we should -build an addition on to our own buildin’. Run it two stories high and -right out into the back yard. ’Twas just the thing and the wonder is -that we hadn’t thought of it ourselves. - -"She’s a wonder, Jim, ain’t she?" says I, when we was alone together. - -"_You_ think so, don’t you, Skipper," says he, smilin’. - -I flared up. "Sartin I do," I says. "Don’t you?" - -"Indeed I do." - -"Then what do you mean?" - -"Oh, nothin’, nothin’. Say, have you seen old Taylor lately? I suppose -he’s crowin’ like a Shanghai rooster. I do hate for that old skinflint -to have the joke always on his side." - -"I know," says I. "So do I. But some day, if we wait long enough, we may -have a chance to laugh at him. I’ve lived a good many year and I’ve seen -it work that way pretty often. We’ll wait—and when we do laugh, we’ll -laugh hard." - -And we didn’t have to wait so turrible long neither. We got a carpenter -in, told him to keep it a secret, but to plan how we could build the -backyard extension. The plannin’ and estimatin’ kept us busy and we -forgot about everything else. Fust along I expected young Taylor would -pester us with more schemes, but he didn’t. He never came nigh us once, -fact is he seemed mighty anxious to keep out of our way, and so long as -he did we didn’t complain. His dad come crowin’ and chucklin’ around a -couple of times and finally Jacobs lost his temper and told him if he -ever showed his face on our premises again he was liable to be put to -the expense of havin’ it repaired by the doctor. Ebenezer vowed -vengeance and law suits, but he went, and after that he sent a boy for -his mail instead of comin’ to fetch it himself. - -One forenoon, about eleven o’clock ’twas, I was standin’ on the store -platform, when I heard the Old Harry’s own row in the "Palace Billiard, -Pool and Sipio Parlors." Loud voices, all goin’ at once, and two or -three different assortments of language. Jim Henry heard it, too, and -come out to listen. - -"Skipper," he says, sudden; "what day is this?" - -"Why, Thursday," says I, "ain’t it? Oh, you mean what day of the month. -Hey? By the everlastin’! I declare if it ain’t the fust of June!" - -"The day Foster’s mortgage falls due," he says, excited. "I wonder.... -You don’t suppose—" - -He didn’t have to suppose, for inside of the next two minutes we both -knew. Three men came bustin’ out of the billiard room door. One was -Philander himself, the other was Ezra Colcord, the lawyer, and the third -was our old shipmate and bosom friend, Ebenezer Taylor. The old man was -fairly frothin’ at the mouth. - -"You—you—" he sputtered, "you’ve deceived me. You’ve lied to me. You led -me to think—" - -"I don’t see as you’ve got any kick, Mr. Taylor," purrs Philander, -smilin’. "You’ve got your money. What more can you ask?" - -"But—but I don’t want the money. I want this property, and I’ll have -it." - -"Oh, no, you won’t, Mr. Taylor," says Colcord, the lawyer. "This -property belongs to Foster now. He’s paid your mortgage in full. You -have no rights here whatever and I advise you to go before you are -arrested for trespassin’." - -Well, the old man went, but he was still talkin’ and threatenin’ when he -turned the corner. Colcord laughed and shook hands with Philander. - -"Don’t mind him, Foster," he says. "He’s sore, that’s all, but he has no -claim whatever. You’ve paid off your mortgage and the property is yours -absolutely. As for the other matter, the papers will be ready for -signature this afternoon. Ha, ha! I imagine they won’t add to our -friend’s joy." - -"Cal’late not," says Philander, grinnin’. "This’ll be his day for -surprises, hey?" - -They shook hands again and Colcord left. Soon’s he’d gone, Jim Henry -grabbed me by the arm. He didn’t even wait for the lawyer to get out of -sight. - -"Come on," he says. "This is too good to be true. We must find out about -this, Skipper." - -So over to the "Parlors" we hurried. Philander looked sort of queer when -he saw us comin’, but he didn’t run away. We commenced to ask questions, -both of us together. After we’d asked a dozen or so, he held up his -hand. - -"Come inside," he says, "and I’ll tell you about it. The secret’ll be -out in a little while, anyhow, and maybe we do owe you fellers a little -mite of explanation." - -We went in, wonderin’. Philander set up the cigars, ten-centers at that, -and then he says: "Yes, I’ve paid off my mortgage and I cal’late you -wonder where the money came from. Five hundred of it I had myself. You -knew that." - -"Yes," says Jacobs, and I nodded. - -"Um-hm," says he. "Well, I loaned the five hundred to Ratty and he -bought the option on Aunt Hannah’s buildin’ with it." - -We fairly jumped off our pins. - -"What?" says I. - -"_Rat_ bought that option?" gasped Jim Henry. "Nonsense! his dad bought -it." - -"No-o," says Philander, solemn, "’twas Rat that bought it at fust. The -whole scheme was his and I give him credit for it. After Mr. Jacobs here -had agreed to look at the Watson place, Ratty got Ed. Holmes to take him -over to Wareham in his auto. There he see this nephew of Aunt Hannah’s, -paid down his five hundred and got the option." - -"But that letter I got said—" began Jim Henry, and then he pulled up -short. "No," says he, "it said ’Mr. Taylor’ had secured the option; I -remember now. But, of course, we supposed it was Ebenezer." - -"And Ebenezer did have it," I put in. "He told me so himself. I met him -on the road and he—" - -"Hold on, Cap’n," cuts in Philander, "no use goin’ through all that. -Ebenezer _has_ got it now. Ratty decoyed his dad down abreast the Watson -place while you and Mr. Jacobs was inside lookin’ it over, and the old -man see you two come out." - -"I know he did," says I. "I saw him peekin’ at us from behind a tree." - -"Yes," goes on Foster, "he was there. And, naturally, he jedged you was -cal’latin’ to buy that buildin’ and move into it. Fact is, he’d been -intendin’ to buy it himself as an investment, and, now that there was a -chance to spite you fellers hove in for good measure, he was more -anxious to get it than ever. Then Rat broke the news that he had the -option and was willin’ to sell it to the highest bidder. Ha! ha! I guess -there was a lively session, but the upshot of it was that Ebenezer -bought that option off his boy for a thousand dollars. That’s how _he_ -got it." - -"Well, I’ll be hanged!" says Jim Henry. I was way past sayin’ anything. - -"And so," continues Philander, "the five hundred dollars’ profit on the -option and the five hundred dollars I lent Rat to start with made just -the amount needful to pay off my mortgage. And, Squire Colcord and me -paid it off this mornin’. You fellers heard the concludin’ section of -the ceremonies. Ebenezer’s benediction was some spicy, hey!" - -"But—but—why, look here, Philander," says I. "I don’t understand this at -all. Five hundred of that thousand was Rat’s. He ain’t no -philanthropist; he wouldn’t _give_ it to you, unless miracles are comin’ -into fashion again. What—" - -Foster laughed. "There is a little somethin’ underneath," he says. "It’s -been kept pretty close, but the cat’ll be out of the bag afore the day’s -over and, considerin’ how much you two helped without meanin’ to, I’d -just as soon tell you. Ratty told you that his pa was cal’latin’ to set -him up in business, didn’t he? Yes. Well, Rat’s had a notion for a long -spell about the business he meant to get into. There’s a new sign been -ordered for this shebang of mine. Here’s the copy for it." - -He reached under the cigar counter and held up a long piece of -pasteboard. ’Twas lettered like this: - - PALACE BILLIARD, POOL AND SIPIO PARLORS. - - _Philander Foster & Erastus Taylor,_ - - _Proprietors._ - -"I cal’late the old man’ll disown his son when he knows it," goes on -Foster, "but Rat had rather run a pool room than be rich, any day in the -week. And say," he adds, "if I was you fellers I’d try to be on hand -when Ebenezer fust sees the new sign. I should think you’d get -consider’ble satisfaction from watchin’ his face. I’m cal’latin’ to, -myself," says Philander Foster. - - - - -CHAPTER VI—I RUN AFOUL OF COUSIN LEMUEL - - -Well, to be honest, I felt pretty bad about that billiard room business. -I was real sorry for old Ebenezer. Of course Taylor was a skinflint and -a thorough-goin’ mean man, but Ratty was his son and his pride, and to -have a son play a dog’s trick like that on the father that had, at -least, tried to make somethin’ out of him, seemed tough enough. And my -conscience plagued me. I felt almost as if I was to blame somehow. I -wa’n’t, of course, but I felt that way. A feller’s conscience is the -most unreasonable part of his works; I’ve noticed it often. - -But I needn’t have wasted any sympathy on Ebenezer. For the fust little -while after his boy went into the pool and sipio business, he was a sore -chap. Then, all at once, I noticed that he took to hangin’ around the -"Parlors" consider’ble and one evenin’ I saw him comin’ out of there, -all smiles. I was standin’ on the store platform and as he passed me I -hailed him. We hadn’t spoken for a consider’ble spell, but I hadn’t any -grudge, for my part. - -"Hello!" says I, "what are you so tickled about?" - -I didn’t know as he wouldn’t throw somethin’ at me for darin’ to hail -him, but no, he was ready to talk to anybody, even me. - -"No use," says he, "that boy of mine’s a mighty smart feller. He just -beat Tom Baker three games runnin’, and spotted him two balls on the -last one. He’s a wonder, if I do say it." - -I looked at him. This didn’t sound much like disinheritin’. - -"Three games of what?" says I. - -"Why, pool," says he, "of course. And Baker’s been countin’ himself the -best player in the county. 'Rastus was playin’ for the house. Him and -Philander cleared over a hundred dollars in the last month. That ain’t -so bad for a young feller just startin’ in, is it? I always knew that -boy had the business instinct, if he’d only wake up to it. I’ve told -folks so time and again." - -He went along, chucklin’ to himself, and I stood still and whistled. And -when I heard that the old man had taken to callin’ the -anti-billiard-room crowd bigoted and narrer it didn’t surprise me much. -I judged that Ebenezer’s opinions was like those of others of his -tribe—dependent on the profit and loss account in the ledger. You can -forgive your own kith and kin a lot easier than you can outsiders, -especially if your moral scruples are the Taylor kind, to be reckoned in -dollars and cents. - -The carpenters were ready to begin work on our store addition at last, -and we started right in to build on. ’Twas an awful job, enough sight -worse than movin’, but it had to be got through with some way and we -wanted to have it finished when the summer season opened for good. If -the store had been cluttered up and crowded afore, it was ten times -worse now. The amount of energy and healthy remarks that Jacobs and I -wasted in fallin’ over and runnin’ into things would have kept a -steamer’s engines goin’ from Boston to Liverpool, I cal’late. I expected -one of us would break our neck sartin sure, but we didn’t and, by the -fust of July we thought we could see the end. - -"There!" says I, "in another week we’ll be clear of sawdust, I do -believe. The painters won’t be so bad. And we’ve got on without any -accidents, too, which is a miracle." - -"You ought to knock wood when you say that, Skipper," says Jim Henry. - -"I’ve knocked enough of it already—with my head," I told him. But I -hadn’t. At any rate the accident come, and not by reason of the buildin’ -on, either. It come right in the way of everyday trade, from where we -wa’n’t expectin’ it. That’s the way such things generally happen. A -feller runs under a tree, so’s to keep from gettin’ rained on and -catchin’ cold, and then the tree’s struck by lightnin’. - -If I’d remembered what old Sylvanus Baxter said when they asked him to -prove one of his fish statements, I’d have been a wiser man. Sylvanus -was tellin’ how many mack’rel him and his brother caught off Setucket -P’int with a hand line, back when Methusalum was a child, or about then. -Forty-eight barrels they caught, and it nigh filled the dory. One of the -young city fellers who was listenin’ undertook to doubt the yarn. He got -a piece of paper and a pencil and proved that a dory wouldn’t hold that -many fish. Sylvanus shut him up in a hurry. - -"Young man," he says, scornful, "where a human bein’ is blessed with a -memory same as I’ve got, proof’s too unsartin to compare with it." - -If I’d borne in mind what Sylvanus said and abided by it I might not -have dropped the barrel of sugar on my starboard foot. I’d have been -satisfied to remember my strength and not try to prove it by liftin’ the -said barrel off the tailboard of our delivery wagon. - -However, I did try, and the result was that the barrel slipped when I’d -got it ’most to the ground, and my foot went out of commission with a -hurrah, so to speak. - -Jim Henry come runnin’ and him and the clerk loaded me into the wagon -and carted me off to my rooms at the Poquit House. And there I stayed in -dry dock for three weeks, while the doctor done his best to patch up my -busted trotter and get me off the ways and into active service again. - -He done his part all right. I was mendin’ so far as the lower end of me -was concerned, but my upper works and temper was gettin’ more tangled -and snarled every day. Too much company was the trouble. I had too many -folks runnin’ in to ask how I was gettin’ on and to talk and talk and -talk. Jim Henry he come, of course, to talk about the store; and Mary -Blaisdell, to tell me how the post-office was doin’. I could stand them; -fact is, Mary was a sort of soothin’ sirup, with her pleasant face and -calm, cheery voice. But the parson he come, to keep the spiritual part -of me ready for whatever might happen; and the undertaker, to be sure he -got the other part, if it _did_ happen; and twenty-odd old maids and -widows from sewin’-circle to talk about each other and church squabbles -and the dreadful sufferin’s and agonizin’ deaths of their relations, -who’d had accidents similar to mine. - -They made me so fidgety and mad that the doctor noticed it. "What’s -troublin’ you, Cap’n Snow?" he asked. "No new pains, I hope?" - -"Humph!" says I. "Your hope’s blasted. I’ve got the meanest pain I’ve -had yet." - -"Where?" says he, anxious. - -"All over," I says. "Tabitha Nickerson’s responsible for it. She’s been -here for the last hour and a half, tellin’ about how her second cousin, -by her uncle’s marriage, stuck a nail in his hand and was amputated -twice and finally died of lingerin’ lockjaw. She never missed a groan. -Consarn her! _She_ gives me a pain just to look at." - -He laughed. "That’s the trouble with you old bachelors," he says. -"You’re too popular with the fair sex." - -"Fair!" I sung out. "Doc, if you mean to say Tabby Nickerson’s fair, -then I’m goin’ to switch to the homeopaths. _Your_ judgment ain’t -dependable." - -He laughed again and then he went on. Seems he’d been thinkin’ for quite -a spell that the Poquit House wasn’t the place for me. - -"What you need, Cap’n," he says, "is a nice quiet spot where nobody can -get at you—that is, nobody but the disagreeable necessities, like me. -I’ve found the place for you to board durin’ your convalescence. Do you -know the Deacon house over at South Ostable on the lower road?" - -"If you mean Lot Deacon’s, I do—yes," says I. - -"That’s it," says he. "Lot’s all alone there, and he’d be mighty glad of -a boarder. The house is as neat as wax, and Lot used to go as cook on a -Banks’ boat, so you’ll be fed well. It’s right on the shore, with the -woods back of it. There’s a splendid view, the air’s fine, and—and—" - -"Don’t strain yourself, Doc," I put in. "You couldn’t think of anything -else if you thought for a week. Air and view is all there is in that -neighborhood. What on earth have I done to be sentenced to serve a term -at Lot Deacon’s?" - -Well, it was quiet, and I needed quiet. It was restful, and I needed -rest. It was too far from civilization for the undertaker or the -sewin’-circle to get at me. It was—but there! never mind the rest. The -upshot was that I agreed to board at Lot’s till my foot got well enough -to navigate and they carted me down in the delivery wagon, next day. - -The Deacon place lived up to specifications all right. Nighest neighbor -half a mile off, woods all round on three sides, and the bay on t’other. -Good grub and plenty of it. And no company except the doctor every other -day, and Jim Henry the days between, and Lot—oh, land, yes! Lot, always -and forever. - -He was a meek little critter, Lot was, accommodatin’ and willin’ to -please, as good a cook as ever fried a clam, and a great talker on some -subjects. He was a widower, with no relations except an aunt-in-law over -to Denboro, and a third cousin up to Boston; and his principal hobby was -spirits and mediums and such. He was as sot on Spiritu’lism as anybody -ever you see, and hadn’t missed a Spirit’list camp-meetin’ in Harniss -durin’ the memory of man. - -However, Lot and I got along first-rate and he’d set and talk by the -hour about the camp-meetin’, which was a couple of weeks off, and how he -was goin’, and so on. Said I needn’t worry about bein’ left alone, -’cause his wife’s Aunt Lucindy from Denboro was comin’ to keep house for -me durin’ the two days he was away. - -"Is your Aunt Lucindy given to spirits, too?" I wanted to know. - -No, she wasn’t. Seems her particular bug was "mind cure." She was a -widow whose husband had died of creepin’ paralysis. She’d tried every -kind of doctorin’ and patent medicines on him and, in spite of it, the -last specimen of "Swamp Bitters" or "Thistle Tea" finished him. But, -anyhow, Aunt Lucindy had no faith in medicines or doctors after that. -She’d tried ’em all and they’d gone back on her. Now she was a -"mind-curer." - -"She’ll prob’bly try to cure your foot with mind, Cap’n Zeb," says Lot, -apologetic as usual. "But you mustn’t worry about that. She means well." - -"I sha’n’t worry," I says. "She can put her mind on my foot, if she -wants to; unless it’s as hefty as that sugar barrel I cal’late ’twon’t -hurt me much. But say, Lot," I says, "are all your folks taken with -something special in the line of religion or cures? How about this -cousin—this Lemuel one? What’s possessin’ _him_?" - -Oh, Cousin Lemuel was different. He’d had money left him and was an -aristocrat. He never married, but lived in "chambers" up to Boston. He -didn’t have to work, but was a "collector" for the fun of it; collected -postage stamps and folks’ hand-writin’s and insects and such. He wasn’t -very well, his nerves was kind of twittery, so Lot said. - -"Um-hm," says I. "Well, collectin’ insects would make most anybody’s -nerves twitter, I cal’late. But if Cousin Lemuel likes ’em, I s’pose we -hadn’t ought to fret. He could pick up a healthy collection of -wood-ticks back here in the pines, if he’d only come after ’em, though -it ain’t likely he will." - -But he did, just the same. Not after the ticks, exactly, but, as sure as -I’m settin’ here, this Cousin Lemuel landed in the house at South -Ostable, bag and baggage. ’Twas three days afore the beginnin’ of -camp-meetin’ and two afore Aunt Lucindy was expected over. Lot and me -was settin’ in rockin’ chairs by the front windows in my room lookin’ -out over the bay, when all to once we heard the rattle of a wagon from -the woods abaft the kitchen. - -"It’s the doctor, I cal’late," says Lot, wakin’ up and stretchin’. "Ah, -hum, I s’pose I’ll have to go down and let him in." - -"’Tain’t the doctor," says I. "He come yesterday. More likely it’s Mr. -Jacobs, though I thought he’d gone to Boston and wouldn’t be back for -three or four days." - -But a minute later we see we was mistaken. Around the house come -rattlin’ Simeon Wixon’s old depot wagon, with the curtains all drawed -down—though 'twas hot summer—and the rack astern and the seat in front -piled up high with trunks and bags and satchels and goodness knows what -all. Sim was drivin’ and he had a grin on him like a Chessy cat. - -"Whoa!" says he, haulin’ in the horses. "Ahoy, Lot! Turn out there! Got -a passenger for you." - -Lot was so surprised he could hardly believe his ears, though they was -big enough to be believed. He h’isted up the window screen and looked -out. - -"Hey?" he says, bewildered-like. "Did you say a _passenger_?" - -"That’s what I said. A passenger for you. Come on down." - -"A passenger? For _me_?" - -"Yes! yes! yes!" Simeon’s patience was givin’ out, and no wonder. "Don’t -stay up there," he snaps, "with your head stuck out of that window like -a poll-parrot’s out of a cage. And don’t keep sayin’ things over and -over or I’ll believe you _are_ a poll-parrot. Come down!" Then, leaning -back and hollerin’ in behind the carriage curtains, he sung out, "Hi, -mister! here we be. You can get out now." - -The curtains shook a little mite and then, from behind ’em, sounded a -voice, a man’s voice, but kind of shrill and high, and with a quiver in -the middle of it. - -"Are you sure this is the right place, driver?" it says. - -"Sartin sure. This is it." - -"But are you certain those animals are perfectly safe? They won’t run -away?" - -The horses was takin’ a nap, the two of ’em. Sim grinned, wider’n ever, -and winks up at the window. - -"I’ll do my best to hold ’em," he says. "If I’d known you was comin’ I’d -have fetched an anchor." - -The curtains shook some more, as if the feller inside was fidgetin’ with -’em. Then the voice says again and more excited than ever, "Well, why in -Heaven’s name don’t you unfasten this dreadful door? How am I to get -out?" - -Simeon stood grinnin’, ripped a remark loose under his breath, jumped -from the seat, and yanked the door open. There was a full half minute -afore anything happened. Then out from that wagon door popped a black -felt hat with a brim like a small-sized umbrella. Under the hat was a -pair of thin, grayish side-whiskers, a long nose, and a pair of specs -like full moons. The hat and the rest of it turned towards the horses -and the voice says: - -"You’re _perfectly_ sure of those creatures you are drivin’? Very good. -Where is the step? Oh, dear! where is the _step_?" - -Sim reached in, grabbed a little foot with one of them things they call -a "gaiter" on it, hauled it down and planted it on the step of the -carriage. - -"There!" he snaps. "There ’tis, underneath you. Come on! Here! I’ll -unload you." - -Maybe the passenger would have said somethin’ else, but he didn’t have a -chance. Afore he could even think he was jerked out of that depot wagon -and stood up on the ground. - -"There!" says Simeon. "Now you’re safe and no bones broken. Where do you -want your dunnage; in the house?" - -I don’t know what answer he got. Afore I could hear it there was a gasp -and a gurgle from Lot. I turned to him. He was leaning out of the window -starin’ down at the little man under the big hat. - -"I believe—" he says, "I—I—_why_, it’s Cousin Lemuel!" - -Cousin Lemuel looked around him, at the house, at the woods, at the bay, -at everything. - -"Good heavens!" says he, in a sort of groan.—"Good heavens! what an -awful place!" - -That’s how he made port and that was his first observation after -landin’. He made consider’ble many more durin’ the next few days, but -the drift of ’em was all similar. He was a bird, Cousin Lemuel was. His -twittery nerves had twittered so much durin’ the past month or so that -his doctors—he had seven or eight of ’em—had got tired of the chirrup, I -cal’late, had held officers’ counsel, and decided he must be got rid of -somehow. They couldn’t kill him, ’cause that was against the law, so -they done the next best and ordered him to the seashore for a complete -rest; at least, he said the rest was to be for him, but I judge ’twas -the doctors that needed it most. He wouldn’t go to a hotel—hotels were -horrible,—but he happened to think of relation Lot down in South Ostable -and headed for there. Whether or not Lot could take him in, or wanted -to, didn’t trouble him a mite! _He_ wanted to come and that was -sufficient! He never even took the trouble to write that he was comin’. -When he once made up his mind to do a thing, and got sot on it, he was -like the laws of the Medes and Possums—or whatever they was—in -Scripture; you couldn’t upset him in two thousand years. It got to be a -"matter of principle" with him—he was always tellin’ about his matters -of principle—and when the "principle" complication struck, that settled -it. Oh, Cousin Lemuel was a bird, just as I said. - -And Lot, of course, didn’t have gumption enough to say he wasn’t -welcome. No, indeed; fact is, Lot seemed to consider his comin’ a sort -of honor, as you might say. If that retired bug-collector had been the -Queen of Sheba, he couldn’t have had more fuss made over him. The -schooner-load of trunks and satchels was carted aloft to the big room -next to mine,—Lot’s room ’twas, but Lot soared to the attic,—and Cousin -Lemuel was carted there likewise. He was introduced to me, and about the -first thing he said was, would I mind wearin’ a dressin’-robe, or a -bath-sack, or somethin’ to cover up my game foot? the sight of the -dreadful bandage affected his nerves. I was sort of shy on sacks and -dolmans and such, but I done my best to please him with a patchwork -comforter. - -I can’t begin to tell you the things he did, or had Lot do for him. -Changin’ the feather bed for a pumped-up air mattress he’d fetched -along—air mattresses was a matter of principle with him—and firin’ the -rag mats off the floor of his room, ’cause the round-and-round braids -made whirligigs in his head—and so on. But I sha’n’t forget that first -night in a hurry. - -He was in and out of my room no less than fifteen times, rigged out in -some sort of blanket dress, fastened with a rope amidships. He wore that -over his nightgown, and a shawl like an old woman’s on top of the -blanket. His head was tied up in a silk handkerchief; and his feet was -shoved into slippers that flapped up and down when he walked and sounded -like a slack jib in a light breeze. First off he couldn’t sleep ’cause -the frogs hollered. Next, 'twas the surf that troubled him. Then the -window blinds creaked. And, at last, I’m blessed if he didn’t come -flappin’ and rustlin’ in at half-past one to ask what made it so quiet. -I was desp’rate, and I told him I was subject to nightmare, and had been -known to cripple folks that come in and woke me sudden that way. He -cleared out and I heard him pilin’ chairs and furniture against his door -on the inside. After that I managed to sleep till six o’clock. Then he -knocked and asked if I was thoroughly awake, 'cause if I was would I -tell him what sort of weather 'twas likely to be, so’s he could dress -accordin’. His risin’ hour was nine,—more principle, of course,—but he -liked to know what to wear when he did get up. - -And he was just as bad all that day and the next. I’d have quit and had -the doctor take me back to the Poquit House, but I didn’t like to on -Lot’s account. Poor Lot was all upset and needed some sane person to -turn to for comfort. And besides, although he made me mad, I got -consider’ble fun out of this Lemuel man’s doin’s. He was such a specimen -that I liked to study him, same as he used to study a new species of -insect, when he had that particular craze. - -He seemed to like me, too, in a way. Anyhow he used to come in and talk -to me pretty frequent. He had three words that he used all the -time—"awful" and "dreadful" and "horrible." Everything in the -neighborhood fitted to them words, 'cordin’ to his notion. And he had -one question that he kept askin’ over and over: What should he do? What -was there to do in the dreadful place? - -"Why don’t you keep on collectin’?" I asked him. "We’re kind of scurce -on postage stamps, and the handwritin’ supply is limited; though you -never collected anything like Lot’s signature, I’ll bet a cooky. But -there’s bugs enough, land knows! Why don’t you go bug-huntin’?" - -Oh, he was tired of insects. Never wanted to see one again! - -"Then you’ll have to wear blinders when you go past the salt-marsh," -says I. "The moskeeters are so thick there they get in your eyes. Why -not take a swim?" - -Horrible! he loathed salt-water. He never bathed in it, as a matter of— - -I interrupted quick—"Then take a walk," says I. - -Walking was a "bore." - -"Well then," I says, "just do what the doctor ordered—set and rest." - -But settin’ made his nerves worse than ever! "I don’t know what is the -matter with me, Cap’n Snow," he says. "My physicians seemed to think I -should find what I needed here, but I don’t!—I don’t! I am more -depressed and enervated than ever." - -"I know what you need," I said emphatic. - -"Do you indeed? What, pray?" - -"Somethin’ to keep you interested," I told him. "Your life’s like a -wharf timber that the worms have been at—there’s too many ’bores’ in it. -If you could find somethin’ bran-new to interest you, you’d be lively -enough. I’d risk the depression then—and the enervation, too, whatever -that is." - -Oh, horrible! How could I joke about a matter of life and death? - -Well, so it went for the two days and in the evenin’ of the second day, -Lot come tiptoein’ into my room. He was all nerved up. The next mornin’ -was the time he’d planned to go to camp-meetin’; and how could he go -now? - -"Why not?" says I. "I’ll be all right. Your Aunt Lucindy’s comin’ to -keep house, ain’t she?" - -"Yes—yes, she’s comin’. But how can I leave Cousin Lemuel? He won’t want -me to go, I’m sure." - -"So’m I," I says; "he’ll kick as a matter of principle. But if you’re -gone afore he knows it, he’ll _have_ to like it—or lump it, one or -t’other. See here, Lot Deacon; you take my advice and clear out -to-morrow early, afore the bug-hunter’s nerves twitter loud enough to -wake him. You can get our breakfast and leave it on the table out here -in the hall. I can manage to hobble that far. Afore dinner Aunt -Lucindy’ll be on deck." - -He brightened up consider’ble. "I might do that," he says. "And anyway -Aunt Lucindy’s likely to be here afore breakfast. She’s always terrible -prompt. But will Cousin Lemuel forgive me, do you think?" - -"I don’t know," says I. "But I will, provided you don’t say ’terrible’ -again. Now clear out and don’t let me see you till camp-meetin’s over. -And say," I called after him, "just ask one of your spirit chums what’s -good for nerve twitters." - -Next mornin’ was sort of dark and cloudy, so probably that accounts for -my oversleepin’. Anyhow 'twas after seven o’clock when Cousin Lemuel, -blanket and shawl and slippers, full undress uniform, comes flappin’ -into my room. I woke up and stared at him. He was pale, and tremblin’ -all over. - -"What’s the matter now?" says I. - -"Hush!" he whispers, fearful. "Hush! somethin’ awful has happened. My -cousin Lot is insane." - -"_What?_" I sung out, settin’ up in bed. - -"Hush! hush!" says he. "It is horrible. Insanity is hereditary in our -family. What shall we do?" - -"Insane—rubbish!" says I, havin’ waked up a little more by this time. -"What makes you think he’s insane?" - -He held up a shakin’ hand. "Listen!" he whispers. "He has been makin’ -dreadful noises for the past half-hour, and singin’—actually singin’—in -the strangest voice. Listen!" - -I listened. Down below in the kitchen there was a racket of pans and -dishes and a stompin’ as if a menagerie elephant had broke loose from -its moorin’s. Then somebody busts out singin’, loud and high: - - "There’s a land that is fairer than day, - And by faith we can see it afar." - -"There, there!" says Lemuel. "Don’t you hear it? Would a sane man sing -like that?" - -I rocked back and forth in bed and roared and laughed. "A sane man -wouldn’t," I says, "but a sane _woman_ might, if she had strong enough -lungs. That ain’t Lot. Lot’s gone to camp-meetin’, to be gone till -to-morrow night. That’s his wife’s aunt, Lucindy Hammond, from Denboro. -She’s goin’ to keep house for us till he gets back." - - - - -CHAPTER VII—THE FORCE AND THE OBJECT - - -Well, it took all of fifteen minutes for me to drive the idea out of -that critter’s head that his relative had gone loony. I was hoppin’ -around on my sound foot tryin’ to dress, while I explained things. I had -enough clothes on to be presentable in white folks’ society, when there -come a whoop up the back stairs. - -"Good morn-in’!" whoops Aunt Lucindy. "Breakfast is ready! Shall I fetch -it up?" - -"My soul!" squeals Cousin Lemuel, and bolts for his own room. I buttoned -my collar by main strength and answered the hail. - -"All hands on deck!" I sung out. "Fetch her along." - -There was a mighty stompin’ on the stairs, and then through the door -marches as big a woman as ever I see in my born days. ’Twa’n’t only that -she was fleshy,—she must have weighed all of two hundred and thirty,—but -she was big, big as a small mountain, seemed so, and was dressed in some -sort of curtain-calico gown that made her look bigger yet. She was -luggin’ a tray heaped up with vittles enough for a small ship’s company. - -"Good mornin’," says she, in a voice as big as the rest of her, and as -cheery as the fust sunshine on a foggy day. She was smilin’ all over, -but there was a square look to her chin—the upper one, for she had no -less than two and a half—that made me think she could be the other thing -if occasion called for. "Good mornin’," says she. "Is this Lemuel?" - -"It ain’t," says I. "Cousin Lemuel is in disability just at present. My -name’s Snow." - -"Oh, yes!" she hollers—every time she spoke she hollered—"Oh, yes! Cap’n -Zebulon Snow, of course. I’m Mrs. Hammond. Here’s your breakfast." - -"Mine!" says I, lookin’ at the heap of rations. "You mean mine and -Cousin Lemuel’s." - -"Oh, no, I don’t," says she, still smilin’, and puttin’ the tray down on -the table, in the way she did everything, with a bang; "I mean yours, -Cap’n Snow. Lemuel’s is all ready, though, and I’ll fetch it right up. I -know what men’s appetites are; I’ve had experience." - -Afore I could think of an answer to this she swept out of the door like -a toy typhoon, the breeze from her skirts settin’ papers and light stuff -flyin’, and was stompin’ down the stairs, singin’ "Sweet By and By" at -the top of her lungs. I looked at the tray and scratched my head. My -appetite ain’t a hummin’-bird’s, by a considerable sight, but that -breakfast would have lasted me all day. As for Lemuel, about all he did -with food was find fault with it. And just then in he comes. - -"What’s that?" says he, pointin’ to the tray. - -"That?" says I. "That’s my breakfast. Yours is just like it and it’ll be -right up." - -He fidgeted with his specs and bent over to look. His nose was anything -but a pug, but I give you my word you could almost see it turn up. - -"Fried potatoes!" he says; "and fried fish! and fried eggs! and -griddle-cakes! Why—why it’s _all_ fried! Horrible!" - -"Ain’t there enough?" I asks, sarcastic. "If not, I presume likely -there’s more in the kitchen." - -"Enough!" he fairly screamed it. "I never take anything but a slice of -very dry toast and a cup of tea in the mornin’. It’s a principle of -mine. And I never eat anything fried! I—I—" - -"All right," says I, "you tell her so. Here she is." And afore he could -get out of the door she sailed through it, luggin’ another tray loaded -like the fust one. She slammed it down and turned to the invalid, who -was tryin’ to hide his blanket dressin’-sack behind a chair. - -"Here is Lemuel!" she hollers. "It _is_ Lemuel, isn’t it? I’m _so_ glad -to see you! I’m Lucindy, Lot’s auntie. In a way we’re related, so we -must shake hands." - -She reached over and took his little thin hand in her big one and gave -it a squeeze that made him curl up like a fishin’ worm. - -"There!" says she, "now we’re all acquainted and sociable. Ain’t that -nice! You two set right down and eat. I’ll trot up again in a few -minutes to see how you’re gettin’ on. Sure you’ve got all you want? All -right, then." Out she went, singin’ away, and Cousin Lemuel flopped down -in a chair. - -"Good heavens!" he gasps, working the fingers Aunt Lucindy had shook, to -make sure they was all there. "Good heavens!" says he. - -"Yes," says I, "I agree with you." - -"She calls me by my Christian name!" he says, pantin’, "and I never saw -her before in my life! And it—it didn’t seem to occur to her that I was -not fully dressed. What shall I do?" - -"Well," says I, "if you asked me I should say you better make believe -eat somethin’. What _I_ can’t eat I’m goin’ to heave out of the back -window. I’d ruther satisfy that woman than explain to her, enough -sight." - -But he wouldn’t eat, seemed to be in a sort of daze, as you might say, -and went flappin’ back to his own room. I tackled the breakfast. - -It would take a week to tell you all that happened that forenoon. My -time’s limited, so I’ll only tell a little of it. When Aunt Lucindy come -upstairs again and see his tray, not a thing on it touched, she wanted -to know why. I done my best to explain, tellin’ her Cousin Lemuel was -afflicted in the nerves, and about his tea and toast, and his diff’rent -kinds of medicines, and his doctors, and so on, but she wouldn’t listen -to more’n half of it. - -"The poor thing!" she says, "Lot told me some about him. He’s in error, -ain’t he. Horatio, my husband that was, was in error, too, but he died -of it. That was afore I got enlightened. And you’re in error with your -foot, Cap’n Snow, so Lot says. Well, it’s a mercy I’m here. The first -thing I’ll do for you is to give you a cheerful thought. ’All’s right in -the world.’ You keep thinkin’ that this forenoon and I’ll give you -another after dinner. I must get a thought for poor Lemuel, but he needs -a stronger one. I’ll have one ready for him pretty soon. Now I must do -my dishes." - -Soon’s she cleared out this time I locked my door. An hour or so later -there was a snappish kind of knock on it. - -"Cap’n Snow! I say, Cap’n Snow," whispers Lemuel, pretty average testy, -"where is my tea and toast? Did you tell that woman about my tea and -toast? I’m hungry." - -"I told her," says I. "If you ain’t got it, you better tell her -yourself." - -"But I don’t want to see the creature," he says. - -"Neither do I; that is, I ain’t partic’lar about it. And I couldn’t hop -down-stairs if I was. You’ll have to do your own tellin’. I’m goin’ to -read a spell." - -My readin’ didn’t amount to much. He went grumblin’ back to his room, -but I judge his longin’ for tea and toast got the better of his dread -for the "creature," ’cause pretty soon I heard him go down-stairs. Aunt -Lucindy’s singin’ and dish-clatterin’ stopped, and I heard consider’ble -pow-wow goin’ on. Cousin Lemuel’s voice kept gettin’ higher and -shriller, but Aunt Lucindy’s was just the same even cheerfulness all the -time. Then the ex-insect man comes up the stairs again. I was curious, -so I unlocked the door. - -"How was the toast?" I asked. His usual pale face was bright red and he -was a heap more energetic than I’d ever seen him. - -"She—she—that woman’s crazy!" he sputters. "She’s insane; I told her so. -I—" - -"Hold on!" I interrupted. "Did you get the toast?" - -"I did not. She refused to give it to me. Actually refused! She—she had -that dreadful fried breakfast on the back of the stove and told me to -sit right down and eat it—like a good fellow. A good fellow—to me!—as if -I was a dog! A dog, by Jove! I explained—in spite of my just resentment -I endeavored to reason with her. I told her the doctor had forbidden my -eatin’ a heavy breakfast. I said that my nerves were shattered and so -on. And what do you suppose she said to me? She had the brazen -effrontery to tell me that I had no nerves. Nerves were ’errors,’ -whatever that means. All I had to do was to think that—that those fried -outrages were all right and they would be. And when I—you’ll admit I had -a good reason—when I lost my temper and expressed my opinion of her she -began to sing. And she kept on singin’. _Such_ singin’! Good heavens! -Horrible!" - -"Then you ain’t had any breakfast?" - -"I have not. But I will have it! I will! You mark my words, I—" - -He stopped. "The Sweet By and By" had swung into the lower entry and was -movin’ up the stairs. I expected to see Cousin Lemuel beat for snug -harbor, but no sir-ee! he stayed right where he was, settin’ up in his -chair as straight as a ramrod. Aunt Lucindy’s treatment might not be -workin’ exactly as she intended, the patient’s nerves might not be any -better, but his _nerve_ was improvin’ fast. - -In she swept, smilin’ like clockwork, as smooth and as serene as a flat -calm in Ostable cove. She paid no attention to the way the little man -glared at her, but turned to me and says: "Well, Cap’n," she says, "have -you cherished the thought I gave you?" - -"Um-hm," says I, "I’ve put it on ice. I cal’late 'twill keep over -Sunday." - -"I’ve thought up one for you, Lemuel, you poor thing," she says, turnin’ -to the insect chaser. "It is—" - -"Woman," broke in Cousin Lemuel, "I’ll trouble you not to call me a poor -thing. Where is my tea and toast?" - -She smiled at him, condescendin’ but pitiful, same as a cow might smile -at a kitten that tried to scratch it—if a cow could smile. - -"Your breakfast is on the stove, all nice and warm," she says. "You -don’t really want tea and toast; you only think so. Cap’n Snow will tell -you how nice those fried potatoes are, and the codfish and—" - -"Confound your codfish, madam! I shall have that tea and toast. I—I -_must_ have it. My system demands it." - -She shook her head. "Oh, no, it doesn’t," says she. "It will demand all -the nice things I’ve cooked for you if you only think so. Thought is -all. Now let me give you your cheerful thought for the day. It is—" - -"Confound your thoughts!" yells the nerve sufferer, jumpin’ out of his -chair and makin’ for the door. "I always have tea and toast for -breakfast, and I intend to have it now." - -I hate a fuss, so I tried to pour a little ile on the troubled waters. -"Now, Lemuel," says I, "don’t let’s be stubborn. You—" - -He whirled on me like a teetotum. "Stubborn!" he snaps, "I was never -stubborn in my life. This is a matter of principle with me. That woman -shall give me my tea and toast." - -Aunt Lucindy smiled, same as ever. "Oh, no, I sha’n’t," says she, "it -would only encourage you in your error and that I shall not permit. -Please listen to the thought I have for you. It is _such_ a nice one. -’Be true to your higher self and’—" - -"Madam," shrieks Lemuel, "my thought about you is that you’re an old fat -fool! There!" And he rushed into the hall and the next second his door -slammed so it shook the house. - -For just one minute I thought Aunt Lucindy was goin’ after him. Her -smile stopped, her teeth snapped together, she took one step towards the -door, and her big hands opened and shut. But that one step was all she -took. When she turned back to me her face was red, but the smile had got -busy once more. She set down in the cane rocker—it cracked, but it -held—and says she: - -"He’s a little mite antagonistic, don’t you think so, Cap’n Snow?" - -"Well," says I, "I should think you might call it that without -exaggeratin’ much." - -"Yes," says she, "but I don’t mind. There was a time when if anybody’d -called me an old fat fool I’d have—well, never mind. I’m above such -things now. Nothin’ can make me cross any more. Not even a sassy little, -long-nosed shrimp like.... Ahem. Cap’n Snow, have you read ’The Soarin’ -of Self’? It’s a lovely book, an upliftin’ book." - -I said I hadn’t read it and she commenced to tell me about it, repeatin’ -it by chapters, so to speak. I couldn’t make much out of it but a -whirligig of words, and when she was just beginnin’ I thought I heard -Lemuel’s door creak. However, I didn’t hear anything more, and she -strung along and strung along, about "soul" and "mental uplift" and -"high altitude of spirit" and a lot more. By and by I commenced to -sniff. - -"Excuse me, marm," I says, "but seems to me I smell somethin’ burnin’. -Have you got anything on cookin’?" - -_She_ sniffed then. "No," says she, wonderin’. "I can’t remember -anything." Then, with another sniff, "But seems as if I smelt it, too. -Like—like bread burnin’. Hey? You don’t s’pose—" - -She put for down-stairs. Next thing I knew there was the greatest -hullabaloo below decks that you ever heard. Then up the stairs comes -Cousin Lemuel, two steps at a jump, which, considerin’ that his usual -gait had been a crawl, was surprisin’ enough of itself. He had a -scorched slice of bread in each hand and he stopped on the upper landin’ -and waved 'em. - -"I’ve got the toast," he yells, triumphant, "and I’m goin’ to have the -tea." Then he bolts into his room and locked the door. - -Up the stairs comes Aunt Lucindy. Her face was so red that it looked as -if somebody’d lit a fire inside it, and her big hands was shut tight. -She marched straight to that locked door and hollers through the -keyhole. - -"You—you little, dried-up critter!" she pants. "Humph! I s’pose you’ve -been sent to try my faith, but you sha’n’t shake it. No, sir! you nor -nobody else can shake it or make me lose my temper. I’m perfectly calm -and cheerful this minute. I am! Ha, ha! Ha, ha!" - -"I got my toast," hollers Cousin Lemuel from inside. "And I’ll have my -tea, in spite of all the New Thought cranks in this horrible hole!" - -"Indeed you won’t. I was prepared for a difficult case when I came here. -Cousin Lot told me about your foolish ’nerves’ and all the other errors -your selfishness has brought onto you. I made up my mind to set you in -the right path and I’m goin’ to do it." - -"I’ll have that tea." - -"No, you sha’n’t. When folks are in error I never give in to ’em. That’s -my principle and I stick to it." - -When she said "principle" I pretty nigh fell over. If _she’d_ got the -"principle" disease the case was desperate. Anyhow, I thought ’twas -about time for somebody with a teaspoonful of common sense to take a -hand. - -"See here," says I, "for grown-up folks this is the most ridiculous -doin’s I ever heard of. Mrs. Hammond, for the land sakes let him have -his tea and maybe we’ll have peace along with it." - -She turned to me. "Cap’n Snow," she says, "speakin’ as one who has -learned to rise above their baser self, and perfectly calm and -good-tempered, I advise you to mind your own business. I don’t care -nothin’ about the tea itself; it’s the principle I’m strivin’ for, I -tell you. Do you s’pose I’ll let that little withered-up, sassy, -benighted scoffer—" - -"There! there!" says I. Then I bent down to the keyhole. "Lemuel," I -says, "be a man and not prize inmate in a feeble-minded home. You’re not -an idiot. Apologize to this lady and, if you can’t get tea, take hot -water." - -The answer I got was hotter than any water he was likely to get, enough -sight. And there was some "principle" in it, too. - -"Well," says I, disgusted, "I’m durn glad that I’m unprincipled. Fight -it out amongst yourselves, but don’t you either of you dare come nigh -me. I mean that." And I went into my room and locked _that_ door. - -For two hours I stayed there, readin’ some and thinkin’ a whole lot -more. Down-stairs Aunt Lucindy was singin’ at the top of her lungs—to -show how good her temper was, I presume likely—and out in the upper hall -Cousin Lemuel was tiptoein’ back and forth and yellin’ at her that he’d -have his tea in spite of her, and passin’ comments on her music. I never -knew two such stubborn critters in my life, and I couldn’t see any signs -of either of ’em givin’ in, long as their principles held out. - -I remembered a conundrum that, when I was a young one in school, the -teacher used to spring on the big boys in the first class in arithmetic. -’Twas somethin’ like this: - -"If an irresistible force runs afoul of an immovable object, what’s the -result?" - -The boys used to grin and say they didn’t know. Neither did I—then; but -I was learnin’ the answer that very minute. When an irresistible force -meets an immovable object it’s a matter of principle, and the result is -liable to be ’most anything. That was the answer, and I was learnin’ it -by observation and experience, same as the barefooted boy learned where -the snappin’-turtle’s mouth was. - -Now the force and the object was in the same house with me, and the -minute the doctor, or Jim Henry Jacobs, or anybody else with a horse and -team, come to that house, they could take me away with ’em. I’d -contracted for quiet and rest, not for a session in Bedlam. - -Twelve o’clock struck and I begun to think of dinner. I hobbled over to -my door, unlocked it and looked out. Cousin Lemuel’s door was open, too, -but he wasn’t in his room or in the hall either. I wondered where on -earth he could be. Next minute I found out. - -There was a whoop from the kitchen—Lemuel’s voice and brimmin’ with pure -joy. Then, somewhere in the same neighborhood, began a most tremendous -thumpin’ and bangin’. A "cast" horse in a narrow stall was the only -sounds I ever heard that compared with it. It kept on and kept on, and -Lemuel was whoopin’ and hurrahin’ accompaniments. Such a racket you -never heard in your born days. - -Thinks I, "The critter’s nerves have gone back on him for good. He’s -really crazy and he’s killin’ that poor mind-curer out of principle." - -Somehow or other I hopped down them stairs on my sound foot, draggin’ -t’other after me. Through the dinin’-room I hobbled and into the -kitchen. There was a roarin’ fire in the cookstove and in front of that -stove was Cousin Lemuel dancin’ round with a teapot in his hand. The -cellar door opened out of the kitchen. It was shut tight, and somebody -behind it was bangin’ the panels till I expected every second to see ’em -go by the board. If they hadn’t been built in the days when they made -things solid they would have. - -"What in the world—" I commenced. "You—Lemuel—whatever your name is—what -are you doin’?" - -He turned and saw me. His bald head was all shinin’ with the heat, his -big round specs was almost droppin’ off the end of his long nose, and he -sartin did look like somethin’ the cat brought in. - -"What am I doin’?" he says. "Can’t you see? I’m gettin’ my tea, same as -I said I would. Ho! ho!" - -"Where’s Aunt Lucinda?" I sung out. "You loon, have you killed her?" - -He laughed. "No, no!" he says. "She deserves to be killed, but she’s -alive. She refused to give me my tea; she refused to stop her horrible -singin’. She was utterly impossible and I got rid of her. I crept down -and watched until she went into the cellar. Then I closed the door and -locked it. Cap’n Snow, I have never been treated as that woman treated -me in my life! It was a matter of principle with me and I was obliged—" - -He couldn’t say any more because the poundin’ on the door broke out -again louder than ever. I headed for it and he got in front of me. - -"She is absolutely unharmed, I assure you," he says. - -She sounded healthy, that was a fact. The names she called that -insect-hunter was a caution! - -"Let me out!" she kept hollerin’. "You let me out of this cellar, you -miserable little good-for-nothin’! If I ever get my hands on you I’ll—" - -"Ha! ha!" laughs Lemuel. "I couldn’t make her lose her temper, could I? -Oh, no, she’s perfectly calm now! You’re not in the cellar, madam," he -calls to her, "you’re in error. Thought can do anything; think yourself -out." - -I looked at him. "Well," says I, "for a person with twitterin’ nerves, -you—" - -"D—n my nerves!" says he, which was the most human remark he’d ever made -in my hearin’ and proved that he wasn’t beyond hopes. "You told me that -all I needed was somethin’ to keep me interested. Well, I’ve got it." - -"You let me out!" whoops Aunt Lucindy. "Cap’n Snow, if you’re there, you -let me out!" - -I think maybe I would have let her out, but when I heard what she -intended doin’ to Lemuel I thought 'twas too big a risk. I turned and -hobbled through the dinin’-room to the front outside door. And there, -just turnin’ into the yard, was Jim Henry Jacobs, with his horse and -buggy. When he saw me he almost fell off the seat. And maybe I wa’n’t -glad to see him! - -"You!" he says. "You! _walkin’!_" - -"Yes," says I, "and in five minutes I’d have been flyin’, I cal’late. -Don’t stop to talk. Help me into that buggy.... There! drive home as -fast as you can!" - -"But what under the canopy is the row?" he says. - -"Row enough," says I. "I’ve been shut up along with an irresistible -force and an immovable object, and I want to get away from ’em. Git -dap." - -We turned the horse’s head. We had just left the yard when he looked -back. I looked, too. The cellar had an outside entrance, a bulkhead -door. This door was bendin’ and heavin’ as if an earthquake was under -it. Next minute the staple flew, the door slammed back, and Aunt Lucindy -popped out like a jack-in-the-box. She never paid no attention to us, -but made for the kitchen. - -"Who—what is that?" gasps Jacobs. - -"That," says I, "is the irresistible force." - -There was a yell from the kitchen and then out of the door flew Cousin -Lemuel. _He_ didn’t stop for us, either, but ran like a lamplighter to -the fence, fell over it, and dove head-fust into the woods. After he was -away out of sight we could hear the bushes crackin’. - -"And—and _what_," gasps Jim Henry, "was _that_?" - -"That," says I, "was the immovable object. Drive on, for mercy sakes!" - - ———— - -Next day Lot came to see me at the Poquit House. He was dreadful upset. -Seems he hadn’t stayed his time out at camp-meetin’. One of the mediums -or spooks or somethin’ over there told him there was a destructive -influence hoverin’ over his house and he’d hurried back to find out -about it. - -"Humph!" says I. "I should have said it had quit hoverin’ and had lit. -How’s Cousin Lemuel?" - -Seems Cousin Lemuel was at the hotel over to Bayport. He’d telephoned -for his trunks. - -"And he told me," says Lot, wonderin’ like, "to tell Aunt Lucindy that -he intended havin’ tea and toast three times a day now, as a matter of -principle. That’s strange, isn’t it?" - -"Not to me ’tain’t," says I. "And how’s Aunt Lucindy?" - -"Aunt Lucindy’s gone back to Denboro," he says. "And she left word for -Cousin Lemuel that she should send him a ’thought’—whatever that -is—every day by mail from now on. And you’d ought to have seen her face -when she said it! But, Cap’n Zeb, when are you comin’ back to board with -me?" - -I shook my head. "Lot," says I, "I like you fust-rate, but your -relations are too irresistibly immovable. I’m goin’ to keep clear of ’em -for the rest of my life—as a matter of principle," I says, chucklin’. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII—ARMENIANS AND INJUNS; LIKEWISE BY-PRODUCTS - - -You can imagine that Jim Henry and Mary had a good deal of fun over my -experience with Lot and his tribe. They joked me about it consider’ble. -But I didn’t mind. My foot was all right again, or nearly so, and the -extension to the store had been finished and was workin’ out fine. We -moved the mail room way back and that give us lots of room on the main -floor, and Mary had a nice clean place, with plenty of air and light, -new sortin’ table, new desks, and all that. As for business, we done -more that summer than we had previous and it kept up surprisin’ well -through the winter. I was happy and satisfied and Jacobs seemed to be. - -But he wa’n’t. It took a whole lot to satisfy him and, by the time -another spring reached us and the cottages begun to open I could see -that he was gettin’ fidgety. One mornin’ he come back from a cruise -amongst the cottagers—he always handled their trade himself—and I could -see that he was about ready to bile over. - -"Well," says I, "what’s weighin’ on your mind now? Or is it your -stomach? I’m willin’ to bet that I’m two pound heftier than I was afore -I ate them hot biscuits at our boardin’ house this mornin’; and you got -away with three more’n I did. Has your ballast shifted, or what?" - -He shook his head. - -"Skipper," says he, "we’re ruined by foreign cheap labor." - -"You’re right," says I. "I heard that that Dutch cook used to work in a -cement factory, and them biscuits prove it." - -"Nothin’ doin’," he says. "My noon lunch for two years was ’Draw one -with a plate of sinkers’; and when it comes to warm dough, I’m an -immune. That Poquit House cook could practice on me for a week and never -dent my nickel-steel digestion. No. What I’m full of just now is -embroidery." - -I looked at him. - -"See here, Jim Henry," says I, "you’ve got me a mile offshore in a fog. -Unless you’ve swallowed your napkin, I don’t see—" - -"There! There!" he interrupted. "It’s nothin’ I’ve swallowed, I tell -you! It’s somethin’ I’ve seen that I _can’t_ swallow. I can’t swallow -those tan-faced, hook-nosed lace peddlers. It’s only spring, yet they -are thicker round here already than lumps of saleratus in those biscuit -we’ve been talkin’ about. They’re separatin’ perfectly good easy marks -from money that belongs to us, and I’m gettin’ mad. My Turkish blood’s -risin’, and there’s likely to be another Armenian massacre in this -neighborhood pretty soon." - -I understood what he meant then. Every summer for the last year or two -the Cape has been sufferin’ from a plague of fellers peddlin’ handmade -lace, and embroidery, and such. They’re all shades of color except -white, and they talk all sorts of languages except plain United States; -but, no matter what they look like or how they jabber, every last one of -them claims to be an Armenian, and to have his hand satchel solid full -of native-made tidies, and tablecloths, and the like of that. I never -run across the Armenian flag on any of my v’yages, but if it ain’t a -doily, then it ought to be. - -And the prices they charge! Whew! A white man would blush every time he -named one; but these fellers, bein’ all complexions, from light tan -Oxford to dark rubber boot, are born to blush unseen, and can charge -four dollars for a crocheted necktie and never crack, spot, nor fade. - -Jim Henry was some on high prices himself; likewise, he considered the -summer cottagers and the hotel folks as more or less our special -property. Therefore, you can understand how this Armenian competition -riled and disturbed him. And, as it turned out, that very mornin’ he’d -gone to call on Mrs. Burke Smythe, who was one of the Ostable Store’s -best and most well-off customers, and found her ankle-deep in lamp mats -and centerpieces which an Armenian specimen was diggin’ out of a couple -of suit cases. And she’d told him that she couldn’t pay our bill for -another month ’count of havin’ spent all her "household allowance" on -the "loveliest set of embroidered dress and waist patterns" and such -that ever was. There was the dress pattern. Didn’t he think it was a -"dear"? - -Well, Jim Henry give in to the "dear" part—she’d paid sixty-four dollars -for it—and come away disgusted. These peddlers was takin’ the coin right -out of our mouths, he vowed. What was we goin’ to do about it? - -"Keep our mouths shut, I guess," says I. "I can’t see anything else." - -But that wouldn’t do for him. He went away growlin’, and for the next -couple of days he hardly said a word. I knew he was hatchin’ some scheme -or other, and I took care not to scare him off the nest. The third -mornin’, he came off himself, fetchin’ his brood with him. - -"Skipper," says he, joyful, "I believe I’ve got it. I believe I’ve got -the idea that’ll put those Armenians in the discard. You listen to me." - -I listened, and what he’d hatched was somethin’ like this: We—that is, -the "Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes, and Fancy Goods -Store"—would sell embroidery and crocheted plunder, and run the peddlers -out of business. We’d open a tidy department on our own hook. What did I -think of that? - -Well, I didn’t think much of it, and I told him so. - -"Don’t believe we can do it," says I. - -"Why not?" says he. "We can charge as much as they can, and that seems -to be the main thing." - -"That ain’t it," I told him. "We can’t get the stuff to sell. Plenty of -machine made, but the summer folks won’t have that, cheap or high. What -they wake up nights and cry for is the genuine, hand-manufactured -article; and, unless you buy it off the peddlers themselves—which would -be unprofitable, to say the least—_I_ don’t see where you’re goin’ to -get it. Besides, if you could get it, sellin’ it in a store wouldn’t do. -’Tain’t romantic and foolish enough. Take this Burke Smythe woman," says -I; "she’s a fair sample. She could have got just as nice, pretty dress -patterns out of a fashion magazine, or—" - -"Great snakes!" he broke in. "You don’t think ’twas a _paper_ pattern -she paid sixty-four dollars for, do you?" - -"Never mind what ’twas," I says, dignified; "’twould be all the same, -paper or sheet iron. She wouldn’t care for it at all if she’d bought it -in a store. There’s nothin’ mysterious or romantic in that. But here -comes one of these liver-complected, black-haired fellers, lookin’ for -all the world like a pirate, and whispers in her ear he’s got somethin’ -in that carpetbag of his that nobody else has got, and that’ll make Mrs. -General Jupiter Jones, or some other of the Smythe bosom friends, look -like a last summer’s scarecrow. And, as a favor to her, he ain’t showed -it to Mrs. Jupiter—which is most likely a lie, but never mind—and he’ll -sell it to her at a sixty-four-dollar sacrifice, because—" - -"Hold on!" he interrupts. "Cut it out! Break away! Don’t you s’pose I’ve -thought of that? Your old Uncle James Henry Jacobs, doctor of sick -businesses, wa’n’t born yesterday by about thirty-eight years. I ain’t -figgerin’ to handle Armenian stuff. See here, Skipper. What makes the -summer bunch so crazy to get hold of old clocks, and old chains, and -antique junk generally?" - -"Well," says I, "for one thing, ’cause they _are_ antiques. For another, -because they come from right here on the Cape, and—" - -"That’s it," he sings out. "And that’s enough. Well, there’s plenty of -handmade embroideries and laces, not to mention lamp mats and bed -quilts, made right here on the Cape, too. Last fall, the county fair had -a buildin’ solid full of ’em. This is my plan. Do stop your Doubtin’ -Thomas act, and listen." - -The plan was sort of simple but complicated. Fust off, him and me was to -see all the old ladies and young girls in Ostable and the surroundin’ -country, and get ’em to agree to sell their handmade knittin’ to us. If -they wouldn’t sell to us direct, then we’d sell it for them on -commission. We’d fit up a room in the loft over the store, advertise it -as the "Colonial Curio Shop" or the "Pilgrim Mothers’ Exchange," or some -such ridiculous or mysterious name, stock it full of the truck the -widows and orphans had been knittin’ or tattin’ all winter, drop a hint -to the summer folks—and then set back and take the money. - -"It’ll go, I tell you," he says, enthusiastic. "It’s a sure winner. Just -say the word, Skipper, and we’ll start fittin’ up the loft to-morrow -mornin’." - -"Well," says I, pretty doubtful, "if you’re so sure, Jim, I—" - -"Sure!" he broke in. "Why wouldn’t I be sure? There’s only one kind of -people that can get ahead of me in a business deal—and they don’t hail -from Armenia. Skipper, here’s where we hand our peddlin’ friends theirs, -and then some." - -Next mornin’ he took the spare horse and started out. When he got back -that night, he had the bottom of the wagon covered with bundles of -knittin’ and handmade contraptions, and he made proclamations that he -hadn’t begun to cover the available territory. He’d seen I don’t know -how many single females and widows who had the fancywork and crochetin’ -habit; and they sold him everything they had in stock, and promised -more. - -"They take to it like a duck to water," says he, joyful. "They’re all -down on the peddlers, and they’re goin’ to pitch in and supply the home -market. In another week you can’t pass two houses in this town without -hearin’ the merry click of the needle. To-morrow I canvass Denboro and -Bayport, and the next day I tackle Harniss. By Monday we’ll be ready to -fit up the loft." - -And, sure enough, he was right. The amount of stuff he fetched back in -that wagon was surprisin’. How the female population of Ostable County -could have turned out all that embroidery and found time to cook meals -and sweep, let alone make calls and talk about their neighbors, beat me -a mile. But when he told me what he paid for the collection I begun to -understand. However, I didn’t say nothin’. 'Twa’n’t until he commenced -to rig up the room over the store that I spoke my thoughts. - -"Why, Jim Henry!" I says. "What are you thinkin’ of? Puttin’ panelin’ on -those walls! And paperin’ with that expensive paper! It must have cost -land knows how much a roll. And, for the dear land sakes, what are those -carpenters cuttin’ that hole in the upper deck for?" - -"For stairs, of course," says he. "Think the customers are goin’ to fly -up there? Don’t bother me, Skipper, I’m busy." - -"Stairs!" I sings out. "Why, there’s stairs already. What’s the matter -with the steps leadin’ aloft from the back room? _We’ve_ used them ever -since we’ve been here, and—" - -"S-shh! S-shh!" says he, resigned but impatient. "Cap’n, your business -instinct is all right in some things, like—like—well, I can’t think what -just now, but never mind. You’re a good feller, but you’re too apt to -cal’late by last year’s almanac. You ain’t as up to date as you might -be. Do you suppose Her Majesty Burke Smythe, and the rest of the Royal -Family we’re settin’ this trap for, will take the trouble to hunt up -that back room, and fall over egg cases and kerosene barrels to find the -ladder to that loft? And climb the ladder after they find it? No, no! -We’ll have a flight of stairs right from the main part of this store, -where they can’t help seein’ ’em. And there’ll be old-fashioned rag mats -on the landin’s, and brass candlesticks with candles in ’em at night, -and—" - -"Candles!" says I. "Well; that is the final piece of lunacy! Why, I -could light those stairs like a glory with kerosene lamps while a body -was tryin’ to get _sight_ of ’em with a candle! I never heard such -nonsense." - -But ’twas no use. What we must do was make that loft "quaint," and -old-fashioned, and the like of that. I didn’t understand—and so on. - -"All right," says I, "maybe I don’t; but I do understand this: Judgin’ -by the amount of hard cash you’ve spent for lace tuckers and doilies, -and the bill them stairs and panelin’s and candlesticks’ll come to, I -don’t see a profit on the Pilgrim Curio Mothers’ Exchange in ten year -big enough to cover a five-cent piece." - -He’d risk the profit. Besides, there was another reason for the stairs, -and such. To get to ’em all, the rich folks would have to go right -through the store; and if they didn’t buy anything upstairs they would -down, sure and sartin. He was figgerin’ on catchin’ the transient trade, -the automobile trade; and all around the foot of the stairs we’d have -temptin’ lunches put up and set out, and bottles of ginger ale and boxes -of cigars, and so forth, and so on. He preached for half an hour, -windin’ up with: - -"Anyhow, Skipper, if the curio shop should lose money—which it won’t—it -will bring customers to the Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes, -and Fancy Goods Store, which is the main thing; that and keepin’ the -coin in the United States instead of shippin’ it to Armenia. The -embroideries and laces are by-products, as you might say; and if a plant -comes out even on its by-products, it’s a payin’ proposition." - -He had me there. I didn’t know a by-product from a salt herrin’; so I -shut up. - -The "Old Colony Women’s Exchange and Curio Room," which was the name he -finally picked out, opened at the end of a fortni’t. Jacobs had -advertised it in the papers, and put signs for miles up and down the -main roads, let alone tellin’ every well-off summer woman within -reachin’ distance. And, almost from the very start, it done well. The -loft was crowded ’most every afternoon; and sometimes there’d be as many -as three automobiles anchored alongside our main platform. - -At the end of the fust month, the Exchange had cleared—cleared, mind -you—over two hundred dollars; and Jim Henry was crowin’ over me like a -Shanghai rooster over a bantam. He’d had another happy thought, and had -added "antiques" to the stock in the loft; and the prices he got for -lame chairs and rheumatic tables was somethin’ scandalous. But it wa’n’t -all joy. There was two things that troubled him. - -One of the things was that the supply of knittin’ and fancywork was -givin’ out. Likewise the "antiques." Of course, there was some on hand. -Aunt Susannah Cahoon’s yeller and black mittens, ear lappets, and -tippets hadn’t sold, and wa’n’t likely to; and Abinadab Saint’s -alabaster whale-oil lamp with the crack in it, that his Great-uncle -Peleg brought home from sea, hadn’t been grabbed to any extent. But -these were the exceptions. ’Most all the good stuff had gone; and, -though Jacobs had raked the county with a fine-tooth comb, as you might -say, the reg’lar dealers from Boston had raked it ahead of him, and -there wa’n’t any "antiques" left. - -There was several reasons for the shortage in fancywork. One was that -the knitters and tatters couldn’t turn it out fast enough; and, -moreover, the season for church fairs was settin’ in, and the heft of -the females, bein’ reg’lar members in good standin’, _had_ to tack ship -and go to helpin’ their meetin’-houses. So our stock was gettin’ low, -and Jim Henry was worried. - -The other thing that worried him was that we couldn’t get the right kind -of help to sell the stuff. He couldn’t tend to it himself, bein’ too -busy otherwise. Mary had the post-office department on her hands. The -clerk and the delivery boys wa’n’t fitted for the job at all; and, as -for me, I couldn’t sell a blue sugar bowl without a cover for seven -dollars and take the money. I knew the one that bought it was perfectly -satisfied, but I couldn’t do it; I ain’t built that way. - -"It’s no use, Jim Henry," says I. "I may be foolish, but I have ideas -about some things; and it’s my notion that sartin kinds of folks are -fitted by nature for sartin kinds of things. Now, Cape Codders they’re -fitted for seafarin’, and such; and New Yorkers and Chicagoers, like -you, are fitted for stock-brokin’ and storekeepin’; and Italians for -hand organs, and diggin’ streets, and singin’ in opera. And when it -comes to sellin’ secondhand stuff or keepin’ a pawnshop, there’s—" - -"Rubbish!" he snaps. "A while ago, you’d have said that the embroidery -trade was cornered by the Armenians. We’ve proved that’s a fairy tale, -ain’t we? I’ve got some ideas myself. I know the kind of person I want -to run that Exchange, and, sooner or later, I’ll find him—or her. -Meantime, we’ll have to do the best we can; and I’ll take it as a favor -if you’ll let up on the hammer exercise." - -I wa’n’t sure what he meant by the "hammer exercise"; but ’twas plain -enough that them "by-products" was a sore subject, and that he was -worried. - -However, he wa’n’t the only worried lace dealer in the neighborhood. The -Old Colony Exchange had made good in one direction, anyhow. It had -knocked the embroidery peddlin’ business higher’n a kite. Where there -used to be a dozen suitcase luggers paradin’ through the town, now you -scarcely sighted one; and that one looked pretty sick and discouraged. -The home market had smashed foreign competition for the time bein’; that -much was pretty sure. But our stock kept gettin’ lower and lower, and -the auto crowds begun to go by now instead of stoppin’. And the few that -did stop hardly ever bought anything unless Jim Henry himself was there -to hypnotize ’em into it. - -One mornin’ I came to the store pretty late, and found our clerk talkin’ -to a dark-complected chap with curly hair and a suitcase. I didn’t shove -my bows into the talk; but, when ’twas over, I asked the clerk what the -critter wanted. He laughed. - -"Oh, he’s the last survivor of the peddlin’ crew," he says. "He ain’t -sold a thing, and he’s goin’ back to Boston right off. I told him he -might as well. He asked a lot of questions about the Exchange, and I -took him upstairs and showed him around." - -"You did?" says I. "What for?" - -"Oh, just to let him see what he was up against, that’s all. He was a -pretty decent feller—some of them Armenians ain’t so bad—and I pitied -him. He was awful discouraged. He’d heard Mr. Jacobs had been tryin’ to -hire a salesman for up there; and he hinted that he’d kind of like the -job." - -"Did, hey?" says I. "Well, it’s a good thing for you and him that Mr. -Jacobs didn’t catch you. He’d sooner have a snake on the premises than -one of them peddlers. What else did he say? Anything?" - -Why, yes. It developed that he’d said a good deal. Asked where we got -our stuff, and so on. I judged ’twas a providence that I come in when I -did, or that clerk would have told every last word he knew. I didn’t say -anything to Jim Henry. No use frettin’ him unnecessary. - -Three days after that the Injun showed up. I don’t know as you know it, -but there are a few Injuns left on the Cape—half-breeds, or -three-quarters, they are mostly; and they live up around Cohasset -Narrows, or off in the woods in those latitudes. This one was an old -feller, black-haired, of course, and kind of fleshy, with a hook nose -and skin the color of gingerbread. I heard talk upstairs in the -Exchange; and, when I went aloft, I found him and Jim Henry settin’ -among the by-products, and as confidential as a couple of rats in a -schooner’s hold. Soon as Jacobs seen me, he sung out for me to heave -alongside. - -"Look at that, Cap’n Zeb," he says. "What do you think of that?" - -I took what he handed me, and looked at it. 'Twas a piece of handmade -lace—a centerpiece, I believe they call it—and ’twas mighty well done. - -"Think of it?" says I. "Well, I ain’t much of a judge, but I’d call it a -pretty slick article. Who made it?" - -The old black-haired chap answered. - -"My sister," he says. "She make ’em. Make 'em plenty." - -"Bully for her!" says I. "She’s the lady we’ve been lookin’ for. Maybe -she make some more; hey?" - -He grinned; and Jacobs mentioned for me to clear out; so I done it. He -and old Gingerbread Face stayed aloft in that Exchange for upward of an -hour; and, when they came down, Jim Henry went with him as fur as the -door. When the stranger had gone, Jim turns to me and stuck out his -hand. - -"Skipper," says he, grinnin’ like a punkin lantern, "shake! I’ve got -it." - -"What have you got?" I asked. I was a little mite provoked at bein’ sent -below so unceremonious. "What have you got—Asiatic cholery? Thought you -wouldn’t have nothin’ to do with Armenians." - -"Armenians be hanged!" says he. "That’s no Armenian. He’s an Indian, a -full-blooded Indian, or pretty near it. And his family is about the only -full-bloods left. There’s a colony of them up the Cape a ways; and it -seems that they pick berries in the summer, and put in their winters -turnin’ out stuff like that centerpiece. He heard about the Exchange, -and he’s come way down here to see if we bought such things. I told him -we bought ’em with bells on, and he’ll be back here to-morrow with -another load." - -Sure enough, he was, load and all; and ’twould have astonished you to -see what fust-class fancywork his sister and the rest of the squaws -turned out. Jacobs bought the whole lot, and ordered more; said he’d -take all the tribe could scare up; and old Gingerbread—his American -name, so he said, was Rose, Solomon Rose—went away happy. When I found -what Jim Henry had paid him for the plunder, I didn’t blame Rose for -bein’ joyful. - -But Jacobs didn’t care. He was all excitement and hurrah again. He had a -new addition made to the Exchange sign. ’Twas "The Old Colony Women’s -Exchange, Curio Room, and Indian Exhibit" now; and inside of two days -the Burke Smythes and their friends was callin’ reg’lar, the auto -parties was rollin’ up to the door, and the money was rollin’ in. Injun -embroidery was somethin’ new; and the summer gang snapped at it like -bullfrogs at a red rag. - -Then that partner of mine was seized violent with another rush of ideas -to the head. I’m blessed if he didn’t hire old Rose—the "Last of the -Mohicans," he called him, among other ridiculous and outlandish names—to -spend his days in that Injun Exchange loft. Paid him ten dollars a week, -he did, just to set there and look the part. ’Twas a sinful waste of -money, ’cordin’ to my notion; but Jim Henry shut me up like a -huntin’-case watch—with a snap. - -"Who said he could sell?" he wanted to know. "I didn’t, did I? I don’t -know that he can’t—he’s shrewd enough when it comes to sellin’ us the -stuff he brings with him; but if he don’t sell a fifty-cent article—" - -"Which he won’t," I interrupted; "for there’s nothin’ less than -two-seventy-five _in_ the robbers’ den, and you know it. How you have -the face to charge—" - -"Will you be quiet?" he wanted to know. "As I say, whether he sells or -not, he’s wuth his wages twice over. Can’t you understand? Just oblige -me by rubbin’ your brains with scourin’ soap or somethin’, and _try_ to -understand. All the auto bunch ain’t lambs; some of them—the males -especially—are a fairly cagey collection; and there’s been doubts -expressed concernin’ the genuineness of our Injun exhibit. But with old -Uncas—with the Last of the Mohicans himself right on deck as a livin’ -guarantee, why, we could sell clam-shells as small change from Sittin’ -Bull’s wampum belt, and never raise a sacrilegious question even from a -Unitarian freethinker. It’s a cinch." - -"See here, Jim Henry," says I, "if this thing’s a fraud, I won’t have -anything to do with it." - -"Neither will I," says he, emphatic. "Frauds don’t pay, not in the long -run. But grandmother’s genuine antiques and the A-number-one, Simon-pure -embroideries of the noble red man—or woman—pay, and don’t you forget -it." - -They did pay; and old Mohican himself was a payin’ investment, too, in -spite of my doubts and Jeremiah prophesyin’. He made a ten-strike with -every female that hit that loft. They said he was so "quaint," and -"odd," and "pathetic." Mrs. Burke Smythe vowed there was somethin’ "big" -and "great" about him—meanin’ his nose or his boots, I presume -likely—and, somehow or other, though he didn’t look like a salesman, he -sold. And every week or so he’d take a day off and go back home, to -return with a fresh supply of tidies, and lace, and gimcracks. I changed -my mind about Injuns. I see right off that all the yarns I’d read about -’em was lies. They didn’t murder nor scalp their enemies—they smothered -’em with lamp mats. - -And ’twa’n’t fancywork alone that the Rose critter fetched back from -these home v’yages of his. He struck an "antique" vein somewheres in the -reservation; and not a week went by that he didn’t resurrect an old -bedstead or a table or a spinnin’ wheel or somethin’, and fetched ’em -down in an old wagon towed by an old white horse. The "children of the -forest"—which was another of Jim Henry’s names for the Injuns and -half-breeds—didn’t give up these things for nothin’; far from it. We had -to pay as much as if they was made of solid silver; but we sold ’em at -gold prices, so that part was all right. - -And every other day Jacobs would ask me what I thought of "by-products" -now. As for Armenian competition, it was dead. There wa’n’t any. - -Well, three more weeks drifted along, and the summer season was ’most -over. Then, one Tuesday mornin’, old Rose, the Mohican, didn’t show up. -He’d gone away on Friday cal’latin’ to be back Monday with a fresh lot -of "antiques" and centerpieces; but he wa’n’t. And Tuesday and Wednesday -passed, and he didn’t come. Jim Henry was awful worried. We needed more -stock, and we needed our Injun curio; and nothin’ would do but I must -turn myself into a relief expedition and hunt him up. - -"Somethin’s happened, sure," says Jacobs. "He’s never missed his time -afore. Those fellers pride themselves on keepin’ their word—you read -Cooper, if you don’t believe it—and he’s sick or dead; one or the -other." - -"Dead nothin’!" says I. "He’s too tough to kill, and nothin’ would make -him sick but soap and water, which ain’t one of his bad habits by a -consider’ble sight. However, if it’ll make you any easier, I’ll take the -mornin’ train and locate him if I can." - -"Go ahead," says he. "I’d do it myself, but I can’t leave just now. Go -ahead, Skipper, and don’t come back till you’ve got him, or found out -why he isn’t on hand." - -So I took the mornin’ train and set out to locate the noble red man. - - - - -CHAPTER IX—ROSES—BY ANOTHER NAME - - -But locatin’ him wa’n’t such an easy matter. All we knew was he lived -somewheres in Wampaquoit, and Wampaquoit is ten miles from nowhere, in -the woods up around Cohasset Narrows. I got off the train at the Narrows -depot, and, after considerable cruisin’ and bargainin’, I hired a horse -and buggy, and started to drive over. I lost my way and got onto a wood -road. Don’t ask me about that road. I don’t want to talk about it. I’d -been on salt water for a good many years, and I’d seen some rough goin’, -but rockin’ and bouncin’ over that wood road come nigher to makin’ me -seasick than any of my Grand Banks trips. Narrow! And grown over! My -land! I had to stoop to keep from bein’ scraped off the seat; and, -whenever I’d straighten up to ease my back, a pine branch would fetch me -a slap in the face that you could hear half a mile. - -As for my language, you could hear that _two_ miles. That road ruined my -moral reputation, I’m afraid. They had a revival meetin’ in the Narrows -meetin’-house the follerin’ week, but whether ’twas on my account or not -I don’t know. - -However, I made port after a spell—that is, I run afoul of a house and -lot in a clearin’ sort of; and I asked a black-lookin’ male critter, who -was asleep under a tree, how to get to Wampaquoit. He riz upon one -elbow, brushed the mosquitoes away from his mouth, and made answer that -’twas Wampaquoit I was in. - -"But the town?" says I. "Where’s the town?" - -Well, it appeared that this was the town, or part of it. The rest was -scattered along through the next three or four miles of wilderness. -Where was the center? Oh, there wa’n’t any. There was a schoolhouse and -a meetin’-house, and a blacksmith’s, and such, on the main road up a -piece, that was all. - -"But where do the Injuns live?" I wanted to know. "The knittin’ women, -the Lamp Mat Trust—where does it—she—they, I mean, live?" - -He couldn’t seem to make much out of this; and by and by he went into -the house and fetched out his wife. She was about as black as he was; -and I cal’lated they was a Portygee family; but, no, lo and behold you, -it turned out they was Injuns themselves! But they never heard of -anybody named Rose, nor of anybody that knit centerpieces, nor of an -"antique," nor anything. I give it up pretty soon, for my temper was -beginnin’ to heat up the surroundin’ air, and the mosquitoes seemed to -think I was "Old Home Week," and come for miles around and brought their -relations. I give up and drove away over a fairly decent road this time, -till I found another house. But this was just the same; Injuns in -plenty—’most everybody was part Injun—but nobody had heard of our -special Mohican nor of an "antique." And, which was queerer still, they -never heard of anybody around that done knittin’ or crochetin’ or lace -makin’, or had sold any, if they did do it. And they didn’t any of ’em -talk story-book Injun dialect, same as Uncas did. They used pretty fair -United States. - -Well, to bile this yarn of mine down, I rode through those woods and -around the settlement most of that afternoon. Then I was ready to give -up, and so was my old livery-stable horse. He’d gone dead lame, and -’twould have been a sin and a shame to make him walk a step farther. I -took him to the blacksmith’s shop, and left him there. I pounded -mosquitoes, and asked the blacksmith some questions, and he pounded iron -and wanted to ask me a million; but neither of us got a heap of -satisfaction out of the duet. - -Two things seemed to be sure and sartin. One was that Solomon Uncas -Rose, the "child of the forest" and chief of the tattin’ tribe, was -mistook when he give Wampaquoit as his home town; and t’other that, much -as I wanted to, I couldn’t get out of that town until evenin’. My horse -wa’n’t fit to travel, and I couldn’t hire another, not until after the -blacksmith had had his supper. Then he’d hitch up and drive me back to -the Narrows. - -But luck was with me for once. Up the road came bumpin’ a nice-lookin’ -mare and runabout wagon, with a pleasant-faced, gray-haired man on the -seat. The mare pulled up at the blacksmith’s house, and the man got down -and went inside. - -"Who’s that?" says I. "And what’s he done to be sentenced to this -place?" - -"Doctor," says the blacksmith, with a grunt—he was one-quarter Injun, -too. "Comes from West Ostable. My wife’s sick." - -"I sympathize with her," says I. "I’m sick, too—homesick. Maybe this -doctor’ll help me out. What I need is a change of scene; and I need it -bad." - -So, when the doctor come out of the house, I hailed him, and asked him -if he’d do a kindness to a shipwrecked mariner stranded on a lee shore. - -"Why, what’s the matter?" says he, laughin’. - -"Matter enough," I told him. "I want to go home. Besides, a merciful man -is merciful to the beasts; and if I stay here much longer these -mosquitoes’ll die of rush of my blood to their heads. I understand you -come from West Ostable, Doctor; but if ’twas Jericho ’twould be all the -same. I want you to let me ride there with you. And you can charge -anything you want to." - -That doctor was a fine feller. He laughed some more, and told me to jump -right in. Said he’d got to see one more patient on his way back; but, if -I didn’t mind that stop, he’d be glad of my company. So I told the -blacksmith to keep my horse and buggy overnight, and when I got to West -Ostable I’d telephone for the livery folks to send for ’em. Then I got -into the doctor’s runabout, and off we drove. - -We did consider’ble talkin’ durin’ the drive; but 'twas all general, and -nothin’ definite on my part. 'Course, he was curious to know what I was -doin’ 'way over there; but I said I come on business, and let it go at -that. I was beginnin’ to have some suspicions, and I cal’lated not to be -laughed at if I could help it. So we drove and drove; and, by and by, -when I judged we must be pretty nigh to West Ostable, he turned the -horse into a side road, and brought him to anchor alongside of an old -ramshackle house, with a tumble-down barn and out-buildin’s astern of -it. - -"Now, Cap’n," he says, "I’ll have to ask you to wait a few minutes while -I see that last patient of mine. ’Twon’t take long." - -"Patient?" says I. "Good land! Does anybody _live_ in this fag end of -nothin’ness?" - -"Yes," says he. "’Twas empty for years, but now a couple of fellers live -here all by themselves. Foreigners of some kind they are. Been here for -a month or more. One of ’em let a packin’ case fall on his foot, and—" - -"I sympathize with him," says I. "The same thing happened to me a spell -ago. But a packin’ case! Cranberry crate, you mean, I guess." - -"Maybe so," he says. "I didn’t ask. But 'twas somethin’ heavy, anyhow. -Nobody seems to know much about these chaps or what they do. Well, be as -comfort’ble as you can. I’ll be back soon." - -He took his medicine satchel and went into the house. Soon’s he was out -of sight, I climbed out of the buggy and started explorin’. I was -curious. - -I wandered around back of the house. Such a slapjack place you never see -in your life! Windows plugged with papers and old rags, shingles off the -roof, chimneys shy of bricks—’twas a miracle it didn’t blow down long -ago. Whoever the tenants was, they was only temporary, I judged, and -willin’ to take chances. - -From somewheres out in the barn I heard a scratchin’ kind of noise, and -I headed for there. The big door was open a little ways, and I squeezed -through. ’Twas pretty dark, and I couldn’t see much for a minute; but -soon as my eyes got used to the gloominess, I saw lots of things. That -barn was half filled with boxes and crates, some empty and some not. -There was a horse in the stall—an old white horse—and standin’ in the -middle of the floor was a wagon heaped with things, and covered with a -piece of tarpaulin. I lifted the tarpaulin. Underneath it was a spinnin’ -wheel, an old-fashioned table, two chairs, and a basket. There was -embroidery and fancywork in the basket. - -Then I took a few soundin’s among the full boxes and crates standin’ -round. I didn’t do much of this, ’cause the scratchin’ noise kept up in -a room at the back of the barn, and I wa’n’t anxious to disturb the -scratcher, whoever he was. But I saw a plenty. There was enough bran-new -"antiques" and "genuine" Injun knittin’ work in them crates and boxes to -stock the "Colonial Exchange" for six weeks, even with better trade than -we’d had. - -I’d seen all I wanted to in _that_ room, so I tiptoed into the other. A -feller was in there, standin’ back to me, and hard at work. He was -sandpaperin’ the polish off a mahogany sewin’ table; the kind Mrs. Burke -Smythe called a "find," and had in her best front parlor as an example -of what our great-granddads used to make, and we wa’n’t capable of in -these cheap and shoddy days. There was another "find" on the floor side -of him, a chair layin’ on its side. Pasted on the under side of the seat -was a paper label with "Grand Rivers Furniture Manufacturing Company" -printed on it. I judged that the hand of Time hadn’t got to work on that -chair yet, but it would as soon as it had antiqued the table. - -I watched the mellowin’ influence gettin’ in its licks—much as twenty -year passed over that table in the three minutes I stood there—and then -I spoke. - -"Hello, shipmate!" says I. "You’re busy, ain’t you?" - -He jumped as if I’d stuck a sail needle in him, the table tipped over -with a bang, and he swung around and faced me. And I’m blessed if he -wa’n’t that Armenian critter; the one that the clerk had talked to—the -"last survivor of the peddlin’ crew." - -I was expectin’ ’most anything to happen, and I was kind of hopin’ it -would. My fists sort of shut of themselves. But it didn’t happen. I knew -the feller; but, as luck would have it, he didn’t recognize me. He -swallered hard a couple of times, and then he says, pretty average ugly: - -"Vat d’ye want?" - -"Oh, nothin’," says I. "I just drove over with the doctor, and I cruised -’round the premises a little, that’s all. You must do a good business -here. Make this stuff yourself?" - -"No," he snapped. - -I could see that he was dyin’ to chuck me out, and didn’t dast to. I -picked up the chair and looked at it. - -"Humph!" I says. "Grand Rivers Company, hey? Buy of them, do you?" - -"Yes," says he. - -"And this?" I took a centerpiece out of one of the boxes. "This come -from Grand Rivers, too?" - -"No," says he. "Boston. Is dere anything else you vant to know?" - -"Guess not. You the sick man?" - -"No; mine brudder." - -"Your brother, hey? Let’s see. I wonder if I don’t know him. Kind of -tall and thin, ain’t he?" - -He sniffed contemptuous. - -"No," says he, "he’s short and fat." - -"Beg your pardon," says I, "guess I was mistook. Well, I must be gettin’ -back to the buggy; the doctor’s prob’ly waitin’ for me. Good day, -mister." - -He never said good-by; but I saw him watchin’ me all the way to the -gate. I climbed into the buggy, and set there till he went back into the -barn; then I got down and hurried to the front of the house. The door -wa’n’t fastened, and I went in. I met the doctor in the hall. He was -some surprised to see me there. - -"Hello, Doc!" says I. "Where’s your patient?" - -"In there," says he, pointin’ to the door astern of him. "But—" - -"How’s he gettin’ along?" I wanted to know. - -"Why, he’s better," he says. "He’s practically all right. I wanted him -to get up and walk, but he wouldn’t." - -"Wouldn’t, hey?" says I. "Humph! Well, maybe he wouldn’t walk for you; -but I’ll bet _I_ can make him _fly_." - -Before he could stop me, I flung that door open and walked into that -room. The sufferer from fallin’ packin’ boxes was settin’ in one chair -with his foot in another. I drew off, and slapped him on the shoulder -hard as I could. - -"Hello, Sol Uncas Mohicans!" I sung out. "How’s genuine antique lamp -mats these days?" - -For about two seconds he just set there and looked at me, set and -glared, with his mouth open. Then he let out a scream like a scared -woman, jumped out of that chair, and made for the kitchen door, lame -foot and all. I headed him off, and he turned and set sail for the one -I’d come in at. He reached the front hall just ahead of me; but my boot -caught him at the top step and helped him _some_. He never stopped at -the gate, but went head-first into the woods whoopin’ anthems. - -The sandpaperin’ chap came runnin’ out of the barn, and I took after -him; but he didn’t wait to see what I had to say. He dove for the woods -on his side. We had the premises to ourselves, and I went back and -picked up the doctor, who’d been upset by the "child of the forest" on -his way to the ancestral tall timber. - -"What—what—what?" gasps the medical man. "For Heaven sakes! Why, he -wouldn’t _try_ to walk when I asked him to. _How_ did you do that?" - -"Easy enough," says I. "’Twas an old-fashioned treatment, but it -helps—in some cases. Just layin’ on of hands, that’s all. Now, Doc, -afore you ask another question, let me ask you one. Ain’t that critter’s -name Rose?" - -He was consider’ble shook, but he managed to grin a little. - -"No," says he, "but you’ve guessed pretty near it." - -Then he told me what the name was. - -I rode back to West Ostable with that doctor and took the evenin’ train -home. Jim Henry was waitin’ for me on the store platform when I got out -of the depot wagon. - -"Well?" he wanted to know. "Did you find him?" - -"Humph!" says I. "I did find the lost tribes, a couple of members of -’em, anyway." - -"What do you mean by that?" says he. - -"Come somewheres where ’tain’t so public and I’ll tell you." - -So we went back into the back room and I told him my yarn. He listened, -with his mouth open, gettin’ madder and madder all the time. - -"Now," says I, endin’ up, "the way I look at it is this. I’ve been -thinkin’ it out on the cars and I cal’late we’ll have to do this way. We -ain’t crooks—that is, we didn’t mean to be—and now we know all our -’antiques’ are frauds and our ’Injun curios’ made up to Boston, we must -either shut up the ’Exchange’ or go back to home products. We’ll have to -keep mum about those we have sold, because most of ’em have been carted -out of town and we don’t know where to locate the buyers. But, for my -part, bein’ average honest and meanin’ to be square, I feel mighty bad. -What do you say?" - -He said enough. He felt as bad as I did about stickin’ our customers, -but what seemed to cut him the most was that somebody had got ahead of -him in business. - -"Think of it!" says he. "Skipper, we’re gold-bricked! Cheated! Faked! -Done! Think of it! If I could only get my hands on that—" - -"Hold on a minute," says I. "Better think the whole of it while you’re -about it. We set out to drive those peddlers out of what was _their_ -trade. If they was smart enough to turn the tables and make a good -profit out of sellin’ us the stuff, I don’t know as I blame ’em much. It -was just tit for tat—or so it seems to me now that I’ve cooled off." - -"Maybe so," says he; "but it hurts my pride just the same. James Henry -Jacobs, doctor of sick businesses, beat by a couple of peddlers from -Armenia!" - -"Hold on again," I says. "I ain’t told you their real name yet." - -"Their name?" he says. "I know it already. It’s Rose." - -"Not accordin’ to that West Ostable doctor, it ain’t. The name they give -_him_ was Rosenstein." - -He looked at me for a spell without speakin’. Then he smiled, heaved a -long breath, and reached over and shook my hand. - -"Whew!" says he. "Skipper, I feel better. Richard’s himself again. To be -beat in a business deal by Roses is one thing—but by Rosensteins is -another. You can’t beat the Rosensteins in business." - -"Not in the secondhand and by-productin’ business you can’t," says I. -"Them lines belong to 'em. We hadn’t any right to butt in." - -And we both laughed, good and hearty. - -"But," says I, after a little, "what’ll we do with that curio room, -anyway? Give it up?" - -"Not much!" says he, emphatic. "I guess we’ll have to give up the -antiques; but we’ve got the winter ahead of us, Skipper, and the Ostable -County embroidery crop flourishes best in cold weather. We’ll start the -old ladies knittin’ again and have a fairly good-sized stock when the -autos commence runnin’ once more. Give up the Colonial Pilgrim Mothers? -I should say not!" - -"All right," I says, dubious. "You may be right, Jim; you generally are. -But I’m a little scary of this by-product game. It’ll get us into -serious trouble, I’m afraid, some day. It’s easier to steer one big -craft, than ’tis to maneuver a fleet of little ones." - -He sniffed, scornful. "As I understand it, Cap’n Zeb," he says, "this -business of yours was in a pretty feeble condition when you called me in -to prescribe." - -"No doubt of that, Jim, but—" - -"Yes. And it’s a healthy, growin’ child now." - -"Yes. It sartin is." - -"Then, if I was you, I’d take my medicine and be thankful. Time enough -to complain when you commence to go into another decline. Ain’t that -so?" - -I didn’t answer. - -"Isn’t it so?" he asked again. - -"Maybe," I said; "but it may be a fatal disease next time; and it’s -better to keep well than to be cured—and a lot cheaper." - -He said I was a reg’lar bullfrog for croakin’, and hinted that I was in -the back row of the primer class so fur’s business instinct went. I had -a feelin’ that he was right, but I had another feelin’ that _I_ was -right, too. However, there was nothin’ to do but keep quiet and wait the -next development. Afore Christmas the development landed with both feet. - -I’d heard the news twice already that mornin’. Fust at the Poquit House -breakfast table, where 'twas served along with the chopped hay cereal -and warmed over and picked to pieces, as you might say, all through the -b’iled eggs and spider-bread, plumb down to the doughnuts and imitation -coffee. Then I’d no sooner got outdoor than Solon Saunders sighted me, -and he ’bout ship and beat acrost the road like a porgie-boat bearin’ -down on a school of fish. He was so excited that he couldn’t wait to get -alongside, but commenced heavin’ overboard his cargo of information -while he was in mid-channel. - -"Did you hear about the Higgins Place bein’ rented, Cap’n Snow?" he sung -out. "It’s been took for next summer and—" - -"Yes, yes, I heard it," says I. "Fine seasonable weather we’re havin’ -these days. Don’t see any signs of snow yet, do you?" - -If he’d been skipper of a pleasure boat with a picnic party aboard he -couldn’t have paid less attention to my weather signals. - -"It’s been hired for an eatin’-house," he says, puffin’ and out of -breath. "A man by the name of Fred from Buffalo, has hired it, and—" - -"Fred, hey?" I interrupted. "Humph! ’Cordin’ to the proclamations _I_ -heard he cruises under the name of George—Eben George—and he hails from -Bangor." - -"No, no!" he says, emphatic. "His name’s Edgar Fred and it’s Buffalo he -comes from. Henry Williams told me and he got it from his wife’s aunt, -Mrs. Debby Baker, and her cousin by marriage told her. She is a -Knowles—the cousin is—married one of the Denboro Knowleses—and _she_ got -it from Peleg Kendrick’s nephew whose stepmother is related to the woman -that used to do old Judge Higgins’s cookin’ when he was alive. So it -come straight, you see." - -"Yes," I says, "about as straight as the eel went through the snarled -fish net. All right. I don’t care. How’s your rheumatiz gettin’ on, -Solon?" - -I thought that would fetch him, but it didn’t. Gen’rally speakin’, he’d -talk for an hour about his rheumatiz and never skip an ache; but now he -was too much interested in the Higgins Place even to catalogue his -symptoms. - -"It’s some better," he says, "since I tried the Electric Ointment out of -the newspaper. But, Cap’n Zeb, did you know that this Fred man was goin’ -to start a swell dinin’-room for automobile folks? He is. He’s had all -kinds of experience in them lines. He’s goin’ to have foreign help and a -chief Frenchman to do the cookin’ and—and I don’t know what all." - -"I guess that’s right," says I. "Well, I don’t know what all, either, -and I ain’t goin’ to worry. We’ll see what we shall see, as the blind -feller said. Hello! there’s the minister over there and I’ll bet he -ain’t heard a word about it." - -That done the trick. Away he put, all sail set, to give the minister the -earache, and I went on down to the store. And there was Jacobs talkin’ -to a man I’d never seen afore and both of ’em so interested they -scarcely noticed me when I come in. - -He was a kind of ordinary-lookin’ feller at fust sight, the stranger -was, sort of a cross between a parson and a circus agent, judgin’ by his -get-up. Pretty thin, with black hair and a black beard, and dressed all -in black except his vest, which was thunder-storm plaid. I’d have -cal’lated he was in mournin’ if it hadn’t been for that vest. As ’twas -he looked like a hearse with a brass band aboard. Both him and Jacobs -was smokin’ cigars, the best ten-centers we carried in stock. - -"Mornin’," says I, passin’ by ’em. Jim Henry looked up and saw me. - -"Ah, Skipper," says he; "glad to see you. Come here. I want to make you -acquainted with Mr. Edwin Frank, who is intendin’ to locate here in -Ostable. Mr. Frank, shake hands with my partner, Cap’n Zebulon Snow." - -We shook, the band wagon hearse and me, and I felt as if I was back -aboard the old _Fair Breeze_, handlin’ cold fish. Jim Henry went right -along explainin’ matters. - -"Mr. Frank," he says, "has had a long experience in the restaurant and -hotel line and he believes there is an openin’ for a first-class -road-house in this town. He has leased the—" - -Then I understood. "Why, yes, yes!" I interrupted. "I know now. You’re -Mr. Eben Edgar Fred George from Buffalo and Bangor, ain’t you?" - -Then _they_ didn’t understand. When I explained about the boardin’-house -talk and Solon Saunders’ "straight" news, Jacobs laughed fit to kill and -even Mr. Fred George Frank pumped up a smile. But his pumps was out of -gear, or somethin’, for the smile looked more like a crack in an ice -chest than anything human. However, he said he was glad to see me and I -strained the truth enough to say I was glad to meet him. - -"So you’ve hired the Higgins Place, Mr. Frank," I went on. "Well, well! -And you’re goin’ to make a hotel of it. If old Judge Higgins don’t turn -over in his grave at that, he’s fast moored, that’s all." - -I meant what I said, almost. Judge Higgins, in his day, had been one of -the big-bugs of the town and his place on the hill was one of the best -on the main road. It set ’way back from the street and the view from -under the two big silver-leaf trees by the front door took in all -creation and part of Ostable Neck, as the sayin’ is. The Judge had been -dead most eight year now, and, bein’ a three times widower without chick -nor child, the estate was all tied up amongst the heirs of the three -wives and was fast tumblin’ to pieces. It couldn’t be sold, on account -of the row between the owners, but it had been let once or twice to -summer folks. To turn it into a tavern was pretty nigh the final -come-down, seemed to me. - -But Jim Henry Jacobs wa’n’t worryin’ about come-downs. He never let dead -dignity interfere with live business. He didn’t shed a tear over the old -place, or lay a wreath on Judge Higgins’s tomb. No, sir! he got down to -the keelson of things in a jiffy. - -"Skipper," he says, sweet and plausible as a dose of sugared -soothin’-syrup. "Skipper," he says, "Mr. Frank’s proposition is to open, -not a hotel exactly, but a first-class, up-to-date road-house and -restaurant. As progressive citizens of Ostable, as business men, -wide-awake to the town’s welfare, that ought to interest you and me, on -general principles, hadn’t it?" - -I judged that this was only Genesis, and that Revelation would come -later, so I nodded and said I cal’lated that it had—on general -principles. - -"You bet!" he goes on. "It does interest us. Speakin’ personally, I’ve -long felt that there was a place in Ostable for a dinin’-room, run to -bag—to attract, I mean—the wealthy, the well-to-do transient trade. Why, -just think of it!" he says, warmin’ up, "it’s winter now. By May or June -there’ll be a steady string of autos runnin’ along this road here, every -one of ’em solid full of city people and all hungry. Now, it’s a shame -to let those good things—I mean hungry gents and ladies, go by without -givin’ ’em what they want. If I hadn’t had so many things on my mind, if -the Ostable Store’s large and growin’ business hadn’t took my attention -exclusive, I should have ventured a flyer in that direction myself. But -never mind that; Mr. Frank here has got ahead of me and the job’s in -better hands. Mr. Frank is right up to the minute; he’s abreast of the -times and he—by the way, Mr. Frank, perhaps you wouldn’t mind tellin’ my -partner here somethin’ about your plans. Just give him the line of talk -you’ve been givin’ me, say." - -Mr. Frank didn’t mind. He had the line over in a minute and if I’d been -cal’latin’ that he was a frosty specimen with the water in his -talk-b’iler froze, I got rid of the notion in a hurry. He smiled, -polite, and begun slow and deliberate, but pretty soon he was runnin’ -twenty knots an hour. He told about his experience in the eatin’-house -line—he’d been everything from hotel manager to club steward—and about -how successful he’d been and how big the profits was, and what his -customers said about him, and so on. Afore a body had a chance to think -this over—or to digest it, long’s we’re talkin’ about eatin’—he was -under full steam through Ostable with the Higgins Place loaded to the -guards and beatin’ all entries two mile to the lap. He’d never seen a -better openin’; his experience backed his judgment in callin’ it the -ideal location and opportunity, and the like of that. He talked his -throat dry and wound up, husky but hurrahin’, with somethin’ like this: - -"Cap’n Snow," he says, "you and Mr. Jacobs must understand that I know -what I’m talkin’ about. This enterprise of mine will be the very highest -class. French chef, French waiters, all the delicacies and game in -season. A country Delmonico’s, that’s the dope—ahem! I mean that is the -reputation this establishment of ours will have; yes." - -I judged that the "dope" had slipped out unexpected and that the miscue -jarred him a little mite, for he colored up and wiped his forehead with -a red and yellow bordered handkerchief. I was jarred, too, but not by -that. - -"Establishment of _ours_?" I says, slow. "You mean yours, of course." - -He was goin’ to answer, but Jim Henry got ahead of him. - -"Sure! of course, Skipper," he says. "That’s all right. There!" he went -on, gettin’ up and takin’ me by the arm. "Mr. Frank’s got to be trottin’ -along and we mustn’t detain him. So long, Mr. Frank. My partner and I -will have some conversation and we’ll meet again. Drop in any time. Good -day." - -I hadn’t noticed any signs of Frank’s impatience to trot along, but he -took the hint all right and got up to go. He said good-by and I was -turnin’ away, when I see Jim Henry wink at him when they thought I -wa’n’t lookin’. I was suspicious afore; that wink made me uneasy as a -spring pullet tied to the choppin’-block. - - - - -CHAPTER X—THE SIGN OF THE WINDMILL - - -Eben George Edgar Edwin Delmonico Frank went out, dabbin’ at his -forehead with the red and yellow handkerchief. Jacobs kept his clove -hitch on my arm and led me out to the settee on the front platform. - -"Set down, Skipper," he says, cheerful and more’n extra friendly, seemed -to me. "Set down," he says, "and enjoy the December ozone." - -We come to anchor on the settee and there we set and shivered for much -as five minutes, each of us waitin’ for the other to begin. Finally Jim -Henry says, without lookin’ at me: - -"Well, Skipper," he says, "that chap’s sharp all right, ain’t he?" - -"Seems to be," says I, not too enthusiastic. - -"Yes, he is. If I’m any judge of human nature—and I hand myself _that_ -bouquet any day in the week—he knows his business. Don’t you think so?" - -"Maybe," I says. "But what business of ours his business is I don’t -see—yet. If you do, bein’ as you and me are supposed to be partners, -perhaps you wouldn’t mind soundin’ the fog whistle for my benefit. I -seem to have lost my reckonin’ on this v’yage. Why should we be -interested in this Frank man and his eatin’-house?" - -He laughed, louder’n was necessary, I thought, and slapped me on the -shoulder. - -"You don’t see where we come in, hey?" he says. "Well, I do. A -dinin’-room like that one of his will need a good many supplies, won’t -it? And, if I can mesmerize him into patronizin’ the home market, the -Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods Emporium -will gain some, I shouldn’t wonder. Hey, pard! How about that?" And he -slapped my shoulder again. - -I turned this over in my mind. "Humph!" I says. "I begin to see." - -"You bet you do!" he says, laughin’. "The amount of stuff I can sell -that restaurant will—" - -But I broke in here. I remembered that wink and I didn’t believe I was -clear of the choppin’-block yet. - -"Hold on!" says I. "Heave to! And never mind poundin’ my starboard -shoulder to pieces, either. I said I _begun_ to see; I don’t see clear -yet. How did you and he come to get together in the fust place? Did you -go and hunt him up? or did he come in here to see you?" - -He kind of hesitated. "Why," he says, "he come into the store, and—" - -"Did he happen in, or did he come to see you a-purpose?" - -"He—I believe he came to see me. Then he and I—" - -"Heave to again! He didn’t come to see you to beg the favor of buyin’ -goods of you, ’tain’t likely. Jim Jacobs, answer me straight. There’s -somethin’ else. That feller wants somethin’ of you—or of us. Now what is -it?" - -He hesitated some more. Then he upset the woodpile and let out the -darky. - -"Well," he says, "I’ll tell you. I was goin’ to tell you, anyway. -Frank’s all right. He’s got a good idea and he’s got the experience to -put it into practice; but he’s somethin’ the way old Beanblossom was -afore you took a share in this store—he needs a little more capital." - -I swung round on the settee and looked him square in the eye. - -"I—see," I says, slow. "Now—I see! He’s after money and he wants us to -lend it to him. I might have guessed it. Well, did you say no right off? -or was you waitin’ to have me say it? You might have said it yourself. -You knew I’d back you up." - -Would you believe it? he got as red as a beet. - -"I didn’t say anything," he says. "Don’t go off half-cocked like that. -What’s the matter with you this mornin’? He don’t want to borrer money. -He wants more capital in the proposition—wants to float it right. And -he’s been inquirin’ around and has found that you and me are the two -leadin’ business men in the place and has come to us first. It’s more a -favor on his part than anything else. He offers to let us have a third -interest between us; you put in a thousand and I do the same. Why, man, -it’s a cinch! It’s a chance that don’t come every day. As I told you, -I’ve had the same notion in my head for a long time. A summer -dinin’-room like that in this town is—" - -"Wait!" I interrupted. "What do you know about this Frank critter? -Where’d he come from? Who is he?" - -"He comes from Pittsburg. That’s the last place he was in. And he’s got -his pockets full of references and testimonials." - -"Humph! Anybody can get testimonials. Write ’em himself, if there wa’n’t -any other way. I had a second mate once with more testimonials than -shirts, enough sight, and he—" - -"Oh, cut it out! Besides, I don’t care where he comes from. He’s sharp -as a steel trap; that much I can tell with one eye shut. And he’s run -dinin’-rooms and hotels; that I’ll bet my hat on. That’s all we need to -know. A road-house in this town is a twenty per cent proposition durin’ -the summer months. It’s the chance of a lifetime, I tell you." - -"Maybe so. But how do you know the feller’s honest?" - -"I don’t care whether he’s honest or not. It doesn’t make any -difference. If I wa’n’t here to keep my eye peeled, it might be; but -I’ll be here and if he gets ahead of me, he’ll be movin’ to some extent. -Someone else’ll grab the chance if we don’t. I’m for it. What do you -say?" - -I shook my head. "Jim," says I, "I can see where you stand. You’re so -dead sartin that an eatin’-house of that kind’ll pay big, that you’re -blind to the rest of it. Now I don’t pretend to be a judge of human -nature like you—leavin’ out Injun and Rosenstein human nature, of -course—nor a doctor of sick businesses, which is your profession. But my -experience is—" - -He stood up and sniffed impatient. - -"Cut it out, I tell you!" he says, again. "This ain’t an experience -meetin’. Will you take a flyer with me in that road-house, or won’t -you?" - -"Way I feel now, I won’t," says I, prompt. - -He turned on his heel, took a step towards the door and then stopped. - -"Well," he says, "you think it over till to-morrer mornin’ and then let -me know. Only, you mark my words, it’s a chance. And, with me to keep my -eye on it, there’s no risk at all." - -So that’s the way it ended that day. And half that night I laid awake, -feelin’ meaner’n dirt to say no to as good a partner as I had, and yet -pretty average sure I was right, just the same. - -In the mornin’ my mind was still betwixt and between. I went down to the -store and walked back to the post-office department. I looked in through -the little window and saw Mary Blaisdell inside, sortin’ the outgoin’ -letters. The sunshine, streamin’ in from outside, lit up her hair till -it looked like one of them halos in a church picture. Seems to me I -never saw her look prettier; but then, every time I saw her I thought -the same thing. A good-lookin’ woman and a good woman—yes, and capable. -That she’d lived so many years without gettin’ married, was one of the -things that made a feller lose confidence in the good-sense of humans. -The chap that got her would be lucky. Then I caught a glimpse of myself -in the lookin’-glass where customers tried on hats, and decided I’d -better stop thinkin’ foolishness or somebody would catch me at it and -send me to the comic papers. - -"Mornin’, Mary," says I. "Has Mr. Jacobs come aboard yet?" - -She turned and came to her side of the window. - -"Yes," she says, "he was here. He’s gone out now with that Mr. Frank. I -believe they’ve gone up to the old Higgins Place." - -"Um-hm," says I. "Well, Mary, just between friends, I’d like to ask you -somethin’. Do you like that Frank man’s looks?" - -She wa’n’t expectin’ that and she didn’t know how to answer for a jiffy. -Then she kind of half laughed, and says: "No, Cap’n Zeb, since you ask -me, I—I don’t. I don’t like him. And I haven’t any good reason, either." - -I nodded. "Much obliged, Mary," says I. "And, since you ain’t asked me, -I’ll tell you that _I_ don’t like him. And my reason’s about as good as -yours. Maybe it’s his clothes. A man, ’cordin’ to my notion, has a right -to look like a horse jockey, if he wants to; and he’s got a right to -look like an undertaker. But when he looks like a combination of the -two, I—well, I get skittish and begin to shy, that’s all. It’s too much -as if he was baited to trap you dead or alive." - -Then Jim Henry come in and when, an hour or so later, he got me one side -and asked me if I’d made up my mind about investin’ in Frank’s -road-house, I answered prompt that my mind was made up and the answer -was still no. He was disapp’inted, I could see that, and pretty mad. - -"Humph!" says he. "Skipper, you’re all right except for one fault—you’re -as ’country’ as they make ’em, and they make ’em pretty narrer -sometimes. Well, you’ve had the chance. Don’t ever tell me you haven’t." - -"I won’t," says I, and we didn’t mention the subject for a long time. -Then—but that comes later. However, I judged that Frank had found folks -in Ostable who wa’n’t as narrer and "country" as I was, for, inside of a -week, the carpenters was busy on the Higgins Place. They built on great, -wide piazzas; they knocked out partitions between rooms; they made the -house pretty much over. In March loads of fancy furniture came from -Boston. At last a windmill three feet high—made to look like a little -copy of the old Cape windmills our great-granddads used to grind grist -in, with sails that turned—was set up in the front yard, and on a post -by the big gate was swingin’ a fancy notice board, with a gilt windmill -painted on that, and the words in big letters: - - THE SIGN OF THE WINDMILL. - - MEALS AT ALL HOURS. - - _Steaks, Chops, Game, Etc._ - _Table D’hote Dinner Each Day at 1.15._ - - _Special Accommodations for Auto Parties._ - -That was it, you see. "The Sign of the Windmill" was the name of the new -road-house. - -But that wa’n’t all the advertisin’, by a consider’ble sight. There was -signs all up and down the main roads, with hands p’intin’ in the -"Windmill" direction. And there was ads in the Cape papers and in the -Boston papers, too. I swan, I didn’t believe anybody but Jim Henry -Jacobs could have engineered such advertisin’! And there was a -black-lookin’ critter with the ends of his mustache waxed so sharp you -could have sewed canvas with 'em—he was the French chef—and three -foreign waiters, and a dark-complected fleshy woman who seemed to be a -sort of general assistant manager and stewardess, and—and—goodness knows -what there wa’n’t. There was so many kinds of hired help that I couldn’t -see where Frank himself come in—unless he was the spare "windmill," -which, judgin’ by his gift of gab, I cal’late might be the fact. - -"The Sign of the Windmill" bought all its groceries and general supplies -at the store, which, considerin’ that we’d turned down the "chance" to -be part owners, seemed sort of odd to me, ’cause Frank didn’t look like -a feller who’d forgive a slight like that. But I judged Jim Henry had -hypnotized him, as he done other difficult customers, and so I said -nothin’. The auto season opened and our weekly bills with that -road-house was big ones, but they was paid every week, and I hadn’t any -kick there, either. - -As for the business that dinin’-room done, it was surprisin’, -particularly Saturdays and Sundays, when there’d be twenty or more autos -in the front yard and more a-comin’. The table d’hote dinner at 1.15 was -so well patronized that folks had to wait their turns at table and -later, on moonlight nights, the old house was all lighted up and you -could hear the noise of dishes rattlin’ and the laughin’ and singin’ -till after eleven o’clock. And our bills with the "Sign of the Windmill" -kept gettin’ bigger and bigger. - -But though the auto parties was thick and the patronage good, still -there was some dissatisfaction, I found out. One big car stopped at the -store on a Saturday afternoon and the boss of it talked with me while -the women folks was inside buyin’ postcards and such. - -"Well," says I, to the owner of the car, a big, fleshy, good-natured -chap he was, "well," says I, "I cal’late you’ve all had a good dinner. -Feed you fust-class up there at the Windmill place, don’t they?" - -He sniffed. "Humph!" says he, "the food’s all right. It ought to be, at -the price. Is the proprietor of that hotel named Allie Baby?" - -"Allie which?" I says, laughin’. "No, no, his name’s Frank. Edwin George -Eben etcetery Frank. What made you think ’twas Allie?" - -"’Cause he’s a close connection of the Forty Thieves," he says, sharp. -"He’d take a prize in the hog class at a county fair, that chap would. -What’s the matter with him? Does he think he’s runnin’ a get-rich-quick -shop? Two weeks ago I paid a dollar and a half for a dinner there, and -that was seventy-five cents too much. Now he’s jumped to two-fifty and -the feed ain’t a bit better." - -"Two dollars and a half for a _dinner_!" says I. "Whew! The cost of -livin’ _is_ goin’ up, ain’t it? What do they give you? Canary birds’ -tongues on toast? Any shore dinner ever I see could be cooked for—" - -He interrupted. "Shore dinner nothin’!" he snorts. "I wouldn’t kick at -the price if I got a good shore dinner. But what we got here is a poor -imitation of a country Waldorf. Everybody’s kickin’, but we all go there -because it’s the best we can find for twenty miles. However, I hear -another place is to be started in Denboro and if _that_ makes good, your -Forty Thief friend will have to haul in his horns. He’ll never get -another cent from me, or a hundred others I know, who have been his best -customers. We’re all waitin’ to give him the shake and it looks as if we -should be able to do it. We motorin’ fellers stick together and, if the -word’s passed along the line, the "Sign of the Windmill" will be a dead -one, mark my words." - -I marked ’em, and when, by and by, I heard that the Denboro dinin’-room -was open and doin’ a good business, I underscored the mark. - -This was about the middle of June. A week later Jim Henry got the -telegram about his younger brother out in Colorado bein’ sick and -wantin’ to see him bad. He hated to go, but he felt he had to, so he -went. - -I said good-by to him up at the depot and told him not to worry a mite. -"I’ll look out for everything," I says. "Course I’ll miss you at the -store, but I’ll write you every day or so and keep you posted, and you -can give me business prescriptions by mail." - -"That’s all right, Skipper," says he, "I know the store’ll be took care -of. But there’s one thing that—that—" - -"What’s the one thing?" I asked. "Overboard with it. My shoulders are -broad and I won’t mind totin’ another hogshead or so." - -He hesitated and it seemed to me that he looked troubled. But finally he -said he’d guessed ’twas nothin’ that amounted to nothin’ anyway and he’d -be back in a couple of weeks sure. So off he went and I had a sort of -Robinson Crusoe desert island feelin’ that lasted all that day and -night. - -It lasted longer than that, too. I didn’t hear from him for ten days. -Then I got a note sayin’ his brother had scarlet fever—which seemed a -fool disease for a grown-up man to have—and was pretty sick. I wrote to -him for the land sakes to be careful he didn’t get it himself, and the -next news I heard was from a doctor sayin’ he _had_ got it. After that -the bulletins was infrequent and alarmin’. - -I’d have put for Colorado in a minute, but I couldn’t; that store was on -my shoulders and I couldn’t leave. I telegraphed not to spare no expense -and to write or wire every day. ’Twas all I could do, but I never spent -such a worried time afore nor since. I was worried, not only about my -partner, but about the business he’d put in my charge. There was new -developments in that business and they kept on developin’. - -'Twas the "Sign of the Windmill" that was troublin’ me. As I told you, -the weekly bills for that eatin’-house was big ones, but the fust three -or four had been paid on the dot. Now, however, they wa’n’t paid and -they was just as big. Frank’s account on our books kept gettin’ larger -and larger and, not only that, but anybody could see that the Windmill -wa’n’t doin’ half the trade it begun with. There was more auto parties -than ever, but the heft of ’em went right on by to the new road-house in -Denboro. I remembered what the fleshy man told me and I judged that the -word had been passed to the motorin’ crew, just as he prophesied. - -I went up to see Frank and had a talk with him. I found him in his -office, settin’ at a fine new roll-top desk, with the dark-complected -stewardess alongside of him. She seemed to be helpin’ him with his -letters and accounts, which looked odd to me, and she glowered at me -when I come in like a cat at a stray poodle. She didn’t get up and go -out, neither, till he hinted p’raps she’d better, and even then she -whispered to him mighty confidential afore she went. 'Twas a queer way -for hired help to act, but ’twa’n’t none of my affairs, of course. - -He was cordial enough till he found out what I was after and then he -chilled up like a freezer full of cream. He was in the habit of payin’ -his bills, he give me to understand, and he’d pay this one when 'twas -convenient. If I didn’t care to sell the Windmill goods, that was my -affair, of course, but his relations with my partner had been so -pleasant that—and so forth and so on. I sneaked out of that office, -feelin’ like a henroost-thief instead of an honest man tryin’ to collect -an honest debt. I’d bungled things again. Instead of makin’ matters -better, I’d made ’em worse; come nigh losin’ a good customer and all -that. What business had an old salt herrin’ like me to be in business, -anyhow? That’s how I felt when I was talkin’ to him, and how I felt when -I shut that office door and come out into the dinin’-room. - -But the sight of that dinin’-room, tables all vacant, and two waiters -where there had been four, fetched all my uneasiness back again. If ever -a place had "Goin’ down" marked on it ’twas the "Sign of the Windmill." -I stewed and fretted all the way to the store and when I got there I -found that another big order of groceries and canned goods had been -delivered to the eatin’ house while I was gone. - -The next week’ll stick in my mind till doomsday, I cal’late. Every -blessed mornin’ found me vowin’ I’d stop sellin’ that Windmill, and -every night found more dollars added to the bill. You see, I didn’t know -what to do. If I’d been sole owner and sailin’ master, I’d have set my -foot down, I guess; but there was Jim Henry to be considered. I wrote a -note to the Frank man, but he didn’t even trouble to answer it. - -Saturday noon came round and, after the mail was sorted, I wandered out -to the front platform and set there, blue as a whetstone. The gang of -summer boarders and natives, that’s always around mail times, melted -away fast and I was pretty nigh alone. Not quite alone; Alpheus Perkins, -the fish man, was occupyin’ moorin’s at t’other end of the platform and -he didn’t seem to be in any hurry. By and by over he comes and sets down -alongside of me. - -"Cap’n Zeb," he says, fidgety like, "I s’pose likely you’ve been -wonderin’ why I don’t pay your bill here at the store, ain’t you?" - -I hadn’t, havin’ more important things to think about, but now I -remembered that he did owe consider’ble and had owed it for some time. -Alpheus is as straight as they make ’em and usually pays his debts -prompt. - -"I know you must have," he went on, not waitin’ for me to answer. "Well, -I intended to pay long afore this, and I will pay pretty soon. But I’ve -had trouble collectin’ my own debts and it’s held me back. If I could -only get my hands on one account that’s owin’ me, I’d be all right. -Say," says he, tryin’ hard to act careless and as if ’twa’n’t important -one way or t’other: "Say," he says, "you know Mr. Frank, up here at the -hotel, pretty well, don’t you?" - -For a minute or so I didn’t answer. Then I knocked the ashes out of my -pipe and says I, "Why, yes. I know him. What of it?" - -"Oh, nothin’ much," he says. "Only I was told he was a partic’lar friend -of yours and Mr. Jacobs’s and—and—" - -"Who told you he was our partic’lar friend?" I asked. - -"Why, he did. I was up there yesterday, just hintin’ I could use a check -on account. Not pressin’ the matter nor tryin’ to be hard on him, you -understand; course he’s all right; but I was mighty short of ready cash -and so—" - -"Hold on, Al!" I said, quick. "Wait! Does the ’Sign of the Windmill’ owe -you a bill?" - -"Pretty nigh a hundred dollars," says he. "I’ve supplied ’em with fish -and lobsters and clams and such ever since they started. Fust month they -paid me by the week. After that—" - -"Good heavens and earth!" I sung out. "My soul and body! And—and, when -you asked for it, this—this Frank man told you he’d pay you when 'twas -convenient, same as he paid Jacobs and me, who was his friends and was -quite ready to do business that way." - -He actually jumped, I’d surprised him so. - -"Hey?" he sung out. "Zeb Snow, be you a second-sighter? How did you know -he told me that?" - -I drew a long breath. "It didn’t take second sight for that," I says. "I -was up there last Monday and he told me the same thing, only ’twas you -and Ed Cahoon who was his friends then." - -He let that sink in slow. - -"My godfreys domino!" he groaned. "My godfreys! He—he told—Why! why, he -must be workin’ the same game on all hands!" - -"Looks like it," says I, and, thinkin’ of Jim Henry, poor feller, sick -as he could be, and the business he’d left me to look out for, my heart -went down into my boots. - -Perkins set thinkin’ for a jiffy. Then he got up off the settee. - -"The son of a gun!" he says. "I’ll fix him! I’ll put my bill in a -lawyer’s hands to-night." - -"No, you won’t," I sung out, grabbin’ him by the arm. "You mustn’t. He -owes the Ostable Store four times what he owes you, and it’s likely he -owes Cahoon and a lot more. The rest of us can’t afford to let you upset -the calabash that way. You might get yours, though I’m pretty doubtful, -but where would the rest of us come in. You set down, Alpheus. Set down, -and let me think. Set down, I tell you!" - -When I talk that way—it’s an old seafarin’ habit—most folks usually obey -orders. Alpheus set. He started to talk, but I hushed him up and, havin’ -filled my pipe and got it to goin’, I smoked and thought for much as -five minutes. - -"Hum!" says I, after the spell was over, "the way I sense it is like -this: This ain’t any fo’mast hand’s job; and it ain’t a skipper’s job -neither. It’s a case for all hands and the ship’s cat, workin’ together -and standin’ by each other. We’ve got to find out who’s who and what’s -what, make up our minds and then all read the lesson in concert, like -young ones in school. This Frank Windmill critter owes you and he owes -me; we’re sartin of that. More’n likely he owes Ed Cahoon for chickens -and fowls and eggs, and Bill Bangs for milk, and Henry Hall for ice, and -land knows how many more. S’pose you skirmish around and find out who he -does owe and fetch all the creditors to the store here to-morrer mornin’ -at eleven o’clock. It’ll be church time, I know, but even the parson -will excuse us for this once, ’specially as the ’Sign of the Windmill’ -is supposed to sell liquor and he’s down on it." - -We had consider’ble more talk, but that was the way it ended, finally. I -went to bed that night, but it didn’t take; I might as well have set up, -so fur’s sleep was concerned. All I could think of was poor, sick Jim -Henry and the trust he put in me. - - - - -CHAPTER XI—COOKS AND CROOKS - - -I was at the store by quarter of eleven, but the gang of creditors was -there to meet me, seven of ’em altogether. Cahoon, the chicken man, and -Bangs, the milk man, and Hall, the ice man, and Alpheus, and Caleb -Bearse, who’d been supplyin’ meat to that road-house, and Peleg Doane, -who’d done carpenterin’ and repairs on it, and Jeremiah Doane, his -brother, who’d painted the repaired places. Seven was all the creditors -Perkins could scare up on short notice, though he cal’lated there was -more. - -"There’s one more, anyway," says Bill Bangs. "That dark-complected -woman—the one you call the stewardess, Cap’n Zeb—was sick a spell ago -and Frank told Doctor Goodspeed he’d be responsible for the bill. I see -the doc this mornin’ and he’s with us. Says he may be down later." - -They elected me chairman of the meetin’ and we started deliberatin’. The -debts amounted to quite a lot, though the Ostable Store’s was the -biggest. Some was for doin’ one thing and some another, but we all -agreed we must see Colcord, the lawyer, afore we did much of anything. -While we was still pow-wowin’, somebody knocked at the door. ’Twas -Doctor Goodspeed, on the way to see a patient. - -"Well," says he, "how’s the consultation comin’ on? Judgin’ by your -faces, I should imagine ’twas a autopsy. Time to take desperate -measures, if you asked _me_. I never did believe that Frank chap was -anything but a crook, so I’m not surprised. I’m with you in spirit, -boys, though I can’t stop. However, here’s a couple of pieces of -information which may interest you: One is that ’The Sign of the -Windmill’s’ account was overdrawn yesterday at the bank and the bank -folks sent notice. T’other is that Lawyer Colcord is out of town for a -couple of days, so you can’t get him. Otherwise than that, the patient -is normal. By, by. Life’s a giddy jag of joy, isn’t it?" - -He grinned and shut the door with a bang. The eight of us looked at each -other. Then Alpheus Perkins riz to his feet. - -"Humph!" says he. "Account overdrawn, hey? Well, maybe that Windmill -ain’t made enough to pay its bills, but it’s been takin’ in consider’ble -cash. If it ain’t at the bank, where is it? I’m goin’ to find out. And -if I can’t get a lawyer to help me, I’ll do without one. That Frank -critter’s store clothes are wuth somethin’, and, if I can’t get nothin’ -more, I’ll rip _them_ right off his back. So long, fellers. Keep your -ear to the ground and you’ll hear somethin’ drop." - -He headed for the door, but he didn’t go alone. The rest of us got there -at the same time, and I—well, I wouldn’t wonder if ’twas me that opened -it. I was desperate, and I’ve commanded vessels in my time. - -Anyhow, ’twas me that led the procession up the front steps of the "Sign -of the Windmill" and into the dinin’-room. The two waiters was busy. -They had five of the tables set end to end and covered with cloths, and -they was layin’ plates and knives and forks for a big crowd. ’Twas plain -that special customers was expected. - -"Mr. Frank in his office?" says I, headin’ for the skipper’s cabin. The -waiters looked at each other and jabbered in some sort of foreign lingo. - -"No, sare," says one of ’em. "No, sare. Meester Frank, he is away—out." - -"Away out, hey?" says I. "You’re wrong, son. We’re the ones that are -out, but we ain’t goin’ to be out another cent’s wuth. Come on, boys, -we’ll find him." - -You can see I was mighty mad, or I wouldn’t have been so reckless. I -walked acrost that dinin’-room and flung open the office door. Frank -himself wa’n’t there, but who should be settin’ at his roll-top desk, -but the fleshy, dark-complected stewardess woman. She glowered at me, -ugly as a settin’ hen. - -"This is a private room," she snaps. - -"I know, ma’am," says I; "but the business we’ve come on is sort of -private, too. Come in, boys." - -The seven of ’em come in and they filled that office plumb full. The -stewardess woman’s black eyes opened and then shut part way. But there -was fire between the lashes. - -"What do you mean by comin’ in here?" says she. "And what do you want?" - -The rest of the fellers looked at me, so I answered. - -"Ma’am," says I, "we don’t want nothin’ of you and we’re sorry to -trouble you. We’ve come to see Mr. Frank on a matter of business, -important business—that is, it’s important to us." - -"Mr. Frank is out," says she. "You must call again. Good day." - -She turned back again to the desk, but none of us moved. - -"Out, is he?" says I. "Well then, I cal’late we’ll wait till he comes -in." - -"He is out of town. He won’t be in till to-morrer," she snaps. - -I looked ’round at the rest of the crowd. Every one of ’em nodded. - -"Well, then, ma’am," I says, "I cal’late we’ll stay here and wait till -to-morrer." - -That shook her. She got up from the desk and turned to face us. If I’m -any judge of a temper she had one, and she was holdin’ it in by main -strength. - -"You may tell me your business," she says. "I am Mr. -Frank’s—er—secretary." - -So I told her. "We’ve waited for our money long as we can," says I. -"None of us are well-off and every one of us needs what’s owin’ him. -We’ve called and we’ve wrote. Now we’re goin’ to stay here till we’re -paid. Of course, ma’am, I realize 'tain’t none of your affairs, and we -ain’t goin’ to make you any more trouble than we can help. We’ll just -set down on the piazza or in the dinin’-room or somewheres and wait for -your boss, that’s all." - -I said that, ’cause I didn’t want her to think we had anything against -her personal. I cal’lated 'twould smooth her down, but it didn’t. She -looked as if she’d like to murder us, every livin’ soul. - -"You get out of here!" she screamed, her hands openin’ and shuttin’. -"You get right out of here this minute!" - -"Yes, ma’am," says I, "we’ll get out of your office, of course. -Further’n that you’ll have to excuse us. We’re goin’ to stay right in -this house till we see Mr. Frank." - -"I’ll put you out!" she sputtered. "I’ll have the waiters put you out." - -I thought of them two puny lookin’ waiters and, to save me, I couldn’t -help smilin’. You’d think she’d have seen the ridic’lous side of it, -too, but apparently she didn’t, for she bust right through between -Alpheus and me and rushed into the dinin’-room. - -"Boys," says I, to the crowd, "maybe we’d better step out of here. We -may need more room." - -She was in the dinin’-room talkin’ foreign language in a blue streak to -the waiters. They was lookin’ scared and spreadin’ out their hands and -hunchin’ their shoulders. - -"Ma’am," says I, "if I was you I wouldn’t do nothin’ foolish. We ain’t -goin’ and we won’t be put out, but, on the other hand, we won’t make any -fuss. We’ll just set down here and wait for the boss, that’s all. Set -down, boys." - -So all hands come to anchor on chairs around that dinin’-room and -grinned and looked silly but determined. The stewardess glared at us -some more and then rushed off upstairs. In a minute she was back with -her hat on. - -"You wait!" says she. "You just wait! I’ll put you in prison! I’ll—Oh—" -The rest of it was French or Italian or somethin’, but we didn’t need an -interpreter. She shook her fists at us and run down the front steps and -away up the road. - -"Well, gents all," says I, "man born of woman is of few days and full of -trouble. To-day we’re here and to-morrer we’re in jail, as the sayin’ -is. Anybody want to back out? Now’s the accepted time." - -Nobody backed. The two waiters went on with their table settin’ and we -set and watched ’em. 'Twas the queerest Sunday mornin’ ever I put in. By -and by Alpheus got uneasy and wandered away out towards the kitchen. In -a few minutes back he comes, b’ilin’ mad. - -"Say, fellers," he sung out. "Do you know what’s goin’ on here? There’s -a party of thirty folks comin’ in automobiles for dinner. They’re -gettin’ the dinner ready now. And if we don’t stop 'em, they’ll be fed -with our stuff, the grub we’ve never got a cent for. I don’t know how -you feel, but _I’ve_ got ten dollar’s wuth of clams and lobsters in this -eatin’-house that ain’t goin’ to be used unless I get my pay for ’em. -You can do as you please, but I’m goin’ to stay in that kitchen and -watch them lobsters and things." - -And out he put, headed for the kitchen. The rest of us looked at each -other. Then Caleb Bearse rose to his feet. - -"Well," says he, determined, "there’s a lot of chops and roastin’ beef -and steaks out aft here that belong to me. None of _them_ go to feed -auto folks unless I get my pay fust." - -And _he_ started for the kitchen. Then up gets Ed Cahoon and follers -suit. - -"I’ve got six or eight fowl and some eggs aboard this craft," he says. -"I cal’late I’ll keep ’em company." - -The rest of us never said nothin’, but I presume likely we all thought -alike. Anyhow, inside of three minutes we was all out in that kitchen -and facin’ as mad a chief cook and bottle washer as ever hailed from -France or anywheres else. You see, ’twas time to put the lobsters and -clams and all the rest of the truck on the fire and we wa’n’t willin’ to -see 'em put there. - -The chief or "chef," or whatever they called him, fairly hopped up and -down. The madder he got the less English he talked and the less -everybody else understood. Bill Bangs done most of the talkin’ for our -side and he had the common idea that to make foreigners understand you -must holler at 'em. Some of the other fellers put in their remarks to -help along, all hollerin’ too, and such a riot you never heard outside -of a darky camp-meetin’. While the exercises was at their liveliest the -telephone bell rung. After it had rung five times I went into the other -room to answer it. When I got back to that kitchen I got Alpheus to one -side and says I: - -"Al," I says, "this thing’s gettin’ more interestin’ every minute. That -telephone call was from the man that’s ordered the big dinner here -to-day. There’s thirty-two in his party and they’ve got as far as -Cohasset Narrows already. They’ll be here in an hour and a half. He -’phoned just to let me know they was on the way." - -"Humph!" says he. "What did he say when you told him there wouldn’t be -no dinner?" - -"He didn’t say nothin’," says I, "because I didn’t tell him. The wire -was a bad one and he couldn’t hear plain, so he lost patience and rung -off. Said I could tell him whatever I wanted to say when him and his -party got here. _I_ don’t want to tell him anything. You can explain to -thirty-two hungry folks that there’s nothin’ doin’ in the grub line, if -you want to—I don’t." - -"Humph!" he says again. "I ain’t hankerin’ for the job. What had we -better do, Cap’n Zeb, do you think?" - -"Well," says I, "I cal’late we’d better shorten sail and haul out of the -race, for a spell, anyhow. At any rate we’d better clear out of this -kitchen and leave that chef and the rest to get the dinner. I know it’s -our stuff that’ll go to make that dinner, but I don’t see’s we can help -it. A few dollars more won’t break us more’n we’re cracked already." - -But he waved his hand for me to stop. "No question of a few dollars is -in it. It’s no use," he says, solemn; "you’re too late. The Frenchman’s -quit." - -"Quit?" says I. - -"Um-hm," says he. "Bill Bangs told him that we fellers had took charge -of this road-house and he and the rest of the kitchen help quit right -then and there. They’re out in the barn now, holdin’ counsel of war, I -shouldn’t wonder. Bill seems to think he’s done a great piece of work, -but I don’t." - -I didn’t either; and, after I’d hot-footed it to the barn and tried to -pump some reason and sense into that chef and his gang, I was surer of -it than ever. They wouldn’t listen to reason, not from us. They wanted -to see the boss, meanin’ Mr. Frank. He was the one that had hired ’em -and they wouldn’t have anything to say to anybody else. - -I come back to the kitchen and found the boys all settin’ round lookin’ -pretty solemn. My joke about the jail wa’n’t half so funny as it had -been. Bill Bangs, who’d been the most savage outlaw of us all, was the -meekest now. - -"Say, Cap’n," he says to me, nervous like, "hadn’t we better clear out -and go home? I don’t want to see them auto people when they get here. -And—and I’m scared that that stewardess has gone after the sheriff." - -"I presume likely that’s just where she’s gone," says I. - -"Wh-what’ll we do?" says he. - -"Don’t know," says I. "But I do know that the time for backin’ out is -past and gone. We started out to be pirates and now it’s too late to -haul down the skull and cross-bones. We’ve got to stand by our guns and -fight to the finish, that’s all I see. If the rest of you have got -anything better to offer, I, for one, would be mighty glad to hear it." - -Everybody looked at everybody else, but nobody said anything. ’Twas a -glum creditors’ meetin’, now I tell you. We set and stood around that -kitchen for ten minutes; then we heard voices in the dinin’-room. - -"Heavens and earth!" sings out Ed Cahoon. "Who’s that? It can’t be the -automobile gang so soon!" - -It wa’n’t. ’Twas a parcel of women. You see, some of the crowd had told -their wives about the counsel at the store and that, more’n likely, we’d -pay a visit to the "Sign of the Windmill." Church bein’ over, they’d -come to hunt us up. There was Alpheus’s wife, and Cahoon’s, and Bangs’s, -and Bearse’s, and Jerry Doane’s daughter, and Mary Blaisdell. They was -mighty excited and wanted to know what was up. We told ’em, but we -didn’t hurrah none while we was doin’ it. - -"Well," says Matildy Bangs, "I must say you men folks have made a nice -mess of it all. William Bangs, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. -What’ll I do when you’re in state’s prison? How’m I goin’ to get along, -I’d like to know! You never think of nobody but yourself." - -Poor Bill was about ready to cry, but this made him mad. "Who would I -think of, for thunder sakes!" he sung out. "I’m the one that’s goin’ to -be jailed, ain’t I?" - -Then Mary Blaisdell took me by the arm. Her eyes were sparklin’ and she -looked excited. - -"Cap’n Snow," she whispered, "come here a minute. I want to speak to -you. I have an idea." - -"Lord!" says I, groanin’, "I wish _I_ had. What is it?" - -What do you suppose ’twas? Why, that we, ourselves, should get up the -dinner for the auto folks. Every woman there could cook, she said, and -so could some of the men. We’d seized the stuff for the dinner already. -It was ours, or, at any rate, it hadn’t been paid for. - -"We can get ’em a good dinner," says she. "I know we can. And, if that -Frank doesn’t come back until you have been paid, you can take that much -out of his bills. If he does come no one will be any worse off, not even -he. Let’s do it." - -I looked at her. As she said, we wouldn’t be any worse off, and we might -as well be hung for old sheep as lamb. The auto folks would be better -off; they’d have some kind of a meal, anyhow. - -We had a grand confab, but, in the end, that’s what we done. Every one -of them women could cook plain food, and Mrs. Cahoon was the best cake -and pie maker in the county. We divided up the job. All hands had -somethin’ to do, includin’ me, who undertook a clam chowder, and Bill -Bangs, who split wood and lugged water and cussed and groaned about -state’s prison while he was doin’ it. - -The last thing was ready and the last plate set when the autos, six of -’em, purred and chugged up to the front door. We expected Frank, or the -stewardess, or the constable, or all three of ’em, any minute, but they -hadn’t showed up. The dinner crowd piled in and set down at the tables -and the head man of ’em, the one who was givin’ the party, come over to -see me. And who should he turn out to be but the stout man I’d met at -the store. The one who had told me he’d been waitin’ for a chance to get -even with Frank. I don’t know which was the most surprised to meet each -other in that place, he or I. - -"Hello!" says he. "What are you doin’ here? You joined the Forty -Thieves? Where’s the boss robber?" - -I told him the boss was out; that there was some complications that -would take too long to explain. - -"But, at any rate," says I, "you’re meal’s ready and that’s the main -thing, ain’t it?" - -"Yes," says he, "it is. I’ve got a crowd of New York men—business -associates of mine and their wives—down for the week end and I wanted to -give ’em a Cape dinner. I never would have come here, but the Denboro -place is full up and couldn’t take us in. I hope the dinner is a better -one than the last I had in this place." - -I told him not to expect too much, but to set and be thankful for -whatever he got. He didn’t understand, of course, but he set down and we -commenced servin’ the dinner. - -We started in with Little Neck quahaugs and followed them up with my -clam chowder. Then we jogged along with bluefish and hot biscuit and -creamed potatoes. After them come the lobsters and corn and such. Eat! -You never see anybody stow food the way those New Yorkers did. - -In the middle of the lobster doin’s I bent over my fleshy friend and -asked him if things was satisfactory. He looked up with his mouth full. - -"Great Scott!" says he. "Cap’n, this is the best feed I’ve had since I -first struck the Cape, and that was ten years ago. What’s happened to -this hotel? Is it under new management?" - -I didn’t feel like grinnin’, but I couldn’t help it. - -"Yes," says I, "it is—for the time bein’." - -The final layer we loaded that crowd up with was blueberry dumplin’ and -they washed it down with coffee. Then the fat man—his name was -Johnson—hauled out cigars and the males lit and started puffin’. I went -out to the kitchen to see how things was goin’ there. - -Mary Blaisdell, with a big apron tied over her Sunday gown, was washin’ -dishes. Her sleeves was rolled up, her hair was rumpled, and she looked -pretty enough to eat—at least, I shouldn’t have minded tryin’. - -"How was it?" she asked. "Are they satisfied?" - -"If they ain’t they ought to be," says I. "And to-morrer the dyspepsy -doctors’ll do business enough to give us a commission. But where’s our -old college chum, the chef, and the waiters and all?" - -"They’re in the barn," says she. "They tried to come in here and make -trouble, but Mr. Perkins wouldn’t let ’em. He drove ’em back to the barn -again. But they’re dreadfully cross." - -"I shouldn’t wonder," I says. "Well, goodness knows what’ll come of -this, Mary, but—" - -Bill Bangs interrupted me. He come tearin’ out of the dinin’-room, white -as a new tops’l, and his eyes pretty close to poppin’ out of his head. - -"My soul!" he panted. "Oh, my soul, Cap’n Zeb! They’re comin’! they’re -comin’!" - -"Who’s comin’?" I wanted to know. - -"Why, Mr. Frank, and that stewardess! And John Bean, the constable, is -with ’em. What shall I do? I’ll have to go to jail!" - -He was all but cryin’, like a young one. I left him to his wife, who, -judgin’ by her actions, was cal’latin’ to soothe him with a pan of hot -water, and headed for the front porch. However, I was too late. I hadn’t -any more than reached the dinin’-room, where all the comp’ny was still -settin’ at the tables, than in through the front door marches Mr. Edwin -Frank of Pittsburg, and the stewardess, and John Bean, the constable. -The band had begun to play and ’twas time to face the music. - -Frank looked around at the crowd at the tables, at Mrs. Cahoon, and -Alpheus, and the rest who’d done the waitin’; and then at me. His face -was fire red and he was ugly as a shark in a weir net. - -"Humph!" says he. "What does this mean? Snow, what high-handed outrage -have you committed on these premises?" - -I held up my hand. "Shh!" says I, tryin’ to think quick and save a -scene; "Shh, Mr. Frank!" I says. "If you’ll come into your private cabin -I’ll explain best I can. Somebody had to get dinner for this crowd. Your -Frenchmen wouldn’t work, so we did. All we’ve used is our grub, that -which ain’t been paid for, and—" - -His teeth snapped together and he was so mad he couldn’t speak for a -second. The stewardess was as mad as he was, but it took more’n that to -keep her quiet. - -"Fred," says she—and even then, upset as I was, I noticed she didn’t -call him by the name he give Jacobs and me—"Fred, have him arrested. -He’s the one that’s responsible for it all. Officer, you do your duty. -Arrest that Snow there! Do you hear?" - -She was pointin’ to me. Poor old Bean hadn’t arrested anybody for so -long that he’d forgot how, I cal’late. All he did was stammer and look -silly. - -"Cap’n Zeb," he says, "I—I’m dreadful sorry, but—but—" - -Then _he_ was interrupted. A big, tall, gray-haired chap, who was -settin’ about amidships of the table got to his feet. - -"Just a minute, Officer," says he, quiet, and never lettin’ go of his -cigar, "just a minute, please. The—er—lady and gentleman you have with -you are old acquaintances of mine. Hello, Francis! I’m very glad to see -you. We’ve missed you at the Conquilquit Club. This meetin’ is -unexpected, but not the less pleasant." - -He was talkin’ to the Frank man. And the Frank man—well, you should have -seen him! The red went out of his face and he almost flopped over onto -the floor. The stewardess went white, too, and she grabbed his arm with -both hands. - -"My Lord!" she says, in a whisper like, "it’s Mr. Washburn!" - -"Correct, Hortense," says the gray-haired man. "You haven’t forgotten -me, I see. Flattered, I’m sure." - -For just about ten seconds the three of ’em looked at each other. Then -Frank made a jump for the door and the woman with him. They was out and -down the steps afore poor old Bean could get his brains to workin’. - -"Stop ’em!" shouts Washburn. "Officer, don’t let ’em get away!" - -But they’d got away already. By the time we’d reached the porch they was -in the buggy they’d come in and flyin’ down the road in a cloud of dust. - -I wiped my forehead. - -"Well!" says I, "_well!_" - -Johnson pushed through the excited bunch and took the gray-haired feller -by the arm. - -"Say, Wash," he says, "you’re havin’ too good a time all by yourself. -Let us in on it, won’t you? Your friends are goin’ some; no use to run -after them. Who are they?" - -Washburn knocked the ashes from his cigar and smiled. He’d been cool as -a no’thwest breeze right along. - -"Well," he says, "the masculine member used to be called Fred Francis. -He was steward of the Conquilquit Country Club on Long Island for some -time. He cleared out a year ago with a thousand or so of the Club funds, -and we haven’t been able to trace him since. He was a first-class -steward and sharp as a steel trap—but he was a crook. The woman—oh, she -went with him. She is his wife." - - - - -CHAPTER XII—JIM HENRY STARTS SCREENIN’ - - -A whole month more went by afore Jim Henry Jacobs was well enough to -come home. When he got off the train at the Ostable depot, thin and -white and lookin’ as if he’d been hauled through a knothole, I was -waitin’ for him. Maybe we wa’n’t glad to see each other! We shook hands -for pretty nigh five minutes, I cal’late. I loaded him into my buggy and -drove him down to the Poquit House and took him upstairs to his room, -which had been made as comf’table and cozy as it’s possible to make a -room in that kind of a boardin’-house. - -He set down in a big chair and looked around him. - -"By George, Skipper!" he says, fetchin’ a long breath, "this is home, -and I’m mighty glad to be here. Where’d all the flowers come from?" - -"Mary is responsible for them," I told him. "She thought they’d sort of -brighten up things." - -"They do, all right," says he, grateful. "And now tell me about -business. How is everything?" - -I told him that everything was fine; trade was tip-top, and so on. He -listened and was pleased, but I could see there was somethin’ else on -his mind. - -"There’s just one thing more," he said, soon’s he got the chance. "I -knew the store must be O. K.; your letters told me that. But—er—but—" -tryin’ hard to be casual and not too interested, "how is Frank doin’ -with his restaurant? How’s the 'Sign of the Windmill’ gettin’ on?" - -Then I told him the whole yarn, almost as I’ve told it here. He -listened, breakin’ out with exclamations and such every little while. -When I got to where the Washburn man told who Frank and the stewardess -was, he couldn’t hold in any longer. - -"A crook!" he sung out. "A crook! And she was his wife!" - -"So it seems," says I. "And that ain’t all of it, neither. You remember -the doctor said he’d drawn his account out of the Ostable bank. Yes. -Well, that account didn’t amount to much; he’d used it about all, -anyway. But there was another account in his wife’s name at the Sandwich -bank, and _that_ was fairly good size." - -"Did you get hold of that?" he asked, excited. - -"No, we didn’t. ’Twas in her name and we wouldn’t have touched it, if -we’d wanted to; but we didn’t get the chance. She drew it all the very -next mornin’ and the pair of ’em cleared out. I judge they’d planned to -skip in a few days anyhow, and our creditors’ raid only hurried things -up a little mite. The whole thing was a skin game—Frank and his precious -wife had seen ruination comin’ on and they’d laid plans to feather their -own nest and let the rest of us whistle. We ain’t seen ’em from that day -to this." - -He was shakin’ all over. "You ain’t?" he shouted, jumpin’ from the -chair. "You ain’t? Why not? What did you let ’em get away for? Why -didn’t you set the police after ’em? What sort of managin’ do you call -that? I—I—" - -"Hush!" says I, surprised to see him act so. "Hush, Jim! you ain’t heard -the whole of it yet. Our bill—" - -"Bill be hanged!" he broke in. "I don’t care a continental about the -bill. I invested fifteen hundred dollars of my own money in that -road-house, and you let that fakir get away with the whole of it. You’re -a nice partner!" - -_I_ was surprised now, and a good deal cut up and hurt. ’Twas an -understandin’ between us—not a written one, but an understandin’ just -the same—that neither should go into any outside deal without tellin’ -the other. We’d agreed to that after the row concernin’ Taylor and the -"Palace Parlors." So I was surprised and hurt and mad. But I held in -well as I could. - -"That’s enough of that, Jim Henry!" says I. "I’ll talk about that later. -Now I’ll tell you the rest of the yarn I started with. After that -critter who called himself Frank, but whose name, it seemed, was -Francis, had galloped away with the stewardess woman, there was -consider’ble excitement around that dinin’-room, now I tell you. -However, Johnson and Washburn and me managed to get together in the -private office and I told ’em all about how we come to be there, and -about our gettin’ their dinner, and all the rest of it. They seemed to -think 'twas funny, laughed liked a pair of loons, but I was a long ways -from laughin’. - -"’Well, well, well!’ says Johnson, when I’d finished, 'that’s the best -joke I’ve heard in a month of Sundays. You sartinly have your own ways -of doin’ business down here, Cap’n Snow. But the dinner was a good one -and I’ll pay you for it now. How much?’ - -"’Well,’ says I, ’I suppose I ought to get what I can for our crowd to -leave with their wives and relations afore we’re carted to jail. Course -the meal we got for you wa’n’t what you expected and I can’t charge that -Frank thief’s price for it; but I’ve got to charge somethin’. If you -think a dollar a head wouldn’t be too much, I—’ - -"’A _dollar_!’ says both of ’em. ’A dollar!’ - -"’Do you mean that’s all you’ll charge?’ says Johnson. ’A dollar for -_that_ dinner! It was the best—’ - -"’You bet it was!’ says Washburn. - -"’Look here!’ goes on Johnson. ’I was to pay Frank, or whatever his real -name is, two-fifty a plate. Yours was wuth three of any meal I ever got -here, but, if you will be satisfied with the contract price I made with -him, I’ll give you a check now. And, Cap’n Snow, let me give you a piece -of advice. Now you’ve got this hotel, keep it; keep it and run it. If -you can furnish dinners like this one every day in the week durin’ the -summer and fall you’ll have customers enough. Why, I’ll engage -twenty-five plates for next Sunday, myself. I’ve got another week-end -party, haven’t I, Wash?’ - -"’If you haven’t I can get one for you,’ says Washburn. ’Johnson’s -advice is good, Cap’n. Keep this place and run it yourself. Don’t be -afraid of Francis. Confound him! I ought to have him jailed. The Club -would pitch me out if they knew I had the chance and didn’t take it. But -I won’t, for your sake. So long as he doesn’t trouble you I’ll keep -quiet. But if he _does_ trouble you, if he ever comes back, just send -for me. However, you won’t have to send; he’ll never come back.’ - -"And," says I, to Jim Henry, "he ain’t ever come back. I talked the -matter over with Mary and Alpheus and a few of the others and, after -consider’ble misgivin’s on my part, we reached an agreement. I decided -to run the ’Sign of the Windmill’ myself. We bounced the chef and his -helpers and the foreign waiters and hired Alpheus’s wife and Cahoon’s -daughter and four or five more. We fed ten folks that next day and they -all said they was comin’ again. They did and they fetched others. The -upshot of it is that all that hotel’s outstandin’ bills have been paid, -the place is out of debt, and the outlook for next season is somethin’ -fine. There, Jim Henry, that’s the yarn. I went through Purgatory -because I figgered that you had trusted the store business in my hands -and the Windmill’s bill was so large and I thought I was responsible for -it. If I’d known you’d put money into the shebang without tellin’ me, -your partner, a word about it, maybe I’d have felt worse. I _should_ -have felt worse—I do now—but in another way. I didn’t think you’d do -such a thing, Jim! I honestly didn’t." - -He’d set down while I was talkin’. Now he got up again. - -"Skipper," he says, sort of broken, "I—I don’t know what to say to you. -I—" - -"It’s all right," says I, pretty sharp. "Your fifteen hundred’s all -right, I cal’late. The furniture and fixin’s are wuth that, I guess. Is -there anything else you want to ask me? If not I’m goin’ to the store." - -I was turnin’ to go, but he stepped for’ard and stopped me. - -"Zeb," he says, his face workin’, "don’t go away mad. I’ve been a chump. -You ought to hate me, but I—I hope you won’t. I was a fool. I thought -because you was country that you hadn’t any head for business, and when -you wouldn’t invest in that Windmill proposition I was sore and went -into it myself. My conscience has plagued me ever since. I’m a low-down -chump. I deserve to lose the fifteen hundred and I’m glad I did. By the -Lord Harry! you’ve got more real business instinct than I ever dreamed -of." - -He looked so sort of weak and sick and pitiful that I was awful sorry -for him, in spite of everything. - -"Don’t talk foolish," says I. "You ain’t lost your money. It’s yours -now; at least I don’t think Brother Fred George Eben Frank Francis’ll -ever turn up to claim it." - -He shook his head. "Not much!" he says. "You don’t suppose I’ll take a -share in that hotel, after you and your smart managin’ saved it, do you? -I ain’t quite as mean as that, no matter what you think. No, sir, you’ve -made good and the whole property is yours. All I want you to do is to -give me another chance. If I live I’ll show you how thankful I—" - -"There! there!" says I, all upset, "don’t say another word. Of course -we’ll hang together in this, same as in everything else. Shake, and -let’s forget it." - -We shook hands and his was so thin and white I felt worse than ever. - -"Skipper," he says, "I can’t thank—" - -"No need to thank me," I cut in. "If you’ve got to thank anybody, thank -Mary Blaisdell. She’s been the brains of that eatin’-house concern ever -since I took hold of it. She’s a wonder, that woman. If she’d been my -own sister she couldn’t have done more. I wish she was." - -He looked at me, pretty queer. - -"Skipper," says he, smilin’, "if you wish that you’re a bigger chump -than I’ve been, and that’s sayin’ a heap." - -What in the world he meant by that I didn’t know—but I didn’t ask him. -Not that I didn’t think. I’d been thinkin’ a lot of foolish things -lately, but you could have cut my head off afore I said ’em out loud, -even to myself. - -He came down to the store the next mornin’ and the sight of it seemed to -be the very tonic he needed. He got better day by day and pretty soon -was his own brisk self again. "The Sign of the Windmill"—by the way, I’d -changed the name on my own hook and ’twas the "Sign of the Bluefish" -now—done fust rate all through the fall and when we closed it we was -sure that next summer it would be a little gold mine for us. In fact, -everything in the trade line looked good, by-products and all, and I -ought to have been a happy man. But I wa’n’t exactly. Somehow or other I -couldn’t feel quite contented. I didn’t know what was the matter with me -and when I hinted as much to Jacobs he just looked at me and laughed. - -"You’re lonesome, that’s what’s the matter with you," he says. "You’re -too good a man to be boardin’ at a one-horse ranch like the Poquit." - -"I’ll admit that," says I. "I’ll give in that I’m next door to an angel -and ought to wear wings, if it’ll please you any to have me say so. And -the Poquit ain’t a paradise, by no means. But I’ve sailed salt water for -the biggest part of my life and it ain’t poor grub that ails me." - -"Who said it was?" says he. "I said you were lonesome. You ought to have -a home." - -"Old Mans’ Home you mean, I s’pose. Well, I ain’t goin’ there yet." - -He laughed again and walked off. - -In October he went up to Boston and came back with his head full of new -ideas and his pockets full of notions. He’d been to what the -advertisements called the Industrial Exhibition in Mechanics’ Buildin’ -up there, and had fetched back every last thing he could get for nothin’ -and some few that he bought cheap. He had a sample trap that, accordin’ -to the circular, would catch all the able-bodied rats in a township the -fust night and make all the crippled and bedridden ones grieve -themselves to death of disappointment because they couldn’t get into it -afore closin’ hours. And he had the Gunners’ Pocket Companion, which was -a foldin’ hatchet and butcher knife, with a corkscrew in the handle; and -samples of "cereal coffee" that didn’t taste like either cereal or -coffee; and safety razors that were warranted not to cut—and wouldn’t; -and—and I don’t know what all. These was side issues, however, as you -might say. What he was really enthusiastic over was the Eureka -Adjustable Aluminum Window Screen. If he’d been a mosquito he couldn’t -have been more anxious about them screens. - -"They’re the greatest ever, Skipper!" he says to me, enthusiastic. "Fit -any window; can’t rust—and a child of twelve can put ’em up." - -"That part don’t count," says I. "Nowadays if a child of twelve ain’t -halfway through Harvard his folks send for the doctor. I may be a -hayseed, but I read the magazines." - -He went right along, never payin’ no attention, and praisin’ up them -screens as if he was nominatin’ 'em for office. Finally he made -proclamation that he’d applied—in the store name, of course—for the -Ostable County agency for ’em. - -"But why?" says I. "We’ve got an adjustable screen agency now. And -they’re good screens, too. No mosquito can get through them—unless it -takes to usin’ a can-opener, which wouldn’t surprise me a whole lot." - -"I know they are good screens," says he; "but there’s nothin’ new or -novel about ’em. And, I tell you, Cap’n Zeb, it’s novelty that catches -the coin. We want to get the contract for screenin’ that new hotel at -West Ostable. It’ll be ready in a couple of months and there’s two -hundred rooms in it. Let’s say there are two windows to a room; that’s -four hundred screens—besides doors and all the rest. That hotel will -need screens, won’t it?" - -"Need ’em!" says I. "In West Ostable! In among all them salt meadows and -cedar swamps! It’ll need screens and nettin’s and insect powder and -'intment—and even then nobody but the hard-of-hearin’ bo’rders’ll be -able to sleep on account of the hummin’. Need screens! _That_ hotel! My -soul and body!" - -Well, then, we must get the contract—that’s all. It was well wuth the -trouble of gettin’. And with the Adjustable Aluminum to start with, and -he, Jim Henry, to do the talkin’, we would get it. He’d applied for the -county agency and the Adjustable folks had about decided to give it to -him. They’d write and let us know pretty soon. - -A week went by and we didn’t hear a word. Then, on the followin’ Monday -but one, come a letter. Jim Henry was openin’ the mail and I heard him -rip loose a brisk remark. - -"What’s the matter?" says I. - -"Matter!" he snarls. "Why, the miserable four-flushers have turned me -down—that’s all. Read that!" - -I took the letter he handed me. It was type-wrote on a big sheet of -paper, with a printed head, readin’: "Ormstein & Meyer, Hardware and -Tools. Manufacturers of Eureka Adjustable Aluminum Window Screens." And -this is what it said: - - _Mr. J. H. Jacobs_, - - _Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods - Store, Ostable, Mass._ - - _Dear Sir_: Regarding your application for Ostable County ag’y - Eureka Adjustable Aluminum Window Screens, would say that we - have decided to give ag’y to party named Geo. Lentz, who will - give entire time to it instead making it a side issue as per - your conversation with our Mr. Meyer. Regretting that we cannot - do business together in this regard, but trusting for a - continuance of your valued patronage, we remain - - Yours truly, - - _Ormstein & Meyer._ - - Dic. M—L. G. - -"Now what do you think of that?" snaps Jim, mad as he could stick. "What -do you think of that!" - -"Well," says I, slow, "I think that, speakin’ as a man in the -crosstrees, it looks as if you and me wouldn’t furnish screens for the -West Ostable Hotel." - -He half shut his eyes and stared at me hard. - -"Oh!" says he. "That’s what you think, hey?" - -"Why, yes," I says. "Don’t you?" - -"No!" he sings out, so loud that ’Dolph Cahoon, our new clerk, who’d -been half asleep in the lee of the gingham and calico dressgoods -counter, jumped up and stepped on the store cat. The cat beat for port -down the back stairs, whoopin’ comments, and ’Dolph begun measurin’ -calico as if he was wound up for eight days. - -"No!" says Jacobs again, soon as the cat’s opinion of ’Dolph had faded -away into the cellar—"No!" he says. "I don’t think it at all. We may not -sell Eureka Adjustables to that hotel, but we’ll sell screens to it—and -don’t you forget that. I’ll make it my business to get that contract if -I don’t do anything else. I’m no quitter, if you are!" - -"Nary quit!" says I. "I’ll stand by to pull whatever rope I can; but it -does seem to me that this agent, whoever he is, will have an eye on that -hotel. And, accordin’ to your accounts, he’s got better goods than we -have." - -"Maybe. But if he’s a better salesman than I am he’ll have to go some to -prove it. I’ll beat him, by fair means or foul, just to get even. That’s -a promise, Skipper, and I call you to witness it." - -"Wonder who this Geo. Lentz is," says I. "’Tain’t a Cape name, that’s -sure." - -"I don’t care who he is. I only wish he’d have the nerve to come into -this store—that’s all. He’d go out on the fly—I tell you that! And -that’s another promise." - -Maybe ’twas; but, if so—However, I’m a little mite ahead of myself; fust -come fust served, as the youngest boy said when the father undertook to -thrash the whole family. The fust thing that happened after our talk and -the Eureka folks’ letter was Jim Henry’s goin’ over to West Ostable to -see Parkinson, the hotel man. He went in the new runabout automobile -that he’d bought since he got back from the West, and was gone pretty -nigh all day. When he got back he was hopeful—I could see that. - -"Well," says he, "I’ve laid the cornerstone. I’ve talked the -Nonesuch"—that was the brand of screen we carried—"to beat the cars; and -we’ll have a show to get in a bid, at any rate. It’ll be six weeks more -afore the contract’s given out, and meantime yours truly will be on the -job. If our old college chum, G. Lentz, Esquire, don’t hustle he’ll be -left at the post." - -"What sort of a chap is this Parkinson man?" I asked. - -"Oh, he’s all right; big and fat and good-natured. A good feller, I -should say. Likes automobilin’, too, and thinks my car is a winner." - -"Married, is he?" says I. - -"No; he’s a widower. That’s a good thing, too." - -"Why? What’s that got to do with it?" - -"A whole lot. If he was married I’d have to take Mrs. P. along on our -auto rides; and—let alone the fact that there wouldn’t be room—she’d -want to talk scenery instead of screens. Women and business don’t mix. -That’s one reason why I’ve never married." - -I couldn’t help thinkin’ of some of the hints he’d been heavin’ at -me—the "home" remarks and so on—but I never said nothin’. - -This was a Tuesday. And when, on Thursday afternoon, I walked into the -store, after havin’ had dinner at the Poquit, I found ’Dolph Cahoon—our -new clerk I’ve mentioned already—leanin’ graceful and easy over the -candy counter and talkin’ with a young woman I’d never seen afore. I -didn’t look at her very close, but I got a sort of general observation -as I walked aft to the post-office department; and, sifted down, that -observation left me with remembrances of a blue serge jacket and skirt, -cut clipper fashion and fittin’ as if they was built for the craft that -was in ’em; a little blue hat—a real hat; not a velvet tar barrel upside -down—with a little white gull’s wing on it; brown eyes and brown hair, -and a white collar and shirtwaist. I didn’t stop to hail, you -understand; but I judged that the stranger’s home port wa’n’t Ostable or -any of the Cape towns. Ostable outfitters don’t rig ’em that way. - -I come in the side door, and ’Dolph or his customer didn’t notice me. -The young woman was lookin’ into the showcase; and, as for ’Dolph, he -wouldn’t have noticed the President of the United States just then. He -was twirlin’ his red mustache with the hand that had the rock-crystal -ring on the finger of it, and his talk was a sort of sugared purr—at -least, that’s the nighest description of it that I can get at. - -I set down in my chair at the postmaster’s desk and begun to turn over -some papers. Mary had gone to dinner and Jim Henry was away in his auto; -so I was all alone. I turned over the papers, but I couldn’t get my mind -on ’em—the talk outside was too prevailin’, so to speak. - -'Dolph was doin’ the heft of it. The young woman’s answers was short and -not too interested. 'Dolph was remarkin’ about the weather and what a -dull winter we’d had, and how glad he’d be when spring really set in and -the summer folks begun to come—and so on. - -"Really," says he, and though I couldn’t see him I’d have bet that the -mustache and ring was doin’ business—"Really," he says, "there’s a -dreadful lack of cultivated society in this town, Miss—er—" - -He held up here, waitin’, I judged, for the young woman to give her -name. However, she didn’t; so he purred ahead. - -"There’s so few folks," he says, "for a young feller like me—used to the -city—to associate with. This is a jay place all right. I’m only here -temporary. I shall go back to Brockton in the fall, I guess." - -_I_ guessed he’d go sooner; but I kept still. - -"Are you goin’ to remain here for some time?" he asked. - -"Possibly," says the girl. - -"I’m ’fraid you’ll find it pretty dull, won’t you?" - -"Perhaps." - -"I should be glad to introduce you to the folks that are worth knowin’. -Are you fond of dancin’? There’s a subscription ball at the town hall -to-night." - -This was what a lawyer’d call a leadin’ question, seemed to me; but the -answer didn’t seem to lead to anything warmer than the North Pole. The -young woman said, "Indeed?" and that was all. - -"I’m perfectly dippy about waltzin’," says ’Dolph. "By the way, won’t -you have some confectionery? These chocolates are pretty fair." - -I riz to my feet. I don’t mind bein’ a philanthropist once in a while, -but I like to do my philanthropin’ fust-hand. And them chocolates sold -for sixty cents a pound! - -I had my hand on the doorknob. Just as I turned it I heard the young -woman say, crisp and cold as a fresh cucumber: - -"Pardon me, but will your employer be in soon? If not I’ll call -again—when he is in." - -"You won’t have to," says I, steppin’ out of the post-office room and -walkin’ over toward the candy counter. "One of him’s in now. ’Dolph, you -can put them chocolates back in the case. Oh, yes—and you might -associate yourself with the broom and waltz out and sweep the front -platform. It’s been needin’ your cultivated society bad." - -The rest of that clerk’s face turned as red as his mustache, and the way -he slammed the chocolate box into the showcase was a caution! Then I -turned to the young woman, who was as sober as a deacon, except for her -eyes, which were snappin’ with fun, and says I: - -"You wanted to see me, I believe, miss. My name’s Zebulon Snow and I’m -one of the partners in this jay place. What can I do for you?" - -She waited until ’Dolph and the broom had moved out to the platform. -Then she turned to me and she says: - -"Captain Snow," she says, "I understand that your firm here is intendin’ -puttin’ in a bid for the window screens at the new hotel at West -Ostable. Is that so?" - -I was consider’ble surprised, but I didn’t see any reason why I -shouldn’t tell the truth. - -"Why, yes, ma’am," says I; "we are figgerin’ on the job. Are you -interested in that hotel? If you are I’d be glad to show you samples of -the Nonesuch screen. We cal’late that it’s a mighty slick article." - -She smiled, pretty as a picture. - -"I am interested in the hotel," she says; "and in screens, though not -exactly in the way you mean, perhaps. Here is my card." - -She took a little leather wallet out of her jacket-pocket and handed me -a card. I took it. ’Twas printed neat as could be; but it wa’n’t the -neatness of the printin’ that set me all aback, with my canvas -flappin’—’twas what that printin’ said: - - GEORGIANNA LENTZ - - _Ostable County Agent for the_ - _Eureka Adjustable Aluminum Window Screen_ - -"What?—What!—Hey?" says I. - -"Yes," says she. - -"Agent for the Eureka Adjusta—You!" - -"Why, yes; of course. The Eureka people wrote you that they had given me -the agency, didn’t they?" - -I rubbed my forehead. - -"They wrote my partner and me," I stammered, "that they’d given it to—to -a feller named George—er—that is—" - -"Not George—Georgianna. Oh, I see! They abbreviated the name and so you -thought—Of course you did. How odd!" - -She laughed. I’d have laughed too, maybe, if I’d had sense enough to -think of it; but I hadn’t, just then. - -"You the agent!" says I. "A—a woman!" - -"Yes." - -"But—but a woman!" - -"Well?" pretty crisp. "I admit I am a woman; but is that any reason why -I should not sell window screens?" - -I rubbed my forehead some more. These are progressive days we’re livin’ -in, and sometimes I have to hustle to keep abreast of ’em. - -"Why, no," says I, slow; "I cal’late ’tain’t. I suppose there’s no law -against a woman’s sellin’ 'most any article that is salable, window -screens or anything else if she wants to; but I can’t see—" - -"Why she should want to? Perhaps not. However, we needn’t go into that -just now. The fact is I do want to and intend to. I have secured a -boardin’ place here in Ostable and shall make the town my headquarters. -This is a small community and one naturally prefers to be friendly with -all the people in it. So, after thinkin’ the matter over, I decided that -it was best to begin with a clear understandin’. Do you follow me?" - -"I—I guess so. Heave ahead; I’ll do my best to keep you in sight. If the -weather gets too thick I’ll sound the foghorn. Go on." - -"I am naturally desirous of securin’ the hotel screen contract. So, I -understand, are you. I have seen Mr. Parkinson, the hotel man, and he -tells me that your firm and mine will probably be the only bidders. Now -that makes us rivals, but it need not necessarily make us enemies. My -proposition is this: You will submit your bid and I will submit mine. -The party submittin’ the lowest bid—quality of product considered—will -win. I propose that we let it go in that way. We might, of course, do a -great many other things—might attempt to bring influence to bear; -might—well, might cultivate Mr. Parkinson’s acquaintance, and—and so on. -You might do that—so might I, I suppose; but, for my part, I prefer to -make this a fair, honorable business rivalry, in which the best man—er—" - -"Or woman," I couldn’t help puttin’ in. - -"In which the best bid wins. I have already demonstrated the Eureka for -Mr. Parkinson’s benefit and left a sample with him. He tells me that you -have done the same with the Nonesuch. I will agree—if you will—to let -the matter rest there, submittin’ our respective bids when the time -comes and abidin’ by the result. Now what do you say?" - -'Twas pretty hard to say anything. I wanted to laugh; but I couldn’t do -that. If there ever was anybody in dead earnest ’twas this partic’lar -young woman. And she wa’n’t the kind to laugh at either. She might be in -a queer sort of business for a female—but she was nobody’s fool. - -"Well," she asks again, "what do you say?" - -I shook my head. "I can’t say anything very definite just this minute," -I told her. "I’ve got a partner, and naturally I can’t do much without -consultin’ him; but I will say this, though," noticin’ that she looked -pretty disappointed—"I’ll say that, fur’s I’m concerned, I’m agreeable." - -She smiled and, as I cal’late I’ve said afore, her smile was wuth -lookin’ at. - -"Thank you so much, Cap’n Snow," she says. "Then we shall be friends, -sha’n’t we? Except in business, I mean." - -"I hope so—sartin," says I. "Now it ain’t none of my affairs, of course, -but I am curious. How did you ever happen to take the agency for—for -window screens?" - -That made her serious right off. She might smile at other things, but -not at her trade; that was life and death for sure. - -"I took it," she says, "for several reasons. My mother died recently and -I was left alone. My means were not sufficient to support me. I have -done office work, typewritin’, and so on, for some years; but I felt -that the opportunities in the positions I held were limited and I -determined to take up sellin’—that is where the larger returns are. -Don’t you think so?" - -"Oh, yes—sartin." - -"Yes. I knew Mr. Meyer slightly in a business way. I took the Eureka -screen and sold it on commission about Boston for a time. Then I applied -for the Ostable County agency and got it—that’s all." - -"I see," says I. "Yes, yes. Well, I must say that, for a girl, you—" - -She interrupted me quick. - -"I don’t see that my bein’ a girl has anything to do with it," she says. -"And in this agreement of ours, if it is made, I don’t wish the -difference of sex considered at all. This is a business proposition and -sex has nothin’ to do with it. Is that plain?" - -"Yes," says I, considerin’, "it’s plain; but I ain’t sure that—" - -"I am sure," she interrupts—"and you must be. I wish to be treated in -this matter exactly as if I were a man. I wish I were one!" - -"I doubt if you’d get most men to agree with you in that wish," I says. -"However, never mind. I’ll do my best to get Mr. Jacobs, my partner, to -say ’Yes’ to your proposal. And I hope you’ll do fust-rate, even if we -are what you call rivals. Drop in any time, Miss Georg—Georgianna, I -mean." - -We shook hands and she went away. I went as fur as the platform with -her. When I turned to go in again I noticed ’Dolph Cahoon starin’ after -her, with his eyes and mouth open. - -"Gosh!" says he, grinnin’. "By gosh! She’s a peach! Ain’t she, Cap’n -Zeb?" - -"Maybe so," says I, pretty short; "but I don’t recollect that we hired -you as a judge of fruit. Has that broom took root in the dirt on this -platform? Or what is the matter?" - - - - -CHAPTER XIII—WHAT CAME THROUGH THE SCREEN - - -Jacobs come in late that afternoon. - -"Say," says he, "there was a sample of the Eureka screen in Parkinson’s -office when I was there just now. He wouldn’t say who left it or -anything about it. When I asked he grinned and winked. That’s all. -Confound his fat head! Do you know where it came from?" - -"I can guess," I says; and then I told him the whole yarn. He was as -surprised as I was to find out that Geo. Lentz was a female; but it only -made him madder than ever—if such a thing’s possible. - -"Wants to be treated like a man, does she?" he says. "All right; we’ll -treat her like one. She may be Georgianna, but she’ll get just what was -comin’ to George." - -"Then you won’t agree to puttin’ in the bids and lettin’ it go at that?" - -"I’ll agree to get that screen contract, all right!" says he, emphatic. - -I was kind of sorry for Miss Lentz; but Jim Henry was my partner, so -there wa’n’t nothin’ more to be said. We didn’t mention the subject -again for two days. However, I did hear from the Eureka agent durin’ -that time. ’Twas ’Dolph that I got my news of her from. I was tellin’ -Mary Blaisdell about her and Cahoon happened to be standin’ by. - -"So she boards here in Ostable," says Mary. "I wonder where." - -Afore I could answer ’Dolph spoke up. "She’s stoppin’ at Maria Berry’s, -down on the Neck Road," he says. - -"How did you know?" I asked. - -He looked sort of silly. "Oh, I found out," says he, and walked off. - -The very next evenin’, as I was strollin’ along the sidewalk, smokin’ my -good-night pipe, I happened to see somebody turn the corner from the -Neck Road and hurry by me. I thought his gait and build were pretty -familiar, so I turned and followed. When he got abreast the lighted -windows of the billiard saloon I recognized him. ’Twas ’Dolph, all -togged out in his Sunday-go-to-meetin’ duds, light fall overcoat and -all. - -"Humph!" says I to myself. "So that’s how you knew, hey? Been callin’ on -her, have you? Well, she may not hanker for my sympathy, but she has it -just the same. I swan, I thought she had better taste! I’m surprised!" - -The followin’ mornin’, however, I was more surprised still. I had an -errand that made me late at the store. When I came in who should I see -talkin’ together but Jacobs and a young woman; the young woman was Miss -Georgianna Lentz. They ought to have been quarrelin’, ’cordin’ to all -reasonable expectations; but they wa’n’t. Fact is, they seemed as -friendly as could be. You’d have thought they was old chums to see ’em. - -Georgianna sighted me fust. - -"Good mornin’, Cap’n Snow," says she. "Mr. Jacobs and I have made each -other’s acquaintance, you see." - -"Yes," says I, doubtful. "I see you have. I cal’late you think it’s kind -of unreasonable, our not—" - -Jim Henry cut in ahead of me quick as a flash. - -"Miss Lentz and I have been goin’ over the matter of screens for -Parkinson’s hotel," he says. "I tell her that her proposition suits us -down to the ground." - -Over I went on my beam-ends again. All I could think of to say was: -"Hey?"—and I said that pretty feeble. - -"It is very nice of you to do this," says Georgianna. "It makes it so -much easier for me. Of course, when I decided to make business my -life-work, I realized that I might be called upon to do disagreeable -things like—like wire-pullin’, and so on, which some business people do; -but honorable rivalry is so much better, isn’t it?" - -"Sure!" says Jacobs, prompt. "Yes, indeed." - -"So it is all settled," she went on. "Our bids are to go in on the same -day; and meantime neither of us is to call on Mr. Parkinson or to meet -him—in a business way, I mean." - -I nodded, bein’ still too upset to talk; but Jim Henry spoke quick and -prompt. - -"What do you mean," he asks—"in a business way?" - -"Why," says she—and it seemed to me that she reddened a little—"I mean -that—well, if we should meet him by accident we wouldn’t talk about -screens or the hotel contract. Of course one can’t help meetin’ people -sometimes. For instance, I happened to meet Mr. Parkinson yesterday. He -had driven over and happened to be in the vicinity of the house where I -board. I was goin’ out for a walk, and he stopped his horse and spoke." - -"Oh," says I, "he did, hey?" Jim Henry didn’t say nothin’. - -"Yes," she says; "but I didn’t talk about the contract. Though our -agreement wasn’t actually made then, I hoped that it would be. Good -mornin’; I must be goin’." - -She started for the door, but she turned to say one more thing. - -"Of course," she says, decided, "it is understood that you haven’t -agreed to my proposal simply because I am a girl. If that was the case I -shouldn’t permit it. I insist upon bein’ treated exactly as if I were a -man. You must promise that—both of you." - -"Sure! Sure! That’s understood," says Jacobs. - -I said "Sure!" too, but my tone wa’n’t quite so sartin. She went out, -Jim Henry goin’ with her as fur as the door. I follered him. - -"Say," says I, "next time you turn a back somerset like this I’d like to -know about it in advance. I’ve got a weak heart." - -He didn’t answer me at all. He was starin’ down the road, just as ’Dolph -had stared when the Eureka agent called the fust time. - -"Say, Jim—" says I. He didn’t turn or move; didn’t seem to hear me. I -touched him on the shoulder and he jumped and come about. - -"Eh—what?" he says. - -"Nothin’," says I, "only I want to know why—that’s all." - -"Why?" says he. "Oh!—you mean what made me change my mind? Well, I just -thought it over and decided we might as well agree. Agreein’ don’t do -any harm, you know. Hey, Skipper? Ha-ha!" - -He slapped me on the shoulder and laughed. The laugh seemed too big for -the joke and sounded a little mite forced, I thought. - -"Yes, yes! Ha-ha!" says I. "But your changin’ from lion to lamb so -sudden—" - -"What are you talkin’ about? I’ve got a right to change my mind, ain’t -I?" - -"Sartin sure. But you was so set on gettin’ that contract." - -"Well, I ain’t said I wasn’t goin’ to get it, have I? We’re goin’ to put -in a bid, ain’t we? What’s the matter with you?" - -"Nothin’ at all; but _your_ breakfast don’t seem to have set extry well! -However, it takes two to make a row, and I’m peaceful, myself. What do -you think of the rival entry? Kind of a nice-appearin’ girl—don’t you -think so?" - -He whirled round and looked at me as if he thought I was crazy. - -"Nice-appearin’!" he says. "Nice-ap—Why, she’s—" - -Then he pulled up short and headed for the back room. - -Nothin’ of much importance happened for a while after that. And yet -there was somethin’—two or three somethin’s—that had a bearin’ on the -case. One was the change in ’Dolph Cahoon. For a few days after that -night I met him on the road he was as gay and chipper as a blackbird in -a pear tree—happy even when I made him work, which was surprisin’ -enough. And then, all to once, he turned glum and ugly. Wouldn’t speak -and seemed to be broodin’ over his troubles all day long. I had my -suspicions; and so, one time when him and me was alone, I hove over a -little mite of bait just to see if he’d rise to it. - -"Seen anything of the Lentz girl lately?" I asked, casual. - -"Naw," says he, "and I don’t want to, neither! She’s a bird, she is! Too -stuck up to speak to common folks. Everybody’s gettin’ on to her—you -bet! She won’t make many friends in this town." - -I grinned to myself. Thinks I: "I guess, young man, Georgianna’s handed -you your walkin’ papers. You won’t go down the Neck Road any more!" - -And yet, an evenin’ or so after that, I see somebody go down that road. -I didn’t see him plain, but I’d have almost taken my oath ’twas Jim -Henry Jacobs. It couldn’t be, of course—and yet— - -Well, two days later, I took back the "yet." I happened to be standin’ -at the side door of the store, lookin’ across the fields, when I saw an -auto with two people in it sailin’ along the crossroad from the -east’ard. ’Twas a runabout auto—and I looked and looked! Then I called -to ’Dolph. - -"’Dolph," says I, "come here! Who’s automobile’s that? If I didn’t know -Mr. Jacobs was off takin’ orders in Denboro I should say ’twas his." - -'Dolph looked. - -"Humph!" says he—"’tis his. He’s drivin’ it himself. But who’s that with -him? What? Well, by gosh! if it ain’t that stuck-up Georgianna Lentz!" - -"Get out!" says I. "The softness of your heart has struck to your head. -It’s likely he’d be takin’ her to ride, ain’t it!" - -And then Jacobs looked up and sighted us standin’ in the doorway. His -machine hadn’t been goin’ slow afore—now it fairly jumped off the ground -and flew. In a minute there was nothin’ but a dust-cloud in the offin’. - -He came in about noon. I didn’t say nothin’, but I guess my face was -enough. He looked at me, turned away—and then turned back again. - -"Well," he says, loud and cheerful, "you saw us, didn’t you? I was goin’ -to tell you, anyway, soon as I got the chance." - -"Oh," says I, "I want to know!" - -"Sure, I was. Of course you see through the game." - -"The game?" - -"Why, yes, yes! The game I’m playin’—the game that’s goin’ to get us -that screen contract! Oh, I wasn’t born yesterday. I knew a thing or -two. This—er—Lentz girl and you and me have agreed not to go near -Parkinson till the contract’s given out; but Parkinson ain’t promised -not to go near her! He’s been over there two or three times lately, and -that won’t do. He’s a widower, and—" - -"A widower!" I put in. "What’s that got to do with it?" - -"Oh, nothin’—nothin’. Just a joke, that’s all. But I realized right away -that she and he mustn’t be together or he’ll make her talk screens in -spite of herself, and that’ll be dangerous for us. So, says I to myself, -’Jim Henry,’ says I, ’it’s up to you. You must keep her out of his way.’ -That’s why I’ve been goin’ to see her once in a while and—and takin’ her -to ride, and—and so on. See? Oh, I’m wise! You trust your old doctor of -sick businesses." - -He’d been talkin’ a blue streak. Seemed almost as if he was afraid I’d -say somethin’ afore he could say it all. Now he stopped to get his -breath and I put in a word. - -"So," says I, slow, "that’s why you’re doin’ it, hey? But ain’t that—You -know you promised to treat her just as if she was a man!" - -"Well, ain’t I?" he snaps—hotter than was needful, I thought. "If she -was a man I’d make it my business to keep her in sight, wouldn’t I? -Well, then! I never saw such a chap as you are for lookin’ for trouble -when there isn’t any." - -He stalked off. I follered him; and as I done so I noticed ’Dolph Cahoon -duck behind the calico counter. I judged he’d heard every word. - -The finishin’ work on the hotel hustled along and inside of a month we -got word that ’twas time to put in our bid. Jacobs and I figured and -figured till we got the price down to the last cent we thought it could -stand, and then we sent our proposition over to Parkinson by mail. - -"Wonder if Miss Georgianna’s sent hers in," I says, casual. - -"Oh, yes," says Jim, prompt; "she is goin’ to mail it this morning’." - -I didn’t ask him how he knew. His chasin’ round and keepin’ watch on a -girl who was as fair-minded and square as she was had always seemed too -much like spyin’ to please me, and I cal’lated he knew how I felt—at any -rate he’d scurcely spoke her name since the day when I saw ’em autoin’ -together. But now I did say that, so long as the bids was in, it -wouldn’t be necessary for him to keep his eye on her any longer. - -He looked at me kind of queer. "Umph!" he says; "maybe not!" And he -walked away to attend to a customer. - -That afternoon he took his car and went off on his reg’lar order trip to -Denboro and Bayport and round. ’Dolph Cahoon and I was alone in the -front part of the store. ’Dolph seemed to be in mighty good spirits—for -him—and kept chucklin’ to himself in a way I couldn’t understand. At -last he says to me, lookin’ back to be sure that Mary Blaisdell, in the -post-office department, couldn’t hear— - -"Cap’n Zeb," he says, "what would you give the feller that got the -screen contract for you?" - -"Give him?" I says. "What feller do you mean—Parkinson? I wouldn’t give -him a cent! I ain’t a briber and I don’t think he’s a grafter." - -"I don’t mean Parkinson," he says, chucklin’. "But, suppose somebody -else had been workin’ for you on the quiet, what would you give him?" - -I looked him over. - -"Look here, ’Dolph," says I; "I never try to guess a riddle till I hear -the whole of it. What are you drivin’ at?" - -He grinned. "I know who’s goin’ to get that contract," he says. - -"You do. Who is it?" - -"The Ostable Store’s goin’ to get it. Your bid’s a little mite the -lowest. Parkinson told me so last night." - -"Parkinson told you!" I sung out. "How did you happen to see Parkinson?" - -He winked. - -"Oh, I saw him!" says he. "I’ve seen him a good many times lately. I -made it my business to see him. He was pretty stuck on the Eureka till I -got after him and I cal’late he’d have contracted for Eurekas, bid or no -bid. But I put in my licks; I’ve drove over to West Ostable four nights -and two Sundays in the last fortni’t. And didn’t I preach Nonesuch to -him! He-he! You bet I did! And last night he said he was goin’ to give -us the job. Oh, I fixed that stuck-up Georgianna Lentz! I got even with -her. He-he-he!" - -I never was madder in my life. I took two steps toward him with my fists -doubled up. - -"You whelp!" says I—and then I stopped short. The Lentz girl herself was -walkin’ in at the front door. - -"Good mornin’, Cap’n Snow," she says, holdin’ out her hand. She paid no -more attention to ’Dolph than if he’d been a graven image. "Good -mornin’," says she. "It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?" - -I was past carin’ about the weather. - -"Miss Georgianna," says I, "I’m glad you come in. I’ve got somethin’ to -tell you. I’ve got to beg your pardon for somethin’ that ain’t my fault -or Mr. Jacobs’, either. You and my partner and me had an agreement not -to go nigh Parkinson or try to influence him in any way. Well, unbeknown -to me, that agreement has been broke." - -She stared at me, too astonished to speak. - -"It’s been broke," says I. "That—that critter there," pointin’ to -’Dolph, "has been sneakin—" - -'Dolph’s face had been gettin’ redder and redder, I cal’late he thought -I’d praise him for his doin’s; and when he found I wouldn’t, but was -goin’ to give the whole thing away, he blew up like a leaky b’iler. - -"I ain’t been sneakin’!" he yelled. "And I ain’t broke no agreement, -neither. You and Mr. Jacobs agreed—but I never. I see Parkinson on my -own hook; and if it hadn’t been for me he wouldn’t be goin’ to give you -the contract." - -[Illustration: _'I ain’t been sneakin’!’ he yelled._] - -There ’twas, out of the bag. I looked at Georgianna. Her pretty face -went white. That contract meant all creation to her; but she stood up to -the news like a major. She was plucky, that girl! - -"Oh!" she says. "Oh! Then he has given you the contract? I—I -congratulate you, Cap’n Snow." - -"Don’t congratulate me," says I. "The contract ain’t been given yet, -though this pup says it’s goin’ to be; but, as for me, if I’d known what -was goin’ on I’d have stopped it mighty quick! I’m honorable and decent, -and so’s Jacobs; and we don’t take underhanded advantages." - -'Dolph bust out from astern of the counter. - -"You don’t, hey!" says he. "I want to know! How about Jacobs’ takin’ her -to ride and callin’ on her, and pretendin’ to be dead gone on her? What -did he do that for? You know as well as I do. 'Twas so’s to keep a watch -on her, and not let Parkinson see her and be influenced into buyin’ -Eureka screens. You know it!" - -My own face grew red now, I cal’late. - -"You—you—" I begun. "You miserable liar—" - -"’Tain’t a lie," says he. "I heard him tell you with my own ears. He -said all he was beauin’ her round for was just that. If that ain’t a -underhanded trick then I don’t know what is." - -I wanted to say lots more; but, afore I could get my talkin’ machinery -to runnin’, the Lentz girl herself spoke. - -"Is that true, Cap’n Snow?" says she. - -I was set back forty fathom. - -"Well, miss," says I, "I—I—" - -"Is that true?" says she. - -I got out my handkerchief and swabbed my forehead. - -"Well, Miss Georgianna," says I, "I’ll tell you. Jim Henry—Mr. Jacobs, I -mean—did say somethin’ like that; but—but—Well, you wanted to be treated -like a salesman, and—er—Mr. Jacobs would have kept his eye on a man, you -know; and so—and so—" - -I stopped again. ’Twas the shoalest water ever I cruised in. All I could -do was mop away with the handkerchief and look at Georgianna. And -she—well, the color, and plenty of it, begun to come back to her cheeks. -And how her brown eyes did flash! - -"I see," she says, slow and so frosty I pretty nigh shivered. "I—see!" - -"Well," says I, "’tain’t anything I’m proud of, I will admit; but—" - -"One moment, if you please. You haven’t actually got the contract yet?" - -"No. As I told you, all I know is what this consarned fo’mast hand of -mine says. For what he’s done, I’m ashamed as I can be. As for Mr. -Jacobs, I know he did keep to the letter of the agreement, anyhow. For -the rest—Well, all’s fair in love and war, they say—and there’s precious -little love in business." - -She looked at me, with a queer little smile about the corners of her -lips, though her eyes wa’n’t smilin’, by a consider’ble sight. - -"Isn’t there?" she says. "I—I wonder. Good-by, Cap’n Snow. You might -tell Mr. Jacobs not to order those Nonesuch screens just yet." - -Out she went; and for the next five minutes I had a real enjoyable time. -I told ’Dolph Cahoon just what I thought of him—that took four of the -minutes; durin’ the other one I fired him and run him out of the office -by the scruff of the neck. - -Then Mary Blaisdell and me held officers’ council, and that ended by our -decidin’ not to tell Jim Henry that the Lentz girl knew why he’d been so -friendly with her. It wouldn’t do any good and might make him feel bad. -Besides, the contract was as good as got, ’cordin’ to ’Dolph’s yarn; and -’twa’n’t likely he’d see Georgianna again, anyway. When he come back I -told him I’d fired Cahoon for bein’ no good and sassy, and he agreed I’d -done just right. - -When I said good night to him he was chipper as could be; but next day -he was blue as a whetstone—and the blueness seemed to strike in, so to -speak. He didn’t take any interest in anything—moped round, glum and -ugly; and I couldn’t get him to talk at all. If I mentioned the screen -contract he shut up like a quahaug, and only once did he give an opinion -about it. That opinion was a surprisin’ one, though. - -Alpheus Perkins was in the store, and says he: - -"Say, Mr. Jacobs," he says, "is old Parkinson, the hotel man, cal’latin’ -to get married again? I see him out ridin’ with a girl yesterday? That -female screen drummer—that Georgianna Lentz, 'twas. She’s a daisy, ain’t -she! I don’t blame him much for takin’ a shine to her." - -Jim Henry didn’t make any answer; but, knowin’ what I did, I was a -little surprised. - -"Jim," says I, "that contract—" - -"D—n the contract!" says he, and cleared out and left us. - -I was astonished, but I guessed ’twas a healthy plan to keep my hatches -closed. - -When I opened the mail a few mornin’s later I found a letter with the -West Ostable Hotel’s name printed on the envelope. I figgered I knew -what was inside. Thinks I: "Here’s the acceptance of our bid!" But my -figgers was on the wrong side of the ledger. Parkinson wrote just a few -words, but they was enough. After considerin’ the matter careful, he -wrote, he had decided the Eureka to be a better screen than the -Nonesuch; and, though our bid was a trifle lower, he should give the -Eureka folks the contract. - -"Well!" says I out loud. "Well, I’ll—be—blessed!" - -Jim Henry was settin’ at his desk—we was all alone in the store—and he -looked up. - -"What are you askin’ a blessin’ over?" says he. - -I handed him the letter. He read it through and set for a full minute -without speakin’. Then he slammed it into the wastebasket and got up and -started to go away. - -"For thunder sakes!" I sung out. "What ails you? Ain’t you goin’ to say -nothin’ at all?" - -"What is there to say?" he asked, gruff. "We’re stung—and that’s the end -of it." - -"But—but—don’t you realize—Why, our bid was the lowest! And yet the -contract—" - -He whirled on me savage. - -"Didn’t I tell you," says he, "that I didn’t give a durn about the -contract?" - -"You don’t! _You_ don’t! Then who on airth does?" - -"I don’t know and I don’t care!" - -"You don’t care! I swan to man! Why, ’twas you that swore you’d put the -screens in that hotel or die tryin’. You said ’twas a matter of -principle with you. And now that the Eureka folks have beat us by some -shenanigan or other—for our bid was lower than theirs—you say you don’t -care! Have you gone loony? What _do_ you care about?" - -"Nothin’—much," says he, and flopped down in his chair again. - -I stared at him. All at once I begun to see a light. You’d have thought -anybody that wa’n’t stone blind would have seen it afore—but I hadn’t. -You see, I cal’lated that I knew him from trunk to keelson, and so it -never once occurred to me. I riz and walked over to him. Just as I done -so, I heard the front door open and shut, but I figgered ’twas Mary -comin’ back, and didn’t even look. I laid my hand on his shoulder. - -"Jim," says I, "I guess likely I understand. I declare I’m sorry! And -yet I wouldn’t wonder if—" - -I didn’t go on. He wa’n’t payin’ any attention, but was lookin’ over the -top of his desk—lookin’ with all the eyes in his head. I looked, too, -and caught my breath with a jerk. The person who’d come in wa’n’t Mary -Blaisdell, but Georgianna Lentz. - -She saw us and walked straight down to where we was. She was kind of -pale and her eyes looked as if she’d been awake all night; but when she -spoke 'twas right to the point—there wa’n’t any hesitation about her. - -"Cap’n Snow," says she, "have you heard from Mr. Parkinson?" - -"Yes," says I, wonderin; "we’ve heard. We don’t understand exactly, but -perhaps that ain’t necessary. I cal’late all there is left for us to do -is to offer congratulations and ’go ’way back and set down,’ as the boys -say. You’ve got the contract." - -"Yes," she says; "it has been given to me. But—" - -Jim Henry stood up. "You’ll excuse me," he says, sharp. "I’m busy." - -He started to go, but she stopped him. - -"No," she says; "I want you both to hear what I’ve got to say. Mr. -Parkinson gave me the contract yesterday; but I have decided not to take -it." - -We both looked at her. - -"You—you’ve what?" says I. "Not take it? You want it, don’t you?" - -"Yes," she says, quiet but determined, "I want it—or I did want it very, -very much. It meant so much to me—now—and might mean a great deal more -in the future; but I can’t take it." - -This was too many for me. I looked at Jacobs. He didn’t say a word. - -"I can’t take it," says Georgianna, "under the circumstances. I don’t -feel that I got it fairly. We agreed, you and I, that no personal -influence should be brought to bear upon Mr. Parkinson; and I"—she -blushed a little, but kept right on—"I have seen Mr. Parkinson several -times durin’ the past week." - -I thought of her bein’ to ride with the hotel man, but I didn’t say -anything. Jim Henry, though, started again to go. And again she stopped -him. - -"Wait, please!" she went on. "I didn’t go to him—you must understand -that! But after what you, Cap’n Snow, and that Mr. Cahoon told me the -other day I was hurt and angry. I felt that you had broken your -agreement with me. So when Mr. Parkinson came to see me I didn’t avoid -him as I had been doin’. I—I accepted invitations for drives with him, -and—and—Oh, don’t you see? I couldn’t take the contract. I couldn’t! -What would you think of me? What would I think of myself? No, my mind is -made up. I’m afraid"—with a half smile that had more tears than fun in -it—"that my experience in business hasn’t been a success. I shall give -it up and go back to stenography—or somethin’. There! Good-by. I’m sure -that the Nonesuch screen will win now. Good-by!" - -And now ’twas she that started to go and Jim Henry that stopped her. - -"Wait!" says he, sharp. "There’s somethin’ here I don’t understand. What -do you mean by what the Cap’n and Cahoon told you the other day? -Skipper, what have you been doin’?" - -I wished there was a crack or a knothole handy for me to crawl into; but -there wa’n’t, so I braced up best I could. - -"Why, Jim," says I, "I ain’t told you the whole of that business I fired -’Dolph for. Seems he’d been seein’ Parkinson on his own hook and pullin’ -wires for the Nonesuch. ’Twas a sneakin’ mean trick, and I knew ’twould -make you mad same as it done me; so I didn’t tell you. ’Twas for that I -bounced him." - -Jim Henry’s fists shut. - -"The toad!" says he. "I wish I’d been there. Wait till I get my hands on -him! I’ll—" - -"But you mustn’t," put in Georgianna. "I hope you don’t think I care -what such a creature as he might do. When I first came here he—Oh, why -can’t people forget that I’m a girl!" - -I could have answered that, but I didn’t. Jacobs asked another question. - -"Then, if it wa’n’t ’Dolph, who was it?" says he. "Parkinson?" - -"No!" with a flash of her eyes. "Certainly not. Mr. Parkinson is a -gentleman; but—but I don’t like him—that is, I don’t dislike him -exactly; but—" - -She was dreadful fussed up. Jim Henry was between her and the door, -though, and he kept right on with his questions. - -"Then what was the trouble?" he said, brisk. - -I answered for her. - -"Well, Jim," says I, "there was somethin’ else. You see, ’Dolph got mad -when I sailed into him, and he come back at me by tellin’ what you said -about your callin’ on Miss Lentz here—and takin’ her autoin’ and such. -How you said you was doin’ it so’s to keep a watch on her—that’s all. I -couldn’t deny that you did say it, you know—because you did!" - -Jim’s face was a sight to see—a sort of combination of sheepishness and -shame, mixed with another look, almost of joy—or as if he’d got the -answer to a puzzle that had been troublin’ him. - -The Lentz girl spoke up quick. - -"Of course," she says, "I understand now why you did it. Then I -was—was—Well, it did hurt me to think that I hadn’t seen through the -scheme, and for a while I felt that you hadn’t been true to our -agreement; but, now that I have had time to think, I understand. You -promised to treat me exactly as if I were a man; and, as Cap’n Snow -said, if I were a man you would have kept me in sight. It’s all right! -But"—with a sigh—"I realize that I’m not fitted for business—this kind -of business. I don’t blame you, though. Good-by. I must go!" - -Lettin’ her go, however, was the last thing Jim intended doin’ just -then. He stepped for’ard and caught her by the hand. - -"Georgianna," says he, eager, "you know what you’re sayin’ isn’t true. I -did tell the Cap’n that yarn about watchin’ you. He’d seen me with you -and I had to tell him somethin’; but it was a lie—every word of it! You -know it was." - -She tried to pull her hand away, but he hung on to it as if ’twas the -last life-preserver on a sinkin’ ship. I cal’late he’d forgot I was on -earth. - -"You were keeping your promise," she said. "You were treatin’ me as you -would if I were a man! Please let me go, Mr. Jacobs; I have told you -that I didn’t blame you." - -"Nonsense!" says he. "If I had done that I ought to be hung! A man! -Treat you like a man! Do you suppose if you were a man I should—" - -That was the last word I heard. I was bound for the front platform, and -makin’ some headway for a craft of my age and build. I have got some -sense and I know when three’s a crowd! - -I didn’t go back until they called me. I give the pair of ’em one look -and then I shook hands with ’em up to the elbows. Georgianna was -blushin’, and her eyes were damp, but shinin’ like masthead lights on a -rainy night. As for Jim Henry Jacobs, he was one broad grin. - -"Well," says I, after I’d said all the joyful things I could think of, -"one point ain’t settled even yet—who’s goin’ to get that screen -contract? There ain’t any love in business, you know." - -"Humph!" says Jim Henry. "I wonder!" - -I laughed out loud. - -"Why," says I, "that’s exactly what Georgianna here said t’other day—she -wondered!" - - - - -CHAPTER XIV—THE EPISTLE TO ICHABOD - - -Mary came in a few minutes later and she had to be told the news. She -was as pleased as I was and there was more congratulatin’. Then -Georgianna had to go home and, as she was altogether too precious to be -allowed to walk, Jim Henry went and got his auto and they left in that. - -When he got back—that car must have been sufferin’ from a stroke of -creepin’ paralysis, for it took him two hours to run that little -distance—he and I had a good confidential talk. He was way up above this -common earth, soarin’ around in the clouds, and all he wanted to talk -was Georgianna. The whole of creation had been set to music and was -dancin’ to the one tune—"Georgianna." - -It was astonishin’ to me who had been in the habit of considerin’ him -just a sharp, up-to-date buyer and seller, a man whose whole soul was -wrapped up in business with no room in it for anything else. I found -myself lookin’ at him and wonderin’: "Is the world comin’ to an end, I -wonder? Is this my partner? Is this moon-struck critter Jim Henry -Jacobs, doctor of sick businesses?" - -I couldn’t help jokin’ him a little. - -"Jim," says I, "for a feller who hadn’t any use for females you’re doin’ -pretty well, I must say. Either you was mistaken in your old opinions or -your new ones are wrong. Which is it? ’Women and business don’t mix,’ -you know. That ain’t an original notion; that is quoted from the Gospel -according to Jacobs, Chapter 1,000; two hundred and eightieth verse." - -He reddened up and laughed. "Well, they _don’t_ mix, as a general -thing," he says. "I guess ’twas Georgianna’s sand in goin’ into business -that got me in the first place. I leave it to you, Skipper—ain’t she a -wonder? Now be honest, ain’t she?" - -Course I said she was; I have the usual sane man’s regard for my head -and I didn’t want it knocked off yet awhile. And Georgianna _was_ as -nice a girl as I ever saw—that is, _almost_ as nice. Jim went sailin’ -on, about how now he could settle down and live like a white man in a -home of his own, about the house he was goin’ to build, and so forth and -etcetery. I declare it made me feel almost jealous to hear him. - -"My! my!" says I, kind of spiteful, I’m afraid, "you have got it bad, -ain’t you! Sudden attacks are liable to be the most acute, I suppose." - -He laughed again. You couldn’t have made him mad just then. - -"Ha, ha!" says he. "Yes, I guess I’m way past where there’s any hope for -me. But I’m glad of it. It did come sudden, but that’s the way most good -things come to me. It’s my nature. Now if I was like some folks that I -won’t name, I’d be mopin’ around for months without sense enough to know -what ailed me." - -"Who are you diggin’ at?" I wanted to know. He wouldn’t tell; said ’twas -a secret, and maybe I’d find out the answer for myself some day. - -The next few weeks was busy times, in the store and out of it. -Georgianna havin’ declined the screen contract, Parkinson gave it to us, -after a little arguin’. That kept me hustlin’, for Jim was too -interested in other things to care for screens. He was making -arrangements to be married. - -And married he and Georgianna were. She’d have waited a little longer, I -cal’late—that bein’ a woman’s way—if it had been left to her to name the -time; but Jim Henry never was the waitin’ kind. They were married at the -parson’s and Mary Blaisdell and I saw the splice made fast. Then we went -to the depot and said good-by to Mr. and Mrs. Jim Henry Jacobs. They -were goin’ on a honeymoon cruise to the West Indies that would last two -months. - -Good-byes ain’t ever pleasant to say, but I was so glad for Jim, and so -happy because he was, that I tried to be as chipper as I could. - -"If you need me, wire at Havana, Skipper," he says. "I’ll come the -minute you say the word." - -"I sha’n’t need you," I told him. "Mary and I’ll run things as well as -we can. She makes a good fust mate, Mary does." - -"You bet!" says he. "I feel a little conscience-struck to leave you just -now, with that West End crowd tryin’ to make trouble for you, but -Congressman Shelton is your friend and he’ll look out for you in -Washin’ton." - -"Don’t you worry about that," I says. "I ain’t scared of Bill Phipps or -Ike Hamilton—much, or any of their West End crew. The decent folks in -town are on my side, and with Shelton to back me up at Washin’ton, I -cal’late I’ll keep my job till you come back anyhow." - -The train started and Mary and I waved till 'twas out of sight. Then we -went back to the store. I give in that the old feelin’, the feelin’ that -I’d had when Jim was sick out West, that of bein’ adrift without an -anchor, was hangin’ around me a little, but I braced up and vowed to -myself that I’d do the best I could. If this post-office row did get -dangerous, I might telegraph for Jacobs, but I wouldn’t till the ship -was founderin’. - -I suppose you can always get up an opposition party. There was one -amongst the Children of Israel in Moses’s time, and there’s been plenty -ever since. So long as somebody has got somethin’ there’ll always be -somebody else to want to get it away from him. That’s human nature, and -there’s as much human nature in Ostable, size considered, as there was -in the Land of Canaan. - -I’d been postmaster at Ostable for quite a spell. I didn’t try for the -position, I was mad when ’twas given to me, there wa’n’t much of -anything in it but a lot of fuss and trouble, and I’d said forty times -over that I wished I didn’t have it. But when the gang up at the West -End of the town set out to take it away from me I r’ared up on my hind -legs and swore I’d fight for my job till the last plank sunk from under -me. Don’t sound like sense, does it? It wa’n’t—’twas just more human -nature. - -Course the opposition wa’n’t large and ’twa’n’t very influential. Old -man William Phipps and young Ike Hamilton was at the head of it, and -they had forty or fifty West-Enders to back ’em up. Phipps had been one -of the leading workers for Abubus Payne, the chap I beat for the -app’intment in the fust place; and young Hamilton was junior partner in -the firm of "Ichabod Hamilton & Co., Stoves, Tinware and Fishermen’s -Supplies," a mile or so up the main road. Young Ike—everybody called him -"Ike," though his real name was Ichabod, same as his uncle’s—was a -pushin’ critter, who’d come back from a Boston business college and had -started right in to make the town sit up and take notice. He was goin’ -to get rich—he admitted that much—and he cal’lated to show us hayseeds a -few things. Up to now he hadn’t showed much but loud clothes and cheek, -but he had enough of them to keep all hands interested for a spell. - -His uncle, Ichabod, Senior, was a shrewd old rooster, with twenty -thousand or so that, accordin’ to his brags—he was always tellin’ of -it—he’d put away for a "rainy day." We have consider’ble damp weather at -the Cape, but ’twould have taken a Noah’s Ark flood to make Ichabod’s -purse strings loosen up. That twenty thousand dollars had growed fast to -his nervous system and when you pulled away a cent he howled. Young Ike -was the only one that could mesmerize this old man into spendin’ -anything, and how he did it nobody knew. But he did. Since he got into -that Stoves and Tinware firm the store had been fixed up and -advertisements put in the papers, and I don’t know what all. The uncle -had been under the weather with rheumatism for a year; maybe that -explained a little. - -Anyhow ’twas young Ike that picked himself to be postmaster instead of -me and he and Phipps got the West-Enders, fifty or so of ’em, to sign a -petition askin’ that a new app’intment be made. I couldn’t be removed -except on charges, so a lot of charges was made. Fust, the post-office, -bein’ in the Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods -Store, was too far from the center of the town. Second, I was neglectin’ -the office and my assistant—Mary, that is—was really doin’ the whole of -the government work. There was some truth in this, because Mary knew a -good deal more about mail work than I did, and was as capable a woman as -ever lived; and besides, Jim Henry and I had been so busy with our store -and the "Windmill Restaurant," and our other by-product ventures, that I -_had_ left Mary to run the post-office. But it was run better than any -post-office ever was run afore in Ostable and everybody with brains knew -it. - -Third.... But never mind the rest of the charges, they didn’t amount to -anything. In fact, there was so little to ’em that when the West End -petition went in to Washin’ton, I didn’t take the trouble to send one of -my own, though Jacobs thought I’d better and a hundred folks asked me to -and said they’d sign. I just wrote to the Post-office Department and -told them that I was ready to submit my case, if there was any need for -it, and if they cared to send a representative to investigate, I’d be -tickled to death to see him. They wrote back that they’d look into the -matter, and that’s the way it stood when Jim and Georgianna left and it -stayed so until the lost letter affair run me bows fust onto the rocks -and turned the situation from ridiculousness into something that looked -likely to be mighty serious for me. - -It come about—same as such jolts generally come—when I was least ready -for it. Jim Henry had been gone three weeks or more. ’Twas February and -none of my influential friends amongst the summer folks was on hand to -help. No, Mary and I were all alone and sailin’ free with what looked -like a fair wind, when "Bump!"—all at once our craft was half full of -water and sinkin’ fast. - -That mornin’ the mail was a little mite late and there wa’n’t any store -trade to speak of. Mary was in the post-office place writin’, the usual -gang of loafers was settin’ around the stove, and I was out front -talkin’ with Sim Kelley, who lived up to the west end of the town, -amongst the mutineers. 'Twas from Sim that I got most of my news about -the doin’s of the Phipps and Hamilton crowd. He was a great, hulkin’, -cross-eyed lubber, too lazy to get out of his own way, and as shif’less -as a body could be and take pains enough to live. - -"Sim," says I to him, "I thought you said old man Hamilton was in bed -with his rheumatiz. I saw him up street as I was comin’ by. He looked -pretty feeble, but he was toddlin’ along on foot just as he always does. -Rheumatic or not, it’s all the same. I cal’late the old critter wouldn’t -spend enough money to hire a team if he was dyin’." - -Sim was surprised, and not only surprised, but, seemingly, a little mite -worried. Why he should be worried because Ichabod was takin’ chances -with his diseases I couldn’t see. - -"Old man Hamilton!" says he. "Is he out a cold mornin’ like this? Where -was he bound?" - -"Don’t know," says I. "He stopped into the drug store when I saw him. -Whether that was his final port of call or not I don’t know." - -He seemed to be thinkin’ it over. Then he got up and walked to the door. - -"He ain’t in sight nowheres," he says. "Guess he wa’n’t comin’ as far as -here, ’tain’t likely." - -"Well," says I, "how’s the rest of the family? The hopeful leader of the -forlorn hope—how’s he?" - -"Ike?" he says. "Oh, he’s all right. He’s a mighty smart young feller, -Ike is." - -"Yes," says I, "so I’ve heard him say. Gettin’ ready to stand in with -him when he gets my job, are you, Sim?" - -That shook him up a mite. ’Twas common talk around town that Sim and Ike -was pretty thick. He turned red under his freckles. - -"No, no!" he sputtered. "Course I ain’t! I’m standin’ by you, Cap’n -Snow, and you know it. But, all the same, Ike’s a smart boy. He’s -gettin’ rich fast, Ike is." - -"Sold another cookstove, has he?" - -"He sells a lot of ’em. Sold two last month. But that ain’t it. He’s got -foresight and friends in the stock exchange up to Boston. He’s buyin’ -copper stocks and they—" - -He stopped short; thought his tongue was runnin’ away with him, I -presume likely. But I was interested and I kept on. - -"Oh!" says I; "he’s buyin’ coppers, is he? Well, where does he get the -U. S. coppers to do it with? Is Uncle Ichabod backin’ him? Has the old -man’s rheumatiz struck to his brains?" - -"Course he ain’t backin’ him. _He_ don’t know nothin’ of stocks. He -ain’t up-to-date same as Ike. But he’ll be glad enough when his nephew -makes fifty thousand. When he finds that out he’ll—" - -"He’ll never find it out on this earth," I cut in. "If he found out that -Ike made fifty dollars, all on his own hook, he’d drop dead with heart -disease. If he didn’t, everybody else in town would. But it takes money -to buy stocks, don’t it? I never knew Ike had any cash of his own." - -"He’s in the firm, ain’t he! And Hamilton and Co. are——Hello! here comes -the depot wagon." - -Sure enough, ’twas the depot wagon with the mail. I took the bags from -the driver and went back to help Mary sort. I’d taken to helpin’ her a -good deal lately—more since Jacobs left than ever afore. She said there -wa’n’t any need of it, but I didn’t agree with her. Of course I realized -that I was an old fool—but, somehow or other, I felt more and more -contented with life when I was alongside of Mary. She and I understood -each other and I’d come to depend upon her same as a man might on his -sister—or his—well, or anybody, you understand, that he thought a good -deal of and knew was square and—and so on. And she seemed to feel the -same way about me. - -We sorted the mail together, puttin’ it in the different boxes and such. -And almost the fust thing I run across was that registered letter -addressed to "Ichabod Hamilton, Jr." ’Twas a long envelope and up in one -corner of it was printed the name of a Boston broker’s firm. I laid it -out by itself and went on sortin’. - -When the sortin’ and distributin’ was over and the crowd had gone, I -called to Sim Kelley. We didn’t have Rural Free Delivery then and Sim -carried the West End mail box; that is, a lot of the folks up that way -chipped in and paid him so much for deliverin’ their mail to ’em. - -"Sim," says I, "there’s a registered letter here for young Ike Hamilton. -If I give it to you will you be careful and see that he signs the -receipt and the like of that?" - -He was outside the partition and he come to the little window and took -the letter from me. He acted mighty interested. - -"Gosh!" says he, grinnin’, "I wouldn’t wonder if this was.... Humph! Oh, -I’ll be careful of it! don’t you worry about that." - -Just then Mary called to me. I went over to where she was settin’ at her -desk. - -"Cap’n Zeb," she whispered, "I wouldn’t send that letter by Sim. It is -important, or it would not be registered, and Sim is so irresponsible. -If anything _should_ happen it would give Mr. Hamilton and the rest such -a chance. And they have accused us of bein’ careless already." - -They had, that was a fact. One or two letters had gone astray durin’ the -past six months and the loss of ’em was described, with trimmin’s, in -the West End charges and petition. And Sim _was_ a lunkhead. I thought -it over a jiffy and then I called to Kelley once more. He was just -comin’ to the hooks by the door outside the mail-box racks where Mary -and I and the store clerk—the one we’d hired in place of ’Dolph—hung our -overcoats and hats. Sim had hung his coat there that mornin’. - -"Sim," I said, "let me see that registered letter of Ike Hamilton’s -again, will you?" He took it out of his pocket and passed it to me. - -"All right," says I; "you needn’t bother about this. I’ll send a notice -by you that it’s here and Ike can call for it himself. I won’t take any -chances of your losin’ it." - -Well, you’d ought to have seen him! His face blazed up like a Fourth of -July tar-barrel. "Chances!" he sung out. "What are you talkin’ about? I -cal’late I’m able to carry a letter without losin’ it. I ain’t a kid." - -"Maybe not," says I, "but you ain’t goin’ to lose this one, kid or not. -Here’s the notice, all made out." - -"Notice be darned!" he snarled. "You give me that letter. Hamilton and -Co. pay me to carry their mail, don’t they? And, besides, Ike told me -particular that he was expectin’—" - -He pulled up short again. - -"Well?" says I. "Heave ahead. What’s the rest of it?" - -"Nothin’," he answered, ugly; "but you’ve got no right to say I can’t -carry a letter when I’m paid to do it. As for losin’ things, there’s -others besides me that lose mail in this town." - -There’s no use arguin’ when a matter’s all settled. I handed him the -notice and walked off, leavin’ him standin’ outside that partition, sore -as a scalded cat. - -I looked at my watch. ’Twas twelve o’clock, my dinner time. I walked out -to the hook rack, took down my overcoat and put it on. I had the -Hamilton letter in my hand. There wa’n’t any reason why I should be more -worried about that registered letter than any other, but I was, just the -same. Maybe 'twas because ’twas Ike’s and he was so anxious to make -trouble for me. Somehow or other I couldn’t feel safe till he got it and -signed the receipt. I thought for a minute and then I decided I’d walk -up to Hamilton and Co.’s and deliver it myself. That decision was -foolish, maybe, but I felt better when ’twas made. I put the letter in -the inside pocket of the overcoat I had on, and just as I was doin’ it -Mary come out of the post-office room with her hat on. - -"Oh!" says she, "are you goin’ out, Cap’n Zeb? I thought—" - -Then I remembered. She’d asked to go to dinner fust that day and I’d -told her of course she could. I begged her pardon and said I’d forgot. -I’d wait till she got back. So, after makin’ sure that I didn’t care, -she took her coat from the hook, put it on and went out. - -I took off my overcoat and, just as I did so, somethin’ fell on the -floor. I stooped and picked it up. I swan to man if it wasn’t that pesky -Hamilton letter! Thinks I, "That’s funny!" I put my hand into the pocket -where it had been and there was a hole right through the linin’. Now if -there’s one thing I’m fussy about it is that my pockets are whole. And I -_knew_ this one ought to be whole. So I looked at the coat and I’m -blessed if it was mine at all! 'Twas Sim Kelley’s! Both coats had been -hangin’ together on the hook-rack and both was blue and about the same -size. I’d been saved by a miracle, as you might say. - -I was comin’ to feel more and more as if there was some sort of fate -about that registered letter. I took it back into the post-office room, -handlin’ it as careful as if ’twas solid gold, and laid it down on the -sortin’ bench behind the letter boxes. And then somebody spoke to me -through the little window. - -"Cap’n Zeb," says Sim Kelley, "there’s a man just drove over from -Bayport to see you. Come in Gabe Lumley’s buggy, he did. His name’s -Peters and Gabe says he’s got some sort of government job." - -"Government job?" says I. And then it flashed through my mind who the -feller might be. The Post-office Department had said they might send an -investigator. I didn’t care for that, but I did wish Sim hadn’t seen -him. - -"Oh," says I; "all right. It’s the lighthouse inspector, I shouldn’t -wonder. Guess ’tain’t me he is after. Probably I ain’t the Snow he wants -to see; it’s Henry Snow over to the Point. Where is he?" - -"Out on the platform," says Sim. I hurried out of the post-office room, -lockin’ the door careful astern of me. The man Peters was just comin’ -into the store. I met him at the front door. We shook hands and he -introduced himself. ’Twas the investigator, sure enough. - -"Glad to see you," says I. "I know that may sound like a lie, but, as it -happens, it ain’t in this case. I ain’t got anything to be ashamed of -and the sooner the government finds that out the better I’ll be -pleased." - -He laughed. He was a real good chap, this Peters man, and I took to him -right off the reel. We stood there talkin’ and laughin’ and says he: - -"Well, Cap’n," he says, "I’ll tell you frankly that I’m not very much -worried about the conduct of your office here at Ostable. I’ve made some -inquiries about you, here and in Washin’ton, and the answers are pretty -satisfactory. Congressman Shelton seems to be a friend of yours." - -I grinned. "Yes," says I, "but Shelton’s prejudiced, I’m afraid. He and -old Major Clark ate a chowder once that I cooked and ever since they’ve -both swore by me." - -He laughed, though I could see Shelton hadn’t told him the yarn. - -"Humph!" says he, "that’s unusual, isn’t it? Judgin’ by some chowders -_I’ve_ eaten, it would be easier to swear _at_ the cook. Speakin’ of -eatables, though, reminds me that I’m hungry. Where’s a good place to -get a meal around here?" - -"Nowhere," says I, prompt; "not at this season of the year, with the -summer dinin’-room closed. But, if you’ll wait until my assistant gets -back, I’ll pilot you down to the Poquit House, where I feed, and we’ll -face the wust together." - -He was willin’ to risk it, he said, and we walked back and set down in -the post-office department. As we left the front door Sim Kelley went -out of it, luggin’ his West-End mail box. Peters and I talked. Seems he -hadn’t come to the Cape a-purpose to investigate me, but he had a job at -the Bayport office and had took me in on the way home. After a spell -Mary come back and Peters and I headed for the Poquit, where the cold -fish balls and warmed-over beans was waitin’. - -On the way I saw old man Hamilton, Ike’s uncle, totterin’ along, headin’ -to the west’ard this time. I pointed him out to Peters. - -"There goes," I says, "one of the fellers that’s trying to knock me out -of my job." - -"Humph!" says he; "he looks pretty near knocked out himself. Why, he’s -all bent out of shape." - -"Yes," I told him. "Ichabod’s bent, but he’s far from broke. And a tough -old limb like him stands a lot of bendin’." - -I was feelin’ pretty good. With a square man like this Peters to look -into matters, I cal’lated I’d be postmaster for a spell yet. - -But that afternoon, about three o’clock, as we was inside the mail room, -Mary at her desk, and Peters alongside of her, goin’ over the books and -papers, and me smokin’ in a chair nigh the delivery window, Ike Hamilton -walked into the store. - -"Afternoon, Snow," says he, pert and important as ever, "I understand -there’s a registered letter for me. I s’pose it is part of your business -to refuse to give it to the regular carrier and put me to the trouble of -walkin’ way down here." - -"I s’pose ’tis," says I. - -"Yes," he says. "Well, if you were as careful to put your partic’lar -friends to the same inconvenience there might not be as much talk about -you and your handlin’ of this office as there is now." - -"Oh, yes, there would," I told him. "There’d always be more talk than -anything else where you lived, Ike. Want your letter, do you?" - -He was mad, but he held in pretty well. - -"I do—if gettin’ it won’t make you work _too_ hard," he says, sarcastic. -"I should hate to see you really work." - -"Yes," I says, "the sight of work never was a joy to you, ’cordin’ to -all accounts. Well, here’s your letter." - -I reached down to the sortin’ table where I’d laid the letter at noon -time—and it wa’n’t there. - -I hunted that table over. "Mary," says I, "did you put that registered -letter of Mr. Hamilton’s away somewheres?" - -She looked surprised and, it seemed to me, rather anxious. - -"Why no!" says she; "I haven’t touched it." - -Whew!... Well, there was a lively hunt in that mail room for the next -ten minutes, but it ended in nothin’. - -Ike Hamilton’s registered letter was _gone_! - - - - -CHAPTER XV—HOW IKE’S LOSS TURNED OUT TO BE MY GAIN - - -There’s no use dwelling on unpleasantness. And there’s no use tellin’ -what Ike Hamilton said. I’d be liable to the law, if I did tell it, and, -besides, I’ve been away from seafarin’ so long that my memory for such -language ain’t as good as ’twas. Ike wa’n’t only mad now: he was ha’f -crazy, and pale and scared-lookin’ besides. The interview ended by my -takin’ him by the arm and leadin’ him to the door. - -"You get out of here," I told him, "and I’ll leave this door open so’s -to sweeten the air after you. That letter of yours has turned up missin’ -and I’m mighty sorry. I’ll find it, though, or die a-tryin’. Meanwhile, -unless you can behave like a decent human bein’—which I doubt—you’ll -find it turrible unhealthy for you on these premises. Understand?" - -I cal’late he understood, for he waited till he was out of reach afore -he answered. Then he turned and snarled at me like a kicked dog. - -"By the Almighty, Zeb Snow," he says, "this is the wust day’s work _you_ -ever did! That letter’s wuth hundreds of dollars to me and I’ll sue you -for every cent. And, more’n that," he says, "this is the last straw -that’ll break your back as postmaster of this town. _You’re_ done! and -don’t you forget it!" - -I wa’n’t likely to forget it—not to any consider’ble extent. - -Well, all the rest of that day and for the next two days, Mary and -Peters and I hunted high and low for that letter; but we couldn’t find -it. I was worried, Peters was worried, and Mary Blaisdell seemed the -most worried of any of us. Ike Hamilton come in every few hours, and, -though he blustered and threatened a whole lot, he kept a civil tongue -in his head, rememberin’, I cal’late, what I said to him when I showed -him the door. Apparently he hadn’t told any of his cronies about his -loss, for nobody else said a word about it to me. This was queer, for I -expected the news would be all over town by this time. - -Peters asked a lot of questions and I done my best to satisfy him. I -showed him the exact place where I laid the letter down afore I went to -the front of the store to meet him, and he remembered, same as I did, -that the door to the mail room was locked when we come back to it. And -we’d stayed in that room together until Mary came and we went to dinner. -Nobody but Mary and I had keys to the room, either. - -Course I thought of Sim Kelley and how mad he was because I took the -letter away from him, and Peters and I cross-questioned him pretty -sharp. But he told a straight yarn and stuck to it. He hadn’t seen the -letter since I took it. He’d delivered the notice to Ike and Ike had -said he’d call and get the letter that afternoon. Well, all that seemed -to be true, and, besides, there was no way Sim could have got hold of -the thing if he’d wanted to. - -"No use," says I, when the questionin’ was over and Sim had cleared out, -protestin’ injured innocence and almost cryin’. "No use," says I, "I -cal’late he’s tellin’ the truth for once in his life. I guess his skirts -are clear." - -"Maybe so," says Peters. "His story is straight enough; but he don’t -look you in the face; I don’t like that." - -"That’s nothin’," I said. "He’d have to get 'round the corner to look a -body in the face, as cross-eyed as he is." - -Mary Blaisdell spoke up then. "If this letter shouldn’t be found at all, -Mr. Peters," says she, "what effect would it have on Cap’n Zeb’s -position as postmaster?" - -Peters was pretty solemn, and he shook his head. - -"Well," he says, "to be perfectly frank with you, Cap’n, it might have -consider’ble effect. From what I’ve seen of you and this office, -generally speakin’, my report to headquarters would be a very favorable -one. Your records and accounts are straight and the place is neat and -well kept. But your opponent’s petition charges that several letters -have been lost already. This loss comes at a very bad time and it -_might_ be considered serious." - -I’d realized all this, but it didn’t help me much to hear him say it. I -didn’t make any answer, but Mary asked another question. - -"But if," she says, slow, "it should turn out that the Cap’n was not to -blame at all? If someone else had lost that letter? He wouldn’t be -removed _then_?" - -"No, certainly not. That is, not if my report counted for anything." - -"I see," says she; and she didn’t speak to us again that afternoon. -Peters, though, had more questions to ask. What sort of a letter was -this, anyhow? And did I have any idea what was in it? - -I told him that I didn’t really know much, but, bein’ a Yankee, I was -subject to the guessin’ habit. Ike Hamilton had been buyin’ stocks up to -Boston and this letter had a broker firm’s name printed on the envelope. -My guess was that there was some certificates, or such, inside. - -"I see," he says. "That would explain what he said about its value. So -he’s been speculatin’, hey?" - -"So Sim Kelley hinted. But where the money comes from I don’t see. Old -Ichabod don’t furnish it, I’ll bet a dollar. The old critter’s got -cramps in the pocketbook worse than he has in his back." - -"That was the old feller you pointed out to me the other day," he says. -"I haven’t seen him since. Where is he?" - -"Back in bed with the rheumatiz, so I hear. Guess his cruise down town -was too much for him." - -Well, the rest of our talk didn’t amount to much and I went home that -night pretty blue and discouraged. I didn’t care so much about bein’ -postmaster, but it hurt my pride to be bounced for bad seamanship. I’d -never wrecked a craft afore in my life. - -Next mornin’ I come to the store at my usual time, but Mary was late, -for a wonder. When she did come she looked so pale and used up that I -was troubled. - -"Mary," says I, "what’s the matter? Ain’t sick, are you?" - -"Oh, no!" says she. "I—I didn’t sleep well, that’s all. I’m all right." - -"But, Mary," I says, "I—" - -"Please excuse me, Cap’n Zeb," she cut in. "I’m very busy." - -She’d never used that tone to me afore, and I was set back about forty -mile. Why she should be so frosty I couldn’t see. I went out to the -platform and paced the quarter deck, thinkin’. I was down at the heel -anyway, and I thought a whole lot of fool things. I was goin’ to lose my -job and so I s’posed that, after all, I’d ought to expect my friends to -shake me. There’s a proverb about rats leavin’ a leaky vessel. But Mary -Blaisdell!! I cal’late I come as nigh wishin’ I was dead as ever I did -in my life. - -'Twas almost eleven afore the Peters man showed up. He was walkin’ brisk -and smilin’ a little. - -"Well," says I, "you’re lookin’ a heap more chipper than I feel. What -are you grinnin’ about?" - -"Oh, just for instance," he says. "Is Miss Blaisdell in the office?" - -"Guess so. She was awhile ago. Yes, she’s there. Why?" - -"I want to see her—and you, too. Come on." - -He led the way to the mail room. Mary was there, workin’ at her books. -She looked up when we come in, and her face was whiter than ever. I -forgot all about my "rat" thoughts and the rest of it. - -"Mary," says I, anxious, "you _are_ under the weather. Why don’t you go -home?" - -She held up her hand and stopped me. - -"Please don’t," she says. - -Then, turnin’ to Peters: "Mr. Peters, I want to speak to you. And to -you, too, Cap’n Zeb. I—I’ve got somethin’ that I must tell you." - -'Twa’n’t so much what she said as the way she said it. I looked at -Peters and he looked at me. I cal’late we was both wonderin’ what sort -of lightnin’ was goin’ to strike now. - -She didn’t leave us to wonder long. She went right on, speakin’ quick, -as if she wanted to get it over with. - -"Mr. Peters," she says, "last night you told me that, if it should be -proved that Cap’n Zeb had no part in losin’ that letter, if it wasn’t -his fault at all, the postmastership wouldn’t be taken from him. You -meant that, didn’t you?" - -Peters looked queer enough. "Why, yes," he says, "I did. But how—" - -"Mr. Peters," she went on, in the same hurried way, "_I_ lost that -letter." - -I don’t know what Peters did then, but I know that my knees give from -under me and I flopped down in the armchair. - -"You? _You_, Mary!" says I. - -Peters seemed to be as much flabbergasted as I was. He rubbed his -forehead. - -"_You_ lost it?" he says, slow. - -"Yes," says she. "That is, I—I destroyed it by accident. It was while -you two were at dinner. I was clearin’ up the sortin’ table and—and -puttin’ the waste paper in the stove. I—I must have taken the letter -with the other things." - -"Nonsense!" I sung out. Peters didn’t say nothin’. - -"Nonsense!" I said again. "You don’t know that ’twas—" - -"But I do," she interrupted. "I—I saw it burnin’ and—and it was too late -to get it out. It was my fault altogether. No one else is to blame at -all." - -If I hadn’t been settin’ down already you could have knocked me over -with a feather. ’Twas an accident, of course; anybody might have done -such a thing; but what I couldn’t understand was why she hadn’t told me -of it afore. That didn’t seem like her at all. - -"Well!" I says; "_well_!" - -Peters had transferred his rubbin’ from his forehead to his chin. - -"Miss Blaisdell," says he, quiet, "why didn’t you tell us sooner?" - -"That’s all right," I cut in, quick. "I don’t blame her for not tellin’. -I cal’late that she felt so bad about it that she couldn’t make up her -mind to tell right off. That was it, wa’n’t it, Mary?" - -She didn’t look up, but sat playin’ with a pen-holder. - -"Yes," she says, "that was it." - -"All right then," says I. "It was an accident, and if anybody’s to blame -it’s me. I shouldn’t have left the letter there." - -_Then_ she looked up. "Of course you’re not to blame," she says, awful -earnest. "It was my fault entirely. You know it was, Mr. Peters. It was -my fault and I must take the consequences. I will resign my place as -assistant and—" - -"Resign!" I sung out. "Resign! Well, I guess not!" - -"But I shall. Of course I shall. Mr. Peters, you see that it wasn’t -Cap’n Snow’s fault, don’t you? _Don’t_ you?" - -"Yes," says Peters, short. - -"Nonsense!" I roared. "He don’t see no such thing. Mary, I don’t care—" - -She held up her hand. "Please don’t talk to me now," she begged. -"Please—not now." - -I looked at Peters. There was a look in his eyes, almost as if he was -smilin’ inside. I could have punched his head for it. - -"But, Mary—" I begun. - -"Please don’t talk to me," she begged, almost cryin’. "Please go away -and leave me now. Please." - -I cal’late I shouldn’t have gone; fact is, I know I shouldn’t; but that -government investigator put his hand on my arm. - -"Cap’n," he says, "come with me." - -"With you?" I snapped. "Why?" - -"Because I want you to. It’s important. I won’t keep you long." - -I went, but he’ll never know how much I wanted to kick him. As I shut -the door of the mail room I saw poor Mary’s head go down on her arms on -the desk. - -Peters led me out to the front of the store, where he come to anchor on -a shoe-case. - -"Set down," says he, pattin’ the case alongside of him. - -"I don’t feel like settin’," I says, ugly. "And I tell you, Mr. Peters—" - -"No," says he, "I’m goin’ to tell _you_ this time. Or, if I’m not, the -feller I told to be here at half past eleven will. Yes ... here he comes -now." - -In at the door comes Sim Kelley, and, if ever a chap looked as if he was -marchin’ to be hung, he did. His eyes was red and his face was white -under the freckles. - -"Here—here I be, Mr. Peters," he stammered. - -"Yes, I see you ’be,’" says Peters, dry as a chip. "All right. Now you -can tell Cap’n Snow what you told me this mornin’." - -Sim looked at me, and at the government man. He was shakin’ all over. - -"Aw, Cap’n Zeb," he bust out, "don’t be too hard on me. Don’t put me in -jail! I know I hadn’t ought to have taken that letter, but you riled me -up when you told me I couldn’t be trusted with it. Ike pays me to fetch -the mail. And he told me he was expectin’ an important letter from them -stockbrokers. So I—" - -Well, there’s no use tryin’ to spin the yarn the way he did. ’Twas all -mixed up with prayers about not puttin’ him in jail, and what would his -ma say, and "pleases" and "oh, dont’s" and such. B’iled down and skimmed -it amounted to this: He’d seen me lay that Hamilton letter on the -sortin’ table, saw it when he come back to tell me that Peters had -arrived. After I’d gone out to the platform he was struck with an idea. -He _would_ take that letter to Ike, just to show that he could be -trusted, and, besides Ike had promised him fifty cents for lookin’ out -for it and fetchin’ it to him direct. He had a key to the Hamilton box -and the letter laid right back of that box. All he had to do was to -reach through the box to the table, take the letter, and lock up again. -So he did it, and put the letter in his overcoat inside pocket. - -"And—and—" he finished up, almost blubberin’, "there was a great big -hole in that pocket and I didn’t know it." - -"I did," says I, involuntary, so to speak. "Never mind. Heave ahead." - -"And the letter must have dropped out of it. When I got a little ways up -the road I found ’twas gone. I didn’t dast tell Ike or you. I—I didn’t -_dast_ to. Ike would kill me if I told him, and—and—Oh, please, Cap’n -Zeb, don’t put me in jail! I don’t know where the letter is. Honest, I -don’t! _Please_ ..." and so on. - -Peters cut him short. "There!" says he, "that’ll do. Kelley, you go out -on the platform and wait till we need you. Go ahead! Shut up—and go." - -Sim went, but I cal’late if we’d listened we could have heard the -platform boards tremblin’ underneath where he was standin’. - -Peters looked at me and grinned. ’Twas my time to rub my forehead. - -"Well!" says I. "Well, I—I.... Is he lyin’?" - -"Didn’t act like it, did he?" - -"No-o, he didn’t. But—but, if he took that letter, how did it get back -onto that sortin’ table?" - -"How do you know it did?" - -"How do I know! Course it got back there! Didn’t Mary say—" - -"Wait a minute," he put in. "How do you explain that, Cap’n?" - -He was holdin’ out somethin’ that he’d took from his pocket. I grabbed -it. ’Twas the regular receipt for that registered letter, and ’twas -signed by Ichabod Hamilton, Junior. - -I looked at that receipt and then at him. The paddin’ in my head that, -up to then, I’d complimented by callin’ brains was whirlin’ as if -somebody was stirrin’ it. I couldn’t say a word. He laughed out loud. - -"Don’t have a fit, Cap’n Snow," he says. "It’s simple enough. What you -told me yesterday about the firm of Hamilton and Co. put me wise to the -real answer to the riddle. I remembered that you pointed out Hamilton to -me on the street when you and I were on the way to that hotel where we -dined the noon of my arrival. He was on his way home then and he had -been somewhere in this vicinity. There was a chance that he had been -here at the office. This mornin’ I went to his house and found him in -bed. He was full of rheumatism and groans, but fuller still of the Evil -One. I told him I knew he’d got his partner’s registered letter—a bluff -of course—and he didn’t take the trouble to deny it. Seems Sim Kelley, -with the mail box, passed him right here by the store platform. As they -passed each other the letter fell from Kelley’s overcoat pocket. The old -man picked it up, intendin’ to call to Kelley and give it back to him. -When he saw the address he didn’t." - -He stopped then, waitin’ for me to say somethin’, I s’pose. But I -couldn’t say anything. My head was fuller of stir-about than ever, and I -just stared at him with my mouth open. - -"When he saw the address—and the name of the brokerage firm—he didn’t. -He took that letter home and opened it. You see, the old feller is -nobody’s fool, even if his rheumatism has kept him from active business -for the last few months. He had suspected his nephew of speculatin’ and -here was the proof, a hundred shares of cheap minin’ stock, and a letter -sayin’ that two hundred more had been bought on a margin. Young Hamilton -had been stockjobbin’ with the firm’s money." - -"My—soul!" was all I could say. - -"Yes; well, old Ichabod is—ha! ha!—a queer character. His rheumatism had -come back and he was waitin’ to get better afore he took the matter up -with his partner. ’What I’ll say and do to that young pup is a well -man’s job,’ he told me. We had a long talk and it ended in his sendin’ -for Ike. As soon as the young chap came I cleared out—that is, after I -got this receipt signed. That bedroom was too sulphurous for me. I could -smell brimstone even in the front yard. Cap’n, I guess you needn’t worry -about your rival candidate for postmaster. He’s got troubles enough of -his own." - -I got up, slow and deliberate, from that shoe-case. - -"But—but—" I stuttered. - -"Yes? Anything that I haven’t made clear?" - -"Anything? Why! if all this yarn of yours is so—.... But it _can’t_ be -so! Why did Mary burn that letter?" - -"She didn’t." - -"But she said she did." - -"I know. Well, Cap’n, if you’ll remember when we talked, the three of -us, yesterday, I hinted that unless you were cleared of blame in this -affair you might be removed from office." - -"I know, but.... Hey? You mean that she lied and put the blame on -herself, so as to save _me_? So’s I’d keep my job?" - -"Looks that way to a man up a tree, doesn’t it?" - -"But why? Why should she sacrifice herself for—for me?" - -Peters bit the end off of a cigar. "That," says he, "don’t come under -the head of government business." - - ———— - -Mary was still at her desk when I walked into the mail room. I put my -hand on her shoulder. - -"Mary," says I, "I know all about it." - -She looked at me. Her eyes were wet, and I cal’late mine wa’n’t as dry -as a sand bank in July. - -"You know?" she says. - -"Yes," says I. And I told her the yarn. Afore I got through the color -had come back to her cheeks. - -"Then you did leave it on the sortin’ table after all," she says, almost -in a whisper. - -"Course I did! Didn’t I say so?" - -"Yes; but Cap’n Zeb, I saw you put that letter in your overcoat pocket. -I saw you do it, myself." - -So there ’twas. I’d forgot to tell her about my mistake in the overcoats -and she thought I’d lost the letter and didn’t know it. - -"And so," says I, after I’d explained, "you thought I’d lost it and yet -you took the blame all on yourself. You risked your place and told a lie -just to save me, Mary. Why did you do it?" - -"How could I help it?" she says. "You’ve been so good to me and so -kind." - -"Good and kind be keelhauled!" I sung out. "Mary, my goodness and -kindness wouldn’t explain a thing like that. Oh, Mary, don’t let’s have -another misunderstandin’. I’m crazy maybe to think of such a thing, and -I’m ten years older than you, and you’ll be throwin’ yourself away, but, -_do_ you care enough for me to—" - -She got up from her desk, all flustered like. - -"It’s mail time," she says. "I—I must—" - -But ’twa’n’t mail I was interested in just then. I caught her afore she -could get away. - -"Could you, Mary?" I pleaded. She wouldn’t look at me, so I put my hand -under her chin and tipped her head back so I could see her face. ’Twas -as red as a spring peony, and her eyes were wetter than ever. But they -were shinin’ behind the fog. - -Well, about three that afternoon, we were alone together in the mail -room. Peters, who had as much common sense as anybody ever I see, had -gone for a walk. - -Mary was thinkin’ things over and says she, "But it was too bad," she -says, "that all the worry and trouble had to come on you just because of -that foolish Sim Kelley. I’m so sorry." - -"Sorry!" says I. "I’m goin’ to give Sim a ten-dollar bill next time I -see him. If I gave him a million ’twould be a cheap price for what I’ve -got by his buttin’ in. Sorry! _I_ ain’t sorry, I tell you that!" - -And I’ve never been sorry since, either. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI—I PAY MY OTHER BET - - -'Twas June, and Mary and I were in New York together, on _our_ -honeymoon. We’d been married, quietly, by the same parson that tied the -knot for Jim and Georgianna, and Georgianna and Jim had been on hand at -the ceremony. We was cal’latin’ to stop in New York a few days, then go -to Washington, and from there to Chicago, and from there to California -or the Yellerstone, or anywhere that seemed good to us at the time. I’d -waited fifty years for my weddin’ tour and I didn’t intend to let -dollars and cents cut much figger, so far as regulatin’ the limits of -the cruise was concerned. Jim Henry and the clerk, who’d been swore in -as substitute assistant, believed they could run the store and -post-office while we were gone. - -Mary and I were walkin’ down Broadway together. I’d told her I had an -errand to do and asked her if she wanted to come along. She said she did -and we were walkin’ down Broadway, as I said, when all at once I pulled -up short. - -"What is it?" asked Mary, lookin’ to see what had run across my bows to -bring me up into the wind so sudden. - -"Nothin’ serious," says I; "but, unless my eyesight is goin’ back on me, -this shop we’re in front of is what I’ve been huntin’ for." - -She looked at the shop I was p’intin’ at. The window was full of hats, -straw ones mainly. - -"Why!" says she, "it’s a hat store, isn’t it? You don’t need a new hat, -Zebulon, do you?" - -"You bet I do!" says I, chucklin’. "I need just as much hat as there is. -Come in and watch me buy it." - -I could see she was puzzled, but she was more so after I got into the -store. A slick-lookin’, but pretty condescendin’ young clerk marched up -to us and says he: - -"Somethin’ in a hat, sir?" - -"Yes, sir," says I; "_everything_ in a hat." - -He didn’t know what to make of that, so he tried again. - -"One of our new straws, perhaps?" he asks. "The fifteenth is almost -here, you know." - -"Maybe so," I told him, "but I don’t want any straw, the fifteenth or -the sixteenth either. I want a plug hat, a beaver hat—that’s what I -want." - -The clerk was a little set back, I guess, but poor Mary was all at sea. - -"Why, Zebulon!" she whispers, grabbin’ me by the arm, "what are you -doin’? You’re not goin’ to buy a silk hat!" - -"Yes, I am," says I. - -"But you aren’t goin’ to _wear_ it." - -To save me, when I looked at her face I couldn’t help laughin’. - -"Ain’t I?" says I. "Why, I think I’d look too cute for anything in a -tall hat. What’s your opinion?" turnin’ to the clerk. - -He coughed behind his hand and then made proclamation that a silk hat -would become me very well, he was sure. - -"Then you’re a whole lot surer than I am," says I. "However, trot one -out, the best article you’ve got in stock." - -That clerk’s back was gettin’ limberer every second. "Yes, sir," says -he, bowin’. "Our imported hat at ten dollars is the finest in New York. -If you and the lady will step this way, please." - -We stepped; that is, I did. I pretty nigh had to _drag_ Mary. - -"What size, sir?" asked the clerk. - -"Oh, I don’t know," says I. "Any nice genteel size will do, I guess." - -I had consider’ble fun with that clerk, fust and last, and when we came -out of that store I was luggin’ a fine leather box with the imported -tall hat inside it. I’d made arrangements that, if the size shouldn’t be -right, it could be exchanged. - -"And now, Mary," says I, "I cal’late you’re wonderin’ where we’ll go -next, ain’t you?" - -She looked at me and shook her head. - -"Zeb," she says, half laughin’, "I—I’m almost afraid we ought to go to -the insane asylum." - -I laughed out loud then. "Not just yet," I told her. "We’re goin’ on a -cruise down South Street fust." - -So I hired a hack—street cars ain’t good enough for a man on his weddin’ -trip—and the feller drove us to the number I give him on South Street. -The old place looked mighty familiar. - -"Is Mr. Pike in?" I asked the bookkeeper, who had hollered my name out -as if he was glad to see me. - -"Why, yes, Cap’n Snow, he’s in. I’ll tell him you’re here." - -"Wait a minute," says I. "Is he alone? Good! Then I’ll tell him myself. -Come, Mary." - -Pike was in his private office, not lookin’ a day older than when I left -him four years and a half ago. He looked up, jumped, and then grabbed me -by both hands. "Why, Cap’n Zeb!" he sung out. "If this isn’t good for -sore eyes. How are you? What are you doin’ here in New York? By George, -I’m glad to see you! What—" - -"Wait!" I interrupted. "Business fust, and pleasure afterwards. I’m here -to pay my debts." - -"Debts?" says he, wonderin’. - -"Yes," I says. "Did you get a hat from me four year or so ago?" - -He laughed. "Yes, I did," he says. "I wrote you that I did. I knew I -should win that bet. You couldn’t stay idle to save your soul." - -"There was another bet, too, if you recollect. A bet with a five-year -limit on it. The limit won’t be up till next fall, so here I am—and -here’s the other hat." - -I set the leather box on the table. He stared at it and then at me. - -"What do you mean?" he says, slow. "I don’t remember.... Why, yes—I do! -You don’t mean to tell me that you’re—" - -"That’s the hat, ain’t it?" I cut in. "You’re a man of judgment, Mr. -Pike, and any time you want to set up professionally as a prophet I’d -like to take stock in the company." - -He was beginnin’ to smile. - -"Then—" says he—"Why, then this must be—" - -I cut in and stopped him. - -"Hold on," says I. "Hold on! I’m prouder to be able to say it than I -ever was of anything else in this world, and I sha’n’t let you say it -fust. Mr. Pike, let me introduce you to my wife—Mrs. Zebulon Snow." - -About half an hour afterwards he found time to look at the hat. - -"Whew!" says he. "Cap’n, this is much too good a hat for you to buy for -me. I’m mighty glad, for your sake, that I won the bet, but—" - -"Ssh-h! shh!" says I. "Don’t say another word. Think of what _I_ won! -Hey, Mary?" - - - - THE END - - - - - - *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POSTMASTER *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37482 - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission -and without paying copyright royalties. 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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 http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Title: The Postmaster - -Author: Joseph C. Lincoln - -Release Date: September 19, 2011 [EBook #37482] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POSTMASTER *** - - - - -Produced by Roger Frank, Mary Meehan, and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. - - BY JOSEPH C. LINCOLN - - Author of "The Depot Master," "Cap'n Warrens Wards," - "Cap'n Eri," "Mr. Pratt," etc. - - _With Four Illustrations_ - _By_ HOWARD HEATH - - A. L. BURT COMPANY - _Publishers New York_ - - _Copyright, 1912, by_ - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY - - Copyright, 1911, 1912, by the Curtis Publishing Company - Copyright, 1911, 1912, by the Ainslee Magazine Company - Copyright, 1912, by the Ridgeway Company - - Published, April, 1912 - - Printed in the United States of America - - ---- - -[Illustration: _Seems to me I never saw her look prettier._] - - ---- - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER I--I MAKE TWO BETS--AND LOSE ONE OF 'EM - CHAPTER II--WHAT A "PULLET" DID TO A PEDIGREE - CHAPTER III--I GET INTO POLITICS - CHAPTER IV--HOW I MADE A CLAM CHOWDER; AND WHAT A CLAM CHOWDER MADE - OF ME - CHAPTER V--A TRAP AND WHAT THE "RAT" CAUGHT IN IT - CHAPTER VI--I RUN AFOUL OF COUSIN LEMUEL - CHAPTER VII--THE FORCE AND THE OBJECT - CHAPTER VIII--ARMENIANS AND INJUNS; LIKEWISE BY-PRODUCTS - CHAPTER IX--ROSES--BY ANOTHER NAME - CHAPTER X--THE SIGN OF THE WINDMILL - CHAPTER XI--COOKS AND CROOKS - CHAPTER XII--JIM HENRY STARTS SCREENIN' - CHAPTER XIII--WHAT CAME THROUGH THE SCREEN - CHAPTER XIV--THE EPISTLE TO ICHABOD - CHAPTER XV--HOW IKE'S LOSS TURNED OUT TO BE MY GAIN - CHAPTER XVI--I PAY MY OTHER BET - - ---- - - THE POSTMASTER - - ---- - - - - -CHAPTER I--I MAKE TWO BETS--AND LOSE ONE OF 'EM - - -"So you're through with the sea for good, are you, Cap'n Zeb," says Mr. -Pike. - -"You bet!" says I. "Through for good is just _what_ I am." - -"Well, I'm sorry, for the firm's sake," he says. "It won't seem natural -for the _Fair Breeze_ to make port without you in command. Cap'n, you're -goin' to miss the old schooner." - -"Cal'late I shall--some--along at fust," I told him. "But I'll get over -it, same as the cat got over missin' the canary bird's singin'; and I'll -have the cat's consolation--that I done what seemed best for me." - -He laughed. He and I were good friends, even though he was ship-owner -and I was only skipper, just retired. - -"So you're goin' back to Ostable?" he says. "What are you goin' to do -after you get there?" - -"Nothin'; thank you very much," says I, prompt. - -"No work at _all_?" he says, surprised. "Not a hand's turn? Goin' to be -a gentleman of leisure, hey?" - -"Nigh as I can, with my trainin'. The 'leisure' part'll be all right, -anyway." - -He shook his head and laughed again. - -"I think I see you," says he. "Cap'n, you've been too busy all your life -even to get married, and--" - -"Humph!" I cut in. "Most married men I've met have been a good deal -busier than ever I was. And a good deal more worried when business was -dull. No, sir-ee! 'twa'n't that that kept me from gettin' married. I've -been figgerin' on the day when I could go home and settle down. If I'd -had a wife all these years I'd have been figgerin' on bein' able to -settle up. I ain't goin' to Ostable to get married." - -"I'll bet you do, just the same," says he. "And I'll bet you somethin' -else: I'll bet a new hat, the best one I can buy, that inside of a year -you'll be head over heels in some sort of hard work. It may not be -seafarin', but it'll be somethin' to keep you busy. You're too good a -man to rust in the scrap heap. Come! I'll bet the hat. What do you say?" - -"Take you," says I, quick. "And if you want to risk another on my -marryin', I'll take that, too." - -"Go you," says he. "You'll be married inside of three years--or five, -anyway." - -"One year that I'll be at work--steady work--and five that I'm married. -You're shipped, both ways. And I wear a seven and a quarter, soft hat, -black preferred." - -"If I don't win the first bet I will the second, sure," he says, -confident. "'Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands,' you know. -Well, good-by, and good luck. Come in and see us whenever you get to New -York." - -We shook hands, and I walked out of that office, the office that had -been my home port ever since I graduated from fust mate to skipper. And -on the way to the Fall River boat I vowed my vow over and over again. - -"Zebulon Snow," I says to myself--not out loud, you understand; for, -accordin' to Scriptur' or the Old Farmers' Almanac or somethin', a -feller who talks to himself is either rich or crazy and, though I was -well enough fixed to keep the wolf from the door, I wa'n't by no means -so crazy as to leave the door open and take chances--"Zebulon Snow," -says I, "you're forty-eight year old and blessedly single. All your life -you've been haulin' ropes, or bossin' fo'mast hands, or tryin' to make -harbor in a fog. Now that you've got an anchor to wind'ard--now that the -one talent you put under the stock exchange napkin has spread out so -that you have to have a tablecloth to tote it home in, don't you be a -fool. Don't plant it again, cal'latin' to fill a mains'l next time, -'cause you won't do it. Take what you've got and be thankful--and -careful. You go ashore at Ostable, where you was born, and settle down -and be somebody." - -That's about what I said to myself, and that's what I started to do. I -made Ostable on the next mornin's train. The town had changed a whole -lot since I left it, mainly on account of so many summer folks buyin' -and buildin' everywhere, especially along the water front. The few -reg'lar inhabitants that I knew seemed to be glad to see me, which I -took as a sort of compliment, for it don't always foller by a -consider'ble sight. I got into the depot wagon--the same horse was -drawin' it, I judged, that Eben Hendricks had bought when I was a -boy--and asked to be carted to the Travelers' Inn. It appeared that -there wa'n't any Travelers' Inn now, that is to say, the name of it had -been changed to the Poquit House; "Poquit" bein' Injun or Portygee or -somethin' foreign. - -But the name was the only thing about that hotel that was changed. The -grub was the same and the wallpaper on the rooms they showed to me -looked about the same age as I was, and wa'n't enough handsomer to -count, either. I hired a couple of them rooms, one to sleep in and smoke -in, and t'other to entertain the parson in, if he should call, -which--unless the profession had changed, too--I judged he would do -pretty quick. I had the rooms cleaned and papered, bought some dyspepsy -medicine to offset the meals I was likely to have, and settled down to -be what Mr. Pike had called a "gentleman of leisure." - -Fust three months 'twas fine. At the end of the second three it -commenced to get a little mite dull. In about two more I found my mind -was shrinkin' so that the little mean cat-talks at the breakfast table -was beginnin' to seem interestin' and important. Then I knew 'twas time -to doctor up with somethin' besides dyspepsy pills. Ossification was -settin' in and I'd got to do somethin' to keep me interested, even if I -paid for Pike's hats for the next generation. - -You see, there was such a sameness to the programme. Turn out in the -mornin', eat and listen to gossip, go out and take a walk, smoke, talk -with folks I met--more gossip--come back and eat again, go over and -watch the carpenters on the latest summer cottage, smoke some more, eat -some more, and then go down to the Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and -Shoes and Fancy Goods Store, or to the post-office, and set around with -the gang till bedtime. That may be an excitin' life for a jellyfish, or -a reg'lar Ostable loafer--but it didn't suit me. - -I was feelin' that way, and pretty desperate, the night when Winthrop -Adams Beanblossom--which wa'n't the critter's name but is nigh enough to -the real one for him to cruise under in this yarn--told me the story of -his life and started me on the v'yage that come to mean so much to me. I -didn't know 'twas goin' to mean much of anything when I started in. But -that night Winthrop got me to paddlin', so's to speak, and, later on, -come Jim Henry Jacobs to coax me into deeper water; and, after that, the -combination of them two and Miss Letitia Lee Pendlebury shoved me in all -under, so 'twas a case of stickin' to it or swimmin' or drownin'. - -I was in the Ostable Store that evenin', as usual. 'Twas almost nine -o'clock and the rest of the bunch around the stove had gone home. I was -fillin' my pipe and cal'latin' to go, too--if you can call a tavern like -the Poquit House a home. Beanblossom was in behind the desk, his funny -little grizzly-gray head down over a pile of account books and papers, -his specs roostin' on the end of his thin nose, and his pen scratchin' -away like a stray hen in a flower bed. - -"Well, Beanblossom," says I, gettin' up and stretchin', "I cal'late it's -time to shed the partin' tear. I'll leave you to figger out whether to -spend this week's profits in government bonds or trips to Europe and go -and lay my weary bones in the tomb, meanin' my private vault on the -second floor of the Poquit. Adieu, Beanblossom," I says; "remember me at -my best, won't you?" - -He didn't seem to sense what I was drivin' at. He lifted his head out of -the books and papers, heaved a sigh that must have started somewheres -down along his keelson, and says, sorrowful but polite--he was always -polite--"Er--yes? You were addressin' me, Cap'n Snow?" - -"Nothin' in particular," I says. "I was just askin' if you intended -spendin' your profits on a trip to Europe this summer." - -Would you believe it, that little storekeepin' man looked at me through -his specs, his pale face twitchin' and workin' like a youngster's when -he's tryin' not to cry, and then, all to once, he broke right down, -leaned his head on his hands and sobbed out loud. - -I looked at him. "For the dear land sakes," I sung out, soon's I could -collect sense enough to say anything, "what is the matter? Is anybody -dead or--" - -He groaned. "Dead?" he interrupted. "I wish to heaven, I was dead." - -"Well!" I gasps. "_Well!_" - -"Oh, why," says he, "was I ever born?" - -That bein' a question that I didn't feel competent to answer, I didn't -try. My remark about goin' to Europe was intended for a joke, but if my -jokes made grown-up folks cry I cal'lated 'twas time I turned serious. - -"What _is_ the matter, Beanblossom?" I says. "Are you in trouble?" - -For a spell he wouldn't answer, just kept on sobbin' and wringin' his -thin hands, but, after consider'ble of such, and a good many -unsatisfyin' remarks, he give in and told me the whole yarn, told me all -his troubles. They were complicated and various. - -Picked over and b'iled down they amounted to this: He used to have an -income and he lived on it--in bachelor quarters up to Boston. Nigh as I -could gather he never did any real work except to putter in libraries -and collect books and such. Then, somehow or other, the bank the heft of -his money was in broke up and his health broke down. The doctors said he -must go away into the country. He couldn't afford to go and do nothin', -so he has a wonderful inspiration--he'll buy a little store in what he -called a "rural community" and go into business. He advertises, "Country -Store Wanted Cheap," or words to that effect. Abial Beasley's widow had -the "Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods Store" -on her hands. She answers the ad and they make a dicker. Said dicker -took about all the cash Beanblossom had left. For a year he had been -fightin' along tryin' to make both ends meet, but now they was so fur -apart they was likely to meet on the back stretch. He owed 'most a -thousand dollars, his trade was fallin' off, he hadn't a cent and nobody -to turn to. What should he do? _What_ should he do? - -That was another question I couldn't answer off hand. It was plain -enough why he was in the hole he was, but how to get him out was -different. I set down on the edge of the counter, swung my legs and -tried to think. - -"Hum," says I, "you don't know much about keepin' store, do you, -Beanblossom? Didn't know nothin' about it when you started in?" - -He shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Cap'n Snow," he says. "Why should I? -I never was obliged to labor. I was not interested in trade. I never -supposed I should be brought to this. I am a man of family, Cap'n Snow." - -"Yes," I says, "so'm I. Number eight in a family of thirteen. But that -never helped me none. My experience is that you can't count much on your -relations." - -Would I pardon him, but that was not the sense in which he had used the -word "family." He meant that he came of the best blood in New England. -His ancestors had made their marks and-- - -"Made their marks!" I put in. "Why? Couldn't they write their names?" - -He was dreadful shocked, but he explained. The Beanblossoms and their -gang were big-bugs, fine folks. He was terrible proud of his family. -During the latter part of his life in Boston he had become interested in -genealogy. He had begun a "family tree"--whatever that was--but he never -finished it. The smash came and shook him out of the branches; that -wa'n't what he said, but 'twas the way I sensed it. And now he had come -to this. His money was gone; he couldn't pay his debts; he couldn't have -any more credit. He must fail; he was bankrupt. Oh, the disgrace! and -likewise oh, the poorhouse! - -"But," says I, considerin', "it can't be so turrible bad. You don't owe -but a thousand dollars, this store's the only one in town and Abial used -to do pretty well with it. If your debts was paid, and you had a little -cash to stock up with, seems to me you might make a decent v'yage yet. -Couldn't you?" - -He didn't know. Perhaps he could. But what was the use of talkin' that -way? For him to pick up a thousand would be about as easy as for a -paralyzed man with boxin' gloves on to pick up a flea, or words to that -effect. No, no, 'twas no use! he must go to the poorhouse! and so forth -and so on. - -"You hold on," I says. "Don't you engage your poorhouse berth yet. You -keep mum and say nothin' to nobody and let me think this over a spell. I -need somethin' to keep me interested and ... I'll see you to-morrow -sometime. Good night." - -I went home thinkin' and I thought till pretty nigh one o'clock. Then I -decided I was a fool even to think for five minutes. Hadn't I sworn to -be careful and never take another risk? I was sorry for poor old -Winthrop, but I couldn't afford to mix pity and good legal tender; that -was the sort of blue and yeller drink that filled the poor-debtors' -courts. And, besides, wasn't I pridin' myself on bein' a gentleman of -leisure. If I got mixed up in this, no tellin' what I might be led into. -Hadn't I bragged to Pike about--Oh, I _was_ a fool! - -Which was all right, only, after listenin' to the breakfast conversation -at the Poquit House, down I goes to the store and afore the forenoon was -over I was Winthrop Adams Beanblossom's silent partner to the extent of -twenty-five hundred dollars. I was busy once more and glad of it, even -though Pike _was_ goin' to get a hat free. - -This was in January. By early March I was twice as busy and not half as -glad. You see I'd cal'lated that the store was all right, all it needed -was financin'. Trade was just asleep, taking a nap, and I could wake it -up. I was wrong. Trade was dead, and, barrin' the comin' of a prophet or -some miracle worker to fetch it to life, what that shop was really -sufferin' for was an undertaker. My twenty-five hundred was funeral -expenses, that's all. - -But the prophet came. Yes, sir, he came and fetched his miracle with -him. One evenin', after all the reg'lar customers, who set around in -chairs borrowin' our genuine tobacco and payin' for it with counterfeit -funny stories, had gone--after everybody, as we cal'lated, had cleared -out--Beanblossom and I set down to hold our usual autopsy over the -remains of the fortni't's trade. 'Twas a small corpse and didn't take -long to dissect. We'd lost twenty-one dollars and sixty-eight cents, and -the only comfort in that was that 'twas seventy-six cents less than the -two weeks previous. The weather had been some cooler and less stuff had -sp'iled on our hands; that accounted for the savin'. - -Beanblossom--I'd got into the habit of callin' him "Pullet" 'cause his -general build was so similar to a moultin' chicken--he vowed he couldn't -understand it. - -"I think I shall give up buyin' so liberally, Cap'n Snow," says he. "If -we didn't keep on buyin' we shouldn't lose half so much," he says. - -"Yes," says I, "that's logic. And if we give up sellin' we shouldn't -lose the other half. You and me are all right as fur as we go, Pullet, -and I guess we've gone about as fur as we can." - -"Please don't call me 'Pullet,'" he says, dignified. "When I think of -what I once was, it--" - -"S-sh-h!" I broke in. "It's what I am that troubles me. I don't dare -think of that when the minister's around--he might be a mind-reader. No, -Pul--Beanblossom, I mean--it's no use. I imagined because I could run a -three-masted schooner I could navigate this craft. I can't. I know twice -as much as you do about keepin' store, but the trouble with that example -is the answer, which is that you don't know nothin'. We might just -exactly as well shut up shop now, while there's enough left to square -the outstandin' debts." - -He turned white and began the hand-wringin' exercise. - -"Think of the disgrace!" he says. - -"Think of my twenty-five hundred," says I. - -"Excuse me, gentlemen," says a voice astern of us; "excuse me for -buttin' in; but I judge that what you need is a butter." - -Pullet and I jumped and turned round. We'd supposed we was alone and to -say we was surprised is puttin' it mild. For a second I couldn't make -out what had happened, or where the voice came from, or who 'twas that -had spoke--then, as he come across into the lamplight I recognized him. -'Twas Jim Henry Jacobs, the livin' mystery. - -[Illustration: _As he come across into the lamplight I recognized him._] - -Jim Henry was middlin'-sized, sharp-faced, dressed like a ready-tailored -advertisement, and as smooth and slick as an eel in a barrel of sweet -ile. Accordin' to his entry on the books of the Poquit House he hailed -from Chicago. He'd been in Ostable for pretty nigh a month and nobody -had been able to find out any more about him than just that, which is a -some miracle of itself--if you know Ostable. He was always ready to -talk--talkin' was one of his main holts--but when you got through -talkin' with him all you had to remember was a smile and a flow of -words. He was at the seashore for his health, that he always give you to -understand. You could believe it if you wanted to. - -He'd got into the habit of spendin' his evenin's at Pullet's store, -settin' around listenin' and smilin' and agreein' with folks. He was the -only feller I ever met who could say no and agree with you at the same -time. Solon Saunders tried to borrow fifty cents of him once and when -the pair of 'em parted, Saunders was scratchin' his head and lookin' -puzzled. "I can't understand it," says Solon. "I would have swore he'd -lent it to me. 'Twas just as if I had the fifty in my hand. I--I thanked -him for it and all that, but--but now he's gone I don't seem to be no -richer than when I started. I can't understand it." - -Pullet and I had seen him settin' abaft the stove early in the evenin', -but, somehow or other, we got the notion that he'd cleared out with the -other loafers. However, he hadn't, and he'd heard all we'd been sayin'. - -He walked across to where we was, pulled a shoe box from under the -counter, come to anchor on it and crossed his legs. - -"Gentlemen," he says again, "you need a butter." - -Poor old Pullet was so set back his brains was sort of scrambled, like a -pan of eggs. - -"Er-er, Mr. Jacobs," he says, "I am very sorry, extremely sorry, but we -are all out just at this minute. I fully intended to order some to-day, -but I--I guess I must have forgotten it." - -Jacobs couldn't seem to make any more out of this than I did. - -"Out?" he says, wonderin'. "Out? Who's out? What's out? I guess I've -dropped the key or lost the combination. What's the answer?" - -"Why, butter," says Pullet, apologizin'. "You asked for butter, didn't -you? As I was sayin', I should have ordered some to-day, but--" - -Jim Henry waved his hands. "Sh-h," he says, "don't mention it. Forget -it. If I'd wanted butter in this emporium I should have asked for -somethin' else. I've been givin' this mart of trade some attention for -the past three weeks and I judge that its specialty is bein' able to -supply what ain't wanted. I hinted that you two needed a butter-in. All -right. I'm the goat. Now if you'll kindly give me your attention, I'll -elucidate." - -We give the attention. After he'd "elucidated" for five minutes we'd -have given him our clothes. You never heard such a mess of language as -that Chicago man turned loose. He talked and talked and talked. He knew -all about the store and the business, and what he didn't know he guessed -and guessed right. He knew about Pullet and his buyin' the place, about -my goin' in as silent partner--though _that_ nobody was supposed to -know. He knew the shebang wa'n't payin' and, also and moreover, he knew -why. And he had the remedy buttoned up in his jacket--the name of it was -James Henry Jacobs. - -"Gentlemen," he says, "I'm a specialist. I'm a doctor of sick business. -Ever since my medicine man ordered me to quit the giddy metropolis and -the Grand Central Department Store, where I was third assistant manager, -I've been driftin' about seekin' a nice, quiet hamlet and an -opportunity. Here's the ham and, if you say the word, here's the -opportunity. This shop is in a decline; it's got creepin' paralysis and -locomotive hang-back-tia. There's only one thing that can change the -funeral to a silver weddin'--that's to call in Old Doctor Jacobs. Here -he is, with his pocket full of testimonials. Now you listen." - -We'd been listenin'--'twas by long odds the easiest thing to do--and we -kept right on. He had testimonials--he showed 'em to us--and they took -oath to his bein' honest and the eighth business wonder of the world. He -went on to elaborate. He had a thousand to invest and he'd invest it -provided we'd take him in as manager and give him full swing. He'd -guarantee--etcetery and so on, unlimited and eternal. - -"But," says I, when he stopped to eat a throat lozenge, "sellin' goods -is one thing; gettin' the right goods to sell is another. Me and -Pullet--Mr. Beanblossom here--have tried to keep a pretty fair-sized -stock, but it's the kind of stock that keeps better'n it sells." - -"Sell!" he puts in. "You can sell anything, if you know how. See here, -let me prove it to you. You think this over to-night and to-morrow -forenoon I'll be on hand and demonstrate. Just put on your smoked -glasses and watch me. _I'll_ show you." - -He did. Next mornin' old Aunt Sarah Oliver came in to buy a hank of -black yarn to darn stockin's with. With diplomacy and patience the -average feller could conclude that dicker in an hour and a quarter--if -he had the yarn. Pullet was just out of black, of course, but that Jim -Henry Jacobs stepped alongside and within twenty minutes he sold Aunt -Sarah two packages of needles, a brass thimble and a half dozen pair of -blue and yellow striped stockin's that had been on the shelves since -Abial Beasley's time, and was so loud that a sane person wouldn't dare -wear 'em except when it thundered. She went out of the store with her -bundles in one hand and holdin' her head with the other. Then that Jim -Henry man turned to Pullet and me. - -"Well?" he says, serene and smilin'. - -It was well, all right. At just quarter to twelve that night the -arrangements was made. Jacobs was partner in and manager of the "Ostable -Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods Store." - - - - -CHAPTER II--WHAT A "PULLET" DID TO A PEDIGREE - - -In less than two months that store of ours was a payin' proposition. Jim -Henry Jacobs was responsible, that is all I can tell you. Don't ask me -how he did it. 'Twas advertisin', mainly. Advertisin' in the papers, -advertisin' on the fences, things set out in the windows, a new gaudy -delivery cart, special bargain days for special stuff--they all helped. -Of course if we'd limited ourselves to Ostable the cargo wouldn't have -been so heavy that we'd get stoop-shouldered, but that Jim Henry was -unlimited. He advertised in the county weekly and sent a special cart to -take orders for twenty mile around. The early summer cottages was -beginnin' to open and 'twas summer trade, rich city folks' trade, that -the Jacobs man said we must have. And we got it, one way or another we -got it all. Most of the swell big-bugs had been in the habit of orderin' -wholesale from Boston, but he soon stopped that. One after another Jim -Henry landed 'em. When I asked him how, he just winked. - -"Skipper," says he--he most generally called me "Skipper" same as I -called Beanblossom "Pullet"--"Skipper," he says, "you can always hook a -cod if there's any around and you keepin' changin' bait; ain't that so? -Um-hm; well, I change bait, that's all. Every man, woman and suffragette -has got a weak p'int somewheres. I just cast around till I find that -particular weak p'int; then they swaller hook, line and sinker." - -"Humph!" I says, "Miss Letitia ain't swallowed nothin' yet, that I've -noticed. Her weak p'ints all strong ones? or what is the matter?" - -He made a face. "Sister Pendlebury," says he, "is the frostiest -proposition I ever tackled outside of an ice chest. But I'll get her -yet. You wait and see. Why, man, we've _got_ to get her." - -Well, I could find more truth in them statements than I could -satisfaction. We'd got to get her--yes. But she wouldn't be got. She was -the richest old maid on the North Shore; lived in a stone and plaster -house bigger'n the Ostable County jail, which she'd labeled "Pendlebury -Villa"; had six servants, three cats and a poll parrot; and was so -tipped back with dignity and importance that a plumb-line dropped from -her after-hair comb would have missed her heels by three inches. Her -winter port was Brookline; summers she condescended to shed glory over -Ostable. - -To get the trade of Pendlebury Villa had been Jim Henry's dream from the -start. And up to date he was still dreamin'. The other big-bugs he had -caged, but Letitia was still flyin' free and importin' her honey from -Boston, so to speak. Jacobs had tried everything he could think of, -bribin' the servants, sendin' samples of fancy breakfast food and -pickles free gratis, writin' letters, callin' with his Sunday clothes -on, everything--but 'twas "Keep Off the Grass" at Pendlebury Villa so -far as we was concerned. 'Twas the biggest chunk of trade under one head -on the Cape and it hurt Jim Henry's pride not to get it. However, he -kept on tryin'. - -One mornin' he comes back to the store after a cruise to the Villa and -it seemed to me that he looked happier than was usual after one of these -trips. - -"Skipper," says he, "I think--I wouldn't bet any more'n my small change, -but I _think_ I've laid a corner stone." - -"With Miss Pendlebury?" says I, excited. - -"With Letitia," he says, noddin'. "I haven't got an order, but I have -got a promise. She's agreed to drop in one of these days and look us -over." - -"Well!" says I, "I should say that _was_ a corner stone." - -"We'll hope 'tis," he says. "Ho, ho! Skipper, I wish you might have been -present at the exercises. They were funny." - -Seems he'd managed--bribery and corruption of the hired help again--to -see Letitia alone in what she called her "mornin' room." He said that, -if he'd paid any attention to the temperature of that room when he and -she first met in it, he'd have figgered he'd struck the morgue; but he -warmed it up a little afore he left. Miss Pendlebury just set and glared -frosty while he talked and talked and talked. She said about three words -to his two hundred thousand, but every one of hers was a "no." She -didn't care to patronize the local merchants. The city ones were bad -enough--she had all the trouble she wanted with _them_. She was not -interested; and would he please be careful when he went out and not step -on the flower beds. - -He was about ready to give it up when he happened to notice an ile -portrait in a gorgeous gold frame hangin' on the wall. 'Twas the picture -of a man, and Jim Henry said there was a kind of great-I-am look to it, -a combination of fatness and importance and wisdom, same as you see in a -stuffed owl, that give him an idea. He started to go, stopped in front -of the picture and began to look it over, admirin' but reverent, same as -a garter snake might look at a boa-constrictor, as proof of what the -race was capable of. - -"Excuse me, Miss Pendlebury," he says, "but that is a wonderful -portrait. I have had some experience in judgin' paintin's--" he was -clerk in the Grand Central Store framed picture department once--"and I -think I know what I'm talkin' about." - -Would you believe it, she commenced to unbend right off. - -"It is a Sargent," says she. - -Now I should have asked: "Sergeant of militia, or what?" and upset the -whole calabash; but Jim Henry knew better. He bows, solemn and wise, and -says he'd been sure of it right along. - -"But any painter," he says, "would have made a success with a subject -like that gentleman before him. There is somethin' about him, the height -of his brow, and his wonderful eyes, etcetery, which reminds me--You'll -excuse me, Miss Pendlebury, but isn't that a portrait of one of your -near relatives?" - -She unbent some more and almost smiled. The painted critter was her pa -and he was considered a wonderful likeness. - -Well, that was enough for your uncle Jim Henry. He settled down to his -job then and the way he poured gush over that painted Pendlebury man was -close to sacreligion. But Letitia never pumped up a blush; worship was -what she expected for her and her pa. He'd been a member of the -Governor's staff and a bank president and a church warden and an -alderman and land knows what. His daughter and Jacobs had a real -sociable interview and it ended by her promisin' to drop in at the store -and look our stock over. 'Course 'twa'n't likely 'twould suit her--she -was very exacting, she said--but she'd look it over. - -We looked it over fust. We put in the rest of that day changin' -everything around on the counters and shelves, puttin' the canned stuff -in piles where they'd do the most good, and settin' advertisin' signs -and such in front of the empty places where they'd been afore. Even -Pullet worked, though he couldn't understand it, and growled because he -had to leave the musty old book he was readin' and the "genealogical -tree" he'd begun to cultivate once more. Jacobs was pretty well -disgusted with Pullet. Said he was an incumbrance on the concern and -hadn't any business instinct. - -All the next day and the next we hung around, dressed up to kill--that -is, Jim Henry's togs would have killed anything with weak eyes--waitin' -for Letitia Pendlebury to come aboard and inspect. But she didn't come -that day, or the next either. Jacobs was disapp'inted, but he wouldn't -give in that he was discouraged. The fourth forenoon, when there was -still nothin' doin', he and I went on a cruise with a hired horse and -buggy over to Bayport, where we had some business. We left Pullet in -charge of the store and when we came back he was lookin' pretty joyful. - -"Who do you think has been here?" he says, in his thin, polite little -voice. "Miss Letitia Pendlebury called this afternoon." - -"She did!" shouts Jacobs. - -"Did she buy anythin'?" I wanted to know. - -No, it appeared that she hadn't bought anythin'. Fact is, Pullet had -forgot he was supposed to be a storekeeper. When Letitia came in he was -roostin' in his family tree, had the chart spread out on the counter and -was fillin' in some of the twigs with the names of dead and gone -Beanblossoms. He couldn't climb down to common things like crackers and -salt pork. - -"But she was very much interested," he says, his specs shinin' with joy. -"When she found out what I was busy with she was _very_ much interested, -really. She is a lady of family, too." - -"She _is_?" I sings out. "What are you talkin' about? She's an old maid -and an only child besides, and--" - -"Hush up, Skipper," orders Jacobs. "Go on, Pullet--Mr. Beanblossom, I -mean--go on." - -So on went Pullet, both wings flappin'. Letitia and he had talked -"family" to beat the cars. She had 'most everything in the Villa except -a family tree. She must have one right away. She simply must. - -"And I am to help her in preparin' it," says Pullet, puffed up and -vainglorious. "The Pendlebury family tree will be an honor to prepare. -Of course it will require much labor and research, but I shall enjoy -doing it. I told her so. Her father would have prepared one himself, had -often spoken of it, but he was a very busy man of affairs and lacked the -time." - -My, but I was mad! I cal'late if I had a marlinspike handy our coop -would have been a Pullet short. But Jim Henry Jacobs was so full of -tickle he couldn't keep still. He fairly dragged me into the back room. - -"Skipper," he says, "here it is at last! We've got it!" - -"Yes," I sputters, thinkin' he was referrin' to Beanblossom, "we've got -it; and, if you ask me, I'd tell you we'd ought to chloroform it afore -it does any more harm." - -"No, no," he says, "you don't understand. We've got the old girl's weak -p'int at last. It's genealogy. Pullet shall grow her a family tree if I -have to buy a carload of fertilizer to-morrer. Think of it! think of it! -Why, she won't give him a minute's rest from now on. She'll be after him -the whole time." - -"But I can't see where the trade comes in," says I. - -"You _can't_! With our senior pardner head forester? My boy, if any -other shop sells Pendlebury Villa a dollar's worth after this, I'll -Fletcherize my hat, that's all!" - -He knew what he was talkin' about, as usual. The very next forenoon -Letitia was in to consult with Pullet about huntin' up her family -records. Afore she left Jacobs took orders for thirty-two dollars' worth -and I'd have bet she didn't know a thing she bought. After dinner, Jim -Henry sent Pullet up to see her. He stayed until supper time. Next day -he had supper at the Villa. A week later he made his first trip to -Boston, to the Genealogical Society, to hunt for records. And Jacobs -stayed in Ostable and kept the Villa supplied with the luxuries of life. -If the Pendlebury servants didn't die of gout and overeatin', it wasn't -our fault. - -By August the whole town was talkin'. They had it all settled. 'Cordin' -to the gossip-spreaders there could be only one reason for Pullet and -Miss Letitia bein' together so much--they was cal'latin' to marry. The -weddin' day was prophesied and set anywheres from to-morrer to next -Christmas. I thought such talk ought to be stopped. Jim Henry didn't. - -"Why?" says he. - -"_Why!_" I says. "Because it's foolishness, that's why. 'Cause there's -no truth in it and you know it." - -"No, I don't know," says he. "Stranger things than that have happened." - -"_She_ marry that old fossilized pauper!" - -"Why not? He's a gentleman and a scholar, if he _is_ poor. She's rich, -but if there's one thing she isn't, it's a scholar." - -"Humph! fur's that goes," says I, "she ain't a gentleman, either--though -she's next door to it." - -"That's all right. Skipper, there's some things money can't buy. -Pullet's got book learnin' and treed ancestors and she ain't. She's got -money and he ain't. Both want what t'other's best fixed in. If old -Beanblossom had any sand, I should believe 'twas a sure thing. I guess -I'll drop him a hint." - -"My land!" I sang out; "don't you do it. The fat'll all be in the fire -then." - -"Skipper," says he, "you're a cagey old bird, but you don't know it all. -There's some things you can leave to me. And, anyhow, whether the -weddin' bells chime or not, all this talk is good free advertisin' for -the store." - -'Twa'n't long after this that the genealogical man begun to seem less -gay-like. He and Letitia was together as much as ever, the Pendlebury -tree and the Beanblossom tree--he worked on both at the same time--was -flourishin', after the topsy-turvy way of such vegetables--from the -upper branches down towards the trunks; but there was a look on Pullet's -face as he pawed through his books and papers that I couldn't -understand. He looked worried and troubled about somethin'. - -"What's the matter?" I asked him, once. "Ain't your ancestors turnin' up -satisfactory?" - -"Yes," he says, polite as ever, but sort of condescendin' and proud, -"the Beanblossom history is, if you will permit me to say so, a very -satisfactory record indeed." - -"And the Pendleburys?" says I. "George Washin'ton was first cousin on -their ma's side, I s'pose." - -He didn't answer for a minute. Then he wiped his specs with his -handkerchief. "The Pendlebury records are," he says, slow, "a trifle -more confused and difficult. But I am progressin'--yes, Cap'n Snow, I -think I may say that I am progressin'." - -The thunderbolt hit us, out of a clear sky, the fust week in September. -Yet I s'pose we'd ought to have seen it comin' at least a day ahead. -That day the Pendlebury gasoline carryall come buzzin' up to the front -platform and Letitia steps out, grand as the Queen of Sheba, of course. - -"Cap'n Snow," says she, and it seemed to me that she hesitated just a -minute, "is Mr. Beanblossom about?" - -"No," says I, "he ain't. I don't know where he is exactly. He was in the -store this mornin' askin' about a letter he's expectin' from the -Genealogical Society folks, but he went out right afterwards and I ain't -seen him since. I s'posed, of course, he was up to your house." - -"No," she says, and I thought she colored up a little mite; "he has not -been there since day before yesterday. Perhaps that is natural, under -the circumstances," speakin' more to herself than to me, "but ... -however, will you kindly tell him I called before leavin' for the city. -I am goin' to Boston on a shoppin' excursion," she adds, condescendin'. -"I shall return on Wednesday." - -She went away. Pullet didn't show up until night and then the first -thing he asked for was the mail. When I told him about the Pendlebury -woman he turned round and went out again. - -Next day was Saturday and we was pretty busy, that is, Jim Henry and the -clerk was busy. I was about as much use as usual, and, as for Pullet, he -was no use at all. A big green envelope from the Genealogical Society -come for him in the morning mail--he was always gettin' letters from -that Society--and he grabbed at it and went out on the platform. A -little while afterwards I saw him roostin' on a box out there, with his -hair, what there was of it, all rumpled up, and an expression of such -everlastin', world-without-end misery on his face that I stopped stock -still and looked at him. - -"For the mercy sakes," says I, "what's happened?" - -He turned his head, stared at me fishy-eyed, and got up off the box. - -"What's wrong?" I asked. "Is the world comin' to an end?" - -He put one hand to his head and waved the other up and down like a pump -handle. - -"Yes," he sings out, frantic like. "It is ended already. It is all over. -I--I--" - -And with that he jumps off the platform and goes staggerin' up the road. -I'd have follered him, but just then Jim Henry calls to me from inside -the store and in a little while I'd forgot Beanblossom altogether. I -thought of him once or twice durin' the day, but 'twa'n't till about -shuttin'-up time that I thought enough to mention him to Jacobs. Then he -mentioned him fust. - -"Whew!" says he, settin' down for the fust time in two hours. "Whew! I'm -tired. This has been the best day this concern has had since I took hold -of it, and I've worked like a perpetual motion machine. We'll need -another boy pretty soon, Skipper. Pullet's no good as a salesman. By the -way, where _is_ Pullet? I ain't seen him since noon." - -Neither had I, now that I come to think of it. - -"I wonder if the poor critter's sick," I says. Then I started to tell -how queer he'd acted out on the platform. I'd just begun when Amos -Hallett's boy come into the store with a note. - -"It's for you, Cap'n Zeb," he says, all out of breath. "I meant to give -it to you afore, but I just this minute remembered it. Mr. Beanblossom, -he give it to me at the depot when he took the up train." - -"Took the up train?" says I. "Who did? Not Pul--Mr. Beanblossom?" - -"Yes," says the boy. "He's gone to Boston, leastways the depot-master -said he bought a ticket for there. Why? Didn't you know it? He--" - -I was too astonished to speak at all, but Jim Henry was cool as usual. - -"Yes, yes, son," he says. "It's all right. You trot right along home -afore you catch cold in your freckles." Then, after the youngster'd -gone, he turns to me quick. "Open it, Skipper," he orders. "Somethin's -happened. Open it." - -I opened the envelope. Inside was a sheet of foolscap covered from top -to bottom with mighty shaky handwritin'. I read it out loud. - - "_Captain Zebulon Snow_, - - "_Dear Sir_: - -"Polite as ever, ain't he?" I says. "He'd been genteel if he was writin' -his will." - -"Go on!" snaps Jacobs. "Hurry up." - - "_Dear Sir_: When you receive this I shall have left Ostable, it - may be forever. I have made a horrible discovery, which has - wrecked all my hopes and my life. In accordance with Mr. Jacob's - kindly counsel, I recently summoned courage to ask Miss - Pendlebury to become my wife. - -"Good heavens to Betsy!" I sang out, almost droppin' the letter. - -"Go on!" shouts Jacobs. "Don't stop now." - -"But he asked her to _marry_ him!" I gasps. "In accordance with your -advice--_yours_! Did _you_ have the cheek to--" - -"_Will_ you go on? Of course I advised him. We'd got the Pendlebury -trade, hadn't we? Can you think of any surer way to cinch it than to -have those two idiots marry each other? Go on--or give me the letter." - -I went on, as well as I could, everything considered. - - "She did not refuse. She was kinder than I had a right to - expect. I realized my presumption, but--" - -"Skip that," orders Jim Henry. "Get down to brass tacks." - -I skipped some. - - "She told me she must have a few days' time to consider. I - waited. To-day I received a communication from the Genealogical - Society which has dashed my hopes to the ground. It was in - connection with my work on the Pendlebury family tree. For some - time I have been very much troubled concerning developments in - that work. The later Pendleburys have been ladies and gentlemen - of repute and worth, but as I delved deeper into the past and - approached the early generations in this country, I--" - -"Skip again," says Jacobs. - -I skipped. - - "And now, to my horror, I find the fact proven beyond doubt. - Ezekiel Jonas Pendlebury--whose name should be inscribed upon - the trunk of the tree, he being the original settler in - America--was hanged in the Massachusetts Bay Colony for stealing - a hog upon the Sabbath Day." - -Then I _did_ drop the letter. "My land of love!" was all I could say. -And what Jacobs said was just as emphatic. We stared at each other; and -then, all at once, he began to laugh, laugh till I thought he'd never -stop. His laughin' made me mad until I commenced to see the funny side -of the thing; then I laughed, too, and the pair of us rocked back and -forth and haw-hawed like loons. - -"Oh, dear me!" says Jim Henry, wipin' his eyes. "The original Pendlebury -hung for hog stealin'!" - -"Stealin' it on Sunday," says I. "Don't forget that. Sabbath-breakin' -was worse than thievin' in them days." - -"Well, go on, go on," says he. "There's more of it, ain't they?" - -There was. The writing got finer and finer as it got close to the bottom -of the page. Poor Pullet had caved in when that revelation struck him. -Honor compelled him to tell Letitia the truth and how could he tell her -such a truth as that? She, so proud and all. He had led her into this -dreadful research work and she would blame him, of course, and dismiss -him with scorn and contempt. Her contempt he could not bear. No, he must -go away. He could never face her again. He was goin' to Boston, to his -cousin's house in Newton, and stay there for a spell. Perhaps some day, -after she had shut up her summer villa and gone, too, he might return; -he didn't know. But would we forgive him, etcetery and so forth, -and--good-by. - -His name was squeezed in the very corner. I looked at Jacobs. - -"Well," I says, some disgusted, "it looks to me, as a man up a tree--not -a family tree, neither, thank the Lord--as if instead of cinchin' the -Pendlebury trade your 'advice' had queered it forever." - -He didn't say nothin'. Just scowled and kicked his heels together. Then -he grabbed the letter out of my hand and begun to read it again. I -scowled, too, and set starin' at the floor and thinkin'. All at once I -heard him swear, a sort of joyful swear-word, seemed to me. I looked up. -As I did he swung off the counter, crumpled up the letter, jammed it in -his pocket and grabbed up his hat. - -"Skipper," he says, his eyes shinin', "there's a night freight to -Boston, ain't there?" - -"Yes, there is, but--" - -"So long, then. I'll be back soon's I can. You and Bill"--that was the -clerk--"must do as well as you can for a day or so. So long. But you -just remember this: Old Doctor James Henry Jacobs, specialist in sick -businesses, ain't given up hopes of this patient yet, not by any manner -of means. By, by." - -He was gone afore I could say another word, and for the rest of that -night and all day Sunday and until Monday evenin's train come in, I was -like a feller walkin' in his sleep. All creation looked crazy and I was -the only sane critter in it. - -On Monday evenin' he came sailin' into the store, all smiles. 'Twas some -time afore I could get him alone, but, when I could, I nailed him. - -"Now," says I, "perhaps you'll tell me why you run off and left me, and -where you've been, and what you mean by it, and a few other things." - -He grinned. "Been?" he says. "Well, I've been to see the last of Miss -Letitia Pendlebury of Pendlebury Villa, Ostable, Mass. Miss Pendlebury -is no more." - -"No more!" I hollered. "No _more_! Don't tell me she's dead!" - -"I sha'n't," says he, "because she isn't. She's alive, all right, but -she's no more Miss Pendlebury. She's Mrs. Winthrop Adams Beanblossom -now," he says. "They were married this forenoon." - -"_Married?_" - -"Married." - -"But--but--after the hangin' news--and the hog-stealin'--and--Does she -know it? She wouldn't marry him after _that_?" - -"She knows and she was tickled to death to marry him. Skipper, there was -a P.S. on the back of that letter of Pullet's. You didn't turn the page -over; I did and I recognized the life-saver right off. Here it is." - -He passed me Beanblossom's letter, back side up. There was a P.S., but -it looked to me more like the finishin' knock on the head than it did -like a life-saver. This was it: - - "P.S. I have neglected to state another fact which my researches - have brought to light and which makes the affair even more - hopeless. My own ancestor, at that time Governor of the Colony, - was the person who sentenced Ezekiel Pendlebury and caused him - to be hanged." - -"And that," says I, "is what you call a life-saver! My nine-times -great-granddad has your nine-times great-granddad hung and that removes -all my objections to marryin' you. Oh, sure and sartin! Yes, indeed!" - -He smiled superior. "Listen, you doubtin' Thomas," says he. "You can't -see it, but Sister Letitia saw it right off when I put Pullet's case -afore her at the Hotel Somerset, where she was stoppin'. _Her_ ancestor -was a hog-stealer and a hobo; but Beanblossom's ancestor was a Governor -and a nabob from way back. If by just sayin' yes you could swap a -pig-thief for a governor, you'd do it, wouldn't you? You would if you'd -been braggin' 'family' as Letitia has for the past three months. I saw -her, turned on some of my convincin' conversation, saw Pullet at his -cousin's and convinced him. They were married at Trinity parsonage this -very forenoon." - -"My! my! my!" I says, after this had really sunk in. "And the Pendlebury -tree is--" - -"There ain't any Pendlebury tree," he interrupts. "It's the kindlin'-bin -for that shrub. But the _Beanblossom_ tree, with governors and judges -and generals proppin' up every main limb, is goin' to hang right next to -Pa Pendlebury's picture in the mornin' room of Pendlebury Villa. And the -head of Pendlebury Villa is the senior partner in the Ostable Grocery, -Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods Store." - -He was wrong there. Letitia Pendlebury Beanblossom had another surprise -under her bonnet and she sprung it when she got back. She sent for -Jacobs and me and made proclamation that her husband would withdraw from -the firm. - -"I trust that Mr. Beanblossom and I are democratic," she says. "Of -course we shall continue to purchase our supplies from you gentlemen. -But, really," she says, "you _must_ see that a man whose ancestor by -direct descent was Governor of Massachusetts Bay Colony could scarcely -humiliate himself by engaging in _trade_." - -So, instead of gettin' out of storekeepin', I was left deeper in it than -ever. But Jim Henry cheered me up by sayin' I hadn't really been in it -at all yet. - -"This foundlin' is only beginnin' to set up and take notice," he says. -"Skipper, you put your faith in old Doctor Jacobs' Teethin' Syrup and -Tonic for Business Infants." - -"I guess that's where it's put," says I, drawin' a long breath. - -"It couldn't be in a better place, could it? No, we've got a good start, -but that's all it is. Before I get through you'll see. We've got to make -this store prominent and keep it prominent, and the best way to do that -is to be prominent ourselves. Skipper, I wish you'd go into politics." - -"Politics!" says I, soon as I could catch my breath. "Well, when I do, I -give you leave to order my room at the Taunton Asylum. What do you -cal'late I'd better try to get elected to--President or pound-keeper?" - -He laughed. - -"Both of them jobs are filled at the present time," I went on, -sarcastic. "So is every other I can think of off-hand." - -"That's all right," says he. "Some of these days you'll hold office -right in this town. We need political prestige in our business and you, -Cap'n Snow, bein' the solid citizen of this close corporation, will have -to sacrifice yourself on the altar of public duty." - -"Nary sacrifice," says I. Which shows how little the average man knows -what's in store for him. - - - - -CHAPTER III--I GET INTO POLITICS - - -When I shook hands with Mary Blaisdell and left her standin' under the -wistaria vine at the front door of the little old house that had -belonged to Henry, all I said was for her to keep a stiff upper lip and -not to be any bluer than was necessary. "Ostable's lost a good -postmaster," says I, "and you've lost a kind, thoughtful, providin' -brother. I know it looks pretty foggy ahead to you just now and you -can't see how you're goin' to get along; but you keep up your pluck and -a way'll be provided. Meantime I'm goin' to think hard and perhaps I can -see a light somewheres. My owners used to tell me I was consider'ble of -a navigator, so between us we'd ought to fetch you into port." - -Her eyes were wet, but she smiled, rainbow fashion, through the shower, -and said I was awful good and she'd never forget how kind I'd been -through it all. - -"Whatever becomes of me, Cap'n Snow," she says, "I shall never forget -that." - -What I'd done wa'n't worth talkin' about, so I said good-by and hurried -away. At the top of the hill I turned and looked back. She was still -standin' in the door and, in spite of the wistaria and the hollyhocks -and the green summer stuff everywheres, the whole picture was pretty -forlorn. The little white buildin' by the road, with the sign, -"Post-office" over the window, looked more lonesome still. And yet the -sight of it and the sight of that sign give me an inspiration. I stood -stock still and thumped my fists together. - -"Why not?" says I to myself. "By mighty, yes! Why not?" - -You see, Henry Blaisdell was one of the few Ostable folks that I'd known -as a boy and who was livin' there yet when I came back. He was younger -than I, and Mary, his sister, was younger still. I liked Henry and his -death was a sort of personal loss to me, as you might say. I liked Mary, -too. She was always so quiet and common-sense and comfortable. _She_ -didn't gossip, and the way she helped her brother in the post-office was -a treat to see. She wa'n't exactly what you'd call young, and the world -hadn't been all fair winds and smooth water for her, by a whole lot; -but, in spite of it, she'd managed to keep sweet and fresh. She and -Henry and I had got to be good friends and I gen'rally took a walk up -towards their house of a Sunday or managed to run in at the post-office -buildin' at least once every week-day and have a chat with 'em. - -When I heard of Henry's dyin' so sudden my fust thought was about Mary -and what would she do. How was she goin' to get along? I thought of that -even durin' the funeral, and now, the day after it, when I went up to -see her, I was thinkin' of it still. And, at last, I believed I had got -the answer to the puzzle. - -Half the way back to the "Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes -and Fancy Goods Store," I was thinkin' of my new notion and makin' up my -mind. The other half I was layin' plans to put it through. When I walked -into the store, Jim Henry met me. - -"Hello, Skipper," says he, brisk and fresh as a no'theast breeze in dog -days, "did you ever hear the story about the office-seekin' feller in -Washin'ton, back in President Harrison's time? He wanted a gov'ment job -and he happened to notice a crowd down by the Potomac and asked what was -up. They told him one of the Treasury clerks had been found drowned. He -run full speed to the White House, saw the President, and asked for the -drowned chap's place. 'You're too late,' says Harrison, 'I've just -app'inted the man that saw him fall in.'" - -I'd heard it afore, but I laughed, out of politeness, and wanted to know -what made him think of the yarn. - -"Why," says he, "because that's the way it's workin' here in Ostable. -Poor old Blaisdell's funeral was only yesterday and it's already settled -who's to be the new postmaster." - -Considerin' what I'd been goin' over in my mind all the way home from -Mary's, this statement, just at this time, knocked me pretty nigh out of -water. - -"What?" I gasped. "How did you know?" - -"Why wouldn't I know?" says he. "I got the advance information right -from the oracle. I was told not ten minutes since that the app'intment -was to go to Abubus Payne." - -I stared at him. "Abubus Payne!" says I. "Abubus--Are you dreamin'?" - -He laughed. "I'd never dream a name like 'Abubus,' he says, 'even after -one of our Poquit House dinners. No, it's no dream. The Major was just -in and he says his mind is made up. That settles it, don't it? You -wouldn't contradict the all-wise mouthpiece of Providence, would you, -Cap'n Zeb?" - -I never said anything--not then. I was realizin' that, if I wanted Mary -Blaisdell to be postmistress at Ostable--which was the inspiration I was -took with when I looked back at her from the hill--I'd got to do -somethin' besides say. I'd got to work and work hard. And even at that -my work was cut out from the small end of the goods. To beat Major -Cobden Clark in a political fight was no boy's job. But Abubus Payne! -Abubus Payne postmaster at Ostable!! Think of it! Maybe you can; _I_ -couldn't without stimulants. - -You see, this critter Abubus--did you ever hear such a name in your -life?--had lived around 'most every town on the Cape at one time or -another. He and his wife wa'n't what you'd call permanent settlers -anywhere, but had a habit of breakin' out in new and unexpected places, -like a p'ison-ivy rash. He worked some at carpenterin', when he couldn't -help it, but his main business, as you might say, had always been -lookin' for an easier job. In Ostable he'd got one. He was caretaker and -general nurse of Major Cobden Clark. His wife, who was about as -shiftless as he was, was the Major's housekeeper. - -And the Major? Well, the Major was a star, a planet--yes, in his own -opinion, the whole solar system. He was big and fleshy and straight and -gray-haired and red-faced. He belonged to land knows how many clubs and -societies and milishys, includin' the Ancient and Honorable Artillery -Company of Boston and the Old Guard of New York. He had political -influence and a long pocketbook and a short temper. Likewise he suffered -from pig-headedness and chronic indigestion. 'Twas the indigestion that -brought him to Ostable and Abubus; or rather 'twas his doctor, Dr. -Conquest Payne, the celebrated food and diet specializer--see -advertisements in 'most any newspaper--who sent him there. Abubus was -Doctor Conquest's cousin and I judge the two of 'em figgered the Clark -stomach and income as things too good to be treated outside of the -family. - -Anyway, the spring afore I landed in Ostable, down comes the Major, buys -a good-sized house on the lower road nigh the water front, hires Abubus -and his wife to look out for the place and him, and settles down to the -simple life, which wa'n't the kind he'd been livin', by a consider'ble -sight. But he lived it now; yes, sir, he did! He lived by the clock and -he ate and slept by the clock, and that clock was wound up and set -accordin' to the rules prescribed by Dr. Conquest Payne, "World Famous -Dietitian and Food Specialist"--see more advertisin', with a tintype of -the Doctor in the corner. - -Nigh as I could find out the diet was a queer one. It give me dyspepsy -just to think of it. Breakfast at seven sharp, consistin' of a dozen nut -meats, two raw prunes, some "whole wheat bread"--whatever that is--and a -pint of hot water. Luncheon at quarter to eleven, with another -assortment of similar truck. Afternoon snack at three and dinner at -half-past seven. He had two soft b'iled eggs for dinner, or else a -two-inch slice of rare steak, and, with them exceptions, the whole bill -of fare was, accordin' to my notion, more fittin' for a goat than a -human bein'. He mustn't smoke and he mustn't drink: Considerin' what -he'd been used to afore the "World Famous" one hooked him it ain't much -wonder that he was as crabbed and cranky as a liveoak windlass. - -However, it--or somethin' else--had made him feel better since he landed -in Ostable and he swore by that Conquest Payne man and everybody -connected with him. And if he once took a notion into his tough old -head, nothin' short of a surgeon's operation could get it out. He'd -decided to make Abubus postmaster and he'd move heaven and earth to do -it. All right, then, it was up to me to do some movin' likewise. I can -be a little mite pig-headed myself, if I set out to be. - -And I set out right then. It may seem funny to say so, but I was about -as good a friend as the Major had in Ostable. Course he had a tremendous -influence with the selectmen and the like of that, owin' to his soldier -record and his pompousness and the amount of taxes he paid. And he and I -never agreed on one single p'int. But just the same he spent the heft of -his evenin's at the store and I was always glad to see him. I respected -the cantankerous old critter, and liked him, in a way. And I'm inclined -to think he respected and liked me. I cal'late both of us enjoyed -fightin' with somebody that never tried for an under-holt or quit even -when he was licked. - -So that night, when he comes puffin' in and sets down, as usual, in the -most comfortable chair, I went over and come to anchor alongside of him. - -"Hello," he grunts, "you old salt hayseed. Any closer to bankruptcy than -you was yesterday?" - -"Your bill's a little bigger and more overdue, that's all," says I. "See -here, I want to talk politics with you. Mary Blaisdell, Henry's sister, -is goin' to have the post-office now he's gone, and I want you to put -your name on her petition. Not that she needs it, or anybody else's, but -just to help fill up the paper." - -Well, sir, you ought to have seen him! His red face fairly puffed out, -like a young-one's rubber balloon. He whirled round on the edge of his -chair--he was too big to move in any other part of it--and glared at me. -What did I mean by that? Hey? Was my punkin head sp'ilin' now that warm -weather had come, or what? Had I heard what he told my partner that very -mornin'? - -"Yes," says I, "I heard it. But I judged you must have broke your rule -about drinkin' liquor, or else your dyspepsy has struck to your brains. -No sane person would set out to make Abubus Payne anythin' more -responsible than keeper of a pig pen. You didn't mean it, of course." - -He didn't! He'd show me what he meant! Abubus was the most honest, able -man on the whole blessed sand-heap, and he was goin' to be postmaster. -Mary Blaisdell was an old maid, good enough of her kind, maybe, but the -place for her was some kind of an asylum or home for incompetent -females. He'd sign a petition to put her in one of them places, but -nothin' else. Abubus was just as good as app'inted already. - -We had it back and forth. There was consider'ble chair thumpin' and -hollerin', I shouldn't wonder. Anyhow, afore 'twas over every loafer on -the main road was crowdin' 'round us and Jim Henry Jacobs was pacin' up -and down back of the counter with the most worried look on his face ever -I see there. It ended by the Major's jumpin' to his feet and headin' for -the door. - -"You--you--you tarry old imbecile," he hollers, shakin' a fat forefinger -at me, "I'll show you a few things. I'll never set foot in this rathole -of yours again." - -"You better not," I sung out. "If you dare to, I'll--" - -"What?" he interrupts. "You'll what? I'll be back here to-morrow night. -Then what'll you do?" - -"I'll show you Mary Blaisdell's petition," I says. "And the names on -it'll make you curl up and quit like a sick caterpillar." - -"Humph! I'll show _you_ a petition for Abubus Payne, next postmaster of -Ostable, with a string of names on it so long you'll die of old age -afore you can finish readin' 'em. Bah!" - -With that he went out and I went into the back room to wash my face in -cold water. - -I wrote the headin' to the Blaisdell petition afore I turned in that -very night. Next mornin' I hurried over and, after consider'ble arguin', -I got Mary to say she'd try for the place. All the rest of that day I -put in drivin' from Dan to Beersheby gettin' signatures. And I got 'em, -too, a schooner load of 'em. I had the petition ready to show the Major -that evenin'; but, when he come into the store, he had a petition, too, -just as long as mine. And the worst of it was, in a lot of cases the -same names was signed to both papers. Accordin' to those petitions the -heft of Ostable folks wanted somebody to keep post-office and they -didn't much care who. They wanted to please me and they didn't like to -say no to the Major. - -He was mad and I was mad and we had another session. But he wouldn't -cross the names off and neither would I and so, after another week, both -petitions went in as they was. All the good they seemed to do was that -we each got a letter from the Post-office Department and Mary Blaisdell -was allowed to hold over her brother's place until somebody was picked -out permanent. And every evenin' Major Clark came into the store to tell -me Abubus was sure to win and get my prediction that Mary was as good as -elected. One week dragged along and then another, and 'twas still a -draw, fur's a body could tell. The Washin'ton folks wa'n't makin' a -peep. - -But old Ancient and Honorable Clark was workin' his wires on the quiet -and I must give in that he pulled one on me that I wa'n't expectin'. The -whole town had got sort of tired of guessin' and talkin' about the -post-office squabble and had drifted back into the reg'lar rut of -pickin' their neighbors to pieces. The Major had set 'em talkin' on a -new line durin' the last fortni't. He'd been fixin' up his house and -havin' the grounds seen to, and so forth. Likewise he'd bought an -automobile, one of the nobbiest kind. This was somethin' of a surprise, -'cause afore that he'd been pretty much down on autos and did his -drivin' around in a high-seated sort of buggy--"dog cart" he called -it--though 'twas hauled by a horse and he hated dogs so that he kept a -shotgun loaded with rock salt on his porch to drive stray ones off his -premises. - -"Who's goin' to run that smell-wagon of yours?" I asked him, sarcastic. -He kept comin' to the store just the same as ever and we had our reg'lar -rows constant. I cal'late we'd both have missed 'em if they'd stopped. I -know I should. - -"Humph!" he snorts; "smell-wagon, hey? If it smells any worse than that -old fish dory of yours, I'll have it buried, for the sake of the public -health." - -By "fish dory" he meant a catboat I'd bought. She was named the _Glide_ -and she could glide away from anything of her inches in the bay. - -"But who's goin' to run that auto?" I asked again. "'Tain't possible -you're goin' to do it yourself. If she went by alcohol power, I could -understand, but--" - -"Hush up!" he says, forgettin' to be mad for once and speakin' actually -plaintive. "Don't talk that way, Snow," says he. "If you knew how much I -wanted a drink you wouldn't speak lightly of alcohol." - -"Why don't you take one, then?" I wanted to know. "I believe 'twould do -you good. That and a square meal. If you'd forget your prunes and your -nutmeats and your quack doctorin'--" - -He was mad then, all right. To slur at the "World Famous" was a good -deal worse than murder, in his mind. He expressed his opinion of me, -free and loud. He said I'd ought to try Doctor Conquest, myself, for -developin' my brains. The Doctor was pretty nigh a vegetarian, he said, -and my head was mainly cabbage--and so on. Incidentally he announced -that Abubus was to run the new auto. - -"Abubus!" says I. "Why, he don't know a gas engine from a coffee mill! -He wouldn't know what the craft's for." - -"That's all right," he says. "He's been takin' lessons at the garage in -Hyannis and he can run it like a bird. He knows what it's for. He! he! -so do I. By the way, Snow, are you ready to give up the post-office to -my candidate yet?" - -"Give up?" says I. "Tut! tut! tut! I hate to hear a supposed sane man -talk so. Mary Blaisdell handles the mail in the Ostable post-office for -the next three years--longer, if she wants to." - -"Bet you five she don't," he says. - -"Take the bet," says I. - -He went out chucklin'. I wondered what he had up his sleeve. A week -later I found out. Congressman Shelton, our district Representative at -Washin'ton, came to Ostable to look the post-office situation over and, -lo and behold you, he comes as Major Cobden Clark's guest, to stay at -his house. - -When Jim Henry Jacobs learned that, he took me to one side to give me -some brotherly advice. - -"It's all up for Mary now," he says. "She can't win. Clark and Shelton -are old chums in politics. There's only one chance to beat Payne and -that's to bring forward a compromise candidate--a dark horse." - -"Rubbish!" I sung out. "Dark horse be hanged! Shelton's square as a -brick. Nobody can bribe him." - -"It ain't a question of bribin'," he says. "If it was, you could bribe, -too. Shelton is square, and that's why he'd welcome a compromise -candidate. But if it comes to a fight between Mary Blaisdell and Abubus -Payne, Abubus'll win because he's the Major's pet. Shelton knows the -Major better than he knows you. Take my advice now and look out for the -dark horse." - -But I wouldn't listen. All the next hour I was ugly as a bear with a -sore head and long afore dinner time I told Jacobs I was goin' for a -sail in the _Glide_. "Goin' somewheres on salt water where the air's -clean and not p'isoned by politics and automobiles and congressmen and -Paynes," I told him. - -I headed out of the harbor and then run, afore a wind that was fair but -gettin' lighter all the time, up the bay. I sailed and sailed until some -of my bad temper wore off and my appetite begun to come back. All the -time I was settin' at the tiller I was thinkin' over the post-office -situation and, try as hard as I could to see the bright side for Mary -Blaisdell, it looked pretty dark. The Major would give that Shelton man -the time of his life and he'd talk Abubus to him to beat the cars. I -couldn't get at the Congressman to put in an oar for Mary and--well, I'd -have discounted my five-dollar bet for about seventy-five cents, at that -time. - -I thought and thought and sailed and sailed. When I came to myself and -realized I was hungry the _Glide_ was miles away from Ostable. I came -about and started to beat back; then I saw I was in for a long job. Let -alone that the wind was ahead, 'twas dyin' fast, and if I knew the signs -of a flat calm, there was one due in half an hour. I took as long tacks -as I could, but I made mighty little progress. - -On the second tack inshore I came up abreast of Jonathan Crowell's house -at Heron P'int. Jonathan's just a no-account longshoreman or he wouldn't -live in that place, which is the fag-end of creation. There's a -twenty-mile stretch of beach and pines and such close to the shore -there, with a road along it. The first eight mile of that road is pretty -good macadam and hard dirt. A land company tried to develop that section -of beach once and they put in the road; but the land didn't sell and the -company busted and after that eight mile the road is just beach sand, -soft and coarse. The strip of solid ground, with its pines and -scrub-oaks, is, as I said afore, twenty mile long, but it's only a half -mile or so wide. Between it and the main cape is a tremendous salt -marsh, all cut up with cricks that nobody can get over without a boat. -Jonathan's is the only house for the whole twenty mile, except the -lighthouse buildin's down at the end. The land company put up a few -summer shacks on speculation, but they're all rickety and fallin' to -pieces. - -I knew Jonathan had gone to Bayport, quahaug rakin', and that his wife -was visitin' over to Wellmouth, so when the _Glide_ crept in towards the -beach and I saw a couple of folk by the Crowell house, I was surprised. -I didn't pay much attention to 'em, however, until I was just about -ready to put the helm over and stand out into the bay again. Then they -come runnin' down to the beach, yellin' and wavin' their arms. I thought -one of 'em had a familiar look and, as I come closer, I got more and -more sure of it. It didn't seem possible, but it was--one of those -fellers on the beach was Major Cobden Clark. - -"Hi-i!" yells the Major, hoppin' up and down and wavin' both arms as if -he was practicin' flyin'; "Hi-i-i! you man in the boat! Come here! I -want you!" - -That was him, all over. He wanted me, so of course I must come. My -feelin's in the matter didn't count at all. I run the _Glide_ in as nigh -the beach as I dared and then fetched her up into what little wind there -was left. - -"Ahoy there, Major," I sung out. "Is that you?" - -"Hey?" he shouts. "Do you know--Why, I believe it's Snow! Is that you, -Snow?" - -"Yes, it's me," I hollers. "What in time are you doin' way over here?" - -"Never mind what I'm doin'," he roared. "You come ashore here. I want -you." - -If I hadn't been so curious to know what he was doin', I'd have seen him -in glory afore I ever thought of obeyin' an order from him; but I was -curious. While I was considerin' the breeze give a final puff and died -out altogether. That settled it. I might as well go ashore as stay -aboard. I couldn't get anywhere without wind. So I hove anchor and -dropped the mains'l. - -"Come on!" he kept yellin'. "What are you waitin' for? Don't you hear me -say I want you?" - -I had on my long-legged rubber boots and the water wa'n't more'n up to -my knees. When I got good and ready, I swung over the side and waded to -the beach. - -"Hello, Maje," I says, brisk and easy, "you ought not to holler like -that. You'll bust a b'iler. Your face looks like a red-hot stove -already." - -He mopped his forehead. "Shut up, you old fool," says he. "Think I'm -here to listen to a lecture about my face? You carry Mr. Shelton and me -out to that boat of yours. We want you to sail us home." - -So the other chap was the Congressman. I'd guessed as much. I went up to -him and held out my hand. - -"Pleased to know you, Mr. Shelton," says I. "Had the pleasure of votin' -for you last fall." - -Shelton shook and smiled. "This is Cap'n Snow, isn't it?" he says, his -eyes twinklin'. "Glad to meet you, I'm sure. I've heard of you often." - -"I shouldn't wonder," says I. "Major Clark and me are old chums and I -cal'late he's mentioned my name at least once. Hey, Maje?" - -The Major grinned. I grinned, too; and Shelton laughed out loud. - -"I never saw such a talkin' machine in my life," snaps Clark. "Don't -stop to tell us the story of your life. Take us aboard that boat of -yours. You've got to get us back to Ostable, d'you understand?" - -"Have, hey?" says I. "I appreciate the honor, but.... However, maybe you -won't mind tellin' me what you're doin' here, twelve miles from -nowhere?" - -The Major was too mad to answer, so Shelton did it for him. - -"Well," he says, smilin' and with a wink at his partner, "we _came_ in -the Major's auto, but--" - -He stopped without finishin' the sentence. - -"The auto?" says I. "You came in the auto? Well, why don't you go back -in it? What's the matter? Has it broke down? Humph! I ain't surprised; -them things are always breakin' down, 'specially the cheap ones." - -_That_ stirred up the kettle. The Major give me to understand that his -auto cost six thousand dollars and was the best blessedty-blank car on -earth. It wa'n't the auto's fault. It hadn't broke down. It had stuck in -the eternal and everlastin' sand and they couldn't get it out, that was -the trouble. - -"But Abubus can get it out, can't he?" says I. "Abubus runs it like a -bird, you told me so yourself. Now a bird can fly, and if you want to -get from here to Ostable in anything like a straight line, you've _got_ -to fly. By the way, where is Abubus?" - -Three or four more questions, and a hogshead of profanity on the Major's -part, and I had the whole story. He and Shelton had started for a ride -way up the Cape. They was cal'latin' to get home by eleven o'clock, but -the machine went so fast that they got where they was goin' early and -had time to spare. Shelton happened to remember that he'd sunk some -money in the land company I mentioned and he thought he'd like to see -the place where 'twas sunk. He asked Abubus if they couldn't run along -the beach road a ways. Abubus hemmed and hawed and didn't know for -sure--he never was sure about anything. But the Major said course they -could; that car could go anywhere. So they turned in way up by Sandwich -and come b'ilin' down alongshore. Long's the old land company road -lasted they was all right, but when, runnin' thirty-five miles an hour, -they whizzed off the end of that road, 'twas different. The automobile -lit in the soft sand like a snow-plow and stopped--and stayed. They -tried to dig it out with boards from Jonathan Crowell's pig pen, but the -more they dug the deeper it sunk. At last they give it up; nothin' but a -team of horses could haul that machine out of that sand. So Abubus -starts to walk the ten or eleven miles back to civilization and livery -stables and the Major and Shelton waited for him. And the more they -waited the hungrier and madder Clark got. 'Twas all Abubus's fault, of -course. He ought to have had more sense than to run that way on that -road, anyhow. He ought to have known better than to get into that sand, -a feller that had lived in sand all his life. He was an incompetent -jackass. Well, I knew that afore, but it certainly did me good to hear -the Major confirm my judgment. - -I went over and looked at the automobile. It had always acted like a -mighty lively contraption, but now it looked dead enough. And not only -dead, but two-thirds buried. - -"Well?" fumes Clark, "how much longer have we got to stay in this hole?" - -"It's consider'ble of a hole," says I, "and it looks to me as if she'd -stay there till Abubus gets back with a pair of horses. Considerin' how -far he's got to tramp and how long it'll be afore he can get a pair, I -cal'late the hole'll be occupied until some time in the night." - -That wa'n't what he meant and I knew it. Did I suppose he and Shelton -was goin' to wait and starve until the middle of the night? No, sir; the -auto could stay where it was; he and the Congressman would sail home -with me in the _Glide_. - -"I hope you ain't in any partic'lar hurry," says I, lookin' out over the -bay. There wa'n't a breath of air stirrin' and the water was slick and -shiny as a starched shirt. "The _Glide_ runs by wind power and there's -no wind. This calm may last one hour or it may last two. As long as it -lasts I stay where I am." - -What! Did I think they would stay there just because I was too lazy to -get my whoopety-bang fish-dory under way? Stay there in that -sand-heap--sand-heap was the politest of the names he called Crowell's -plantation--and starve? - -"Oh," says I. "I won't starve. I'm goin' to get dinner." - -Dinner! The very name of it was like a life-preserver to a feller who'd -gone under for the second time. - -"Can you get us dinner?" roars the Major. "By George, if you can I'll--" - -"Not for you I can't," I says. "You live accordin' to the Payne -schedule, on prunes and pecans and such. The prune crop 'round here is a -failure and I don't see a pecan tree in Jonathan's back yard. No, any -dinner I'd get would give you compound, gallopin' dyspepsy, and I can't -be responsible for your death--I love you too much. But I cal'late I can -scratch up a meal that'll keep folks with common insides from perishin' -of hunger. Anyhow, I'm goin' to try." - - - - -CHAPTER IV--HOW I MADE A CLAM CHOWDER; AND WHAT A CLAM CHOWDER MADE OF -ME - - -Well, sir, even the Major's guns was spiked for a minute. I cal'late -that, for once, he'd forgot all about his dietizin' and only remembered -his appetite. He gurgled and choked and glared. Afore he could get his -artillery ready for a broadside I walked off and left him. He'd riled me -up a little and I saw a chance to rile him back. - -I went around to the back part of the Crowell house and tried the -kitchen door. 'Twas locked, for a wonder, but the window side of it -wasn't. I pushed up the sash and reached in fur enough to unhook the -door. Then I went into the house and begun to overhaul the supplies in -the galley. I found flour and sugar and salt and pepper and coffee and -butter and canned milk and salt pork--about everything I wanted. -Jonathan and I was friendly enough so's I knew he wouldn't care what I -used so long as I paid for it. If he had I'd have taken the risk, just -then. - -The wood-box was full and I got a fire goin' in the cookstove, and put -on a couple of kettles of water to heat. Then I went out to the shed and -located a clam hoe and a bucket. There's clams a-plenty 'most anywheres -along that beach and the tide was out fur enough for me to get a -bucket-full of small ones in no time. I fetched 'em up to the house and -set down on the back step to open 'em. - -The Major and Shelton was watchin' me all this time and they looked -interested--that is, the Congressman did, and Clark was doin' his best -not to. Pretty soon Shelton walks over and asks a question. "What are -you doin' with those things, Cap'n Snow?" says he, referrin' to the -clams. - -"Oh," says I, cheerful, "I'm figgerin' on makin' a chowder, if nothin' -busts." - -"A chowder," he says, sort of eager. "A clam chowder? Can you?" - -"I can. That is, I have made a good many and I cal'late to make this -one, unless I'm struck with paralysis." - -"A clam chowder!" he says again, sort of eager but reverent. "By George! -that's good--er--for you, I mean." - -"I hope 'twill be good for you, too," says I. "I'm sorry that Major -Clark's dyspepsy's such that 'twon't be good for him, but that's his -misfortune, not my fault." - -Shelton looked sort of queer and went away to jine his chum. The two of -'em did consider'ble talkin' and the Major appeared to be deliverin' a -sermon, at least I heard a good many orthodox words in the course of it. -I finished my clam openin', went in and got my cookin' started. The -flour and the butter made me think that some hot spider-bread would go -good with the chowder and I started to mix a batch. Then I got another -idea. - -'Twas too late for huckleberries and such, but out back of the shed, -beyond the pines, was a little swampy place. I took a tin pail, went out -there and filled the pail with early wild cranberries in five minutes. -As I was comin' back I noticed an onion patch in the garden. A chowder -without onions is like a camp-meetin' Sunday without your best -girl--pretty flat and impersonal. Most of those left in the patch had -gone to seed, but I got a half dozen. - -After a short spell that kitchen begun to get fragrant and folksy, as -you might say. The coffee was b'ilin', the chowder was about ready, -there was a pan of red-hot spider-bread on the back of the stove and a -cranberry shortcake--'twould have been better with cream, but to skim -condensed milk is more exercise than profit--in the oven. I'd opened all -the windows and the door, so the smell drifted out and livened up the -surroundin' scenery. Clark and Shelton were settin' on a sand hummock a -little ways off and I could see 'em wrinklin' their noses. - -When the table was set and everything was ready I put my head out of the -window and hollered: - -"Dinner!" I sung out. - -There wa'n't any answer. The pair on the hummock stirred and acted -uneasy, but they didn't move. I ladled out some of the chowder and the -perfume of it got more pervadin' and extensive. Then I rattled the -dishes and tried again. - -"Dinner!" I hollered. "Come on; chowder's gettin' cold." - -Still they didn't move and I begun to think my fun had been all for -myself. I was disappointed, but I set down to the table and commenced to -eat. Then I heard a noise. The pair of 'em had drifted over to the -doorway and was lookin' in. - -"Hello!" says I, blowin' a spoonful of chowder to cool it. "Am I givin' -a good imitation of a hungry man? If I ain't, appearances are -deceitful." - -"_Hog!_" snarls Clark, with enthusiasm. - -"Not at all," says I. "There's plenty of everything and Mr. Shelton's -welcome. So would you be, Major, if there was anything aboard you could -eat. I'm awful sorry about them prunes and nutmeats. I only wish Crowell -had laid in a supply--I do so." - -The Major's mouth was waterin' so he had to swallow afore he could -answer. When he did I realized what he was at his best. Shelton didn't -say a word, but the looks of him was enough. - -"My, my!" says I, "I'm glad I made a whole kettleful of this stuff; I -can use a grown man's share of it." - -Shelton looked at Clark and Clark looked at him. Then the Major yelps at -him like a sore pup. - -"Go ahead!" he shouts. "Go ahead in! Don't stand starin' at me like a -cannibal. Go in and eat, why don't you?" - -You could see the Congressman was divided in his feelin's. He wanted -dinner worse than the Old Harry wanted the backslidin' deacon, but he -hated to desert his friend. - -"You're sure--" he stammered. "It seems mean to leave you, but.... Sure -you wouldn't mind? If it wasn't that you are on a diet and _can't_ eat I -shouldn't think of it, but--" - -"Shut up!" The Major fairly whooped it to Jericho. "If you talk diet to -me again I'll kill you. Go in and eat. Eat, you idiot! I'd just as soon -watch two pigs as one. Go in!" - -So Shelton came in and I had a plate of chowder waitin' for him. He -grabbed up his spoon and didn't speak until he'd finished the whole of -it. Then he fetched a long breath, passed the plate for more, and says -he: - -"By George, Cap'n, that is the best stuff I ever tasted. You're a -wonderful cook." - -"Much obliged," says I. "But you ain't competent to judge until after -the third helpin'. And now you try a slab of that spider-bread and a cup -of coffee. And don't forget to leave room for the shortcake because.... -Well, I swan to man! Why, Major Clark, are you crazy?" - -For, as sure as I'm settin' here, old Clark had come bustin' into that -kitchen, yanked a chair up to that table, grabbed a plate and the ladle -and was helpin' himself to chowder. - -"Major!" says I. - -"Why, _Cobden_!" says Shelton. - -"Shut up!" roars the Major. "If either of you say a word I won't be -responsible for the consequences." - -We didn't say anything and neither did he. Judgin' by the silence 'twas -a mighty solemn occasion. Everybody ate chowder and just thought, I -guess. - -"Pass me that bread," snaps Clark. - -"But Cobden," says Shelton again. - -"It's hot," says I, "and it's fried, and--" - -"Give it to me! If you don't I shall know it's because you're too -rip-slap stingy to part with it." - -After that, there was nothin' to be done but the one thing. He got the -bread and he ate it--not one slice, but two. And he drank coffee and ate -a three-inch slab of shortcake. When the meal was over there wa'n't -enough left to feed a healthy canary. - -"Now," growls the Major, turnin' to Shelton, "have you a cigar in your -pocket? If you have, hand it over." - -The Congressman fairly gasped. "A cigar!" he sings out. "You--goin' to -_smoke_? _You?_" - -"Yes--me. I'm goin' to die anyway. This murderer here," p'intin' to me, -"laid his plans to kill me and he's succeeded. But I'll die happy. Give -me that cigar! If you had a drink about you I'd take that." - -He bit the end off his cigar, lit it, and slammed out of that kitchen, -puffin' like a soft-coal tug. Shelton shook his head at me and I shook -mine back. - -"Do you s'pose he _will_ die?" he asked. "He's eaten enough to kill -anybody. And with his stomach! And to smoke!" - -"The dear land knows," says I. To tell you the truth I was a little -conscience-struck and worried. My idea had been to play a joke on -Clark--tantalize him by eatin' a square meal that he couldn't touch--and -get even for some of the names he'd called me. But now I wa'n't sure -that my fun wouldn't turn out serious. When a man with a lame digestion -eats enough to satisfy an elephant nobody can be sure what'll come of -it. - -The Congressman and I washed the dishes and 'twas a pretty average -sorrowful job. Only once, when I happened to glance at him and caught a -queer look in his eyes, was the ceremony any more joyful than a funeral. -Then the funny side of it struck me and I commenced to laugh. He joined -in and the pair of us haw-hawed like loons. Then we was sorry for it. - -Shelton went out when the dish-washin' was over. I cleaned up -everything, left a note and some money on Jonathan's table and locked up -the house. When I got outside there was a fair to middlin' breeze -springin' up. Shelton was settin' on the hummock waitin' for me. - -"Where--where's the Major?" I asked, pretty fearful. - -"He's over there in the shade--asleep," he whispered. - -"Asleep!" says I. "Sure he ain't dead?" - -"Listen," says he. - -I listened. If the Major was dead he was a mighty noisy remains. - -He woke up, after an hour or so, and come trampin' over to where we was. - -"Well," he snaps, "it's blowin' hard enough now, ain't it? Why don't you -take us home?" - -"How about the auto?" I asked. - -The auto could stay where it was until the horses came to pull it out. -As for him he wanted to be took home. - -"But--but are you able to go?" asked Shelton, anxious. - -What in the sulphur blazes did we mean by that? Course he was able to -go! And had Shelton got another cigar in his clothes? - -All of the sail home I was expectin' to see that military man keel over -and begin his digestion torments. But he didn't keel. He smoked and -talked and was better-natured than ever I'd seen him. He didn't mention -his stomach once and you can be sure and sartin that I didn't. As we was -comin' up to the moorin's in Ostable I'm blessed if he didn't begin to -sing, a kind of a fool tune about "Down where the somethin'-or-other -runs." Then I _was_ scared, because I judged that his attack had started -and delirium was settin' in. - -Shelton shook hands with me at the landin'. - -"You're all right, Cap'n Snow," he says. "That was the best meal I ever -tasted and nobody but you could have conjured it up in the middle of a -howlin' wilderness. If there's anything I can do for you at any time -just let me know." - -There was one thing he could do, of course, but I wouldn't be mean -enough to mention it then. The Major and I had, generally speakin', -fought fair, and I wouldn't take advantage of a delirious invalid. And -just then up comes the invalid himself. - -"See here, Snow," says he, pretty gruff; "I'll probably be dead afore -mornin', but afore I die I want to tell you that I'm much obliged to you -for bringin' us home. Yes, and--and, by the great and mighty, I'm -obliged to you for that chowder and the rest of it! It'll be my death, -but nothin' ever tasted so good to me afore. There!" - -"That's all right," says I. - -"No, it ain't all right. I'm much obliged, I tell you. You're a -stubborn, obstinate, unreasonable old hayseed, but you're the most -competent person in this town just the same. Of course though," he adds, -sharp, "you understand that this don't affect our post-office fight in -the least. That Blaisdell woman don't get it." - -"Who said it did affect it?" I asked, just as snappy as he was. That's -the way we parted and I wondered if I'd ever see him alive again. - -I didn't see him for quite a spell, but I heard about him. I woke up -nights expectin' to be jailed for murder, but I wa'n't; and when, three -days later, Shelton started for Washin'ton, the Major went away on the -train with him. Abubus and his wife shut up the house and went off, too, -and nobody seemed to know where they'd gone. All's could be found out -was that Abubus acted pretty ugly and wouldn't talk to anybody. This was -comfortin' in a way, though, most likely, it didn't mean anything at -all. - -But at the end of two weeks a thing happened that meant somethin'. I got -two letters in the mail, one in a big, long envelope postmarked from the -Post-Office Department at Washington and the other a letter from Shelton -himself. I don't suppose I'll ever forget that letter to my dyin' day. - - "Dear Captain Snow," it begun. "You may be interested to know - that our mutual friend, Major Clark, has suffered no ill effects - from our picnic at the beach. In fact, he is better than he ever - was and has been enjoying the comforts of city life to an extent - which I should not dare attempt. Whether his long respite from - such comforts helped, or whether the celebrated Doctor Conquest - was responsible, I know not. The Major, however, declares Doctor - Payne to be a fraud and to have been, as he says, 'working him - for a sucker.' Therefore he has discharged the doctor and - discharged the cousin with the odd name--your fellow townsman, - Abubus Payne. The mishap with the auto was the beginning of - Abubus's finish and the fact that no indigestion followed our - chowder party completed it. And also--which may interest you - still more--Major Clark has withdrawn his support of Payne's - candidacy for the post-office and urged the appointment of - another person, one whom he declares to be the only able, - common-sense, honest _man_ in the village. As I have long felt - the appointment of a compromise candidate to be the sole - solution of the problem, I was very happy to agree with him, - particularly as I thoroughly approve of his choice. When you - learn the new postmaster's name I trust you may agree with us - both. I know the citizens of Ostable will do so. - - "Yours sincerely, - - "_William A. Shelton._ - - "P.S. I am coming down next summer and shall expect another one - of your chowders." - -My hands shook as I ripped open the other envelope. I knew what was -comin'--somethin' inside me warned me what to expect. And there it was. -Me--_me_--Zebulon Snow, was app'inted postmaster of Ostable! - -Was I mad? I was crazy! I fairly hopped up and down. What in thunder did -I want of the postmastership? And if I wanted it ever so much did they -think I was a traitor? Was it likely that I'd take it, after workin' -tooth and nail for Mary Blaisdell? What would Mary say to me? By time, -_I'd_ show 'em! It should go back that minute and my free and frank -opinion with it. I'd kicked one chair to pieces already, and was -beginnin' on another, when Jim Henry Jacobs come runnin' in and stopped -me. - -No use to goin' into particulars of the argument we had. It lasted till -after one o'clock next mornin'. Jim Henry argued and coaxed and proved -and I ripped and vowed I wouldn't. He was tickled to death. The -post-office was the greatest thing to bring trade that the store could -have, and so on. I _must_ take the job. If I didn't somebody else would, -somebody that, more'n likely, we wouldn't like any better than we did -Abubus. - -"No," says I. "_No!_ Mary Blaisdell shall have--" - -"She won't get it anyway," says he. "She's out of it--Shelton as much as -says so--whatever happens. And she don't want the title anyway. All she -needs or cares for is the pay and I've thought of a way to fix that. You -listen." - -I listened--under protest, and the upshot of it was that the next day I -went up to see Mary. She'd heard that I was likely to get the -appointment--old Clark had been doin' some hintin' afore he left town, I -cal'late--and she congratulated me as hearty as if 'twas what she'd -wanted all along. But I wa'n't huntin' congratulations. I felt as mean -as if I'd been took up by the constable for bein' a chicken thief, and I -told her so. - -"Mary," says I, "I wa'n't after the postmastership. I swear by all that -is good and great I wa'n't. I don't know what you must think of me." - -"What I've always thought," says she, "and what poor Henry thought -before he died. My opinion is like Major Clark's," with a kind of half -smile, "that the appointment has gone to the best man in Ostable." - -"My, my!" says I. "_Your_ digestion ain't given you delirium, has it? No -sir-ee! I'm no more fit to be postmaster than a ship's goat is to teach -school." - -"You mustn't talk so," she says, earnest. "You will take the position, -won't you?" - -"I'll take it," says I, "under one condition." Then I told her what the -condition was. She argued against it at fust, but after I'd said -flat-footed that 'twas either that or the government could take its -appointment and make paper boats of it, and she'd seen that I meant it, -she give in. - -"But," says she, chokin' up a little, "I know you're doin' this just to -help me. How I can ever repay your kindness I don't--" - -I cut in quick. My deadlights was more misty than I like to have 'em. -"Rubbish!" says I, "I'm doin' it to win my bet with old Clark. I'd do -anything to beat out that old critter." - -So it happened that when, along in November, the Major came back to -Ostable to look over his place, afore leavin' for Florida, and come into -the store, I was ready for him. He grinned and asked me if he had any -mail. - -"While you're about it," he says, chucklin', "you can pay me that bet." - -Now the very sound of the word "bet" hit me on a sore place. I'd lost -one hat to Mr. Pike and the letter I'd got from him rubbed me across the -grain every time I thought of it. - -"What bet?" says I. - -"Why, the bet you made that the Blaisdell woman would be postmistress -here." - -"I didn't bet that," I says. - -"You didn't?" he roared. "You did, too! You bet--" - -"I bet that Mary would handle the mail, that's all. So she will; fact -is, she's handlin' it now. She's my assistant in the post-office here. -If you don't believe it, go back to the mail window and look in. No, -Major, _I_ win the bet." - -Maybe I did, but he wouldn't pay it. He vowed I was a low down swindler -and a "welsher," whatever that is. He blew out of that store like a toy -typhoon and I didn't see him again until the next summer. However, I had -a feelin' that Major Cobden Clark wa'n't the wust friend I had, by a -consider'ble sight. - -You see, that was Jim Henry's great scheme--to hire Mary to run the -office as my assistant. He didn't say what salary I was to pay her, and, -if I chose to hand over three-quarters of the postmaster's pay to her, -what business was it of his? I told him that plain, and, to do him -justice, he didn't seem to care. - -But he did rub it in about my declarin' I'd never go into politics. - -In a little while the mail department was as much a part of the "Ostable -Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods Store" as the calico -and dress goods counter. We bought the Blaisdell letter-box rack and -fixin's and set 'em up and they done fust-rate for the time bein'. I was -postmaster, so fur as name goes, but 'twas Mary that really run that end -of the ship. It seemed as natural to have her come in mornin's, as it -did for the sun to rise; and, if she was late, which didn't happen -often, it seemed almost as if the sun hadn't rose. The old store needed -somethin' like her to keep it clean and sweet and even Jim Henry give in -that she was the best investment the business had made yet. - -As for business it kept on good, even though the summer folks had gone -and winter had set in. Our order carts kept runnin' and they _took_ -orders, too. The store was doin' well by us both and I certainly owed -old Pullet a debt of thanks for workin' on my sympathies until I put my -cash into it. There was consider'ble buildin' goin' on in town and, when -spring begun to show symptoms of makin' Ostable harbor, Jim Henry got -possessed of a new idea. I didn't pay much attention at fust. He was -always as full of notions as a peddler's cart and if I took every one of -'em serious we'd either been Rockefellers or star boarders at the -poorhouse, one or t'other. 'Twa'n't till that day in April when old -Ebenezer Taylor came in after his mail and went out after the constable -that I realized somethin' had to be done. - -You see, Ebenezer's eyes was failin' on him and, to make things worse, -he'd forgot his nigh-to specs and had on his far-off pair. Consequently, -when he headed for the after end of the store, he wa'n't in no condition -to keep clear of the rocks and shoals in the channel. Fust thing he run -into was a couple of dress-forms with some bargain calico gowns on 'em. -While he was beggin' pardon of them forms, under the impression that -they was women customers, he backed into a roll of barbed wire fencin' -that was leanin' against the candy and cigar counter. His clothes was -sort of thin and if that barbed wire had been somebody tryin' to borrer -a quarter of him he couldn't have jumped higher or been more emphatic in -his remarks. The third jump landed him against the gunwale of a bushel -basket of eggs that Jacobs was makin' a special run on and had set out -prominent in the aisle. Maybe Ebenezer was tired from the jumpin' or -maybe the excitement had gone to his head and he thought he was a hen. -Anyhow he set on them eggs, and in two shakes of a heifer's tail he was -the messiest lookin' omelet ever I see. Jacobs and me and the clerk -scraped him off best we could with pieces of barrel hoop and the cheese -knife, and Mary come out from behind the letter boxes and helped along -with the floor mop, but when we'd finished with him he was consider'ble -more like somethin' for breakfast than he was human. - -And mad! An April fool chocolate cream couldn't have been more peppery -than he was. He distributed his commentaries around pretty general--Mary -got some and so did Jacobs--but the heft was fired at me. He hated me -anyhow, 'count of my bein' made postmaster and for some other reasons. - -"You--you thunderin' murderer!" he hollered, shakin' his old fist in my -face. "'Twas all your fault. You done it a-purpose. Look at me! Look! my -legs punched full of holes like a skimmer, and--and my clothes! Just -look at my clothes! A whole suit ruined! A suit I paid ten dollars and a -half for--" - -"Ten year and a half ago," I put in, involuntary, as you might say. - -"It's a lie. 'Twon't be nine year till next September. You think you're -funny, don't you? Ever since this consarned, robbin' Black Republican -administration made you postmaster! Postmaster! You're a healthy -postmaster! I'll have you arrested! I'll march straight out and have you -took up. I will!" - -He headed for the door. I didn't say nothin'. I was sorry about the -clothes and I'd have paid for 'em willin'ly, but arguin' just then was a -waste of time, as the feller said when the deef and dumb man caught him -stealin' apples. Ebenezer stamped as fur as the door and then turned -around. - -"I may not have you took up," he says; "but I'll get even with you, Zeb -Snow, yet. You wait." - -After he'd gone and we'd made the place look a little less like an -egg-nog, I took Jim Henry by the sleeve and led him into the back room -where we could be alone. Even there the surroundin's was so cluttered up -with goods and bales and boxes that we had to stand edgeways and talk -out of the sides of our mouths. - -"Jim," says I, "this place of ours ain't big enough. We've got to have -more room." - -He pretended to be dreadful surprised. - -"Why, why, Skipper!" he says. "You shock me. This is so sudden. What put -such an idea as that in your head? Seems to me I have a vague -remembrance of handin' you that suggestion no less than twenty-five -times since the last change of the moon, but I hope _that_ didn't -influence you." - -"Aw, dry up," says I. "You was right. Let it go at that. Afore I got the -postmastership this buildin' was big enough. Now it ain't. We've got to -build on or move or somethin'. Have you got any definite plan?" - -He smiled, superior and top-lofty, and reached over to pat me on the -back; but reachin' in that crowded junk-shop was bad judgment, 'cause -his elbow hit against the corner of a tea chest and his next set of -remarks was as explosive and fiery as a box of ship rockets. - -"Never mind the blessin'," I says. "Go ahead with the fust course. Have -you got anything up your sleeve? anything besides that bump, I mean." - -Well, it seems he had. Seems he'd thought it all out. We'd ought to buy -Philander Foster's buildin', which was on the next lot to ours, move it -close up, cut doors through, and use it for the post-office department. - -"Humph!" says I, after I'd turned the notion over in my mind. "That -ain't so bad, considerin' where it come from. I can only sight one -possible objection in the offin'." - -"What's that, you confounded Jezebel?" he says. - -"Jezebel?" says I. "What on airth do you call me that for?" - -"'Cause you're him all over," he says. "He was the feller I used to hear -about in Sunday School, the prophet chap that was always croakin' and -believed everything was goin' to the dogs. That was Jezebel, wasn't it?" - -"No," says I, "that was Jeremiah; Jezebel was the one the dogs _went_ -to. And she was a woman, at that." - -"Well, all right," he says. "Whatever he or she was they didn't have -anything on you when it comes to croaks. What's the objection?" - -"Nothin' much. Only I don't know's you've happened to think that -Philander might not care to sell his buildin', to us or to anybody -else." - -That was all right. We could go and see, couldn't we? Well, we could of -course--and we did. - - - - -CHAPTER V--A TRAP AND WHAT THE "RAT" CAUGHT IN IT - - -Foster run a shebang that was labeled "The Palace Billiard, Pool and -Sipio Parlors. Cigars and Tobacco. Tonics, all Flavors. Ice Cream in -Season." The "Palace" part was some exaggeration and so was the -"Parlors," but the place was the favorite hang-out of all the loafers -and young sports in town and the church folks was tumble down on it, -callin' it a "gilded hell" and such pious profanity. The gilt had wore -off years afore and if the hot place ain't more interestin' than that -billiard saloon it must be dull for some of the permanent boarders. - -We found Philander asleep back of the soft drink counter and young -Erastus Taylor--"Ratty," everybody called him--practicin' pin pool, as -usual, at one of the tables. "Ratty" was Ebenezer Taylor's only son and -the combination trial and idol of the old man's soul. Ebenezer thought -most as much of him as he did of his money, and when you've said that -you couldn't make it any stronger. He'd done a heap to make a man of -"Rat"--his idea of a man--even separatin' from enough cash to send him -to a business college up to Middleboro; but all the boy got from that -college was a thunder and lightnin' taste in clothes and a post-graduate -course in pool playin'. Pool playin' was the only thing he cared about -and he could spot any one of the Ostable sharps four balls and beat 'em -hands down. He'd sampled two or three jobs up to Boston, but they always -undermined his health and he drifted back home to live on dad and look -for another "openin'." I cal'late the pair lived a cat and dog life, for -Ratty always wanted money to spend and Ebenezer wanted it to keep. The -old man was the wust down on the billiard room of anybody and his son -put in most of his time there. - -Me and Jim Henry woke up Philander and told him we wanted to talk with -him private. He said go ahead and talk; there wa'n't anybody to hear but -Ratty, and Rat was just like one of the family. So, as we couldn't do it -any different, we went ahead. Jacobs explained that we felt that maybe -we might some time or other need a little extry room for our business -and, bein' as he--Philander--was handy by and we was always prejudiced -in favor of a neighbor and so on, perhaps he'd consider sellin' us his -buildin' and lot. Course it didn't make so much difference to him; he -could easy move his "Parlors" somewheres else--and similar sweet ile. -Philander listened till Jim Henry had poured on the last soothin' drop, -and then he laughed. - -"Um ... ya-as," he says. "I could move a heap, _I_ could! I'm so durned -popular amongst the good landholders in this town that any one of 'em -would turn their best settin'-rooms over to me the minute I mentioned -it. Yes, indeed! Just where 'bouts would I move?--if 'tain't too much to -ask." - -Well, that was some of a sticker, 'cause _I_ couldn't think of anybody -that would have that billiard room within a thousand fathoms of their -premises, if they could help it. But Jim Henry he pretended not to be -shook up a cent's wuth. That was easy; 'twas just a matter of -Philander's pickin' out the right place, that was all there was to it. - -Philander heard him through and then he laughed again. - -"You're wastin' good business breath," he says. "I wouldn't sell if I -could, unless I had a fust-class place to move into, and there ain't no -such place on the main road and you know it. I'm doin' trade enough to -keep me alive and I'm satisfied, though I can't lay up a cent. But, so -fur as movin' out is concerned, I expect to do that on the fust of next -November. I'll be fired out, I judge, and prob'ly'll have to leave town. -Hey, Rat?" - -Ratty Taylor, who'd been listenin', twisted his mouth and grunted. - -"Yes," he says, "I guess that's right, worse luck!" - -"You bet it's right!" says Philander. "As I said, Mr. Jacobs, if I could -sell out to you and Cap'n Zeb I wouldn't, without a good handy place to -move into. And I can't sell any way. There's a thousand dollar mortgage -on this shop and lot; it's due June fust; and, unless I pay it -off--which I can't, havin' not more'n five hundred to my name--the -mortgage'll be foreclosed and out I go." - -This was news all right. Then me and Jim Henry asked the same question, -both speakin' together. - -"Who owns the mortgage?" we asked. - -Foster looked at Ratty and grinned. Rat grinned back, sort of sickly. - -"Shall I tell 'em?" says Philander. - -"I don't care," says Ratty. "Tell 'em, if you want to." - -"Well," says Foster, "old Ebenezer Taylor, Ratty's dad, owns it, drat -him! and he's tryin' to drive me out of town 'count of Rat's spendin' so -much time in here. Ratty's a fine feller, but his pa's the meanest old -skinflint that ever drawed the breath of life. Not meanin' no -reflections on your family, Rat--but ain't it so?" - -"_I_ shan't contradict you, Phi," says Ratty. - -Jacobs and I looked at each other. Then I got up from my chair. - -"Jim Henry," says I, "I don't see as we've got much to gain by stayin' -here. Let's go home." - -We went back to the store, neither of us speakin', but both thinkin' -hard. It was all off now, of course. If old Taylor owned that mortgage, -he'd foreclose on the nail, if only to get rid of his son's loafin' -place. And he wouldn't sell to us--hatin' us as he did--unless we -covered the place with cash an inch deep. No, buyin' the "Palace" was a -dead proposition. And there wa'n't another available buildin' or lot big -enough for us to move to within a mile of Ostable Center. - -"Humph!" says I, some sarcastic. "It looks to me--speakin' as a man in -the crosstrees--as if that wonderful business brain of yours had sprung -a leak somewheres, Jim. Better get your pumps to workin', hadn't you?" - -He snorted. "I'd rather have a leaky head than a solid wood one like -some I know," he says. "Quiet your Jezebellerin' and let me think.... -There's one thing we might do, of course: We might advance the other -five hundred to Foster, let him pay off his mortagage, and then--" - -"And then trust to luck to get the money back," I put in. "There's more -charity than profit in that, if you ask me. Once that mortgage is paid, -you couldn't get Philander out of that buildin' with a derrick. He don't -want to go." - -"But we might make some sort of a deal to pay him a hundred dollars or -so to boot and then--" - -"And then you'd have another hundred to collect, that's all. I wouldn't -trust that billiard and sipio man as fur as old Ebenezer could see -through his nigh-to specs. No sir-ee! Nothin' doin', as the boys say." - -Next forenoon I met old Ebenezer Taylor on the sidewalk in front of the -Methodist meetin'-house and, when he saw me, he stopped and commenced -chucklin' and gigglin' as if he was wound up. - -"He, he, he!" says he. "He, he! I hear you and that partner of yours, -Zebulon, want to buy my property next door to you. Well, I'll sell it to -you--at a price. He, he, he! at a price." - -[Illustration: _'Well, I'll sell it to you--at a price.'_] - -"So your hopeful and promisin' son's been tellin' tales, has he?" says -I. "I wa'n't aware that it was your property--yet." - -He stopped gigglin' and glared at me, sour and bitter as a green -crab-apple. - -"It's goin' to be," he says. "Don't you forget that, it's goin' to be. -And if you want it, you'll pay my price. You owe me for them clothes you -ruined, Zeb Snow--for them and for other things. And I cal'late I've got -you fellers about where I want you." - -"Oh, I don't know," says I. "You may be glad enough to sell to us later -on. What good is an empty buildin' on your hands? Unless of course you -intend rentin' it for another billiard saloon." - -That made him so mad he fairly gurgled. - -"There'll be no billiard saloon in this town," he declared. "No more -gilded ha'nts of sin, temptin' young men whose parents have spent good -money on their education. No, you bet there won't! And that buildin' may -not be empty, nuther. I know somethin'. He, he, he!" - -"Sho!" says I. "Do you? I wouldn't have believed it of you, Ebenezer." - -I left him tryin' to think of a fittin' answer, and walked on to the -store. Mary called to me from behind the letter-boxes. - -"Mr. Jacobs is in the back room," she says, "and he wants to see you -right away. Erastus Taylor is with him." - -"'Rastus Taylor?" I sung out. "Ratty? What in the world--?" - -I hurried into the back room. Sure enough, there was Jim Henry and Ratty -caged behind a pile of boxes and barrels. - -"Ah, Skipper!" says Jacobs; "is that you? I was hopin' you'd come. Young -Taylor here has been suggestin' an idea that looks good to me. Tell the -Cap'n what you've been tellin' me, Ratty." - -Rat twisted uneasy on the box where he was settin' and give me a side -look out of his little eyes. I never saw him look more like his -nickname. - -"Well, Cap'n Zeb," he says, "it's like this: I've been thinkin' and I -believe I've thought of a way so you and Mr. Jacobs can get Philander's -lot and buildin'." - -"You have, hey?" says I. "That's interestin', if true. What's the way?" - -"Why," says he, twistin' some more, "that mortgage is due on the first -of June. If it ain't paid, Philander'll be foreclosed and he'll move out -of town. It's only a thousand dollars and Phi's got half of it. If -somebody--you and Mr. Jacobs, say--was to lend him t'other half, why -then he could pay it off and--and--" - -"And stay where he is," I finished disgusted. "That would be real lovely -for Philander, but I don't see where we come in. This ain't a billiard -and loan society Mr. Jacobs and I are runnin', thankin' you and Foster -for the suggestion." - -"Wait a minute, Skipper," says Jim Henry. "Your engine is runnin' wild. -That ain't Ratty's scheme at all. Go on, Rat; spring it on him." - -"Philander wouldn't be so set on stayin' where he is, Cap'n Zeb," says -Rat, quick as a flash, "if he had another place to move into; another -place here on the main road, convenient and handy by. And I think I know -a place that could be got for him." - -I didn't answer for a minute. I was runnin' over in my mind every -possible place that might be sold or let to Philander Foster for a -"Palace." And to save my life I couldn't think of one. - -"Well," says I, at last, "where is it?" - -Ratty leaned forward. "What's the matter with Aunt Hannah Watson's -buildin' up the street?" he says. "She's been crazy to sell it for a -long spell. And the lower floor would make a pretty fair billiard room, -wouldn't it?" - -I was disgusted. I knew the buildin' he meant, of course. Jacobs and I -had talked it over that very mornin' as a possible place to move the -"Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods Store" to, -but we'd both decided it wa'n't nigh big enough. - -"Humph!" says I, "that scheme's so brilliant you need smoked glass to -look at it. Do you cal'late as good a church woman as Aunt Hannah Watson -would sell or let her place for a billiard room? She needs the money bad -enough, land knows; but she's as down on those ha'nts of sin as your dad -is, Rat Taylor. She'd never sell to Phi Foster in this world." - -"_She_ mightn't, I give in," answered Rat. "But her nephew up to Wareham -is a diff'rent breed of cats. And since she moved over there to live -along with him, he's got the handlin' of her property. I found that out -to-day. From what I hear of this nephew man he ain't as particular as -his aunt. And, anyway, 'tain't necessary for Philander to make the deal. -You and Mr. Jacobs might make it for him." - -I thought this over for a minute. I begun to catch the idea that the -young scamp had in his noddle--or I thought I did. - -"H'm," I says. "Yes, yes. You mean that if we'd lend Philander enough to -pay the balance of his mortgage on the buildin' he's in now and would -fix it so's Aunt Hannah'd sell us her place, under the notion that _we_ -was goin' to use it--you mean that then, after June fust, Foster'd swap. -He'd move in there and turn over the old 'Palace' to us." - -He and Jim Henry both bobbed their heads emphatic. - -"That's what he means," says Jim. - -"That's the idea exactly, Cap'n," says Rat. "I think Philander might be -willin' to do that." - -"Is that so!" says I, sarcastic. "Well, well! I want to know! But, say, -Ratty, ain't you takin' an awful lot of trouble on Foster's account? -You're turrible unselfish and disinterested all to once; or else there's -a nigger in the woodpile somewheres. Where do you come in on this?" - -He looked pretty average cheap. He fussed and fumed for a minute and -then he blurts out his reason. "Well, I'll tell you, Cap'n," he says. -"Philander's about the best friend I've got in this bum town and I get -more solid comfort in his saloon than anywheres else. If he's drove out -of Ostable, I'll be lonesomer than the grave. I don't want him to go. -And besides--well, you see, the old man--dad, I mean--has got a notion -about settin' me up in business here. And I don't want to be set up--not -in his kind of business. I know the kind of business I want to go into, -and ... but never mind that part," he adds, in a hurry. - -I smiled. I remembered what old Ebenezer had said about the "Palace" -buildin' not bein' empty on his hands very long and about somethin' he -knew. It was all plain enough now. He intended openin' some sort of a -store there with his son as boss. I almost wished he would. 'Twould be -as good as a three-ring circus, that store would, if I knew Ratty. But I -was mad, just the same, and when Jim Henry spoke, I was ready for him. - -"Well, Skipper," says Jacobs, "what do you think of the plan?" - -"Think it's a good one, if you're willin' to heave morals and common -honesty overboard--otherwise no. To put up a trick like that on an old -widow woman like Aunt Hannah Watson--to land a billiard room on her -property, when she'd rather die than have it there, is too close to -robbin' the Old Ladies' Home to suit me. I wouldn't touch it with a -ten-foot pole. So good day to you, Rat Taylor," says I, and walked out. - -But Jim Henry Jacobs didn't walk out. No, sir! him and that young Taylor -scamp stayed in that back room for another half hour and left it -whisperin' in each other's ears and actin' thicker than thieves. I -wondered what was up, but I was too put-out and mad to ask. - -"I'll look it over right after dinner to-morrer," says Jacobs, as they -shook hands at the front door. - -"Sure you will, now?" asks Ratty, anxious. "Don't put it off, 'cause it -may be too late." - -"At one o'clock to-morrer I'll be there," says Jim Henry, and Rat went -away lookin' pretty average happy. - -Jacobs scarcely spoke to me all the rest of that day nor the next -mornin'. As we got up from the boardin' house table the follerin' noon -he says, without lookin' me in the face, "I ain't goin' back to the -store now. I've got an errand somewheres else." - -"Yes," says I, "I imagined you had. You're goin' down to look at that -buildin' of poor old Aunt Hannah's. That's where you're goin'. Ain't you -ashamed of yourself, Jim Jacobs?" - -"Oh, cut it out!" he snaps, savage. "You make me tired, Skipper. You and -your backwoods scruples give me a pain. I've lived where people aren't -so narrow and bigoted and I don't consider a billiard room an annex to -the hot place. If, by a business deal, I can get that buildin' next door -to add to our establishment, I'm goin' to do it, if I have to use my own -money and not a cent of yours. Yes, I _am_ goin' to look at that Watson -property. Now, what have you got to say about it?" - -"Why, just this," says I; "I cal'late I'll go with you." - -"You will?" he sings out. "_You?_" - -"Yes," says I, "me. Not that I feel any different about skinnin' Aunt -Hannah than I ever did, but because there's a bare chance that her place -may be big enough for us to move the store and post-office to, after -all. With that idea and no other, I'll go with you, Jim." - -So we went together, though we never spoke more than two words on the -way down. We got the key at the jewelry and hardware shop next door and -went in. The Watson place was an old-fashioned tumble-down buildin' with -a big open lower floor and two or three rooms overhead. I saw right off -'twouldn't do for us to move into, but likewise I saw that the lower -floor _might_ do for Foster, though 'twa'n't as good as where he was, by -consider'ble. - -Jim Henry looked the place over. - -"No good for us," he snapped. - -"None at all," says I. - -"Humph!" says he, and we locked up and came down the steps together. As -we did so I noticed someone watchin' us from acrost the road. - -"There's our friend, Jim Henry," says I. "And, judgin' by the way he's -starin', he's got on his fur-off glasses and knows who we are." - -He looked across. "Old Taylor, by thunder!" says he. "Well, if my deal -goes through we'll jolt the old tight-wad yet." - -"Do you mean you're goin' on with that low-down billiard-room game?" I -asked. - -"Of course I do," he snapped. - -"Then you'll do it on your own hook. _I_ won't be part or parcel of it." - -"Who asked you to?" he wanted to know. And we didn't speak again for the -rest of that day. It made me feel bad, because he and I had been mighty -friendly, as well as partners together. The only comfort I got out of it -was that, judgin' by the way he kept from lookin' at me or speakin', he -didn't feel any too good himself. - -But that evenin' Ratty drifted in and the pair of 'em had another -confab. And next day, after the mail had gone, Jacobs got me alone and -says he: - -"Well," he says, "I think I ought to tell you that I've written that -nephew in Wareham and made an offer on the Watson property. I did it on -my own responsibility and I'll pay the freight. But I thought perhaps I -ought to tell you." - -"What did you offer?" I asked. He told me. - -"I'll take half," says I, "because I consider it a good investment at -that figger. But only with the agreement that the billiard saloon -sha'n't go there." - -"Then you can keep your money," he says, short. And there was another -long spell of not speakin' between the two of us. - -Mary noticed that there was somethin' wrong, and it worried her. She -spoke to me about it. - -"Cap'n Zeb," she says, "what's the trouble between you and Mr. Jacobs? -Of course it isn't my business, and you mustn't tell me unless you wish -to." - -I thought it over. "Well," says I, "I can't tell you just now, Mary. -It's a business matter we don't agree on and it's kind of private. I'll -tell you some day, but just now I can't. It ain't all my secret, you -see." - -"I see," says she. "I shouldn't have asked. I beg your pardon. I wasn't -curious, but I do hate to see any trouble between you two. I like you -both." - -I nodded. I was feelin' pretty blue. "Jim's a mighty good chap at -heart," I says. "I owe him a lot and he's consider'ble more than just a -partner to me." - -"He thinks the world of you, too," says she. "He's told me so a great -many times. That is why I can't bear to see you disagree." - -I couldn't bear it none too well, either, but Jim Henry showed no signs -of givin' in and I wouldn't. So we moped around, keepin' out of each -other's way, and actin' for all the world like a couple of young-ones in -bad need of a switch. - -A couple more days went by afore the answer came from Wareham. When I -saw the envelope on the desk, with the Watson man's name in the corner, -I knew what it meant and I was on hand when Jim Henry opened it. He was -ugly and scowlin' when he ripped off the envelope. Then I heard him -swear. I was dyin' to know what the letter said, but I wouldn't have -asked him for no money. I walked out to the front of the store. Five -minutes later I felt his hand on my shoulder. He had a curious -expression on his face, sort of a mixture of mad and glad. - -"Skipper," he says, "we're buncoed again. We don't get the Watson -place." - -"Don't, hey?" says I. "All right, I sha'n't shed any tears. I wa'n't -after it, and you know it. But I'm surprised that your offer wa'n't -accepted. Why wa'n't it?" - -"Because somebody got ahead of me. Here's the letter. Listen to this: -'Your offer for my aunt's property in Ostable came a day too late. -Yesterday I gave a year's option on that property, for five hundred -dollars cash, to--'" - -"Land of love!" I interrupted. "Only yesterday! That was close haulin', -I must say." - -"Wait," says he, "you haven't heard the whole of it. 'A year's option -... for five hundred dollars cash, to Mr. Taylor of your town.'" - -"Taylor!" says I. "_Taylor!_ My soul and body! The old skinflint beat us -again! Well, I swan!" - -"Um-hm," says he. "I size it up like this. He saw us come out of there -the other day and guessed that we thought of buyin' and movin'. So, as -he owed us a grudge, and because the Watson property is, as you said, a -good investment anyhow, he makes his option offer on the jump, and beat -me to it." - -I whistled. "I cal'late you've hit the nailhead, Jim," says I. "Well, to -be free and frank, I'm glad of it." - -"So am I," says he. - -_That_ was a staggerer. I whirled round and looked at him. - -"You _are_?" I sung out. - -"Yes," says he, "I am. Of course I had my heart set on gettin' that -'Palace' for an addition that would give more room and extry space to -our place here; and the only way I could see to get it was to take up -with that Rat's proposition. I haven't any prejudice against -billiards--" - -"Neither have I, but--" - -"I know. And you're right. Old lady Watson has, and to run Foster's -establishment in on her would have been a low-down mean trick. I've felt -like a thief, but I was so pig-headed I wouldn't back down. Now that -I've got it where the chicken got his, I'm glad of it, I really am. -Partner, will you forget my meanness and shake hands?" - -Would I? I was as tickled as a youngster with a new tin whistle. And so -was he. - -"There's only one thing that keeps me mad," he says, "and that is that -old Ebenezer's got the laugh on us again. As for more room for the -store--well, we'll have to think that out." - -We thought, but it wa'n't us that got the answer. 'Twas Mary Blaisdell. -I told her what our fuss had been about, and she agreed that I was right -and that Jim Henry's sharp business sense had sort of run away with him -for the time bein'. - -"But," says she, "we certainly do need more room, both in the mail -department and the store. I've had an idea for some time. Let _me_ think -a while." - -Next day she told Jacobs and me what her idea was. 'Twas that we should -build an addition on to our own buildin'. Run it two stories high and -right out into the back yard. 'Twas just the thing and the wonder is -that we hadn't thought of it ourselves. - -"She's a wonder, Jim, ain't she?" says I, when we was alone together. - -"_You_ think so, don't you, Skipper," says he, smilin'. - -I flared up. "Sartin I do," I says. "Don't you?" - -"Indeed I do." - -"Then what do you mean?" - -"Oh, nothin', nothin'. Say, have you seen old Taylor lately? I suppose -he's crowin' like a Shanghai rooster. I do hate for that old skinflint -to have the joke always on his side." - -"I know," says I. "So do I. But some day, if we wait long enough, we may -have a chance to laugh at him. I've lived a good many year and I've seen -it work that way pretty often. We'll wait--and when we do laugh, we'll -laugh hard." - -And we didn't have to wait so turrible long neither. We got a carpenter -in, told him to keep it a secret, but to plan how we could build the -backyard extension. The plannin' and estimatin' kept us busy and we -forgot about everything else. Fust along I expected young Taylor would -pester us with more schemes, but he didn't. He never came nigh us once, -fact is he seemed mighty anxious to keep out of our way, and so long as -he did we didn't complain. His dad come crowin' and chucklin' around a -couple of times and finally Jacobs lost his temper and told him if he -ever showed his face on our premises again he was liable to be put to -the expense of havin' it repaired by the doctor. Ebenezer vowed -vengeance and law suits, but he went, and after that he sent a boy for -his mail instead of comin' to fetch it himself. - -One forenoon, about eleven o'clock 'twas, I was standin' on the store -platform, when I heard the Old Harry's own row in the "Palace Billiard, -Pool and Sipio Parlors." Loud voices, all goin' at once, and two or -three different assortments of language. Jim Henry heard it, too, and -come out to listen. - -"Skipper," he says, sudden; "what day is this?" - -"Why, Thursday," says I, "ain't it? Oh, you mean what day of the month. -Hey? By the everlastin'! I declare if it ain't the fust of June!" - -"The day Foster's mortgage falls due," he says, excited. "I wonder.... -You don't suppose--" - -He didn't have to suppose, for inside of the next two minutes we both -knew. Three men came bustin' out of the billiard room door. One was -Philander himself, the other was Ezra Colcord, the lawyer, and the third -was our old shipmate and bosom friend, Ebenezer Taylor. The old man was -fairly frothin' at the mouth. - -"You--you--" he sputtered, "you've deceived me. You've lied to me. You -led me to think--" - -"I don't see as you've got any kick, Mr. Taylor," purrs Philander, -smilin'. "You've got your money. What more can you ask?" - -"But--but I don't want the money. I want this property, and I'll have -it." - -"Oh, no, you won't, Mr. Taylor," says Colcord, the lawyer. "This -property belongs to Foster now. He's paid your mortgage in full. You -have no rights here whatever and I advise you to go before you are -arrested for trespassin'." - -Well, the old man went, but he was still talkin' and threatenin' when he -turned the corner. Colcord laughed and shook hands with Philander. - -"Don't mind him, Foster," he says. "He's sore, that's all, but he has no -claim whatever. You've paid off your mortgage and the property is yours -absolutely. As for the other matter, the papers will be ready for -signature this afternoon. Ha, ha! I imagine they won't add to our -friend's joy." - -"Cal'late not," says Philander, grinnin'. "This'll be his day for -surprises, hey?" - -They shook hands again and Colcord left. Soon's he'd gone, Jim Henry -grabbed me by the arm. He didn't even wait for the lawyer to get out of -sight. - -"Come on," he says. "This is too good to be true. We must find out about -this, Skipper." - -So over to the "Parlors" we hurried. Philander looked sort of queer when -he saw us comin', but he didn't run away. We commenced to ask questions, -both of us together. After we'd asked a dozen or so, he held up his -hand. - -"Come inside," he says, "and I'll tell you about it. The secret'll be -out in a little while, anyhow, and maybe we do owe you fellers a little -mite of explanation." - -We went in, wonderin'. Philander set up the cigars, ten-centers at that, -and then he says: "Yes, I've paid off my mortgage and I cal'late you -wonder where the money came from. Five hundred of it I had myself. You -knew that." - -"Yes," says Jacobs, and I nodded. - -"Um-hm," says he. "Well, I loaned the five hundred to Ratty and he -bought the option on Aunt Hannah's buildin' with it." - -We fairly jumped off our pins. - -"What?" says I. - -"_Rat_ bought that option?" gasped Jim Henry. "Nonsense! his dad bought -it." - -"No-o," says Philander, solemn, "'twas Rat that bought it at fust. The -whole scheme was his and I give him credit for it. After Mr. Jacobs here -had agreed to look at the Watson place, Ratty got Ed. Holmes to take him -over to Wareham in his auto. There he see this nephew of Aunt Hannah's, -paid down his five hundred and got the option." - -"But that letter I got said--" began Jim Henry, and then he pulled up -short. "No," says he, "it said 'Mr. Taylor' had secured the option; I -remember now. But, of course, we supposed it was Ebenezer." - -"And Ebenezer did have it," I put in. "He told me so himself. I met him -on the road and he--" - -"Hold on, Cap'n," cuts in Philander, "no use goin' through all that. -Ebenezer _has_ got it now. Ratty decoyed his dad down abreast the Watson -place while you and Mr. Jacobs was inside lookin' it over, and the old -man see you two come out." - -"I know he did," says I. "I saw him peekin' at us from behind a tree." - -"Yes," goes on Foster, "he was there. And, naturally, he jedged you was -cal'latin' to buy that buildin' and move into it. Fact is, he'd been -intendin' to buy it himself as an investment, and, now that there was a -chance to spite you fellers hove in for good measure, he was more -anxious to get it than ever. Then Rat broke the news that he had the -option and was willin' to sell it to the highest bidder. Ha! ha! I guess -there was a lively session, but the upshot of it was that Ebenezer -bought that option off his boy for a thousand dollars. That's how _he_ -got it." - -"Well, I'll be hanged!" says Jim Henry. I was way past sayin' anything. - -"And so," continues Philander, "the five hundred dollars' profit on the -option and the five hundred dollars I lent Rat to start with made just -the amount needful to pay off my mortgage. And, Squire Colcord and me -paid it off this mornin'. You fellers heard the concludin' section of -the ceremonies. Ebenezer's benediction was some spicy, hey!" - -"But--but--why, look here, Philander," says I. "I don't understand this -at all. Five hundred of that thousand was Rat's. He ain't no -philanthropist; he wouldn't _give_ it to you, unless miracles are comin' -into fashion again. What--" - -Foster laughed. "There is a little somethin' underneath," he says. "It's -been kept pretty close, but the cat'll be out of the bag afore the day's -over and, considerin' how much you two helped without meanin' to, I'd -just as soon tell you. Ratty told you that his pa was cal'latin' to set -him up in business, didn't he? Yes. Well, Rat's had a notion for a long -spell about the business he meant to get into. There's a new sign been -ordered for this shebang of mine. Here's the copy for it." - -He reached under the cigar counter and held up a long piece of -pasteboard. 'Twas lettered like this: - - PALACE BILLIARD, POOL AND SIPIO PARLORS. - - _Philander Foster & Erastus Taylor,_ - - _Proprietors._ - -"I cal'late the old man'll disown his son when he knows it," goes on -Foster, "but Rat had rather run a pool room than be rich, any day in the -week. And say," he adds, "if I was you fellers I'd try to be on hand -when Ebenezer fust sees the new sign. I should think you'd get -consider'ble satisfaction from watchin' his face. I'm cal'latin' to, -myself," says Philander Foster. - - - - -CHAPTER VI--I RUN AFOUL OF COUSIN LEMUEL - - -Well, to be honest, I felt pretty bad about that billiard room business. -I was real sorry for old Ebenezer. Of course Taylor was a skinflint and -a thorough-goin' mean man, but Ratty was his son and his pride, and to -have a son play a dog's trick like that on the father that had, at -least, tried to make somethin' out of him, seemed tough enough. And my -conscience plagued me. I felt almost as if I was to blame somehow. I -wa'n't, of course, but I felt that way. A feller's conscience is the -most unreasonable part of his works; I've noticed it often. - -But I needn't have wasted any sympathy on Ebenezer. For the fust little -while after his boy went into the pool and sipio business, he was a sore -chap. Then, all at once, I noticed that he took to hangin' around the -"Parlors" consider'ble and one evenin' I saw him comin' out of there, -all smiles. I was standin' on the store platform and as he passed me I -hailed him. We hadn't spoken for a consider'ble spell, but I hadn't any -grudge, for my part. - -"Hello!" says I, "what are you so tickled about?" - -I didn't know as he wouldn't throw somethin' at me for darin' to hail -him, but no, he was ready to talk to anybody, even me. - -"No use," says he, "that boy of mine's a mighty smart feller. He just -beat Tom Baker three games runnin', and spotted him two balls on the -last one. He's a wonder, if I do say it." - -I looked at him. This didn't sound much like disinheritin'. - -"Three games of what?" says I. - -"Why, pool," says he, "of course. And Baker's been countin' himself the -best player in the county. 'Rastus was playin' for the house. Him and -Philander cleared over a hundred dollars in the last month. That ain't -so bad for a young feller just startin' in, is it? I always knew that -boy had the business instinct, if he'd only wake up to it. I've told -folks so time and again." - -He went along, chucklin' to himself, and I stood still and whistled. And -when I heard that the old man had taken to callin' the -anti-billiard-room crowd bigoted and narrer it didn't surprise me much. -I judged that Ebenezer's opinions was like those of others of his -tribe--dependent on the profit and loss account in the ledger. You can -forgive your own kith and kin a lot easier than you can outsiders, -especially if your moral scruples are the Taylor kind, to be reckoned in -dollars and cents. - -The carpenters were ready to begin work on our store addition at last, -and we started right in to build on. 'Twas an awful job, enough sight -worse than movin', but it had to be got through with some way and we -wanted to have it finished when the summer season opened for good. If -the store had been cluttered up and crowded afore, it was ten times -worse now. The amount of energy and healthy remarks that Jacobs and I -wasted in fallin' over and runnin' into things would have kept a -steamer's engines goin' from Boston to Liverpool, I cal'late. I expected -one of us would break our neck sartin sure, but we didn't and, by the -fust of July we thought we could see the end. - -"There!" says I, "in another week we'll be clear of sawdust, I do -believe. The painters won't be so bad. And we've got on without any -accidents, too, which is a miracle." - -"You ought to knock wood when you say that, Skipper," says Jim Henry. - -"I've knocked enough of it already--with my head," I told him. But I -hadn't. At any rate the accident come, and not by reason of the buildin' -on, either. It come right in the way of everyday trade, from where we -wa'n't expectin' it. That's the way such things generally happen. A -feller runs under a tree, so's to keep from gettin' rained on and -catchin' cold, and then the tree's struck by lightnin'. - -If I'd remembered what old Sylvanus Baxter said when they asked him to -prove one of his fish statements, I'd have been a wiser man. Sylvanus -was tellin' how many mack'rel him and his brother caught off Setucket -P'int with a hand line, back when Methusalum was a child, or about then. -Forty-eight barrels they caught, and it nigh filled the dory. One of the -young city fellers who was listenin' undertook to doubt the yarn. He got -a piece of paper and a pencil and proved that a dory wouldn't hold that -many fish. Sylvanus shut him up in a hurry. - -"Young man," he says, scornful, "where a human bein' is blessed with a -memory same as I've got, proof's too unsartin to compare with it." - -If I'd borne in mind what Sylvanus said and abided by it I might not -have dropped the barrel of sugar on my starboard foot. I'd have been -satisfied to remember my strength and not try to prove it by liftin' the -said barrel off the tailboard of our delivery wagon. - -However, I did try, and the result was that the barrel slipped when I'd -got it 'most to the ground, and my foot went out of commission with a -hurrah, so to speak. - -Jim Henry come runnin' and him and the clerk loaded me into the wagon -and carted me off to my rooms at the Poquit House. And there I stayed in -dry dock for three weeks, while the doctor done his best to patch up my -busted trotter and get me off the ways and into active service again. - -He done his part all right. I was mendin' so far as the lower end of me -was concerned, but my upper works and temper was gettin' more tangled -and snarled every day. Too much company was the trouble. I had too many -folks runnin' in to ask how I was gettin' on and to talk and talk and -talk. Jim Henry he come, of course, to talk about the store; and Mary -Blaisdell, to tell me how the post-office was doin'. I could stand them; -fact is, Mary was a sort of soothin' sirup, with her pleasant face and -calm, cheery voice. But the parson he come, to keep the spiritual part -of me ready for whatever might happen; and the undertaker, to be sure he -got the other part, if it _did_ happen; and twenty-odd old maids and -widows from sewin'-circle to talk about each other and church squabbles -and the dreadful sufferin's and agonizin' deaths of their relations, -who'd had accidents similar to mine. - -They made me so fidgety and mad that the doctor noticed it. "What's -troublin' you, Cap'n Snow?" he asked. "No new pains, I hope?" - -"Humph!" says I. "Your hope's blasted. I've got the meanest pain I've -had yet." - -"Where?" says he, anxious. - -"All over," I says. "Tabitha Nickerson's responsible for it. She's been -here for the last hour and a half, tellin' about how her second cousin, -by her uncle's marriage, stuck a nail in his hand and was amputated -twice and finally died of lingerin' lockjaw. She never missed a groan. -Consarn her! _She_ gives me a pain just to look at." - -He laughed. "That's the trouble with you old bachelors," he says. -"You're too popular with the fair sex." - -"Fair!" I sung out. "Doc, if you mean to say Tabby Nickerson's fair, -then I'm goin' to switch to the homeopaths. _Your_ judgment ain't -dependable." - -He laughed again and then he went on. Seems he'd been thinkin' for quite -a spell that the Poquit House wasn't the place for me. - -"What you need, Cap'n," he says, "is a nice quiet spot where nobody can -get at you--that is, nobody but the disagreeable necessities, like me. -I've found the place for you to board durin' your convalescence. Do you -know the Deacon house over at South Ostable on the lower road?" - -"If you mean Lot Deacon's, I do--yes," says I. - -"That's it," says he. "Lot's all alone there, and he'd be mighty glad of -a boarder. The house is as neat as wax, and Lot used to go as cook on a -Banks' boat, so you'll be fed well. It's right on the shore, with the -woods back of it. There's a splendid view, the air's fine, and--and--" - -"Don't strain yourself, Doc," I put in. "You couldn't think of anything -else if you thought for a week. Air and view is all there is in that -neighborhood. What on earth have I done to be sentenced to serve a term -at Lot Deacon's?" - -Well, it was quiet, and I needed quiet. It was restful, and I needed -rest. It was too far from civilization for the undertaker or the -sewin'-circle to get at me. It was--but there! never mind the rest. The -upshot was that I agreed to board at Lot's till my foot got well enough -to navigate and they carted me down in the delivery wagon, next day. - -The Deacon place lived up to specifications all right. Nighest neighbor -half a mile off, woods all round on three sides, and the bay on t'other. -Good grub and plenty of it. And no company except the doctor every other -day, and Jim Henry the days between, and Lot--oh, land, yes! Lot, always -and forever. - -He was a meek little critter, Lot was, accommodatin' and willin' to -please, as good a cook as ever fried a clam, and a great talker on some -subjects. He was a widower, with no relations except an aunt-in-law over -to Denboro, and a third cousin up to Boston; and his principal hobby was -spirits and mediums and such. He was as sot on Spiritu'lism as anybody -ever you see, and hadn't missed a Spirit'list camp-meetin' in Harniss -durin' the memory of man. - -However, Lot and I got along first-rate and he'd set and talk by the -hour about the camp-meetin', which was a couple of weeks off, and how he -was goin', and so on. Said I needn't worry about bein' left alone, -'cause his wife's Aunt Lucindy from Denboro was comin' to keep house for -me durin' the two days he was away. - -"Is your Aunt Lucindy given to spirits, too?" I wanted to know. - -No, she wasn't. Seems her particular bug was "mind cure." She was a -widow whose husband had died of creepin' paralysis. She'd tried every -kind of doctorin' and patent medicines on him and, in spite of it, the -last specimen of "Swamp Bitters" or "Thistle Tea" finished him. But, -anyhow, Aunt Lucindy had no faith in medicines or doctors after that. -She'd tried 'em all and they'd gone back on her. Now she was a -"mind-curer." - -"She'll prob'bly try to cure your foot with mind, Cap'n Zeb," says Lot, -apologetic as usual. "But you mustn't worry about that. She means well." - -"I sha'n't worry," I says. "She can put her mind on my foot, if she -wants to; unless it's as hefty as that sugar barrel I cal'late 'twon't -hurt me much. But say, Lot," I says, "are all your folks taken with -something special in the line of religion or cures? How about this -cousin--this Lemuel one? What's possessin' _him_?" - -Oh, Cousin Lemuel was different. He'd had money left him and was an -aristocrat. He never married, but lived in "chambers" up to Boston. He -didn't have to work, but was a "collector" for the fun of it; collected -postage stamps and folks' hand-writin's and insects and such. He wasn't -very well, his nerves was kind of twittery, so Lot said. - -"Um-hm," says I. "Well, collectin' insects would make most anybody's -nerves twitter, I cal'late. But if Cousin Lemuel likes 'em, I s'pose we -hadn't ought to fret. He could pick up a healthy collection of -wood-ticks back here in the pines, if he'd only come after 'em, though -it ain't likely he will." - -But he did, just the same. Not after the ticks, exactly, but, as sure as -I'm settin' here, this Cousin Lemuel landed in the house at South -Ostable, bag and baggage. 'Twas three days afore the beginnin' of -camp-meetin' and two afore Aunt Lucindy was expected over. Lot and me -was settin' in rockin' chairs by the front windows in my room lookin' -out over the bay, when all to once we heard the rattle of a wagon from -the woods abaft the kitchen. - -"It's the doctor, I cal'late," says Lot, wakin' up and stretchin'. "Ah, -hum, I s'pose I'll have to go down and let him in." - -"'Tain't the doctor," says I. "He come yesterday. More likely it's Mr. -Jacobs, though I thought he'd gone to Boston and wouldn't be back for -three or four days." - -But a minute later we see we was mistaken. Around the house come -rattlin' Simeon Wixon's old depot wagon, with the curtains all drawed -down--though 'twas hot summer--and the rack astern and the seat in front -piled up high with trunks and bags and satchels and goodness knows what -all. Sim was drivin' and he had a grin on him like a Chessy cat. - -"Whoa!" says he, haulin' in the horses. "Ahoy, Lot! Turn out there! Got -a passenger for you." - -Lot was so surprised he could hardly believe his ears, though they was -big enough to be believed. He h'isted up the window screen and looked -out. - -"Hey?" he says, bewildered-like. "Did you say a _passenger_?" - -"That's what I said. A passenger for you. Come on down." - -"A passenger? For _me_?" - -"Yes! yes! yes!" Simeon's patience was givin' out, and no wonder. "Don't -stay up there," he snaps, "with your head stuck out of that window like -a poll-parrot's out of a cage. And don't keep sayin' things over and -over or I'll believe you _are_ a poll-parrot. Come down!" Then, leaning -back and hollerin' in behind the carriage curtains, he sung out, "Hi, -mister! here we be. You can get out now." - -The curtains shook a little mite and then, from behind 'em, sounded a -voice, a man's voice, but kind of shrill and high, and with a quiver in -the middle of it. - -"Are you sure this is the right place, driver?" it says. - -"Sartin sure. This is it." - -"But are you certain those animals are perfectly safe? They won't run -away?" - -The horses was takin' a nap, the two of 'em. Sim grinned, wider'n ever, -and winks up at the window. - -"I'll do my best to hold 'em," he says. "If I'd known you was comin' I'd -have fetched an anchor." - -The curtains shook some more, as if the feller inside was fidgetin' with -'em. Then the voice says again and more excited than ever, "Well, why in -Heaven's name don't you unfasten this dreadful door? How am I to get -out?" - -Simeon stood grinnin', ripped a remark loose under his breath, jumped -from the seat, and yanked the door open. There was a full half minute -afore anything happened. Then out from that wagon door popped a black -felt hat with a brim like a small-sized umbrella. Under the hat was a -pair of thin, grayish side-whiskers, a long nose, and a pair of specs -like full moons. The hat and the rest of it turned towards the horses -and the voice says: - -"You're _perfectly_ sure of those creatures you are drivin'? Very good. -Where is the step? Oh, dear! where is the _step_?" - -Sim reached in, grabbed a little foot with one of them things they call -a "gaiter" on it, hauled it down and planted it on the step of the -carriage. - -"There!" he snaps. "There 'tis, underneath you. Come on! Here! I'll -unload you." - -Maybe the passenger would have said somethin' else, but he didn't have a -chance. Afore he could even think he was jerked out of that depot wagon -and stood up on the ground. - -"There!" says Simeon. "Now you're safe and no bones broken. Where do you -want your dunnage; in the house?" - -I don't know what answer he got. Afore I could hear it there was a gasp -and a gurgle from Lot. I turned to him. He was leaning out of the window -starin' down at the little man under the big hat. - -"I believe--" he says, "I--I--_why_, it's Cousin Lemuel!" - -Cousin Lemuel looked around him, at the house, at the woods, at the bay, -at everything. - -"Good heavens!" says he, in a sort of groan.--"Good heavens! what an -awful place!" - -That's how he made port and that was his first observation after -landin'. He made consider'ble many more durin' the next few days, but -the drift of 'em was all similar. He was a bird, Cousin Lemuel was. His -twittery nerves had twittered so much durin' the past month or so that -his doctors--he had seven or eight of 'em--had got tired of the chirrup, -I cal'late, had held officers' counsel, and decided he must be got rid -of somehow. They couldn't kill him, 'cause that was against the law, so -they done the next best and ordered him to the seashore for a complete -rest; at least, he said the rest was to be for him, but I judge 'twas -the doctors that needed it most. He wouldn't go to a hotel--hotels were -horrible,--but he happened to think of relation Lot down in South -Ostable and headed for there. Whether or not Lot could take him in, or -wanted to, didn't trouble him a mite! _He_ wanted to come and that was -sufficient! He never even took the trouble to write that he was comin'. -When he once made up his mind to do a thing, and got sot on it, he was -like the laws of the Medes and Possums--or whatever they was--in -Scripture; you couldn't upset him in two thousand years. It got to be a -"matter of principle" with him--he was always tellin' about his matters -of principle--and when the "principle" complication struck, that settled -it. Oh, Cousin Lemuel was a bird, just as I said. - -And Lot, of course, didn't have gumption enough to say he wasn't -welcome. No, indeed; fact is, Lot seemed to consider his comin' a sort -of honor, as you might say. If that retired bug-collector had been the -Queen of Sheba, he couldn't have had more fuss made over him. The -schooner-load of trunks and satchels was carted aloft to the big room -next to mine,--Lot's room 'twas, but Lot soared to the attic,--and -Cousin Lemuel was carted there likewise. He was introduced to me, and -about the first thing he said was, would I mind wearin' a dressin'-robe, -or a bath-sack, or somethin' to cover up my game foot? the sight of the -dreadful bandage affected his nerves. I was sort of shy on sacks and -dolmans and such, but I done my best to please him with a patchwork -comforter. - -I can't begin to tell you the things he did, or had Lot do for him. -Changin' the feather bed for a pumped-up air mattress he'd fetched -along--air mattresses was a matter of principle with him--and firin' the -rag mats off the floor of his room, 'cause the round-and-round braids -made whirligigs in his head--and so on. But I sha'n't forget that first -night in a hurry. - -He was in and out of my room no less than fifteen times, rigged out in -some sort of blanket dress, fastened with a rope amidships. He wore that -over his nightgown, and a shawl like an old woman's on top of the -blanket. His head was tied up in a silk handkerchief; and his feet was -shoved into slippers that flapped up and down when he walked and sounded -like a slack jib in a light breeze. First off he couldn't sleep 'cause -the frogs hollered. Next, 'twas the surf that troubled him. Then the -window blinds creaked. And, at last, I'm blessed if he didn't come -flappin' and rustlin' in at half-past one to ask what made it so quiet. -I was desp'rate, and I told him I was subject to nightmare, and had been -known to cripple folks that come in and woke me sudden that way. He -cleared out and I heard him pilin' chairs and furniture against his door -on the inside. After that I managed to sleep till six o'clock. Then he -knocked and asked if I was thoroughly awake, 'cause if I was would I -tell him what sort of weather 'twas likely to be, so's he could dress -accordin'. His risin' hour was nine,--more principle, of course,--but he -liked to know what to wear when he did get up. - -And he was just as bad all that day and the next. I'd have quit and had -the doctor take me back to the Poquit House, but I didn't like to on -Lot's account. Poor Lot was all upset and needed some sane person to -turn to for comfort. And besides, although he made me mad, I got -consider'ble fun out of this Lemuel man's doin's. He was such a specimen -that I liked to study him, same as he used to study a new species of -insect, when he had that particular craze. - -He seemed to like me, too, in a way. Anyhow he used to come in and talk -to me pretty frequent. He had three words that he used all the -time--"awful" and "dreadful" and "horrible." Everything in the -neighborhood fitted to them words, 'cordin' to his notion. And he had -one question that he kept askin' over and over: What should he do? What -was there to do in the dreadful place? - -"Why don't you keep on collectin'?" I asked him. "We're kind of scurce -on postage stamps, and the handwritin' supply is limited; though you -never collected anything like Lot's signature, I'll bet a cooky. But -there's bugs enough, land knows! Why don't you go bug-huntin'?" - -Oh, he was tired of insects. Never wanted to see one again! - -"Then you'll have to wear blinders when you go past the salt-marsh," -says I. "The moskeeters are so thick there they get in your eyes. Why -not take a swim?" - -Horrible! he loathed salt-water. He never bathed in it, as a matter of-- - -I interrupted quick--"Then take a walk," says I. - -Walking was a "bore." - -"Well then," I says, "just do what the doctor ordered--set and rest." - -But settin' made his nerves worse than ever! "I don't know what is the -matter with me, Cap'n Snow," he says. "My physicians seemed to think I -should find what I needed here, but I don't!--I don't! I am more -depressed and enervated than ever." - -"I know what you need," I said emphatic. - -"Do you indeed? What, pray?" - -"Somethin' to keep you interested," I told him. "Your life's like a -wharf timber that the worms have been at--there's too many 'bores' in -it. If you could find somethin' bran-new to interest you, you'd be -lively enough. I'd risk the depression then--and the enervation, too, -whatever that is." - -Oh, horrible! How could I joke about a matter of life and death? - -Well, so it went for the two days and in the evenin' of the second day, -Lot come tiptoein' into my room. He was all nerved up. The next mornin' -was the time he'd planned to go to camp-meetin'; and how could he go -now? - -"Why not?" says I. "I'll be all right. Your Aunt Lucindy's comin' to -keep house, ain't she?" - -"Yes--yes, she's comin'. But how can I leave Cousin Lemuel? He won't -want me to go, I'm sure." - -"So'm I," I says; "he'll kick as a matter of principle. But if you're -gone afore he knows it, he'll _have_ to like it--or lump it, one or -t'other. See here, Lot Deacon; you take my advice and clear out -to-morrow early, afore the bug-hunter's nerves twitter loud enough to -wake him. You can get our breakfast and leave it on the table out here -in the hall. I can manage to hobble that far. Afore dinner Aunt -Lucindy'll be on deck." - -He brightened up consider'ble. "I might do that," he says. "And anyway -Aunt Lucindy's likely to be here afore breakfast. She's always terrible -prompt. But will Cousin Lemuel forgive me, do you think?" - -"I don't know," says I. "But I will, provided you don't say 'terrible' -again. Now clear out and don't let me see you till camp-meetin's over. -And say," I called after him, "just ask one of your spirit chums what's -good for nerve twitters." - -Next mornin' was sort of dark and cloudy, so probably that accounts for -my oversleepin'. Anyhow 'twas after seven o'clock when Cousin Lemuel, -blanket and shawl and slippers, full undress uniform, comes flappin' -into my room. I woke up and stared at him. He was pale, and tremblin' -all over. - -"What's the matter now?" says I. - -"Hush!" he whispers, fearful. "Hush! somethin' awful has happened. My -cousin Lot is insane." - -"_What?_" I sung out, settin' up in bed. - -"Hush! hush!" says he. "It is horrible. Insanity is hereditary in our -family. What shall we do?" - -"Insane--rubbish!" says I, havin' waked up a little more by this time. -"What makes you think he's insane?" - -He held up a shakin' hand. "Listen!" he whispers. "He has been makin' -dreadful noises for the past half-hour, and singin'--actually -singin'--in the strangest voice. Listen!" - -I listened. Down below in the kitchen there was a racket of pans and -dishes and a stompin' as if a menagerie elephant had broke loose from -its moorin's. Then somebody busts out singin', loud and high: - - "There's a land that is fairer than day, - And by faith we can see it afar." - -"There, there!" says Lemuel. "Don't you hear it? Would a sane man sing -like that?" - -I rocked back and forth in bed and roared and laughed. "A sane man -wouldn't," I says, "but a sane _woman_ might, if she had strong enough -lungs. That ain't Lot. Lot's gone to camp-meetin', to be gone till -to-morrow night. That's his wife's aunt, Lucindy Hammond, from Denboro. -She's goin' to keep house for us till he gets back." - - - - -CHAPTER VII--THE FORCE AND THE OBJECT - - -Well, it took all of fifteen minutes for me to drive the idea out of -that critter's head that his relative had gone loony. I was hoppin' -around on my sound foot tryin' to dress, while I explained things. I had -enough clothes on to be presentable in white folks' society, when there -come a whoop up the back stairs. - -"Good morn-in'!" whoops Aunt Lucindy. "Breakfast is ready! Shall I fetch -it up?" - -"My soul!" squeals Cousin Lemuel, and bolts for his own room. I buttoned -my collar by main strength and answered the hail. - -"All hands on deck!" I sung out. "Fetch her along." - -There was a mighty stompin' on the stairs, and then through the door -marches as big a woman as ever I see in my born days. 'Twa'n't only that -she was fleshy,--she must have weighed all of two hundred and -thirty,--but she was big, big as a small mountain, seemed so, and was -dressed in some sort of curtain-calico gown that made her look bigger -yet. She was luggin' a tray heaped up with vittles enough for a small -ship's company. - -"Good mornin'," says she, in a voice as big as the rest of her, and as -cheery as the fust sunshine on a foggy day. She was smilin' all over, -but there was a square look to her chin--the upper one, for she had no -less than two and a half--that made me think she could be the other -thing if occasion called for. "Good mornin'," says she. "Is this -Lemuel?" - -"It ain't," says I. "Cousin Lemuel is in disability just at present. My -name's Snow." - -"Oh, yes!" she hollers--every time she spoke she hollered--"Oh, yes! -Cap'n Zebulon Snow, of course. I'm Mrs. Hammond. Here's your breakfast." - -"Mine!" says I, lookin' at the heap of rations. "You mean mine and -Cousin Lemuel's." - -"Oh, no, I don't," says she, still smilin', and puttin' the tray down on -the table, in the way she did everything, with a bang; "I mean yours, -Cap'n Snow. Lemuel's is all ready, though, and I'll fetch it right up. I -know what men's appetites are; I've had experience." - -Afore I could think of an answer to this she swept out of the door like -a toy typhoon, the breeze from her skirts settin' papers and light stuff -flyin', and was stompin' down the stairs, singin' "Sweet By and By" at -the top of her lungs. I looked at the tray and scratched my head. My -appetite ain't a hummin'-bird's, by a considerable sight, but that -breakfast would have lasted me all day. As for Lemuel, about all he did -with food was find fault with it. And just then in he comes. - -"What's that?" says he, pointin' to the tray. - -"That?" says I. "That's my breakfast. Yours is just like it and it'll be -right up." - -He fidgeted with his specs and bent over to look. His nose was anything -but a pug, but I give you my word you could almost see it turn up. - -"Fried potatoes!" he says; "and fried fish! and fried eggs! and -griddle-cakes! Why--why it's _all_ fried! Horrible!" - -"Ain't there enough?" I asks, sarcastic. "If not, I presume likely -there's more in the kitchen." - -"Enough!" he fairly screamed it. "I never take anything but a slice of -very dry toast and a cup of tea in the mornin'. It's a principle of -mine. And I never eat anything fried! I--I--" - -"All right," says I, "you tell her so. Here she is." And afore he could -get out of the door she sailed through it, luggin' another tray loaded -like the fust one. She slammed it down and turned to the invalid, who -was tryin' to hide his blanket dressin'-sack behind a chair. - -"Here is Lemuel!" she hollers. "It _is_ Lemuel, isn't it? I'm _so_ glad -to see you! I'm Lucindy, Lot's auntie. In a way we're related, so we -must shake hands." - -She reached over and took his little thin hand in her big one and gave -it a squeeze that made him curl up like a fishin' worm. - -"There!" says she, "now we're all acquainted and sociable. Ain't that -nice! You two set right down and eat. I'll trot up again in a few -minutes to see how you're gettin' on. Sure you've got all you want? All -right, then." Out she went, singin' away, and Cousin Lemuel flopped down -in a chair. - -"Good heavens!" he gasps, working the fingers Aunt Lucindy had shook, to -make sure they was all there. "Good heavens!" says he. - -"Yes," says I, "I agree with you." - -"She calls me by my Christian name!" he says, pantin', "and I never saw -her before in my life! And it--it didn't seem to occur to her that I was -not fully dressed. What shall I do?" - -"Well," says I, "if you asked me I should say you better make believe -eat somethin'. What _I_ can't eat I'm goin' to heave out of the back -window. I'd ruther satisfy that woman than explain to her, enough -sight." - -But he wouldn't eat, seemed to be in a sort of daze, as you might say, -and went flappin' back to his own room. I tackled the breakfast. - -It would take a week to tell you all that happened that forenoon. My -time's limited, so I'll only tell a little of it. When Aunt Lucindy come -upstairs again and see his tray, not a thing on it touched, she wanted -to know why. I done my best to explain, tellin' her Cousin Lemuel was -afflicted in the nerves, and about his tea and toast, and his diff'rent -kinds of medicines, and his doctors, and so on, but she wouldn't listen -to more'n half of it. - -"The poor thing!" she says, "Lot told me some about him. He's in error, -ain't he. Horatio, my husband that was, was in error, too, but he died -of it. That was afore I got enlightened. And you're in error with your -foot, Cap'n Snow, so Lot says. Well, it's a mercy I'm here. The first -thing I'll do for you is to give you a cheerful thought. 'All's right in -the world.' You keep thinkin' that this forenoon and I'll give you -another after dinner. I must get a thought for poor Lemuel, but he needs -a stronger one. I'll have one ready for him pretty soon. Now I must do -my dishes." - -Soon's she cleared out this time I locked my door. An hour or so later -there was a snappish kind of knock on it. - -"Cap'n Snow! I say, Cap'n Snow," whispers Lemuel, pretty average testy, -"where is my tea and toast? Did you tell that woman about my tea and -toast? I'm hungry." - -"I told her," says I. "If you ain't got it, you better tell her -yourself." - -"But I don't want to see the creature," he says. - -"Neither do I; that is, I ain't partic'lar about it. And I couldn't hop -down-stairs if I was. You'll have to do your own tellin'. I'm goin' to -read a spell." - -My readin' didn't amount to much. He went grumblin' back to his room, -but I judge his longin' for tea and toast got the better of his dread -for the "creature," 'cause pretty soon I heard him go down-stairs. Aunt -Lucindy's singin' and dish-clatterin' stopped, and I heard consider'ble -pow-wow goin' on. Cousin Lemuel's voice kept gettin' higher and -shriller, but Aunt Lucindy's was just the same even cheerfulness all the -time. Then the ex-insect man comes up the stairs again. I was curious, -so I unlocked the door. - -"How was the toast?" I asked. His usual pale face was bright red and he -was a heap more energetic than I'd ever seen him. - -"She--she--that woman's crazy!" he sputters. "She's insane; I told her -so. I--" - -"Hold on!" I interrupted. "Did you get the toast?" - -"I did not. She refused to give it to me. Actually refused! She--she had -that dreadful fried breakfast on the back of the stove and told me to -sit right down and eat it--like a good fellow. A good fellow--to me!--as -if I was a dog! A dog, by Jove! I explained--in spite of my just -resentment I endeavored to reason with her. I told her the doctor had -forbidden my eatin' a heavy breakfast. I said that my nerves were -shattered and so on. And what do you suppose she said to me? She had the -brazen effrontery to tell me that I had no nerves. Nerves were 'errors,' -whatever that means. All I had to do was to think that--that those fried -outrages were all right and they would be. And when I--you'll admit I -had a good reason--when I lost my temper and expressed my opinion of her -she began to sing. And she kept on singin'. _Such_ singin'! Good -heavens! Horrible!" - -"Then you ain't had any breakfast?" - -"I have not. But I will have it! I will! You mark my words, I--" - -He stopped. "The Sweet By and By" had swung into the lower entry and was -movin' up the stairs. I expected to see Cousin Lemuel beat for snug -harbor, but no sir-ee! he stayed right where he was, settin' up in his -chair as straight as a ramrod. Aunt Lucindy's treatment might not be -workin' exactly as she intended, the patient's nerves might not be any -better, but his _nerve_ was improvin' fast. - -In she swept, smilin' like clockwork, as smooth and as serene as a flat -calm in Ostable cove. She paid no attention to the way the little man -glared at her, but turned to me and says: "Well, Cap'n," she says, "have -you cherished the thought I gave you?" - -"Um-hm," says I, "I've put it on ice. I cal'late 'twill keep over -Sunday." - -"I've thought up one for you, Lemuel, you poor thing," she says, turnin' -to the insect chaser. "It is--" - -"Woman," broke in Cousin Lemuel, "I'll trouble you not to call me a poor -thing. Where is my tea and toast?" - -She smiled at him, condescendin' but pitiful, same as a cow might smile -at a kitten that tried to scratch it--if a cow could smile. - -"Your breakfast is on the stove, all nice and warm," she says. "You -don't really want tea and toast; you only think so. Cap'n Snow will tell -you how nice those fried potatoes are, and the codfish and--" - -"Confound your codfish, madam! I shall have that tea and toast. I--I -_must_ have it. My system demands it." - -She shook her head. "Oh, no, it doesn't," says she. "It will demand all -the nice things I've cooked for you if you only think so. Thought is -all. Now let me give you your cheerful thought for the day. It is--" - -"Confound your thoughts!" yells the nerve sufferer, jumpin' out of his -chair and makin' for the door. "I always have tea and toast for -breakfast, and I intend to have it now." - -I hate a fuss, so I tried to pour a little ile on the troubled waters. -"Now, Lemuel," says I, "don't let's be stubborn. You--" - -He whirled on me like a teetotum. "Stubborn!" he snaps, "I was never -stubborn in my life. This is a matter of principle with me. That woman -shall give me my tea and toast." - -Aunt Lucindy smiled, same as ever. "Oh, no, I sha'n't," says she, "it -would only encourage you in your error and that I shall not permit. -Please listen to the thought I have for you. It is _such_ a nice one. -'Be true to your higher self and'--" - -"Madam," shrieks Lemuel, "my thought about you is that you're an old fat -fool! There!" And he rushed into the hall and the next second his door -slammed so it shook the house. - -For just one minute I thought Aunt Lucindy was goin' after him. Her -smile stopped, her teeth snapped together, she took one step towards the -door, and her big hands opened and shut. But that one step was all she -took. When she turned back to me her face was red, but the smile had got -busy once more. She set down in the cane rocker--it cracked, but it -held--and says she: - -"He's a little mite antagonistic, don't you think so, Cap'n Snow?" - -"Well," says I, "I should think you might call it that without -exaggeratin' much." - -"Yes," says she, "but I don't mind. There was a time when if anybody'd -called me an old fat fool I'd have--well, never mind. I'm above such -things now. Nothin' can make me cross any more. Not even a sassy little, -long-nosed shrimp like.... Ahem. Cap'n Snow, have you read 'The Soarin' -of Self'? It's a lovely book, an upliftin' book." - -I said I hadn't read it and she commenced to tell me about it, repeatin' -it by chapters, so to speak. I couldn't make much out of it but a -whirligig of words, and when she was just beginnin' I thought I heard -Lemuel's door creak. However, I didn't hear anything more, and she -strung along and strung along, about "soul" and "mental uplift" and -"high altitude of spirit" and a lot more. By and by I commenced to -sniff. - -"Excuse me, marm," I says, "but seems to me I smell somethin' burnin'. -Have you got anything on cookin'?" - -_She_ sniffed then. "No," says she, wonderin'. "I can't remember -anything." Then, with another sniff, "But seems as if I smelt it, too. -Like--like bread burnin'. Hey? You don't s'pose--" - -She put for down-stairs. Next thing I knew there was the greatest -hullabaloo below decks that you ever heard. Then up the stairs comes -Cousin Lemuel, two steps at a jump, which, considerin' that his usual -gait had been a crawl, was surprisin' enough of itself. He had a -scorched slice of bread in each hand and he stopped on the upper landin' -and waved 'em. - -"I've got the toast," he yells, triumphant, "and I'm goin' to have the -tea." Then he bolts into his room and locked the door. - -Up the stairs comes Aunt Lucindy. Her face was so red that it looked as -if somebody'd lit a fire inside it, and her big hands was shut tight. -She marched straight to that locked door and hollers through the -keyhole. - -"You--you little, dried-up critter!" she pants. "Humph! I s'pose you've -been sent to try my faith, but you sha'n't shake it. No, sir! you nor -nobody else can shake it or make me lose my temper. I'm perfectly calm -and cheerful this minute. I am! Ha, ha! Ha, ha!" - -"I got my toast," hollers Cousin Lemuel from inside. "And I'll have my -tea, in spite of all the New Thought cranks in this horrible hole!" - -"Indeed you won't. I was prepared for a difficult case when I came here. -Cousin Lot told me about your foolish 'nerves' and all the other errors -your selfishness has brought onto you. I made up my mind to set you in -the right path and I'm goin' to do it." - -"I'll have that tea." - -"No, you sha'n't. When folks are in error I never give in to 'em. That's -my principle and I stick to it." - -When she said "principle" I pretty nigh fell over. If _she'd_ got the -"principle" disease the case was desperate. Anyhow, I thought 'twas -about time for somebody with a teaspoonful of common sense to take a -hand. - -"See here," says I, "for grown-up folks this is the most ridiculous -doin's I ever heard of. Mrs. Hammond, for the land sakes let him have -his tea and maybe we'll have peace along with it." - -She turned to me. "Cap'n Snow," she says, "speakin' as one who has -learned to rise above their baser self, and perfectly calm and -good-tempered, I advise you to mind your own business. I don't care -nothin' about the tea itself; it's the principle I'm strivin' for, I -tell you. Do you s'pose I'll let that little withered-up, sassy, -benighted scoffer--" - -"There! there!" says I. Then I bent down to the keyhole. "Lemuel," I -says, "be a man and not prize inmate in a feeble-minded home. You're not -an idiot. Apologize to this lady and, if you can't get tea, take hot -water." - -The answer I got was hotter than any water he was likely to get, enough -sight. And there was some "principle" in it, too. - -"Well," says I, disgusted, "I'm durn glad that I'm unprincipled. Fight -it out amongst yourselves, but don't you either of you dare come nigh -me. I mean that." And I went into my room and locked _that_ door. - -For two hours I stayed there, readin' some and thinkin' a whole lot -more. Down-stairs Aunt Lucindy was singin' at the top of her lungs--to -show how good her temper was, I presume likely--and out in the upper -hall Cousin Lemuel was tiptoein' back and forth and yellin' at her that -he'd have his tea in spite of her, and passin' comments on her music. I -never knew two such stubborn critters in my life, and I couldn't see any -signs of either of 'em givin' in, long as their principles held out. - -I remembered a conundrum that, when I was a young one in school, the -teacher used to spring on the big boys in the first class in arithmetic. -'Twas somethin' like this: - -"If an irresistible force runs afoul of an immovable object, what's the -result?" - -The boys used to grin and say they didn't know. Neither did I--then; but -I was learnin' the answer that very minute. When an irresistible force -meets an immovable object it's a matter of principle, and the result is -liable to be 'most anything. That was the answer, and I was learnin' it -by observation and experience, same as the barefooted boy learned where -the snappin'-turtle's mouth was. - -Now the force and the object was in the same house with me, and the -minute the doctor, or Jim Henry Jacobs, or anybody else with a horse and -team, come to that house, they could take me away with 'em. I'd -contracted for quiet and rest, not for a session in Bedlam. - -Twelve o'clock struck and I begun to think of dinner. I hobbled over to -my door, unlocked it and looked out. Cousin Lemuel's door was open, too, -but he wasn't in his room or in the hall either. I wondered where on -earth he could be. Next minute I found out. - -There was a whoop from the kitchen--Lemuel's voice and brimmin' with -pure joy. Then, somewhere in the same neighborhood, began a most -tremendous thumpin' and bangin'. A "cast" horse in a narrow stall was -the only sounds I ever heard that compared with it. It kept on and kept -on, and Lemuel was whoopin' and hurrahin' accompaniments. Such a racket -you never heard in your born days. - -Thinks I, "The critter's nerves have gone back on him for good. He's -really crazy and he's killin' that poor mind-curer out of principle." - -Somehow or other I hopped down them stairs on my sound foot, draggin' -t'other after me. Through the dinin'-room I hobbled and into the -kitchen. There was a roarin' fire in the cookstove and in front of that -stove was Cousin Lemuel dancin' round with a teapot in his hand. The -cellar door opened out of the kitchen. It was shut tight, and somebody -behind it was bangin' the panels till I expected every second to see 'em -go by the board. If they hadn't been built in the days when they made -things solid they would have. - -"What in the world--" I commenced. "You--Lemuel--whatever your name -is--what are you doin'?" - -He turned and saw me. His bald head was all shinin' with the heat, his -big round specs was almost droppin' off the end of his long nose, and he -sartin did look like somethin' the cat brought in. - -"What am I doin'?" he says. "Can't you see? I'm gettin' my tea, same as -I said I would. Ho! ho!" - -"Where's Aunt Lucinda?" I sung out. "You loon, have you killed her?" - -He laughed. "No, no!" he says. "She deserves to be killed, but she's -alive. She refused to give me my tea; she refused to stop her horrible -singin'. She was utterly impossible and I got rid of her. I crept down -and watched until she went into the cellar. Then I closed the door and -locked it. Cap'n Snow, I have never been treated as that woman treated -me in my life! It was a matter of principle with me and I was obliged--" - -He couldn't say any more because the poundin' on the door broke out -again louder than ever. I headed for it and he got in front of me. - -"She is absolutely unharmed, I assure you," he says. - -She sounded healthy, that was a fact. The names she called that -insect-hunter was a caution! - -"Let me out!" she kept hollerin'. "You let me out of this cellar, you -miserable little good-for-nothin'! If I ever get my hands on you I'll--" - -"Ha! ha!" laughs Lemuel. "I couldn't make her lose her temper, could I? -Oh, no, she's perfectly calm now! You're not in the cellar, madam," he -calls to her, "you're in error. Thought can do anything; think yourself -out." - -I looked at him. "Well," says I, "for a person with twitterin' nerves, -you--" - -"D--n my nerves!" says he, which was the most human remark he'd ever -made in my hearin' and proved that he wasn't beyond hopes. "You told me -that all I needed was somethin' to keep me interested. Well, I've got -it." - -"You let me out!" whoops Aunt Lucindy. "Cap'n Snow, if you're there, you -let me out!" - -I think maybe I would have let her out, but when I heard what she -intended doin' to Lemuel I thought 'twas too big a risk. I turned and -hobbled through the dinin'-room to the front outside door. And there, -just turnin' into the yard, was Jim Henry Jacobs, with his horse and -buggy. When he saw me he almost fell off the seat. And maybe I wa'n't -glad to see him! - -"You!" he says. "You! _walkin'!_" - -"Yes," says I, "and in five minutes I'd have been flyin', I cal'late. -Don't stop to talk. Help me into that buggy.... There! drive home as -fast as you can!" - -"But what under the canopy is the row?" he says. - -"Row enough," says I. "I've been shut up along with an irresistible -force and an immovable object, and I want to get away from 'em. Git -dap." - -We turned the horse's head. We had just left the yard when he looked -back. I looked, too. The cellar had an outside entrance, a bulkhead -door. This door was bendin' and heavin' as if an earthquake was under -it. Next minute the staple flew, the door slammed back, and Aunt Lucindy -popped out like a jack-in-the-box. She never paid no attention to us, -but made for the kitchen. - -"Who--what is that?" gasps Jacobs. - -"That," says I, "is the irresistible force." - -There was a yell from the kitchen and then out of the door flew Cousin -Lemuel. _He_ didn't stop for us, either, but ran like a lamplighter to -the fence, fell over it, and dove head-fust into the woods. After he was -away out of sight we could hear the bushes crackin'. - -"And--and _what_," gasps Jim Henry, "was _that_?" - -"That," says I, "was the immovable object. Drive on, for mercy sakes!" - - ---- - -Next day Lot came to see me at the Poquit House. He was dreadful upset. -Seems he hadn't stayed his time out at camp-meetin'. One of the mediums -or spooks or somethin' over there told him there was a destructive -influence hoverin' over his house and he'd hurried back to find out -about it. - -"Humph!" says I. "I should have said it had quit hoverin' and had lit. -How's Cousin Lemuel?" - -Seems Cousin Lemuel was at the hotel over to Bayport. He'd telephoned -for his trunks. - -"And he told me," says Lot, wonderin' like, "to tell Aunt Lucindy that -he intended havin' tea and toast three times a day now, as a matter of -principle. That's strange, isn't it?" - -"Not to me 'tain't," says I. "And how's Aunt Lucindy?" - -"Aunt Lucindy's gone back to Denboro," he says. "And she left word for -Cousin Lemuel that she should send him a 'thought'--whatever that -is--every day by mail from now on. And you'd ought to have seen her face -when she said it! But, Cap'n Zeb, when are you comin' back to board with -me?" - -I shook my head. "Lot," says I, "I like you fust-rate, but your -relations are too irresistibly immovable. I'm goin' to keep clear of 'em -for the rest of my life--as a matter of principle," I says, chucklin'. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII--ARMENIANS AND INJUNS; LIKEWISE BY-PRODUCTS - - -You can imagine that Jim Henry and Mary had a good deal of fun over my -experience with Lot and his tribe. They joked me about it consider'ble. -But I didn't mind. My foot was all right again, or nearly so, and the -extension to the store had been finished and was workin' out fine. We -moved the mail room way back and that give us lots of room on the main -floor, and Mary had a nice clean place, with plenty of air and light, -new sortin' table, new desks, and all that. As for business, we done -more that summer than we had previous and it kept up surprisin' well -through the winter. I was happy and satisfied and Jacobs seemed to be. - -But he wa'n't. It took a whole lot to satisfy him and, by the time -another spring reached us and the cottages begun to open I could see -that he was gettin' fidgety. One mornin' he come back from a cruise -amongst the cottagers--he always handled their trade himself--and I -could see that he was about ready to bile over. - -"Well," says I, "what's weighin' on your mind now? Or is it your -stomach? I'm willin' to bet that I'm two pound heftier than I was afore -I ate them hot biscuits at our boardin' house this mornin'; and you got -away with three more'n I did. Has your ballast shifted, or what?" - -He shook his head. - -"Skipper," says he, "we're ruined by foreign cheap labor." - -"You're right," says I. "I heard that that Dutch cook used to work in a -cement factory, and them biscuits prove it." - -"Nothin' doin'," he says. "My noon lunch for two years was 'Draw one -with a plate of sinkers'; and when it comes to warm dough, I'm an -immune. That Poquit House cook could practice on me for a week and never -dent my nickel-steel digestion. No. What I'm full of just now is -embroidery." - -I looked at him. - -"See here, Jim Henry," says I, "you've got me a mile offshore in a fog. -Unless you've swallowed your napkin, I don't see--" - -"There! There!" he interrupted. "It's nothin' I've swallowed, I tell -you! It's somethin' I've seen that I _can't_ swallow. I can't swallow -those tan-faced, hook-nosed lace peddlers. It's only spring, yet they -are thicker round here already than lumps of saleratus in those biscuit -we've been talkin' about. They're separatin' perfectly good easy marks -from money that belongs to us, and I'm gettin' mad. My Turkish blood's -risin', and there's likely to be another Armenian massacre in this -neighborhood pretty soon." - -I understood what he meant then. Every summer for the last year or two -the Cape has been sufferin' from a plague of fellers peddlin' handmade -lace, and embroidery, and such. They're all shades of color except -white, and they talk all sorts of languages except plain United States; -but, no matter what they look like or how they jabber, every last one of -them claims to be an Armenian, and to have his hand satchel solid full -of native-made tidies, and tablecloths, and the like of that. I never -run across the Armenian flag on any of my v'yages, but if it ain't a -doily, then it ought to be. - -And the prices they charge! Whew! A white man would blush every time he -named one; but these fellers, bein' all complexions, from light tan -Oxford to dark rubber boot, are born to blush unseen, and can charge -four dollars for a crocheted necktie and never crack, spot, nor fade. - -Jim Henry was some on high prices himself; likewise, he considered the -summer cottagers and the hotel folks as more or less our special -property. Therefore, you can understand how this Armenian competition -riled and disturbed him. And, as it turned out, that very mornin' he'd -gone to call on Mrs. Burke Smythe, who was one of the Ostable Store's -best and most well-off customers, and found her ankle-deep in lamp mats -and centerpieces which an Armenian specimen was diggin' out of a couple -of suit cases. And she'd told him that she couldn't pay our bill for -another month 'count of havin' spent all her "household allowance" on -the "loveliest set of embroidered dress and waist patterns" and such -that ever was. There was the dress pattern. Didn't he think it was a -"dear"? - -Well, Jim Henry give in to the "dear" part--she'd paid sixty-four -dollars for it--and come away disgusted. These peddlers was takin' the -coin right out of our mouths, he vowed. What was we goin' to do about -it? - -"Keep our mouths shut, I guess," says I. "I can't see anything else." - -But that wouldn't do for him. He went away growlin', and for the next -couple of days he hardly said a word. I knew he was hatchin' some scheme -or other, and I took care not to scare him off the nest. The third -mornin', he came off himself, fetchin' his brood with him. - -"Skipper," says he, joyful, "I believe I've got it. I believe I've got -the idea that'll put those Armenians in the discard. You listen to me." - -I listened, and what he'd hatched was somethin' like this: We--that is, -the "Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes, and Fancy Goods -Store"--would sell embroidery and crocheted plunder, and run the -peddlers out of business. We'd open a tidy department on our own hook. -What did I think of that? - -Well, I didn't think much of it, and I told him so. - -"Don't believe we can do it," says I. - -"Why not?" says he. "We can charge as much as they can, and that seems -to be the main thing." - -"That ain't it," I told him. "We can't get the stuff to sell. Plenty of -machine made, but the summer folks won't have that, cheap or high. What -they wake up nights and cry for is the genuine, hand-manufactured -article; and, unless you buy it off the peddlers themselves--which would -be unprofitable, to say the least--_I_ don't see where you're goin' to -get it. Besides, if you could get it, sellin' it in a store wouldn't do. -'Tain't romantic and foolish enough. Take this Burke Smythe woman," says -I; "she's a fair sample. She could have got just as nice, pretty dress -patterns out of a fashion magazine, or--" - -"Great snakes!" he broke in. "You don't think 'twas a _paper_ pattern -she paid sixty-four dollars for, do you?" - -"Never mind what 'twas," I says, dignified; "'twould be all the same, -paper or sheet iron. She wouldn't care for it at all if she'd bought it -in a store. There's nothin' mysterious or romantic in that. But here -comes one of these liver-complected, black-haired fellers, lookin' for -all the world like a pirate, and whispers in her ear he's got somethin' -in that carpetbag of his that nobody else has got, and that'll make Mrs. -General Jupiter Jones, or some other of the Smythe bosom friends, look -like a last summer's scarecrow. And, as a favor to her, he ain't showed -it to Mrs. Jupiter--which is most likely a lie, but never mind--and -he'll sell it to her at a sixty-four-dollar sacrifice, because--" - -"Hold on!" he interrupts. "Cut it out! Break away! Don't you s'pose I've -thought of that? Your old Uncle James Henry Jacobs, doctor of sick -businesses, wa'n't born yesterday by about thirty-eight years. I ain't -figgerin' to handle Armenian stuff. See here, Skipper. What makes the -summer bunch so crazy to get hold of old clocks, and old chains, and -antique junk generally?" - -"Well," says I, "for one thing, 'cause they _are_ antiques. For another, -because they come from right here on the Cape, and--" - -"That's it," he sings out. "And that's enough. Well, there's plenty of -handmade embroideries and laces, not to mention lamp mats and bed -quilts, made right here on the Cape, too. Last fall, the county fair had -a buildin' solid full of 'em. This is my plan. Do stop your Doubtin' -Thomas act, and listen." - -The plan was sort of simple but complicated. Fust off, him and me was to -see all the old ladies and young girls in Ostable and the surroundin' -country, and get 'em to agree to sell their handmade knittin' to us. If -they wouldn't sell to us direct, then we'd sell it for them on -commission. We'd fit up a room in the loft over the store, advertise it -as the "Colonial Curio Shop" or the "Pilgrim Mothers' Exchange," or some -such ridiculous or mysterious name, stock it full of the truck the -widows and orphans had been knittin' or tattin' all winter, drop a hint -to the summer folks--and then set back and take the money. - -"It'll go, I tell you," he says, enthusiastic. "It's a sure winner. Just -say the word, Skipper, and we'll start fittin' up the loft to-morrow -mornin'." - -"Well," says I, pretty doubtful, "if you're so sure, Jim, I--" - -"Sure!" he broke in. "Why wouldn't I be sure? There's only one kind of -people that can get ahead of me in a business deal--and they don't hail -from Armenia. Skipper, here's where we hand our peddlin' friends theirs, -and then some." - -Next mornin' he took the spare horse and started out. When he got back -that night, he had the bottom of the wagon covered with bundles of -knittin' and handmade contraptions, and he made proclamations that he -hadn't begun to cover the available territory. He'd seen I don't know -how many single females and widows who had the fancywork and crochetin' -habit; and they sold him everything they had in stock, and promised -more. - -"They take to it like a duck to water," says he, joyful. "They're all -down on the peddlers, and they're goin' to pitch in and supply the home -market. In another week you can't pass two houses in this town without -hearin' the merry click of the needle. To-morrow I canvass Denboro and -Bayport, and the next day I tackle Harniss. By Monday we'll be ready to -fit up the loft." - -And, sure enough, he was right. The amount of stuff he fetched back in -that wagon was surprisin'. How the female population of Ostable County -could have turned out all that embroidery and found time to cook meals -and sweep, let alone make calls and talk about their neighbors, beat me -a mile. But when he told me what he paid for the collection I begun to -understand. However, I didn't say nothin'. 'Twa'n't until he commenced -to rig up the room over the store that I spoke my thoughts. - -"Why, Jim Henry!" I says. "What are you thinkin' of? Puttin' panelin' on -those walls! And paperin' with that expensive paper! It must have cost -land knows how much a roll. And, for the dear land sakes, what are those -carpenters cuttin' that hole in the upper deck for?" - -"For stairs, of course," says he. "Think the customers are goin' to fly -up there? Don't bother me, Skipper, I'm busy." - -"Stairs!" I sings out. "Why, there's stairs already. What's the matter -with the steps leadin' aloft from the back room? _We've_ used them ever -since we've been here, and--" - -"S-shh! S-shh!" says he, resigned but impatient. "Cap'n, your business -instinct is all right in some things, like--like--well, I can't think -what just now, but never mind. You're a good feller, but you're too apt -to cal'late by last year's almanac. You ain't as up to date as you might -be. Do you suppose Her Majesty Burke Smythe, and the rest of the Royal -Family we're settin' this trap for, will take the trouble to hunt up -that back room, and fall over egg cases and kerosene barrels to find the -ladder to that loft? And climb the ladder after they find it? No, no! -We'll have a flight of stairs right from the main part of this store, -where they can't help seein' 'em. And there'll be old-fashioned rag mats -on the landin's, and brass candlesticks with candles in 'em at night, -and--" - -"Candles!" says I. "Well; that is the final piece of lunacy! Why, I -could light those stairs like a glory with kerosene lamps while a body -was tryin' to get _sight_ of 'em with a candle! I never heard such -nonsense." - -But 'twas no use. What we must do was make that loft "quaint," and -old-fashioned, and the like of that. I didn't understand--and so on. - -"All right," says I, "maybe I don't; but I do understand this: Judgin' -by the amount of hard cash you've spent for lace tuckers and doilies, -and the bill them stairs and panelin's and candlesticks'll come to, I -don't see a profit on the Pilgrim Curio Mothers' Exchange in ten year -big enough to cover a five-cent piece." - -He'd risk the profit. Besides, there was another reason for the stairs, -and such. To get to 'em all, the rich folks would have to go right -through the store; and if they didn't buy anything upstairs they would -down, sure and sartin. He was figgerin' on catchin' the transient trade, -the automobile trade; and all around the foot of the stairs we'd have -temptin' lunches put up and set out, and bottles of ginger ale and boxes -of cigars, and so forth, and so on. He preached for half an hour, -windin' up with: - -"Anyhow, Skipper, if the curio shop should lose money--which it -won't--it will bring customers to the Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots -and Shoes, and Fancy Goods Store, which is the main thing; that and -keepin' the coin in the United States instead of shippin' it to Armenia. -The embroideries and laces are by-products, as you might say; and if a -plant comes out even on its by-products, it's a payin' proposition." - -He had me there. I didn't know a by-product from a salt herrin'; so I -shut up. - -The "Old Colony Women's Exchange and Curio Room," which was the name he -finally picked out, opened at the end of a fortni't. Jacobs had -advertised it in the papers, and put signs for miles up and down the -main roads, let alone tellin' every well-off summer woman within -reachin' distance. And, almost from the very start, it done well. The -loft was crowded 'most every afternoon; and sometimes there'd be as many -as three automobiles anchored alongside our main platform. - -At the end of the fust month, the Exchange had cleared--cleared, mind -you--over two hundred dollars; and Jim Henry was crowin' over me like a -Shanghai rooster over a bantam. He'd had another happy thought, and had -added "antiques" to the stock in the loft; and the prices he got for -lame chairs and rheumatic tables was somethin' scandalous. But it wa'n't -all joy. There was two things that troubled him. - -One of the things was that the supply of knittin' and fancywork was -givin' out. Likewise the "antiques." Of course, there was some on hand. -Aunt Susannah Cahoon's yeller and black mittens, ear lappets, and -tippets hadn't sold, and wa'n't likely to; and Abinadab Saint's -alabaster whale-oil lamp with the crack in it, that his Great-uncle -Peleg brought home from sea, hadn't been grabbed to any extent. But -these were the exceptions. 'Most all the good stuff had gone; and, -though Jacobs had raked the county with a fine-tooth comb, as you might -say, the reg'lar dealers from Boston had raked it ahead of him, and -there wa'n't any "antiques" left. - -There was several reasons for the shortage in fancywork. One was that -the knitters and tatters couldn't turn it out fast enough; and, -moreover, the season for church fairs was settin' in, and the heft of -the females, bein' reg'lar members in good standin', _had_ to tack ship -and go to helpin' their meetin'-houses. So our stock was gettin' low, -and Jim Henry was worried. - -The other thing that worried him was that we couldn't get the right kind -of help to sell the stuff. He couldn't tend to it himself, bein' too -busy otherwise. Mary had the post-office department on her hands. The -clerk and the delivery boys wa'n't fitted for the job at all; and, as -for me, I couldn't sell a blue sugar bowl without a cover for seven -dollars and take the money. I knew the one that bought it was perfectly -satisfied, but I couldn't do it; I ain't built that way. - -"It's no use, Jim Henry," says I. "I may be foolish, but I have ideas -about some things; and it's my notion that sartin kinds of folks are -fitted by nature for sartin kinds of things. Now, Cape Codders they're -fitted for seafarin', and such; and New Yorkers and Chicagoers, like -you, are fitted for stock-brokin' and storekeepin'; and Italians for -hand organs, and diggin' streets, and singin' in opera. And when it -comes to sellin' secondhand stuff or keepin' a pawnshop, there's--" - -"Rubbish!" he snaps. "A while ago, you'd have said that the embroidery -trade was cornered by the Armenians. We've proved that's a fairy tale, -ain't we? I've got some ideas myself. I know the kind of person I want -to run that Exchange, and, sooner or later, I'll find him--or her. -Meantime, we'll have to do the best we can; and I'll take it as a favor -if you'll let up on the hammer exercise." - -I wa'n't sure what he meant by the "hammer exercise"; but 'twas plain -enough that them "by-products" was a sore subject, and that he was -worried. - -However, he wa'n't the only worried lace dealer in the neighborhood. The -Old Colony Exchange had made good in one direction, anyhow. It had -knocked the embroidery peddlin' business higher'n a kite. Where there -used to be a dozen suitcase luggers paradin' through the town, now you -scarcely sighted one; and that one looked pretty sick and discouraged. -The home market had smashed foreign competition for the time bein'; that -much was pretty sure. But our stock kept gettin' lower and lower, and -the auto crowds begun to go by now instead of stoppin'. And the few that -did stop hardly ever bought anything unless Jim Henry himself was there -to hypnotize 'em into it. - -One mornin' I came to the store pretty late, and found our clerk talkin' -to a dark-complected chap with curly hair and a suitcase. I didn't shove -my bows into the talk; but, when 'twas over, I asked the clerk what the -critter wanted. He laughed. - -"Oh, he's the last survivor of the peddlin' crew," he says. "He ain't -sold a thing, and he's goin' back to Boston right off. I told him he -might as well. He asked a lot of questions about the Exchange, and I -took him upstairs and showed him around." - -"You did?" says I. "What for?" - -"Oh, just to let him see what he was up against, that's all. He was a -pretty decent feller--some of them Armenians ain't so bad--and I pitied -him. He was awful discouraged. He'd heard Mr. Jacobs had been tryin' to -hire a salesman for up there; and he hinted that he'd kind of like the -job." - -"Did, hey?" says I. "Well, it's a good thing for you and him that Mr. -Jacobs didn't catch you. He'd sooner have a snake on the premises than -one of them peddlers. What else did he say? Anything?" - -Why, yes. It developed that he'd said a good deal. Asked where we got -our stuff, and so on. I judged 'twas a providence that I come in when I -did, or that clerk would have told every last word he knew. I didn't say -anything to Jim Henry. No use frettin' him unnecessary. - -Three days after that the Injun showed up. I don't know as you know it, -but there are a few Injuns left on the Cape--half-breeds, or -three-quarters, they are mostly; and they live up around Cohasset -Narrows, or off in the woods in those latitudes. This one was an old -feller, black-haired, of course, and kind of fleshy, with a hook nose -and skin the color of gingerbread. I heard talk upstairs in the -Exchange; and, when I went aloft, I found him and Jim Henry settin' -among the by-products, and as confidential as a couple of rats in a -schooner's hold. Soon as Jacobs seen me, he sung out for me to heave -alongside. - -"Look at that, Cap'n Zeb," he says. "What do you think of that?" - -I took what he handed me, and looked at it. 'Twas a piece of handmade -lace--a centerpiece, I believe they call it--and 'twas mighty well done. - -"Think of it?" says I. "Well, I ain't much of a judge, but I'd call it a -pretty slick article. Who made it?" - -The old black-haired chap answered. - -"My sister," he says. "She make 'em. Make 'em plenty." - -"Bully for her!" says I. "She's the lady we've been lookin' for. Maybe -she make some more; hey?" - -He grinned; and Jacobs mentioned for me to clear out; so I done it. He -and old Gingerbread Face stayed aloft in that Exchange for upward of an -hour; and, when they came down, Jim Henry went with him as fur as the -door. When the stranger had gone, Jim turns to me and stuck out his -hand. - -"Skipper," says he, grinnin' like a punkin lantern, "shake! I've got -it." - -"What have you got?" I asked. I was a little mite provoked at bein' sent -below so unceremonious. "What have you got--Asiatic cholery? Thought you -wouldn't have nothin' to do with Armenians." - -"Armenians be hanged!" says he. "That's no Armenian. He's an Indian, a -full-blooded Indian, or pretty near it. And his family is about the only -full-bloods left. There's a colony of them up the Cape a ways; and it -seems that they pick berries in the summer, and put in their winters -turnin' out stuff like that centerpiece. He heard about the Exchange, -and he's come way down here to see if we bought such things. I told him -we bought 'em with bells on, and he'll be back here to-morrow with -another load." - -Sure enough, he was, load and all; and 'twould have astonished you to -see what fust-class fancywork his sister and the rest of the squaws -turned out. Jacobs bought the whole lot, and ordered more; said he'd -take all the tribe could scare up; and old Gingerbread--his American -name, so he said, was Rose, Solomon Rose--went away happy. When I found -what Jim Henry had paid him for the plunder, I didn't blame Rose for -bein' joyful. - -But Jacobs didn't care. He was all excitement and hurrah again. He had a -new addition made to the Exchange sign. 'Twas "The Old Colony Women's -Exchange, Curio Room, and Indian Exhibit" now; and inside of two days -the Burke Smythes and their friends was callin' reg'lar, the auto -parties was rollin' up to the door, and the money was rollin' in. Injun -embroidery was somethin' new; and the summer gang snapped at it like -bullfrogs at a red rag. - -Then that partner of mine was seized violent with another rush of ideas -to the head. I'm blessed if he didn't hire old Rose--the "Last of the -Mohicans," he called him, among other ridiculous and outlandish -names--to spend his days in that Injun Exchange loft. Paid him ten -dollars a week, he did, just to set there and look the part. 'Twas a -sinful waste of money, 'cordin' to my notion; but Jim Henry shut me up -like a huntin'-case watch--with a snap. - -"Who said he could sell?" he wanted to know. "I didn't, did I? I don't -know that he can't--he's shrewd enough when it comes to sellin' us the -stuff he brings with him; but if he don't sell a fifty-cent article--" - -"Which he won't," I interrupted; "for there's nothin' less than -two-seventy-five _in_ the robbers' den, and you know it. How you have -the face to charge--" - -"Will you be quiet?" he wanted to know. "As I say, whether he sells or -not, he's wuth his wages twice over. Can't you understand? Just oblige -me by rubbin' your brains with scourin' soap or somethin', and _try_ to -understand. All the auto bunch ain't lambs; some of them--the males -especially--are a fairly cagey collection; and there's been doubts -expressed concernin' the genuineness of our Injun exhibit. But with old -Uncas--with the Last of the Mohicans himself right on deck as a livin' -guarantee, why, we could sell clam-shells as small change from Sittin' -Bull's wampum belt, and never raise a sacrilegious question even from a -Unitarian freethinker. It's a cinch." - -"See here, Jim Henry," says I, "if this thing's a fraud, I won't have -anything to do with it." - -"Neither will I," says he, emphatic. "Frauds don't pay, not in the long -run. But grandmother's genuine antiques and the A-number-one, Simon-pure -embroideries of the noble red man--or woman--pay, and don't you forget -it." - -They did pay; and old Mohican himself was a payin' investment, too, in -spite of my doubts and Jeremiah prophesyin'. He made a ten-strike with -every female that hit that loft. They said he was so "quaint," and -"odd," and "pathetic." Mrs. Burke Smythe vowed there was somethin' "big" -and "great" about him--meanin' his nose or his boots, I presume -likely--and, somehow or other, though he didn't look like a salesman, he -sold. And every week or so he'd take a day off and go back home, to -return with a fresh supply of tidies, and lace, and gimcracks. I changed -my mind about Injuns. I see right off that all the yarns I'd read about -'em was lies. They didn't murder nor scalp their enemies--they smothered -'em with lamp mats. - -And 'twa'n't fancywork alone that the Rose critter fetched back from -these home v'yages of his. He struck an "antique" vein somewheres in the -reservation; and not a week went by that he didn't resurrect an old -bedstead or a table or a spinnin' wheel or somethin', and fetched 'em -down in an old wagon towed by an old white horse. The "children of the -forest"--which was another of Jim Henry's names for the Injuns and -half-breeds--didn't give up these things for nothin'; far from it. We -had to pay as much as if they was made of solid silver; but we sold 'em -at gold prices, so that part was all right. - -And every other day Jacobs would ask me what I thought of "by-products" -now. As for Armenian competition, it was dead. There wa'n't any. - -Well, three more weeks drifted along, and the summer season was 'most -over. Then, one Tuesday mornin', old Rose, the Mohican, didn't show up. -He'd gone away on Friday cal'latin' to be back Monday with a fresh lot -of "antiques" and centerpieces; but he wa'n't. And Tuesday and Wednesday -passed, and he didn't come. Jim Henry was awful worried. We needed more -stock, and we needed our Injun curio; and nothin' would do but I must -turn myself into a relief expedition and hunt him up. - -"Somethin's happened, sure," says Jacobs. "He's never missed his time -afore. Those fellers pride themselves on keepin' their word--you read -Cooper, if you don't believe it--and he's sick or dead; one or the -other." - -"Dead nothin'!" says I. "He's too tough to kill, and nothin' would make -him sick but soap and water, which ain't one of his bad habits by a -consider'ble sight. However, if it'll make you any easier, I'll take the -mornin' train and locate him if I can." - -"Go ahead," says he. "I'd do it myself, but I can't leave just now. Go -ahead, Skipper, and don't come back till you've got him, or found out -why he isn't on hand." - -So I took the mornin' train and set out to locate the noble red man. - - - - -CHAPTER IX--ROSES--BY ANOTHER NAME - - -But locatin' him wa'n't such an easy matter. All we knew was he lived -somewheres in Wampaquoit, and Wampaquoit is ten miles from nowhere, in -the woods up around Cohasset Narrows. I got off the train at the Narrows -depot, and, after considerable cruisin' and bargainin', I hired a horse -and buggy, and started to drive over. I lost my way and got onto a wood -road. Don't ask me about that road. I don't want to talk about it. I'd -been on salt water for a good many years, and I'd seen some rough goin', -but rockin' and bouncin' over that wood road come nigher to makin' me -seasick than any of my Grand Banks trips. Narrow! And grown over! My -land! I had to stoop to keep from bein' scraped off the seat; and, -whenever I'd straighten up to ease my back, a pine branch would fetch me -a slap in the face that you could hear half a mile. - -As for my language, you could hear that _two_ miles. That road ruined my -moral reputation, I'm afraid. They had a revival meetin' in the Narrows -meetin'-house the follerin' week, but whether 'twas on my account or not -I don't know. - -However, I made port after a spell--that is, I run afoul of a house and -lot in a clearin' sort of; and I asked a black-lookin' male critter, who -was asleep under a tree, how to get to Wampaquoit. He riz upon one -elbow, brushed the mosquitoes away from his mouth, and made answer that -'twas Wampaquoit I was in. - -"But the town?" says I. "Where's the town?" - -Well, it appeared that this was the town, or part of it. The rest was -scattered along through the next three or four miles of wilderness. -Where was the center? Oh, there wa'n't any. There was a schoolhouse and -a meetin'-house, and a blacksmith's, and such, on the main road up a -piece, that was all. - -"But where do the Injuns live?" I wanted to know. "The knittin' women, -the Lamp Mat Trust--where does it--she--they, I mean, live?" - -He couldn't seem to make much out of this; and by and by he went into -the house and fetched out his wife. She was about as black as he was; -and I cal'lated they was a Portygee family; but, no, lo and behold you, -it turned out they was Injuns themselves! But they never heard of -anybody named Rose, nor of anybody that knit centerpieces, nor of an -"antique," nor anything. I give it up pretty soon, for my temper was -beginnin' to heat up the surroundin' air, and the mosquitoes seemed to -think I was "Old Home Week," and come for miles around and brought their -relations. I give up and drove away over a fairly decent road this time, -till I found another house. But this was just the same; Injuns in -plenty--'most everybody was part Injun--but nobody had heard of our -special Mohican nor of an "antique." And, which was queerer still, they -never heard of anybody around that done knittin' or crochetin' or lace -makin', or had sold any, if they did do it. And they didn't any of 'em -talk story-book Injun dialect, same as Uncas did. They used pretty fair -United States. - -Well, to bile this yarn of mine down, I rode through those woods and -around the settlement most of that afternoon. Then I was ready to give -up, and so was my old livery-stable horse. He'd gone dead lame, and -'twould have been a sin and a shame to make him walk a step farther. I -took him to the blacksmith's shop, and left him there. I pounded -mosquitoes, and asked the blacksmith some questions, and he pounded iron -and wanted to ask me a million; but neither of us got a heap of -satisfaction out of the duet. - -Two things seemed to be sure and sartin. One was that Solomon Uncas -Rose, the "child of the forest" and chief of the tattin' tribe, was -mistook when he give Wampaquoit as his home town; and t'other that, much -as I wanted to, I couldn't get out of that town until evenin'. My horse -wa'n't fit to travel, and I couldn't hire another, not until after the -blacksmith had had his supper. Then he'd hitch up and drive me back to -the Narrows. - -But luck was with me for once. Up the road came bumpin' a nice-lookin' -mare and runabout wagon, with a pleasant-faced, gray-haired man on the -seat. The mare pulled up at the blacksmith's house, and the man got down -and went inside. - -"Who's that?" says I. "And what's he done to be sentenced to this -place?" - -"Doctor," says the blacksmith, with a grunt--he was one-quarter Injun, -too. "Comes from West Ostable. My wife's sick." - -"I sympathize with her," says I. "I'm sick, too--homesick. Maybe this -doctor'll help me out. What I need is a change of scene; and I need it -bad." - -So, when the doctor come out of the house, I hailed him, and asked him -if he'd do a kindness to a shipwrecked mariner stranded on a lee shore. - -"Why, what's the matter?" says he, laughin'. - -"Matter enough," I told him. "I want to go home. Besides, a merciful man -is merciful to the beasts; and if I stay here much longer these -mosquitoes'll die of rush of my blood to their heads. I understand you -come from West Ostable, Doctor; but if 'twas Jericho 'twould be all the -same. I want you to let me ride there with you. And you can charge -anything you want to." - -That doctor was a fine feller. He laughed some more, and told me to jump -right in. Said he'd got to see one more patient on his way back; but, if -I didn't mind that stop, he'd be glad of my company. So I told the -blacksmith to keep my horse and buggy overnight, and when I got to West -Ostable I'd telephone for the livery folks to send for 'em. Then I got -into the doctor's runabout, and off we drove. - -We did consider'ble talkin' durin' the drive; but 'twas all general, and -nothin' definite on my part. 'Course, he was curious to know what I was -doin' 'way over there; but I said I come on business, and let it go at -that. I was beginnin' to have some suspicions, and I cal'lated not to be -laughed at if I could help it. So we drove and drove; and, by and by, -when I judged we must be pretty nigh to West Ostable, he turned the -horse into a side road, and brought him to anchor alongside of an old -ramshackle house, with a tumble-down barn and out-buildin's astern of -it. - -"Now, Cap'n," he says, "I'll have to ask you to wait a few minutes while -I see that last patient of mine. 'Twon't take long." - -"Patient?" says I. "Good land! Does anybody _live_ in this fag end of -nothin'ness?" - -"Yes," says he. "'Twas empty for years, but now a couple of fellers live -here all by themselves. Foreigners of some kind they are. Been here for -a month or more. One of 'em let a packin' case fall on his foot, and--" - -"I sympathize with him," says I. "The same thing happened to me a spell -ago. But a packin' case! Cranberry crate, you mean, I guess." - -"Maybe so," he says. "I didn't ask. But 'twas somethin' heavy, anyhow. -Nobody seems to know much about these chaps or what they do. Well, be as -comfort'ble as you can. I'll be back soon." - -He took his medicine satchel and went into the house. Soon's he was out -of sight, I climbed out of the buggy and started explorin'. I was -curious. - -I wandered around back of the house. Such a slapjack place you never see -in your life! Windows plugged with papers and old rags, shingles off the -roof, chimneys shy of bricks--'twas a miracle it didn't blow down long -ago. Whoever the tenants was, they was only temporary, I judged, and -willin' to take chances. - -From somewheres out in the barn I heard a scratchin' kind of noise, and -I headed for there. The big door was open a little ways, and I squeezed -through. 'Twas pretty dark, and I couldn't see much for a minute; but -soon as my eyes got used to the gloominess, I saw lots of things. That -barn was half filled with boxes and crates, some empty and some not. -There was a horse in the stall--an old white horse--and standin' in the -middle of the floor was a wagon heaped with things, and covered with a -piece of tarpaulin. I lifted the tarpaulin. Underneath it was a spinnin' -wheel, an old-fashioned table, two chairs, and a basket. There was -embroidery and fancywork in the basket. - -Then I took a few soundin's among the full boxes and crates standin' -round. I didn't do much of this, 'cause the scratchin' noise kept up in -a room at the back of the barn, and I wa'n't anxious to disturb the -scratcher, whoever he was. But I saw a plenty. There was enough bran-new -"antiques" and "genuine" Injun knittin' work in them crates and boxes to -stock the "Colonial Exchange" for six weeks, even with better trade than -we'd had. - -I'd seen all I wanted to in _that_ room, so I tiptoed into the other. A -feller was in there, standin' back to me, and hard at work. He was -sandpaperin' the polish off a mahogany sewin' table; the kind Mrs. Burke -Smythe called a "find," and had in her best front parlor as an example -of what our great-granddads used to make, and we wa'n't capable of in -these cheap and shoddy days. There was another "find" on the floor side -of him, a chair layin' on its side. Pasted on the under side of the seat -was a paper label with "Grand Rivers Furniture Manufacturing Company" -printed on it. I judged that the hand of Time hadn't got to work on that -chair yet, but it would as soon as it had antiqued the table. - -I watched the mellowin' influence gettin' in its licks--much as twenty -year passed over that table in the three minutes I stood there--and then -I spoke. - -"Hello, shipmate!" says I. "You're busy, ain't you?" - -He jumped as if I'd stuck a sail needle in him, the table tipped over -with a bang, and he swung around and faced me. And I'm blessed if he -wa'n't that Armenian critter; the one that the clerk had talked to--the -"last survivor of the peddlin' crew." - -I was expectin' 'most anything to happen, and I was kind of hopin' it -would. My fists sort of shut of themselves. But it didn't happen. I knew -the feller; but, as luck would have it, he didn't recognize me. He -swallered hard a couple of times, and then he says, pretty average ugly: - -"Vat d'ye want?" - -"Oh, nothin'," says I. "I just drove over with the doctor, and I cruised -'round the premises a little, that's all. You must do a good business -here. Make this stuff yourself?" - -"No," he snapped. - -I could see that he was dyin' to chuck me out, and didn't dast to. I -picked up the chair and looked at it. - -"Humph!" I says. "Grand Rivers Company, hey? Buy of them, do you?" - -"Yes," says he. - -"And this?" I took a centerpiece out of one of the boxes. "This come -from Grand Rivers, too?" - -"No," says he. "Boston. Is dere anything else you vant to know?" - -"Guess not. You the sick man?" - -"No; mine brudder." - -"Your brother, hey? Let's see. I wonder if I don't know him. Kind of -tall and thin, ain't he?" - -He sniffed contemptuous. - -"No," says he, "he's short and fat." - -"Beg your pardon," says I, "guess I was mistook. Well, I must be gettin' -back to the buggy; the doctor's prob'ly waitin' for me. Good day, -mister." - -He never said good-by; but I saw him watchin' me all the way to the -gate. I climbed into the buggy, and set there till he went back into the -barn; then I got down and hurried to the front of the house. The door -wa'n't fastened, and I went in. I met the doctor in the hall. He was -some surprised to see me there. - -"Hello, Doc!" says I. "Where's your patient?" - -"In there," says he, pointin' to the door astern of him. "But--" - -"How's he gettin' along?" I wanted to know. - -"Why, he's better," he says. "He's practically all right. I wanted him -to get up and walk, but he wouldn't." - -"Wouldn't, hey?" says I. "Humph! Well, maybe he wouldn't walk for you; -but I'll bet _I_ can make him _fly_." - -Before he could stop me, I flung that door open and walked into that -room. The sufferer from fallin' packin' boxes was settin' in one chair -with his foot in another. I drew off, and slapped him on the shoulder -hard as I could. - -"Hello, Sol Uncas Mohicans!" I sung out. "How's genuine antique lamp -mats these days?" - -For about two seconds he just set there and looked at me, set and -glared, with his mouth open. Then he let out a scream like a scared -woman, jumped out of that chair, and made for the kitchen door, lame -foot and all. I headed him off, and he turned and set sail for the one -I'd come in at. He reached the front hall just ahead of me; but my boot -caught him at the top step and helped him _some_. He never stopped at -the gate, but went head-first into the woods whoopin' anthems. - -The sandpaperin' chap came runnin' out of the barn, and I took after -him; but he didn't wait to see what I had to say. He dove for the woods -on his side. We had the premises to ourselves, and I went back and -picked up the doctor, who'd been upset by the "child of the forest" on -his way to the ancestral tall timber. - -"What--what--what?" gasps the medical man. "For Heaven sakes! Why, he -wouldn't _try_ to walk when I asked him to. _How_ did you do that?" - -"Easy enough," says I. "'Twas an old-fashioned treatment, but it -helps--in some cases. Just layin' on of hands, that's all. Now, Doc, -afore you ask another question, let me ask you one. Ain't that critter's -name Rose?" - -He was consider'ble shook, but he managed to grin a little. - -"No," says he, "but you've guessed pretty near it." - -Then he told me what the name was. - -I rode back to West Ostable with that doctor and took the evenin' train -home. Jim Henry was waitin' for me on the store platform when I got out -of the depot wagon. - -"Well?" he wanted to know. "Did you find him?" - -"Humph!" says I. "I did find the lost tribes, a couple of members of -'em, anyway." - -"What do you mean by that?" says he. - -"Come somewheres where 'tain't so public and I'll tell you." - -So we went back into the back room and I told him my yarn. He listened, -with his mouth open, gettin' madder and madder all the time. - -"Now," says I, endin' up, "the way I look at it is this. I've been -thinkin' it out on the cars and I cal'late we'll have to do this way. We -ain't crooks--that is, we didn't mean to be--and now we know all our -'antiques' are frauds and our 'Injun curios' made up to Boston, we must -either shut up the 'Exchange' or go back to home products. We'll have to -keep mum about those we have sold, because most of 'em have been carted -out of town and we don't know where to locate the buyers. But, for my -part, bein' average honest and meanin' to be square, I feel mighty bad. -What do you say?" - -He said enough. He felt as bad as I did about stickin' our customers, -but what seemed to cut him the most was that somebody had got ahead of -him in business. - -"Think of it!" says he. "Skipper, we're gold-bricked! Cheated! Faked! -Done! Think of it! If I could only get my hands on that--" - -"Hold on a minute," says I. "Better think the whole of it while you're -about it. We set out to drive those peddlers out of what was _their_ -trade. If they was smart enough to turn the tables and make a good -profit out of sellin' us the stuff, I don't know as I blame 'em much. It -was just tit for tat--or so it seems to me now that I've cooled off." - -"Maybe so," says he; "but it hurts my pride just the same. James Henry -Jacobs, doctor of sick businesses, beat by a couple of peddlers from -Armenia!" - -"Hold on again," I says. "I ain't told you their real name yet." - -"Their name?" he says. "I know it already. It's Rose." - -"Not accordin' to that West Ostable doctor, it ain't. The name they give -_him_ was Rosenstein." - -He looked at me for a spell without speakin'. Then he smiled, heaved a -long breath, and reached over and shook my hand. - -"Whew!" says he. "Skipper, I feel better. Richard's himself again. To be -beat in a business deal by Roses is one thing--but by Rosensteins is -another. You can't beat the Rosensteins in business." - -"Not in the secondhand and by-productin' business you can't," says I. -"Them lines belong to 'em. We hadn't any right to butt in." - -And we both laughed, good and hearty. - -"But," says I, after a little, "what'll we do with that curio room, -anyway? Give it up?" - -"Not much!" says he, emphatic. "I guess we'll have to give up the -antiques; but we've got the winter ahead of us, Skipper, and the Ostable -County embroidery crop flourishes best in cold weather. We'll start the -old ladies knittin' again and have a fairly good-sized stock when the -autos commence runnin' once more. Give up the Colonial Pilgrim Mothers? -I should say not!" - -"All right," I says, dubious. "You may be right, Jim; you generally are. -But I'm a little scary of this by-product game. It'll get us into -serious trouble, I'm afraid, some day. It's easier to steer one big -craft, than 'tis to maneuver a fleet of little ones." - -He sniffed, scornful. "As I understand it, Cap'n Zeb," he says, "this -business of yours was in a pretty feeble condition when you called me in -to prescribe." - -"No doubt of that, Jim, but--" - -"Yes. And it's a healthy, growin' child now." - -"Yes. It sartin is." - -"Then, if I was you, I'd take my medicine and be thankful. Time enough -to complain when you commence to go into another decline. Ain't that -so?" - -I didn't answer. - -"Isn't it so?" he asked again. - -"Maybe," I said; "but it may be a fatal disease next time; and it's -better to keep well than to be cured--and a lot cheaper." - -He said I was a reg'lar bullfrog for croakin', and hinted that I was in -the back row of the primer class so fur's business instinct went. I had -a feelin' that he was right, but I had another feelin' that _I_ was -right, too. However, there was nothin' to do but keep quiet and wait the -next development. Afore Christmas the development landed with both feet. - -I'd heard the news twice already that mornin'. Fust at the Poquit House -breakfast table, where 'twas served along with the chopped hay cereal -and warmed over and picked to pieces, as you might say, all through the -b'iled eggs and spider-bread, plumb down to the doughnuts and imitation -coffee. Then I'd no sooner got outdoor than Solon Saunders sighted me, -and he 'bout ship and beat acrost the road like a porgie-boat bearin' -down on a school of fish. He was so excited that he couldn't wait to get -alongside, but commenced heavin' overboard his cargo of information -while he was in mid-channel. - -"Did you hear about the Higgins Place bein' rented, Cap'n Snow?" he sung -out. "It's been took for next summer and--" - -"Yes, yes, I heard it," says I. "Fine seasonable weather we're havin' -these days. Don't see any signs of snow yet, do you?" - -If he'd been skipper of a pleasure boat with a picnic party aboard he -couldn't have paid less attention to my weather signals. - -"It's been hired for an eatin'-house," he says, puffin' and out of -breath. "A man by the name of Fred from Buffalo, has hired it, and--" - -"Fred, hey?" I interrupted. "Humph! 'Cordin' to the proclamations _I_ -heard he cruises under the name of George--Eben George--and he hails -from Bangor." - -"No, no!" he says, emphatic. "His name's Edgar Fred and it's Buffalo he -comes from. Henry Williams told me and he got it from his wife's aunt, -Mrs. Debby Baker, and her cousin by marriage told her. She is a -Knowles--the cousin is--married one of the Denboro Knowleses--and _she_ -got it from Peleg Kendrick's nephew whose stepmother is related to the -woman that used to do old Judge Higgins's cookin' when he was alive. So -it come straight, you see." - -"Yes," I says, "about as straight as the eel went through the snarled -fish net. All right. I don't care. How's your rheumatiz gettin' on, -Solon?" - -I thought that would fetch him, but it didn't. Gen'rally speakin', he'd -talk for an hour about his rheumatiz and never skip an ache; but now he -was too much interested in the Higgins Place even to catalogue his -symptoms. - -"It's some better," he says, "since I tried the Electric Ointment out of -the newspaper. But, Cap'n Zeb, did you know that this Fred man was goin' -to start a swell dinin'-room for automobile folks? He is. He's had all -kinds of experience in them lines. He's goin' to have foreign help and a -chief Frenchman to do the cookin' and--and I don't know what all." - -"I guess that's right," says I. "Well, I don't know what all, either, -and I ain't goin' to worry. We'll see what we shall see, as the blind -feller said. Hello! there's the minister over there and I'll bet he -ain't heard a word about it." - -That done the trick. Away he put, all sail set, to give the minister the -earache, and I went on down to the store. And there was Jacobs talkin' -to a man I'd never seen afore and both of 'em so interested they -scarcely noticed me when I come in. - -He was a kind of ordinary-lookin' feller at fust sight, the stranger -was, sort of a cross between a parson and a circus agent, judgin' by his -get-up. Pretty thin, with black hair and a black beard, and dressed all -in black except his vest, which was thunder-storm plaid. I'd have -cal'lated he was in mournin' if it hadn't been for that vest. As 'twas -he looked like a hearse with a brass band aboard. Both him and Jacobs -was smokin' cigars, the best ten-centers we carried in stock. - -"Mornin'," says I, passin' by 'em. Jim Henry looked up and saw me. - -"Ah, Skipper," says he; "glad to see you. Come here. I want to make you -acquainted with Mr. Edwin Frank, who is intendin' to locate here in -Ostable. Mr. Frank, shake hands with my partner, Cap'n Zebulon Snow." - -We shook, the band wagon hearse and me, and I felt as if I was back -aboard the old _Fair Breeze_, handlin' cold fish. Jim Henry went right -along explainin' matters. - -"Mr. Frank," he says, "has had a long experience in the restaurant and -hotel line and he believes there is an openin' for a first-class -road-house in this town. He has leased the--" - -Then I understood. "Why, yes, yes!" I interrupted. "I know now. You're -Mr. Eben Edgar Fred George from Buffalo and Bangor, ain't you?" - -Then _they_ didn't understand. When I explained about the boardin'-house -talk and Solon Saunders' "straight" news, Jacobs laughed fit to kill and -even Mr. Fred George Frank pumped up a smile. But his pumps was out of -gear, or somethin', for the smile looked more like a crack in an ice -chest than anything human. However, he said he was glad to see me and I -strained the truth enough to say I was glad to meet him. - -"So you've hired the Higgins Place, Mr. Frank," I went on. "Well, well! -And you're goin' to make a hotel of it. If old Judge Higgins don't turn -over in his grave at that, he's fast moored, that's all." - -I meant what I said, almost. Judge Higgins, in his day, had been one of -the big-bugs of the town and his place on the hill was one of the best -on the main road. It set 'way back from the street and the view from -under the two big silver-leaf trees by the front door took in all -creation and part of Ostable Neck, as the sayin' is. The Judge had been -dead most eight year now, and, bein' a three times widower without chick -nor child, the estate was all tied up amongst the heirs of the three -wives and was fast tumblin' to pieces. It couldn't be sold, on account -of the row between the owners, but it had been let once or twice to -summer folks. To turn it into a tavern was pretty nigh the final -come-down, seemed to me. - -But Jim Henry Jacobs wa'n't worryin' about come-downs. He never let dead -dignity interfere with live business. He didn't shed a tear over the old -place, or lay a wreath on Judge Higgins's tomb. No, sir! he got down to -the keelson of things in a jiffy. - -"Skipper," he says, sweet and plausible as a dose of sugared -soothin'-syrup. "Skipper," he says, "Mr. Frank's proposition is to open, -not a hotel exactly, but a first-class, up-to-date road-house and -restaurant. As progressive citizens of Ostable, as business men, -wide-awake to the town's welfare, that ought to interest you and me, on -general principles, hadn't it?" - -I judged that this was only Genesis, and that Revelation would come -later, so I nodded and said I cal'lated that it had--on general -principles. - -"You bet!" he goes on. "It does interest us. Speakin' personally, I've -long felt that there was a place in Ostable for a dinin'-room, run to -bag--to attract, I mean--the wealthy, the well-to-do transient trade. -Why, just think of it!" he says, warmin' up, "it's winter now. By May or -June there'll be a steady string of autos runnin' along this road here, -every one of 'em solid full of city people and all hungry. Now, it's a -shame to let those good things--I mean hungry gents and ladies, go by -without givin' 'em what they want. If I hadn't had so many things on my -mind, if the Ostable Store's large and growin' business hadn't took my -attention exclusive, I should have ventured a flyer in that direction -myself. But never mind that; Mr. Frank here has got ahead of me and the -job's in better hands. Mr. Frank is right up to the minute; he's abreast -of the times and he--by the way, Mr. Frank, perhaps you wouldn't mind -tellin' my partner here somethin' about your plans. Just give him the -line of talk you've been givin' me, say." - -Mr. Frank didn't mind. He had the line over in a minute and if I'd been -cal'latin' that he was a frosty specimen with the water in his -talk-b'iler froze, I got rid of the notion in a hurry. He smiled, -polite, and begun slow and deliberate, but pretty soon he was runnin' -twenty knots an hour. He told about his experience in the eatin'-house -line--he'd been everything from hotel manager to club steward--and about -how successful he'd been and how big the profits was, and what his -customers said about him, and so on. Afore a body had a chance to think -this over--or to digest it, long's we're talkin' about eatin'--he was -under full steam through Ostable with the Higgins Place loaded to the -guards and beatin' all entries two mile to the lap. He'd never seen a -better openin'; his experience backed his judgment in callin' it the -ideal location and opportunity, and the like of that. He talked his -throat dry and wound up, husky but hurrahin', with somethin' like this: - -"Cap'n Snow," he says, "you and Mr. Jacobs must understand that I know -what I'm talkin' about. This enterprise of mine will be the very highest -class. French chef, French waiters, all the delicacies and game in -season. A country Delmonico's, that's the dope--ahem! I mean that is the -reputation this establishment of ours will have; yes." - -I judged that the "dope" had slipped out unexpected and that the miscue -jarred him a little mite, for he colored up and wiped his forehead with -a red and yellow bordered handkerchief. I was jarred, too, but not by -that. - -"Establishment of _ours_?" I says, slow. "You mean yours, of course." - -He was goin' to answer, but Jim Henry got ahead of him. - -"Sure! of course, Skipper," he says. "That's all right. There!" he went -on, gettin' up and takin' me by the arm. "Mr. Frank's got to be trottin' -along and we mustn't detain him. So long, Mr. Frank. My partner and I -will have some conversation and we'll meet again. Drop in any time. Good -day." - -I hadn't noticed any signs of Frank's impatience to trot along, but he -took the hint all right and got up to go. He said good-by and I was -turnin' away, when I see Jim Henry wink at him when they thought I -wa'n't lookin'. I was suspicious afore; that wink made me uneasy as a -spring pullet tied to the choppin'-block. - - - - -CHAPTER X--THE SIGN OF THE WINDMILL - - -Eben George Edgar Edwin Delmonico Frank went out, dabbin' at his -forehead with the red and yellow handkerchief. Jacobs kept his clove -hitch on my arm and led me out to the settee on the front platform. - -"Set down, Skipper," he says, cheerful and more'n extra friendly, seemed -to me. "Set down," he says, "and enjoy the December ozone." - -We come to anchor on the settee and there we set and shivered for much -as five minutes, each of us waitin' for the other to begin. Finally Jim -Henry says, without lookin' at me: - -"Well, Skipper," he says, "that chap's sharp all right, ain't he?" - -"Seems to be," says I, not too enthusiastic. - -"Yes, he is. If I'm any judge of human nature--and I hand myself _that_ -bouquet any day in the week--he knows his business. Don't you think so?" - -"Maybe," I says. "But what business of ours his business is I don't -see--yet. If you do, bein' as you and me are supposed to be partners, -perhaps you wouldn't mind soundin' the fog whistle for my benefit. I -seem to have lost my reckonin' on this v'yage. Why should we be -interested in this Frank man and his eatin'-house?" - -He laughed, louder'n was necessary, I thought, and slapped me on the -shoulder. - -"You don't see where we come in, hey?" he says. "Well, I do. A -dinin'-room like that one of his will need a good many supplies, won't -it? And, if I can mesmerize him into patronizin' the home market, the -Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods Emporium -will gain some, I shouldn't wonder. Hey, pard! How about that?" And he -slapped my shoulder again. - -I turned this over in my mind. "Humph!" I says. "I begin to see." - -"You bet you do!" he says, laughin'. "The amount of stuff I can sell -that restaurant will--" - -But I broke in here. I remembered that wink and I didn't believe I was -clear of the choppin'-block yet. - -"Hold on!" says I. "Heave to! And never mind poundin' my starboard -shoulder to pieces, either. I said I _begun_ to see; I don't see clear -yet. How did you and he come to get together in the fust place? Did you -go and hunt him up? or did he come in here to see you?" - -He kind of hesitated. "Why," he says, "he come into the store, and--" - -"Did he happen in, or did he come to see you a-purpose?" - -"He--I believe he came to see me. Then he and I--" - -"Heave to again! He didn't come to see you to beg the favor of buyin' -goods of you, 'tain't likely. Jim Jacobs, answer me straight. There's -somethin' else. That feller wants somethin' of you--or of us. Now what -is it?" - -He hesitated some more. Then he upset the woodpile and let out the -darky. - -"Well," he says, "I'll tell you. I was goin' to tell you, anyway. -Frank's all right. He's got a good idea and he's got the experience to -put it into practice; but he's somethin' the way old Beanblossom was -afore you took a share in this store--he needs a little more capital." - -I swung round on the settee and looked him square in the eye. - -"I--see," I says, slow. "Now--I see! He's after money and he wants us to -lend it to him. I might have guessed it. Well, did you say no right off? -or was you waitin' to have me say it? You might have said it yourself. -You knew I'd back you up." - -Would you believe it? he got as red as a beet. - -"I didn't say anything," he says. "Don't go off half-cocked like that. -What's the matter with you this mornin'? He don't want to borrer money. -He wants more capital in the proposition--wants to float it right. And -he's been inquirin' around and has found that you and me are the two -leadin' business men in the place and has come to us first. It's more a -favor on his part than anything else. He offers to let us have a third -interest between us; you put in a thousand and I do the same. Why, man, -it's a cinch! It's a chance that don't come every day. As I told you, -I've had the same notion in my head for a long time. A summer -dinin'-room like that in this town is--" - -"Wait!" I interrupted. "What do you know about this Frank critter? -Where'd he come from? Who is he?" - -"He comes from Pittsburg. That's the last place he was in. And he's got -his pockets full of references and testimonials." - -"Humph! Anybody can get testimonials. Write 'em himself, if there wa'n't -any other way. I had a second mate once with more testimonials than -shirts, enough sight, and he--" - -"Oh, cut it out! Besides, I don't care where he comes from. He's sharp -as a steel trap; that much I can tell with one eye shut. And he's run -dinin'-rooms and hotels; that I'll bet my hat on. That's all we need to -know. A road-house in this town is a twenty per cent proposition durin' -the summer months. It's the chance of a lifetime, I tell you." - -"Maybe so. But how do you know the feller's honest?" - -"I don't care whether he's honest or not. It doesn't make any -difference. If I wa'n't here to keep my eye peeled, it might be; but -I'll be here and if he gets ahead of me, he'll be movin' to some extent. -Someone else'll grab the chance if we don't. I'm for it. What do you -say?" - -I shook my head. "Jim," says I, "I can see where you stand. You're so -dead sartin that an eatin'-house of that kind'll pay big, that you're -blind to the rest of it. Now I don't pretend to be a judge of human -nature like you--leavin' out Injun and Rosenstein human nature, of -course--nor a doctor of sick businesses, which is your profession. But -my experience is--" - -He stood up and sniffed impatient. - -"Cut it out, I tell you!" he says, again. "This ain't an experience -meetin'. Will you take a flyer with me in that road-house, or won't -you?" - -"Way I feel now, I won't," says I, prompt. - -He turned on his heel, took a step towards the door and then stopped. - -"Well," he says, "you think it over till to-morrer mornin' and then let -me know. Only, you mark my words, it's a chance. And, with me to keep my -eye on it, there's no risk at all." - -So that's the way it ended that day. And half that night I laid awake, -feelin' meaner'n dirt to say no to as good a partner as I had, and yet -pretty average sure I was right, just the same. - -In the mornin' my mind was still betwixt and between. I went down to the -store and walked back to the post-office department. I looked in through -the little window and saw Mary Blaisdell inside, sortin' the outgoin' -letters. The sunshine, streamin' in from outside, lit up her hair till -it looked like one of them halos in a church picture. Seems to me I -never saw her look prettier; but then, every time I saw her I thought -the same thing. A good-lookin' woman and a good woman--yes, and capable. -That she'd lived so many years without gettin' married, was one of the -things that made a feller lose confidence in the good-sense of humans. -The chap that got her would be lucky. Then I caught a glimpse of myself -in the lookin'-glass where customers tried on hats, and decided I'd -better stop thinkin' foolishness or somebody would catch me at it and -send me to the comic papers. - -"Mornin', Mary," says I. "Has Mr. Jacobs come aboard yet?" - -She turned and came to her side of the window. - -"Yes," she says, "he was here. He's gone out now with that Mr. Frank. I -believe they've gone up to the old Higgins Place." - -"Um-hm," says I. "Well, Mary, just between friends, I'd like to ask you -somethin'. Do you like that Frank man's looks?" - -She wa'n't expectin' that and she didn't know how to answer for a jiffy. -Then she kind of half laughed, and says: "No, Cap'n Zeb, since you ask -me, I--I don't. I don't like him. And I haven't any good reason, -either." - -I nodded. "Much obliged, Mary," says I. "And, since you ain't asked me, -I'll tell you that _I_ don't like him. And my reason's about as good as -yours. Maybe it's his clothes. A man, 'cordin' to my notion, has a right -to look like a horse jockey, if he wants to; and he's got a right to -look like an undertaker. But when he looks like a combination of the -two, I--well, I get skittish and begin to shy, that's all. It's too much -as if he was baited to trap you dead or alive." - -Then Jim Henry come in and when, an hour or so later, he got me one side -and asked me if I'd made up my mind about investin' in Frank's -road-house, I answered prompt that my mind was made up and the answer -was still no. He was disapp'inted, I could see that, and pretty mad. - -"Humph!" says he. "Skipper, you're all right except for one -fault--you're as 'country' as they make 'em, and they make 'em pretty -narrer sometimes. Well, you've had the chance. Don't ever tell me you -haven't." - -"I won't," says I, and we didn't mention the subject for a long time. -Then--but that comes later. However, I judged that Frank had found folks -in Ostable who wa'n't as narrer and "country" as I was, for, inside of a -week, the carpenters was busy on the Higgins Place. They built on great, -wide piazzas; they knocked out partitions between rooms; they made the -house pretty much over. In March loads of fancy furniture came from -Boston. At last a windmill three feet high--made to look like a little -copy of the old Cape windmills our great-granddads used to grind grist -in, with sails that turned--was set up in the front yard, and on a post -by the big gate was swingin' a fancy notice board, with a gilt windmill -painted on that, and the words in big letters: - - THE SIGN OF THE WINDMILL. - - MEALS AT ALL HOURS. - - _Steaks, Chops, Game, Etc._ - _Table D'hote Dinner Each Day at 1.15._ - - _Special Accommodations for Auto Parties._ - -That was it, you see. "The Sign of the Windmill" was the name of the new -road-house. - -But that wa'n't all the advertisin', by a consider'ble sight. There was -signs all up and down the main roads, with hands p'intin' in the -"Windmill" direction. And there was ads in the Cape papers and in the -Boston papers, too. I swan, I didn't believe anybody but Jim Henry -Jacobs could have engineered such advertisin'! And there was a -black-lookin' critter with the ends of his mustache waxed so sharp you -could have sewed canvas with 'em--he was the French chef--and three -foreign waiters, and a dark-complected fleshy woman who seemed to be a -sort of general assistant manager and stewardess, and--and--goodness -knows what there wa'n't. There was so many kinds of hired help that I -couldn't see where Frank himself come in--unless he was the spare -"windmill," which, judgin' by his gift of gab, I cal'late might be the -fact. - -"The Sign of the Windmill" bought all its groceries and general supplies -at the store, which, considerin' that we'd turned down the "chance" to -be part owners, seemed sort of odd to me, 'cause Frank didn't look like -a feller who'd forgive a slight like that. But I judged Jim Henry had -hypnotized him, as he done other difficult customers, and so I said -nothin'. The auto season opened and our weekly bills with that -road-house was big ones, but they was paid every week, and I hadn't any -kick there, either. - -As for the business that dinin'-room done, it was surprisin', -particularly Saturdays and Sundays, when there'd be twenty or more autos -in the front yard and more a-comin'. The table d'hote dinner at 1.15 was -so well patronized that folks had to wait their turns at table and -later, on moonlight nights, the old house was all lighted up and you -could hear the noise of dishes rattlin' and the laughin' and singin' -till after eleven o'clock. And our bills with the "Sign of the Windmill" -kept gettin' bigger and bigger. - -But though the auto parties was thick and the patronage good, still -there was some dissatisfaction, I found out. One big car stopped at the -store on a Saturday afternoon and the boss of it talked with me while -the women folks was inside buyin' postcards and such. - -"Well," says I, to the owner of the car, a big, fleshy, good-natured -chap he was, "well," says I, "I cal'late you've all had a good dinner. -Feed you fust-class up there at the Windmill place, don't they?" - -He sniffed. "Humph!" says he, "the food's all right. It ought to be, at -the price. Is the proprietor of that hotel named Allie Baby?" - -"Allie which?" I says, laughin'. "No, no, his name's Frank. Edwin George -Eben etcetery Frank. What made you think 'twas Allie?" - -"'Cause he's a close connection of the Forty Thieves," he says, sharp. -"He'd take a prize in the hog class at a county fair, that chap would. -What's the matter with him? Does he think he's runnin' a get-rich-quick -shop? Two weeks ago I paid a dollar and a half for a dinner there, and -that was seventy-five cents too much. Now he's jumped to two-fifty and -the feed ain't a bit better." - -"Two dollars and a half for a _dinner_!" says I. "Whew! The cost of -livin' _is_ goin' up, ain't it? What do they give you? Canary birds' -tongues on toast? Any shore dinner ever I see could be cooked for--" - -He interrupted. "Shore dinner nothin'!" he snorts. "I wouldn't kick at -the price if I got a good shore dinner. But what we got here is a poor -imitation of a country Waldorf. Everybody's kickin', but we all go there -because it's the best we can find for twenty miles. However, I hear -another place is to be started in Denboro and if _that_ makes good, your -Forty Thief friend will have to haul in his horns. He'll never get -another cent from me, or a hundred others I know, who have been his best -customers. We're all waitin' to give him the shake and it looks as if we -should be able to do it. We motorin' fellers stick together and, if the -word's passed along the line, the "Sign of the Windmill" will be a dead -one, mark my words." - -I marked 'em, and when, by and by, I heard that the Denboro dinin'-room -was open and doin' a good business, I underscored the mark. - -This was about the middle of June. A week later Jim Henry got the -telegram about his younger brother out in Colorado bein' sick and -wantin' to see him bad. He hated to go, but he felt he had to, so he -went. - -I said good-by to him up at the depot and told him not to worry a mite. -"I'll look out for everything," I says. "Course I'll miss you at the -store, but I'll write you every day or so and keep you posted, and you -can give me business prescriptions by mail." - -"That's all right, Skipper," says he, "I know the store'll be took care -of. But there's one thing that--that--" - -"What's the one thing?" I asked. "Overboard with it. My shoulders are -broad and I won't mind totin' another hogshead or so." - -He hesitated and it seemed to me that he looked troubled. But finally he -said he'd guessed 'twas nothin' that amounted to nothin' anyway and he'd -be back in a couple of weeks sure. So off he went and I had a sort of -Robinson Crusoe desert island feelin' that lasted all that day and -night. - -It lasted longer than that, too. I didn't hear from him for ten days. -Then I got a note sayin' his brother had scarlet fever--which seemed a -fool disease for a grown-up man to have--and was pretty sick. I wrote to -him for the land sakes to be careful he didn't get it himself, and the -next news I heard was from a doctor sayin' he _had_ got it. After that -the bulletins was infrequent and alarmin'. - -I'd have put for Colorado in a minute, but I couldn't; that store was on -my shoulders and I couldn't leave. I telegraphed not to spare no expense -and to write or wire every day. 'Twas all I could do, but I never spent -such a worried time afore nor since. I was worried, not only about my -partner, but about the business he'd put in my charge. There was new -developments in that business and they kept on developin'. - -'Twas the "Sign of the Windmill" that was troublin' me. As I told you, -the weekly bills for that eatin'-house was big ones, but the fust three -or four had been paid on the dot. Now, however, they wa'n't paid and -they was just as big. Frank's account on our books kept gettin' larger -and larger and, not only that, but anybody could see that the Windmill -wa'n't doin' half the trade it begun with. There was more auto parties -than ever, but the heft of 'em went right on by to the new road-house in -Denboro. I remembered what the fleshy man told me and I judged that the -word had been passed to the motorin' crew, just as he prophesied. - -I went up to see Frank and had a talk with him. I found him in his -office, settin' at a fine new roll-top desk, with the dark-complected -stewardess alongside of him. She seemed to be helpin' him with his -letters and accounts, which looked odd to me, and she glowered at me -when I come in like a cat at a stray poodle. She didn't get up and go -out, neither, till he hinted p'raps she'd better, and even then she -whispered to him mighty confidential afore she went. 'Twas a queer way -for hired help to act, but 'twa'n't none of my affairs, of course. - -He was cordial enough till he found out what I was after and then he -chilled up like a freezer full of cream. He was in the habit of payin' -his bills, he give me to understand, and he'd pay this one when 'twas -convenient. If I didn't care to sell the Windmill goods, that was my -affair, of course, but his relations with my partner had been so -pleasant that--and so forth and so on. I sneaked out of that office, -feelin' like a henroost-thief instead of an honest man tryin' to collect -an honest debt. I'd bungled things again. Instead of makin' matters -better, I'd made 'em worse; come nigh losin' a good customer and all -that. What business had an old salt herrin' like me to be in business, -anyhow? That's how I felt when I was talkin' to him, and how I felt when -I shut that office door and come out into the dinin'-room. - -But the sight of that dinin'-room, tables all vacant, and two waiters -where there had been four, fetched all my uneasiness back again. If ever -a place had "Goin' down" marked on it 'twas the "Sign of the Windmill." -I stewed and fretted all the way to the store and when I got there I -found that another big order of groceries and canned goods had been -delivered to the eatin' house while I was gone. - -The next week'll stick in my mind till doomsday, I cal'late. Every -blessed mornin' found me vowin' I'd stop sellin' that Windmill, and -every night found more dollars added to the bill. You see, I didn't know -what to do. If I'd been sole owner and sailin' master, I'd have set my -foot down, I guess; but there was Jim Henry to be considered. I wrote a -note to the Frank man, but he didn't even trouble to answer it. - -Saturday noon came round and, after the mail was sorted, I wandered out -to the front platform and set there, blue as a whetstone. The gang of -summer boarders and natives, that's always around mail times, melted -away fast and I was pretty nigh alone. Not quite alone; Alpheus Perkins, -the fish man, was occupyin' moorin's at t'other end of the platform and -he didn't seem to be in any hurry. By and by over he comes and sets down -alongside of me. - -"Cap'n Zeb," he says, fidgety like, "I s'pose likely you've been -wonderin' why I don't pay your bill here at the store, ain't you?" - -I hadn't, havin' more important things to think about, but now I -remembered that he did owe consider'ble and had owed it for some time. -Alpheus is as straight as they make 'em and usually pays his debts -prompt. - -"I know you must have," he went on, not waitin' for me to answer. "Well, -I intended to pay long afore this, and I will pay pretty soon. But I've -had trouble collectin' my own debts and it's held me back. If I could -only get my hands on one account that's owin' me, I'd be all right. -Say," says he, tryin' hard to act careless and as if 'twa'n't important -one way or t'other: "Say," he says, "you know Mr. Frank, up here at the -hotel, pretty well, don't you?" - -For a minute or so I didn't answer. Then I knocked the ashes out of my -pipe and says I, "Why, yes. I know him. What of it?" - -"Oh, nothin' much," he says. "Only I was told he was a partic'lar friend -of yours and Mr. Jacobs's and--and--" - -"Who told you he was our partic'lar friend?" I asked. - -"Why, he did. I was up there yesterday, just hintin' I could use a check -on account. Not pressin' the matter nor tryin' to be hard on him, you -understand; course he's all right; but I was mighty short of ready cash -and so--" - -"Hold on, Al!" I said, quick. "Wait! Does the 'Sign of the Windmill' owe -you a bill?" - -"Pretty nigh a hundred dollars," says he. "I've supplied 'em with fish -and lobsters and clams and such ever since they started. Fust month they -paid me by the week. After that--" - -"Good heavens and earth!" I sung out. "My soul and body! And--and, when -you asked for it, this--this Frank man told you he'd pay you when 'twas -convenient, same as he paid Jacobs and me, who was his friends and was -quite ready to do business that way." - -He actually jumped, I'd surprised him so. - -"Hey?" he sung out. "Zeb Snow, be you a second-sighter? How did you know -he told me that?" - -I drew a long breath. "It didn't take second sight for that," I says. "I -was up there last Monday and he told me the same thing, only 'twas you -and Ed Cahoon who was his friends then." - -He let that sink in slow. - -"My godfreys domino!" he groaned. "My godfreys! He--he told--Why! why, -he must be workin' the same game on all hands!" - -"Looks like it," says I, and, thinkin' of Jim Henry, poor feller, sick -as he could be, and the business he'd left me to look out for, my heart -went down into my boots. - -Perkins set thinkin' for a jiffy. Then he got up off the settee. - -"The son of a gun!" he says. "I'll fix him! I'll put my bill in a -lawyer's hands to-night." - -"No, you won't," I sung out, grabbin' him by the arm. "You mustn't. He -owes the Ostable Store four times what he owes you, and it's likely he -owes Cahoon and a lot more. The rest of us can't afford to let you upset -the calabash that way. You might get yours, though I'm pretty doubtful, -but where would the rest of us come in. You set down, Alpheus. Set down, -and let me think. Set down, I tell you!" - -When I talk that way--it's an old seafarin' habit--most folks usually -obey orders. Alpheus set. He started to talk, but I hushed him up and, -havin' filled my pipe and got it to goin', I smoked and thought for much -as five minutes. - -"Hum!" says I, after the spell was over, "the way I sense it is like -this: This ain't any fo'mast hand's job; and it ain't a skipper's job -neither. It's a case for all hands and the ship's cat, workin' together -and standin' by each other. We've got to find out who's who and what's -what, make up our minds and then all read the lesson in concert, like -young ones in school. This Frank Windmill critter owes you and he owes -me; we're sartin of that. More'n likely he owes Ed Cahoon for chickens -and fowls and eggs, and Bill Bangs for milk, and Henry Hall for ice, and -land knows how many more. S'pose you skirmish around and find out who he -does owe and fetch all the creditors to the store here to-morrer mornin' -at eleven o'clock. It'll be church time, I know, but even the parson -will excuse us for this once, 'specially as the 'Sign of the Windmill' -is supposed to sell liquor and he's down on it." - -We had consider'ble more talk, but that was the way it ended, finally. I -went to bed that night, but it didn't take; I might as well have set up, -so fur's sleep was concerned. All I could think of was poor, sick Jim -Henry and the trust he put in me. - - - - -CHAPTER XI--COOKS AND CROOKS - - -I was at the store by quarter of eleven, but the gang of creditors was -there to meet me, seven of 'em altogether. Cahoon, the chicken man, and -Bangs, the milk man, and Hall, the ice man, and Alpheus, and Caleb -Bearse, who'd been supplyin' meat to that road-house, and Peleg Doane, -who'd done carpenterin' and repairs on it, and Jeremiah Doane, his -brother, who'd painted the repaired places. Seven was all the creditors -Perkins could scare up on short notice, though he cal'lated there was -more. - -"There's one more, anyway," says Bill Bangs. "That dark-complected -woman--the one you call the stewardess, Cap'n Zeb--was sick a spell ago -and Frank told Doctor Goodspeed he'd be responsible for the bill. I see -the doc this mornin' and he's with us. Says he may be down later." - -They elected me chairman of the meetin' and we started deliberatin'. The -debts amounted to quite a lot, though the Ostable Store's was the -biggest. Some was for doin' one thing and some another, but we all -agreed we must see Colcord, the lawyer, afore we did much of anything. -While we was still pow-wowin', somebody knocked at the door. 'Twas -Doctor Goodspeed, on the way to see a patient. - -"Well," says he, "how's the consultation comin' on? Judgin' by your -faces, I should imagine 'twas a autopsy. Time to take desperate -measures, if you asked _me_. I never did believe that Frank chap was -anything but a crook, so I'm not surprised. I'm with you in spirit, -boys, though I can't stop. However, here's a couple of pieces of -information which may interest you: One is that 'The Sign of the -Windmill's' account was overdrawn yesterday at the bank and the bank -folks sent notice. T'other is that Lawyer Colcord is out of town for a -couple of days, so you can't get him. Otherwise than that, the patient -is normal. By, by. Life's a giddy jag of joy, isn't it?" - -He grinned and shut the door with a bang. The eight of us looked at each -other. Then Alpheus Perkins riz to his feet. - -"Humph!" says he. "Account overdrawn, hey? Well, maybe that Windmill -ain't made enough to pay its bills, but it's been takin' in consider'ble -cash. If it ain't at the bank, where is it? I'm goin' to find out. And -if I can't get a lawyer to help me, I'll do without one. That Frank -critter's store clothes are wuth somethin', and, if I can't get nothin' -more, I'll rip _them_ right off his back. So long, fellers. Keep your -ear to the ground and you'll hear somethin' drop." - -He headed for the door, but he didn't go alone. The rest of us got there -at the same time, and I--well, I wouldn't wonder if 'twas me that opened -it. I was desperate, and I've commanded vessels in my time. - -Anyhow, 'twas me that led the procession up the front steps of the "Sign -of the Windmill" and into the dinin'-room. The two waiters was busy. -They had five of the tables set end to end and covered with cloths, and -they was layin' plates and knives and forks for a big crowd. 'Twas plain -that special customers was expected. - -"Mr. Frank in his office?" says I, headin' for the skipper's cabin. The -waiters looked at each other and jabbered in some sort of foreign lingo. - -"No, sare," says one of 'em. "No, sare. Meester Frank, he is away--out." - -"Away out, hey?" says I. "You're wrong, son. We're the ones that are -out, but we ain't goin' to be out another cent's wuth. Come on, boys, -we'll find him." - -You can see I was mighty mad, or I wouldn't have been so reckless. I -walked acrost that dinin'-room and flung open the office door. Frank -himself wa'n't there, but who should be settin' at his roll-top desk, -but the fleshy, dark-complected stewardess woman. She glowered at me, -ugly as a settin' hen. - -"This is a private room," she snaps. - -"I know, ma'am," says I; "but the business we've come on is sort of -private, too. Come in, boys." - -The seven of 'em come in and they filled that office plumb full. The -stewardess woman's black eyes opened and then shut part way. But there -was fire between the lashes. - -"What do you mean by comin' in here?" says she. "And what do you want?" - -The rest of the fellers looked at me, so I answered. - -"Ma'am," says I, "we don't want nothin' of you and we're sorry to -trouble you. We've come to see Mr. Frank on a matter of business, -important business--that is, it's important to us." - -"Mr. Frank is out," says she. "You must call again. Good day." - -She turned back again to the desk, but none of us moved. - -"Out, is he?" says I. "Well then, I cal'late we'll wait till he comes -in." - -"He is out of town. He won't be in till to-morrer," she snaps. - -I looked 'round at the rest of the crowd. Every one of 'em nodded. - -"Well, then, ma'am," I says, "I cal'late we'll stay here and wait till -to-morrer." - -That shook her. She got up from the desk and turned to face us. If I'm -any judge of a temper she had one, and she was holdin' it in by main -strength. - -"You may tell me your business," she says. "I am Mr. -Frank's--er--secretary." - -So I told her. "We've waited for our money long as we can," says I. -"None of us are well-off and every one of us needs what's owin' him. -We've called and we've wrote. Now we're goin' to stay here till we're -paid. Of course, ma'am, I realize 'tain't none of your affairs, and we -ain't goin' to make you any more trouble than we can help. We'll just -set down on the piazza or in the dinin'-room or somewheres and wait for -your boss, that's all." - -I said that, 'cause I didn't want her to think we had anything against -her personal. I cal'lated 'twould smooth her down, but it didn't. She -looked as if she'd like to murder us, every livin' soul. - -"You get out of here!" she screamed, her hands openin' and shuttin'. -"You get right out of here this minute!" - -"Yes, ma'am," says I, "we'll get out of your office, of course. -Further'n that you'll have to excuse us. We're goin' to stay right in -this house till we see Mr. Frank." - -"I'll put you out!" she sputtered. "I'll have the waiters put you out." - -I thought of them two puny lookin' waiters and, to save me, I couldn't -help smilin'. You'd think she'd have seen the ridic'lous side of it, -too, but apparently she didn't, for she bust right through between -Alpheus and me and rushed into the dinin'-room. - -"Boys," says I, to the crowd, "maybe we'd better step out of here. We -may need more room." - -She was in the dinin'-room talkin' foreign language in a blue streak to -the waiters. They was lookin' scared and spreadin' out their hands and -hunchin' their shoulders. - -"Ma'am," says I, "if I was you I wouldn't do nothin' foolish. We ain't -goin' and we won't be put out, but, on the other hand, we won't make any -fuss. We'll just set down here and wait for the boss, that's all. Set -down, boys." - -So all hands come to anchor on chairs around that dinin'-room and -grinned and looked silly but determined. The stewardess glared at us -some more and then rushed off upstairs. In a minute she was back with -her hat on. - -"You wait!" says she. "You just wait! I'll put you in prison! -I'll--Oh--" The rest of it was French or Italian or somethin', but we -didn't need an interpreter. She shook her fists at us and run down the -front steps and away up the road. - -"Well, gents all," says I, "man born of woman is of few days and full of -trouble. To-day we're here and to-morrer we're in jail, as the sayin' -is. Anybody want to back out? Now's the accepted time." - -Nobody backed. The two waiters went on with their table settin' and we -set and watched 'em. 'Twas the queerest Sunday mornin' ever I put in. By -and by Alpheus got uneasy and wandered away out towards the kitchen. In -a few minutes back he comes, b'ilin' mad. - -"Say, fellers," he sung out. "Do you know what's goin' on here? There's -a party of thirty folks comin' in automobiles for dinner. They're -gettin' the dinner ready now. And if we don't stop 'em, they'll be fed -with our stuff, the grub we've never got a cent for. I don't know how -you feel, but _I've_ got ten dollar's wuth of clams and lobsters in this -eatin'-house that ain't goin' to be used unless I get my pay for 'em. -You can do as you please, but I'm goin' to stay in that kitchen and -watch them lobsters and things." - -And out he put, headed for the kitchen. The rest of us looked at each -other. Then Caleb Bearse rose to his feet. - -"Well," says he, determined, "there's a lot of chops and roastin' beef -and steaks out aft here that belong to me. None of _them_ go to feed -auto folks unless I get my pay fust." - -And _he_ started for the kitchen. Then up gets Ed Cahoon and follers -suit. - -"I've got six or eight fowl and some eggs aboard this craft," he says. -"I cal'late I'll keep 'em company." - -The rest of us never said nothin', but I presume likely we all thought -alike. Anyhow, inside of three minutes we was all out in that kitchen -and facin' as mad a chief cook and bottle washer as ever hailed from -France or anywheres else. You see, 'twas time to put the lobsters and -clams and all the rest of the truck on the fire and we wa'n't willin' to -see 'em put there. - -The chief or "chef," or whatever they called him, fairly hopped up and -down. The madder he got the less English he talked and the less -everybody else understood. Bill Bangs done most of the talkin' for our -side and he had the common idea that to make foreigners understand you -must holler at 'em. Some of the other fellers put in their remarks to -help along, all hollerin' too, and such a riot you never heard outside -of a darky camp-meetin'. While the exercises was at their liveliest the -telephone bell rung. After it had rung five times I went into the other -room to answer it. When I got back to that kitchen I got Alpheus to one -side and says I: - -"Al," I says, "this thing's gettin' more interestin' every minute. That -telephone call was from the man that's ordered the big dinner here -to-day. There's thirty-two in his party and they've got as far as -Cohasset Narrows already. They'll be here in an hour and a half. He -'phoned just to let me know they was on the way." - -"Humph!" says he. "What did he say when you told him there wouldn't be -no dinner?" - -"He didn't say nothin'," says I, "because I didn't tell him. The wire -was a bad one and he couldn't hear plain, so he lost patience and rung -off. Said I could tell him whatever I wanted to say when him and his -party got here. _I_ don't want to tell him anything. You can explain to -thirty-two hungry folks that there's nothin' doin' in the grub line, if -you want to--I don't." - -"Humph!" he says again. "I ain't hankerin' for the job. What had we -better do, Cap'n Zeb, do you think?" - -"Well," says I, "I cal'late we'd better shorten sail and haul out of the -race, for a spell, anyhow. At any rate we'd better clear out of this -kitchen and leave that chef and the rest to get the dinner. I know it's -our stuff that'll go to make that dinner, but I don't see's we can help -it. A few dollars more won't break us more'n we're cracked already." - -But he waved his hand for me to stop. "No question of a few dollars is -in it. It's no use," he says, solemn; "you're too late. The Frenchman's -quit." - -"Quit?" says I. - -"Um-hm," says he. "Bill Bangs told him that we fellers had took charge -of this road-house and he and the rest of the kitchen help quit right -then and there. They're out in the barn now, holdin' counsel of war, I -shouldn't wonder. Bill seems to think he's done a great piece of work, -but I don't." - -I didn't either; and, after I'd hot-footed it to the barn and tried to -pump some reason and sense into that chef and his gang, I was surer of -it than ever. They wouldn't listen to reason, not from us. They wanted -to see the boss, meanin' Mr. Frank. He was the one that had hired 'em -and they wouldn't have anything to say to anybody else. - -I come back to the kitchen and found the boys all settin' round lookin' -pretty solemn. My joke about the jail wa'n't half so funny as it had -been. Bill Bangs, who'd been the most savage outlaw of us all, was the -meekest now. - -"Say, Cap'n," he says to me, nervous like, "hadn't we better clear out -and go home? I don't want to see them auto people when they get here. -And--and I'm scared that that stewardess has gone after the sheriff." - -"I presume likely that's just where she's gone," says I. - -"Wh-what'll we do?" says he. - -"Don't know," says I. "But I do know that the time for backin' out is -past and gone. We started out to be pirates and now it's too late to -haul down the skull and cross-bones. We've got to stand by our guns and -fight to the finish, that's all I see. If the rest of you have got -anything better to offer, I, for one, would be mighty glad to hear it." - -Everybody looked at everybody else, but nobody said anything. 'Twas a -glum creditors' meetin', now I tell you. We set and stood around that -kitchen for ten minutes; then we heard voices in the dinin'-room. - -"Heavens and earth!" sings out Ed Cahoon. "Who's that? It can't be the -automobile gang so soon!" - -It wa'n't. 'Twas a parcel of women. You see, some of the crowd had told -their wives about the counsel at the store and that, more'n likely, we'd -pay a visit to the "Sign of the Windmill." Church bein' over, they'd -come to hunt us up. There was Alpheus's wife, and Cahoon's, and Bangs's, -and Bearse's, and Jerry Doane's daughter, and Mary Blaisdell. They was -mighty excited and wanted to know what was up. We told 'em, but we -didn't hurrah none while we was doin' it. - -"Well," says Matildy Bangs, "I must say you men folks have made a nice -mess of it all. William Bangs, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. -What'll I do when you're in state's prison? How'm I goin' to get along, -I'd like to know! You never think of nobody but yourself." - -Poor Bill was about ready to cry, but this made him mad. "Who would I -think of, for thunder sakes!" he sung out. "I'm the one that's goin' to -be jailed, ain't I?" - -Then Mary Blaisdell took me by the arm. Her eyes were sparklin' and she -looked excited. - -"Cap'n Snow," she whispered, "come here a minute. I want to speak to -you. I have an idea." - -"Lord!" says I, groanin', "I wish _I_ had. What is it?" - -What do you suppose 'twas? Why, that we, ourselves, should get up the -dinner for the auto folks. Every woman there could cook, she said, and -so could some of the men. We'd seized the stuff for the dinner already. -It was ours, or, at any rate, it hadn't been paid for. - -"We can get 'em a good dinner," says she. "I know we can. And, if that -Frank doesn't come back until you have been paid, you can take that much -out of his bills. If he does come no one will be any worse off, not even -he. Let's do it." - -I looked at her. As she said, we wouldn't be any worse off, and we might -as well be hung for old sheep as lamb. The auto folks would be better -off; they'd have some kind of a meal, anyhow. - -We had a grand confab, but, in the end, that's what we done. Every one -of them women could cook plain food, and Mrs. Cahoon was the best cake -and pie maker in the county. We divided up the job. All hands had -somethin' to do, includin' me, who undertook a clam chowder, and Bill -Bangs, who split wood and lugged water and cussed and groaned about -state's prison while he was doin' it. - -The last thing was ready and the last plate set when the autos, six of -'em, purred and chugged up to the front door. We expected Frank, or the -stewardess, or the constable, or all three of 'em, any minute, but they -hadn't showed up. The dinner crowd piled in and set down at the tables -and the head man of 'em, the one who was givin' the party, come over to -see me. And who should he turn out to be but the stout man I'd met at -the store. The one who had told me he'd been waitin' for a chance to get -even with Frank. I don't know which was the most surprised to meet each -other in that place, he or I. - -"Hello!" says he. "What are you doin' here? You joined the Forty -Thieves? Where's the boss robber?" - -I told him the boss was out; that there was some complications that -would take too long to explain. - -"But, at any rate," says I, "you're meal's ready and that's the main -thing, ain't it?" - -"Yes," says he, "it is. I've got a crowd of New York men--business -associates of mine and their wives--down for the week end and I wanted -to give 'em a Cape dinner. I never would have come here, but the Denboro -place is full up and couldn't take us in. I hope the dinner is a better -one than the last I had in this place." - -I told him not to expect too much, but to set and be thankful for -whatever he got. He didn't understand, of course, but he set down and we -commenced servin' the dinner. - -We started in with Little Neck quahaugs and followed them up with my -clam chowder. Then we jogged along with bluefish and hot biscuit and -creamed potatoes. After them come the lobsters and corn and such. Eat! -You never see anybody stow food the way those New Yorkers did. - -In the middle of the lobster doin's I bent over my fleshy friend and -asked him if things was satisfactory. He looked up with his mouth full. - -"Great Scott!" says he. "Cap'n, this is the best feed I've had since I -first struck the Cape, and that was ten years ago. What's happened to -this hotel? Is it under new management?" - -I didn't feel like grinnin', but I couldn't help it. - -"Yes," says I, "it is--for the time bein'." - -The final layer we loaded that crowd up with was blueberry dumplin' and -they washed it down with coffee. Then the fat man--his name was -Johnson--hauled out cigars and the males lit and started puffin'. I went -out to the kitchen to see how things was goin' there. - -Mary Blaisdell, with a big apron tied over her Sunday gown, was washin' -dishes. Her sleeves was rolled up, her hair was rumpled, and she looked -pretty enough to eat--at least, I shouldn't have minded tryin'. - -"How was it?" she asked. "Are they satisfied?" - -"If they ain't they ought to be," says I. "And to-morrer the dyspepsy -doctors'll do business enough to give us a commission. But where's our -old college chum, the chef, and the waiters and all?" - -"They're in the barn," says she. "They tried to come in here and make -trouble, but Mr. Perkins wouldn't let 'em. He drove 'em back to the barn -again. But they're dreadfully cross." - -"I shouldn't wonder," I says. "Well, goodness knows what'll come of -this, Mary, but--" - -Bill Bangs interrupted me. He come tearin' out of the dinin'-room, white -as a new tops'l, and his eyes pretty close to poppin' out of his head. - -"My soul!" he panted. "Oh, my soul, Cap'n Zeb! They're comin'! they're -comin'!" - -"Who's comin'?" I wanted to know. - -"Why, Mr. Frank, and that stewardess! And John Bean, the constable, is -with 'em. What shall I do? I'll have to go to jail!" - -He was all but cryin', like a young one. I left him to his wife, who, -judgin' by her actions, was cal'latin' to soothe him with a pan of hot -water, and headed for the front porch. However, I was too late. I hadn't -any more than reached the dinin'-room, where all the comp'ny was still -settin' at the tables, than in through the front door marches Mr. Edwin -Frank of Pittsburg, and the stewardess, and John Bean, the constable. -The band had begun to play and 'twas time to face the music. - -Frank looked around at the crowd at the tables, at Mrs. Cahoon, and -Alpheus, and the rest who'd done the waitin'; and then at me. His face -was fire red and he was ugly as a shark in a weir net. - -"Humph!" says he. "What does this mean? Snow, what high-handed outrage -have you committed on these premises?" - -I held up my hand. "Shh!" says I, tryin' to think quick and save a -scene; "Shh, Mr. Frank!" I says. "If you'll come into your private cabin -I'll explain best I can. Somebody had to get dinner for this crowd. Your -Frenchmen wouldn't work, so we did. All we've used is our grub, that -which ain't been paid for, and--" - -His teeth snapped together and he was so mad he couldn't speak for a -second. The stewardess was as mad as he was, but it took more'n that to -keep her quiet. - -"Fred," says she--and even then, upset as I was, I noticed she didn't -call him by the name he give Jacobs and me--"Fred, have him arrested. -He's the one that's responsible for it all. Officer, you do your duty. -Arrest that Snow there! Do you hear?" - -She was pointin' to me. Poor old Bean hadn't arrested anybody for so -long that he'd forgot how, I cal'late. All he did was stammer and look -silly. - -"Cap'n Zeb," he says, "I--I'm dreadful sorry, but--but--" - -Then _he_ was interrupted. A big, tall, gray-haired chap, who was -settin' about amidships of the table got to his feet. - -"Just a minute, Officer," says he, quiet, and never lettin' go of his -cigar, "just a minute, please. The--er--lady and gentleman you have with -you are old acquaintances of mine. Hello, Francis! I'm very glad to see -you. We've missed you at the Conquilquit Club. This meetin' is -unexpected, but not the less pleasant." - -He was talkin' to the Frank man. And the Frank man--well, you should -have seen him! The red went out of his face and he almost flopped over -onto the floor. The stewardess went white, too, and she grabbed his arm -with both hands. - -"My Lord!" she says, in a whisper like, "it's Mr. Washburn!" - -"Correct, Hortense," says the gray-haired man. "You haven't forgotten -me, I see. Flattered, I'm sure." - -For just about ten seconds the three of 'em looked at each other. Then -Frank made a jump for the door and the woman with him. They was out and -down the steps afore poor old Bean could get his brains to workin'. - -"Stop 'em!" shouts Washburn. "Officer, don't let 'em get away!" - -But they'd got away already. By the time we'd reached the porch they was -in the buggy they'd come in and flyin' down the road in a cloud of dust. - -I wiped my forehead. - -"Well!" says I, "_well!_" - -Johnson pushed through the excited bunch and took the gray-haired feller -by the arm. - -"Say, Wash," he says, "you're havin' too good a time all by yourself. -Let us in on it, won't you? Your friends are goin' some; no use to run -after them. Who are they?" - -Washburn knocked the ashes from his cigar and smiled. He'd been cool as -a no'thwest breeze right along. - -"Well," he says, "the masculine member used to be called Fred Francis. -He was steward of the Conquilquit Country Club on Long Island for some -time. He cleared out a year ago with a thousand or so of the Club funds, -and we haven't been able to trace him since. He was a first-class -steward and sharp as a steel trap--but he was a crook. The woman--oh, -she went with him. She is his wife." - - - - -CHAPTER XII--JIM HENRY STARTS SCREENIN' - - -A whole month more went by afore Jim Henry Jacobs was well enough to -come home. When he got off the train at the Ostable depot, thin and -white and lookin' as if he'd been hauled through a knothole, I was -waitin' for him. Maybe we wa'n't glad to see each other! We shook hands -for pretty nigh five minutes, I cal'late. I loaded him into my buggy and -drove him down to the Poquit House and took him upstairs to his room, -which had been made as comf'table and cozy as it's possible to make a -room in that kind of a boardin'-house. - -He set down in a big chair and looked around him. - -"By George, Skipper!" he says, fetchin' a long breath, "this is home, -and I'm mighty glad to be here. Where'd all the flowers come from?" - -"Mary is responsible for them," I told him. "She thought they'd sort of -brighten up things." - -"They do, all right," says he, grateful. "And now tell me about -business. How is everything?" - -I told him that everything was fine; trade was tip-top, and so on. He -listened and was pleased, but I could see there was somethin' else on -his mind. - -"There's just one thing more," he said, soon's he got the chance. "I -knew the store must be O. K.; your letters told me that. But--er--but--" -tryin' hard to be casual and not too interested, "how is Frank doin' -with his restaurant? How's the 'Sign of the Windmill' gettin' on?" - -Then I told him the whole yarn, almost as I've told it here. He -listened, breakin' out with exclamations and such every little while. -When I got to where the Washburn man told who Frank and the stewardess -was, he couldn't hold in any longer. - -"A crook!" he sung out. "A crook! And she was his wife!" - -"So it seems," says I. "And that ain't all of it, neither. You remember -the doctor said he'd drawn his account out of the Ostable bank. Yes. -Well, that account didn't amount to much; he'd used it about all, -anyway. But there was another account in his wife's name at the Sandwich -bank, and _that_ was fairly good size." - -"Did you get hold of that?" he asked, excited. - -"No, we didn't. 'Twas in her name and we wouldn't have touched it, if -we'd wanted to; but we didn't get the chance. She drew it all the very -next mornin' and the pair of 'em cleared out. I judge they'd planned to -skip in a few days anyhow, and our creditors' raid only hurried things -up a little mite. The whole thing was a skin game--Frank and his -precious wife had seen ruination comin' on and they'd laid plans to -feather their own nest and let the rest of us whistle. We ain't seen 'em -from that day to this." - -He was shakin' all over. "You ain't?" he shouted, jumpin' from the -chair. "You ain't? Why not? What did you let 'em get away for? Why -didn't you set the police after 'em? What sort of managin' do you call -that? I--I--" - -"Hush!" says I, surprised to see him act so. "Hush, Jim! you ain't heard -the whole of it yet. Our bill--" - -"Bill be hanged!" he broke in. "I don't care a continental about the -bill. I invested fifteen hundred dollars of my own money in that -road-house, and you let that fakir get away with the whole of it. You're -a nice partner!" - -_I_ was surprised now, and a good deal cut up and hurt. 'Twas an -understandin' between us--not a written one, but an understandin' just -the same--that neither should go into any outside deal without tellin' -the other. We'd agreed to that after the row concernin' Taylor and the -"Palace Parlors." So I was surprised and hurt and mad. But I held in -well as I could. - -"That's enough of that, Jim Henry!" says I. "I'll talk about that later. -Now I'll tell you the rest of the yarn I started with. After that -critter who called himself Frank, but whose name, it seemed, was -Francis, had galloped away with the stewardess woman, there was -consider'ble excitement around that dinin'-room, now I tell you. -However, Johnson and Washburn and me managed to get together in the -private office and I told 'em all about how we come to be there, and -about our gettin' their dinner, and all the rest of it. They seemed to -think 'twas funny, laughed liked a pair of loons, but I was a long ways -from laughin'. - -"'Well, well, well!' says Johnson, when I'd finished, 'that's the best -joke I've heard in a month of Sundays. You sartinly have your own ways -of doin' business down here, Cap'n Snow. But the dinner was a good one -and I'll pay you for it now. How much?' - -"'Well,' says I, 'I suppose I ought to get what I can for our crowd to -leave with their wives and relations afore we're carted to jail. Course -the meal we got for you wa'n't what you expected and I can't charge that -Frank thief's price for it; but I've got to charge somethin'. If you -think a dollar a head wouldn't be too much, I--' - -"'A _dollar_!' says both of 'em. 'A dollar!' - -"'Do you mean that's all you'll charge?' says Johnson. 'A dollar for -_that_ dinner! It was the best--' - -"'You bet it was!' says Washburn. - -"'Look here!' goes on Johnson. 'I was to pay Frank, or whatever his real -name is, two-fifty a plate. Yours was wuth three of any meal I ever got -here, but, if you will be satisfied with the contract price I made with -him, I'll give you a check now. And, Cap'n Snow, let me give you a piece -of advice. Now you've got this hotel, keep it; keep it and run it. If -you can furnish dinners like this one every day in the week durin' the -summer and fall you'll have customers enough. Why, I'll engage -twenty-five plates for next Sunday, myself. I've got another week-end -party, haven't I, Wash?' - -"'If you haven't I can get one for you,' says Washburn. 'Johnson's -advice is good, Cap'n. Keep this place and run it yourself. Don't be -afraid of Francis. Confound him! I ought to have him jailed. The Club -would pitch me out if they knew I had the chance and didn't take it. But -I won't, for your sake. So long as he doesn't trouble you I'll keep -quiet. But if he _does_ trouble you, if he ever comes back, just send -for me. However, you won't have to send; he'll never come back.' - -"And," says I, to Jim Henry, "he ain't ever come back. I talked the -matter over with Mary and Alpheus and a few of the others and, after -consider'ble misgivin's on my part, we reached an agreement. I decided -to run the 'Sign of the Windmill' myself. We bounced the chef and his -helpers and the foreign waiters and hired Alpheus's wife and Cahoon's -daughter and four or five more. We fed ten folks that next day and they -all said they was comin' again. They did and they fetched others. The -upshot of it is that all that hotel's outstandin' bills have been paid, -the place is out of debt, and the outlook for next season is somethin' -fine. There, Jim Henry, that's the yarn. I went through Purgatory -because I figgered that you had trusted the store business in my hands -and the Windmill's bill was so large and I thought I was responsible for -it. If I'd known you'd put money into the shebang without tellin' me, -your partner, a word about it, maybe I'd have felt worse. I _should_ -have felt worse--I do now--but in another way. I didn't think you'd do -such a thing, Jim! I honestly didn't." - -He'd set down while I was talkin'. Now he got up again. - -"Skipper," he says, sort of broken, "I--I don't know what to say to you. -I--" - -"It's all right," says I, pretty sharp. "Your fifteen hundred's all -right, I cal'late. The furniture and fixin's are wuth that, I guess. Is -there anything else you want to ask me? If not I'm goin' to the store." - -I was turnin' to go, but he stepped for'ard and stopped me. - -"Zeb," he says, his face workin', "don't go away mad. I've been a chump. -You ought to hate me, but I--I hope you won't. I was a fool. I thought -because you was country that you hadn't any head for business, and when -you wouldn't invest in that Windmill proposition I was sore and went -into it myself. My conscience has plagued me ever since. I'm a low-down -chump. I deserve to lose the fifteen hundred and I'm glad I did. By the -Lord Harry! you've got more real business instinct than I ever dreamed -of." - -He looked so sort of weak and sick and pitiful that I was awful sorry -for him, in spite of everything. - -"Don't talk foolish," says I. "You ain't lost your money. It's yours -now; at least I don't think Brother Fred George Eben Frank Francis'll -ever turn up to claim it." - -He shook his head. "Not much!" he says. "You don't suppose I'll take a -share in that hotel, after you and your smart managin' saved it, do you? -I ain't quite as mean as that, no matter what you think. No, sir, you've -made good and the whole property is yours. All I want you to do is to -give me another chance. If I live I'll show you how thankful I--" - -"There! there!" says I, all upset, "don't say another word. Of course -we'll hang together in this, same as in everything else. Shake, and -let's forget it." - -We shook hands and his was so thin and white I felt worse than ever. - -"Skipper," he says, "I can't thank--" - -"No need to thank me," I cut in. "If you've got to thank anybody, thank -Mary Blaisdell. She's been the brains of that eatin'-house concern ever -since I took hold of it. She's a wonder, that woman. If she'd been my -own sister she couldn't have done more. I wish she was." - -He looked at me, pretty queer. - -"Skipper," says he, smilin', "if you wish that you're a bigger chump -than I've been, and that's sayin' a heap." - -What in the world he meant by that I didn't know--but I didn't ask him. -Not that I didn't think. I'd been thinkin' a lot of foolish things -lately, but you could have cut my head off afore I said 'em out loud, -even to myself. - -He came down to the store the next mornin' and the sight of it seemed to -be the very tonic he needed. He got better day by day and pretty soon -was his own brisk self again. "The Sign of the Windmill"--by the way, -I'd changed the name on my own hook and 'twas the "Sign of the Bluefish" -now--done fust rate all through the fall and when we closed it we was -sure that next summer it would be a little gold mine for us. In fact, -everything in the trade line looked good, by-products and all, and I -ought to have been a happy man. But I wa'n't exactly. Somehow or other I -couldn't feel quite contented. I didn't know what was the matter with me -and when I hinted as much to Jacobs he just looked at me and laughed. - -"You're lonesome, that's what's the matter with you," he says. "You're -too good a man to be boardin' at a one-horse ranch like the Poquit." - -"I'll admit that," says I. "I'll give in that I'm next door to an angel -and ought to wear wings, if it'll please you any to have me say so. And -the Poquit ain't a paradise, by no means. But I've sailed salt water for -the biggest part of my life and it ain't poor grub that ails me." - -"Who said it was?" says he. "I said you were lonesome. You ought to have -a home." - -"Old Mans' Home you mean, I s'pose. Well, I ain't goin' there yet." - -He laughed again and walked off. - -In October he went up to Boston and came back with his head full of new -ideas and his pockets full of notions. He'd been to what the -advertisements called the Industrial Exhibition in Mechanics' Buildin' -up there, and had fetched back every last thing he could get for nothin' -and some few that he bought cheap. He had a sample trap that, accordin' -to the circular, would catch all the able-bodied rats in a township the -fust night and make all the crippled and bedridden ones grieve -themselves to death of disappointment because they couldn't get into it -afore closin' hours. And he had the Gunners' Pocket Companion, which was -a foldin' hatchet and butcher knife, with a corkscrew in the handle; and -samples of "cereal coffee" that didn't taste like either cereal or -coffee; and safety razors that were warranted not to cut--and wouldn't; -and--and I don't know what all. These was side issues, however, as you -might say. What he was really enthusiastic over was the Eureka -Adjustable Aluminum Window Screen. If he'd been a mosquito he couldn't -have been more anxious about them screens. - -"They're the greatest ever, Skipper!" he says to me, enthusiastic. "Fit -any window; can't rust--and a child of twelve can put 'em up." - -"That part don't count," says I. "Nowadays if a child of twelve ain't -halfway through Harvard his folks send for the doctor. I may be a -hayseed, but I read the magazines." - -He went right along, never payin' no attention, and praisin' up them -screens as if he was nominatin' 'em for office. Finally he made -proclamation that he'd applied--in the store name, of course--for the -Ostable County agency for 'em. - -"But why?" says I. "We've got an adjustable screen agency now. And -they're good screens, too. No mosquito can get through them--unless it -takes to usin' a can-opener, which wouldn't surprise me a whole lot." - -"I know they are good screens," says he; "but there's nothin' new or -novel about 'em. And, I tell you, Cap'n Zeb, it's novelty that catches -the coin. We want to get the contract for screenin' that new hotel at -West Ostable. It'll be ready in a couple of months and there's two -hundred rooms in it. Let's say there are two windows to a room; that's -four hundred screens--besides doors and all the rest. That hotel will -need screens, won't it?" - -"Need 'em!" says I. "In West Ostable! In among all them salt meadows and -cedar swamps! It'll need screens and nettin's and insect powder and -'intment--and even then nobody but the hard-of-hearin' bo'rders'll be -able to sleep on account of the hummin'. Need screens! _That_ hotel! My -soul and body!" - -Well, then, we must get the contract--that's all. It was well wuth the -trouble of gettin'. And with the Adjustable Aluminum to start with, and -he, Jim Henry, to do the talkin', we would get it. He'd applied for the -county agency and the Adjustable folks had about decided to give it to -him. They'd write and let us know pretty soon. - -A week went by and we didn't hear a word. Then, on the followin' Monday -but one, come a letter. Jim Henry was openin' the mail and I heard him -rip loose a brisk remark. - -"What's the matter?" says I. - -"Matter!" he snarls. "Why, the miserable four-flushers have turned me -down--that's all. Read that!" - -I took the letter he handed me. It was type-wrote on a big sheet of -paper, with a printed head, readin': "Ormstein & Meyer, Hardware and -Tools. Manufacturers of Eureka Adjustable Aluminum Window Screens." And -this is what it said: - - _Mr. J. H. Jacobs_, - - _Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods - Store, Ostable, Mass._ - - _Dear Sir_: Regarding your application for Ostable County ag'y - Eureka Adjustable Aluminum Window Screens, would say that we - have decided to give ag'y to party named Geo. Lentz, who will - give entire time to it instead making it a side issue as per - your conversation with our Mr. Meyer. Regretting that we cannot - do business together in this regard, but trusting for a - continuance of your valued patronage, we remain - - Yours truly, - - _Ormstein & Meyer._ - - Dic. M--L. G. - -"Now what do you think of that?" snaps Jim, mad as he could stick. "What -do you think of that!" - -"Well," says I, slow, "I think that, speakin' as a man in the -crosstrees, it looks as if you and me wouldn't furnish screens for the -West Ostable Hotel." - -He half shut his eyes and stared at me hard. - -"Oh!" says he. "That's what you think, hey?" - -"Why, yes," I says. "Don't you?" - -"No!" he sings out, so loud that 'Dolph Cahoon, our new clerk, who'd -been half asleep in the lee of the gingham and calico dressgoods -counter, jumped up and stepped on the store cat. The cat beat for port -down the back stairs, whoopin' comments, and 'Dolph begun measurin' -calico as if he was wound up for eight days. - -"No!" says Jacobs again, soon as the cat's opinion of 'Dolph had faded -away into the cellar--"No!" he says. "I don't think it at all. We may -not sell Eureka Adjustables to that hotel, but we'll sell screens to -it--and don't you forget that. I'll make it my business to get that -contract if I don't do anything else. I'm no quitter, if you are!" - -"Nary quit!" says I. "I'll stand by to pull whatever rope I can; but it -does seem to me that this agent, whoever he is, will have an eye on that -hotel. And, accordin' to your accounts, he's got better goods than we -have." - -"Maybe. But if he's a better salesman than I am he'll have to go some to -prove it. I'll beat him, by fair means or foul, just to get even. That's -a promise, Skipper, and I call you to witness it." - -"Wonder who this Geo. Lentz is," says I. "'Tain't a Cape name, that's -sure." - -"I don't care who he is. I only wish he'd have the nerve to come into -this store--that's all. He'd go out on the fly--I tell you that! And -that's another promise." - -Maybe 'twas; but, if so--However, I'm a little mite ahead of myself; -fust come fust served, as the youngest boy said when the father -undertook to thrash the whole family. The fust thing that happened after -our talk and the Eureka folks' letter was Jim Henry's goin' over to West -Ostable to see Parkinson, the hotel man. He went in the new runabout -automobile that he'd bought since he got back from the West, and was -gone pretty nigh all day. When he got back he was hopeful--I could see -that. - -"Well," says he, "I've laid the cornerstone. I've talked the -Nonesuch"--that was the brand of screen we carried--"to beat the cars; -and we'll have a show to get in a bid, at any rate. It'll be six weeks -more afore the contract's given out, and meantime yours truly will be on -the job. If our old college chum, G. Lentz, Esquire, don't hustle he'll -be left at the post." - -"What sort of a chap is this Parkinson man?" I asked. - -"Oh, he's all right; big and fat and good-natured. A good feller, I -should say. Likes automobilin', too, and thinks my car is a winner." - -"Married, is he?" says I. - -"No; he's a widower. That's a good thing, too." - -"Why? What's that got to do with it?" - -"A whole lot. If he was married I'd have to take Mrs. P. along on our -auto rides; and--let alone the fact that there wouldn't be room--she'd -want to talk scenery instead of screens. Women and business don't mix. -That's one reason why I've never married." - -I couldn't help thinkin' of some of the hints he'd been heavin' at -me--the "home" remarks and so on--but I never said nothin'. - -This was a Tuesday. And when, on Thursday afternoon, I walked into the -store, after havin' had dinner at the Poquit, I found 'Dolph Cahoon--our -new clerk I've mentioned already--leanin' graceful and easy over the -candy counter and talkin' with a young woman I'd never seen afore. I -didn't look at her very close, but I got a sort of general observation -as I walked aft to the post-office department; and, sifted down, that -observation left me with remembrances of a blue serge jacket and skirt, -cut clipper fashion and fittin' as if they was built for the craft that -was in 'em; a little blue hat--a real hat; not a velvet tar barrel -upside down--with a little white gull's wing on it; brown eyes and brown -hair, and a white collar and shirtwaist. I didn't stop to hail, you -understand; but I judged that the stranger's home port wa'n't Ostable or -any of the Cape towns. Ostable outfitters don't rig 'em that way. - -I come in the side door, and 'Dolph or his customer didn't notice me. -The young woman was lookin' into the showcase; and, as for 'Dolph, he -wouldn't have noticed the President of the United States just then. He -was twirlin' his red mustache with the hand that had the rock-crystal -ring on the finger of it, and his talk was a sort of sugared purr--at -least, that's the nighest description of it that I can get at. - -I set down in my chair at the postmaster's desk and begun to turn over -some papers. Mary had gone to dinner and Jim Henry was away in his auto; -so I was all alone. I turned over the papers, but I couldn't get my mind -on 'em--the talk outside was too prevailin', so to speak. - -'Dolph was doin' the heft of it. The young woman's answers was short and -not too interested. 'Dolph was remarkin' about the weather and what a -dull winter we'd had, and how glad he'd be when spring really set in and -the summer folks begun to come--and so on. - -"Really," says he, and though I couldn't see him I'd have bet that the -mustache and ring was doin' business--"Really," he says, "there's a -dreadful lack of cultivated society in this town, Miss--er--" - -He held up here, waitin', I judged, for the young woman to give her -name. However, she didn't; so he purred ahead. - -"There's so few folks," he says, "for a young feller like me--used to -the city--to associate with. This is a jay place all right. I'm only -here temporary. I shall go back to Brockton in the fall, I guess." - -_I_ guessed he'd go sooner; but I kept still. - -"Are you goin' to remain here for some time?" he asked. - -"Possibly," says the girl. - -"I'm 'fraid you'll find it pretty dull, won't you?" - -"Perhaps." - -"I should be glad to introduce you to the folks that are worth knowin'. -Are you fond of dancin'? There's a subscription ball at the town hall -to-night." - -This was what a lawyer'd call a leadin' question, seemed to me; but the -answer didn't seem to lead to anything warmer than the North Pole. The -young woman said, "Indeed?" and that was all. - -"I'm perfectly dippy about waltzin'," says 'Dolph. "By the way, won't -you have some confectionery? These chocolates are pretty fair." - -I riz to my feet. I don't mind bein' a philanthropist once in a while, -but I like to do my philanthropin' fust-hand. And them chocolates sold -for sixty cents a pound! - -I had my hand on the doorknob. Just as I turned it I heard the young -woman say, crisp and cold as a fresh cucumber: - -"Pardon me, but will your employer be in soon? If not I'll call -again--when he is in." - -"You won't have to," says I, steppin' out of the post-office room and -walkin' over toward the candy counter. "One of him's in now. 'Dolph, you -can put them chocolates back in the case. Oh, yes--and you might -associate yourself with the broom and waltz out and sweep the front -platform. It's been needin' your cultivated society bad." - -The rest of that clerk's face turned as red as his mustache, and the way -he slammed the chocolate box into the showcase was a caution! Then I -turned to the young woman, who was as sober as a deacon, except for her -eyes, which were snappin' with fun, and says I: - -"You wanted to see me, I believe, miss. My name's Zebulon Snow and I'm -one of the partners in this jay place. What can I do for you?" - -She waited until 'Dolph and the broom had moved out to the platform. -Then she turned to me and she says: - -"Captain Snow," she says, "I understand that your firm here is intendin' -puttin' in a bid for the window screens at the new hotel at West -Ostable. Is that so?" - -I was consider'ble surprised, but I didn't see any reason why I -shouldn't tell the truth. - -"Why, yes, ma'am," says I; "we are figgerin' on the job. Are you -interested in that hotel? If you are I'd be glad to show you samples of -the Nonesuch screen. We cal'late that it's a mighty slick article." - -She smiled, pretty as a picture. - -"I am interested in the hotel," she says; "and in screens, though not -exactly in the way you mean, perhaps. Here is my card." - -She took a little leather wallet out of her jacket-pocket and handed me -a card. I took it. 'Twas printed neat as could be; but it wa'n't the -neatness of the printin' that set me all aback, with my canvas -flappin'--'twas what that printin' said: - - GEORGIANNA LENTZ - - _Ostable County Agent for the_ - _Eureka Adjustable Aluminum Window Screen_ - -"What?--What!--Hey?" says I. - -"Yes," says she. - -"Agent for the Eureka Adjusta--You!" - -"Why, yes; of course. The Eureka people wrote you that they had given me -the agency, didn't they?" - -I rubbed my forehead. - -"They wrote my partner and me," I stammered, "that they'd given it -to--to a feller named George--er--that is--" - -"Not George--Georgianna. Oh, I see! They abbreviated the name and so you -thought--Of course you did. How odd!" - -She laughed. I'd have laughed too, maybe, if I'd had sense enough to -think of it; but I hadn't, just then. - -"You the agent!" says I. "A--a woman!" - -"Yes." - -"But--but a woman!" - -"Well?" pretty crisp. "I admit I am a woman; but is that any reason why -I should not sell window screens?" - -I rubbed my forehead some more. These are progressive days we're livin' -in, and sometimes I have to hustle to keep abreast of 'em. - -"Why, no," says I, slow; "I cal'late 'tain't. I suppose there's no law -against a woman's sellin' 'most any article that is salable, window -screens or anything else if she wants to; but I can't see--" - -"Why she should want to? Perhaps not. However, we needn't go into that -just now. The fact is I do want to and intend to. I have secured a -boardin' place here in Ostable and shall make the town my headquarters. -This is a small community and one naturally prefers to be friendly with -all the people in it. So, after thinkin' the matter over, I decided that -it was best to begin with a clear understandin'. Do you follow me?" - -"I--I guess so. Heave ahead; I'll do my best to keep you in sight. If -the weather gets too thick I'll sound the foghorn. Go on." - -"I am naturally desirous of securin' the hotel screen contract. So, I -understand, are you. I have seen Mr. Parkinson, the hotel man, and he -tells me that your firm and mine will probably be the only bidders. Now -that makes us rivals, but it need not necessarily make us enemies. My -proposition is this: You will submit your bid and I will submit mine. -The party submittin' the lowest bid--quality of product considered--will -win. I propose that we let it go in that way. We might, of course, do a -great many other things--might attempt to bring influence to bear; -might--well, might cultivate Mr. Parkinson's acquaintance, and--and so -on. You might do that--so might I, I suppose; but, for my part, I prefer -to make this a fair, honorable business rivalry, in which the best -man--er--" - -"Or woman," I couldn't help puttin' in. - -"In which the best bid wins. I have already demonstrated the Eureka for -Mr. Parkinson's benefit and left a sample with him. He tells me that you -have done the same with the Nonesuch. I will agree--if you will--to let -the matter rest there, submittin' our respective bids when the time -comes and abidin' by the result. Now what do you say?" - -'Twas pretty hard to say anything. I wanted to laugh; but I couldn't do -that. If there ever was anybody in dead earnest 'twas this partic'lar -young woman. And she wa'n't the kind to laugh at either. She might be in -a queer sort of business for a female--but she was nobody's fool. - -"Well," she asks again, "what do you say?" - -I shook my head. "I can't say anything very definite just this minute," -I told her. "I've got a partner, and naturally I can't do much without -consultin' him; but I will say this, though," noticin' that she looked -pretty disappointed--"I'll say that, fur's I'm concerned, I'm -agreeable." - -She smiled and, as I cal'late I've said afore, her smile was wuth -lookin' at. - -"Thank you so much, Cap'n Snow," she says. "Then we shall be friends, -sha'n't we? Except in business, I mean." - -"I hope so--sartin," says I. "Now it ain't none of my affairs, of -course, but I am curious. How did you ever happen to take the agency -for--for window screens?" - -That made her serious right off. She might smile at other things, but -not at her trade; that was life and death for sure. - -"I took it," she says, "for several reasons. My mother died recently and -I was left alone. My means were not sufficient to support me. I have -done office work, typewritin', and so on, for some years; but I felt -that the opportunities in the positions I held were limited and I -determined to take up sellin'--that is where the larger returns are. -Don't you think so?" - -"Oh, yes--sartin." - -"Yes. I knew Mr. Meyer slightly in a business way. I took the Eureka -screen and sold it on commission about Boston for a time. Then I applied -for the Ostable County agency and got it--that's all." - -"I see," says I. "Yes, yes. Well, I must say that, for a girl, you--" - -She interrupted me quick. - -"I don't see that my bein' a girl has anything to do with it," she says. -"And in this agreement of ours, if it is made, I don't wish the -difference of sex considered at all. This is a business proposition and -sex has nothin' to do with it. Is that plain?" - -"Yes," says I, considerin', "it's plain; but I ain't sure that--" - -"I am sure," she interrupts--"and you must be. I wish to be treated in -this matter exactly as if I were a man. I wish I were one!" - -"I doubt if you'd get most men to agree with you in that wish," I says. -"However, never mind. I'll do my best to get Mr. Jacobs, my partner, to -say 'Yes' to your proposal. And I hope you'll do fust-rate, even if we -are what you call rivals. Drop in any time, Miss Georg--Georgianna, I -mean." - -We shook hands and she went away. I went as fur as the platform with -her. When I turned to go in again I noticed 'Dolph Cahoon starin' after -her, with his eyes and mouth open. - -"Gosh!" says he, grinnin'. "By gosh! She's a peach! Ain't she, Cap'n -Zeb?" - -"Maybe so," says I, pretty short; "but I don't recollect that we hired -you as a judge of fruit. Has that broom took root in the dirt on this -platform? Or what is the matter?" - - - - -CHAPTER XIII--WHAT CAME THROUGH THE SCREEN - - -Jacobs come in late that afternoon. - -"Say," says he, "there was a sample of the Eureka screen in Parkinson's -office when I was there just now. He wouldn't say who left it or -anything about it. When I asked he grinned and winked. That's all. -Confound his fat head! Do you know where it came from?" - -"I can guess," I says; and then I told him the whole yarn. He was as -surprised as I was to find out that Geo. Lentz was a female; but it only -made him madder than ever--if such a thing's possible. - -"Wants to be treated like a man, does she?" he says. "All right; we'll -treat her like one. She may be Georgianna, but she'll get just what was -comin' to George." - -"Then you won't agree to puttin' in the bids and lettin' it go at that?" - -"I'll agree to get that screen contract, all right!" says he, emphatic. - -I was kind of sorry for Miss Lentz; but Jim Henry was my partner, so -there wa'n't nothin' more to be said. We didn't mention the subject -again for two days. However, I did hear from the Eureka agent durin' -that time. 'Twas 'Dolph that I got my news of her from. I was tellin' -Mary Blaisdell about her and Cahoon happened to be standin' by. - -"So she boards here in Ostable," says Mary. "I wonder where." - -Afore I could answer 'Dolph spoke up. "She's stoppin' at Maria Berry's, -down on the Neck Road," he says. - -"How did you know?" I asked. - -He looked sort of silly. "Oh, I found out," says he, and walked off. - -The very next evenin', as I was strollin' along the sidewalk, smokin' my -good-night pipe, I happened to see somebody turn the corner from the -Neck Road and hurry by me. I thought his gait and build were pretty -familiar, so I turned and followed. When he got abreast the lighted -windows of the billiard saloon I recognized him. 'Twas 'Dolph, all -togged out in his Sunday-go-to-meetin' duds, light fall overcoat and -all. - -"Humph!" says I to myself. "So that's how you knew, hey? Been callin' on -her, have you? Well, she may not hanker for my sympathy, but she has it -just the same. I swan, I thought she had better taste! I'm surprised!" - -The followin' mornin', however, I was more surprised still. I had an -errand that made me late at the store. When I came in who should I see -talkin' together but Jacobs and a young woman; the young woman was Miss -Georgianna Lentz. They ought to have been quarrelin', 'cordin' to all -reasonable expectations; but they wa'n't. Fact is, they seemed as -friendly as could be. You'd have thought they was old chums to see 'em. - -Georgianna sighted me fust. - -"Good mornin', Cap'n Snow," says she. "Mr. Jacobs and I have made each -other's acquaintance, you see." - -"Yes," says I, doubtful. "I see you have. I cal'late you think it's kind -of unreasonable, our not--" - -Jim Henry cut in ahead of me quick as a flash. - -"Miss Lentz and I have been goin' over the matter of screens for -Parkinson's hotel," he says. "I tell her that her proposition suits us -down to the ground." - -Over I went on my beam-ends again. All I could think of to say was: -"Hey?"--and I said that pretty feeble. - -"It is very nice of you to do this," says Georgianna. "It makes it so -much easier for me. Of course, when I decided to make business my -life-work, I realized that I might be called upon to do disagreeable -things like--like wire-pullin', and so on, which some business people -do; but honorable rivalry is so much better, isn't it?" - -"Sure!" says Jacobs, prompt. "Yes, indeed." - -"So it is all settled," she went on. "Our bids are to go in on the same -day; and meantime neither of us is to call on Mr. Parkinson or to meet -him--in a business way, I mean." - -I nodded, bein' still too upset to talk; but Jim Henry spoke quick and -prompt. - -"What do you mean," he asks--"in a business way?" - -"Why," says she--and it seemed to me that she reddened a little--"I mean -that--well, if we should meet him by accident we wouldn't talk about -screens or the hotel contract. Of course one can't help meetin' people -sometimes. For instance, I happened to meet Mr. Parkinson yesterday. He -had driven over and happened to be in the vicinity of the house where I -board. I was goin' out for a walk, and he stopped his horse and spoke." - -"Oh," says I, "he did, hey?" Jim Henry didn't say nothin'. - -"Yes," she says; "but I didn't talk about the contract. Though our -agreement wasn't actually made then, I hoped that it would be. Good -mornin'; I must be goin'." - -She started for the door, but she turned to say one more thing. - -"Of course," she says, decided, "it is understood that you haven't -agreed to my proposal simply because I am a girl. If that was the case I -shouldn't permit it. I insist upon bein' treated exactly as if I were a -man. You must promise that--both of you." - -"Sure! Sure! That's understood," says Jacobs. - -I said "Sure!" too, but my tone wa'n't quite so sartin. She went out, -Jim Henry goin' with her as fur as the door. I follered him. - -"Say," says I, "next time you turn a back somerset like this I'd like to -know about it in advance. I've got a weak heart." - -He didn't answer me at all. He was starin' down the road, just as 'Dolph -had stared when the Eureka agent called the fust time. - -"Say, Jim--" says I. He didn't turn or move; didn't seem to hear me. I -touched him on the shoulder and he jumped and come about. - -"Eh--what?" he says. - -"Nothin'," says I, "only I want to know why--that's all." - -"Why?" says he. "Oh!--you mean what made me change my mind? Well, I just -thought it over and decided we might as well agree. Agreein' don't do -any harm, you know. Hey, Skipper? Ha-ha!" - -He slapped me on the shoulder and laughed. The laugh seemed too big for -the joke and sounded a little mite forced, I thought. - -"Yes, yes! Ha-ha!" says I. "But your changin' from lion to lamb so -sudden--" - -"What are you talkin' about? I've got a right to change my mind, ain't -I?" - -"Sartin sure. But you was so set on gettin' that contract." - -"Well, I ain't said I wasn't goin' to get it, have I? We're goin' to put -in a bid, ain't we? What's the matter with you?" - -"Nothin' at all; but _your_ breakfast don't seem to have set extry well! -However, it takes two to make a row, and I'm peaceful, myself. What do -you think of the rival entry? Kind of a nice-appearin' girl--don't you -think so?" - -He whirled round and looked at me as if he thought I was crazy. - -"Nice-appearin'!" he says. "Nice-ap--Why, she's--" - -Then he pulled up short and headed for the back room. - -Nothin' of much importance happened for a while after that. And yet -there was somethin'--two or three somethin's--that had a bearin' on the -case. One was the change in 'Dolph Cahoon. For a few days after that -night I met him on the road he was as gay and chipper as a blackbird in -a pear tree--happy even when I made him work, which was surprisin' -enough. And then, all to once, he turned glum and ugly. Wouldn't speak -and seemed to be broodin' over his troubles all day long. I had my -suspicions; and so, one time when him and me was alone, I hove over a -little mite of bait just to see if he'd rise to it. - -"Seen anything of the Lentz girl lately?" I asked, casual. - -"Naw," says he, "and I don't want to, neither! She's a bird, she is! Too -stuck up to speak to common folks. Everybody's gettin' on to her--you -bet! She won't make many friends in this town." - -I grinned to myself. Thinks I: "I guess, young man, Georgianna's handed -you your walkin' papers. You won't go down the Neck Road any more!" - -And yet, an evenin' or so after that, I see somebody go down that road. -I didn't see him plain, but I'd have almost taken my oath 'twas Jim -Henry Jacobs. It couldn't be, of course--and yet-- - -Well, two days later, I took back the "yet." I happened to be standin' -at the side door of the store, lookin' across the fields, when I saw an -auto with two people in it sailin' along the crossroad from the -east'ard. 'Twas a runabout auto--and I looked and looked! Then I called -to 'Dolph. - -"'Dolph," says I, "come here! Who's automobile's that? If I didn't know -Mr. Jacobs was off takin' orders in Denboro I should say 'twas his." - -'Dolph looked. - -"Humph!" says he--"'tis his. He's drivin' it himself. But who's that -with him? What? Well, by gosh! if it ain't that stuck-up Georgianna -Lentz!" - -"Get out!" says I. "The softness of your heart has struck to your head. -It's likely he'd be takin' her to ride, ain't it!" - -And then Jacobs looked up and sighted us standin' in the doorway. His -machine hadn't been goin' slow afore--now it fairly jumped off the -ground and flew. In a minute there was nothin' but a dust-cloud in the -offin'. - -He came in about noon. I didn't say nothin', but I guess my face was -enough. He looked at me, turned away--and then turned back again. - -"Well," he says, loud and cheerful, "you saw us, didn't you? I was goin' -to tell you, anyway, soon as I got the chance." - -"Oh," says I, "I want to know!" - -"Sure, I was. Of course you see through the game." - -"The game?" - -"Why, yes, yes! The game I'm playin'--the game that's goin' to get us -that screen contract! Oh, I wasn't born yesterday. I knew a thing or -two. This--er--Lentz girl and you and me have agreed not to go near -Parkinson till the contract's given out; but Parkinson ain't promised -not to go near her! He's been over there two or three times lately, and -that won't do. He's a widower, and--" - -"A widower!" I put in. "What's that got to do with it?" - -"Oh, nothin'--nothin'. Just a joke, that's all. But I realized right -away that she and he mustn't be together or he'll make her talk screens -in spite of herself, and that'll be dangerous for us. So, says I to -myself, 'Jim Henry,' says I, 'it's up to you. You must keep her out of -his way.' That's why I've been goin' to see her once in a while and--and -takin' her to ride, and--and so on. See? Oh, I'm wise! You trust your -old doctor of sick businesses." - -He'd been talkin' a blue streak. Seemed almost as if he was afraid I'd -say somethin' afore he could say it all. Now he stopped to get his -breath and I put in a word. - -"So," says I, slow, "that's why you're doin' it, hey? But ain't -that--You know you promised to treat her just as if she was a man!" - -"Well, ain't I?" he snaps--hotter than was needful, I thought. "If she -was a man I'd make it my business to keep her in sight, wouldn't I? -Well, then! I never saw such a chap as you are for lookin' for trouble -when there isn't any." - -He stalked off. I follered him; and as I done so I noticed 'Dolph Cahoon -duck behind the calico counter. I judged he'd heard every word. - -The finishin' work on the hotel hustled along and inside of a month we -got word that 'twas time to put in our bid. Jacobs and I figured and -figured till we got the price down to the last cent we thought it could -stand, and then we sent our proposition over to Parkinson by mail. - -"Wonder if Miss Georgianna's sent hers in," I says, casual. - -"Oh, yes," says Jim, prompt; "she is goin' to mail it this morning'." - -I didn't ask him how he knew. His chasin' round and keepin' watch on a -girl who was as fair-minded and square as she was had always seemed too -much like spyin' to please me, and I cal'lated he knew how I felt--at -any rate he'd scurcely spoke her name since the day when I saw 'em -autoin' together. But now I did say that, so long as the bids was in, it -wouldn't be necessary for him to keep his eye on her any longer. - -He looked at me kind of queer. "Umph!" he says; "maybe not!" And he -walked away to attend to a customer. - -That afternoon he took his car and went off on his reg'lar order trip to -Denboro and Bayport and round. 'Dolph Cahoon and I was alone in the -front part of the store. 'Dolph seemed to be in mighty good spirits--for -him--and kept chucklin' to himself in a way I couldn't understand. At -last he says to me, lookin' back to be sure that Mary Blaisdell, in the -post-office department, couldn't hear-- - -"Cap'n Zeb," he says, "what would you give the feller that got the -screen contract for you?" - -"Give him?" I says. "What feller do you mean--Parkinson? I wouldn't give -him a cent! I ain't a briber and I don't think he's a grafter." - -"I don't mean Parkinson," he says, chucklin'. "But, suppose somebody -else had been workin' for you on the quiet, what would you give him?" - -I looked him over. - -"Look here, 'Dolph," says I; "I never try to guess a riddle till I hear -the whole of it. What are you drivin' at?" - -He grinned. "I know who's goin' to get that contract," he says. - -"You do. Who is it?" - -"The Ostable Store's goin' to get it. Your bid's a little mite the -lowest. Parkinson told me so last night." - -"Parkinson told you!" I sung out. "How did you happen to see Parkinson?" - -He winked. - -"Oh, I saw him!" says he. "I've seen him a good many times lately. I -made it my business to see him. He was pretty stuck on the Eureka till I -got after him and I cal'late he'd have contracted for Eurekas, bid or no -bid. But I put in my licks; I've drove over to West Ostable four nights -and two Sundays in the last fortni't. And didn't I preach Nonesuch to -him! He-he! You bet I did! And last night he said he was goin' to give -us the job. Oh, I fixed that stuck-up Georgianna Lentz! I got even with -her. He-he-he!" - -I never was madder in my life. I took two steps toward him with my fists -doubled up. - -"You whelp!" says I--and then I stopped short. The Lentz girl herself -was walkin' in at the front door. - -"Good mornin', Cap'n Snow," she says, holdin' out her hand. She paid no -more attention to 'Dolph than if he'd been a graven image. "Good -mornin'," says she. "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" - -I was past carin' about the weather. - -"Miss Georgianna," says I, "I'm glad you come in. I've got somethin' to -tell you. I've got to beg your pardon for somethin' that ain't my fault -or Mr. Jacobs', either. You and my partner and me had an agreement not -to go nigh Parkinson or try to influence him in any way. Well, unbeknown -to me, that agreement has been broke." - -She stared at me, too astonished to speak. - -"It's been broke," says I. "That--that critter there," pointin' to -'Dolph, "has been sneakin--" - -'Dolph's face had been gettin' redder and redder, I cal'late he thought -I'd praise him for his doin's; and when he found I wouldn't, but was -goin' to give the whole thing away, he blew up like a leaky b'iler. - -"I ain't been sneakin'!" he yelled. "And I ain't broke no agreement, -neither. You and Mr. Jacobs agreed--but I never. I see Parkinson on my -own hook; and if it hadn't been for me he wouldn't be goin' to give you -the contract." - -[Illustration: _'I ain't been sneakin'!' he yelled._] - -There 'twas, out of the bag. I looked at Georgianna. Her pretty face -went white. That contract meant all creation to her; but she stood up to -the news like a major. She was plucky, that girl! - -"Oh!" she says. "Oh! Then he has given you the contract? I--I -congratulate you, Cap'n Snow." - -"Don't congratulate me," says I. "The contract ain't been given yet, -though this pup says it's goin' to be; but, as for me, if I'd known what -was goin' on I'd have stopped it mighty quick! I'm honorable and decent, -and so's Jacobs; and we don't take underhanded advantages." - -'Dolph bust out from astern of the counter. - -"You don't, hey!" says he. "I want to know! How about Jacobs' takin' her -to ride and callin' on her, and pretendin' to be dead gone on her? What -did he do that for? You know as well as I do. 'Twas so's to keep a watch -on her, and not let Parkinson see her and be influenced into buyin' -Eureka screens. You know it!" - -My own face grew red now, I cal'late. - -"You--you--" I begun. "You miserable liar--" - -"'Tain't a lie," says he. "I heard him tell you with my own ears. He -said all he was beauin' her round for was just that. If that ain't a -underhanded trick then I don't know what is." - -I wanted to say lots more; but, afore I could get my talkin' machinery -to runnin', the Lentz girl herself spoke. - -"Is that true, Cap'n Snow?" says she. - -I was set back forty fathom. - -"Well, miss," says I, "I--I--" - -"Is that true?" says she. - -I got out my handkerchief and swabbed my forehead. - -"Well, Miss Georgianna," says I, "I'll tell you. Jim Henry--Mr. Jacobs, -I mean--did say somethin' like that; but--but--Well, you wanted to be -treated like a salesman, and--er--Mr. Jacobs would have kept his eye on -a man, you know; and so--and so--" - -I stopped again. 'Twas the shoalest water ever I cruised in. All I could -do was mop away with the handkerchief and look at Georgianna. And -she--well, the color, and plenty of it, begun to come back to her -cheeks. And how her brown eyes did flash! - -"I see," she says, slow and so frosty I pretty nigh shivered. "I--see!" - -"Well," says I, "'tain't anything I'm proud of, I will admit; but--" - -"One moment, if you please. You haven't actually got the contract yet?" - -"No. As I told you, all I know is what this consarned fo'mast hand of -mine says. For what he's done, I'm ashamed as I can be. As for Mr. -Jacobs, I know he did keep to the letter of the agreement, anyhow. For -the rest--Well, all's fair in love and war, they say--and there's -precious little love in business." - -She looked at me, with a queer little smile about the corners of her -lips, though her eyes wa'n't smilin', by a consider'ble sight. - -"Isn't there?" she says. "I--I wonder. Good-by, Cap'n Snow. You might -tell Mr. Jacobs not to order those Nonesuch screens just yet." - -Out she went; and for the next five minutes I had a real enjoyable time. -I told 'Dolph Cahoon just what I thought of him--that took four of the -minutes; durin' the other one I fired him and run him out of the office -by the scruff of the neck. - -Then Mary Blaisdell and me held officers' council, and that ended by our -decidin' not to tell Jim Henry that the Lentz girl knew why he'd been so -friendly with her. It wouldn't do any good and might make him feel bad. -Besides, the contract was as good as got, 'cordin' to 'Dolph's yarn; and -'twa'n't likely he'd see Georgianna again, anyway. When he come back I -told him I'd fired Cahoon for bein' no good and sassy, and he agreed I'd -done just right. - -When I said good night to him he was chipper as could be; but next day -he was blue as a whetstone--and the blueness seemed to strike in, so to -speak. He didn't take any interest in anything--moped round, glum and -ugly; and I couldn't get him to talk at all. If I mentioned the screen -contract he shut up like a quahaug, and only once did he give an opinion -about it. That opinion was a surprisin' one, though. - -Alpheus Perkins was in the store, and says he: - -"Say, Mr. Jacobs," he says, "is old Parkinson, the hotel man, cal'latin' -to get married again? I see him out ridin' with a girl yesterday? That -female screen drummer--that Georgianna Lentz, 'twas. She's a daisy, -ain't she! I don't blame him much for takin' a shine to her." - -Jim Henry didn't make any answer; but, knowin' what I did, I was a -little surprised. - -"Jim," says I, "that contract--" - -"D--n the contract!" says he, and cleared out and left us. - -I was astonished, but I guessed 'twas a healthy plan to keep my hatches -closed. - -When I opened the mail a few mornin's later I found a letter with the -West Ostable Hotel's name printed on the envelope. I figgered I knew -what was inside. Thinks I: "Here's the acceptance of our bid!" But my -figgers was on the wrong side of the ledger. Parkinson wrote just a few -words, but they was enough. After considerin' the matter careful, he -wrote, he had decided the Eureka to be a better screen than the -Nonesuch; and, though our bid was a trifle lower, he should give the -Eureka folks the contract. - -"Well!" says I out loud. "Well, I'll--be--blessed!" - -Jim Henry was settin' at his desk--we was all alone in the store--and he -looked up. - -"What are you askin' a blessin' over?" says he. - -I handed him the letter. He read it through and set for a full minute -without speakin'. Then he slammed it into the wastebasket and got up and -started to go away. - -"For thunder sakes!" I sung out. "What ails you? Ain't you goin' to say -nothin' at all?" - -"What is there to say?" he asked, gruff. "We're stung--and that's the -end of it." - -"But--but--don't you realize--Why, our bid was the lowest! And yet the -contract--" - -He whirled on me savage. - -"Didn't I tell you," says he, "that I didn't give a durn about the -contract?" - -"You don't! _You_ don't! Then who on airth does?" - -"I don't know and I don't care!" - -"You don't care! I swan to man! Why, 'twas you that swore you'd put the -screens in that hotel or die tryin'. You said 'twas a matter of -principle with you. And now that the Eureka folks have beat us by some -shenanigan or other--for our bid was lower than theirs--you say you -don't care! Have you gone loony? What _do_ you care about?" - -"Nothin'--much," says he, and flopped down in his chair again. - -I stared at him. All at once I begun to see a light. You'd have thought -anybody that wa'n't stone blind would have seen it afore--but I hadn't. -You see, I cal'lated that I knew him from trunk to keelson, and so it -never once occurred to me. I riz and walked over to him. Just as I done -so, I heard the front door open and shut, but I figgered 'twas Mary -comin' back, and didn't even look. I laid my hand on his shoulder. - -"Jim," says I, "I guess likely I understand. I declare I'm sorry! And -yet I wouldn't wonder if--" - -I didn't go on. He wa'n't payin' any attention, but was lookin' over the -top of his desk--lookin' with all the eyes in his head. I looked, too, -and caught my breath with a jerk. The person who'd come in wa'n't Mary -Blaisdell, but Georgianna Lentz. - -She saw us and walked straight down to where we was. She was kind of -pale and her eyes looked as if she'd been awake all night; but when she -spoke 'twas right to the point--there wa'n't any hesitation about her. - -"Cap'n Snow," says she, "have you heard from Mr. Parkinson?" - -"Yes," says I, wonderin; "we've heard. We don't understand exactly, but -perhaps that ain't necessary. I cal'late all there is left for us to do -is to offer congratulations and 'go 'way back and set down,' as the boys -say. You've got the contract." - -"Yes," she says; "it has been given to me. But--" - -Jim Henry stood up. "You'll excuse me," he says, sharp. "I'm busy." - -He started to go, but she stopped him. - -"No," she says; "I want you both to hear what I've got to say. Mr. -Parkinson gave me the contract yesterday; but I have decided not to take -it." - -We both looked at her. - -"You--you've what?" says I. "Not take it? You want it, don't you?" - -"Yes," she says, quiet but determined, "I want it--or I did want it -very, very much. It meant so much to me--now--and might mean a great -deal more in the future; but I can't take it." - -This was too many for me. I looked at Jacobs. He didn't say a word. - -"I can't take it," says Georgianna, "under the circumstances. I don't -feel that I got it fairly. We agreed, you and I, that no personal -influence should be brought to bear upon Mr. Parkinson; and I"--she -blushed a little, but kept right on--"I have seen Mr. Parkinson several -times durin' the past week." - -I thought of her bein' to ride with the hotel man, but I didn't say -anything. Jim Henry, though, started again to go. And again she stopped -him. - -"Wait, please!" she went on. "I didn't go to him--you must understand -that! But after what you, Cap'n Snow, and that Mr. Cahoon told me the -other day I was hurt and angry. I felt that you had broken your -agreement with me. So when Mr. Parkinson came to see me I didn't avoid -him as I had been doin'. I--I accepted invitations for drives with him, -and--and--Oh, don't you see? I couldn't take the contract. I couldn't! -What would you think of me? What would I think of myself? No, my mind is -made up. I'm afraid"--with a half smile that had more tears than fun in -it--"that my experience in business hasn't been a success. I shall give -it up and go back to stenography--or somethin'. There! Good-by. I'm sure -that the Nonesuch screen will win now. Good-by!" - -And now 'twas she that started to go and Jim Henry that stopped her. - -"Wait!" says he, sharp. "There's somethin' here I don't understand. What -do you mean by what the Cap'n and Cahoon told you the other day? -Skipper, what have you been doin'?" - -I wished there was a crack or a knothole handy for me to crawl into; but -there wa'n't, so I braced up best I could. - -"Why, Jim," says I, "I ain't told you the whole of that business I fired -'Dolph for. Seems he'd been seein' Parkinson on his own hook and pullin' -wires for the Nonesuch. 'Twas a sneakin' mean trick, and I knew 'twould -make you mad same as it done me; so I didn't tell you. 'Twas for that I -bounced him." - -Jim Henry's fists shut. - -"The toad!" says he. "I wish I'd been there. Wait till I get my hands on -him! I'll--" - -"But you mustn't," put in Georgianna. "I hope you don't think I care -what such a creature as he might do. When I first came here he--Oh, why -can't people forget that I'm a girl!" - -I could have answered that, but I didn't. Jacobs asked another question. - -"Then, if it wa'n't 'Dolph, who was it?" says he. "Parkinson?" - -"No!" with a flash of her eyes. "Certainly not. Mr. Parkinson is a -gentleman; but--but I don't like him--that is, I don't dislike him -exactly; but--" - -She was dreadful fussed up. Jim Henry was between her and the door, -though, and he kept right on with his questions. - -"Then what was the trouble?" he said, brisk. - -I answered for her. - -"Well, Jim," says I, "there was somethin' else. You see, 'Dolph got mad -when I sailed into him, and he come back at me by tellin' what you said -about your callin' on Miss Lentz here--and takin' her autoin' and such. -How you said you was doin' it so's to keep a watch on her--that's all. I -couldn't deny that you did say it, you know--because you did!" - -Jim's face was a sight to see--a sort of combination of sheepishness and -shame, mixed with another look, almost of joy--or as if he'd got the -answer to a puzzle that had been troublin' him. - -The Lentz girl spoke up quick. - -"Of course," she says, "I understand now why you did it. Then I -was--was--Well, it did hurt me to think that I hadn't seen through the -scheme, and for a while I felt that you hadn't been true to our -agreement; but, now that I have had time to think, I understand. You -promised to treat me exactly as if I were a man; and, as Cap'n Snow -said, if I were a man you would have kept me in sight. It's all right! -But"--with a sigh--"I realize that I'm not fitted for business--this -kind of business. I don't blame you, though. Good-by. I must go!" - -Lettin' her go, however, was the last thing Jim intended doin' just -then. He stepped for'ard and caught her by the hand. - -"Georgianna," says he, eager, "you know what you're sayin' isn't true. I -did tell the Cap'n that yarn about watchin' you. He'd seen me with you -and I had to tell him somethin'; but it was a lie--every word of it! You -know it was." - -She tried to pull her hand away, but he hung on to it as if 'twas the -last life-preserver on a sinkin' ship. I cal'late he'd forgot I was on -earth. - -"You were keeping your promise," she said. "You were treatin' me as you -would if I were a man! Please let me go, Mr. Jacobs; I have told you -that I didn't blame you." - -"Nonsense!" says he. "If I had done that I ought to be hung! A man! -Treat you like a man! Do you suppose if you were a man I should--" - -That was the last word I heard. I was bound for the front platform, and -makin' some headway for a craft of my age and build. I have got some -sense and I know when three's a crowd! - -I didn't go back until they called me. I give the pair of 'em one look -and then I shook hands with 'em up to the elbows. Georgianna was -blushin', and her eyes were damp, but shinin' like masthead lights on a -rainy night. As for Jim Henry Jacobs, he was one broad grin. - -"Well," says I, after I'd said all the joyful things I could think of, -"one point ain't settled even yet--who's goin' to get that screen -contract? There ain't any love in business, you know." - -"Humph!" says Jim Henry. "I wonder!" - -I laughed out loud. - -"Why," says I, "that's exactly what Georgianna here said t'other -day--she wondered!" - - - - -CHAPTER XIV--THE EPISTLE TO ICHABOD - - -Mary came in a few minutes later and she had to be told the news. She -was as pleased as I was and there was more congratulatin'. Then -Georgianna had to go home and, as she was altogether too precious to be -allowed to walk, Jim Henry went and got his auto and they left in that. - -When he got back--that car must have been sufferin' from a stroke of -creepin' paralysis, for it took him two hours to run that little -distance--he and I had a good confidential talk. He was way up above -this common earth, soarin' around in the clouds, and all he wanted to -talk was Georgianna. The whole of creation had been set to music and was -dancin' to the one tune--"Georgianna." - -It was astonishin' to me who had been in the habit of considerin' him -just a sharp, up-to-date buyer and seller, a man whose whole soul was -wrapped up in business with no room in it for anything else. I found -myself lookin' at him and wonderin': "Is the world comin' to an end, I -wonder? Is this my partner? Is this moon-struck critter Jim Henry -Jacobs, doctor of sick businesses?" - -I couldn't help jokin' him a little. - -"Jim," says I, "for a feller who hadn't any use for females you're doin' -pretty well, I must say. Either you was mistaken in your old opinions or -your new ones are wrong. Which is it? 'Women and business don't mix,' -you know. That ain't an original notion; that is quoted from the Gospel -according to Jacobs, Chapter 1,000; two hundred and eightieth verse." - -He reddened up and laughed. "Well, they _don't_ mix, as a general -thing," he says. "I guess 'twas Georgianna's sand in goin' into business -that got me in the first place. I leave it to you, Skipper--ain't she a -wonder? Now be honest, ain't she?" - -Course I said she was; I have the usual sane man's regard for my head -and I didn't want it knocked off yet awhile. And Georgianna _was_ as -nice a girl as I ever saw--that is, _almost_ as nice. Jim went sailin' -on, about how now he could settle down and live like a white man in a -home of his own, about the house he was goin' to build, and so forth and -etcetery. I declare it made me feel almost jealous to hear him. - -"My! my!" says I, kind of spiteful, I'm afraid, "you have got it bad, -ain't you! Sudden attacks are liable to be the most acute, I suppose." - -He laughed again. You couldn't have made him mad just then. - -"Ha, ha!" says he. "Yes, I guess I'm way past where there's any hope for -me. But I'm glad of it. It did come sudden, but that's the way most good -things come to me. It's my nature. Now if I was like some folks that I -won't name, I'd be mopin' around for months without sense enough to know -what ailed me." - -"Who are you diggin' at?" I wanted to know. He wouldn't tell; said 'twas -a secret, and maybe I'd find out the answer for myself some day. - -The next few weeks was busy times, in the store and out of it. -Georgianna havin' declined the screen contract, Parkinson gave it to us, -after a little arguin'. That kept me hustlin', for Jim was too -interested in other things to care for screens. He was making -arrangements to be married. - -And married he and Georgianna were. She'd have waited a little longer, I -cal'late--that bein' a woman's way--if it had been left to her to name -the time; but Jim Henry never was the waitin' kind. They were married at -the parson's and Mary Blaisdell and I saw the splice made fast. Then we -went to the depot and said good-by to Mr. and Mrs. Jim Henry Jacobs. -They were goin' on a honeymoon cruise to the West Indies that would last -two months. - -Good-byes ain't ever pleasant to say, but I was so glad for Jim, and so -happy because he was, that I tried to be as chipper as I could. - -"If you need me, wire at Havana, Skipper," he says. "I'll come the -minute you say the word." - -"I sha'n't need you," I told him. "Mary and I'll run things as well as -we can. She makes a good fust mate, Mary does." - -"You bet!" says he. "I feel a little conscience-struck to leave you just -now, with that West End crowd tryin' to make trouble for you, but -Congressman Shelton is your friend and he'll look out for you in -Washin'ton." - -"Don't you worry about that," I says. "I ain't scared of Bill Phipps or -Ike Hamilton--much, or any of their West End crew. The decent folks in -town are on my side, and with Shelton to back me up at Washin'ton, I -cal'late I'll keep my job till you come back anyhow." - -The train started and Mary and I waved till 'twas out of sight. Then we -went back to the store. I give in that the old feelin', the feelin' that -I'd had when Jim was sick out West, that of bein' adrift without an -anchor, was hangin' around me a little, but I braced up and vowed to -myself that I'd do the best I could. If this post-office row did get -dangerous, I might telegraph for Jacobs, but I wouldn't till the ship -was founderin'. - -I suppose you can always get up an opposition party. There was one -amongst the Children of Israel in Moses's time, and there's been plenty -ever since. So long as somebody has got somethin' there'll always be -somebody else to want to get it away from him. That's human nature, and -there's as much human nature in Ostable, size considered, as there was -in the Land of Canaan. - -I'd been postmaster at Ostable for quite a spell. I didn't try for the -position, I was mad when 'twas given to me, there wa'n't much of -anything in it but a lot of fuss and trouble, and I'd said forty times -over that I wished I didn't have it. But when the gang up at the West -End of the town set out to take it away from me I r'ared up on my hind -legs and swore I'd fight for my job till the last plank sunk from under -me. Don't sound like sense, does it? It wa'n't--'twas just more human -nature. - -Course the opposition wa'n't large and 'twa'n't very influential. Old -man William Phipps and young Ike Hamilton was at the head of it, and -they had forty or fifty West-Enders to back 'em up. Phipps had been one -of the leading workers for Abubus Payne, the chap I beat for the -app'intment in the fust place; and young Hamilton was junior partner in -the firm of "Ichabod Hamilton & Co., Stoves, Tinware and Fishermen's -Supplies," a mile or so up the main road. Young Ike--everybody called -him "Ike," though his real name was Ichabod, same as his uncle's--was a -pushin' critter, who'd come back from a Boston business college and had -started right in to make the town sit up and take notice. He was goin' -to get rich--he admitted that much--and he cal'lated to show us hayseeds -a few things. Up to now he hadn't showed much but loud clothes and -cheek, but he had enough of them to keep all hands interested for a -spell. - -His uncle, Ichabod, Senior, was a shrewd old rooster, with twenty -thousand or so that, accordin' to his brags--he was always tellin' of -it--he'd put away for a "rainy day." We have consider'ble damp weather -at the Cape, but 'twould have taken a Noah's Ark flood to make Ichabod's -purse strings loosen up. That twenty thousand dollars had growed fast to -his nervous system and when you pulled away a cent he howled. Young Ike -was the only one that could mesmerize this old man into spendin' -anything, and how he did it nobody knew. But he did. Since he got into -that Stoves and Tinware firm the store had been fixed up and -advertisements put in the papers, and I don't know what all. The uncle -had been under the weather with rheumatism for a year; maybe that -explained a little. - -Anyhow 'twas young Ike that picked himself to be postmaster instead of -me and he and Phipps got the West-Enders, fifty or so of 'em, to sign a -petition askin' that a new app'intment be made. I couldn't be removed -except on charges, so a lot of charges was made. Fust, the post-office, -bein' in the Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods -Store, was too far from the center of the town. Second, I was neglectin' -the office and my assistant--Mary, that is--was really doin' the whole -of the government work. There was some truth in this, because Mary knew -a good deal more about mail work than I did, and was as capable a woman -as ever lived; and besides, Jim Henry and I had been so busy with our -store and the "Windmill Restaurant," and our other by-product ventures, -that I _had_ left Mary to run the post-office. But it was run better -than any post-office ever was run afore in Ostable and everybody with -brains knew it. - -Third.... But never mind the rest of the charges, they didn't amount to -anything. In fact, there was so little to 'em that when the West End -petition went in to Washin'ton, I didn't take the trouble to send one of -my own, though Jacobs thought I'd better and a hundred folks asked me to -and said they'd sign. I just wrote to the Post-office Department and -told them that I was ready to submit my case, if there was any need for -it, and if they cared to send a representative to investigate, I'd be -tickled to death to see him. They wrote back that they'd look into the -matter, and that's the way it stood when Jim and Georgianna left and it -stayed so until the lost letter affair run me bows fust onto the rocks -and turned the situation from ridiculousness into something that looked -likely to be mighty serious for me. - -It come about--same as such jolts generally come--when I was least ready -for it. Jim Henry had been gone three weeks or more. 'Twas February and -none of my influential friends amongst the summer folks was on hand to -help. No, Mary and I were all alone and sailin' free with what looked -like a fair wind, when "Bump!"--all at once our craft was half full of -water and sinkin' fast. - -That mornin' the mail was a little mite late and there wa'n't any store -trade to speak of. Mary was in the post-office place writin', the usual -gang of loafers was settin' around the stove, and I was out front -talkin' with Sim Kelley, who lived up to the west end of the town, -amongst the mutineers. 'Twas from Sim that I got most of my news about -the doin's of the Phipps and Hamilton crowd. He was a great, hulkin', -cross-eyed lubber, too lazy to get out of his own way, and as shif'less -as a body could be and take pains enough to live. - -"Sim," says I to him, "I thought you said old man Hamilton was in bed -with his rheumatiz. I saw him up street as I was comin' by. He looked -pretty feeble, but he was toddlin' along on foot just as he always does. -Rheumatic or not, it's all the same. I cal'late the old critter wouldn't -spend enough money to hire a team if he was dyin'." - -Sim was surprised, and not only surprised, but, seemingly, a little mite -worried. Why he should be worried because Ichabod was takin' chances -with his diseases I couldn't see. - -"Old man Hamilton!" says he. "Is he out a cold mornin' like this? Where -was he bound?" - -"Don't know," says I. "He stopped into the drug store when I saw him. -Whether that was his final port of call or not I don't know." - -He seemed to be thinkin' it over. Then he got up and walked to the door. - -"He ain't in sight nowheres," he says. "Guess he wa'n't comin' as far as -here, 'tain't likely." - -"Well," says I, "how's the rest of the family? The hopeful leader of the -forlorn hope--how's he?" - -"Ike?" he says. "Oh, he's all right. He's a mighty smart young feller, -Ike is." - -"Yes," says I, "so I've heard him say. Gettin' ready to stand in with -him when he gets my job, are you, Sim?" - -That shook him up a mite. 'Twas common talk around town that Sim and Ike -was pretty thick. He turned red under his freckles. - -"No, no!" he sputtered. "Course I ain't! I'm standin' by you, Cap'n -Snow, and you know it. But, all the same, Ike's a smart boy. He's -gettin' rich fast, Ike is." - -"Sold another cookstove, has he?" - -"He sells a lot of 'em. Sold two last month. But that ain't it. He's got -foresight and friends in the stock exchange up to Boston. He's buyin' -copper stocks and they--" - -He stopped short; thought his tongue was runnin' away with him, I -presume likely. But I was interested and I kept on. - -"Oh!" says I; "he's buyin' coppers, is he? Well, where does he get the -U. S. coppers to do it with? Is Uncle Ichabod backin' him? Has the old -man's rheumatiz struck to his brains?" - -"Course he ain't backin' him. _He_ don't know nothin' of stocks. He -ain't up-to-date same as Ike. But he'll be glad enough when his nephew -makes fifty thousand. When he finds that out he'll--" - -"He'll never find it out on this earth," I cut in. "If he found out that -Ike made fifty dollars, all on his own hook, he'd drop dead with heart -disease. If he didn't, everybody else in town would. But it takes money -to buy stocks, don't it? I never knew Ike had any cash of his own." - -"He's in the firm, ain't he! And Hamilton and Co. are----Hello! here -comes the depot wagon." - -Sure enough, 'twas the depot wagon with the mail. I took the bags from -the driver and went back to help Mary sort. I'd taken to helpin' her a -good deal lately--more since Jacobs left than ever afore. She said there -wa'n't any need of it, but I didn't agree with her. Of course I realized -that I was an old fool--but, somehow or other, I felt more and more -contented with life when I was alongside of Mary. She and I understood -each other and I'd come to depend upon her same as a man might on his -sister--or his--well, or anybody, you understand, that he thought a good -deal of and knew was square and--and so on. And she seemed to feel the -same way about me. - -We sorted the mail together, puttin' it in the different boxes and such. -And almost the fust thing I run across was that registered letter -addressed to "Ichabod Hamilton, Jr." 'Twas a long envelope and up in one -corner of it was printed the name of a Boston broker's firm. I laid it -out by itself and went on sortin'. - -When the sortin' and distributin' was over and the crowd had gone, I -called to Sim Kelley. We didn't have Rural Free Delivery then and Sim -carried the West End mail box; that is, a lot of the folks up that way -chipped in and paid him so much for deliverin' their mail to 'em. - -"Sim," says I, "there's a registered letter here for young Ike Hamilton. -If I give it to you will you be careful and see that he signs the -receipt and the like of that?" - -He was outside the partition and he come to the little window and took -the letter from me. He acted mighty interested. - -"Gosh!" says he, grinnin', "I wouldn't wonder if this was.... Humph! Oh, -I'll be careful of it! don't you worry about that." - -Just then Mary called to me. I went over to where she was settin' at her -desk. - -"Cap'n Zeb," she whispered, "I wouldn't send that letter by Sim. It is -important, or it would not be registered, and Sim is so irresponsible. -If anything _should_ happen it would give Mr. Hamilton and the rest such -a chance. And they have accused us of bein' careless already." - -They had, that was a fact. One or two letters had gone astray durin' the -past six months and the loss of 'em was described, with trimmin's, in -the West End charges and petition. And Sim _was_ a lunkhead. I thought -it over a jiffy and then I called to Kelley once more. He was just -comin' to the hooks by the door outside the mail-box racks where Mary -and I and the store clerk--the one we'd hired in place of 'Dolph--hung -our overcoats and hats. Sim had hung his coat there that mornin'. - -"Sim," I said, "let me see that registered letter of Ike Hamilton's -again, will you?" He took it out of his pocket and passed it to me. - -"All right," says I; "you needn't bother about this. I'll send a notice -by you that it's here and Ike can call for it himself. I won't take any -chances of your losin' it." - -Well, you'd ought to have seen him! His face blazed up like a Fourth of -July tar-barrel. "Chances!" he sung out. "What are you talkin' about? I -cal'late I'm able to carry a letter without losin' it. I ain't a kid." - -"Maybe not," says I, "but you ain't goin' to lose this one, kid or not. -Here's the notice, all made out." - -"Notice be darned!" he snarled. "You give me that letter. Hamilton and -Co. pay me to carry their mail, don't they? And, besides, Ike told me -particular that he was expectin'--" - -He pulled up short again. - -"Well?" says I. "Heave ahead. What's the rest of it?" - -"Nothin'," he answered, ugly; "but you've got no right to say I can't -carry a letter when I'm paid to do it. As for losin' things, there's -others besides me that lose mail in this town." - -There's no use arguin' when a matter's all settled. I handed him the -notice and walked off, leavin' him standin' outside that partition, sore -as a scalded cat. - -I looked at my watch. 'Twas twelve o'clock, my dinner time. I walked out -to the hook rack, took down my overcoat and put it on. I had the -Hamilton letter in my hand. There wa'n't any reason why I should be more -worried about that registered letter than any other, but I was, just the -same. Maybe 'twas because 'twas Ike's and he was so anxious to make -trouble for me. Somehow or other I couldn't feel safe till he got it and -signed the receipt. I thought for a minute and then I decided I'd walk -up to Hamilton and Co.'s and deliver it myself. That decision was -foolish, maybe, but I felt better when 'twas made. I put the letter in -the inside pocket of the overcoat I had on, and just as I was doin' it -Mary come out of the post-office room with her hat on. - -"Oh!" says she, "are you goin' out, Cap'n Zeb? I thought--" - -Then I remembered. She'd asked to go to dinner fust that day and I'd -told her of course she could. I begged her pardon and said I'd forgot. -I'd wait till she got back. So, after makin' sure that I didn't care, -she took her coat from the hook, put it on and went out. - -I took off my overcoat and, just as I did so, somethin' fell on the -floor. I stooped and picked it up. I swan to man if it wasn't that pesky -Hamilton letter! Thinks I, "That's funny!" I put my hand into the pocket -where it had been and there was a hole right through the linin'. Now if -there's one thing I'm fussy about it is that my pockets are whole. And I -_knew_ this one ought to be whole. So I looked at the coat and I'm -blessed if it was mine at all! 'Twas Sim Kelley's! Both coats had been -hangin' together on the hook-rack and both was blue and about the same -size. I'd been saved by a miracle, as you might say. - -I was comin' to feel more and more as if there was some sort of fate -about that registered letter. I took it back into the post-office room, -handlin' it as careful as if 'twas solid gold, and laid it down on the -sortin' bench behind the letter boxes. And then somebody spoke to me -through the little window. - -"Cap'n Zeb," says Sim Kelley, "there's a man just drove over from -Bayport to see you. Come in Gabe Lumley's buggy, he did. His name's -Peters and Gabe says he's got some sort of government job." - -"Government job?" says I. And then it flashed through my mind who the -feller might be. The Post-office Department had said they might send an -investigator. I didn't care for that, but I did wish Sim hadn't seen -him. - -"Oh," says I; "all right. It's the lighthouse inspector, I shouldn't -wonder. Guess 'tain't me he is after. Probably I ain't the Snow he wants -to see; it's Henry Snow over to the Point. Where is he?" - -"Out on the platform," says Sim. I hurried out of the post-office room, -lockin' the door careful astern of me. The man Peters was just comin' -into the store. I met him at the front door. We shook hands and he -introduced himself. 'Twas the investigator, sure enough. - -"Glad to see you," says I. "I know that may sound like a lie, but, as it -happens, it ain't in this case. I ain't got anything to be ashamed of -and the sooner the government finds that out the better I'll be -pleased." - -He laughed. He was a real good chap, this Peters man, and I took to him -right off the reel. We stood there talkin' and laughin' and says he: - -"Well, Cap'n," he says, "I'll tell you frankly that I'm not very much -worried about the conduct of your office here at Ostable. I've made some -inquiries about you, here and in Washin'ton, and the answers are pretty -satisfactory. Congressman Shelton seems to be a friend of yours." - -I grinned. "Yes," says I, "but Shelton's prejudiced, I'm afraid. He and -old Major Clark ate a chowder once that I cooked and ever since they've -both swore by me." - -He laughed, though I could see Shelton hadn't told him the yarn. - -"Humph!" says he, "that's unusual, isn't it? Judgin' by some chowders -_I've_ eaten, it would be easier to swear _at_ the cook. Speakin' of -eatables, though, reminds me that I'm hungry. Where's a good place to -get a meal around here?" - -"Nowhere," says I, prompt; "not at this season of the year, with the -summer dinin'-room closed. But, if you'll wait until my assistant gets -back, I'll pilot you down to the Poquit House, where I feed, and we'll -face the wust together." - -He was willin' to risk it, he said, and we walked back and set down in -the post-office department. As we left the front door Sim Kelley went -out of it, luggin' his West-End mail box. Peters and I talked. Seems he -hadn't come to the Cape a-purpose to investigate me, but he had a job at -the Bayport office and had took me in on the way home. After a spell -Mary come back and Peters and I headed for the Poquit, where the cold -fish balls and warmed-over beans was waitin'. - -On the way I saw old man Hamilton, Ike's uncle, totterin' along, headin' -to the west'ard this time. I pointed him out to Peters. - -"There goes," I says, "one of the fellers that's trying to knock me out -of my job." - -"Humph!" says he; "he looks pretty near knocked out himself. Why, he's -all bent out of shape." - -"Yes," I told him. "Ichabod's bent, but he's far from broke. And a tough -old limb like him stands a lot of bendin'." - -I was feelin' pretty good. With a square man like this Peters to look -into matters, I cal'lated I'd be postmaster for a spell yet. - -But that afternoon, about three o'clock, as we was inside the mail room, -Mary at her desk, and Peters alongside of her, goin' over the books and -papers, and me smokin' in a chair nigh the delivery window, Ike Hamilton -walked into the store. - -"Afternoon, Snow," says he, pert and important as ever, "I understand -there's a registered letter for me. I s'pose it is part of your business -to refuse to give it to the regular carrier and put me to the trouble of -walkin' way down here." - -"I s'pose 'tis," says I. - -"Yes," he says. "Well, if you were as careful to put your partic'lar -friends to the same inconvenience there might not be as much talk about -you and your handlin' of this office as there is now." - -"Oh, yes, there would," I told him. "There'd always be more talk than -anything else where you lived, Ike. Want your letter, do you?" - -He was mad, but he held in pretty well. - -"I do--if gettin' it won't make you work _too_ hard," he says, -sarcastic. "I should hate to see you really work." - -"Yes," I says, "the sight of work never was a joy to you, 'cordin' to -all accounts. Well, here's your letter." - -I reached down to the sortin' table where I'd laid the letter at noon -time--and it wa'n't there. - -I hunted that table over. "Mary," says I, "did you put that registered -letter of Mr. Hamilton's away somewheres?" - -She looked surprised and, it seemed to me, rather anxious. - -"Why no!" says she; "I haven't touched it." - -Whew!... Well, there was a lively hunt in that mail room for the next -ten minutes, but it ended in nothin'. - -Ike Hamilton's registered letter was _gone_! - - - - -CHAPTER XV--HOW IKE'S LOSS TURNED OUT TO BE MY GAIN - - -There's no use dwelling on unpleasantness. And there's no use tellin' -what Ike Hamilton said. I'd be liable to the law, if I did tell it, and, -besides, I've been away from seafarin' so long that my memory for such -language ain't as good as 'twas. Ike wa'n't only mad now: he was ha'f -crazy, and pale and scared-lookin' besides. The interview ended by my -takin' him by the arm and leadin' him to the door. - -"You get out of here," I told him, "and I'll leave this door open so's -to sweeten the air after you. That letter of yours has turned up missin' -and I'm mighty sorry. I'll find it, though, or die a-tryin'. Meanwhile, -unless you can behave like a decent human bein'--which I doubt--you'll -find it turrible unhealthy for you on these premises. Understand?" - -I cal'late he understood, for he waited till he was out of reach afore -he answered. Then he turned and snarled at me like a kicked dog. - -"By the Almighty, Zeb Snow," he says, "this is the wust day's work _you_ -ever did! That letter's wuth hundreds of dollars to me and I'll sue you -for every cent. And, more'n that," he says, "this is the last straw -that'll break your back as postmaster of this town. _You're_ done! and -don't you forget it!" - -I wa'n't likely to forget it--not to any consider'ble extent. - -Well, all the rest of that day and for the next two days, Mary and -Peters and I hunted high and low for that letter; but we couldn't find -it. I was worried, Peters was worried, and Mary Blaisdell seemed the -most worried of any of us. Ike Hamilton come in every few hours, and, -though he blustered and threatened a whole lot, he kept a civil tongue -in his head, rememberin', I cal'late, what I said to him when I showed -him the door. Apparently he hadn't told any of his cronies about his -loss, for nobody else said a word about it to me. This was queer, for I -expected the news would be all over town by this time. - -Peters asked a lot of questions and I done my best to satisfy him. I -showed him the exact place where I laid the letter down afore I went to -the front of the store to meet him, and he remembered, same as I did, -that the door to the mail room was locked when we come back to it. And -we'd stayed in that room together until Mary came and we went to dinner. -Nobody but Mary and I had keys to the room, either. - -Course I thought of Sim Kelley and how mad he was because I took the -letter away from him, and Peters and I cross-questioned him pretty -sharp. But he told a straight yarn and stuck to it. He hadn't seen the -letter since I took it. He'd delivered the notice to Ike and Ike had -said he'd call and get the letter that afternoon. Well, all that seemed -to be true, and, besides, there was no way Sim could have got hold of -the thing if he'd wanted to. - -"No use," says I, when the questionin' was over and Sim had cleared out, -protestin' injured innocence and almost cryin'. "No use," says I, "I -cal'late he's tellin' the truth for once in his life. I guess his skirts -are clear." - -"Maybe so," says Peters. "His story is straight enough; but he don't -look you in the face; I don't like that." - -"That's nothin'," I said. "He'd have to get 'round the corner to look a -body in the face, as cross-eyed as he is." - -Mary Blaisdell spoke up then. "If this letter shouldn't be found at all, -Mr. Peters," says she, "what effect would it have on Cap'n Zeb's -position as postmaster?" - -Peters was pretty solemn, and he shook his head. - -"Well," he says, "to be perfectly frank with you, Cap'n, it might have -consider'ble effect. From what I've seen of you and this office, -generally speakin', my report to headquarters would be a very favorable -one. Your records and accounts are straight and the place is neat and -well kept. But your opponent's petition charges that several letters -have been lost already. This loss comes at a very bad time and it -_might_ be considered serious." - -I'd realized all this, but it didn't help me much to hear him say it. I -didn't make any answer, but Mary asked another question. - -"But if," she says, slow, "it should turn out that the Cap'n was not to -blame at all? If someone else had lost that letter? He wouldn't be -removed _then_?" - -"No, certainly not. That is, not if my report counted for anything." - -"I see," says she; and she didn't speak to us again that afternoon. -Peters, though, had more questions to ask. What sort of a letter was -this, anyhow? And did I have any idea what was in it? - -I told him that I didn't really know much, but, bein' a Yankee, I was -subject to the guessin' habit. Ike Hamilton had been buyin' stocks up to -Boston and this letter had a broker firm's name printed on the envelope. -My guess was that there was some certificates, or such, inside. - -"I see," he says. "That would explain what he said about its value. So -he's been speculatin', hey?" - -"So Sim Kelley hinted. But where the money comes from I don't see. Old -Ichabod don't furnish it, I'll bet a dollar. The old critter's got -cramps in the pocketbook worse than he has in his back." - -"That was the old feller you pointed out to me the other day," he says. -"I haven't seen him since. Where is he?" - -"Back in bed with the rheumatiz, so I hear. Guess his cruise down town -was too much for him." - -Well, the rest of our talk didn't amount to much and I went home that -night pretty blue and discouraged. I didn't care so much about bein' -postmaster, but it hurt my pride to be bounced for bad seamanship. I'd -never wrecked a craft afore in my life. - -Next mornin' I come to the store at my usual time, but Mary was late, -for a wonder. When she did come she looked so pale and used up that I -was troubled. - -"Mary," says I, "what's the matter? Ain't sick, are you?" - -"Oh, no!" says she. "I--I didn't sleep well, that's all. I'm all right." - -"But, Mary," I says, "I--" - -"Please excuse me, Cap'n Zeb," she cut in. "I'm very busy." - -She'd never used that tone to me afore, and I was set back about forty -mile. Why she should be so frosty I couldn't see. I went out to the -platform and paced the quarter deck, thinkin'. I was down at the heel -anyway, and I thought a whole lot of fool things. I was goin' to lose my -job and so I s'posed that, after all, I'd ought to expect my friends to -shake me. There's a proverb about rats leavin' a leaky vessel. But Mary -Blaisdell!! I cal'late I come as nigh wishin' I was dead as ever I did -in my life. - -'Twas almost eleven afore the Peters man showed up. He was walkin' brisk -and smilin' a little. - -"Well," says I, "you're lookin' a heap more chipper than I feel. What -are you grinnin' about?" - -"Oh, just for instance," he says. "Is Miss Blaisdell in the office?" - -"Guess so. She was awhile ago. Yes, she's there. Why?" - -"I want to see her--and you, too. Come on." - -He led the way to the mail room. Mary was there, workin' at her books. -She looked up when we come in, and her face was whiter than ever. I -forgot all about my "rat" thoughts and the rest of it. - -"Mary," says I, anxious, "you _are_ under the weather. Why don't you go -home?" - -She held up her hand and stopped me. - -"Please don't," she says. - -Then, turnin' to Peters: "Mr. Peters, I want to speak to you. And to -you, too, Cap'n Zeb. I--I've got somethin' that I must tell you." - -'Twa'n't so much what she said as the way she said it. I looked at -Peters and he looked at me. I cal'late we was both wonderin' what sort -of lightnin' was goin' to strike now. - -She didn't leave us to wonder long. She went right on, speakin' quick, -as if she wanted to get it over with. - -"Mr. Peters," she says, "last night you told me that, if it should be -proved that Cap'n Zeb had no part in losin' that letter, if it wasn't -his fault at all, the postmastership wouldn't be taken from him. You -meant that, didn't you?" - -Peters looked queer enough. "Why, yes," he says, "I did. But how--" - -"Mr. Peters," she went on, in the same hurried way, "_I_ lost that -letter." - -I don't know what Peters did then, but I know that my knees give from -under me and I flopped down in the armchair. - -"You? _You_, Mary!" says I. - -Peters seemed to be as much flabbergasted as I was. He rubbed his -forehead. - -"_You_ lost it?" he says, slow. - -"Yes," says she. "That is, I--I destroyed it by accident. It was while -you two were at dinner. I was clearin' up the sortin' table and--and -puttin' the waste paper in the stove. I--I must have taken the letter -with the other things." - -"Nonsense!" I sung out. Peters didn't say nothin'. - -"Nonsense!" I said again. "You don't know that 'twas--" - -"But I do," she interrupted. "I--I saw it burnin' and--and it was too -late to get it out. It was my fault altogether. No one else is to blame -at all." - -If I hadn't been settin' down already you could have knocked me over -with a feather. 'Twas an accident, of course; anybody might have done -such a thing; but what I couldn't understand was why she hadn't told me -of it afore. That didn't seem like her at all. - -"Well!" I says; "_well_!" - -Peters had transferred his rubbin' from his forehead to his chin. - -"Miss Blaisdell," says he, quiet, "why didn't you tell us sooner?" - -"That's all right," I cut in, quick. "I don't blame her for not tellin'. -I cal'late that she felt so bad about it that she couldn't make up her -mind to tell right off. That was it, wa'n't it, Mary?" - -She didn't look up, but sat playin' with a pen-holder. - -"Yes," she says, "that was it." - -"All right then," says I. "It was an accident, and if anybody's to blame -it's me. I shouldn't have left the letter there." - -_Then_ she looked up. "Of course you're not to blame," she says, awful -earnest. "It was my fault entirely. You know it was, Mr. Peters. It was -my fault and I must take the consequences. I will resign my place as -assistant and--" - -"Resign!" I sung out. "Resign! Well, I guess not!" - -"But I shall. Of course I shall. Mr. Peters, you see that it wasn't -Cap'n Snow's fault, don't you? _Don't_ you?" - -"Yes," says Peters, short. - -"Nonsense!" I roared. "He don't see no such thing. Mary, I don't care--" - -She held up her hand. "Please don't talk to me now," she begged. -"Please--not now." - -I looked at Peters. There was a look in his eyes, almost as if he was -smilin' inside. I could have punched his head for it. - -"But, Mary--" I begun. - -"Please don't talk to me," she begged, almost cryin'. "Please go away -and leave me now. Please." - -I cal'late I shouldn't have gone; fact is, I know I shouldn't; but that -government investigator put his hand on my arm. - -"Cap'n," he says, "come with me." - -"With you?" I snapped. "Why?" - -"Because I want you to. It's important. I won't keep you long." - -I went, but he'll never know how much I wanted to kick him. As I shut -the door of the mail room I saw poor Mary's head go down on her arms on -the desk. - -Peters led me out to the front of the store, where he come to anchor on -a shoe-case. - -"Set down," says he, pattin' the case alongside of him. - -"I don't feel like settin'," I says, ugly. "And I tell you, Mr. -Peters--" - -"No," says he, "I'm goin' to tell _you_ this time. Or, if I'm not, the -feller I told to be here at half past eleven will. Yes ... here he comes -now." - -In at the door comes Sim Kelley, and, if ever a chap looked as if he was -marchin' to be hung, he did. His eyes was red and his face was white -under the freckles. - -"Here--here I be, Mr. Peters," he stammered. - -"Yes, I see you 'be,'" says Peters, dry as a chip. "All right. Now you -can tell Cap'n Snow what you told me this mornin'." - -Sim looked at me, and at the government man. He was shakin' all over. - -"Aw, Cap'n Zeb," he bust out, "don't be too hard on me. Don't put me in -jail! I know I hadn't ought to have taken that letter, but you riled me -up when you told me I couldn't be trusted with it. Ike pays me to fetch -the mail. And he told me he was expectin' an important letter from them -stockbrokers. So I--" - -Well, there's no use tryin' to spin the yarn the way he did. 'Twas all -mixed up with prayers about not puttin' him in jail, and what would his -ma say, and "pleases" and "oh, dont's" and such. B'iled down and skimmed -it amounted to this: He'd seen me lay that Hamilton letter on the -sortin' table, saw it when he come back to tell me that Peters had -arrived. After I'd gone out to the platform he was struck with an idea. -He _would_ take that letter to Ike, just to show that he could be -trusted, and, besides Ike had promised him fifty cents for lookin' out -for it and fetchin' it to him direct. He had a key to the Hamilton box -and the letter laid right back of that box. All he had to do was to -reach through the box to the table, take the letter, and lock up again. -So he did it, and put the letter in his overcoat inside pocket. - -"And--and--" he finished up, almost blubberin', "there was a great big -hole in that pocket and I didn't know it." - -"I did," says I, involuntary, so to speak. "Never mind. Heave ahead." - -"And the letter must have dropped out of it. When I got a little ways up -the road I found 'twas gone. I didn't dast tell Ike or you. I--I didn't -_dast_ to. Ike would kill me if I told him, and--and--Oh, please, Cap'n -Zeb, don't put me in jail! I don't know where the letter is. Honest, I -don't! _Please_ ..." and so on. - -Peters cut him short. "There!" says he, "that'll do. Kelley, you go out -on the platform and wait till we need you. Go ahead! Shut up--and go." - -Sim went, but I cal'late if we'd listened we could have heard the -platform boards tremblin' underneath where he was standin'. - -Peters looked at me and grinned. 'Twas my time to rub my forehead. - -"Well!" says I. "Well, I--I.... Is he lyin'?" - -"Didn't act like it, did he?" - -"No-o, he didn't. But--but, if he took that letter, how did it get back -onto that sortin' table?" - -"How do you know it did?" - -"How do I know! Course it got back there! Didn't Mary say--" - -"Wait a minute," he put in. "How do you explain that, Cap'n?" - -He was holdin' out somethin' that he'd took from his pocket. I grabbed -it. 'Twas the regular receipt for that registered letter, and 'twas -signed by Ichabod Hamilton, Junior. - -I looked at that receipt and then at him. The paddin' in my head that, -up to then, I'd complimented by callin' brains was whirlin' as if -somebody was stirrin' it. I couldn't say a word. He laughed out loud. - -"Don't have a fit, Cap'n Snow," he says. "It's simple enough. What you -told me yesterday about the firm of Hamilton and Co. put me wise to the -real answer to the riddle. I remembered that you pointed out Hamilton to -me on the street when you and I were on the way to that hotel where we -dined the noon of my arrival. He was on his way home then and he had -been somewhere in this vicinity. There was a chance that he had been -here at the office. This mornin' I went to his house and found him in -bed. He was full of rheumatism and groans, but fuller still of the Evil -One. I told him I knew he'd got his partner's registered letter--a bluff -of course--and he didn't take the trouble to deny it. Seems Sim Kelley, -with the mail box, passed him right here by the store platform. As they -passed each other the letter fell from Kelley's overcoat pocket. The old -man picked it up, intendin' to call to Kelley and give it back to him. -When he saw the address he didn't." - -He stopped then, waitin' for me to say somethin', I s'pose. But I -couldn't say anything. My head was fuller of stir-about than ever, and I -just stared at him with my mouth open. - -"When he saw the address--and the name of the brokerage firm--he didn't. -He took that letter home and opened it. You see, the old feller is -nobody's fool, even if his rheumatism has kept him from active business -for the last few months. He had suspected his nephew of speculatin' and -here was the proof, a hundred shares of cheap minin' stock, and a letter -sayin' that two hundred more had been bought on a margin. Young Hamilton -had been stockjobbin' with the firm's money." - -"My--soul!" was all I could say. - -"Yes; well, old Ichabod is--ha! ha!--a queer character. His rheumatism -had come back and he was waitin' to get better afore he took the matter -up with his partner. 'What I'll say and do to that young pup is a well -man's job,' he told me. We had a long talk and it ended in his sendin' -for Ike. As soon as the young chap came I cleared out--that is, after I -got this receipt signed. That bedroom was too sulphurous for me. I could -smell brimstone even in the front yard. Cap'n, I guess you needn't worry -about your rival candidate for postmaster. He's got troubles enough of -his own." - -I got up, slow and deliberate, from that shoe-case. - -"But--but--" I stuttered. - -"Yes? Anything that I haven't made clear?" - -"Anything? Why! if all this yarn of yours is so--.... But it _can't_ be -so! Why did Mary burn that letter?" - -"She didn't." - -"But she said she did." - -"I know. Well, Cap'n, if you'll remember when we talked, the three of -us, yesterday, I hinted that unless you were cleared of blame in this -affair you might be removed from office." - -"I know, but.... Hey? You mean that she lied and put the blame on -herself, so as to save _me_? So's I'd keep my job?" - -"Looks that way to a man up a tree, doesn't it?" - -"But why? Why should she sacrifice herself for--for me?" - -Peters bit the end off of a cigar. "That," says he, "don't come under -the head of government business." - - ---- - -Mary was still at her desk when I walked into the mail room. I put my -hand on her shoulder. - -"Mary," says I, "I know all about it." - -She looked at me. Her eyes were wet, and I cal'late mine wa'n't as dry -as a sand bank in July. - -"You know?" she says. - -"Yes," says I. And I told her the yarn. Afore I got through the color -had come back to her cheeks. - -"Then you did leave it on the sortin' table after all," she says, almost -in a whisper. - -"Course I did! Didn't I say so?" - -"Yes; but Cap'n Zeb, I saw you put that letter in your overcoat pocket. -I saw you do it, myself." - -So there 'twas. I'd forgot to tell her about my mistake in the overcoats -and she thought I'd lost the letter and didn't know it. - -"And so," says I, after I'd explained, "you thought I'd lost it and yet -you took the blame all on yourself. You risked your place and told a lie -just to save me, Mary. Why did you do it?" - -"How could I help it?" she says. "You've been so good to me and so -kind." - -"Good and kind be keelhauled!" I sung out. "Mary, my goodness and -kindness wouldn't explain a thing like that. Oh, Mary, don't let's have -another misunderstandin'. I'm crazy maybe to think of such a thing, and -I'm ten years older than you, and you'll be throwin' yourself away, but, -_do_ you care enough for me to--" - -She got up from her desk, all flustered like. - -"It's mail time," she says. "I--I must--" - -But 'twa'n't mail I was interested in just then. I caught her afore she -could get away. - -"Could you, Mary?" I pleaded. She wouldn't look at me, so I put my hand -under her chin and tipped her head back so I could see her face. 'Twas -as red as a spring peony, and her eyes were wetter than ever. But they -were shinin' behind the fog. - -Well, about three that afternoon, we were alone together in the mail -room. Peters, who had as much common sense as anybody ever I see, had -gone for a walk. - -Mary was thinkin' things over and says she, "But it was too bad," she -says, "that all the worry and trouble had to come on you just because of -that foolish Sim Kelley. I'm so sorry." - -"Sorry!" says I. "I'm goin' to give Sim a ten-dollar bill next time I -see him. If I gave him a million 'twould be a cheap price for what I've -got by his buttin' in. Sorry! _I_ ain't sorry, I tell you that!" - -And I've never been sorry since, either. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI--I PAY MY OTHER BET - - -'Twas June, and Mary and I were in New York together, on _our_ -honeymoon. We'd been married, quietly, by the same parson that tied the -knot for Jim and Georgianna, and Georgianna and Jim had been on hand at -the ceremony. We was cal'latin' to stop in New York a few days, then go -to Washington, and from there to Chicago, and from there to California -or the Yellerstone, or anywhere that seemed good to us at the time. I'd -waited fifty years for my weddin' tour and I didn't intend to let -dollars and cents cut much figger, so far as regulatin' the limits of -the cruise was concerned. Jim Henry and the clerk, who'd been swore in -as substitute assistant, believed they could run the store and -post-office while we were gone. - -Mary and I were walkin' down Broadway together. I'd told her I had an -errand to do and asked her if she wanted to come along. She said she did -and we were walkin' down Broadway, as I said, when all at once I pulled -up short. - -"What is it?" asked Mary, lookin' to see what had run across my bows to -bring me up into the wind so sudden. - -"Nothin' serious," says I; "but, unless my eyesight is goin' back on me, -this shop we're in front of is what I've been huntin' for." - -She looked at the shop I was p'intin' at. The window was full of hats, -straw ones mainly. - -"Why!" says she, "it's a hat store, isn't it? You don't need a new hat, -Zebulon, do you?" - -"You bet I do!" says I, chucklin'. "I need just as much hat as there is. -Come in and watch me buy it." - -I could see she was puzzled, but she was more so after I got into the -store. A slick-lookin', but pretty condescendin' young clerk marched up -to us and says he: - -"Somethin' in a hat, sir?" - -"Yes, sir," says I; "_everything_ in a hat." - -He didn't know what to make of that, so he tried again. - -"One of our new straws, perhaps?" he asks. "The fifteenth is almost -here, you know." - -"Maybe so," I told him, "but I don't want any straw, the fifteenth or -the sixteenth either. I want a plug hat, a beaver hat--that's what I -want." - -The clerk was a little set back, I guess, but poor Mary was all at sea. - -"Why, Zebulon!" she whispers, grabbin' me by the arm, "what are you -doin'? You're not goin' to buy a silk hat!" - -"Yes, I am," says I. - -"But you aren't goin' to _wear_ it." - -To save me, when I looked at her face I couldn't help laughin'. - -"Ain't I?" says I. "Why, I think I'd look too cute for anything in a -tall hat. What's your opinion?" turnin' to the clerk. - -He coughed behind his hand and then made proclamation that a silk hat -would become me very well, he was sure. - -"Then you're a whole lot surer than I am," says I. "However, trot one -out, the best article you've got in stock." - -That clerk's back was gettin' limberer every second. "Yes, sir," says -he, bowin'. "Our imported hat at ten dollars is the finest in New York. -If you and the lady will step this way, please." - -We stepped; that is, I did. I pretty nigh had to _drag_ Mary. - -"What size, sir?" asked the clerk. - -"Oh, I don't know," says I. "Any nice genteel size will do, I guess." - -I had consider'ble fun with that clerk, fust and last, and when we came -out of that store I was luggin' a fine leather box with the imported -tall hat inside it. I'd made arrangements that, if the size shouldn't be -right, it could be exchanged. - -"And now, Mary," says I, "I cal'late you're wonderin' where we'll go -next, ain't you?" - -She looked at me and shook her head. - -"Zeb," she says, half laughin', "I--I'm almost afraid we ought to go to -the insane asylum." - -I laughed out loud then. "Not just yet," I told her. "We're goin' on a -cruise down South Street fust." - -So I hired a hack--street cars ain't good enough for a man on his -weddin' trip--and the feller drove us to the number I give him on South -Street. The old place looked mighty familiar. - -"Is Mr. Pike in?" I asked the bookkeeper, who had hollered my name out -as if he was glad to see me. - -"Why, yes, Cap'n Snow, he's in. I'll tell him you're here." - -"Wait a minute," says I. "Is he alone? Good! Then I'll tell him myself. -Come, Mary." - -Pike was in his private office, not lookin' a day older than when I left -him four years and a half ago. He looked up, jumped, and then grabbed me -by both hands. "Why, Cap'n Zeb!" he sung out. "If this isn't good for -sore eyes. How are you? What are you doin' here in New York? By George, -I'm glad to see you! What--" - -"Wait!" I interrupted. "Business fust, and pleasure afterwards. I'm here -to pay my debts." - -"Debts?" says he, wonderin'. - -"Yes," I says. "Did you get a hat from me four year or so ago?" - -He laughed. "Yes, I did," he says. "I wrote you that I did. I knew I -should win that bet. You couldn't stay idle to save your soul." - -"There was another bet, too, if you recollect. A bet with a five-year -limit on it. The limit won't be up till next fall, so here I am--and -here's the other hat." - -I set the leather box on the table. He stared at it and then at me. - -"What do you mean?" he says, slow. "I don't remember.... Why, yes--I do! -You don't mean to tell me that you're--" - -"That's the hat, ain't it?" I cut in. "You're a man of judgment, Mr. -Pike, and any time you want to set up professionally as a prophet I'd -like to take stock in the company." - -He was beginnin' to smile. - -"Then--" says he--"Why, then this must be--" - -I cut in and stopped him. - -"Hold on," says I. "Hold on! I'm prouder to be able to say it than I -ever was of anything else in this world, and I sha'n't let you say it -fust. Mr. Pike, let me introduce you to my wife--Mrs. Zebulon Snow." - -About half an hour afterwards he found time to look at the hat. - -"Whew!" says he. "Cap'n, this is much too good a hat for you to buy for -me. I'm mighty glad, for your sake, that I won the bet, but--" - -"Ssh-h! shh!" says I. "Don't say another word. Think of what _I_ won! -Hey, Mary?" - - - - THE END - - - - - - *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POSTMASTER *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37482 - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission -and without paying copyright royalties. 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padding-top: 1px } - - .coverpage, .titlepage, - .contents, .foreword, .preface, .introduction, .dedication, .prologue, - .epilogue, .appendix, .glossary, .bibliography, .index, .colophon, - .footnotes, - .cleardoublepage { page-break-before: right; padding-top: 1px } - - .vfill { margin-top: 20% } - h2.title { margin-top: 20% } -} -</style> -<style type="text/css"> -.pageno { position: absolute; right: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; } -.pageno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.toc-pageref { float: right } -pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.9em; white-space: pre-wrap } -</style> -</head> -<body> -<div class="document" id="the-postmaster"> -<h1 class="document-title level-1 pfirst title">THE POSTMASTER</h1> - -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="container language-en pgheader" xml:lang="en" id="pg-header"> -<p class="noindent pfirst">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 <a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#project-gutenberg-license">Project Gutenberg License</a> -included with this eBook or online at -<a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a>.</p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<div class="container" id="pg-machine-header"> -<p class="noindent pfirst">Title: The Postmaster</p> -<p class="noindent pnext">Author: Joseph C. Lincoln</p> -<p class="noindent pnext">Release Date: September 19, 2011 [EBook #37482]</p> -<p class="noindent pnext">Language: English</p> -<p class="noindent pnext">Character set encoding: UTF-8</p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pnext" id="pg-start-line">*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POSTMASTER ***</p> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<div class="container" id="pg-produced-by"> -<p class="noindent pfirst">Produced by Roger Frank, Mary Meehan, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at <a class="reference external" href="http://www.pgdp.net">http://www.pgdp.net</a>.</p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="center line-block noindent outermost x-large"> -<div class="line">BY JOSEPH C. LINCOLN</div> -</div> -<div class="center large line-block noindent outermost"> -<div class="line">Author of "The Depot Master," "Cap'n Warrens Wards,"</div> -<div class="line">"Cap'n Eri," "Mr. Pratt," etc.</div> -</div> -<div class="center large line-block noindent outermost"> -<div class="line"><span class="small-caps">With Four Illustrations</span></div> -<div class="line"><span class="small-caps">By</span> HOWARD HEATH</div> -</div> -<div class="center large line-block noindent outermost"> -<div class="line">A. L. BURT COMPANY</div> -<div class="line"><span class="small-caps">Publishers New York</span></div> -</div> -<div class="center large line-block noindent outermost"> -<div class="line"><span class="small-caps">Copyright, 1912, by</span></div> -<div class="line">D. APPLETON AND COMPANY</div> -</div> -<div class="center large line-block noindent outermost"> -<div class="line">Copyright, 1911, 1912, by the Curtis Publishing Company</div> -<div class="line">Copyright, 1911, 1912, by the Ainslee Magazine Company</div> -<div class="line">Copyright, 1912, by the Ridgeway Company</div> -</div> -<div class="center large line-block noindent outermost"> -<div class="line">Published, April, 1912</div> -</div> -<div class="center large line-block noindent outermost"> -<div class="line">Printed in the United States of America</div> -</div> -<hr class="docutils"/> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure" style="margin-left: 29%; width: 42%" id="figure-5"> -<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Seems to me I never saw her look prettier." src="images/illus1.jpg" width="100%"/> -<div class="caption italics"> -Seems to me I never saw her look prettier.</div> -</div> -<hr class="docutils"/> -<div class="contents level-2 section" id="id1"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title">CONTENTS</h2> -<ul class="compact simple toc-list"> -<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-ii-make-two-betsand-lose-one-of-em" id="id2">CHAPTER I—I MAKE TWO BETS—AND LOSE ONE OF 'EM</a></span></li> -<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-iiwhat-a-pullet-did-to-a-pedigree" id="id3">CHAPTER II—WHAT A "PULLET" DID TO A PEDIGREE</a></span></li> -<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-iiii-get-into-politics" id="id4">CHAPTER III—I GET INTO POLITICS</a></span></li> -<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-ivhow-i-made-a-clam-chowder-and-what-a-clam-chowder-made-of-me" id="id5">CHAPTER IV—HOW I MADE A CLAM CHOWDER; AND WHAT A CLAM CHOWDER MADE OF ME</a></span></li> -<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-va-trap-and-what-the-rat-caught-in-it" id="id6">CHAPTER V—A TRAP AND WHAT THE "RAT" CAUGHT IN IT</a></span></li> -<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-vii-run-afoul-of-cousin-lemuel" id="id7">CHAPTER VI—I RUN AFOUL OF COUSIN LEMUEL</a></span></li> -<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-viithe-force-and-the-object" id="id8">CHAPTER VII—THE FORCE AND THE OBJECT</a></span></li> -<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-viiiarmenians-and-injuns-likewise-by-products" id="id9">CHAPTER VIII—ARMENIANS AND INJUNS; LIKEWISE BY-PRODUCTS</a></span></li> -<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-ixrosesby-another-name" id="id10">CHAPTER IX—ROSES—BY ANOTHER NAME</a></span></li> -<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-xthe-sign-of-the-windmill" id="id11">CHAPTER X—THE SIGN OF THE WINDMILL</a></span></li> -<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-xicooks-and-crooks" id="id12">CHAPTER XI—COOKS AND CROOKS</a></span></li> -<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-xiijim-henry-starts-screenin" id="id13">CHAPTER XII—JIM HENRY STARTS SCREENIN'</a></span></li> -<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-xiiiwhat-came-through-the-screen" id="id14">CHAPTER XIII—WHAT CAME THROUGH THE SCREEN</a></span></li> -<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-xivthe-epistle-to-ichabod" id="id15">CHAPTER XIV—THE EPISTLE TO ICHABOD</a></span></li> -<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-xvhow-ike-s-loss-turned-out-to-be-my-gain" id="id16">CHAPTER XV—HOW IKE'S LOSS TURNED OUT TO BE MY GAIN</a></span></li> -<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-xvii-pay-my-other-bet" id="id17">CHAPTER XVI—I PAY MY OTHER BET</a></span></li> -</ul> -</div> -<hr class="docutils"/> -<p class="center larger pfirst">THE POSTMASTER</p> -<hr class="docutils"/> -<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-ii-make-two-betsand-lose-one-of-em"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id2">CHAPTER I—I MAKE TWO BETS—AND LOSE ONE OF 'EM</a></h2> -<p class="pfirst">"So you're through with the sea for good, are you, -Cap'n Zeb," says Mr. Pike.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You bet!" says I. "Through for good -is just <em class="italics">what</em> I am."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well, I'm sorry, for the firm's sake," he says. -"It won't seem natural for the <em class="italics">Fair Breeze</em> to make -port without you in command. Cap'n, you're goin' -to miss the old schooner."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Cal'late I shall—some—along at fust," I told -him. "But I'll get over it, same as the cat got -over missin' the canary bird's singin'; and I'll have -the cat's consolation—that I done what seemed -best for me."</p> -<p class="pnext">He laughed. He and I were good friends, even -though he was ship-owner and I was only skipper, -just retired.</p> -<p class="pnext">"So you're goin' back to Ostable?" he says. -"What are you goin' to do after you get there?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nothin'; thank you very much," says I, prompt.</p> -<p class="pnext">"No work at <em class="italics">all</em>?" he says, surprised. "Not a -hand's turn? Goin' to be a gentleman of leisure, -hey?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nigh as I can, with my trainin'. The 'leisure' -part'll be all right, anyway."</p> -<p class="pnext">He shook his head and laughed again.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I think I see you," says he. "Cap'n, you've -been too busy all your life even to get married, -and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" I cut in. "Most married men I've -met have been a good deal busier than ever I was. -And a good deal more worried when business was -dull. No, sir-ee! 'twa'n't that that kept me from -gettin' married. I've been figgerin' on the day -when I could go home and settle down. If I'd -had a wife all these years I'd have been figgerin' -on bein' able to settle up. I ain't goin' to Ostable -to get married."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I'll bet you do, just the same," says he. -"And I'll bet you somethin' else: I'll bet a new -hat, the best one I can buy, that inside of a year -you'll be head over heels in some sort of hard -work. It may not be seafarin', but it'll be somethin' -to keep you busy. You're too good a man -to rust in the scrap heap. Come! I'll bet the hat. -What do you say?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Take you," says I, quick. "And if you want -to risk another on my marryin', I'll take that, too."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Go you," says he. "You'll be married inside -of three years—or five, anyway."</p> -<p class="pnext">"One year that I'll be at work—steady work—and -five that I'm married. You're shipped, -both ways. And I wear a seven and a quarter, -soft hat, black preferred."</p> -<p class="pnext">"If I don't win the first bet I will the second, -sure," he says, confident. "'Satan finds some mischief -still for idle hands,' you know. Well, good-by, -and good luck. Come in and see us whenever -you get to New York."</p> -<p class="pnext">We shook hands, and I walked out of that office, -the office that had been my home port ever -since I graduated from fust mate to skipper. And -on the way to the Fall River boat I vowed my vow -over and over again.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Zebulon Snow," I says to myself—not out -loud, you understand; for, accordin' to Scriptur' or -the Old Farmers' Almanac or somethin', a feller -who talks to himself is either rich or crazy and, -though I was well enough fixed to keep the wolf -from the door, I wa'n't by no means so crazy as to -leave the door open and take chances—"Zebulon -Snow," says I, "you're forty-eight year old and -blessedly single. All your life you've been haulin' -ropes, or bossin' fo'mast hands, or tryin' to make -harbor in a fog. Now that you've got an anchor -to wind'ard—now that the one talent you put under -the stock exchange napkin has spread out so -that you have to have a tablecloth to tote it home -in, don't you be a fool. Don't plant it again, cal'latin' -to fill a mains'l next time, 'cause you won't -do it. Take what you've got and be thankful—and -careful. You go ashore at Ostable, where you -was born, and settle down and be somebody."</p> -<p class="pnext">That's about what I said to myself, and that's -what I started to do. I made Ostable on the next -mornin's train. The town had changed a whole -lot since I left it, mainly on account of so many -summer folks buyin' and buildin' everywhere, especially -along the water front. The few reg'lar inhabitants -that I knew seemed to be glad to see me, -which I took as a sort of compliment, for it don't -always foller by a consider'ble sight. I got into -the depot wagon—the same horse was drawin' it, -I judged, that Eben Hendricks had bought when -I was a boy—and asked to be carted to the Travelers' -Inn. It appeared that there wa'n't any -Travelers' Inn now, that is to say, the name of it -had been changed to the Poquit House; "Poquit" -bein' Injun or Portygee or somethin' foreign.</p> -<p class="pnext">But the name was the only thing about that hotel -that was changed. The grub was the same and the -wallpaper on the rooms they showed to me looked -about the same age as I was, and wa'n't enough -handsomer to count, either. I hired a couple of -them rooms, one to sleep in and smoke in, and -t'other to entertain the parson in, if he should call, -which—unless the profession had changed, too—I -judged he would do pretty quick. I had the -rooms cleaned and papered, bought some dyspepsy -medicine to offset the meals I was likely to have, -and settled down to be what Mr. Pike had called a -"gentleman of leisure."</p> -<p class="pnext">Fust three months 'twas fine. At the end of the -second three it commenced to get a little mite dull. -In about two more I found my mind was shrinkin' -so that the little mean cat-talks at the breakfast -table was beginnin' to seem interestin' and important. -Then I knew 'twas time to doctor up with somethin' -besides dyspepsy pills. Ossification was settin' -in and I'd got to do somethin' to keep me interested, -even if I paid for Pike's hats for the next -generation.</p> -<p class="pnext">You see, there was such a sameness to the programme. -Turn out in the mornin', eat and listen -to gossip, go out and take a walk, smoke, talk with -folks I met—more gossip—come back and eat -again, go over and watch the carpenters on the -latest summer cottage, smoke some more, eat some -more, and then go down to the Ostable Grocery, -Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods -Store, or to the post-office, and set around with the -gang till bedtime. That may be an excitin' life for -a jellyfish, or a reg'lar Ostable loafer—but it -didn't suit me.</p> -<p class="pnext">I was feelin' that way, and pretty desperate, the -night when Winthrop Adams Beanblossom—which -wa'n't the critter's name but is nigh enough to the -real one for him to cruise under in this yarn—told -me the story of his life and started me on the v'yage -that come to mean so much to me. I didn't know -'twas goin' to mean much of anything when I -started in. But that night Winthrop got me to paddlin', -so's to speak, and, later on, come Jim Henry -Jacobs to coax me into deeper water; and, after -that, the combination of them two and Miss Letitia -Lee Pendlebury shoved me in all under, so 'twas a -case of stickin' to it or swimmin' or drownin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">I was in the Ostable Store that evenin', as usual. -'Twas almost nine o'clock and the rest of the -bunch around the stove had gone home. I was -fillin' my pipe and cal'latin' to go, too—if you can -call a tavern like the Poquit House a home. Beanblossom -was in behind the desk, his funny little grizzly-gray -head down over a pile of account books -and papers, his specs roostin' on the end of his thin -nose, and his pen scratchin' away like a stray hen in -a flower bed.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well, Beanblossom," says I, gettin' up and -stretchin', "I cal'late it's time to shed the partin' -tear. I'll leave you to figger out whether to spend -this week's profits in government bonds or trips to -Europe and go and lay my weary bones in the tomb, -meanin' my private vault on the second floor of the -Poquit. Adieu, Beanblossom," I says; "remember -me at my best, won't you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He didn't seem to sense what I was drivin' at. -He lifted his head out of the books and papers, -heaved a sigh that must have started somewheres -down along his keelson, and says, sorrowful but polite—he -was always polite—"Er—yes? You -were addressin' me, Cap'n Snow?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nothin' in particular," I says. "I was just -askin' if you intended spendin' your profits on a trip -to Europe this summer."</p> -<p class="pnext">Would you believe it, that little storekeepin' man -looked at me through his specs, his pale face twitchin' -and workin' like a youngster's when he's tryin' -not to cry, and then, all to once, he broke right -down, leaned his head on his hands and sobbed out -loud.</p> -<p class="pnext">I looked at him. "For the dear land sakes," -I sung out, soon's I could collect sense enough to say -anything, "what is the matter? Is anybody dead -or—"</p> -<p class="pnext">He groaned. "Dead?" he interrupted. "I -wish to heaven, I was dead."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well!" I gasps. "<em class="italics">Well!</em>"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, why," says he, "was I ever born?"</p> -<p class="pnext">That bein' a question that I didn't feel competent -to answer, I didn't try. My remark about -goin' to Europe was intended for a joke, but if my -jokes made grown-up folks cry I cal'lated 'twas time -I turned serious.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What <em class="italics">is</em> the matter, Beanblossom?" I says. -"Are you in trouble?"</p> -<p class="pnext">For a spell he wouldn't answer, just kept on sobbin' -and wringin' his thin hands, but, after consider'ble -of such, and a good many unsatisfyin' remarks, -he give in and told me the whole yarn, told -me all his troubles. They were complicated and -various.</p> -<p class="pnext">Picked over and b'iled down they amounted to -this: He used to have an income and he lived on -it—in bachelor quarters up to Boston. Nigh as I -could gather he never did any real work except to -putter in libraries and collect books and such. -Then, somehow or other, the bank the heft of his -money was in broke up and his health broke down. -The doctors said he must go away into the country. -He couldn't afford to go and do nothin', so he -has a wonderful inspiration—he'll buy a little store -in what he called a "rural community" and go into -business. He advertises, "Country Store Wanted -Cheap," or words to that effect. Abial Beasley's -widow had the "Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots -and Shoes and Fancy Goods Store" on her hands. -She answers the ad and they make a dicker. Said -dicker took about all the cash Beanblossom had left. -For a year he had been fightin' along tryin' to make -both ends meet, but now they was so fur apart they -was likely to meet on the back stretch. He owed -'most a thousand dollars, his trade was fallin' off, -he hadn't a cent and nobody to turn to. What -should he do? <em class="italics">What</em> should he do?</p> -<p class="pnext">That was another question I couldn't answer off -hand. It was plain enough why he was in the hole -he was, but how to get him out was different. I set -down on the edge of the counter, swung my legs -and tried to think.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hum," says I, "you don't know much about -keepin' store, do you, Beanblossom? Didn't know -nothin' about it when you started in?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Cap'n -Snow," he says. "Why should I? I never was -obliged to labor. I was not interested in trade. I -never supposed I should be brought to this. I am -a man of family, Cap'n Snow."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," I says, "so'm I. Number eight in a family -of thirteen. But that never helped me none. -My experience is that you can't count much on your -relations."</p> -<p class="pnext">Would I pardon him, but that was not the sense -in which he had used the word "family." He -meant that he came of the best blood in New -England. His ancestors had made their marks and—</p> -<p class="pnext">"Made their marks!" I put in. "Why? -Couldn't they write their names?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He was dreadful shocked, but he explained. The -Beanblossoms and their gang were big-bugs, fine -folks. He was terrible proud of his family. During -the latter part of his life in Boston he had become -interested in genealogy. He had begun a -"family tree"—whatever that was—but he never -finished it. The smash came and shook him out of -the branches; that wa'n't what he said, but 'twas the -way I sensed it. And now he had come to this. -His money was gone; he couldn't pay his debts; he -couldn't have any more credit. He must fail; he -was bankrupt. Oh, the disgrace! and likewise oh, -the poorhouse!</p> -<p class="pnext">"But," says I, considerin', "it can't be so turrible -bad. You don't owe but a thousand dollars, -this store's the only one in town and Abial used to -do pretty well with it. If your debts was paid, and -you had a little cash to stock up with, seems to me -you might make a decent v'yage yet. Couldn't -you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He didn't know. Perhaps he could. But what -was the use of talkin' that way? For him to pick -up a thousand would be about as easy as for a paralyzed -man with boxin' gloves on to pick up a flea, -or words to that effect. No, no, 'twas no use! he -must go to the poorhouse! and so forth and so on.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You hold on," I says. "Don't you engage -your poorhouse berth yet. You keep mum and say -nothin' to nobody and let me think this over a -spell. I need somethin' to keep me interested and ... I'll -see you to-morrow sometime. Good -night."</p> -<p class="pnext">I went home thinkin' and I thought till pretty -nigh one o'clock. Then I decided I was a fool even -to think for five minutes. Hadn't I sworn to be -careful and never take another risk? I was sorry -for poor old Winthrop, but I couldn't afford to mix -pity and good legal tender; that was the sort of -blue and yeller drink that filled the poor-debtors' -courts. And, besides, wasn't I pridin' myself on -bein' a gentleman of leisure. If I got mixed up in -this, no tellin' what I might be led into. Hadn't I -bragged to Pike about—Oh, I <em class="italics">was</em> a fool!</p> -<p class="pnext">Which was all right, only, after listenin' to the -breakfast conversation at the Poquit House, down -I goes to the store and afore the forenoon was over -I was Winthrop Adams Beanblossom's silent partner -to the extent of twenty-five hundred dollars. I -was busy once more and glad of it, even though -Pike <em class="italics">was</em> goin' to get a hat free.</p> -<p class="pnext">This was in January. By early March I was -twice as busy and not half as glad. You see I'd -cal'lated that the store was all right, all it needed -was financin'. Trade was just asleep, taking a nap, -and I could wake it up. I was wrong. Trade was -dead, and, barrin' the comin' of a prophet or some -miracle worker to fetch it to life, what that shop -was really sufferin' for was an undertaker. My -twenty-five hundred was funeral expenses, that's all.</p> -<p class="pnext">But the prophet came. Yes, sir, he came and -fetched his miracle with him. One evenin', after -all the reg'lar customers, who set around in chairs -borrowin' our genuine tobacco and payin' for it -with counterfeit funny stories, had gone—after -everybody, as we cal'lated, had cleared out—Beanblossom -and I set down to hold our usual autopsy -over the remains of the fortni't's trade. 'Twas a -small corpse and didn't take long to dissect. We'd -lost twenty-one dollars and sixty-eight cents, and -the only comfort in that was that 'twas seventy-six -cents less than the two weeks previous. The -weather had been some cooler and less stuff had -sp'iled on our hands; that accounted for the savin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">Beanblossom—I'd got into the habit of callin' -him "Pullet" 'cause his general build was so similar -to a moultin' chicken—he vowed he couldn't -understand it.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I think I shall give up buyin' so liberally, Cap'n -Snow," says he. "If we didn't keep on buyin' we -shouldn't lose half so much," he says.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says I, "that's logic. And if we give up -sellin' we shouldn't lose the other half. You and -me are all right as fur as we go, Pullet, and I guess -we've gone about as fur as we can."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Please don't call me 'Pullet,'" he says, dignified. -"When I think of what I once was, it—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"S-sh-h!" I broke in. "It's what I am that troubles -me. I don't dare think of that when the minister's -around—he might be a mind-reader. No, -Pul—Beanblossom, I mean—it's no use. I imagined -because I could run a three-masted -schooner I could navigate this craft. I can't. I -know twice as much as you do about keepin' store, -but the trouble with that example is the answer, -which is that you don't know nothin'. We might -just exactly as well shut up shop now, while there's -enough left to square the outstandin' debts."</p> -<p class="pnext">He turned white and began the hand-wringin' -exercise.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Think of the disgrace!" he says.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Think of my twenty-five hundred," says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Excuse me, gentlemen," says a voice astern of -us; "excuse me for buttin' in; but I judge that what -you need is a butter."</p> -<p class="pnext">Pullet and I jumped and turned round. We'd -supposed we was alone and to say we was surprised -is puttin' it mild. For a second I couldn't make out -what had happened, or where the voice came from, -or who 'twas that had spoke—then, as he come -across into the lamplight I recognized him. 'Twas -Jim Henry Jacobs, the livin' mystery.</p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure" style="margin-left: 29%; width: 42%" id="figure-6"> -<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="As he come across into the lamplight I recognized him." src="images/illus2.jpg" width="100%"/> -<div class="caption italics"> -As he come across into the lamplight I recognized him.</div> -</div> -<p class="pfirst">Jim Henry was middlin'-sized, sharp-faced, -dressed like a ready-tailored advertisement, and as -smooth and slick as an eel in a barrel of sweet ile. -Accordin' to his entry on the books of the Poquit -House he hailed from Chicago. He'd been in Ostable -for pretty nigh a month and nobody had been -able to find out any more about him than just that, -which is a some miracle of itself—if you know -Ostable. He was always ready to talk—talkin' -was one of his main holts—but when you got -through talkin' with him all you had to remember -was a smile and a flow of words. He was at the -seashore for his health, that he always give you to -understand. You could believe it if you wanted -to.</p> -<p class="pnext">He'd got into the habit of spendin' his evenin's -at Pullet's store, settin' around listenin' and smilin' -and agreein' with folks. He was the only feller -I ever met who could say no and agree with you -at the same time. Solon Saunders tried to borrow -fifty cents of him once and when the pair of 'em -parted, Saunders was scratchin' his head and lookin' -puzzled. "I can't understand it," says Solon. "I -would have swore he'd lent it to me. 'Twas just -as if I had the fifty in my hand. I—I thanked -him for it and all that, but—but now he's gone I -don't seem to be no richer than when I started. I -can't understand it."</p> -<p class="pnext">Pullet and I had seen him settin' abaft the stove -early in the evenin', but, somehow or other, we got -the notion that he'd cleared out with the other -loafers. However, he hadn't, and he'd heard all -we'd been sayin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">He walked across to where we was, pulled a shoe -box from under the counter, come to anchor on it -and crossed his legs.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Gentlemen," he says again, "you need a butter."</p> -<p class="pnext">Poor old Pullet was so set back his brains was -sort of scrambled, like a pan of eggs.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Er-er, Mr. Jacobs," he says, "I am very -sorry, extremely sorry, but we are all out just at -this minute. I fully intended to order some to-day, -but I—I guess I must have forgotten it."</p> -<p class="pnext">Jacobs couldn't seem to make any more out of -this than I did.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Out?" he says, wonderin'. "Out? Who's -out? What's out? I guess I've dropped the key -or lost the combination. What's the answer?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, butter," says Pullet, apologizin'. "You -asked for butter, didn't you? As I was sayin', I -should have ordered some to-day, but—"</p> -<p class="pnext">Jim Henry waved his hands. "Sh-h," he says, -"don't mention it. Forget it. If I'd wanted butter -in this emporium I should have asked for somethin' -else. I've been givin' this mart of trade some -attention for the past three weeks and I judge that -its specialty is bein' able to supply what ain't wanted. -I hinted that you two needed a butter-in. All -right. I'm the goat. Now if you'll kindly give -me your attention, I'll elucidate."</p> -<p class="pnext">We give the attention. After he'd "elucidated" -for five minutes we'd have given him our clothes. -You never heard such a mess of language as that -Chicago man turned loose. He talked and talked -and talked. He knew all about the store and the -business, and what he didn't know he guessed and -guessed right. He knew about Pullet and his buyin' -the place, about my goin' in as silent partner—though -<em class="italics">that</em> nobody was supposed to know. He -knew the shebang wa'n't payin' and, also and moreover, -he knew why. And he had the remedy buttoned -up in his jacket—the name of it was James -Henry Jacobs.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Gentlemen," he says, "I'm a specialist. I'm a -doctor of sick business. Ever since my medicine -man ordered me to quit the giddy metropolis and -the Grand Central Department Store, where I was -third assistant manager, I've been driftin' about -seekin' a nice, quiet hamlet and an opportunity. -Here's the ham and, if you say the word, here's -the opportunity. This shop is in a decline; it's got -creepin' paralysis and locomotive hang-back-tia. -There's only one thing that can change the funeral -to a silver weddin'—that's to call in Old Doctor -Jacobs. Here he is, with his pocket full of testimonials. -Now you listen."</p> -<p class="pnext">We'd been listenin'—'twas by long odds the -easiest thing to do—and we kept right on. He -had testimonials—he showed 'em to us—and they -took oath to his bein' honest and the eighth business -wonder of the world. He went on to elaborate. -He had a thousand to invest and he'd invest it provided -we'd take him in as manager and give him -full swing. He'd guarantee—etcetery and so on, -unlimited and eternal.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But," says I, when he stopped to eat a throat -lozenge, "sellin' goods is one thing; gettin' the -right goods to sell is another. Me and Pullet—Mr. -Beanblossom here—have tried to keep a pretty -fair-sized stock, but it's the kind of stock that keeps -better'n it sells."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Sell!" he puts in. "You can sell anything, if -you know how. See here, let me prove it to you. -You think this over to-night and to-morrow forenoon -I'll be on hand and demonstrate. Just put on -your smoked glasses and watch me. <em class="italics">I'll</em> show you."</p> -<p class="pnext">He did. Next mornin' old Aunt Sarah Oliver -came in to buy a hank of black yarn to darn stockin's -with. With diplomacy and patience the average -feller could conclude that dicker in an hour and -a quarter—if he had the yarn. Pullet was just -out of black, of course, but that Jim Henry Jacobs -stepped alongside and within twenty minutes he sold -Aunt Sarah two packages of needles, a brass thimble -and a half dozen pair of blue and yellow striped -stockin's that had been on the shelves since Abial -Beasley's time, and was so loud that a sane person -wouldn't dare wear 'em except when it thundered. -She went out of the store with her bundles in one -hand and holdin' her head with the other. Then -that Jim Henry man turned to Pullet and me.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well?" he says, serene and smilin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">It was well, all right. At just quarter to twelve -that night the arrangements was made. Jacobs was -partner in and manager of the "Ostable Grocery, -Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods -Store."</p> -</div> -<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-iiwhat-a-pullet-did-to-a-pedigree"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id3">CHAPTER II—WHAT A "PULLET" DID TO A PEDIGREE</a></h2> -<p class="pfirst">In less than two months that store of ours was -a payin' proposition. Jim Henry Jacobs was -responsible, that is all I can tell you. Don't -ask me how he did it. 'Twas advertisin', mainly. -Advertisin' in the papers, advertisin' on the fences, -things set out in the windows, a new gaudy delivery -cart, special bargain days for special stuff—they all -helped. Of course if we'd limited ourselves to -Ostable the cargo wouldn't have been so heavy that -we'd get stoop-shouldered, but that Jim Henry was -unlimited. He advertised in the county weekly and -sent a special cart to take orders for twenty mile -around. The early summer cottages was beginnin' -to open and 'twas summer trade, rich city -folks' trade, that the Jacobs man said we must have. -And we got it, one way or another we got it all. -Most of the swell big-bugs had been in the habit -of orderin' wholesale from Boston, but he soon -stopped that. One after another Jim Henry -landed 'em. When I asked him how, he just -winked.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Skipper," says he—he most generally called -me "Skipper" same as I called Beanblossom "Pullet"—"Skipper," -he says, "you can always hook -a cod if there's any around and you keepin' changin' -bait; ain't that so? Um-hm; well, I change bait, -that's all. Every man, woman and suffragette has -got a weak p'int somewheres. I just cast around -till I find that particular weak p'int; then they swaller -hook, line and sinker."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" I says, "Miss Letitia ain't swallowed -nothin' yet, that I've noticed. Her weak -p'ints all strong ones? or what is the matter?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He made a face. "Sister Pendlebury," says he, -"is the frostiest proposition I ever tackled outside -of an ice chest. But I'll get her yet. You wait and -see. Why, man, we've <em class="italics">got</em> to get her."</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, I could find more truth in them statements -than I could satisfaction. We'd got to get her—yes. -But she wouldn't be got. She was the richest -old maid on the North Shore; lived in a stone -and plaster house bigger'n the Ostable County jail, -which she'd labeled "Pendlebury Villa"; had six -servants, three cats and a poll parrot; and was so -tipped back with dignity and importance that a -plumb-line dropped from her after-hair comb would -have missed her heels by three inches. Her winter -port was Brookline; summers she condescended to -shed glory over Ostable.</p> -<p class="pnext">To get the trade of Pendlebury Villa had been -Jim Henry's dream from the start. And up to date -he was still dreamin'. The other big-bugs he had -caged, but Letitia was still flyin' free and importin' -her honey from Boston, so to speak. Jacobs had -tried everything he could think of, bribin' the servants, -sendin' samples of fancy breakfast food and -pickles free gratis, writin' letters, callin' with his -Sunday clothes on, everything—but 'twas "Keep -Off the Grass" at Pendlebury Villa so far as we -was concerned. 'Twas the biggest chunk of trade -under one head on the Cape and it hurt Jim Henry's -pride not to get it. However, he kept on tryin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">One mornin' he comes back to the store after a -cruise to the Villa and it seemed to me that he -looked happier than was usual after one of these -trips.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Skipper," says he, "I think—I wouldn't bet -any more'n my small change, but I <em class="italics">think</em> I've laid -a corner stone."</p> -<p class="pnext">"With Miss Pendlebury?" says I, excited.</p> -<p class="pnext">"With Letitia," he says, noddin'. "I haven't -got an order, but I have got a promise. She's -agreed to drop in one of these days and look us -over."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well!" says I, "I should say that <em class="italics">was</em> a corner -stone."</p> -<p class="pnext">"We'll hope 'tis," he says. "Ho, ho! Skipper, -I wish you might have been present at the exercises. -They were funny."</p> -<p class="pnext">Seems he'd managed—bribery and corruption of -the hired help again—to see Letitia alone in what -she called her "mornin' room." He said that, if -he'd paid any attention to the temperature of that -room when he and she first met in it, he'd have figgered -he'd struck the morgue; but he warmed it up a -little afore he left. Miss Pendlebury just set and -glared frosty while he talked and talked and talked. -She said about three words to his two hundred -thousand, but every one of hers was a "no." She -didn't care to patronize the local merchants. The -city ones were bad enough—she had all the trouble -she wanted with <em class="italics">them</em>. She was not interested; -and would he please be careful when he went out -and not step on the flower beds.</p> -<p class="pnext">He was about ready to give it up when he -happened to notice an ile portrait in a gorgeous gold -frame hangin' on the wall. 'Twas the picture of -a man, and Jim Henry said there was a kind of great-I-am -look to it, a combination of fatness and importance -and wisdom, same as you see in a stuffed -owl, that give him an idea. He started to go, -stopped in front of the picture and began to look -it over, admirin' but reverent, same as a garter -snake might look at a boa-constrictor, as proof of -what the race was capable of.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Excuse me, Miss Pendlebury," he says, "but -that is a wonderful portrait. I have had some experience -in judgin' paintin's—" he was clerk in the -Grand Central Store framed picture department once—"and -I think I know what I'm talkin' about."</p> -<p class="pnext">Would you believe it, she commenced to unbend -right off.</p> -<p class="pnext">"It is a Sargent," says she.</p> -<p class="pnext">Now I should have asked: "Sergeant of militia, -or what?" and upset the whole calabash; but -Jim Henry knew better. He bows, solemn and wise, -and says he'd been sure of it right along.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But any painter," he says, "would have made -a success with a subject like that gentleman before -him. There is somethin' about him, the height of -his brow, and his wonderful eyes, etcetery, which -reminds me—You'll excuse me, Miss Pendlebury, -but isn't that a portrait of one of your near relatives?"</p> -<p class="pnext">She unbent some more and almost smiled. The -painted critter was her pa and he was considered -a wonderful likeness.</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, that was enough for your uncle Jim Henry. -He settled down to his job then and the way he -poured gush over that painted Pendlebury man was -close to sacreligion. But Letitia never pumped up -a blush; worship was what she expected for her -and her pa. He'd been a member of the -Governor's staff and a bank president and a church -warden and an alderman and land knows what. -His daughter and Jacobs had a real sociable interview -and it ended by her promisin' to drop in at the -store and look our stock over. 'Course 'twa'n't -likely 'twould suit her—she was very exacting, she -said—but she'd look it over.</p> -<p class="pnext">We looked it over fust. We put in the rest of -that day changin' everything around on the counters -and shelves, puttin' the canned stuff in piles -where they'd do the most good, and settin' advertisin' -signs and such in front of the empty places -where they'd been afore. Even Pullet worked, -though he couldn't understand it, and growled because -he had to leave the musty old book he was -readin' and the "genealogical tree" he'd begun to -cultivate once more. Jacobs was pretty well disgusted -with Pullet. Said he was an incumbrance -on the concern and hadn't any business instinct.</p> -<p class="pnext">All the next day and the next we hung around, -dressed up to kill—that is, Jim Henry's togs would -have killed anything with weak eyes—waitin' for -Letitia Pendlebury to come aboard and inspect. -But she didn't come that day, or the next either. -Jacobs was disapp'inted, but he wouldn't give in -that he was discouraged. The fourth forenoon, -when there was still nothin' doin', he and I went -on a cruise with a hired horse and buggy over to -Bayport, where we had some business. We left -Pullet in charge of the store and when we came back -he was lookin' pretty joyful.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Who do you think has been here?" he says, -in his thin, polite little voice. "Miss Letitia Pendlebury -called this afternoon."</p> -<p class="pnext">"She did!" shouts Jacobs.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Did she buy anythin'?" I wanted to know.</p> -<p class="pnext">No, it appeared that she hadn't bought anythin'. -Fact is, Pullet had forgot he was supposed to be -a storekeeper. When Letitia came in he was -roostin' in his family tree, had the chart spread out -on the counter and was fillin' in some of the twigs -with the names of dead and gone Beanblossoms. -He couldn't climb down to common things like -crackers and salt pork.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But she was very much interested," he says, his -specs shinin' with joy. "When she found out what -I was busy with she was <em class="italics">very</em> much interested, really. -She is a lady of family, too."</p> -<p class="pnext">"She <em class="italics">is</em>?" I sings out. "What are you talkin' -about? She's an old maid and an only child besides, -and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hush up, Skipper," orders Jacobs. "Go on, -Pullet—Mr. Beanblossom, I mean—go on."</p> -<p class="pnext">So on went Pullet, both wings flappin'. Letitia -and he had talked "family" to beat the cars. She -had 'most everything in the Villa except a family -tree. She must have one right away. She simply -must.</p> -<p class="pnext">"And I am to help her in preparin' it," says Pullet, -puffed up and vainglorious. "The Pendlebury -family tree will be an honor to prepare. Of course -it will require much labor and research, but I shall -enjoy doing it. I told her so. Her father would -have prepared one himself, had often spoken of it, -but he was a very busy man of affairs and lacked the -time."</p> -<p class="pnext">My, but I was mad! I cal'late if I had a marlinspike -handy our coop would have been a Pullet -short. But Jim Henry Jacobs was so full of tickle -he couldn't keep still. He fairly dragged me into -the back room.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Skipper," he says, "here it is at last! We've -got it!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," I sputters, thinkin' he was referrin' to -Beanblossom, "we've got it; and, if you ask me, -I'd tell you we'd ought to chloroform it afore it -does any more harm."</p> -<p class="pnext">"No, no," he says, "you don't understand. -We've got the old girl's weak p'int at last. It's -genealogy. Pullet shall grow her a family tree if -I have to buy a carload of fertilizer to-morrer. -Think of it! think of it! Why, she won't give him -a minute's rest from now on. She'll be after him -the whole time."</p> -<p class="pnext">"But I can't see where the trade comes in," -says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You <em class="italics">can't</em>! With our senior pardner head forester? -My boy, if any other shop sells Pendlebury -Villa a dollar's worth after this, I'll Fletcherize my -hat, that's all!"</p> -<p class="pnext">He knew what he was talkin' about, as usual. -The very next forenoon Letitia was in to consult -with Pullet about huntin' up her family records. -Afore she left Jacobs took orders for thirty-two dollars' -worth and I'd have bet she didn't know a thing -she bought. After dinner, Jim Henry sent Pullet -up to see her. He stayed until supper time. Next -day he had supper at the Villa. A week later he -made his first trip to Boston, to the Genealogical -Society, to hunt for records. And Jacobs stayed -in Ostable and kept the Villa supplied with the luxuries -of life. If the Pendlebury servants didn't die -of gout and overeatin', it wasn't our fault.</p> -<p class="pnext">By August the whole town was talkin'. They -had it all settled. 'Cordin' to the gossip-spreaders -there could be only one reason for Pullet and Miss -Letitia bein' together so much—they was cal'latin' -to marry. The weddin' day was prophesied and set -anywheres from to-morrer to next Christmas. I -thought such talk ought to be stopped. Jim Henry -didn't.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why?" says he.</p> -<p class="pnext">"<em class="italics">Why!</em>" I says. "Because it's foolishness, -that's why. 'Cause there's no truth in it and you -know it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"No, I don't know," says he. "Stranger things -than that have happened."</p> -<p class="pnext">"<em class="italics">She</em> marry that old fossilized pauper!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why not? He's a gentleman and a scholar, if -he <em class="italics">is</em> poor. She's rich, but if there's one thing she -isn't, it's a scholar."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph! fur's that goes," says I, "she ain't a -gentleman, either—though she's next door to -it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"That's all right. Skipper, there's some things -money can't buy. Pullet's got book learnin' and -treed ancestors and she ain't. She's got money -and he ain't. Both want what t'other's best fixed -in. If old Beanblossom had any sand, I should believe -'twas a sure thing. I guess I'll drop him a -hint."</p> -<p class="pnext">"My land!" I sang out; "don't you do it. The -fat'll all be in the fire then."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Skipper," says he, "you're a cagey old bird, -but you don't know it all. There's some things you -can leave to me. And, anyhow, whether the weddin' -bells chime or not, all this talk is good free -advertisin' for the store."</p> -<p class="pnext">'Twa'n't long after this that the genealogical man -begun to seem less gay-like. He and Letitia was -together as much as ever, the Pendlebury tree and -the Beanblossom tree—he worked on both at the -same time—was flourishin', after the topsy-turvy -way of such vegetables—from the upper branches -down towards the trunks; but there was a look on -Pullet's face as he pawed through his books and -papers that I couldn't understand. He looked worried -and troubled about somethin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What's the matter?" I asked him, once. -"Ain't your ancestors turnin' up satisfactory?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," he says, polite as ever, but sort of condescendin' -and proud, "the Beanblossom history -is, if you will permit me to say so, a very satisfactory -record indeed."</p> -<p class="pnext">"And the Pendleburys?" says I. "George -Washin'ton was first cousin on their ma's side, I -s'pose."</p> -<p class="pnext">He didn't answer for a minute. Then he wiped -his specs with his handkerchief. "The Pendlebury -records are," he says, slow, "a trifle more confused -and difficult. But I am progressin'—yes, Cap'n -Snow, I think I may say that I am progressin'."</p> -<p class="pnext">The thunderbolt hit us, out of a clear sky, the -fust week in September. Yet I s'pose we'd ought -to have seen it comin' at least a day ahead. That -day the Pendlebury gasoline carryall come buzzin' -up to the front platform and Letitia steps out, grand -as the Queen of Sheba, of course.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Cap'n Snow," says she, and it seemed to me -that she hesitated just a minute, "is Mr. Beanblossom -about?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"No," says I, "he ain't. I don't know where -he is exactly. He was in the store this mornin' -askin' about a letter he's expectin' from the Genealogical -Society folks, but he went out right afterwards -and I ain't seen him since. I s'posed, of -course, he was up to your house."</p> -<p class="pnext">"No," she says, and I thought she colored up a -little mite; "he has not been there since day before -yesterday. Perhaps that is natural, under the circumstances," -speakin' more to herself than to me, -"but ... however, will you kindly tell him -I called before leavin' for the city. I am goin' to -Boston on a shoppin' excursion," she adds, condescendin'. -"I shall return on Wednesday."</p> -<p class="pnext">She went away. Pullet didn't show up until night -and then the first thing he asked for was the mail. -When I told him about the Pendlebury woman he -turned round and went out again.</p> -<p class="pnext">Next day was Saturday and we was pretty busy, -that is, Jim Henry and the clerk was busy. I was -about as much use as usual, and, as for Pullet, he -was no use at all. A big green envelope from the -Genealogical Society come for him in the morning -mail—he was always gettin' letters from that Society—and -he grabbed at it and went out on the platform. -A little while afterwards I saw him roostin' -on a box out there, with his hair, what there was -of it, all rumpled up, and an expression of such -everlastin', world-without-end misery on his face -that I stopped stock still and looked at him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"For the mercy sakes," says I, "what's happened?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He turned his head, stared at me fishy-eyed, and -got up off the box.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What's wrong?" I asked. "Is the world comin' -to an end?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He put one hand to his head and waved the other -up and down like a pump handle.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," he sings out, frantic like. "It is ended -already. It is all over. I—I—"</p> -<p class="pnext">And with that he jumps off the platform and -goes staggerin' up the road. I'd have follered him, -but just then Jim Henry calls to me from inside the -store and in a little while I'd forgot Beanblossom -altogether. I thought of him once or twice durin' -the day, but 'twa'n't till about shuttin'-up time that -I thought enough to mention him to Jacobs. Then -he mentioned him fust.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Whew!" says he, settin' down for the fust time -in two hours. "Whew! I'm tired. This has been -the best day this concern has had since I took hold -of it, and I've worked like a perpetual motion -machine. We'll need another boy pretty soon, -Skipper. Pullet's no good as a salesman. By the -way, where <em class="italics">is</em> Pullet? I ain't seen him since -noon."</p> -<p class="pnext">Neither had I, now that I come to think of it.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I wonder if the poor critter's sick," I says. Then -I started to tell how queer he'd acted out on the platform. -I'd just begun when Amos Hallett's boy -come into the store with a note.</p> -<p class="pnext">"It's for you, Cap'n Zeb," he says, all out of -breath. "I meant to give it to you afore, but I -just this minute remembered it. Mr. Beanblossom, -he give it to me at the depot when he took the -up train."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Took the up train?" says I. "Who did? -Not Pul—Mr. Beanblossom?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says the boy. "He's gone to Boston, -leastways the depot-master said he bought a ticket -for there. Why? Didn't you know it? He—"</p> -<p class="pnext">I was too astonished to speak at all, but Jim -Henry was cool as usual.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes, yes, son," he says. "It's all right. You -trot right along home afore you catch cold in your -freckles." Then, after the youngster'd gone, he -turns to me quick. "Open it, Skipper," he orders. -"Somethin's happened. Open it."</p> -<p class="pnext">I opened the envelope. Inside was a sheet of -foolscap covered from top to bottom with mighty -shaky handwritin'. I read it out loud.</p> -<blockquote><div> -<p class="pfirst">"<em class="italics">Captain Zebulon Snow</em>,</p> -<p class="pnext">"<span class="small-caps">Dear Sir</span>:</p> -</div></blockquote> -<p class="pfirst">"Polite as ever, ain't he?" I says. "He'd been -genteel if he was writin' his will."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Go on!" snaps Jacobs. "Hurry up."</p> -<blockquote><div> -<p class="pfirst">"<span class="small-caps">Dear Sir</span>: When you receive this I shall have -left Ostable, it may be forever. I have made a -horrible discovery, which has wrecked all my hopes -and my life. In accordance with Mr. Jacob's kindly -counsel, I recently summoned courage to ask Miss -Pendlebury to become my wife.</p> -</div></blockquote> -<p class="pfirst">"Good heavens to Betsy!" I sang out, almost -droppin' the letter.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Go on!" shouts Jacobs. "Don't stop now."</p> -<p class="pnext">"But he asked her to <em class="italics">marry</em> him!" I gasps. -"In accordance with your advice—<em class="italics">yours</em>! Did -<em class="italics">you</em> have the cheek to—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"<em class="italics">Will</em> you go on? Of course I advised him. -We'd got the Pendlebury trade, hadn't we? Can -you think of any surer way to cinch it than to have -those two idiots marry each other? Go on—or -give me the letter."</p> -<p class="pnext">I went on, as well as I could, everything considered.</p> -<blockquote><div> -<p class="pfirst">"She did not refuse. She was kinder than I had -a right to expect. I realized my presumption, -but—"</p> -</div></blockquote> -<p class="pfirst">"Skip that," orders Jim Henry. "Get down to -brass tacks."</p> -<p class="pnext">I skipped some.</p> -<blockquote><div> -<p class="pfirst">"She told me she must have a few days' time to -consider. I waited. To-day I received a communication -from the Genealogical Society which has -dashed my hopes to the ground. It was in connection -with my work on the Pendlebury family tree. -For some time I have been very much troubled concerning -developments in that work. The later Pendleburys -have been ladies and gentlemen of repute -and worth, but as I delved deeper into the past and -approached the early generations in this country, -I—"</p> -</div></blockquote> -<p class="pfirst">"Skip again," says Jacobs.</p> -<p class="pnext">I skipped.</p> -<blockquote><div> -<p class="pfirst">"And now, to my horror, I find the fact proven -beyond doubt. Ezekiel Jonas Pendlebury—whose -name should be inscribed upon the trunk of the tree, -he being the original settler in America—was -hanged in the Massachusetts Bay Colony for stealing -a hog upon the Sabbath Day."</p> -</div></blockquote> -<p class="pfirst">Then I <em class="italics">did</em> drop the letter. "My land of love!" -was all I could say. And what Jacobs said was -just as emphatic. We stared at each other; and -then, all at once, he began to laugh, laugh till I -thought he'd never stop. His laughin' made me -mad until I commenced to see the funny side of the -thing; then I laughed, too, and the pair of us rocked -back and forth and haw-hawed like loons.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, dear me!" says Jim Henry, wipin' his -eyes. "The original Pendlebury hung for hog -stealin'!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Stealin' it on Sunday," says I. "Don't forget -that. Sabbath-breakin' was worse than thievin' in -them days."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well, go on, go on," says he. "There's more -of it, ain't they?"</p> -<p class="pnext">There was. The writing got finer and finer as -it got close to the bottom of the page. Poor Pullet -had caved in when that revelation struck him. -Honor compelled him to tell Letitia the truth and -how could he tell her such a truth as that? She, -so proud and all. He had led her into this dreadful -research work and she would blame him, of course, -and dismiss him with scorn and contempt. Her -contempt he could not bear. No, he must go away. -He could never face her again. He was goin' to -Boston, to his cousin's house in Newton, and stay -there for a spell. Perhaps some day, after she had -shut up her summer villa and gone, too, he might -return; he didn't know. But would we forgive -him, etcetery and so forth, and—good-by.</p> -<p class="pnext">His name was squeezed in the very corner. I -looked at Jacobs.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," I says, some disgusted, "it looks to me, -as a man up a tree—not a family tree, neither, -thank the Lord—as if instead of cinchin' the Pendlebury -trade your 'advice' had queered it forever."</p> -<p class="pnext">He didn't say nothin'. Just scowled and kicked -his heels together. Then he grabbed the letter out -of my hand and begun to read it again. I scowled, -too, and set starin' at the floor and thinkin'. All -at once I heard him swear, a sort of joyful swear-word, -seemed to me. I looked up. As I did he -swung off the counter, crumpled up the letter, -jammed it in his pocket and grabbed up his hat.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Skipper," he says, his eyes shinin', "there's a -night freight to Boston, ain't there?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes, there is, but—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"So long, then. I'll be back soon's I can. You -and Bill"—that was the clerk—"must do as well -as you can for a day or so. So long. But you just -remember this: Old Doctor James Henry Jacobs, -specialist in sick businesses, ain't given up hopes of -this patient yet, not by any manner of means. By, -by."</p> -<p class="pnext">He was gone afore I could say another word, -and for the rest of that night and all day Sunday -and until Monday evenin's train come in, I was like -a feller walkin' in his sleep. All creation looked -crazy and I was the only sane critter in it.</p> -<p class="pnext">On Monday evenin' he came sailin' into the store, -all smiles. 'Twas some time afore I could get him -alone, but, when I could, I nailed him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Now," says I, "perhaps you'll tell me why you -run off and left me, and where you've been, and -what you mean by it, and a few other things."</p> -<p class="pnext">He grinned. "Been?" he says. "Well, I've -been to see the last of Miss Letitia Pendlebury of -Pendlebury Villa, Ostable, Mass. Miss Pendlebury -is no more."</p> -<p class="pnext">"No more!" I hollered. "No <em class="italics">more</em>! Don't -tell me she's dead!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I sha'n't," says he, "because she isn't. She's -alive, all right, but she's no more Miss Pendlebury. -She's Mrs. Winthrop Adams Beanblossom -now," he says. "They were married this forenoon."</p> -<p class="pnext">"<em class="italics">Married?</em>"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Married."</p> -<p class="pnext">"But—but—after the hangin' news—and -the hog-stealin'—and—Does she know it? She -wouldn't marry him after <em class="italics">that</em>?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"She knows and she was tickled to death to -marry him. Skipper, there was a P.S. on the back -of that letter of Pullet's. You didn't turn the page -over; I did and I recognized the life-saver right off. -Here it is."</p> -<p class="pnext">He passed me Beanblossom's letter, back side up. -There was a P.S., but it looked to me more like -the finishin' knock on the head than it did like a -life-saver. This was it:</p> -<blockquote><div> -<p class="pfirst">"P.S. I have neglected to state another fact -which my researches have brought to light and -which makes the affair even more hopeless. My -own ancestor, at that time Governor of the Colony, -was the person who sentenced Ezekiel Pendlebury -and caused him to be hanged."</p> -</div></blockquote> -<p class="pfirst">"And that," says I, "is what you call a life-saver! -My nine-times great-granddad has your -nine-times great-granddad hung and that removes -all my objections to marryin' you. Oh, sure and sartin! -Yes, indeed!"</p> -<p class="pnext">He smiled superior. "Listen, you doubtin' -Thomas," says he. "You can't see it, but Sister -Letitia saw it right off when I put Pullet's case -afore her at the Hotel Somerset, where she was -stoppin'. <em class="italics">Her</em> ancestor was a hog-stealer and a -hobo; but Beanblossom's ancestor was a Governor -and a nabob from way back. If by just sayin' yes -you could swap a pig-thief for a governor, you'd -do it, wouldn't you? You would if you'd been -braggin' 'family' as Letitia has for the past three -months. I saw her, turned on some of my convincin' -conversation, saw Pullet at his cousin's and -convinced him. They were married at Trinity -parsonage this very forenoon."</p> -<p class="pnext">"My! my! my!" I says, after this had really -sunk in. "And the Pendlebury tree is—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"There ain't any Pendlebury tree," he interrupts. -"It's the kindlin'-bin for that shrub. But -the <em class="italics">Beanblossom</em> tree, with governors and judges -and generals proppin' up every main limb, is goin' -to hang right next to Pa Pendlebury's picture in the -mornin' room of Pendlebury Villa. And the head -of Pendlebury Villa is the senior partner in the -Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and -Fancy Goods Store."</p> -<p class="pnext">He was wrong there. Letitia Pendlebury Beanblossom -had another surprise under her bonnet and -she sprung it when she got back. She sent for -Jacobs and me and made proclamation that her husband -would withdraw from the firm.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I trust that Mr. Beanblossom and I are democratic," -she says. "Of course we shall continue -to purchase our supplies from you gentlemen. But, -really," she says, "you <em class="italics">must</em> see that a man whose -ancestor by direct descent was Governor of Massachusetts -Bay Colony could scarcely humiliate himself -by engaging in <em class="italics">trade</em>."</p> -<p class="pnext">So, instead of gettin' out of storekeepin', I was -left deeper in it than ever. But Jim Henry cheered -me up by sayin' I hadn't really been in it at all yet.</p> -<p class="pnext">"This foundlin' is only beginnin' to set up and -take notice," he says. "Skipper, you put your faith -in old Doctor Jacobs' Teethin' Syrup and Tonic for -Business Infants."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I guess that's where it's put," says I, drawin' a -long breath.</p> -<p class="pnext">"It couldn't be in a better place, could it? No, -we've got a good start, but that's all it is. Before -I get through you'll see. We've got to make this -store prominent and keep it prominent, and the best -way to do that is to be prominent ourselves. Skipper, -I wish you'd go into politics."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Politics!" says I, soon as I could catch my -breath. "Well, when I do, I give you leave to -order my room at the Taunton Asylum. What do -you cal'late I'd better try to get elected to—President -or pound-keeper?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He laughed.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Both of them jobs are filled at the present time," -I went on, sarcastic. "So is every other I can think -of off-hand."</p> -<p class="pnext">"That's all right," says he. "Some of these -days you'll hold office right in this town. We need -political prestige in our business and you, Cap'n Snow, -bein' the solid citizen of this close corporation, will -have to sacrifice yourself on the altar of public duty."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nary sacrifice," says I. Which shows how little -the average man knows what's in store for him.</p> -</div> -<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-iiii-get-into-politics"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id4">CHAPTER III—I GET INTO POLITICS</a></h2> -<p class="pfirst">When I shook hands with Mary Blaisdell -and left her standin' under the wistaria -vine at the front door of the little old -house that had belonged to Henry, all I said was -for her to keep a stiff upper lip and not to be any -bluer than was necessary. "Ostable's lost a good -postmaster," says I, "and you've lost a kind, -thoughtful, providin' brother. I know it looks -pretty foggy ahead to you just now and you can't -see how you're goin' to get along; but you keep up -your pluck and a way'll be provided. Meantime -I'm goin' to think hard and perhaps I can see a light -somewheres. My owners used to tell me I was consider'ble -of a navigator, so between us we'd ought -to fetch you into port."</p> -<p class="pnext">Her eyes were wet, but she smiled, rainbow -fashion, through the shower, and said I was awful -good and she'd never forget how kind I'd been -through it all.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Whatever becomes of me, Cap'n Snow," she -says, "I shall never forget that."</p> -<p class="pnext">What I'd done wa'n't worth talkin' about, so I -said good-by and hurried away. At the top of the -hill I turned and looked back. She was still standin' -in the door and, in spite of the wistaria and the -hollyhocks and the green summer stuff everywheres, -the whole picture was pretty forlorn. The little -white buildin' by the road, with the sign, "Post-office" -over the window, looked more lonesome still. -And yet the sight of it and the sight of that sign -give me an inspiration. I stood stock still and -thumped my fists together.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why not?" says I to myself. "By mighty, -yes! Why not?"</p> -<p class="pnext">You see, Henry Blaisdell was one of the few -Ostable folks that I'd known as a boy and who was -livin' there yet when I came back. He was younger -than I, and Mary, his sister, was younger still. I -liked Henry and his death was a sort of personal -loss to me, as you might say. I liked Mary, too. -She was always so quiet and common-sense and comfortable. -<em class="italics">She</em> didn't gossip, and the way she helped -her brother in the post-office was a treat to see. -She wa'n't exactly what you'd call young, and the -world hadn't been all fair winds and smooth water -for her, by a whole lot; but, in spite of it, she'd -managed to keep sweet and fresh. She and Henry -and I had got to be good friends and I gen'rally -took a walk up towards their house of a Sunday or -managed to run in at the post-office buildin' at least -once every week-day and have a chat with 'em.</p> -<p class="pnext">When I heard of Henry's dyin' so sudden my -fust thought was about Mary and what would she -do. How was she goin' to get along? I thought -of that even durin' the funeral, and now, the day -after it, when I went up to see her, I was thinkin' -of it still. And, at last, I believed I had got the -answer to the puzzle.</p> -<p class="pnext">Half the way back to the "Ostable Grocery, Dry -Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods Store," -I was thinkin' of my new notion and makin' up my -mind. The other half I was layin' plans to put it -through. When I walked into the store, Jim Henry -met me.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hello, Skipper," says he, brisk and fresh as a -no'theast breeze in dog days, "did you ever hear -the story about the office-seekin' feller in Washin'ton, -back in President Harrison's time? He -wanted a gov'ment job and he happened to notice -a crowd down by the Potomac and asked what was -up. They told him one of the Treasury clerks had -been found drowned. He run full speed to the -White House, saw the President, and asked for the -drowned chap's place. 'You're too late,' says Harrison, -'I've just app'inted the man that saw him -fall in.'"</p> -<p class="pnext">I'd heard it afore, but I laughed, out of politeness, -and wanted to know what made him think of -the yarn.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why," says he, "because that's the way it's -workin' here in Ostable. Poor old Blaisdell's -funeral was only yesterday and it's already settled -who's to be the new postmaster."</p> -<p class="pnext">Considerin' what I'd been goin' over in my mind -all the way home from Mary's, this statement, just -at this time, knocked me pretty nigh out of water.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What?" I gasped. "How did you know?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why wouldn't I know?" says he. "I got the -advance information right from the oracle. I was -told not ten minutes since that the app'intment was -to go to Abubus Payne."</p> -<p class="pnext">I stared at him. "Abubus Payne!" says I. -"Abubus—Are you dreamin'?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He laughed. "I'd never dream a name like -'Abubus,' he says, 'even after one of our Poquit -House dinners. No, it's no dream. The Major -was just in and he says his mind is made up. That -settles it, don't it? You wouldn't contradict the all-wise -mouthpiece of Providence, would you, Cap'n -Zeb?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I never said anything—not then. I was realizin' -that, if I wanted Mary Blaisdell to be postmistress -at Ostable—which was the inspiration I was took -with when I looked back at her from the hill—I'd -got to do somethin' besides say. I'd got to work -and work hard. And even at that my work was -cut out from the small end of the goods. To beat -Major Cobden Clark in a political fight was no boy's -job. But Abubus Payne! Abubus Payne postmaster -at Ostable!! Think of it! Maybe you can; -<em class="italics">I</em> couldn't without stimulants.</p> -<p class="pnext">You see, this critter Abubus—did you ever hear -such a name in your life?—had lived around 'most -every town on the Cape at one time or another. -He and his wife wa'n't what you'd call permanent -settlers anywhere, but had a habit of breakin' out -in new and unexpected places, like a p'ison-ivy rash. -He worked some at carpenterin', when he couldn't -help it, but his main business, as you might say, had -always been lookin' for an easier job. In Ostable -he'd got one. He was caretaker and general nurse -of Major Cobden Clark. His wife, who was about -as shiftless as he was, was the Major's housekeeper.</p> -<p class="pnext">And the Major? Well, the Major was a star, a -planet—yes, in his own opinion, the whole solar -system. He was big and fleshy and straight and -gray-haired and red-faced. He belonged to land -knows how many clubs and societies and milishys, -includin' the Ancient and Honorable Artillery Company -of Boston and the Old Guard of New York. -He had political influence and a long pocketbook -and a short temper. Likewise he suffered from pig-headedness -and chronic indigestion. 'Twas the -indigestion that brought him to Ostable and Abubus; -or rather 'twas his doctor, Dr. Conquest Payne, the -celebrated food and diet specializer—see advertisements -in 'most any newspaper—who sent him there. -Abubus was Doctor Conquest's cousin and I judge -the two of 'em figgered the Clark stomach and -income as things too good to be treated outside of -the family.</p> -<p class="pnext">Anyway, the spring afore I landed in Ostable, -down comes the Major, buys a good-sized house on -the lower road nigh the water front, hires Abubus -and his wife to look out for the place and him, and -settles down to the simple life, which wa'n't the -kind he'd been livin', by a consider'ble sight. But -he lived it now; yes, sir, he did! He lived by the -clock and he ate and slept by the clock, and that -clock was wound up and set accordin' to the rules -prescribed by Dr. Conquest Payne, "World Famous -Dietitian and Food Specialist"—see more advertisin', -with a tintype of the Doctor in the corner.</p> -<p class="pnext">Nigh as I could find out the diet was a queer one. -It give me dyspepsy just to think of it. Breakfast -at seven sharp, consistin' of a dozen nut meats, two -raw prunes, some "whole wheat bread"—whatever -that is—and a pint of hot water. Luncheon -at quarter to eleven, with another assortment of -similar truck. Afternoon snack at three and dinner -at half-past seven. He had two soft b'iled eggs -for dinner, or else a two-inch slice of rare steak, -and, with them exceptions, the whole bill of fare -was, accordin' to my notion, more fittin' for a goat -than a human bein'. He mustn't smoke and he -mustn't drink: Considerin' what he'd been used -to afore the "World Famous" one hooked him it -ain't much wonder that he was as crabbed and -cranky as a liveoak windlass.</p> -<p class="pnext">However, it—or somethin' else—had made -him feel better since he landed in Ostable and he -swore by that Conquest Payne man and everybody -connected with him. And if he once took a notion -into his tough old head, nothin' short of a surgeon's -operation could get it out. He'd decided to make -Abubus postmaster and he'd move heaven and earth -to do it. All right, then, it was up to me to do some -movin' likewise. I can be a little mite pig-headed -myself, if I set out to be.</p> -<p class="pnext">And I set out right then. It may seem funny to -say so, but I was about as good a friend as the -Major had in Ostable. Course he had a tremendous -influence with the selectmen and the like of -that, owin' to his soldier record and his pompousness -and the amount of taxes he paid. And he and -I never agreed on one single p'int. But just the -same he spent the heft of his evenin's at the store -and I was always glad to see him. I respected the -cantankerous old critter, and liked him, in a way. -And I'm inclined to think he respected and liked -me. I cal'late both of us enjoyed fightin' with -somebody that never tried for an under-holt or quit -even when he was licked.</p> -<p class="pnext">So that night, when he comes puffin' in and sets -down, as usual, in the most comfortable chair, I -went over and come to anchor alongside of him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hello," he grunts, "you old salt hayseed. Any -closer to bankruptcy than you was yesterday?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Your bill's a little bigger and more overdue, -that's all," says I. "See here, I want to talk politics -with you. Mary Blaisdell, Henry's sister, is -goin' to have the post-office now he's gone, and I -want you to put your name on her petition. Not -that she needs it, or anybody else's, but just to help -fill up the paper."</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, sir, you ought to have seen him! His red -face fairly puffed out, like a young-one's rubber balloon. -He whirled round on the edge of his chair—he -was too big to move in any other part of it—and -glared at me. What did I mean by that? -Hey? Was my punkin head sp'ilin' now that warm -weather had come, or what? Had I heard what -he told my partner that very mornin'?</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says I, "I heard it. But I judged you -must have broke your rule about drinkin' liquor, -or else your dyspepsy has struck to your brains. -No sane person would set out to make Abubus -Payne anythin' more responsible than keeper of a -pig pen. You didn't mean it, of course."</p> -<p class="pnext">He didn't! He'd show me what he meant! -Abubus was the most honest, able man on the whole -blessed sand-heap, and he was goin' to be postmaster. -Mary Blaisdell was an old maid, good enough -of her kind, maybe, but the place for her was some -kind of an asylum or home for incompetent females. -He'd sign a petition to put her in one of them places, -but nothin' else. Abubus was just as good as app'inted -already.</p> -<p class="pnext">We had it back and forth. There was consider'ble -chair thumpin' and hollerin', I shouldn't wonder. -Anyhow, afore 'twas over every loafer on -the main road was crowdin' 'round us and Jim Henry -Jacobs was pacin' up and down back of the counter -with the most worried look on his face ever I see -there. It ended by the Major's jumpin' to his feet -and headin' for the door.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You—you—you tarry old imbecile," he hollers, -shakin' a fat forefinger at me, "I'll show you -a few things. I'll never set foot in this rathole of -yours again."</p> -<p class="pnext">"You better not," I sung out. "If you dare to, -I'll—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"What?" he interrupts. "You'll what? I'll -be back here to-morrow night. Then what'll you -do?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I'll show you Mary Blaisdell's petition," I says. -"And the names on it'll make you curl up and quit -like a sick caterpillar."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph! I'll show <em class="italics">you</em> a petition for Abubus -Payne, next postmaster of Ostable, with a string of -names on it so long you'll die of old age afore you can -finish readin' 'em. Bah!"</p> -<p class="pnext">With that he went out and I went into the back -room to wash my face in cold water.</p> -<p class="pnext">I wrote the headin' to the Blaisdell petition afore -I turned in that very night. Next mornin' I hurried -over and, after consider'ble arguin', I got Mary -to say she'd try for the place. All the rest of that -day I put in drivin' from Dan to Beersheby gettin' -signatures. And I got 'em, too, a schooner load -of 'em. I had the petition ready to show the Major -that evenin'; but, when he come into the store, he -had a petition, too, just as long as mine. And the -worst of it was, in a lot of cases the same names -was signed to both papers. Accordin' to those petitions -the heft of Ostable folks wanted somebody to -keep post-office and they didn't much care who. -They wanted to please me and they didn't like to -say no to the Major.</p> -<p class="pnext">He was mad and I was mad and we had another -session. But he wouldn't cross the names off and -neither would I and so, after another week, both -petitions went in as they was. All the good they -seemed to do was that we each got a letter from -the Post-office Department and Mary Blaisdell was -allowed to hold over her brother's place until somebody -was picked out permanent. And every evenin' -Major Clark came into the store to tell me Abubus -was sure to win and get my prediction that Mary -was as good as elected. One week dragged along -and then another, and 'twas still a draw, fur's a -body could tell. The Washin'ton folks wa'n't makin' -a peep.</p> -<p class="pnext">But old Ancient and Honorable Clark was workin' -his wires on the quiet and I must give in that he -pulled one on me that I wa'n't expectin'. The -whole town had got sort of tired of guessin' and -talkin' about the post-office squabble and had drifted -back into the reg'lar rut of pickin' their neighbors to -pieces. The Major had set 'em talkin' on a new -line durin' the last fortni't. He'd been fixin' up -his house and havin' the grounds seen to, and so -forth. Likewise he'd bought an automobile, one -of the nobbiest kind. This was somethin' of a surprise, -'cause afore that he'd been pretty much down -on autos and did his drivin' around in a high-seated -sort of buggy—"dog cart" he called it—though -'twas hauled by a horse and he hated dogs so that -he kept a shotgun loaded with rock salt on his porch -to drive stray ones off his premises.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Who's goin' to run that smell-wagon of yours?" -I asked him, sarcastic. He kept comin' to the store -just the same as ever and we had our reg'lar rows -constant. I cal'late we'd both have missed 'em if -they'd stopped. I know I should.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" he snorts; "smell-wagon, hey? If -it smells any worse than that old fish dory of yours, -I'll have it buried, for the sake of the public health."</p> -<p class="pnext">By "fish dory" he meant a catboat I'd bought. -She was named the <em class="italics">Glide</em> and she could glide away -from anything of her inches in the bay.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But who's goin' to run that auto?" I asked -again. "'Tain't possible you're goin' to do it yourself. -If she went by alcohol power, I could understand, -but—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hush up!" he says, forgettin' to be mad for -once and speakin' actually plaintive. "Don't talk -that way, Snow," says he. "If you knew how much -I wanted a drink you wouldn't speak lightly of -alcohol."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why don't you take one, then?" I wanted to -know. "I believe 'twould do you good. That and -a square meal. If you'd forget your prunes and -your nutmeats and your quack doctorin'—"</p> -<p class="pnext">He was mad then, all right. To slur at the -"World Famous" was a good deal worse than -murder, in his mind. He expressed his opinion of -me, free and loud. He said I'd ought to try Doctor -Conquest, myself, for developin' my brains. The -Doctor was pretty nigh a vegetarian, he said, and -my head was mainly cabbage—and so on. Incidentally -he announced that Abubus was to run the -new auto.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Abubus!" says I. "Why, he don't know a -gas engine from a coffee mill! He wouldn't know -what the craft's for."</p> -<p class="pnext">"That's all right," he says. "He's been takin' -lessons at the garage in Hyannis and he can run -it like a bird. He knows what it's for. He! he! -so do I. By the way, Snow, are you ready to give -up the post-office to my candidate yet?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Give up?" says I. "Tut! tut! tut! I hate -to hear a supposed sane man talk so. Mary Blaisdell -handles the mail in the Ostable post-office for -the next three years—longer, if she wants to."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Bet you five she don't," he says.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Take the bet," says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">He went out chucklin'. I wondered what he had -up his sleeve. A week later I found out. Congressman -Shelton, our district Representative at -Washin'ton, came to Ostable to look the post-office -situation over and, lo and behold you, he comes as -Major Cobden Clark's guest, to stay at his house.</p> -<p class="pnext">When Jim Henry Jacobs learned that, he took -me to one side to give me some brotherly advice.</p> -<p class="pnext">"It's all up for Mary now," he says. "She -can't win. Clark and Shelton are old chums in politics. -There's only one chance to beat Payne and -that's to bring forward a compromise candidate—a -dark horse."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Rubbish!" I sung out. "Dark horse be hanged! -Shelton's square as a brick. Nobody can bribe him."</p> -<p class="pnext">"It ain't a question of bribin'," he says. "If it -was, you could bribe, too. Shelton is square, and -that's why he'd welcome a compromise candidate. -But if it comes to a fight between Mary Blaisdell -and Abubus Payne, Abubus'll win because he's the -Major's pet. Shelton knows the Major better than -he knows you. Take my advice now and look out -for the dark horse."</p> -<p class="pnext">But I wouldn't listen. All the next hour I was -ugly as a bear with a sore head and long afore dinner -time I told Jacobs I was goin' for a sail in the -<em class="italics">Glide</em>. "Goin' somewheres on salt water where the -air's clean and not p'isoned by politics and automobiles -and congressmen and Paynes," I told him.</p> -<p class="pnext">I headed out of the harbor and then run, afore -a wind that was fair but gettin' lighter all the time, -up the bay. I sailed and sailed until some of my -bad temper wore off and my appetite begun to come -back. All the time I was settin' at the tiller I was -thinkin' over the post-office situation and, try as hard -as I could to see the bright side for Mary Blaisdell, -it looked pretty dark. The Major would give that -Shelton man the time of his life and he'd talk -Abubus to him to beat the cars. I couldn't get at -the Congressman to put in an oar for Mary and—well, -I'd have discounted my five-dollar bet for about -seventy-five cents, at that time.</p> -<p class="pnext">I thought and thought and sailed and sailed. -When I came to myself and realized I was hungry -the <em class="italics">Glide</em> was miles away from Ostable. I came -about and started to beat back; then I saw I was -in for a long job. Let alone that the wind was -ahead, 'twas dyin' fast, and if I knew the signs of -a flat calm, there was one due in half an hour. I -took as long tacks as I could, but I made mighty -little progress.</p> -<p class="pnext">On the second tack inshore I came up abreast of -Jonathan Crowell's house at Heron P'int. Jonathan's -just a no-account longshoreman or he wouldn't -live in that place, which is the fag-end of creation. -There's a twenty-mile stretch of beach and pines and -such close to the shore there, with a road along it. -The first eight mile of that road is pretty good -macadam and hard dirt. A land company tried to -develop that section of beach once and they put in -the road; but the land didn't sell and the company -busted and after that eight mile the road is just -beach sand, soft and coarse. The strip of solid -ground, with its pines and scrub-oaks, is, as I said -afore, twenty mile long, but it's only a half mile or -so wide. Between it and the main cape is a -tremendous salt marsh, all cut up with cricks that -nobody can get over without a boat. Jonathan's -is the only house for the whole twenty mile, except -the lighthouse buildin's down at the end. The land -company put up a few summer shacks on speculation, -but they're all rickety and fallin' to pieces.</p> -<p class="pnext">I knew Jonathan had gone to Bayport, quahaug -rakin', and that his wife was visitin' over to Wellmouth, -so when the <em class="italics">Glide</em> crept in towards the beach -and I saw a couple of folk by the Crowell house, -I was surprised. I didn't pay much attention to -'em, however, until I was just about ready to put -the helm over and stand out into the bay again. -Then they come runnin' down to the beach, yellin' -and wavin' their arms. I thought one of 'em had -a familiar look and, as I come closer, I got more -and more sure of it. It didn't seem possible, but -it was—one of those fellers on the beach was Major -Cobden Clark.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hi-i!" yells the Major, hoppin' up and down -and wavin' both arms as if he was practicin' flyin'; -"Hi-i-i! you man in the boat! Come here! I -want you!"</p> -<p class="pnext">That was him, all over. He wanted me, so of -course I must come. My feelin's in the matter -didn't count at all. I run the <em class="italics">Glide</em> in as nigh the -beach as I dared and then fetched her up into what -little wind there was left.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Ahoy there, Major," I sung out. "Is that -you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hey?" he shouts. "Do you know—Why, -I believe it's Snow! Is that you, Snow?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes, it's me," I hollers. "What in time are -you doin' way over here?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Never mind what I'm doin'," he roared. "You -come ashore here. I want you."</p> -<p class="pnext">If I hadn't been so curious to know what he was -doin', I'd have seen him in glory afore I ever -thought of obeyin' an order from him; but I was -curious. While I was considerin' the breeze give -a final puff and died out altogether. That settled -it. I might as well go ashore as stay aboard. I -couldn't get anywhere without wind. So I hove -anchor and dropped the mains'l.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Come on!" he kept yellin'. "What are you -waitin' for? Don't you hear me say I want you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I had on my long-legged rubber boots and the -water wa'n't more'n up to my knees. When I got -good and ready, I swung over the side and waded -to the beach.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hello, Maje," I says, brisk and easy, "you -ought not to holler like that. You'll bust a b'iler. -Your face looks like a red-hot stove already."</p> -<p class="pnext">He mopped his forehead. "Shut up, you old -fool," says he. "Think I'm here to listen to -a lecture about my face? You carry Mr. Shelton -and me out to that boat of yours. We want you -to sail us home."</p> -<p class="pnext">So the other chap was the Congressman. I'd -guessed as much. I went up to him and held out -my hand.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Pleased to know you, Mr. Shelton," says I. -"Had the pleasure of votin' for you last fall."</p> -<p class="pnext">Shelton shook and smiled. "This is Cap'n -Snow, isn't it?" he says, his eyes twinklin'. "Glad -to meet you, I'm sure. I've heard of you often."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I shouldn't wonder," says I. "Major Clark -and me are old chums and I cal'late he's mentioned -my name at least once. Hey, Maje?"</p> -<p class="pnext">The Major grinned. I grinned, too; and Shelton -laughed out loud.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I never saw such a talkin' machine in my life," -snaps Clark. "Don't stop to tell us the story of -your life. Take us aboard that boat of yours. -You've got to get us back to Ostable, d'you understand?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Have, hey?" says I. "I appreciate the honor, -but.... However, maybe you won't mind -tellin' me what you're doin' here, twelve miles from -nowhere?"</p> -<p class="pnext">The Major was too mad to answer, so Shelton -did it for him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," he says, smilin' and with a wink at his -partner, "we <em class="italics">came</em> in the Major's auto, but—"</p> -<p class="pnext">He stopped without finishin' the sentence.</p> -<p class="pnext">"The auto?" says I. "You came in the auto? -Well, why don't you go back in it? What's the -matter? Has it broke down? Humph! I ain't -surprised; them things are always breakin' down, -'specially the cheap ones."</p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">That</em> stirred up the kettle. The Major give me -to understand that his auto cost six thousand dollars -and was the best blessedty-blank car on earth. It -wa'n't the auto's fault. It hadn't broke down. It -had stuck in the eternal and everlastin' sand and -they couldn't get it out, that was the trouble.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But Abubus can get it out, can't he?" says I. -"Abubus runs it like a bird, you told me so yourself. -Now a bird can fly, and if you want to get from -here to Ostable in anything like a straight line, -you've <em class="italics">got</em> to fly. By the way, where is Abubus?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Three or four more questions, and a hogshead -of profanity on the Major's part, and I had the -whole story. He and Shelton had started for a ride -way up the Cape. They was cal'latin' to get home -by eleven o'clock, but the machine went so fast that -they got where they was goin' early and had time -to spare. Shelton happened to remember that he'd -sunk some money in the land company I mentioned -and he thought he'd like to see the place where -'twas sunk. He asked Abubus if they couldn't run -along the beach road a ways. Abubus hemmed and -hawed and didn't know for sure—he never was -sure about anything. But the Major said course -they could; that car could go anywhere. So they -turned in way up by Sandwich and come b'ilin' down -alongshore. Long's the old land company road -lasted they was all right, but when, runnin' thirty-five -miles an hour, they whizzed off the end of that -road, 'twas different. The automobile lit in the -soft sand like a snow-plow and stopped—and -stayed. They tried to dig it out with boards from -Jonathan Crowell's pig pen, but the more they dug -the deeper it sunk. At last they give it up; nothin' -but a team of horses could haul that machine out of -that sand. So Abubus starts to walk the ten or -eleven miles back to civilization and livery stables -and the Major and Shelton waited for him. And -the more they waited the hungrier and madder -Clark got. 'Twas all Abubus's fault, of course. He -ought to have had more sense than to run that way -on that road, anyhow. He ought to have known -better than to get into that sand, a feller that had -lived in sand all his life. He was an incompetent -jackass. Well, I knew that afore, but it certainly -did me good to hear the Major confirm my judgment.</p> -<p class="pnext">I went over and looked at the automobile. It -had always acted like a mighty lively contraption, -but now it looked dead enough. And not only dead, -but two-thirds buried.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well?" fumes Clark, "how much longer have -we got to stay in this hole?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"It's consider'ble of a hole," says I, "and it -looks to me as if she'd stay there till Abubus gets -back with a pair of horses. Considerin' how far -he's got to tramp and how long it'll be afore he can -get a pair, I cal'late the hole'll be occupied until -some time in the night."</p> -<p class="pnext">That wa'n't what he meant and I knew it. Did -I suppose he and Shelton was goin' to wait and -starve until the middle of the night? No, sir; the -auto could stay where it was; he and the Congressman -would sail home with me in the <em class="italics">Glide</em>.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I hope you ain't in any partic'lar hurry," says -I, lookin' out over the bay. There wa'n't a breath -of air stirrin' and the water was slick and shiny as -a starched shirt. "The <em class="italics">Glide</em> runs by wind power -and there's no wind. This calm may last one hour -or it may last two. As long as it lasts I stay where -I am."</p> -<p class="pnext">What! Did I think they would stay there just -because I was too lazy to get my whoopety-bang -fish-dory under way? Stay there in that sand-heap—sand-heap -was the politest of the names he called -Crowell's plantation—and starve?</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh," says I. "I won't starve. I'm goin' to -get dinner."</p> -<p class="pnext">Dinner! The very name of it was like a -life-preserver to a feller who'd gone under for the second -time.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Can you get us dinner?" roars the Major. -"By George, if you can I'll—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Not for you I can't," I says. "You live accordin' -to the Payne schedule, on prunes and pecans -and such. The prune crop 'round here is a failure -and I don't see a pecan tree in Jonathan's back yard. -No, any dinner I'd get would give you compound, -gallopin' dyspepsy, and I can't be responsible for -your death—I love you too much. But I cal'late -I can scratch up a meal that'll keep folks with common -insides from perishin' of hunger. Anyhow, -I'm goin' to try."</p> -</div> -<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-ivhow-i-made-a-clam-chowder-and-what-a-clam-chowder-made-of-me"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id5">CHAPTER IV—HOW I MADE A CLAM CHOWDER; AND WHAT A CLAM CHOWDER MADE OF ME</a></h2> -<p class="pfirst">Well, sir, even the Major's guns was spiked -for a minute. I cal'late that, for once, -he'd forgot all about his dietizin' and -only remembered his appetite. He gurgled and -choked and glared. Afore he could get his artillery -ready for a broadside I walked off and left him. -He'd riled me up a little and I saw a chance to rile -him back.</p> -<p class="pnext">I went around to the back part of the Crowell -house and tried the kitchen door. 'Twas locked, -for a wonder, but the window side of it wasn't. I -pushed up the sash and reached in fur enough to -unhook the door. Then I went into the house and -begun to overhaul the supplies in the galley. I -found flour and sugar and salt and pepper and -coffee and butter and canned milk and salt pork—about -everything I wanted. Jonathan and I was -friendly enough so's I knew he wouldn't care what -I used so long as I paid for it. If he had I'd have -taken the risk, just then.</p> -<p class="pnext">The wood-box was full and I got a fire goin' in -the cookstove, and put on a couple of kettles of -water to heat. Then I went out to the shed and -located a clam hoe and a bucket. There's clams -a-plenty 'most anywheres along that beach and the -tide was out fur enough for me to get a bucket-full -of small ones in no time. I fetched 'em up to -the house and set down on the back step to open -'em.</p> -<p class="pnext">The Major and Shelton was watchin' me all this -time and they looked interested—that is, the Congressman -did, and Clark was doin' his best not to. -Pretty soon Shelton walks over and asks a question. -"What are you doin' with those things, Cap'n -Snow?" says he, referrin' to the clams.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh," says I, cheerful, "I'm figgerin' on makin' -a chowder, if nothin' busts."</p> -<p class="pnext">"A chowder," he says, sort of eager. "A clam -chowder? Can you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I can. That is, I have made a good many and -I cal'late to make this one, unless I'm struck with -paralysis."</p> -<p class="pnext">"A clam chowder!" he says again, sort of eager -but reverent. "By George! that's good—er—for -you, I mean."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I hope 'twill be good for you, too," says I. -"I'm sorry that Major Clark's dyspepsy's such that -'twon't be good for him, but that's his misfortune, -not my fault."</p> -<p class="pnext">Shelton looked sort of queer and went away to -jine his chum. The two of 'em did consider'ble -talkin' and the Major appeared to be deliverin' a -sermon, at least I heard a good many orthodox -words in the course of it. I finished my clam -openin', went in and got my cookin' started. The -flour and the butter made me think that some hot -spider-bread would go good with the chowder -and I started to mix a batch. Then I got another -idea.</p> -<p class="pnext">'Twas too late for huckleberries and such, but out -back of the shed, beyond the pines, was a little -swampy place. I took a tin pail, went out there and -filled the pail with early wild cranberries in five -minutes. As I was comin' back I noticed an onion -patch in the garden. A chowder without onions is -like a camp-meetin' Sunday without your best girl—pretty -flat and impersonal. Most of those left -in the patch had gone to seed, but I got a half -dozen.</p> -<p class="pnext">After a short spell that kitchen begun to get -fragrant and folksy, as you might say. The coffee -was b'ilin', the chowder was about ready, there was -a pan of red-hot spider-bread on the back of the -stove and a cranberry shortcake—'twould have -been better with cream, but to skim condensed milk -is more exercise than profit—in the oven. I'd -opened all the windows and the door, so the smell -drifted out and livened up the surroundin' scenery. -Clark and Shelton were settin' on a sand hummock -a little ways off and I could see 'em wrinklin' their -noses.</p> -<p class="pnext">When the table was set and everything was ready -I put my head out of the window and hollered:</p> -<p class="pnext">"Dinner!" I sung out.</p> -<p class="pnext">There wa'n't any answer. The pair on the hummock -stirred and acted uneasy, but they didn't move. -I ladled out some of the chowder and the perfume -of it got more pervadin' and extensive. Then I -rattled the dishes and tried again.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Dinner!" I hollered. "Come on; chowder's -gettin' cold."</p> -<p class="pnext">Still they didn't move and I begun to think my -fun had been all for myself. I was disappointed, -but I set down to the table and commenced to eat. -Then I heard a noise. The pair of 'em had drifted -over to the doorway and was lookin' in.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hello!" says I, blowin' a spoonful of chowder -to cool it. "Am I givin' a good imitation of a -hungry man? If I ain't, appearances are deceitful."</p> -<p class="pnext">"<em class="italics">Hog!</em>" snarls Clark, with enthusiasm.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Not at all," says I. "There's plenty of everything -and Mr. Shelton's welcome. So would you -be, Major, if there was anything aboard you could -eat. I'm awful sorry about them prunes and -nutmeats. I only wish Crowell had laid in a supply—I -do so."</p> -<p class="pnext">The Major's mouth was waterin' so he had to -swallow afore he could answer. When he did I -realized what he was at his best. Shelton didn't -say a word, but the looks of him was enough.</p> -<p class="pnext">"My, my!" says I, "I'm glad I made a whole -kettleful of this stuff; I can use a grown man's share -of it."</p> -<p class="pnext">Shelton looked at Clark and Clark looked at him. -Then the Major yelps at him like a sore pup.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Go ahead!" he shouts. "Go ahead in! -Don't stand starin' at me like a cannibal. Go in -and eat, why don't you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">You could see the Congressman was divided in -his feelin's. He wanted dinner worse than the Old -Harry wanted the backslidin' deacon, but he hated -to desert his friend.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You're sure—" he stammered. "It seems -mean to leave you, but.... Sure you wouldn't -mind? If it wasn't that you are on a diet and <em class="italics">can't</em> -eat I shouldn't think of it, but—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Shut up!" The Major fairly whooped it to -Jericho. "If you talk diet to me again I'll kill -you. Go in and eat. Eat, you idiot! I'd just as -soon watch two pigs as one. Go in!"</p> -<p class="pnext">So Shelton came in and I had a plate of chowder -waitin' for him. He grabbed up his spoon and -didn't speak until he'd finished the whole of it. -Then he fetched a long breath, passed the plate for -more, and says he:</p> -<p class="pnext">"By George, Cap'n, that is the best stuff I ever -tasted. You're a wonderful cook."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Much obliged," says I. "But you ain't competent -to judge until after the third helpin'. And -now you try a slab of that spider-bread and a cup -of coffee. And don't forget to leave room for the -shortcake because.... Well, I swan to man! -Why, Major Clark, are you crazy?"</p> -<p class="pnext">For, as sure as I'm settin' here, old Clark had -come bustin' into that kitchen, yanked a chair up to -that table, grabbed a plate and the ladle and was -helpin' himself to chowder.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Major!" says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, <em class="italics">Cobden</em>!" says Shelton.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Shut up!" roars the Major. "If either of you -say a word I won't be responsible for the consequences."</p> -<p class="pnext">We didn't say anything and neither did he. -Judgin' by the silence 'twas a mighty solemn occasion. -Everybody ate chowder and just thought, I -guess.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Pass me that bread," snaps Clark.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But Cobden," says Shelton again.</p> -<p class="pnext">"It's hot," says I, "and it's fried, and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Give it to me! If you don't I shall know it's -because you're too rip-slap stingy to part with it."</p> -<p class="pnext">After that, there was nothin' to be done but the -one thing. He got the bread and he ate it—not -one slice, but two. And he drank coffee and ate a -three-inch slab of shortcake. When the meal was -over there wa'n't enough left to feed a healthy -canary.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Now," growls the Major, turnin' to Shelton, -"have you a cigar in your pocket? If you have, -hand it over."</p> -<p class="pnext">The Congressman fairly gasped. "A cigar!" he -sings out. "You—goin' to <em class="italics">smoke</em>? <em class="italics">You?</em>"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes—me. I'm goin' to die anyway. This -murderer here," p'intin' to me, "laid his plans to -kill me and he's succeeded. But I'll die happy. -Give me that cigar! If you had a drink about you -I'd take that."</p> -<p class="pnext">He bit the end off his cigar, lit it, and slammed -out of that kitchen, puffin' like a soft-coal tug. Shelton -shook his head at me and I shook mine back.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Do you s'pose he <em class="italics">will</em> die?" he asked. "He's -eaten enough to kill anybody. And with his stomach! -And to smoke!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"The dear land knows," says I. To tell you -the truth I was a little conscience-struck and worried. -My idea had been to play a joke on Clark—tantalize -him by eatin' a square meal that he couldn't -touch—and get even for some of the names he'd -called me. But now I wa'n't sure that my fun -wouldn't turn out serious. When a man with a lame -digestion eats enough to satisfy an elephant nobody -can be sure what'll come of it.</p> -<p class="pnext">The Congressman and I washed the dishes and -'twas a pretty average sorrowful job. Only once, -when I happened to glance at him and caught a -queer look in his eyes, was the ceremony any more -joyful than a funeral. Then the funny side of it -struck me and I commenced to laugh. He joined -in and the pair of us haw-hawed like loons. Then -we was sorry for it.</p> -<p class="pnext">Shelton went out when the dish-washin' was over. -I cleaned up everything, left a note and some money -on Jonathan's table and locked up the house. -When I got outside there was a fair to middlin' -breeze springin' up. Shelton was settin' on the hummock -waitin' for me.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Where—where's the Major?" I asked, pretty -fearful.</p> -<p class="pnext">"He's over there in the shade—asleep," he -whispered.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Asleep!" says I. "Sure he ain't dead?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Listen," says he.</p> -<p class="pnext">I listened. If the Major was dead he was a -mighty noisy remains.</p> -<p class="pnext">He woke up, after an hour or so, and come -trampin' over to where we was.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," he snaps, "it's blowin' hard enough now, -ain't it? Why don't you take us home?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"How about the auto?" I asked.</p> -<p class="pnext">The auto could stay where it was until the horses -came to pull it out. As for him he wanted to be -took home.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But—but are you able to go?" asked Shelton, -anxious.</p> -<p class="pnext">What in the sulphur blazes did we mean by that? -Course he was able to go! And had Shelton got -another cigar in his clothes?</p> -<p class="pnext">All of the sail home I was expectin' to see that -military man keel over and begin his digestion torments. -But he didn't keel. He smoked and -talked and was better-natured than ever I'd seen -him. He didn't mention his stomach once and you -can be sure and sartin that I didn't. As we was -comin' up to the moorin's in Ostable I'm blessed if -he didn't begin to sing, a kind of a fool tune about -"Down where the somethin'-or-other runs." -Then I <em class="italics">was</em> scared, because I judged that his attack -had started and delirium was settin' in.</p> -<p class="pnext">Shelton shook hands with me at the landin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You're all right, Cap'n Snow," he says. "That -was the best meal I ever tasted and nobody but you -could have conjured it up in the middle of a howlin' -wilderness. If there's anything I can do for you -at any time just let me know."</p> -<p class="pnext">There was one thing he could do, of course, but -I wouldn't be mean enough to mention it then. The -Major and I had, generally speakin', fought fair, -and I wouldn't take advantage of a delirious invalid. -And just then up comes the invalid himself.</p> -<p class="pnext">"See here, Snow," says he, pretty gruff; "I'll -probably be dead afore mornin', but afore I die I -want to tell you that I'm much obliged to you for -bringin' us home. Yes, and—and, by the great -and mighty, I'm obliged to you for that chowder -and the rest of it! It'll be my death, but nothin' -ever tasted so good to me afore. There!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"That's all right," says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"No, it ain't all right. I'm much obliged, I tell -you. You're a stubborn, obstinate, unreasonable -old hayseed, but you're the most competent person -in this town just the same. Of course though," he -adds, sharp, "you understand that this don't affect -our post-office fight in the least. That Blaisdell -woman don't get it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Who said it did affect it?" I asked, just as -snappy as he was. That's the way we parted and -I wondered if I'd ever see him alive again.</p> -<p class="pnext">I didn't see him for quite a spell, but I heard -about him. I woke up nights expectin' to be jailed -for murder, but I wa'n't; and when, three days -later, Shelton started for Washin'ton, the Major -went away on the train with him. Abubus and his -wife shut up the house and went off, too, and nobody -seemed to know where they'd gone. All's could be -found out was that Abubus acted pretty ugly and -wouldn't talk to anybody. This was comfortin' in -a way, though, most likely, it didn't mean anything -at all.</p> -<p class="pnext">But at the end of two weeks a thing happened -that meant somethin'. I got two letters in the mail, -one in a big, long envelope postmarked from the -Post-Office Department at Washington and the -other a letter from Shelton himself. I don't suppose -I'll ever forget that letter to my dyin' day.</p> -<blockquote><div> -<p class="pfirst">"Dear Captain Snow," it begun. "You may be -interested to know that our mutual friend, Major -Clark, has suffered no ill effects from our picnic at -the beach. In fact, he is better than he ever was -and has been enjoying the comforts of city life -to an extent which I should not dare attempt. -Whether his long respite from such comforts -helped, or whether the celebrated Doctor Conquest -was responsible, I know not. The Major, however, -declares Doctor Payne to be a fraud and to have -been, as he says, 'working him for a sucker.' -Therefore he has discharged the doctor and discharged -the cousin with the odd name—your fellow -townsman, Abubus Payne. The mishap with -the auto was the beginning of Abubus's finish and the -fact that no indigestion followed our chowder party -completed it. And also—which may interest you -still more—Major Clark has withdrawn his support -of Payne's candidacy for the post-office and -urged the appointment of another person, one whom -he declares to be the only able, common-sense, honest -<em class="italics">man</em> in the village. As I have long felt the -appointment of a compromise candidate to be the -sole solution of the problem, I was very happy to -agree with him, particularly as I thoroughly approve -of his choice. When you learn the new postmaster's -name I trust you may agree with us both. I -know the citizens of Ostable will do so.</p> -<blockquote><div> -<p class="pfirst">"Yours sincerely,</p> -<blockquote><div> -<p class="pfirst">"<span class="small-caps">William A. Shelton.</span></p> -</div></blockquote> -</div></blockquote> -<p class="pfirst">"P.S. I am coming down next summer and shall -expect another one of your chowders."</p> -</div></blockquote> -<p class="pfirst">My hands shook as I ripped open the other envelope. -I knew what was comin'—somethin' inside -me warned me what to expect. And there it -was. Me—<em class="italics">me</em>—Zebulon Snow, was app'inted -postmaster of Ostable!</p> -<p class="pnext">Was I mad? I was crazy! I fairly hopped up -and down. What in thunder did I want of the -postmastership? And if I wanted it ever so much -did they think I was a traitor? Was it likely that -I'd take it, after workin' tooth and nail for Mary -Blaisdell? What would Mary say to me? By -time, <em class="italics">I'd</em> show 'em! It should go back that minute -and my free and frank opinion with it. I'd -kicked one chair to pieces already, and was beginnin' -on another, when Jim Henry Jacobs come runnin' -in and stopped me.</p> -<p class="pnext">No use to goin' into particulars of the argument -we had. It lasted till after one o'clock next -mornin'. Jim Henry argued and coaxed and proved -and I ripped and vowed I wouldn't. He was -tickled to death. The post-office was the greatest -thing to bring trade that the store could have, and -so on. I <em class="italics">must</em> take the job. If I didn't somebody -else would, somebody that, more'n likely, we -wouldn't like any better than we did Abubus.</p> -<p class="pnext">"No," says I. "<em class="italics">No!</em> Mary Blaisdell shall -have—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"She won't get it anyway," says he. "She's out -of it—Shelton as much as says so—whatever happens. -And she don't want the title anyway. All -she needs or cares for is the pay and I've thought of -a way to fix that. You listen."</p> -<p class="pnext">I listened—under protest, and the upshot of it -was that the next day I went up to see Mary. She'd -heard that I was likely to get the appointment—old -Clark had been doin' some hintin' afore he left -town, I cal'late—and she congratulated me as -hearty as if 'twas what she'd wanted all along. But -I wa'n't huntin' congratulations. I felt as mean as -if I'd been took up by the constable for bein' a -chicken thief, and I told her so.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Mary," says I, "I wa'n't after the postmastership. -I swear by all that is good and great I wa'n't. -I don't know what you must think of me."</p> -<p class="pnext">"What I've always thought," says she, "and -what poor Henry thought before he died. My -opinion is like Major Clark's," with a kind of half -smile, "that the appointment has gone to the best -man in Ostable."</p> -<p class="pnext">"My, my!" says I. "<em class="italics">Your</em> digestion ain't given -you delirium, has it? No sir-ee! I'm no more fit -to be postmaster than a ship's goat is to teach -school."</p> -<p class="pnext">"You mustn't talk so," she says, earnest. "You -will take the position, won't you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I'll take it," says I, "under one condition." -Then I told her what the condition was. She argued -against it at fust, but after I'd said flat-footed -that 'twas either that or the government could take -its appointment and make paper boats of it, and -she'd seen that I meant it, she give in.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But," says she, chokin' up a little, "I know -you're doin' this just to help me. How I can ever -repay your kindness I don't—"</p> -<p class="pnext">I cut in quick. My deadlights was more misty -than I like to have 'em. "Rubbish!" says I, -"I'm doin' it to win my bet with old Clark. I'd do -anything to beat out that old critter."</p> -<p class="pnext">So it happened that when, along in November, -the Major came back to Ostable to look over his -place, afore leavin' for Florida, and come into the -store, I was ready for him. He grinned and asked -me if he had any mail.</p> -<p class="pnext">"While you're about it," he says, chucklin', "you -can pay me that bet."</p> -<p class="pnext">Now the very sound of the word "bet" hit me on -a sore place. I'd lost one hat to Mr. Pike and the -letter I'd got from him rubbed me across the grain -every time I thought of it.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What bet?" says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, the bet you made that the Blaisdell -woman would be postmistress here."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I didn't bet that," I says.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You didn't?" he roared. "You did, too! -You bet—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I bet that Mary would handle the mail, that's -all. So she will; fact is, she's handlin' it now. -She's my assistant in the post-office here. If you -don't believe it, go back to the mail window and -look in. No, Major, <em class="italics">I</em> win the bet."</p> -<p class="pnext">Maybe I did, but he wouldn't pay it. He -vowed I was a low down swindler and a "welsher," -whatever that is. He blew out of that store like -a toy typhoon and I didn't see him again until the -next summer. However, I had a feelin' that Major -Cobden Clark wa'n't the wust friend I had, by -a consider'ble sight.</p> -<p class="pnext">You see, that was Jim Henry's great scheme—to -hire Mary to run the office as my assistant. He -didn't say what salary I was to pay her, and, if I -chose to hand over three-quarters of the postmaster's -pay to her, what business was it of his? I told -him that plain, and, to do him justice, he didn't seem -to care.</p> -<p class="pnext">But he did rub it in about my declarin' I'd never -go into politics.</p> -<p class="pnext">In a little while the mail department was as much -a part of the "Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots -and Shoes and Fancy Goods Store" as the calico -and dress goods counter. We bought the Blaisdell -letter-box rack and fixin's and set 'em up and they -done fust-rate for the time bein'. I was postmaster, -so fur as name goes, but 'twas Mary that really run -that end of the ship. It seemed as natural to have -her come in mornin's, as it did for the sun to rise; -and, if she was late, which didn't happen often, it -seemed almost as if the sun hadn't rose. The old -store needed somethin' like her to keep it clean and -sweet and even Jim Henry give in that she was the -best investment the business had made yet.</p> -<p class="pnext">As for business it kept on good, even though the -summer folks had gone and winter had set in. Our -order carts kept runnin' and they <em class="italics">took</em> orders, too. -The store was doin' well by us both and I certainly -owed old Pullet a debt of thanks for workin' on -my sympathies until I put my cash into it. There -was consider'ble buildin' goin' on in town and, -when spring begun to show symptoms of makin' -Ostable harbor, Jim Henry got possessed of a new -idea. I didn't pay much attention at fust. He -was always as full of notions as a peddler's cart -and if I took every one of 'em serious we'd either -been Rockefellers or star boarders at the poorhouse, -one or t'other. 'Twa'n't till that day in April when -old Ebenezer Taylor came in after his mail and -went out after the constable that I realized somethin' -had to be done.</p> -<p class="pnext">You see, Ebenezer's eyes was failin' on him and, -to make things worse, he'd forgot his nigh-to specs -and had on his far-off pair. Consequently, when he -headed for the after end of the store, he wa'n't in -no condition to keep clear of the rocks and shoals -in the channel. Fust thing he run into was a couple -of dress-forms with some bargain calico gowns on -'em. While he was beggin' pardon of them forms, -under the impression that they was women customers, -he backed into a roll of barbed wire fencin' -that was leanin' against the candy and cigar counter. -His clothes was sort of thin and if that barbed wire -had been somebody tryin' to borrer a quarter of -him he couldn't have jumped higher or been more -emphatic in his remarks. The third jump landed -him against the gunwale of a bushel basket of eggs -that Jacobs was makin' a special run on and had -set out prominent in the aisle. Maybe Ebenezer -was tired from the jumpin' or maybe the excitement -had gone to his head and he thought he was a hen. -Anyhow he set on them eggs, and in two shakes of -a heifer's tail he was the messiest lookin' omelet -ever I see. Jacobs and me and the clerk scraped -him off best we could with pieces of barrel hoop -and the cheese knife, and Mary come out from behind -the letter boxes and helped along with the -floor mop, but when we'd finished with him he was -consider'ble more like somethin' for breakfast than -he was human.</p> -<p class="pnext">And mad! An April fool chocolate cream -couldn't have been more peppery than he was. He -distributed his commentaries around pretty general—Mary -got some and so did Jacobs—but the heft -was fired at me. He hated me anyhow, 'count of -my bein' made postmaster and for some other reasons.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You—you thunderin' murderer!" he hollered, -shakin' his old fist in my face. "'Twas all -your fault. You done it a-purpose. Look at me! -Look! my legs punched full of holes like a skimmer, -and—and my clothes! Just look at my -clothes! A whole suit ruined! A suit I paid ten -dollars and a half for—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Ten year and a half ago," I put in, involuntary, -as you might say.</p> -<p class="pnext">"It's a lie. 'Twon't be nine year till next -September. You think you're funny, don't you? -Ever since this consarned, robbin' Black Republican -administration made you postmaster! Postmaster! -You're a healthy postmaster! I'll have you arrested! -I'll march straight out and have you took -up. I will!"</p> -<p class="pnext">He headed for the door. I didn't say nothin'. -I was sorry about the clothes and I'd have paid for -'em willin'ly, but arguin' just then was a waste of -time, as the feller said when the deef and dumb -man caught him stealin' apples. Ebenezer stamped -as fur as the door and then turned around.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I may not have you took up," he says; "but -I'll get even with you, Zeb Snow, yet. You wait."</p> -<p class="pnext">After he'd gone and we'd made the place look -a little less like an egg-nog, I took Jim Henry by -the sleeve and led him into the back room where -we could be alone. Even there the surroundin's -was so cluttered up with goods and bales and boxes -that we had to stand edgeways and talk out of the -sides of our mouths.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Jim," says I, "this place of ours ain't big -enough. We've got to have more room."</p> -<p class="pnext">He pretended to be dreadful surprised.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, why, Skipper!" he says. "You shock -me. This is so sudden. What put such an idea as -that in your head? Seems to me I have a vague -remembrance of handin' you that suggestion no less -than twenty-five times since the last change of the -moon, but I hope <em class="italics">that</em> didn't influence you."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Aw, dry up," says I. "You was right. Let it -go at that. Afore I got the postmastership this -buildin' was big enough. Now it ain't. We've got -to build on or move or somethin'. Have you got -any definite plan?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He smiled, superior and top-lofty, and reached -over to pat me on the back; but reachin' in that -crowded junk-shop was bad judgment, 'cause his -elbow hit against the corner of a tea chest and his -next set of remarks was as explosive and fiery as a -box of ship rockets.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Never mind the blessin'," I says. "Go ahead -with the fust course. Have you got anything up -your sleeve? anything besides that bump, I mean."</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, it seems he had. Seems he'd thought it -all out. We'd ought to buy Philander Foster's -buildin', which was on the next lot to ours, move it -close up, cut doors through, and use it for the post-office -department.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" says I, after I'd turned the notion -over in my mind. "That ain't so bad, considerin' -where it come from. I can only sight one possible -objection in the offin'."</p> -<p class="pnext">"What's that, you confounded Jezebel?" he -says.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Jezebel?" says I. "What on airth do you call -me that for?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"'Cause you're him all over," he says. "He -was the feller I used to hear about in Sunday School, -the prophet chap that was always croakin' and believed -everything was goin' to the dogs. That was -Jezebel, wasn't it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"No," says I, "that was Jeremiah; Jezebel was -the one the dogs <em class="italics">went</em> to. And she was a woman, -at that."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well, all right," he says. "Whatever he or -she was they didn't have anything on you when it -comes to croaks. What's the objection?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nothin' much. Only I don't know's you've -happened to think that Philander might not care to -sell his buildin', to us or to anybody else."</p> -<p class="pnext">That was all right. We could go and see, -couldn't we? Well, we could of course—and we -did.</p> -</div> -<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-va-trap-and-what-the-rat-caught-in-it"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id6">CHAPTER V—A TRAP AND WHAT THE "RAT" CAUGHT IN IT</a></h2> -<p class="pfirst">Foster run a shebang that was labeled -"The Palace Billiard, Pool and Sipio Parlors. -Cigars and Tobacco. Tonics, all -Flavors. Ice Cream in Season." The "Palace" -part was some exaggeration and so was the "Parlors," -but the place was the favorite hang-out of -all the loafers and young sports in town and the -church folks was tumble down on it, callin' it a -"gilded hell" and such pious profanity. The gilt -had wore off years afore and if the hot place ain't -more interestin' than that billiard saloon it must be -dull for some of the permanent boarders.</p> -<p class="pnext">We found Philander asleep back of the soft -drink counter and young Erastus Taylor—"Ratty," -everybody called him—practicin' pin pool, as -usual, at one of the tables. "Ratty" was Ebenezer -Taylor's only son and the combination trial -and idol of the old man's soul. Ebenezer thought -most as much of him as he did of his money, and when -you've said that you couldn't make it any stronger. -He'd done a heap to make a man of "Rat"—his -idea of a man—even separatin' from enough cash -to send him to a business college up to Middleboro; -but all the boy got from that college was a thunder -and lightnin' taste in clothes and a post-graduate -course in pool playin'. Pool playin' was the only -thing he cared about and he could spot any one of -the Ostable sharps four balls and beat 'em hands -down. He'd sampled two or three jobs up to Boston, -but they always undermined his health and he -drifted back home to live on dad and look for another -"openin'." I cal'late the pair lived a cat and -dog life, for Ratty always wanted money to spend -and Ebenezer wanted it to keep. The old man -was the wust down on the billiard room of anybody -and his son put in most of his time there.</p> -<p class="pnext">Me and Jim Henry woke up Philander and told -him we wanted to talk with him private. He said -go ahead and talk; there wa'n't anybody to hear -but Ratty, and Rat was just like one of the family. -So, as we couldn't do it any different, we went -ahead. Jacobs explained that we felt that maybe -we might some time or other need a little extry -room for our business and, bein' as he—Philander—was -handy by and we was always prejudiced in -favor of a neighbor and so on, perhaps he'd consider -sellin' us his buildin' and lot. Course it didn't make -so much difference to him; he could easy move his -"Parlors" somewheres else—and similar sweet -ile. Philander listened till Jim Henry had poured -on the last soothin' drop, and then he laughed.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Um ... ya-as," he says. "I could -move a heap, <em class="italics">I</em> could! I'm so durned popular -amongst the good landholders in this town that any -one of 'em would turn their best settin'-rooms over -to me the minute I mentioned it. Yes, indeed! -Just where 'bouts would I move?—if 'tain't too -much to ask."</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, that was some of a sticker, 'cause <em class="italics">I</em> -couldn't think of anybody that would have that -billiard room within a thousand fathoms of their -premises, if they could help it. But Jim Henry he -pretended not to be shook up a cent's wuth. That -was easy; 'twas just a matter of Philander's -pickin' out the right place, that was all there was -to it.</p> -<p class="pnext">Philander heard him through and then he -laughed again.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You're wastin' good business breath," he says. -"I wouldn't sell if I could, unless I had a fust-class -place to move into, and there ain't no such -place on the main road and you know it. I'm doin' -trade enough to keep me alive and I'm satisfied, -though I can't lay up a cent. But, so fur as movin' -out is concerned, I expect to do that on the fust of -next November. I'll be fired out, I judge, and -prob'ly'll have to leave town. Hey, Rat?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Ratty Taylor, who'd been listenin', twisted his -mouth and grunted.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," he says, "I guess that's right, worse -luck!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"You bet it's right!" says Philander. "As I -said, Mr. Jacobs, if I could sell out to you and -Cap'n Zeb I wouldn't, without a good handy place -to move into. And I can't sell any way. There's -a thousand dollar mortgage on this shop and lot; -it's due June fust; and, unless I pay it off—which -I can't, havin' not more'n five hundred to my name—the -mortgage'll be foreclosed and out I go."</p> -<p class="pnext">This was news all right. Then me and Jim -Henry asked the same question, both speakin' together.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Who owns the mortgage?" we asked.</p> -<p class="pnext">Foster looked at Ratty and grinned. Rat grinned -back, sort of sickly.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Shall I tell 'em?" says Philander.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I don't care," says Ratty. "Tell 'em, if you -want to."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says Foster, "old Ebenezer Taylor, -Ratty's dad, owns it, drat him! and he's tryin' to -drive me out of town 'count of Rat's spendin' so -much time in here. Ratty's a fine feller, but his -pa's the meanest old skinflint that ever drawed the -breath of life. Not meanin' no reflections on your -family, Rat—but ain't it so?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"<em class="italics">I</em> shan't contradict you, Phi," says Ratty.</p> -<p class="pnext">Jacobs and I looked at each other. Then I got -up from my chair.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Jim Henry," says I, "I don't see as we've got -much to gain by stayin' here. Let's go home."</p> -<p class="pnext">We went back to the store, neither of us speakin', -but both thinkin' hard. It was all off now, of course. -If old Taylor owned that mortgage, he'd foreclose -on the nail, if only to get rid of his son's loafin' place. -And he wouldn't sell to us—hatin' us as he did—unless -we covered the place with cash an inch deep. -No, buyin' the "Palace" was a dead proposition. -And there wa'n't another available buildin' or lot big -enough for us to move to within a mile of Ostable -Center.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" says I, some sarcastic. "It looks to -me—speakin' as a man in the crosstrees—as if that -wonderful business brain of yours had sprung a leak -somewheres, Jim. Better get your pumps to workin', -hadn't you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He snorted. "I'd rather have a leaky head than -a solid wood one like some I know," he says. -"Quiet your Jezebellerin' and let me think.... -There's one thing we might do, of course: We -might advance the other five hundred to Foster, let -him pay off his mortagage, and then—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"And then trust to luck to get the money back," -I put in. "There's more charity than profit in that, -if you ask me. Once that mortgage is paid, you -couldn't get Philander out of that buildin' with a -derrick. He don't want to go."</p> -<p class="pnext">"But we might make some sort of a deal to -pay him a hundred dollars or so to boot and -then—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"And then you'd have another hundred to collect, -that's all. I wouldn't trust that billiard and sipio -man as fur as old Ebenezer could see through his -nigh-to specs. No sir-ee! Nothin' doin', as the -boys say."</p> -<p class="pnext">Next forenoon I met old Ebenezer Taylor on the -sidewalk in front of the Methodist meetin'-house -and, when he saw me, he stopped and commenced -chucklin' and gigglin' as if he was wound up.</p> -<p class="pnext">"He, he, he!" says he. "He, he! I hear you -and that partner of yours, Zebulon, want to buy my -property next door to you. Well, I'll sell it to you—at -a price. He, he, he! at a price."</p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure" style="margin-left: 28%; width: 43%" id="figure-7"> -<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="'Well, I'll sell it to you—at a price.'" src="images/illus3.jpg" width="100%"/> -<div class="caption italics"> -'Well, I'll sell it to you—at a price.'</div> -</div> -<p class="pfirst">"So your hopeful and promisin' son's been tellin' -tales, has he?" says I. "I wa'n't aware that it was -your property—yet."</p> -<p class="pnext">He stopped gigglin' and glared at me, sour and -bitter as a green crab-apple.</p> -<p class="pnext">"It's goin' to be," he says. "Don't you forget -that, it's goin' to be. And if you want it, you'll pay -my price. You owe me for them clothes you -ruined, Zeb Snow—for them and for other things. -And I cal'late I've got you fellers about where I -want you."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, I don't know," says I. "You may be glad -enough to sell to us later on. What good is an -empty buildin' on your hands? Unless of course you -intend rentin' it for another billiard saloon."</p> -<p class="pnext">That made him so mad he fairly gurgled.</p> -<p class="pnext">"There'll be no billiard saloon in this town," he -declared. "No more gilded ha'nts of sin, temptin' -young men whose parents have spent good money on -their education. No, you bet there won't! And -that buildin' may not be empty, nuther. I know -somethin'. He, he, he!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Sho!" says I. "Do you? I wouldn't have -believed it of you, Ebenezer."</p> -<p class="pnext">I left him tryin' to think of a fittin' answer, and -walked on to the store. Mary called to me from -behind the letter-boxes.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Mr. Jacobs is in the back room," she says, "and -he wants to see you right away. Erastus Taylor is -with him."</p> -<p class="pnext">"'Rastus Taylor?" I sung out. "Ratty? What -in the world—?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I hurried into the back room. Sure enough, there -was Jim Henry and Ratty caged behind a pile of -boxes and barrels.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Ah, Skipper!" says Jacobs; "is that you? I -was hopin' you'd come. Young Taylor here has -been suggestin' an idea that looks good to me. Tell -the Cap'n what you've been tellin' me, Ratty."</p> -<p class="pnext">Rat twisted uneasy on the box where he was settin' -and give me a side look out of his little eyes. I never -saw him look more like his nickname.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well, Cap'n Zeb," he says, "it's like this: I've -been thinkin' and I believe I've thought of a way -so you and Mr. Jacobs can get Philander's lot and -buildin'."</p> -<p class="pnext">"You have, hey?" says I. "That's interestin', -if true. What's the way?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why," says he, twistin' some more, "that mortgage -is due on the first of June. If it ain't paid, -Philander'll be foreclosed and he'll move out of -town. It's only a thousand dollars and Phi's got -half of it. If somebody—you and Mr. Jacobs, -say—was to lend him t'other half, why then he -could pay it off and—and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"And stay where he is," I finished disgusted. -"That would be real lovely for Philander, but I -don't see where we come in. This ain't a billiard -and loan society Mr. Jacobs and I are runnin', -thankin' you and Foster for the suggestion."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Wait a minute, Skipper," says Jim Henry. -"Your engine is runnin' wild. That ain't Ratty's -scheme at all. Go on, Rat; spring it on him."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Philander wouldn't be so set on stayin' where -he is, Cap'n Zeb," says Rat, quick as a flash, "if he -had another place to move into; another place here -on the main road, convenient and handy by. And -I think I know a place that could be got for him."</p> -<p class="pnext">I didn't answer for a minute. I was runnin' over -in my mind every possible place that might be sold -or let to Philander Foster for a "Palace." And to -save my life I couldn't think of one.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says I, at last, "where is it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Ratty leaned forward. "What's the matter with -Aunt Hannah Watson's buildin' up the street?" he -says. "She's been crazy to sell it for a long spell. -And the lower floor would make a pretty fair billiard -room, wouldn't it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I was disgusted. I knew the buildin' he meant, -of course. Jacobs and I had talked it over that very -mornin' as a possible place to move the "Ostable -Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy -Goods Store" to, but we'd both decided it wa'n't -nigh big enough.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" says I, "that scheme's so brilliant -you need smoked glass to look at it. Do you cal'late -as good a church woman as Aunt Hannah Watson -would sell or let her place for a billiard room? She -needs the money bad enough, land knows; but she's -as down on those ha'nts of sin as your dad is, Rat -Taylor. She'd never sell to Phi Foster in this -world."</p> -<p class="pnext">"<em class="italics">She</em> mightn't, I give in," answered Rat. "But -her nephew up to Wareham is a diff'rent breed of -cats. And since she moved over there to live along -with him, he's got the handlin' of her property. I -found that out to-day. From what I hear of this -nephew man he ain't as particular as his aunt. And, -anyway, 'tain't necessary for Philander to make the -deal. You and Mr. Jacobs might make it for him."</p> -<p class="pnext">I thought this over for a minute. I begun to -catch the idea that the young scamp had in his noddle—or -I thought I did.</p> -<p class="pnext">"H'm," I says. "Yes, yes. You mean that if -we'd lend Philander enough to pay the balance of -his mortgage on the buildin' he's in now and would -fix it so's Aunt Hannah'd sell us her place, under the -notion that <em class="italics">we</em> was goin' to use it—you mean that -then, after June fust, Foster'd swap. He'd move -in there and turn over the old 'Palace' to us."</p> -<p class="pnext">He and Jim Henry both bobbed their heads emphatic.</p> -<p class="pnext">"That's what he means," says Jim.</p> -<p class="pnext">"That's the idea exactly, Cap'n," says Rat. "I -think Philander might be willin' to do that."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Is that so!" says I, sarcastic. "Well, well! -I want to know! But, say, Ratty, ain't you takin' -an awful lot of trouble on Foster's account? You're -turrible unselfish and disinterested all to once; or -else there's a nigger in the woodpile somewheres. -Where do you come in on this?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He looked pretty average cheap. He fussed and -fumed for a minute and then he blurts out his reason. -"Well, I'll tell you, Cap'n," he says. "Philander's -about the best friend I've got in this bum town and -I get more solid comfort in his saloon than anywheres -else. If he's drove out of Ostable, I'll be lonesomer -than the grave. I don't want him to go. And -besides—well, you see, the old man—dad, I mean—has -got a notion about settin' me up in business -here. And I don't want to be set up—not in his -kind of business. I know the kind of business I -want to go into, and ... but never mind that -part," he adds, in a hurry.</p> -<p class="pnext">I smiled. I remembered what old Ebenezer had -said about the "Palace" buildin' not bein' empty on -his hands very long and about somethin' he knew. -It was all plain enough now. He intended openin' -some sort of a store there with his son as boss. I -almost wished he would. 'Twould be as good as -a three-ring circus, that store would, if I knew Ratty. -But I was mad, just the same, and when Jim Henry -spoke, I was ready for him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well, Skipper," says Jacobs, "what do you think -of the plan?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Think it's a good one, if you're willin' to heave -morals and common honesty overboard—otherwise -no. To put up a trick like that on an old widow -woman like Aunt Hannah Watson—to land a -billiard room on her property, when she'd rather die -than have it there, is too close to robbin' the Old -Ladies' Home to suit me. I wouldn't touch it with -a ten-foot pole. So good day to you, Rat Taylor," -says I, and walked out.</p> -<p class="pnext">But Jim Henry Jacobs didn't walk out. No, sir! -him and that young Taylor scamp stayed in that -back room for another half hour and left it whisperin' -in each other's ears and actin' thicker than -thieves. I wondered what was up, but I was too -put-out and mad to ask.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I'll look it over right after dinner to-morrer," -says Jacobs, as they shook hands at the front door.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Sure you will, now?" asks Ratty, anxious. -"Don't put it off, 'cause it may be too late."</p> -<p class="pnext">"At one o'clock to-morrer I'll be there," says Jim -Henry, and Rat went away lookin' pretty average -happy.</p> -<p class="pnext">Jacobs scarcely spoke to me all the rest of that -day nor the next mornin'. As we got up from the -boardin' house table the follerin' noon he says, without -lookin' me in the face, "I ain't goin' back to the -store now. I've got an errand somewheres else."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says I, "I imagined you had. You're -goin' down to look at that buildin' of poor old Aunt -Hannah's. That's where you're goin'. Ain't you -ashamed of yourself, Jim Jacobs?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, cut it out!" he snaps, savage. "You make -me tired, Skipper. You and your backwoods scruples -give me a pain. I've lived where people aren't -so narrow and bigoted and I don't consider a billiard -room an annex to the hot place. If, by a -business deal, I can get that buildin' next door to -add to our establishment, I'm goin' to do it, if I -have to use my own money and not a cent of yours. -Yes, I <em class="italics">am</em> goin' to look at that Watson property. -Now, what have you got to say about it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, just this," says I; "I cal'late I'll go with -you."</p> -<p class="pnext">"You will?" he sings out. "<em class="italics">You?</em>"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says I, "me. Not that I feel any different -about skinnin' Aunt Hannah than I ever did, -but because there's a bare chance that her place may -be big enough for us to move the store and post-office -to, after all. With that idea and no other, -I'll go with you, Jim."</p> -<p class="pnext">So we went together, though we never spoke more -than two words on the way down. We got the key -at the jewelry and hardware shop next door and -went in. The Watson place was an old-fashioned -tumble-down buildin' with a big open lower floor -and two or three rooms overhead. I saw right off -'twouldn't do for us to move into, but likewise I -saw that the lower floor <em class="italics">might</em> do for Foster, though -'twa'n't as good as where he was, by consider'ble.</p> -<p class="pnext">Jim Henry looked the place over.</p> -<p class="pnext">"No good for us," he snapped.</p> -<p class="pnext">"None at all," says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" says he, and we locked up and came -down the steps together. As we did so I noticed -someone watchin' us from acrost the road.</p> -<p class="pnext">"There's our friend, Jim Henry," says I. "And, -judgin' by the way he's starin', he's got on his fur-off -glasses and knows who we are."</p> -<p class="pnext">He looked across. "Old Taylor, by thunder!" -says he. "Well, if my deal goes through we'll jolt -the old tight-wad yet."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Do you mean you're goin' on with that low-down -billiard-room game?" I asked.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Of course I do," he snapped.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Then you'll do it on your own hook. <em class="italics">I</em> won't -be part or parcel of it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Who asked you to?" he wanted to know. And -we didn't speak again for the rest of that day. It -made me feel bad, because he and I had been mighty -friendly, as well as partners together. The only -comfort I got out of it was that, judgin' by the way -he kept from lookin' at me or speakin', he didn't -feel any too good himself.</p> -<p class="pnext">But that evenin' Ratty drifted in and the pair of -'em had another confab. And next day, after the -mail had gone, Jacobs got me alone and says he:</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," he says, "I think I ought to tell you that -I've written that nephew in Wareham and made -an offer on the Watson property. I did it on my -own responsibility and I'll pay the freight. But I -thought perhaps I ought to tell you."</p> -<p class="pnext">"What did you offer?" I asked. He told me.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I'll take half," says I, "because I consider it a -good investment at that figger. But only with the -agreement that the billiard saloon sha'n't go there."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Then you can keep your money," he says, short. -And there was another long spell of not speakin' -between the two of us.</p> -<p class="pnext">Mary noticed that there was somethin' wrong, -and it worried her. She spoke to me about it.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Cap'n Zeb," she says, "what's the trouble between -you and Mr. Jacobs? Of course it isn't my -business, and you mustn't tell me unless you wish to."</p> -<p class="pnext">I thought it over. "Well," says I, "I can't tell -you just now, Mary. It's a business matter we don't -agree on and it's kind of private. I'll tell you some -day, but just now I can't. It ain't all my secret, you -see."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I see," says she. "I shouldn't have asked. I -beg your pardon. I wasn't curious, but I do hate to -see any trouble between you two. I like you both."</p> -<p class="pnext">I nodded. I was feelin' pretty blue. "Jim's a -mighty good chap at heart," I says. "I owe him -a lot and he's consider'ble more than just a partner -to me."</p> -<p class="pnext">"He thinks the world of you, too," says she. -"He's told me so a great many times. That is why -I can't bear to see you disagree."</p> -<p class="pnext">I couldn't bear it none too well, either, but Jim -Henry showed no signs of givin' in and I wouldn't. -So we moped around, keepin' out of each other's -way, and actin' for all the world like a couple of -young-ones in bad need of a switch.</p> -<p class="pnext">A couple more days went by afore the answer -came from Wareham. When I saw the envelope -on the desk, with the Watson man's name in the -corner, I knew what it meant and I was on hand -when Jim Henry opened it. He was ugly and -scowlin' when he ripped off the envelope. Then I -heard him swear. I was dyin' to know what the -letter said, but I wouldn't have asked him for no -money. I walked out to the front of the store. -Five minutes later I felt his hand on my shoulder. -He had a curious expression on his face, sort of a -mixture of mad and glad.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Skipper," he says, "we're buncoed again. We -don't get the Watson place."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Don't, hey?" says I. "All right, I sha'n't shed -any tears. I wa'n't after it, and you know it. But -I'm surprised that your offer wa'n't accepted. Why -wa'n't it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Because somebody got ahead of me. Here's -the letter. Listen to this: 'Your offer for my -aunt's property in Ostable came a day too late. -Yesterday I gave a year's option on that property, -for five hundred dollars cash, to—'"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Land of love!" I interrupted. "Only yesterday! -That was close haulin', I must say."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Wait," says he, "you haven't heard the whole -of it. 'A year's option ... for five hundred -dollars cash, to Mr. Taylor of your town.'"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Taylor!" says I. "<em class="italics">Taylor!</em> My soul and -body! The old skinflint beat us again! Well, I -swan!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Um-hm," says he. "I size it up like this. -He saw us come out of there the other day and -guessed that we thought of buyin' and movin'. So, -as he owed us a grudge, and because the Watson -property is, as you said, a good investment anyhow, -he makes his option offer on the jump, and beat me -to it."</p> -<p class="pnext">I whistled. "I cal'late you've hit the nailhead, -Jim," says I. "Well, to be free and frank, I'm glad -of it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"So am I," says he.</p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">That</em> was a staggerer. I whirled round and -looked at him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You <em class="italics">are</em>?" I sung out.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says he, "I am. Of course I had my -heart set on gettin' that 'Palace' for an addition -that would give more room and extry space to our -place here; and the only way I could see to get it -was to take up with that Rat's proposition. I -haven't any prejudice against billiards—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Neither have I, but—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I know. And you're right. Old lady Watson -has, and to run Foster's establishment in on her -would have been a low-down mean trick. I've felt -like a thief, but I was so pig-headed I wouldn't back -down. Now that I've got it where the chicken got -his, I'm glad of it, I really am. Partner, will you -forget my meanness and shake hands?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Would I? I was as tickled as a youngster with -a new tin whistle. And so was he.</p> -<p class="pnext">"There's only one thing that keeps me mad," he -says, "and that is that old Ebenezer's got the laugh -on us again. As for more room for the store—well, -we'll have to think that out."</p> -<p class="pnext">We thought, but it wa'n't us that got the answer. -'Twas Mary Blaisdell. I told her what our fuss had -been about, and she agreed that I was right and that -Jim Henry's sharp business sense had sort of run -away with him for the time bein'.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But," says she, "we certainly do need more -room, both in the mail department and the store. -I've had an idea for some time. Let <em class="italics">me</em> think a -while."</p> -<p class="pnext">Next day she told Jacobs and me what her idea -was. 'Twas that we should build an addition on -to our own buildin'. Run it two stories high and -right out into the back yard. 'Twas just the thing -and the wonder is that we hadn't thought of it ourselves.</p> -<p class="pnext">"She's a wonder, Jim, ain't she?" says I, when -we was alone together.</p> -<p class="pnext">"<em class="italics">You</em> think so, don't you, Skipper," says he, -smilin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">I flared up. "Sartin I do," I says. "Don't -you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Indeed I do."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Then what do you mean?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, nothin', nothin'. Say, have you seen old -Taylor lately? I suppose he's crowin' like a Shanghai -rooster. I do hate for that old skinflint to have -the joke always on his side."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I know," says I. "So do I. But some day, -if we wait long enough, we may have a chance to -laugh at him. I've lived a good many year and -I've seen it work that way pretty often. We'll -wait—and when we do laugh, we'll laugh hard."</p> -<p class="pnext">And we didn't have to wait so turrible long -neither. We got a carpenter in, told him to keep -it a secret, but to plan how we could build the backyard -extension. The plannin' and estimatin' kept -us busy and we forgot about everything else. Fust -along I expected young Taylor would pester us with -more schemes, but he didn't. He never came nigh -us once, fact is he seemed mighty anxious to keep -out of our way, and so long as he did we didn't -complain. His dad come crowin' and chucklin' -around a couple of times and finally Jacobs lost his -temper and told him if he ever showed his face on -our premises again he was liable to be put to the -expense of havin' it repaired by the doctor. -Ebenezer vowed vengeance and law suits, but he -went, and after that he sent a boy for his mail instead -of comin' to fetch it himself.</p> -<p class="pnext">One forenoon, about eleven o'clock 'twas, I was -standin' on the store platform, when I heard the -Old Harry's own row in the "Palace Billiard, Pool -and Sipio Parlors." Loud voices, all goin' at once, -and two or three different assortments of language. -Jim Henry heard it, too, and come out to listen.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Skipper," he says, sudden; "what day is -this?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, Thursday," says I, "ain't it? Oh, you -mean what day of the month. Hey? By the everlastin'! -I declare if it ain't the fust of June!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"The day Foster's mortgage falls due," he says, -excited. "I wonder.... You don't suppose—"</p> -<p class="pnext">He didn't have to suppose, for inside of the next -two minutes we both knew. Three men came bustin' -out of the billiard room door. One was Philander -himself, the other was Ezra Colcord, the lawyer, -and the third was our old shipmate and bosom friend, -Ebenezer Taylor. The old man was fairly frothin' -at the mouth.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You—you—" he sputtered, "you've deceived -me. You've lied to me. You led me to think—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I don't see as you've got any kick, Mr. Taylor," -purrs Philander, smilin'. "You've got your money. -What more can you ask?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"But—but I don't want the money. I want -this property, and I'll have it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, no, you won't, Mr. Taylor," says Colcord, -the lawyer. "This property belongs to Foster now. -He's paid your mortgage in full. You have no -rights here whatever and I advise you to go before -you are arrested for trespassin'."</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, the old man went, but he was still talkin' -and threatenin' when he turned the corner. Colcord -laughed and shook hands with Philander.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Don't mind him, Foster," he says. "He's sore, -that's all, but he has no claim whatever. You've -paid off your mortgage and the property is yours -absolutely. As for the other matter, the papers will -be ready for signature this afternoon. Ha, ha! -I imagine they won't add to our friend's joy."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Cal'late not," says Philander, grinnin'. "This'll -be his day for surprises, hey?"</p> -<p class="pnext">They shook hands again and Colcord left. Soon's -he'd gone, Jim Henry grabbed me by the arm. He -didn't even wait for the lawyer to get out of sight.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Come on," he says. "This is too good to be -true. We must find out about this, Skipper."</p> -<p class="pnext">So over to the "Parlors" we hurried. Philander -looked sort of queer when he saw us comin', but he -didn't run away. We commenced to ask questions, -both of us together. After we'd asked a dozen or -so, he held up his hand.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Come inside," he says, "and I'll tell you about -it. The secret'll be out in a little while, anyhow, -and maybe we do owe you fellers a little mite of -explanation."</p> -<p class="pnext">We went in, wonderin'. Philander set up the -cigars, ten-centers at that, and then he says: -"Yes, I've paid off my mortgage and I cal'late -you wonder where the money came from. Five -hundred of it I had myself. You knew that."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says Jacobs, and I nodded.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Um-hm," says he. "Well, I loaned the five -hundred to Ratty and he bought the option on Aunt -Hannah's buildin' with it."</p> -<p class="pnext">We fairly jumped off our pins.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What?" says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"<em class="italics">Rat</em> bought that option?" gasped Jim Henry. -"Nonsense! his dad bought it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"No-o," says Philander, solemn, "'twas Rat that -bought it at fust. The whole scheme was his and -I give him credit for it. After Mr. Jacobs here -had agreed to look at the Watson place, Ratty got -Ed. Holmes to take him over to Wareham in his -auto. There he see this nephew of Aunt Hannah's, -paid down his five hundred and got the option."</p> -<p class="pnext">"But that letter I got said—" began Jim Henry, -and then he pulled up short. "No," says he, "it -said 'Mr. Taylor' had secured the option; I remember -now. But, of course, we supposed it was -Ebenezer."</p> -<p class="pnext">"And Ebenezer did have it," I put in. "He -told me so himself. I met him on the road and -he—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hold on, Cap'n," cuts in Philander, "no use -goin' through all that. Ebenezer <em class="italics">has</em> got it now. -Ratty decoyed his dad down abreast the Watson -place while you and Mr. Jacobs was inside lookin' -it over, and the old man see you two come out."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I know he did," says I. "I saw him peekin' -at us from behind a tree."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," goes on Foster, "he was there. And, -naturally, he jedged you was cal'latin' to buy that -buildin' and move into it. Fact is, he'd been intendin' -to buy it himself as an investment, and, now -that there was a chance to spite you fellers hove -in for good measure, he was more anxious to get -it than ever. Then Rat broke the news that he -had the option and was willin' to sell it to the highest -bidder. Ha! ha! I guess there was a lively session, -but the upshot of it was that Ebenezer bought -that option off his boy for a thousand dollars. -That's how <em class="italics">he</em> got it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well, I'll be hanged!" says Jim Henry. I was -way past sayin' anything.</p> -<p class="pnext">"And so," continues Philander, "the five hundred -dollars' profit on the option and the five hundred -dollars I lent Rat to start with made just the amount -needful to pay off my mortgage. And, Squire Colcord -and me paid it off this mornin'. You fellers -heard the concludin' section of the ceremonies. -Ebenezer's benediction was some spicy, hey!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"But—but—why, look here, Philander," says -I. "I don't understand this at all. Five hundred -of that thousand was Rat's. He ain't no philanthropist; -he wouldn't <em class="italics">give</em> it to you, unless miracles -are comin' into fashion again. What—"</p> -<p class="pnext">Foster laughed. "There is a little somethin' -underneath," he says. "It's been kept pretty close, -but the cat'll be out of the bag afore the day's over -and, considerin' how much you two helped without -meanin' to, I'd just as soon tell you. Ratty told you -that his pa was cal'latin' to set him up in business, -didn't he? Yes. Well, Rat's had a notion for a -long spell about the business he meant to get into. -There's a new sign been ordered for this shebang -of mine. Here's the copy for it."</p> -<p class="pnext">He reached under the cigar counter and held up -a long piece of pasteboard. 'Twas lettered like this:</p> -<p class="center pnext">PALACE BILLIARD, POOL AND SIPIO PARLORS.</p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="small-caps">Philander Foster & Erastus Taylor,</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics">Proprietors.</em></p> -<p class="pnext">"I cal'late the old man'll disown his son when he -knows it," goes on Foster, "but Rat had rather run -a pool room than be rich, any day in the week. And -say," he adds, "if I was you fellers I'd try to be on -hand when Ebenezer fust sees the new sign. I -should think you'd get consider'ble satisfaction from -watchin' his face. I'm cal'latin' to, myself," says -Philander Foster.</p> -</div> -<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-vii-run-afoul-of-cousin-lemuel"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id7">CHAPTER VI—I RUN AFOUL OF COUSIN LEMUEL</a></h2> -<p class="pfirst">Well, to be honest, I felt pretty bad about -that billiard room business. I was real -sorry for old Ebenezer. Of course -Taylor was a skinflint and a thorough-goin' mean -man, but Ratty was his son and his pride, and to -have a son play a dog's trick like that on the father -that had, at least, tried to make somethin' out of -him, seemed tough enough. And my conscience -plagued me. I felt almost as if I was to blame -somehow. I wa'n't, of course, but I felt that way. -A feller's conscience is the most unreasonable part -of his works; I've noticed it often.</p> -<p class="pnext">But I needn't have wasted any sympathy on -Ebenezer. For the fust little while after his boy -went into the pool and sipio business, he was a sore -chap. Then, all at once, I noticed that he took to -hangin' around the "Parlors" consider'ble and one -evenin' I saw him comin' out of there, all smiles. I -was standin' on the store platform and as he passed -me I hailed him. We hadn't spoken for a consider'ble -spell, but I hadn't any grudge, for my part.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hello!" says I, "what are you so tickled -about?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I didn't know as he wouldn't throw somethin' at -me for darin' to hail him, but no, he was ready to -talk to anybody, even me.</p> -<p class="pnext">"No use," says he, "that boy of mine's a mighty -smart feller. He just beat Tom Baker three games -runnin', and spotted him two balls on the last one. -He's a wonder, if I do say it."</p> -<p class="pnext">I looked at him. This didn't sound much like -disinheritin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Three games of what?" says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, pool," says he, "of course. And Baker's -been countin' himself the best player in the county. -'Rastus was playin' for the house. Him and Philander -cleared over a hundred dollars in the last -month. That ain't so bad for a young feller just -startin' in, is it? I always knew that boy had the -business instinct, if he'd only wake up to it. I've -told folks so time and again."</p> -<p class="pnext">He went along, chucklin' to himself, and I stood -still and whistled. And when I heard that the old -man had taken to callin' the anti-billiard-room crowd -bigoted and narrer it didn't surprise me much. I -judged that Ebenezer's opinions was like those of -others of his tribe—dependent on the profit and -loss account in the ledger. You can forgive your -own kith and kin a lot easier than you can outsiders, -especially if your moral scruples are the Taylor -kind, to be reckoned in dollars and cents.</p> -<p class="pnext">The carpenters were ready to begin work on our -store addition at last, and we started right in to -build on. 'Twas an awful job, enough sight worse -than movin', but it had to be got through with some -way and we wanted to have it finished when the -summer season opened for good. If the store had -been cluttered up and crowded afore, it was ten -times worse now. The amount of energy and -healthy remarks that Jacobs and I wasted in fallin' -over and runnin' into things would have kept a -steamer's engines goin' from Boston to Liverpool, -I cal'late. I expected one of us would break our -neck sartin sure, but we didn't and, by the fust of -July we thought we could see the end.</p> -<p class="pnext">"There!" says I, "in another week we'll be -clear of sawdust, I do believe. The painters won't -be so bad. And we've got on without any accidents, -too, which is a miracle."</p> -<p class="pnext">"You ought to knock wood when you say that, -Skipper," says Jim Henry.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I've knocked enough of it already—with my -head," I told him. But I hadn't. At any rate the -accident come, and not by reason of the buildin' on, -either. It come right in the way of everyday trade, -from where we wa'n't expectin' it. That's the way -such things generally happen. A feller runs under -a tree, so's to keep from gettin' rained on and catchin' -cold, and then the tree's struck by lightnin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">If I'd remembered what old Sylvanus Baxter said -when they asked him to prove one of his fish statements, -I'd have been a wiser man. Sylvanus was -tellin' how many mack'rel him and his brother caught -off Setucket P'int with a hand line, back when Methusalum -was a child, or about then. Forty-eight barrels -they caught, and it nigh filled the dory. One -of the young city fellers who was listenin' undertook -to doubt the yarn. He got a piece of paper and a -pencil and proved that a dory wouldn't hold that -many fish. Sylvanus shut him up in a hurry.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Young man," he says, scornful, "where a human -bein' is blessed with a memory same as I've got, -proof's too unsartin to compare with it."</p> -<p class="pnext">If I'd borne in mind what Sylvanus said and abided -by it I might not have dropped the barrel of sugar -on my starboard foot. I'd have been satisfied to -remember my strength and not try to prove it by -liftin' the said barrel off the tailboard of our delivery -wagon.</p> -<p class="pnext">However, I did try, and the result was that the -barrel slipped when I'd got it 'most to the ground, -and my foot went out of commission with a hurrah, -so to speak.</p> -<p class="pnext">Jim Henry come runnin' and him and the clerk -loaded me into the wagon and carted me off to my -rooms at the Poquit House. And there I stayed -in dry dock for three weeks, while the doctor done -his best to patch up my busted trotter and get me -off the ways and into active service again.</p> -<p class="pnext">He done his part all right. I was mendin' so -far as the lower end of me was concerned, but my -upper works and temper was gettin' more tangled -and snarled every day. Too much company was -the trouble. I had too many folks runnin' in to -ask how I was gettin' on and to talk and talk and -talk. Jim Henry he come, of course, to talk about -the store; and Mary Blaisdell, to tell me how the -post-office was doin'. I could stand them; fact is, -Mary was a sort of soothin' sirup, with her pleasant -face and calm, cheery voice. But the parson he -come, to keep the spiritual part of me ready for -whatever might happen; and the undertaker, to be -sure he got the other part, if it <em class="italics">did</em> happen; and -twenty-odd old maids and widows from sewin'-circle -to talk about each other and church squabbles and -the dreadful sufferin's and agonizin' deaths of their -relations, who'd had accidents similar to mine.</p> -<p class="pnext">They made me so fidgety and mad that the doctor -noticed it. "What's troublin' you, Cap'n Snow?" -he asked. "No new pains, I hope?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" says I. "Your hope's blasted. -I've got the meanest pain I've had yet."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Where?" says he, anxious.</p> -<p class="pnext">"All over," I says. "Tabitha Nickerson's responsible -for it. She's been here for the last hour -and a half, tellin' about how her second cousin, by -her uncle's marriage, stuck a nail in his hand and -was amputated twice and finally died of lingerin' -lockjaw. She never missed a groan. Consarn her! -<em class="italics">She</em> gives me a pain just to look at."</p> -<p class="pnext">He laughed. "That's the trouble with you old -bachelors," he says. "You're too popular with the -fair sex."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Fair!" I sung out. "Doc, if you mean to say -Tabby Nickerson's fair, then I'm goin' to switch to -the homeopaths. <em class="italics">Your</em> judgment ain't dependable."</p> -<p class="pnext">He laughed again and then he went on. Seems -he'd been thinkin' for quite a spell that the Poquit -House wasn't the place for me.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What you need, Cap'n," he says, "is a nice quiet -spot where nobody can get at you—that is, nobody -but the disagreeable necessities, like me. I've found -the place for you to board durin' your convalescence. -Do you know the Deacon house over at South -Ostable on the lower road?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"If you mean Lot Deacon's, I do—yes," says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"That's it," says he. "Lot's all alone there, and -he'd be mighty glad of a boarder. The house is as -neat as wax, and Lot used to go as cook on a Banks' -boat, so you'll be fed well. It's right on the shore, -with the woods back of it. There's a splendid view, -the air's fine, and—and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Don't strain yourself, Doc," I put in. "You -couldn't think of anything else if you thought for a -week. Air and view is all there is in that neighborhood. -What on earth have I done to be sentenced -to serve a term at Lot Deacon's?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, it was quiet, and I needed quiet. It was -restful, and I needed rest. It was too far from -civilization for the undertaker or the sewin'-circle -to get at me. It was—but there! never mind the -rest. The upshot was that I agreed to board at -Lot's till my foot got well enough to navigate and -they carted me down in the delivery wagon, next day.</p> -<p class="pnext">The Deacon place lived up to specifications all -right. Nighest neighbor half a mile off, woods all -round on three sides, and the bay on t'other. Good -grub and plenty of it. And no company except the -doctor every other day, and Jim Henry the days -between, and Lot—oh, land, yes! Lot, always and -forever.</p> -<p class="pnext">He was a meek little critter, Lot was, accommodatin' -and willin' to please, as good a cook as ever -fried a clam, and a great talker on some subjects. -He was a widower, with no relations except an aunt-in-law -over to Denboro, and a third cousin up to -Boston; and his principal hobby was spirits and -mediums and such. He was as sot on Spiritu'lism -as anybody ever you see, and hadn't missed a Spirit'list -camp-meetin' in Harniss durin' the memory of -man.</p> -<p class="pnext">However, Lot and I got along first-rate and he'd -set and talk by the hour about the camp-meetin', -which was a couple of weeks off, and how he was -goin', and so on. Said I needn't worry about bein' -left alone, 'cause his wife's Aunt Lucindy from Denboro -was comin' to keep house for me durin' the -two days he was away.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Is your Aunt Lucindy given to spirits, too?" -I wanted to know.</p> -<p class="pnext">No, she wasn't. Seems her particular bug was -"mind cure." She was a widow whose husband -had died of creepin' paralysis. She'd tried every -kind of doctorin' and patent medicines on him and, -in spite of it, the last specimen of "Swamp Bitters" -or "Thistle Tea" finished him. But, anyhow, -Aunt Lucindy had no faith in medicines or doctors -after that. She'd tried 'em all and they'd gone back -on her. Now she was a "mind-curer."</p> -<p class="pnext">"She'll prob'bly try to cure your foot with mind, -Cap'n Zeb," says Lot, apologetic as usual. "But you -mustn't worry about that. She means well."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I sha'n't worry," I says. "She can put her -mind on my foot, if she wants to; unless it's as hefty -as that sugar barrel I cal'late 'twon't hurt me much. -But say, Lot," I says, "are all your folks taken with -something special in the line of religion or cures? -How about this cousin—this Lemuel one? What's -possessin' <em class="italics">him</em>?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Oh, Cousin Lemuel was different. He'd had -money left him and was an aristocrat. He never -married, but lived in "chambers" up to Boston. -He didn't have to work, but was a "collector" for -the fun of it; collected postage stamps and folks' -hand-writin's and insects and such. He wasn't very -well, his nerves was kind of twittery, so Lot said.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Um-hm," says I. "Well, collectin' insects -would make most anybody's nerves twitter, I cal'late. -But if Cousin Lemuel likes 'em, I s'pose we hadn't -ought to fret. He could pick up a healthy collection -of wood-ticks back here in the pines, if he'd only -come after 'em, though it ain't likely he will."</p> -<p class="pnext">But he did, just the same. Not after the ticks, -exactly, but, as sure as I'm settin' here, this Cousin -Lemuel landed in the house at South Ostable, bag -and baggage. 'Twas three days afore the beginnin' -of camp-meetin' and two afore Aunt Lucindy -was expected over. Lot and me was settin' in rockin' -chairs by the front windows in my room lookin' out -over the bay, when all to once we heard the rattle -of a wagon from the woods abaft the kitchen.</p> -<p class="pnext">"It's the doctor, I cal'late," says Lot, wakin' up -and stretchin'. "Ah, hum, I s'pose I'll have to go -down and let him in."</p> -<p class="pnext">"'Tain't the doctor," says I. "He come yesterday. -More likely it's Mr. Jacobs, though I thought -he'd gone to Boston and wouldn't be back for three -or four days."</p> -<p class="pnext">But a minute later we see we was mistaken. -Around the house come rattlin' Simeon Wixon's old -depot wagon, with the curtains all drawed down—though -'twas hot summer—and the rack astern and -the seat in front piled up high with trunks and bags -and satchels and goodness knows what all. Sim was -drivin' and he had a grin on him like a Chessy cat.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Whoa!" says he, haulin' in the horses. "Ahoy, -Lot! Turn out there! Got a passenger for you."</p> -<p class="pnext">Lot was so surprised he could hardly believe his -ears, though they was big enough to be believed. -He h'isted up the window screen and looked out.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hey?" he says, bewildered-like. "Did you -say a <em class="italics">passenger</em>?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"That's what I said. A passenger for you. -Come on down."</p> -<p class="pnext">"A passenger? For <em class="italics">me</em>?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes! yes! yes!" Simeon's patience was givin' -out, and no wonder. "Don't stay up there," he -snaps, "with your head stuck out of that window -like a poll-parrot's out of a cage. And don't keep -sayin' things over and over or I'll believe you <em class="italics">are</em> a -poll-parrot. Come down!" Then, leaning back -and hollerin' in behind the carriage curtains, he sung -out, "Hi, mister! here we be. You can get out -now."</p> -<p class="pnext">The curtains shook a little mite and then, from -behind 'em, sounded a voice, a man's voice, but kind -of shrill and high, and with a quiver in the middle -of it.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Are you sure this is the right place, driver?" -it says.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Sartin sure. This is it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"But are you certain those animals are perfectly -safe? They won't run away?"</p> -<p class="pnext">The horses was takin' a nap, the two of 'em. Sim -grinned, wider'n ever, and winks up at the window.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I'll do my best to hold 'em," he says. "If -I'd known you was comin' I'd have fetched an -anchor."</p> -<p class="pnext">The curtains shook some more, as if the feller -inside was fidgetin' with 'em. Then the voice says -again and more excited than ever, "Well, why in -Heaven's name don't you unfasten this dreadful -door? How am I to get out?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Simeon stood grinnin', ripped a remark loose under -his breath, jumped from the seat, and yanked -the door open. There was a full half minute afore -anything happened. Then out from that wagon -door popped a black felt hat with a brim like a small-sized -umbrella. Under the hat was a pair of thin, -grayish side-whiskers, a long nose, and a pair of specs -like full moons. The hat and the rest of it turned -towards the horses and the voice says:</p> -<p class="pnext">"You're <em class="italics">perfectly</em> sure of those creatures you are -drivin'? Very good. Where is the step? Oh, -dear! where is the <em class="italics">step</em>?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Sim reached in, grabbed a little foot with one of -them things they call a "gaiter" on it, hauled it -down and planted it on the step of the carriage.</p> -<p class="pnext">"There!" he snaps. "There 'tis, underneath -you. Come on! Here! I'll unload you."</p> -<p class="pnext">Maybe the passenger would have said somethin' -else, but he didn't have a chance. Afore he could -even think he was jerked out of that depot wagon -and stood up on the ground.</p> -<p class="pnext">"There!" says Simeon. "Now you're safe and -no bones broken. Where do you want your dunnage; -in the house?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I don't know what answer he got. Afore I could -hear it there was a gasp and a gurgle from Lot. -I turned to him. He was leaning out of the window -starin' down at the little man under the big hat.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I believe—" he says, "I—I—<em class="italics">why</em>, it's -Cousin Lemuel!"</p> -<p class="pnext">Cousin Lemuel looked around him, at the house, -at the woods, at the bay, at everything.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Good heavens!" says he, in a sort of groan.—"Good -heavens! what an awful place!"</p> -<p class="pnext">That's how he made port and that was his first -observation after landin'. He made consider'ble -many more durin' the next few days, but the drift -of 'em was all similar. He was a bird, Cousin -Lemuel was. His twittery nerves had twittered so -much durin' the past month or so that his doctors—he -had seven or eight of 'em—had got tired of the -chirrup, I cal'late, had held officers' counsel, and -decided he must be got rid of somehow. They -couldn't kill him, 'cause that was against the law, so -they done the next best and ordered him to the seashore -for a complete rest; at least, he said the rest -was to be for him, but I judge 'twas the doctors that -needed it most. He wouldn't go to a hotel—hotels -were horrible,—but he happened to think of relation -Lot down in South Ostable and headed for there. -Whether or not Lot could take him in, or wanted -to, didn't trouble him a mite! <em class="italics">He</em> wanted to come -and that was sufficient! He never even took the -trouble to write that he was comin'. When he once -made up his mind to do a thing, and got sot on it, -he was like the laws of the Medes and Possums—or -whatever they was—in Scripture; you couldn't -upset him in two thousand years. It got to be a -"matter of principle" with him—he was always -tellin' about his matters of principle—and when the -"principle" complication struck, that settled it. Oh, -Cousin Lemuel was a bird, just as I said.</p> -<p class="pnext">And Lot, of course, didn't have gumption enough -to say he wasn't welcome. No, indeed; fact is, Lot -seemed to consider his comin' a sort of honor, as -you might say. If that retired bug-collector had been -the Queen of Sheba, he couldn't have had more fuss -made over him. The schooner-load of trunks and -satchels was carted aloft to the big room next to -mine,—Lot's room 'twas, but Lot soared to the -attic,—and Cousin Lemuel was carted there likewise. -He was introduced to me, and about the first -thing he said was, would I mind wearin' a dressin'-robe, -or a bath-sack, or somethin' to cover up my -game foot? the sight of the dreadful bandage affected -his nerves. I was sort of shy on sacks and dolmans -and such, but I done my best to please him with -a patchwork comforter.</p> -<p class="pnext">I can't begin to tell you the things he did, or had -Lot do for him. Changin' the feather bed for a -pumped-up air mattress he'd fetched along—air -mattresses was a matter of principle with him—and -firin' the rag mats off the floor of his room, 'cause -the round-and-round braids made whirligigs in his -head—and so on. But I sha'n't forget that first -night in a hurry.</p> -<p class="pnext">He was in and out of my room no less than fifteen -times, rigged out in some sort of blanket dress, fastened -with a rope amidships. He wore that over -his nightgown, and a shawl like an old woman's on -top of the blanket. His head was tied up in a silk -handkerchief; and his feet was shoved into slippers -that flapped up and down when he walked and -sounded like a slack jib in a light breeze. First off -he couldn't sleep 'cause the frogs hollered. Next, -'twas the surf that troubled him. Then the window -blinds creaked. And, at last, I'm blessed if he didn't -come flappin' and rustlin' in at half-past one to ask -what made it so quiet. I was desp'rate, and I told -him I was subject to nightmare, and had been known -to cripple folks that come in and woke me sudden -that way. He cleared out and I heard him pilin' -chairs and furniture against his door on the inside. -After that I managed to sleep till six o'clock. Then -he knocked and asked if I was thoroughly awake, -'cause if I was would I tell him what sort of weather -'twas likely to be, so's he could dress accordin'. His -risin' hour was nine,—more principle, of course,—but -he liked to know what to wear when he did -get up.</p> -<p class="pnext">And he was just as bad all that day and the next. -I'd have quit and had the doctor take me back to the -Poquit House, but I didn't like to on Lot's account. -Poor Lot was all upset and needed some sane person -to turn to for comfort. And besides, although -he made me mad, I got consider'ble fun out of this -Lemuel man's doin's. He was such a specimen that -I liked to study him, same as he used to study a new -species of insect, when he had that particular craze.</p> -<p class="pnext">He seemed to like me, too, in a way. Anyhow -he used to come in and talk to me pretty frequent. -He had three words that he used all the time—"awful" -and "dreadful" and "horrible." Everything -in the neighborhood fitted to them words, -'cordin' to his notion. And he had one question that -he kept askin' over and over: What should he do? -What was there to do in the dreadful place?</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why don't you keep on collectin'?" I asked him. -"We're kind of scurce on postage stamps, and the -handwritin' supply is limited; though you never collected -anything like Lot's signature, I'll bet a cooky. -But there's bugs enough, land knows! Why don't -you go bug-huntin'?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Oh, he was tired of insects. Never wanted to see -one again!</p> -<p class="pnext">"Then you'll have to wear blinders when you go -past the salt-marsh," says I. "The moskeeters are -so thick there they get in your eyes. Why not take -a swim?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Horrible! he loathed salt-water. He never -bathed in it, as a matter of—</p> -<p class="pnext">I interrupted quick—"Then take a walk," says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">Walking was a "bore."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well then," I says, "just do what the doctor -ordered—set and rest."</p> -<p class="pnext">But settin' made his nerves worse than ever! "I -don't know what is the matter with me, Cap'n Snow," -he says. "My physicians seemed to think I should -find what I needed here, but I don't!—I don't! -I am more depressed and enervated than ever."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I know what you need," I said emphatic.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Do you indeed? What, pray?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Somethin' to keep you interested," I told him. -"Your life's like a wharf timber that the worms -have been at—there's too many 'bores' in it. If -you could find somethin' bran-new to interest you, -you'd be lively enough. I'd risk the depression then—and -the enervation, too, whatever that is."</p> -<p class="pnext">Oh, horrible! How could I joke about a matter -of life and death?</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, so it went for the two days and in the -evenin' of the second day, Lot come tiptoein' into -my room. He was all nerved up. The next -mornin' was the time he'd planned to go to camp-meetin'; -and how could he go now?</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why not?" says I. "I'll be all right. Your -Aunt Lucindy's comin' to keep house, ain't she?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes—yes, she's comin'. But how can I leave -Cousin Lemuel? He won't want me to go, I'm -sure."</p> -<p class="pnext">"So'm I," I says; "he'll kick as a matter of principle. -But if you're gone afore he knows it, he'll -<em class="italics">have</em> to like it—or lump it, one or t'other. See -here, Lot Deacon; you take my advice and clear out -to-morrow early, afore the bug-hunter's nerves twitter -loud enough to wake him. You can get our -breakfast and leave it on the table out here in the -hall. I can manage to hobble that far. Afore dinner -Aunt Lucindy'll be on deck."</p> -<p class="pnext">He brightened up consider'ble. "I might do -that," he says. "And anyway Aunt Lucindy's likely -to be here afore breakfast. She's always terrible -prompt. But will Cousin Lemuel forgive me, do -you think?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I don't know," says I. "But I will, provided -you don't say 'terrible' again. Now clear out and -don't let me see you till camp-meetin's over. And -say," I called after him, "just ask one of your spirit -chums what's good for nerve twitters."</p> -<p class="pnext">Next mornin' was sort of dark and cloudy, so -probably that accounts for my oversleepin'. Anyhow -'twas after seven o'clock when Cousin Lemuel, -blanket and shawl and slippers, full undress uniform, -comes flappin' into my room. I woke up and -stared at him. He was pale, and tremblin' all over.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What's the matter now?" says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hush!" he whispers, fearful. "Hush! somethin' -awful has happened. My cousin Lot is insane."</p> -<p class="pnext">"<em class="italics">What?</em>" I sung out, settin' up in bed.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hush! hush!" says he. "It is horrible. Insanity -is hereditary in our family. What shall we -do?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Insane—rubbish!" says I, havin' waked up a -little more by this time. "What makes you think -he's insane?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He held up a shakin' hand. "Listen!" he whispers. -"He has been makin' dreadful noises for -the past half-hour, and singin'—actually singin'—in -the strangest voice. Listen!"</p> -<p class="pnext">I listened. Down below in the kitchen there was -a racket of pans and dishes and a stompin' as if a -menagerie elephant had broke loose from its moorin's. -Then somebody busts out singin', loud and -high:</p> -<blockquote><div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">"There's a land that is fairer than day,</div> -<div class="line">And by faith we can see it afar."</div> -</div> -</div></blockquote> -<p class="pfirst">"There, there!" says Lemuel. "Don't you -hear it? Would a sane man sing like that?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I rocked back and forth in bed and roared and -laughed. "A sane man wouldn't," I says, "but a -sane <em class="italics">woman</em> might, if she had strong enough lungs. -That ain't Lot. Lot's gone to camp-meetin', to be -gone till to-morrow night. That's his wife's aunt, -Lucindy Hammond, from Denboro. She's goin' to -keep house for us till he gets back."</p> -</div> -<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-viithe-force-and-the-object"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id8">CHAPTER VII—THE FORCE AND THE OBJECT</a></h2> -<p class="pfirst">Well, it took all of fifteen minutes for me -to drive the idea out of that critter's head -that his relative had gone loony. I was -hoppin' around on my sound foot tryin' to dress, -while I explained things. I had enough clothes on -to be presentable in white folks' society, when there -come a whoop up the back stairs.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Good morn-in'!" whoops Aunt Lucindy. -"Breakfast is ready! Shall I fetch it up?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"My soul!" squeals Cousin Lemuel, and bolts -for his own room. I buttoned my collar by main -strength and answered the hail.</p> -<p class="pnext">"All hands on deck!" I sung out. "Fetch her -along."</p> -<p class="pnext">There was a mighty stompin' on the stairs, and -then through the door marches as big a woman as -ever I see in my born days. 'Twa'n't only that she -was fleshy,—she must have weighed all of two hundred -and thirty,—but she was big, big as a small -mountain, seemed so, and was dressed in some sort -of curtain-calico gown that made her look bigger -yet. She was luggin' a tray heaped up with vittles -enough for a small ship's company.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Good mornin'," says she, in a voice as big as -the rest of her, and as cheery as the fust sunshine -on a foggy day. She was smilin' all over, but there -was a square look to her chin—the upper one, for -she had no less than two and a half—that made -me think she could be the other thing if occasion -called for. "Good mornin'," says she. "Is this -Lemuel?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"It ain't," says I. "Cousin Lemuel is in disability -just at present. My name's Snow."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, yes!" she hollers—every time she spoke -she hollered—"Oh, yes! Cap'n Zebulon Snow, of -course. I'm Mrs. Hammond. Here's your breakfast."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Mine!" says I, lookin' at the heap of rations. -"You mean mine and Cousin Lemuel's."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, no, I don't," says she, still smilin', and -puttin' the tray down on the table, in the way she -did everything, with a bang; "I mean yours, Cap'n -Snow. Lemuel's is all ready, though, and I'll fetch -it right up. I know what men's appetites are; I've -had experience."</p> -<p class="pnext">Afore I could think of an answer to this she swept -out of the door like a toy typhoon, the breeze from -her skirts settin' papers and light stuff flyin', and -was stompin' down the stairs, singin' "Sweet By and -By" at the top of her lungs. I looked at the tray -and scratched my head. My appetite ain't a hummin'-bird's, -by a considerable sight, but that breakfast -would have lasted me all day. As for Lemuel, -about all he did with food was find fault with it. -And just then in he comes.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What's that?" says he, pointin' to the tray.</p> -<p class="pnext">"That?" says I. "That's my breakfast. -Yours is just like it and it'll be right up."</p> -<p class="pnext">He fidgeted with his specs and bent over to look. -His nose was anything but a pug, but I give you -my word you could almost see it turn up.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Fried potatoes!" he says; "and fried fish! -and fried eggs! and griddle-cakes! Why—why -it's <em class="italics">all</em> fried! Horrible!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Ain't there enough?" I asks, sarcastic. "If -not, I presume likely there's more in the kitchen."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Enough!" he fairly screamed it. "I never take -anything but a slice of very dry toast and a cup of -tea in the mornin'. It's a principle of mine. And -I never eat anything fried! I—I—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"All right," says I, "you tell her so. Here she -is." And afore he could get out of the door she -sailed through it, luggin' another tray loaded like -the fust one. She slammed it down and turned to -the invalid, who was tryin' to hide his blanket dressin'-sack -behind a chair.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Here is Lemuel!" she hollers. "It <em class="italics">is</em> Lemuel, -isn't it? I'm <em class="italics">so</em> glad to see you! I'm Lucindy, -Lot's auntie. In a way we're related, so we must -shake hands."</p> -<p class="pnext">She reached over and took his little thin hand -in her big one and gave it a squeeze that made him -curl up like a fishin' worm.</p> -<p class="pnext">"There!" says she, "now we're all acquainted -and sociable. Ain't that nice! You two set right -down and eat. I'll trot up again in a few minutes -to see how you're gettin' on. Sure you've got all -you want? All right, then." Out she went, singin' -away, and Cousin Lemuel flopped down in a chair.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Good heavens!" he gasps, working the fingers -Aunt Lucindy had shook, to make sure they was all -there. "Good heavens!" says he.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says I, "I agree with you."</p> -<p class="pnext">"She calls me by my Christian name!" he says, -pantin', "and I never saw her before in my life! -And it—it didn't seem to occur to her that I was -not fully dressed. What shall I do?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says I, "if you asked me I should say -you better make believe eat somethin'. What <em class="italics">I</em> -can't eat I'm goin' to heave out of the back window. -I'd ruther satisfy that woman than explain to her, -enough sight."</p> -<p class="pnext">But he wouldn't eat, seemed to be in a sort of -daze, as you might say, and went flappin' back to -his own room. I tackled the breakfast.</p> -<p class="pnext">It would take a week to tell you all that happened -that forenoon. My time's limited, so I'll -only tell a little of it. When Aunt Lucindy come -upstairs again and see his tray, not a thing on it -touched, she wanted to know why. I done my best -to explain, tellin' her Cousin Lemuel was afflicted -in the nerves, and about his tea and toast, and his -diff'rent kinds of medicines, and his doctors, and so -on, but she wouldn't listen to more'n half of it.</p> -<p class="pnext">"The poor thing!" she says, "Lot told me some -about him. He's in error, ain't he. Horatio, my -husband that was, was in error, too, but he died of -it. That was afore I got enlightened. And you're -in error with your foot, Cap'n Snow, so Lot says. -Well, it's a mercy I'm here. The first thing I'll -do for you is to give you a cheerful thought. 'All's -right in the world.' You keep thinkin' that this -forenoon and I'll give you another after dinner. I -must get a thought for poor Lemuel, but he needs -a stronger one. I'll have one ready for him pretty -soon. Now I must do my dishes."</p> -<p class="pnext">Soon's she cleared out this time I locked my door. -An hour or so later there was a snappish kind of -knock on it.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Cap'n Snow! I say, Cap'n Snow," whispers -Lemuel, pretty average testy, "where is my tea and -toast? Did you tell that woman about my tea and -toast? I'm hungry."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I told her," says I. "If you ain't got it, you -better tell her yourself."</p> -<p class="pnext">"But I don't want to see the creature," he says.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Neither do I; that is, I ain't partic'lar about -it. And I couldn't hop down-stairs if I was. -You'll have to do your own tellin'. I'm goin' to -read a spell."</p> -<p class="pnext">My readin' didn't amount to much. He went -grumblin' back to his room, but I judge his longin' -for tea and toast got the better of his dread for the -"creature," 'cause pretty soon I heard him go down-stairs. -Aunt Lucindy's singin' and dish-clatterin' -stopped, and I heard consider'ble pow-wow goin' -on. Cousin Lemuel's voice kept gettin' higher and -shriller, but Aunt Lucindy's was just the same even -cheerfulness all the time. Then the ex-insect man -comes up the stairs again. I was curious, so I unlocked -the door.</p> -<p class="pnext">"How was the toast?" I asked. His usual pale -face was bright red and he was a heap more energetic -than I'd ever seen him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"She—she—that woman's crazy!" he sputters. -"She's insane; I told her so. I—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hold on!" I interrupted. "Did you get the -toast?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I did not. She refused to give it to me. Actually -refused! She—she had that dreadful fried -breakfast on the back of the stove and told me to -sit right down and eat it—like a good fellow. A -good fellow—to me!—as if I was a dog! A dog, -by Jove! I explained—in spite of my just resentment -I endeavored to reason with her. I told her -the doctor had forbidden my eatin' a heavy breakfast. -I said that my nerves were shattered and -so on. And what do you suppose she said to me? -She had the brazen effrontery to tell me that I had -no nerves. Nerves were 'errors,' whatever that -means. All I had to do was to think that—that -those fried outrages were all right and they would -be. And when I—you'll admit I had a good reason—when -I lost my temper and expressed my -opinion of her she began to sing. And she kept on -singin'. <em class="italics">Such</em> singin'! Good heavens! Horrible!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Then you ain't had any breakfast?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I have not. But I will have it! I will! You -mark my words, I—"</p> -<p class="pnext">He stopped. "The Sweet By and By" had -swung into the lower entry and was movin' up the -stairs. I expected to see Cousin Lemuel beat for -snug harbor, but no sir-ee! he stayed right where -he was, settin' up in his chair as straight as a ramrod. -Aunt Lucindy's treatment might not be -workin' exactly as she intended, the patient's nerves -might not be any better, but his <em class="italics">nerve</em> was improvin' -fast.</p> -<p class="pnext">In she swept, smilin' like clockwork, as smooth -and as serene as a flat calm in Ostable cove. She -paid no attention to the way the little man glared -at her, but turned to me and says: "Well, Cap'n," -she says, "have you cherished the thought I gave -you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Um-hm," says I, "I've put it on ice. I cal'late -'twill keep over Sunday."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I've thought up one for you, Lemuel, you poor -thing," she says, turnin' to the insect chaser. "It -is—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Woman," broke in Cousin Lemuel, "I'll trouble -you not to call me a poor thing. Where is my tea -and toast?"</p> -<p class="pnext">She smiled at him, condescendin' but pitiful, same -as a cow might smile at a kitten that tried to scratch -it—if a cow could smile.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Your breakfast is on the stove, all nice and -warm," she says. "You don't really want tea and -toast; you only think so. Cap'n Snow will tell you -how nice those fried potatoes are, and the codfish -and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Confound your codfish, madam! I shall have -that tea and toast. I—I <em class="italics">must</em> have it. My system -demands it."</p> -<p class="pnext">She shook her head. "Oh, no, it doesn't," says -she. "It will demand all the nice things I've cooked -for you if you only think so. Thought is all. Now -let me give you your cheerful thought for the day. -It is—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Confound your thoughts!" yells the nerve -sufferer, jumpin' out of his chair and makin' for the -door. "I always have tea and toast for breakfast, -and I intend to have it now."</p> -<p class="pnext">I hate a fuss, so I tried to pour a little ile on the -troubled waters. "Now, Lemuel," says I, "don't -let's be stubborn. You—"</p> -<p class="pnext">He whirled on me like a teetotum. "Stubborn!" -he snaps, "I was never stubborn in my life. This -is a matter of principle with me. That woman shall -give me my tea and toast."</p> -<p class="pnext">Aunt Lucindy smiled, same as ever. "Oh, no, I -sha'n't," says she, "it would only encourage you in -your error and that I shall not permit. Please listen -to the thought I have for you. It is <em class="italics">such</em> a nice -one. 'Be true to your higher self and'—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Madam," shrieks Lemuel, "my thought about -you is that you're an old fat fool! There!" And -he rushed into the hall and the next second his door -slammed so it shook the house.</p> -<p class="pnext">For just one minute I thought Aunt Lucindy was -goin' after him. Her smile stopped, her teeth -snapped together, she took one step towards the -door, and her big hands opened and shut. But that -one step was all she took. When she turned back -to me her face was red, but the smile had got busy -once more. She set down in the cane rocker—it -cracked, but it held—and says she:</p> -<p class="pnext">"He's a little mite antagonistic, don't you think -so, Cap'n Snow?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says I, "I should think you might call -it that without exaggeratin' much."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says she, "but I don't mind. There was -a time when if anybody'd called me an old fat fool -I'd have—well, never mind. I'm above such -things now. Nothin' can make me cross any more. -Not even a sassy little, long-nosed shrimp like.... -Ahem. Cap'n Snow, have you read 'The -Soarin' of Self'? It's a lovely book, an upliftin' -book."</p> -<p class="pnext">I said I hadn't read it and she commenced to tell -me about it, repeatin' it by chapters, so to speak. I -couldn't make much out of it but a whirligig of -words, and when she was just beginnin' I thought -I heard Lemuel's door creak. However, I didn't -hear anything more, and she strung along and strung -along, about "soul" and "mental uplift" and -"high altitude of spirit" and a lot more. By and -by I commenced to sniff.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Excuse me, marm," I says, "but seems to me -I smell somethin' burnin'. Have you got anything -on cookin'?"</p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">She</em> sniffed then. "No," says she, wonderin'. -"I can't remember anything." Then, with another -sniff, "But seems as if I smelt it, too. Like—like -bread burnin'. Hey? You don't s'pose—"</p> -<p class="pnext">She put for down-stairs. Next thing I knew there -was the greatest hullabaloo below decks that you -ever heard. Then up the stairs comes Cousin Lemuel, -two steps at a jump, which, considerin' that his -usual gait had been a crawl, was surprisin' enough -of itself. He had a scorched slice of bread in each -hand and he stopped on the upper landin' and waved -'em.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I've got the toast," he yells, triumphant, "and -I'm goin' to have the tea." Then he bolts into his -room and locked the door.</p> -<p class="pnext">Up the stairs comes Aunt Lucindy. Her face -was so red that it looked as if somebody'd lit a fire -inside it, and her big hands was shut tight. She -marched straight to that locked door and hollers -through the keyhole.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You—you little, dried-up critter!" she pants. -"Humph! I s'pose you've been sent to try my -faith, but you sha'n't shake it. No, sir! you nor -nobody else can shake it or make me lose my temper. -I'm perfectly calm and cheerful this minute. -I am! Ha, ha! Ha, ha!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I got my toast," hollers Cousin Lemuel from -inside. "And I'll have my tea, in spite of all the -New Thought cranks in this horrible hole!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Indeed you won't. I was prepared for a difficult -case when I came here. Cousin Lot told me -about your foolish 'nerves' and all the other errors -your selfishness has brought onto you. I made up -my mind to set you in the right path and I'm goin' -to do it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I'll have that tea."</p> -<p class="pnext">"No, you sha'n't. When folks are in error I -never give in to 'em. That's my principle and I -stick to it."</p> -<p class="pnext">When she said "principle" I pretty nigh fell -over. If <em class="italics">she'd</em> got the "principle" disease the case -was desperate. Anyhow, I thought 'twas about -time for somebody with a teaspoonful of common -sense to take a hand.</p> -<p class="pnext">"See here," says I, "for grown-up folks this is -the most ridiculous doin's I ever heard of. Mrs. -Hammond, for the land sakes let him have his tea -and maybe we'll have peace along with it."</p> -<p class="pnext">She turned to me. "Cap'n Snow," she says, -"speakin' as one who has learned to rise above their -baser self, and perfectly calm and good-tempered, -I advise you to mind your own business. I don't -care nothin' about the tea itself; it's the principle -I'm strivin' for, I tell you. Do you s'pose I'll let -that little withered-up, sassy, benighted scoffer—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"There! there!" says I. Then I bent down to -the keyhole. "Lemuel," I says, "be a man and not -prize inmate in a feeble-minded home. You're not -an idiot. Apologize to this lady and, if you can't -get tea, take hot water."</p> -<p class="pnext">The answer I got was hotter than any water he -was likely to get, enough sight. And there was -some "principle" in it, too.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says I, disgusted, "I'm durn glad that -I'm unprincipled. Fight it out amongst yourselves, -but don't you either of you dare come nigh me. I -mean that." And I went into my room and locked -<em class="italics">that</em> door.</p> -<p class="pnext">For two hours I stayed there, readin' some and -thinkin' a whole lot more. Down-stairs Aunt Lucindy -was singin' at the top of her lungs—to show -how good her temper was, I presume likely—and -out in the upper hall Cousin Lemuel was tiptoein' -back and forth and yellin' at her that he'd have -his tea in spite of her, and passin' comments on her -music. I never knew two such stubborn critters in -my life, and I couldn't see any signs of either of 'em -givin' in, long as their principles held out.</p> -<p class="pnext">I remembered a conundrum that, when I was a -young one in school, the teacher used to spring on -the big boys in the first class in arithmetic. 'Twas -somethin' like this:</p> -<p class="pnext">"If an irresistible force runs afoul of an immovable -object, what's the result?"</p> -<p class="pnext">The boys used to grin and say they didn't know. -Neither did I—then; but I was learnin' the answer -that very minute. When an irresistible force meets -an immovable object it's a matter of principle, and -the result is liable to be 'most anything. That was -the answer, and I was learnin' it by observation and -experience, same as the barefooted boy learned -where the snappin'-turtle's mouth was.</p> -<p class="pnext">Now the force and the object was in the same -house with me, and the minute the doctor, or Jim -Henry Jacobs, or anybody else with a horse and -team, come to that house, they could take me away -with 'em. I'd contracted for quiet and rest, not -for a session in Bedlam.</p> -<p class="pnext">Twelve o'clock struck and I begun to think of -dinner. I hobbled over to my door, unlocked it -and looked out. Cousin Lemuel's door was open, -too, but he wasn't in his room or in the hall either. -I wondered where on earth he could be. Next minute -I found out.</p> -<p class="pnext">There was a whoop from the kitchen—Lemuel's -voice and brimmin' with pure joy. Then, somewhere -in the same neighborhood, began a most tremendous -thumpin' and bangin'. A "cast" horse in -a narrow stall was the only sounds I ever heard that -compared with it. It kept on and kept on, and -Lemuel was whoopin' and hurrahin' accompaniments. -Such a racket you never heard in your born -days.</p> -<p class="pnext">Thinks I, "The critter's nerves have gone back -on him for good. He's really crazy and he's killin' -that poor mind-curer out of principle."</p> -<p class="pnext">Somehow or other I hopped down them stairs on -my sound foot, draggin' t'other after me. Through -the dinin'-room I hobbled and into the kitchen. -There was a roarin' fire in the cookstove and in -front of that stove was Cousin Lemuel dancin' round -with a teapot in his hand. The cellar door opened -out of the kitchen. It was shut tight, and somebody -behind it was bangin' the panels till I expected -every second to see 'em go by the board. If they -hadn't been built in the days when they made things -solid they would have.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What in the world—" I commenced. "You—Lemuel—whatever -your name is—what are -you doin'?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He turned and saw me. His bald head was all -shinin' with the heat, his big round specs was almost -droppin' off the end of his long nose, and he sartin -did look like somethin' the cat brought in.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What am I doin'?" he says. "Can't you see? -I'm gettin' my tea, same as I said I would. Ho! -ho!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Where's Aunt Lucinda?" I sung out. "You -loon, have you killed her?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He laughed. "No, no!" he says. "She deserves -to be killed, but she's alive. She refused to -give me my tea; she refused to stop her horrible -singin'. She was utterly impossible and I got rid -of her. I crept down and watched until she went -into the cellar. Then I closed the door and locked -it. Cap'n Snow, I have never been treated as that -woman treated me in my life! It was a matter of -principle with me and I was obliged—"</p> -<p class="pnext">He couldn't say any more because the poundin' -on the door broke out again louder than ever. I -headed for it and he got in front of me.</p> -<p class="pnext">"She is absolutely unharmed, I assure you," he -says.</p> -<p class="pnext">She sounded healthy, that was a fact. The names -she called that insect-hunter was a caution!</p> -<p class="pnext">"Let me out!" she kept hollerin'. "You let -me out of this cellar, you miserable little good-for-nothin'! -If I ever get my hands on you I'll—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Ha! ha!" laughs Lemuel. "I couldn't make -her lose her temper, could I? Oh, no, she's perfectly -calm now! You're not in the cellar, madam," -he calls to her, "you're in error. Thought can do -anything; think yourself out."</p> -<p class="pnext">I looked at him. "Well," says I, "for a person -with twitterin' nerves, you—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"D—n my nerves!" says he, which was the most -human remark he'd ever made in my hearin' and -proved that he wasn't beyond hopes. "You told -me that all I needed was somethin' to keep me interested. -Well, I've got it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"You let me out!" whoops Aunt Lucindy. -"Cap'n Snow, if you're there, you let me out!"</p> -<p class="pnext">I think maybe I would have let her out, but when -I heard what she intended doin' to Lemuel I thought -'twas too big a risk. I turned and hobbled through -the dinin'-room to the front outside door. And -there, just turnin' into the yard, was Jim Henry -Jacobs, with his horse and buggy. When he saw -me he almost fell off the seat. And maybe I wa'n't -glad to see him!</p> -<p class="pnext">"You!" he says. "You! <em class="italics">walkin'!</em>"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says I, "and in five minutes I'd have -been flyin', I cal'late. Don't stop to talk. Help -me into that buggy.... There! drive home -as fast as you can!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"But what under the canopy is the row?" he -says.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Row enough," says I. "I've been shut up -along with an irresistible force and an immovable -object, and I want to get away from 'em. Git dap."</p> -<p class="pnext">We turned the horse's head. We had just left -the yard when he looked back. I looked, too. The -cellar had an outside entrance, a bulkhead door. -This door was bendin' and heavin' as if an earthquake -was under it. Next minute the staple flew, -the door slammed back, and Aunt Lucindy popped -out like a jack-in-the-box. She never paid no attention -to us, but made for the kitchen.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Who—what is that?" gasps Jacobs.</p> -<p class="pnext">"That," says I, "is the irresistible force."</p> -<p class="pnext">There was a yell from the kitchen and then out -of the door flew Cousin Lemuel. <em class="italics">He</em> didn't stop -for us, either, but ran like a lamplighter to the fence, -fell over it, and dove head-fust into the woods. -After he was away out of sight we could hear the -bushes crackin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">"And—and <em class="italics">what</em>," gasps Jim Henry, "was -<em class="italics">that</em>?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"That," says I, "was the immovable object. -Drive on, for mercy sakes!"</p> -<hr class="docutils"/> -<p class="pfirst">Next day Lot came to see me at the Poquit House. -He was dreadful upset. Seems he hadn't stayed -his time out at camp-meetin'. One of the mediums -or spooks or somethin' over there told him there -was a destructive influence hoverin' over his house -and he'd hurried back to find out about it.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" says I. "I should have said it -had quit hoverin' and had lit. How's Cousin -Lemuel?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Seems Cousin Lemuel was at the hotel over to -Bayport. He'd telephoned for his trunks.</p> -<p class="pnext">"And he told me," says Lot, wonderin' like, "to -tell Aunt Lucindy that he intended havin' tea and -toast three times a day now, as a matter of principle. -That's strange, isn't it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Not to me 'tain't," says I. "And how's Aunt -Lucindy?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Aunt Lucindy's gone back to Denboro," he says. -"And she left word for Cousin Lemuel that she -should send him a 'thought'—whatever that is—every -day by mail from now on. And you'd ought -to have seen her face when she said it! But, Cap'n -Zeb, when are you comin' back to board with me?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I shook my head. "Lot," says I, "I like you -fust-rate, but your relations are too irresistibly immovable. -I'm goin' to keep clear of 'em for the -rest of my life—as a matter of principle," I says, -chucklin'.</p> -</div> -<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-viiiarmenians-and-injuns-likewise-by-products"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id9">CHAPTER VIII—ARMENIANS AND INJUNS; LIKEWISE BY-PRODUCTS</a></h2> -<p class="pfirst">You can imagine that Jim Henry and Mary -had a good deal of fun over my experience -with Lot and his tribe. They joked me -about it consider'ble. But I didn't mind. My foot -was all right again, or nearly so, and the extension -to the store had been finished and was workin' out -fine. We moved the mail room way back and that -give us lots of room on the main floor, and Mary -had a nice clean place, with plenty of air and light, -new sortin' table, new desks, and all that. As for -business, we done more that summer than we had -previous and it kept up surprisin' well through the -winter. I was happy and satisfied and Jacobs -seemed to be.</p> -<p class="pnext">But he wa'n't. It took a whole lot to satisfy him -and, by the time another spring reached us and the -cottages begun to open I could see that he was gettin' -fidgety. One mornin' he come back from a -cruise amongst the cottagers—he always handled -their trade himself—and I could see that he was -about ready to bile over.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says I, "what's weighin' on your mind -now? Or is it your stomach? I'm willin' to bet -that I'm two pound heftier than I was afore I ate -them hot biscuits at our boardin' house this mornin'; -and you got away with three more'n I did. Has -your ballast shifted, or what?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He shook his head.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Skipper," says he, "we're ruined by foreign -cheap labor."</p> -<p class="pnext">"You're right," says I. "I heard that that -Dutch cook used to work in a cement factory, and -them biscuits prove it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nothin' doin'," he says. "My noon lunch for -two years was 'Draw one with a plate of sinkers'; -and when it comes to warm dough, I'm an immune. -That Poquit House cook could practice on me for -a week and never dent my nickel-steel digestion. -No. What I'm full of just now is embroidery."</p> -<p class="pnext">I looked at him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"See here, Jim Henry," says I, "you've got me -a mile offshore in a fog. Unless you've swallowed -your napkin, I don't see—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"There! There!" he interrupted. "It's nothin' -I've swallowed, I tell you! It's somethin' I've -seen that I <em class="italics">can't</em> swallow. I can't swallow those tan-faced, -hook-nosed lace peddlers. It's only spring, -yet they are thicker round here already than lumps -of saleratus in those biscuit we've been talkin' about. -They're separatin' perfectly good easy marks from -money that belongs to us, and I'm gettin' mad. My -Turkish blood's risin', and there's likely to be another -Armenian massacre in this neighborhood pretty -soon."</p> -<p class="pnext">I understood what he meant then. Every summer -for the last year or two the Cape has been -sufferin' from a plague of fellers peddlin' handmade -lace, and embroidery, and such. They're all shades -of color except white, and they talk all sorts of languages -except plain United States; but, no matter -what they look like or how they jabber, every last -one of them claims to be an Armenian, and to have -his hand satchel solid full of native-made tidies, and -tablecloths, and the like of that. I never run across -the Armenian flag on any of my v'yages, but if it -ain't a doily, then it ought to be.</p> -<p class="pnext">And the prices they charge! Whew! A white -man would blush every time he named one; but these -fellers, bein' all complexions, from light tan Oxford -to dark rubber boot, are born to blush unseen, and -can charge four dollars for a crocheted necktie and -never crack, spot, nor fade.</p> -<p class="pnext">Jim Henry was some on high prices himself; likewise, -he considered the summer cottagers and the -hotel folks as more or less our special property. -Therefore, you can understand how this Armenian -competition riled and disturbed him. And, as it -turned out, that very mornin' he'd gone to call on -Mrs. Burke Smythe, who was one of the Ostable -Store's best and most well-off customers, and found -her ankle-deep in lamp mats and centerpieces which -an Armenian specimen was diggin' out of a couple -of suit cases. And she'd told him that she couldn't -pay our bill for another month 'count of havin' spent -all her "household allowance" on the "loveliest set -of embroidered dress and waist patterns" and such -that ever was. There was the dress pattern. -Didn't he think it was a "dear"?</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, Jim Henry give in to the "dear" part—she'd -paid sixty-four dollars for it—and come away -disgusted. These peddlers was takin' the coin right -out of our mouths, he vowed. What was we goin' -to do about it?</p> -<p class="pnext">"Keep our mouths shut, I guess," says I. "I -can't see anything else."</p> -<p class="pnext">But that wouldn't do for him. He went away -growlin', and for the next couple of days he hardly -said a word. I knew he was hatchin' some scheme -or other, and I took care not to scare him off the -nest. The third mornin', he came off himself, -fetchin' his brood with him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Skipper," says he, joyful, "I believe I've got it. -I believe I've got the idea that'll put those Armenians -in the discard. You listen to me."</p> -<p class="pnext">I listened, and what he'd hatched was somethin' -like this: We—that is, the "Ostable Grocery, -Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes, and Fancy Goods -Store"—would sell embroidery and crocheted plunder, -and run the peddlers out of business. We'd -open a tidy department on our own hook. What -did I think of that?</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, I didn't think much of it, and I told him so.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Don't believe we can do it," says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why not?" says he. "We can charge as much -as they can, and that seems to be the main thing."</p> -<p class="pnext">"That ain't it," I told him. "We can't get the -stuff to sell. Plenty of machine made, but the summer -folks won't have that, cheap or high. What -they wake up nights and cry for is the genuine, hand-manufactured -article; and, unless you buy it off the -peddlers themselves—which would be unprofitable, -to say the least—<em class="italics">I</em> don't see where you're goin' to -get it. Besides, if you could get it, sellin' it in a -store wouldn't do. 'Tain't romantic and foolish -enough. Take this Burke Smythe woman," says I; -"she's a fair sample. She could have got just as -nice, pretty dress patterns out of a fashion magazine, -or—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Great snakes!" he broke in. "You don't -think 'twas a <em class="italics">paper</em> pattern she paid sixty-four dollars -for, do you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Never mind what 'twas," I says, dignified; -"'twould be all the same, paper or sheet iron. She -wouldn't care for it at all if she'd bought it in a -store. There's nothin' mysterious or romantic in -that. But here comes one of these liver-complected, -black-haired fellers, lookin' for all the world like a -pirate, and whispers in her ear he's got somethin' -in that carpetbag of his that nobody else has got, -and that'll make Mrs. General Jupiter Jones, or -some other of the Smythe bosom friends, look like -a last summer's scarecrow. And, as a favor to her, -he ain't showed it to Mrs. Jupiter—which is most -likely a lie, but never mind—and he'll sell it to -her at a sixty-four-dollar sacrifice, because—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hold on!" he interrupts. "Cut it out! Break -away! Don't you s'pose I've thought of that? -Your old Uncle James Henry Jacobs, doctor of sick -businesses, wa'n't born yesterday by about thirty-eight -years. I ain't figgerin' to handle Armenian -stuff. See here, Skipper. What makes the summer -bunch so crazy to get hold of old clocks, and old -chains, and antique junk generally?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says I, "for one thing, 'cause they <em class="italics">are</em> -antiques. For another, because they come from -right here on the Cape, and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"That's it," he sings out. "And that's enough. -Well, there's plenty of handmade embroideries and -laces, not to mention lamp mats and bed quilts, made -right here on the Cape, too. Last fall, the county -fair had a buildin' solid full of 'em. This is my -plan. Do stop your Doubtin' Thomas act, and -listen."</p> -<p class="pnext">The plan was sort of simple but complicated. -Fust off, him and me was to see all the old ladies -and young girls in Ostable and the surroundin' country, -and get 'em to agree to sell their handmade -knittin' to us. If they wouldn't sell to us direct, -then we'd sell it for them on commission. We'd fit -up a room in the loft over the store, advertise it as -the "Colonial Curio Shop" or the "Pilgrim Mothers' -Exchange," or some such ridiculous or mysterious -name, stock it full of the truck the widows -and orphans had been knittin' or tattin' all winter, -drop a hint to the summer folks—and then set back -and take the money.</p> -<p class="pnext">"It'll go, I tell you," he says, enthusiastic. "It's -a sure winner. Just say the word, Skipper, and we'll -start fittin' up the loft to-morrow mornin'."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says I, pretty doubtful, "if you're so -sure, Jim, I—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Sure!" he broke in. "Why wouldn't I be -sure? There's only one kind of people that can get -ahead of me in a business deal—and they don't -hail from Armenia. Skipper, here's where we hand -our peddlin' friends theirs, and then some."</p> -<p class="pnext">Next mornin' he took the spare horse and started -out. When he got back that night, he had the bottom -of the wagon covered with bundles of knittin' -and handmade contraptions, and he made proclamations -that he hadn't begun to cover the available -territory. He'd seen I don't know how many single -females and widows who had the fancywork and -crochetin' habit; and they sold him everything they -had in stock, and promised more.</p> -<p class="pnext">"They take to it like a duck to water," says he, -joyful. "They're all down on the peddlers, and -they're goin' to pitch in and supply the home market. -In another week you can't pass two houses in this -town without hearin' the merry click of the needle. -To-morrow I canvass Denboro and Bayport, and the -next day I tackle Harniss. By Monday we'll be -ready to fit up the loft."</p> -<p class="pnext">And, sure enough, he was right. The amount -of stuff he fetched back in that wagon was surprisin'. -How the female population of Ostable County could -have turned out all that embroidery and found time -to cook meals and sweep, let alone make calls and -talk about their neighbors, beat me a mile. But -when he told me what he paid for the collection I -begun to understand. However, I didn't say nothin'. -'Twa'n't until he commenced to rig up the room over -the store that I spoke my thoughts.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, Jim Henry!" I says. "What are you -thinkin' of? Puttin' panelin' on those walls! And -paperin' with that expensive paper! It must have -cost land knows how much a roll. And, for the -dear land sakes, what are those carpenters cuttin' -that hole in the upper deck for?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"For stairs, of course," says he. "Think the -customers are goin' to fly up there? Don't bother -me, Skipper, I'm busy."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Stairs!" I sings out. "Why, there's stairs already. -What's the matter with the steps leadin' -aloft from the back room? <em class="italics">We've</em> used them ever -since we've been here, and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"S-shh! S-shh!" says he, resigned but impatient. -"Cap'n, your business instinct is all right in some -things, like—like—well, I can't think what just -now, but never mind. You're a good feller, but -you're too apt to cal'late by last year's almanac. -You ain't as up to date as you might be. Do you -suppose Her Majesty Burke Smythe, and the rest -of the Royal Family we're settin' this trap for, will -take the trouble to hunt up that back room, and -fall over egg cases and kerosene barrels to find the -ladder to that loft? And climb the ladder after they -find it? No, no! We'll have a flight of stairs right -from the main part of this store, where they can't -help seein' 'em. And there'll be old-fashioned rag -mats on the landin's, and brass candlesticks with candles -in 'em at night, and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Candles!" says I. "Well; that is the final -piece of lunacy! Why, I could light those stairs like -a glory with kerosene lamps while a body was tryin' -to get <em class="italics">sight</em> of 'em with a candle! I never heard -such nonsense."</p> -<p class="pnext">But 'twas no use. What we must do was make -that loft "quaint," and old-fashioned, and the like -of that. I didn't understand—and so on.</p> -<p class="pnext">"All right," says I, "maybe I don't; but I do -understand this: Judgin' by the amount of hard -cash you've spent for lace tuckers and doilies, and -the bill them stairs and panelin's and candlesticks'll -come to, I don't see a profit on the Pilgrim Curio -Mothers' Exchange in ten year big enough to cover -a five-cent piece."</p> -<p class="pnext">He'd risk the profit. Besides, there was another -reason for the stairs, and such. To get to 'em all, -the rich folks would have to go right through the -store; and if they didn't buy anything upstairs they -would down, sure and sartin. He was figgerin' on -catchin' the transient trade, the automobile trade; -and all around the foot of the stairs we'd have -temptin' lunches put up and set out, and bottles of -ginger ale and boxes of cigars, and so forth, and so -on. He preached for half an hour, windin' up with:</p> -<p class="pnext">"Anyhow, Skipper, if the curio shop should lose -money—which it won't—it will bring customers -to the Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes, -and Fancy Goods Store, which is the main thing; -that and keepin' the coin in the United States instead -of shippin' it to Armenia. The embroideries and -laces are by-products, as you might say; and if a -plant comes out even on its by-products, it's a payin' -proposition."</p> -<p class="pnext">He had me there. I didn't know a by-product -from a salt herrin'; so I shut up.</p> -<p class="pnext">The "Old Colony Women's Exchange and Curio -Room," which was the name he finally picked out, -opened at the end of a fortni't. Jacobs had advertised -it in the papers, and put signs for miles up and -down the main roads, let alone tellin' every well-off -summer woman within reachin' distance. And, almost -from the very start, it done well. The loft -was crowded 'most every afternoon; and sometimes -there'd be as many as three automobiles anchored -alongside our main platform.</p> -<p class="pnext">At the end of the fust month, the Exchange had -cleared—cleared, mind you—over two hundred -dollars; and Jim Henry was crowin' over me like a -Shanghai rooster over a bantam. He'd had another -happy thought, and had added "antiques" to the -stock in the loft; and the prices he got for lame -chairs and rheumatic tables was somethin' scandalous. -But it wa'n't all joy. There was two things that -troubled him.</p> -<p class="pnext">One of the things was that the supply of knittin' -and fancywork was givin' out. Likewise the "antiques." -Of course, there was some on hand. Aunt -Susannah Cahoon's yeller and black mittens, ear -lappets, and tippets hadn't sold, and wa'n't likely to; -and Abinadab Saint's alabaster whale-oil lamp with -the crack in it, that his Great-uncle Peleg brought -home from sea, hadn't been grabbed to any extent. -But these were the exceptions. 'Most all the good -stuff had gone; and, though Jacobs had raked the -county with a fine-tooth comb, as you might say, the -reg'lar dealers from Boston had raked it ahead of -him, and there wa'n't any "antiques" left.</p> -<p class="pnext">There was several reasons for the shortage in -fancywork. One was that the knitters and tatters -couldn't turn it out fast enough; and, moreover, -the season for church fairs was settin' in, and the -heft of the females, bein' reg'lar members in good -standin', <em class="italics">had</em> to tack ship and go to helpin' their -meetin'-houses. So our stock was gettin' low, and -Jim Henry was worried.</p> -<p class="pnext">The other thing that worried him was that we -couldn't get the right kind of help to sell the stuff. -He couldn't tend to it himself, bein' too busy otherwise. -Mary had the post-office department on her -hands. The clerk and the delivery boys wa'n't fitted -for the job at all; and, as for me, I couldn't sell a -blue sugar bowl without a cover for seven dollars -and take the money. I knew the one that bought -it was perfectly satisfied, but I couldn't do it; I ain't -built that way.</p> -<p class="pnext">"It's no use, Jim Henry," says I. "I may be -foolish, but I have ideas about some things; and it's -my notion that sartin kinds of folks are fitted by -nature for sartin kinds of things. Now, Cape Codders -they're fitted for seafarin', and such; and New -Yorkers and Chicagoers, like you, are fitted for stock-brokin' -and storekeepin'; and Italians for hand organs, -and diggin' streets, and singin' in opera. And -when it comes to sellin' secondhand stuff or keepin' -a pawnshop, there's—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Rubbish!" he snaps. "A while ago, you'd -have said that the embroidery trade was cornered -by the Armenians. We've proved that's a fairy tale, -ain't we? I've got some ideas myself. I know the -kind of person I want to run that Exchange, and, -sooner or later, I'll find him—or her. Meantime, -we'll have to do the best we can; and I'll take it as -a favor if you'll let up on the hammer exercise."</p> -<p class="pnext">I wa'n't sure what he meant by the "hammer -exercise"; but 'twas plain enough that them "by-products" -was a sore subject, and that he was worried.</p> -<p class="pnext">However, he wa'n't the only worried lace dealer -in the neighborhood. The Old Colony Exchange -had made good in one direction, anyhow. It had -knocked the embroidery peddlin' business higher'n a -kite. Where there used to be a dozen suitcase -luggers paradin' through the town, now you scarcely -sighted one; and that one looked pretty sick and -discouraged. The home market had smashed foreign -competition for the time bein'; that much was pretty -sure. But our stock kept gettin' lower and lower, -and the auto crowds begun to go by now instead of -stoppin'. And the few that did stop hardly ever -bought anything unless Jim Henry himself was there -to hypnotize 'em into it.</p> -<p class="pnext">One mornin' I came to the store pretty late, and -found our clerk talkin' to a dark-complected chap -with curly hair and a suitcase. I didn't shove my -bows into the talk; but, when 'twas over, I asked -the clerk what the critter wanted. He laughed.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, he's the last survivor of the peddlin' crew," -he says. "He ain't sold a thing, and he's goin' -back to Boston right off. I told him he might as -well. He asked a lot of questions about the Exchange, -and I took him upstairs and showed him -around."</p> -<p class="pnext">"You did?" says I. "What for?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, just to let him see what he was up against, -that's all. He was a pretty decent feller—some -of them Armenians ain't so bad—and I pitied him. -He was awful discouraged. He'd heard Mr. -Jacobs had been tryin' to hire a salesman for up -there; and he hinted that he'd kind of like the -job."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Did, hey?" says I. "Well, it's a good thing -for you and him that Mr. Jacobs didn't catch you. -He'd sooner have a snake on the premises than one -of them peddlers. What else did he say? Anything?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Why, yes. It developed that he'd said a good -deal. Asked where we got our stuff, and so on. I -judged 'twas a providence that I come in when I -did, or that clerk would have told every last word -he knew. I didn't say anything to Jim Henry. No -use frettin' him unnecessary.</p> -<p class="pnext">Three days after that the Injun showed up. I -don't know as you know it, but there are a few -Injuns left on the Cape—half-breeds, or three-quarters, -they are mostly; and they live up around -Cohasset Narrows, or off in the woods in those latitudes. -This one was an old feller, black-haired, of -course, and kind of fleshy, with a hook nose and skin -the color of gingerbread. I heard talk upstairs in -the Exchange; and, when I went aloft, I found him -and Jim Henry settin' among the by-products, and -as confidential as a couple of rats in a schooner's -hold. Soon as Jacobs seen me, he sung out for me -to heave alongside.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Look at that, Cap'n Zeb," he says. "What do -you think of that?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I took what he handed me, and looked at it. -'Twas a piece of handmade lace—a centerpiece, I -believe they call it—and 'twas mighty well done.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Think of it?" says I. "Well, I ain't much of -a judge, but I'd call it a pretty slick article. Who -made it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">The old black-haired chap answered.</p> -<p class="pnext">"My sister," he says. "She make 'em. Make -'em plenty."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Bully for her!" says I. "She's the lady we've -been lookin' for. Maybe she make some more; -hey?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He grinned; and Jacobs mentioned for me to -clear out; so I done it. He and old Gingerbread -Face stayed aloft in that Exchange for upward of -an hour; and, when they came down, Jim Henry -went with him as fur as the door. When the -stranger had gone, Jim turns to me and stuck out -his hand.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Skipper," says he, grinnin' like a punkin lantern, -"shake! I've got it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"What have you got?" I asked. I was a little -mite provoked at bein' sent below so unceremonious. -"What have you got—Asiatic cholery? Thought -you wouldn't have nothin' to do with Armenians."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Armenians be hanged!" says he. "That's no -Armenian. He's an Indian, a full-blooded Indian, -or pretty near it. And his family is about the only -full-bloods left. There's a colony of them up the -Cape a ways; and it seems that they pick berries in -the summer, and put in their winters turnin' out -stuff like that centerpiece. He heard about the -Exchange, and he's come way down here to see if we -bought such things. I told him we bought 'em with -bells on, and he'll be back here to-morrow with another -load."</p> -<p class="pnext">Sure enough, he was, load and all; and 'twould -have astonished you to see what fust-class fancywork -his sister and the rest of the squaws turned out. -Jacobs bought the whole lot, and ordered more; said -he'd take all the tribe could scare up; and old Gingerbread—his -American name, so he said, was -Rose, Solomon Rose—went away happy. When -I found what Jim Henry had paid him for the -plunder, I didn't blame Rose for bein' joyful.</p> -<p class="pnext">But Jacobs didn't care. He was all excitement -and hurrah again. He had a new addition made -to the Exchange sign. 'Twas "The Old Colony -Women's Exchange, Curio Room, and Indian Exhibit" -now; and inside of two days the Burke -Smythes and their friends was callin' reg'lar, the -auto parties was rollin' up to the door, and the money -was rollin' in. Injun embroidery was somethin' -new; and the summer gang snapped at it like bullfrogs -at a red rag.</p> -<p class="pnext">Then that partner of mine was seized violent with -another rush of ideas to the head. I'm blessed if -he didn't hire old Rose—the "Last of the Mohicans," -he called him, among other ridiculous and -outlandish names—to spend his days in that Injun -Exchange loft. Paid him ten dollars a week, he -did, just to set there and look the part. 'Twas -a sinful waste of money, 'cordin' to my notion; but -Jim Henry shut me up like a huntin'-case watch—with -a snap.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Who said he could sell?" he wanted to know. -"I didn't, did I? I don't know that he can't—he's -shrewd enough when it comes to sellin' us the stuff -he brings with him; but if he don't sell a fifty-cent -article—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Which he won't," I interrupted; "for there's -nothin' less than two-seventy-five <em class="italics">in</em> the robbers' den, -and you know it. How you have the face to -charge—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Will you be quiet?" he wanted to know. "As -I say, whether he sells or not, he's wuth his wages -twice over. Can't you understand? Just oblige me -by rubbin' your brains with scourin' soap or somethin', -and <em class="italics">try</em> to understand. All the auto bunch -ain't lambs; some of them—the males especially—are -a fairly cagey collection; and there's been doubts -expressed concernin' the genuineness of our Injun -exhibit. But with old Uncas—with the Last of the -Mohicans himself right on deck as a livin' guarantee, -why, we could sell clam-shells as small change from -Sittin' Bull's wampum belt, and never raise a sacrilegious -question even from a Unitarian freethinker. -It's a cinch."</p> -<p class="pnext">"See here, Jim Henry," says I, "if this thing's -a fraud, I won't have anything to do with it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Neither will I," says he, emphatic. "Frauds -don't pay, not in the long run. But grandmother's -genuine antiques and the A-number-one, Simon-pure -embroideries of the noble red man—or woman—pay, -and don't you forget it."</p> -<p class="pnext">They did pay; and old Mohican himself was a -payin' investment, too, in spite of my doubts and -Jeremiah prophesyin'. He made a ten-strike with -every female that hit that loft. They said he was -so "quaint," and "odd," and "pathetic." Mrs. -Burke Smythe vowed there was somethin' "big" and -"great" about him—meanin' his nose or his boots, -I presume likely—and, somehow or other, though -he didn't look like a salesman, he sold. And every -week or so he'd take a day off and go back home, -to return with a fresh supply of tidies, and lace, and -gimcracks. I changed my mind about Injuns. I -see right off that all the yarns I'd read about 'em -was lies. They didn't murder nor scalp their enemies—they -smothered 'em with lamp mats.</p> -<p class="pnext">And 'twa'n't fancywork alone that the Rose critter -fetched back from these home v'yages of his. He -struck an "antique" vein somewheres in the reservation; -and not a week went by that he didn't resurrect -an old bedstead or a table or a spinnin' wheel or -somethin', and fetched 'em down in an old wagon -towed by an old white horse. The "children of the -forest"—which was another of Jim Henry's names -for the Injuns and half-breeds—didn't give up -these things for nothin'; far from it. We had to -pay as much as if they was made of solid silver; -but we sold 'em at gold prices, so that part was all -right.</p> -<p class="pnext">And every other day Jacobs would ask me what -I thought of "by-products" now. As for Armenian -competition, it was dead. There wa'n't any.</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, three more weeks drifted along, and the -summer season was 'most over. Then, one Tuesday -mornin', old Rose, the Mohican, didn't show -up. He'd gone away on Friday cal'latin' to be back -Monday with a fresh lot of "antiques" and centerpieces; -but he wa'n't. And Tuesday and Wednesday -passed, and he didn't come. Jim Henry was -awful worried. We needed more stock, and we -needed our Injun curio; and nothin' would do but I -must turn myself into a relief expedition and hunt -him up.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Somethin's happened, sure," says Jacobs. -"He's never missed his time afore. Those fellers -pride themselves on keepin' their word—you read -Cooper, if you don't believe it—and he's sick or -dead; one or the other."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Dead nothin'!" says I. "He's too tough to -kill, and nothin' would make him sick but soap and -water, which ain't one of his bad habits by a consider'ble -sight. However, if it'll make you any -easier, I'll take the mornin' train and locate him if -I can."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Go ahead," says he. "I'd do it myself, but I -can't leave just now. Go ahead, Skipper, and don't -come back till you've got him, or found out why he -isn't on hand."</p> -<p class="pnext">So I took the mornin' train and set out to locate -the noble red man.</p> -</div> -<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-ixrosesby-another-name"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id10">CHAPTER IX—ROSES—BY ANOTHER NAME</a></h2> -<p class="pfirst">But locatin' him wa'n't such an easy matter. -All we knew was he lived somewheres in -Wampaquoit, and Wampaquoit is ten miles -from nowhere, in the woods up around Cohasset -Narrows. I got off the train at the Narrows depot, -and, after considerable cruisin' and bargainin', -I hired a horse and buggy, and started to drive over. -I lost my way and got onto a wood road. Don't -ask me about that road. I don't want to talk about -it. I'd been on salt water for a good many years, -and I'd seen some rough goin', but rockin' and -bouncin' over that wood road come nigher to makin' -me seasick than any of my Grand Banks trips. Narrow! -And grown over! My land! I had to -stoop to keep from bein' scraped off the seat; and, -whenever I'd straighten up to ease my back, a pine -branch would fetch me a slap in the face that you -could hear half a mile.</p> -<p class="pnext">As for my language, you could hear that <em class="italics">two</em> -miles. That road ruined my moral reputation, I'm -afraid. They had a revival meetin' in the Narrows -meetin'-house the follerin' week, but whether 'twas -on my account or not I don't know.</p> -<p class="pnext">However, I made port after a spell—that is, I -run afoul of a house and lot in a clearin' sort of; -and I asked a black-lookin' male critter, who was -asleep under a tree, how to get to Wampaquoit. He -riz upon one elbow, brushed the mosquitoes away -from his mouth, and made answer that 'twas Wampaquoit -I was in.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But the town?" says I. "Where's the town?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, it appeared that this was the town, or part of -it. The rest was scattered along through the next -three or four miles of wilderness. Where was the -center? Oh, there wa'n't any. There was a schoolhouse -and a meetin'-house, and a blacksmith's, and -such, on the main road up a piece, that was all.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But where do the Injuns live?" I wanted to -know. "The knittin' women, the Lamp Mat -Trust—where does it—she—they, I mean, -live?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He couldn't seem to make much out of this; and -by and by he went into the house and fetched out his -wife. She was about as black as he was; and I -cal'lated they was a Portygee family; but, no, lo and -behold you, it turned out they was Injuns themselves! -But they never heard of anybody named Rose, nor -of anybody that knit centerpieces, nor of an "antique," -nor anything. I give it up pretty soon, for -my temper was beginnin' to heat up the surroundin' -air, and the mosquitoes seemed to think I was "Old -Home Week," and come for miles around and -brought their relations. I give up and drove away -over a fairly decent road this time, till I found another -house. But this was just the same; Injuns in -plenty—'most everybody was part Injun—but nobody -had heard of our special Mohican nor of an -"antique." And, which was queerer still, they -never heard of anybody around that done knittin' -or crochetin' or lace makin', or had sold any, if they -did do it. And they didn't any of 'em talk story-book -Injun dialect, same as Uncas did. They used -pretty fair United States.</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, to bile this yarn of mine down, I rode -through those woods and around the settlement -most of that afternoon. Then I was ready to give -up, and so was my old livery-stable horse. He'd -gone dead lame, and 'twould have been a sin and a -shame to make him walk a step farther. I took -him to the blacksmith's shop, and left him there. I -pounded mosquitoes, and asked the blacksmith some -questions, and he pounded iron and wanted to ask -me a million; but neither of us got a heap of satisfaction -out of the duet.</p> -<p class="pnext">Two things seemed to be sure and sartin. One -was that Solomon Uncas Rose, the "child of the -forest" and chief of the tattin' tribe, was mistook -when he give Wampaquoit as his home town; and -t'other that, much as I wanted to, I couldn't get -out of that town until evenin'. My horse wa'n't fit -to travel, and I couldn't hire another, not until after -the blacksmith had had his supper. Then he'd -hitch up and drive me back to the Narrows.</p> -<p class="pnext">But luck was with me for once. Up the road -came bumpin' a nice-lookin' mare and runabout -wagon, with a pleasant-faced, gray-haired man on -the seat. The mare pulled up at the blacksmith's -house, and the man got down and went inside.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Who's that?" says I. "And what's he done -to be sentenced to this place?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Doctor," says the blacksmith, with a grunt—he -was one-quarter Injun, too. "Comes from West -Ostable. My wife's sick."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I sympathize with her," says I. "I'm sick, -too—homesick. Maybe this doctor'll help me -out. What I need is a change of scene; and I need -it bad."</p> -<p class="pnext">So, when the doctor come out of the house, I -hailed him, and asked him if he'd do a kindness to a -shipwrecked mariner stranded on a lee shore.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, what's the matter?" says he, laughin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Matter enough," I told him. "I want to go -home. Besides, a merciful man is merciful to the -beasts; and if I stay here much longer these mosquitoes'll -die of rush of my blood to their heads. -I understand you come from West Ostable, Doctor; -but if 'twas Jericho 'twould be all the same. I -want you to let me ride there with you. And you -can charge anything you want to."</p> -<p class="pnext">That doctor was a fine feller. He laughed some -more, and told me to jump right in. Said he'd got -to see one more patient on his way back; but, if I -didn't mind that stop, he'd be glad of my company. -So I told the blacksmith to keep my horse and buggy -overnight, and when I got to West Ostable I'd -telephone for the livery folks to send for 'em. -Then I got into the doctor's runabout, and off we -drove.</p> -<p class="pnext">We did consider'ble talkin' durin' the drive; but -'twas all general, and nothin' definite on my part. -'Course, he was curious to know what I was doin' -'way over there; but I said I come on business, and -let it go at that. I was beginnin' to have some -suspicions, and I cal'lated not to be laughed at if I -could help it. So we drove and drove; and, by and -by, when I judged we must be pretty nigh to West -Ostable, he turned the horse into a side road, and -brought him to anchor alongside of an old ramshackle -house, with a tumble-down barn and out-buildin's -astern of it.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Now, Cap'n," he says, "I'll have to ask you to -wait a few minutes while I see that last patient of -mine. 'Twon't take long."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Patient?" says I. "Good land! Does anybody -<em class="italics">live</em> in this fag end of nothin'ness?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says he. "'Twas empty for years, but -now a couple of fellers live here all by themselves. -Foreigners of some kind they are. Been here for -a month or more. One of 'em let a packin' case -fall on his foot, and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I sympathize with him," says I. "The same -thing happened to me a spell ago. But a packin' -case! Cranberry crate, you mean, I guess."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Maybe so," he says. "I didn't ask. But -'twas somethin' heavy, anyhow. Nobody seems to -know much about these chaps or what they do. -Well, be as comfort'ble as you can. I'll be back -soon."</p> -<p class="pnext">He took his medicine satchel and went into the -house. Soon's he was out of sight, I climbed out -of the buggy and started explorin'. I was curious.</p> -<p class="pnext">I wandered around back of the house. Such a -slapjack place you never see in your life! Windows -plugged with papers and old rags, shingles off the -roof, chimneys shy of bricks—'twas a miracle it -didn't blow down long ago. Whoever the tenants -was, they was only temporary, I judged, and willin' -to take chances.</p> -<p class="pnext">From somewheres out in the barn I heard a -scratchin' kind of noise, and I headed for there. -The big door was open a little ways, and I squeezed -through. 'Twas pretty dark, and I couldn't see -much for a minute; but soon as my eyes got used to -the gloominess, I saw lots of things. That barn -was half filled with boxes and crates, some empty -and some not. There was a horse in the stall—an -old white horse—and standin' in the middle of -the floor was a wagon heaped with things, and covered -with a piece of tarpaulin. I lifted the tarpaulin. -Underneath it was a spinnin' wheel, an old-fashioned -table, two chairs, and a basket. There -was embroidery and fancywork in the basket.</p> -<p class="pnext">Then I took a few soundin's among the full -boxes and crates standin' round. I didn't do much -of this, 'cause the scratchin' noise kept up in a room -at the back of the barn, and I wa'n't anxious to disturb -the scratcher, whoever he was. But I saw a -plenty. There was enough bran-new "antiques" -and "genuine" Injun knittin' work in them crates -and boxes to stock the "Colonial Exchange" for -six weeks, even with better trade than we'd had.</p> -<p class="pnext">I'd seen all I wanted to in <em class="italics">that</em> room, so I tiptoed -into the other. A feller was in there, standin' -back to me, and hard at work. He was sandpaperin' -the polish off a mahogany sewin' table; the -kind Mrs. Burke Smythe called a "find," and had -in her best front parlor as an example of what our -great-granddads used to make, and we wa'n't capable -of in these cheap and shoddy days. There was -another "find" on the floor side of him, a chair -layin' on its side. Pasted on the under side of the -seat was a paper label with "Grand Rivers Furniture -Manufacturing Company" printed on it. I -judged that the hand of Time hadn't got to work -on that chair yet, but it would as soon as it had antiqued -the table.</p> -<p class="pnext">I watched the mellowin' influence gettin' in its -licks—much as twenty year passed over that table -in the three minutes I stood there—and then I -spoke.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hello, shipmate!" says I. "You're busy, -ain't you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He jumped as if I'd stuck a sail needle in him, -the table tipped over with a bang, and he swung -around and faced me. And I'm blessed if he wa'n't -that Armenian critter; the one that the clerk had -talked to—the "last survivor of the peddlin' -crew."</p> -<p class="pnext">I was expectin' 'most anything to happen, and I -was kind of hopin' it would. My fists sort of shut -of themselves. But it didn't happen. I knew the -feller; but, as luck would have it, he didn't recognize -me. He swallered hard a couple of times, and -then he says, pretty average ugly:</p> -<p class="pnext">"Vat d'ye want?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, nothin'," says I. "I just drove over with -the doctor, and I cruised 'round the premises a little, -that's all. You must do a good business here. -Make this stuff yourself?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"No," he snapped.</p> -<p class="pnext">I could see that he was dyin' to chuck me out, and -didn't dast to. I picked up the chair and looked at -it.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" I says. "Grand Rivers Company, -hey? Buy of them, do you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says he.</p> -<p class="pnext">"And this?" I took a centerpiece out of one -of the boxes. "This come from Grand Rivers, -too?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"No," says he. "Boston. Is dere anything -else you vant to know?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Guess not. You the sick man?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"No; mine brudder."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Your brother, hey? Let's see. I wonder if I -don't know him. Kind of tall and thin, ain't he?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He sniffed contemptuous.</p> -<p class="pnext">"No," says he, "he's short and fat."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Beg your pardon," says I, "guess I was mistook. -Well, I must be gettin' back to the buggy; -the doctor's prob'ly waitin' for me. Good day, mister."</p> -<p class="pnext">He never said good-by; but I saw him watchin' -me all the way to the gate. I climbed into the -buggy, and set there till he went back into the barn; -then I got down and hurried to the front of the -house. The door wa'n't fastened, and I went in. -I met the doctor in the hall. He was some surprised -to see me there.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hello, Doc!" says I. "Where's your patient?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"In there," says he, pointin' to the door astern -of him. "But—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"How's he gettin' along?" I wanted to know.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, he's better," he says. "He's practically -all right. I wanted him to get up and walk, but he -wouldn't."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Wouldn't, hey?" says I. "Humph! Well, -maybe he wouldn't walk for you; but I'll bet <em class="italics">I</em> can -make him <em class="italics">fly</em>."</p> -<p class="pnext">Before he could stop me, I flung that door open -and walked into that room. The sufferer from -fallin' packin' boxes was settin' in one chair with -his foot in another. I drew off, and slapped him -on the shoulder hard as I could.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hello, Sol Uncas Mohicans!" I sung out. -"How's genuine antique lamp mats these days?"</p> -<p class="pnext">For about two seconds he just set there and -looked at me, set and glared, with his mouth open. -Then he let out a scream like a scared woman, -jumped out of that chair, and made for the kitchen -door, lame foot and all. I headed him off, and he -turned and set sail for the one I'd come in at. He -reached the front hall just ahead of me; but my -boot caught him at the top step and helped him -<em class="italics">some</em>. He never stopped at the gate, but went -head-first into the woods whoopin' anthems.</p> -<p class="pnext">The sandpaperin' chap came runnin' out of the -barn, and I took after him; but he didn't wait to see -what I had to say. He dove for the woods on his -side. We had the premises to ourselves, and I went -back and picked up the doctor, who'd been upset -by the "child of the forest" on his way to the ancestral -tall timber.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What—what—what?" gasps the medical -man. "For Heaven sakes! Why, he wouldn't <em class="italics">try</em> -to walk when I asked him to. <em class="italics">How</em> did you do -that?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Easy enough," says I. "'Twas an old-fashioned -treatment, but it helps—in some cases. Just -layin' on of hands, that's all. Now, Doc, afore you -ask another question, let me ask you one. Ain't -that critter's name Rose?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He was consider'ble shook, but he managed to -grin a little.</p> -<p class="pnext">"No," says he, "but you've guessed pretty near -it."</p> -<p class="pnext">Then he told me what the name was.</p> -<p class="pnext">I rode back to West Ostable with that doctor and -took the evenin' train home. Jim Henry was -waitin' for me on the store platform when I got out -of the depot wagon.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well?" he wanted to know. "Did you find -him?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" says I. "I did find the lost tribes, -a couple of members of 'em, anyway."</p> -<p class="pnext">"What do you mean by that?" says he.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Come somewheres where 'tain't so public and I'll -tell you."</p> -<p class="pnext">So we went back into the back room and I told -him my yarn. He listened, with his mouth open, -gettin' madder and madder all the time.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Now," says I, endin' up, "the way I look at it -is this. I've been thinkin' it out on the cars and I -cal'late we'll have to do this way. We ain't crooks—that -is, we didn't mean to be—and now we -know all our 'antiques' are frauds and our 'Injun -curios' made up to Boston, we must either shut up -the 'Exchange' or go back to home products. -We'll have to keep mum about those we have sold, -because most of 'em have been carted out of town -and we don't know where to locate the buyers. -But, for my part, bein' average honest and meanin' -to be square, I feel mighty bad. What do you -say?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He said enough. He felt as bad as I did about -stickin' our customers, but what seemed to cut him -the most was that somebody had got ahead of him in -business.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Think of it!" says he. "Skipper, we're -gold-bricked! Cheated! Faked! Done! Think of it! -If I could only get my hands on that—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hold on a minute," says I. "Better think the -whole of it while you're about it. We set out to -drive those peddlers out of what was <em class="italics">their</em> trade. -If they was smart enough to turn the tables and -make a good profit out of sellin' us the stuff, I don't -know as I blame 'em much. It was just tit for tat—or -so it seems to me now that I've cooled off."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Maybe so," says he; "but it hurts my pride just -the same. James Henry Jacobs, doctor of sick -businesses, beat by a couple of peddlers from Armenia!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hold on again," I says. "I ain't told you -their real name yet."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Their name?" he says. "I know it already. -It's Rose."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Not accordin' to that West Ostable doctor, it -ain't. The name they give <em class="italics">him</em> was Rosenstein."</p> -<p class="pnext">He looked at me for a spell without speakin'. -Then he smiled, heaved a long breath, and reached -over and shook my hand.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Whew!" says he. "Skipper, I feel better. -Richard's himself again. To be beat in a business -deal by Roses is one thing—but by Rosensteins is -another. You can't beat the Rosensteins in business."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Not in the secondhand and by-productin' -business you can't," says I. "Them lines belong to -'em. We hadn't any right to butt in."</p> -<p class="pnext">And we both laughed, good and hearty.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But," says I, after a little, "what'll we do with -that curio room, anyway? Give it up?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Not much!" says he, emphatic. "I guess -we'll have to give up the antiques; but we've got the -winter ahead of us, Skipper, and the Ostable County -embroidery crop flourishes best in cold weather. -We'll start the old ladies knittin' again and have a -fairly good-sized stock when the autos commence -runnin' once more. Give up the Colonial Pilgrim -Mothers? I should say not!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"All right," I says, dubious. "You may be -right, Jim; you generally are. But I'm a little -scary of this by-product game. It'll get us into serious -trouble, I'm afraid, some day. It's easier to -steer one big craft, than 'tis to maneuver a fleet of -little ones."</p> -<p class="pnext">He sniffed, scornful. "As I understand it, -Cap'n Zeb," he says, "this business of yours was in -a pretty feeble condition when you called me in to -prescribe."</p> -<p class="pnext">"No doubt of that, Jim, but—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes. And it's a healthy, growin' child now."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes. It sartin is."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Then, if I was you, I'd take my medicine and -be thankful. Time enough to complain when you -commence to go into another decline. Ain't that -so?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I didn't answer.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Isn't it so?" he asked again.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Maybe," I said; "but it may be a fatal disease -next time; and it's better to keep well than to be -cured—and a lot cheaper."</p> -<p class="pnext">He said I was a reg'lar bullfrog for croakin', -and hinted that I was in the back row of the primer -class so fur's business instinct went. I had a feelin' -that he was right, but I had another feelin' that <em class="italics">I</em> -was right, too. However, there was nothin' to do -but keep quiet and wait the next development. -Afore Christmas the development landed with both -feet.</p> -<p class="pnext">I'd heard the news twice already that mornin'. -Fust at the Poquit House breakfast table, where -'twas served along with the chopped hay cereal and -warmed over and picked to pieces, as you might -say, all through the b'iled eggs and spider-bread, -plumb down to the doughnuts and imitation coffee. -Then I'd no sooner got outdoor than Solon Saunders -sighted me, and he 'bout ship and beat acrost the -road like a porgie-boat bearin' down on a school of -fish. He was so excited that he couldn't wait to -get alongside, but commenced heavin' overboard his -cargo of information while he was in mid-channel.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Did you hear about the Higgins Place bein' -rented, Cap'n Snow?" he sung out. "It's been -took for next summer and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes, yes, I heard it," says I. "Fine seasonable -weather we're havin' these days. Don't see -any signs of snow yet, do you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">If he'd been skipper of a pleasure boat with a -picnic party aboard he couldn't have paid less attention -to my weather signals.</p> -<p class="pnext">"It's been hired for an eatin'-house," he says, -puffin' and out of breath. "A man by the name of -Fred from Buffalo, has hired it, and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Fred, hey?" I interrupted. "Humph! 'Cordin' -to the proclamations <em class="italics">I</em> heard he cruises under the -name of George—Eben George—and he hails -from Bangor."</p> -<p class="pnext">"No, no!" he says, emphatic. "His name's -Edgar Fred and it's Buffalo he comes from. Henry -Williams told me and he got it from his wife's aunt, -Mrs. Debby Baker, and her cousin by marriage told -her. She is a Knowles—the cousin is—married -one of the Denboro Knowleses—and <em class="italics">she</em> got it -from Peleg Kendrick's nephew whose stepmother -is related to the woman that used to do old Judge -Higgins's cookin' when he was alive. So it come -straight, you see."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," I says, "about as straight as the eel went -through the snarled fish net. All right. I don't -care. How's your rheumatiz gettin' on, Solon?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I thought that would fetch him, but it didn't. -Gen'rally speakin', he'd talk for an hour about his -rheumatiz and never skip an ache; but now he was -too much interested in the Higgins Place even to -catalogue his symptoms.</p> -<p class="pnext">"It's some better," he says, "since I tried the -Electric Ointment out of the newspaper. But, -Cap'n Zeb, did you know that this Fred man was -goin' to start a swell dinin'-room for automobile -folks? He is. He's had all kinds of experience in -them lines. He's goin' to have foreign help and -a chief Frenchman to do the cookin' and—and I -don't know what all."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I guess that's right," says I. "Well, I don't -know what all, either, and I ain't goin' to worry. -We'll see what we shall see, as the blind feller said. -Hello! there's the minister over there and I'll bet he -ain't heard a word about it."</p> -<p class="pnext">That done the trick. Away he put, all sail set, to -give the minister the earache, and I went on down -to the store. And there was Jacobs talkin' to a -man I'd never seen afore and both of 'em so interested -they scarcely noticed me when I come in.</p> -<p class="pnext">He was a kind of ordinary-lookin' feller at fust -sight, the stranger was, sort of a cross between a -parson and a circus agent, judgin' by his get-up. -Pretty thin, with black hair and a black beard, and -dressed all in black except his vest, which was -thunder-storm plaid. I'd have cal'lated he was in -mournin' if it hadn't been for that vest. As 'twas he -looked like a hearse with a brass band aboard. Both -him and Jacobs was smokin' cigars, the best ten-centers -we carried in stock.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Mornin'," says I, passin' by 'em. Jim Henry -looked up and saw me.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Ah, Skipper," says he; "glad to see you. -Come here. I want to make you acquainted with -Mr. Edwin Frank, who is intendin' to locate here -in Ostable. Mr. Frank, shake hands with my partner, -Cap'n Zebulon Snow."</p> -<p class="pnext">We shook, the band wagon hearse and me, and I -felt as if I was back aboard the old <em class="italics">Fair Breeze</em>, -handlin' cold fish. Jim Henry went right along explainin' -matters.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Mr. Frank," he says, "has had a long experience -in the restaurant and hotel line and he believes -there is an openin' for a first-class road-house -in this town. He has leased the—"</p> -<p class="pnext">Then I understood. "Why, yes, yes!" I interrupted. -"I know now. You're Mr. Eben Edgar -Fred George from Buffalo and Bangor, ain't you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Then <em class="italics">they</em> didn't understand. When I explained -about the boardin'-house talk and Solon Saunders' -"straight" news, Jacobs laughed fit to kill and even -Mr. Fred George Frank pumped up a smile. But -his pumps was out of gear, or somethin', for the -smile looked more like a crack in an ice chest than -anything human. However, he said he was glad -to see me and I strained the truth enough to say I -was glad to meet him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"So you've hired the Higgins Place, Mr. Frank," -I went on. "Well, well! And you're goin' to -make a hotel of it. If old Judge Higgins don't turn -over in his grave at that, he's fast moored, that's -all."</p> -<p class="pnext">I meant what I said, almost. Judge Higgins, in -his day, had been one of the big-bugs of the town -and his place on the hill was one of the best on the -main road. It set 'way back from the street and -the view from under the two big silver-leaf trees by -the front door took in all creation and part of Ostable -Neck, as the sayin' is. The Judge had been -dead most eight year now, and, bein' a three times -widower without chick nor child, the estate was all -tied up amongst the heirs of the three wives and -was fast tumblin' to pieces. It couldn't be sold, on -account of the row between the owners, but it had -been let once or twice to summer folks. To turn it -into a tavern was pretty nigh the final come-down, -seemed to me.</p> -<p class="pnext">But Jim Henry Jacobs wa'n't worryin' about -come-downs. He never let dead dignity interfere -with live business. He didn't shed a tear over the -old place, or lay a wreath on Judge Higgins's tomb. -No, sir! he got down to the keelson of things -in a jiffy.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Skipper," he says, sweet and plausible as a dose -of sugared soothin'-syrup. "Skipper," he says, -"Mr. Frank's proposition is to open, not a hotel -exactly, but a first-class, up-to-date road-house and -restaurant. As progressive citizens of Ostable, as -business men, wide-awake to the town's welfare, that -ought to interest you and me, on general principles, -hadn't it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I judged that this was only Genesis, and that Revelation -would come later, so I nodded and said I -cal'lated that it had—on general principles.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You bet!" he goes on. "It does interest us. -Speakin' personally, I've long felt that there was a -place in Ostable for a dinin'-room, run to bag—to -attract, I mean—the wealthy, the well-to-do transient -trade. Why, just think of it!" he says, -warmin' up, "it's winter now. By May or June -there'll be a steady string of autos runnin' along this -road here, every one of 'em solid full of city people -and all hungry. Now, it's a shame to let those -good things—I mean hungry gents and ladies, go -by without givin' 'em what they want. If I hadn't -had so many things on my mind, if the Ostable -Store's large and growin' business hadn't took my -attention exclusive, I should have ventured a flyer -in that direction myself. But never mind that; Mr. -Frank here has got ahead of me and the job's in -better hands. Mr. Frank is right up to the minute; -he's abreast of the times and he—by the way, Mr. -Frank, perhaps you wouldn't mind tellin' my partner -here somethin' about your plans. Just give him -the line of talk you've been givin' me, say."</p> -<p class="pnext">Mr. Frank didn't mind. He had the line over -in a minute and if I'd been cal'latin' that he was a -frosty specimen with the water in his talk-b'iler -froze, I got rid of the notion in a hurry. He -smiled, polite, and begun slow and deliberate, but -pretty soon he was runnin' twenty knots an hour. -He told about his experience in the eatin'-house line—he'd -been everything from hotel manager to club -steward—and about how successful he'd been and -how big the profits was, and what his customers said -about him, and so on. Afore a body had a chance -to think this over—or to digest it, long's we're -talkin' about eatin'—he was under full steam -through Ostable with the Higgins Place loaded to -the guards and beatin' all entries two mile to the -lap. He'd never seen a better openin'; his experience -backed his judgment in callin' it the ideal -location and opportunity, and the like of that. He -talked his throat dry and wound up, husky but -hurrahin', with somethin' like this:</p> -<p class="pnext">"Cap'n Snow," he says, "you and Mr. Jacobs -must understand that I know what I'm talkin' about. -This enterprise of mine will be the very highest -class. French chef, French waiters, all the delicacies -and game in season. A country Delmonico's, -that's the dope—ahem! I mean that is the reputation -this establishment of ours will have; yes."</p> -<p class="pnext">I judged that the "dope" had slipped out unexpected -and that the miscue jarred him a little mite, -for he colored up and wiped his forehead with a red -and yellow bordered handkerchief. I was jarred, -too, but not by that.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Establishment of <em class="italics">ours</em>?" I says, slow. "You -mean yours, of course."</p> -<p class="pnext">He was goin' to answer, but Jim Henry got ahead -of him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Sure! of course, Skipper," he says. "That's -all right. There!" he went on, gettin' up and takin' -me by the arm. "Mr. Frank's got to be trottin' -along and we mustn't detain him. So long, Mr. -Frank. My partner and I will have some conversation -and we'll meet again. Drop in any time. -Good day."</p> -<p class="pnext">I hadn't noticed any signs of Frank's impatience -to trot along, but he took the hint all right and got -up to go. He said good-by and I was turnin' away, -when I see Jim Henry wink at him when they -thought I wa'n't lookin'. I was suspicious afore; -that wink made me uneasy as a spring pullet tied to -the choppin'-block.</p> -</div> -<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xthe-sign-of-the-windmill"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id11">CHAPTER X—THE SIGN OF THE WINDMILL</a></h2> -<p class="pfirst">Eben George Edgar Edwin Delmonico -Frank went out, dabbin' at his -forehead with the red and yellow handkerchief. -Jacobs kept his clove hitch on my arm and -led me out to the settee on the front platform.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Set down, Skipper," he says, cheerful and -more'n extra friendly, seemed to me. "Set down," -he says, "and enjoy the December ozone."</p> -<p class="pnext">We come to anchor on the settee and there we -set and shivered for much as five minutes, each of -us waitin' for the other to begin. Finally Jim -Henry says, without lookin' at me:</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well, Skipper," he says, "that chap's sharp all -right, ain't he?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Seems to be," says I, not too enthusiastic.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes, he is. If I'm any judge of human nature—and -I hand myself <em class="italics">that</em> bouquet any day in the -week—he knows his business. Don't you think -so?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Maybe," I says. "But what business of ours -his business is I don't see—yet. If you do, bein' -as you and me are supposed to be partners, perhaps -you wouldn't mind soundin' the fog whistle for my -benefit. I seem to have lost my reckonin' on this -v'yage. Why should we be interested in this Frank -man and his eatin'-house?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He laughed, louder'n was necessary, I thought, and -slapped me on the shoulder.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You don't see where we come in, hey?" he says. -"Well, I do. A dinin'-room like that one of his -will need a good many supplies, won't it? And, if -I can mesmerize him into patronizin' the home -market, the Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and -Shoes and Fancy Goods Emporium will gain some, -I shouldn't wonder. Hey, pard! How about -that?" And he slapped my shoulder again.</p> -<p class="pnext">I turned this over in my mind. "Humph!" I -says. "I begin to see."</p> -<p class="pnext">"You bet you do!" he says, laughin'. "The -amount of stuff I can sell that restaurant will—"</p> -<p class="pnext">But I broke in here. I remembered that wink -and I didn't believe I was clear of the choppin'-block -yet.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hold on!" says I. "Heave to! And never -mind poundin' my starboard shoulder to pieces, -either. I said I <em class="italics">begun</em> to see; I don't see clear yet. -How did you and he come to get together in the -fust place? Did you go and hunt him up? or did -he come in here to see you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He kind of hesitated. "Why," he says, "he -come into the store, and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Did he happen in, or did he come to see you -a-purpose?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"He—I believe he came to see me. Then he -and I—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Heave to again! He didn't come to see you -to beg the favor of buyin' goods of you, 'tain't -likely. Jim Jacobs, answer me straight. There's -somethin' else. That feller wants somethin' of you—or -of us. Now what is it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He hesitated some more. Then he upset the -woodpile and let out the darky.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," he says, "I'll tell you. I was goin' to -tell you, anyway. Frank's all right. He's got a -good idea and he's got the experience to put it into -practice; but he's somethin' the way old Beanblossom -was afore you took a share in this store—he needs -a little more capital."</p> -<p class="pnext">I swung round on the settee and looked him square -in the eye.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I—see," I says, slow. "Now—I see! He's -after money and he wants us to lend it to him. I -might have guessed it. Well, did you say no right -off? or was you waitin' to have me say it? You -might have said it yourself. You knew I'd back -you up."</p> -<p class="pnext">Would you believe it? he got as red as a beet.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I didn't say anything," he says. "Don't go off -half-cocked like that. What's the matter with you -this mornin'? He don't want to borrer money. He -wants more capital in the proposition—wants to -float it right. And he's been inquirin' around and -has found that you and me are the two leadin' business -men in the place and has come to us first. It's -more a favor on his part than anything else. He -offers to let us have a third interest between us; you -put in a thousand and I do the same. Why, man, -it's a cinch! It's a chance that don't come every day. -As I told you, I've had the same notion in my head -for a long time. A summer dinin'-room like that in -this town is—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Wait!" I interrupted. "What do you know -about this Frank critter? Where'd he come from? -Who is he?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"He comes from Pittsburg. That's the last place -he was in. And he's got his pockets full of references -and testimonials."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph! Anybody can get testimonials. -Write 'em himself, if there wa'n't any other way. -I had a second mate once with more testimonials -than shirts, enough sight, and he—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, cut it out! Besides, I don't care where he -comes from. He's sharp as a steel trap; that much -I can tell with one eye shut. And he's run dinin'-rooms -and hotels; that I'll bet my hat on. That's -all we need to know. A road-house in this town is a -twenty per cent proposition durin' the summer -months. It's the chance of a lifetime, I tell you."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Maybe so. But how do you know the feller's -honest?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I don't care whether he's honest or not. It -doesn't make any difference. If I wa'n't here to -keep my eye peeled, it might be; but I'll be here -and if he gets ahead of me, he'll be movin' to some -extent. Someone else'll grab the chance if we don't. -I'm for it. What do you say?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I shook my head. "Jim," says I, "I can see -where you stand. You're so dead sartin that an -eatin'-house of that kind'll pay big, that you're blind -to the rest of it. Now I don't pretend to be a judge -of human nature like you—leavin' out Injun and -Rosenstein human nature, of course—nor a doctor -of sick businesses, which is your profession. But my -experience is—"</p> -<p class="pnext">He stood up and sniffed impatient.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Cut it out, I tell you!" he says, again. "This -ain't an experience meetin'. Will you take a flyer -with me in that road-house, or won't you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Way I feel now, I won't," says I, prompt.</p> -<p class="pnext">He turned on his heel, took a step towards the -door and then stopped.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," he says, "you think it over till to-morrer -mornin' and then let me know. Only, you mark my -words, it's a chance. And, with me to keep my eye -on it, there's no risk at all."</p> -<p class="pnext">So that's the way it ended that day. And half -that night I laid awake, feelin' meaner'n dirt to say no -to as good a partner as I had, and yet pretty average -sure I was right, just the same.</p> -<p class="pnext">In the mornin' my mind was still betwixt and between. -I went down to the store and walked back -to the post-office department. I looked in through -the little window and saw Mary Blaisdell inside, -sortin' the outgoin' letters. The sunshine, streamin' -in from outside, lit up her hair till it looked like one -of them halos in a church picture. Seems to me I -never saw her look prettier; but then, every time I -saw her I thought the same thing. A good-lookin' -woman and a good woman—yes, and capable. -That she'd lived so many years without gettin' married, -was one of the things that made a feller lose -confidence in the good-sense of humans. The chap -that got her would be lucky. Then I caught a -glimpse of myself in the lookin'-glass where customers -tried on hats, and decided I'd better stop -thinkin' foolishness or somebody would catch me at -it and send me to the comic papers.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Mornin', Mary," says I. "Has Mr. Jacobs -come aboard yet?"</p> -<p class="pnext">She turned and came to her side of the window.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," she says, "he was here. He's gone out -now with that Mr. Frank. I believe they've gone -up to the old Higgins Place."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Um-hm," says I. "Well, Mary, just between -friends, I'd like to ask you somethin'. Do you like -that Frank man's looks?"</p> -<p class="pnext">She wa'n't expectin' that and she didn't know how -to answer for a jiffy. Then she kind of half laughed, -and says: "No, Cap'n Zeb, since you ask me, I—I -don't. I don't like him. And I haven't any good -reason, either."</p> -<p class="pnext">I nodded. "Much obliged, Mary," says I. -"And, since you ain't asked me, I'll tell you that <em class="italics">I</em> -don't like him. And my reason's about as good as -yours. Maybe it's his clothes. A man, 'cordin' -to my notion, has a right to look like a horse jockey, -if he wants to; and he's got a right to look like an -undertaker. But when he looks like a combination -of the two, I—well, I get skittish and begin to shy, -that's all. It's too much as if he was baited to trap -you dead or alive."</p> -<p class="pnext">Then Jim Henry come in and when, an hour or -so later, he got me one side and asked me if I'd -made up my mind about investin' in Frank's road-house, -I answered prompt that my mind was made up -and the answer was still no. He was disapp'inted, -I could see that, and pretty mad.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" says he. "Skipper, you're all right -except for one fault—you're as 'country' as they -make 'em, and they make 'em pretty narrer sometimes. -Well, you've had the chance. Don't ever -tell me you haven't."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I won't," says I, and we didn't mention the subject -for a long time. Then—but that comes later. -However, I judged that Frank had found folks in -Ostable who wa'n't as narrer and "country" as I -was, for, inside of a week, the carpenters was busy -on the Higgins Place. They built on great, wide -piazzas; they knocked out partitions between rooms; -they made the house pretty much over. In March -loads of fancy furniture came from Boston. At -last a windmill three feet high—made to look like -a little copy of the old Cape windmills our great-granddads -used to grind grist in, with sails that -turned—was set up in the front yard, and on a -post by the big gate was swingin' a fancy notice -board, with a gilt windmill painted on that, and the -words in big letters:</p> -<div class="center line-block noindent outermost"> -<div class="line">THE SIGN OF THE WINDMILL.</div> -<div class="line"> </div> -<div class="line">MEALS AT ALL HOURS.</div> -<div class="line"> </div> -<div class="line"><span class="small-caps">Steaks, Chops, Game, Etc.</span></div> -<div class="line"><span class="small-caps">Table D'hote Dinner Each Day at 1.15.</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Special Accommodations for Auto Parties.</em></div> -</div> -<p class="pfirst">That was it, you see. "The Sign of the Windmill" -was the name of the new road-house.</p> -<p class="pnext">But that wa'n't all the advertisin', by a consider'ble -sight. There was signs all up and down the -main roads, with hands p'intin' in the "Windmill" -direction. And there was ads in the Cape papers -and in the Boston papers, too. I swan, I didn't -believe anybody but Jim Henry Jacobs could have -engineered such advertisin'! And there was a -black-lookin' critter with the ends of his mustache -waxed so sharp you could have sewed canvas with -'em—he was the French chef—and three foreign -waiters, and a dark-complected fleshy woman who -seemed to be a sort of general assistant manager and -stewardess, and—and—goodness knows what -there wa'n't. There was so many kinds of hired -help that I couldn't see where Frank himself come -in—unless he was the spare "windmill," which, -judgin' by his gift of gab, I cal'late might be the -fact.</p> -<p class="pnext">"The Sign of the Windmill" bought all its groceries -and general supplies at the store, which, considerin' -that we'd turned down the "chance" to be -part owners, seemed sort of odd to me, 'cause Frank -didn't look like a feller who'd forgive a slight like -that. But I judged Jim Henry had hypnotized him, -as he done other difficult customers, and so I said -nothin'. The auto season opened and our weekly -bills with that road-house was big ones, but they was -paid every week, and I hadn't any kick there, -either.</p> -<p class="pnext">As for the business that dinin'-room done, it was -surprisin', particularly Saturdays and Sundays, when -there'd be twenty or more autos in the front yard -and more a-comin'. The table d'hote dinner at 1.15 -was so well patronized that folks had to wait their -turns at table and later, on moonlight nights, the old -house was all lighted up and you could hear the noise -of dishes rattlin' and the laughin' and singin' till -after eleven o'clock. And our bills with the "Sign -of the Windmill" kept gettin' bigger and bigger.</p> -<p class="pnext">But though the auto parties was thick and the -patronage good, still there was some dissatisfaction, -I found out. One big car stopped at the store on a -Saturday afternoon and the boss of it talked with -me while the women folks was inside buyin' postcards -and such.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says I, to the owner of the car, a big, -fleshy, good-natured chap he was, "well," says I, -"I cal'late you've all had a good dinner. Feed you -fust-class up there at the Windmill place, don't -they?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He sniffed. "Humph!" says he, "the food's -all right. It ought to be, at the price. Is the proprietor -of that hotel named Allie Baby?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Allie which?" I says, laughin'. "No, no, his -name's Frank. Edwin George Eben etcetery Frank. -What made you think 'twas Allie?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"'Cause he's a close connection of the Forty -Thieves," he says, sharp. "He'd take a prize in -the hog class at a county fair, that chap would. -What's the matter with him? Does he think he's -runnin' a get-rich-quick shop? Two weeks ago I -paid a dollar and a half for a dinner there, and that -was seventy-five cents too much. Now he's jumped -to two-fifty and the feed ain't a bit better."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Two dollars and a half for a <em class="italics">dinner</em>!" says I. -"Whew! The cost of livin' <em class="italics">is</em> goin' up, ain't it? -What do they give you? Canary birds' tongues on -toast? Any shore dinner ever I see could be cooked -for—"</p> -<p class="pnext">He interrupted. "Shore dinner nothin'!" he -snorts. "I wouldn't kick at the price if I got a good -shore dinner. But what we got here is a poor imitation -of a country Waldorf. Everybody's kickin', -but we all go there because it's the best we can find -for twenty miles. However, I hear another place -is to be started in Denboro and if <em class="italics">that</em> makes good, -your Forty Thief friend will have to haul in his -horns. He'll never get another cent from me, or a -hundred others I know, who have been his best customers. -We're all waitin' to give him the shake -and it looks as if we should be able to do it. We -motorin' fellers stick together and, if the word's -passed along the line, the "Sign of the Windmill" -will be a dead one, mark my words."</p> -<p class="pnext">I marked 'em, and when, by and by, I heard that -the Denboro dinin'-room was open and doin' a good -business, I underscored the mark.</p> -<p class="pnext">This was about the middle of June. A week -later Jim Henry got the telegram about his younger -brother out in Colorado bein' sick and wantin' to see -him bad. He hated to go, but he felt he had to, -so he went.</p> -<p class="pnext">I said good-by to him up at the depot and told him -not to worry a mite. "I'll look out for everything," -I says. "Course I'll miss you at the store, but -I'll write you every day or so and keep you posted, -and you can give me business prescriptions by -mail."</p> -<p class="pnext">"That's all right, Skipper," says he, "I know the -store'll be took care of. But there's one thing that—that—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"What's the one thing?" I asked. "Overboard -with it. My shoulders are broad and I won't mind -totin' another hogshead or so."</p> -<p class="pnext">He hesitated and it seemed to me that he looked -troubled. But finally he said he'd guessed 'twas -nothin' that amounted to nothin' anyway and he'd -be back in a couple of weeks sure. So off he went -and I had a sort of Robinson Crusoe desert island -feelin' that lasted all that day and night.</p> -<p class="pnext">It lasted longer than that, too. I didn't hear -from him for ten days. Then I got a note sayin' -his brother had scarlet fever—which seemed a fool -disease for a grown-up man to have—and was pretty -sick. I wrote to him for the land sakes to be careful -he didn't get it himself, and the next news I heard -was from a doctor sayin' he <em class="italics">had</em> got it. After that -the bulletins was infrequent and alarmin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">I'd have put for Colorado in a minute, but I -couldn't; that store was on my shoulders and I -couldn't leave. I telegraphed not to spare no -expense and to write or wire every day. 'Twas all -I could do, but I never spent such a worried time -afore nor since. I was worried, not only about my -partner, but about the business he'd put in my charge. -There was new developments in that business and -they kept on developin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">'Twas the "Sign of the Windmill" that was troublin' -me. As I told you, the weekly bills for that -eatin'-house was big ones, but the fust three or four -had been paid on the dot. Now, however, they -wa'n't paid and they was just as big. Frank's -account on our books kept gettin' larger and larger -and, not only that, but anybody could see that the -Windmill wa'n't doin' half the trade it begun with. -There was more auto parties than ever, but the heft -of 'em went right on by to the new road-house in -Denboro. I remembered what the fleshy man told -me and I judged that the word had been passed to -the motorin' crew, just as he prophesied.</p> -<p class="pnext">I went up to see Frank and had a talk with him. -I found him in his office, settin' at a fine new roll-top -desk, with the dark-complected stewardess alongside -of him. She seemed to be helpin' him with his letters -and accounts, which looked odd to me, and she -glowered at me when I come in like a cat at a stray -poodle. She didn't get up and go out, neither, till -he hinted p'raps she'd better, and even then she -whispered to him mighty confidential afore she went. -'Twas a queer way for hired help to act, but 'twa'n't -none of my affairs, of course.</p> -<p class="pnext">He was cordial enough till he found out what I -was after and then he chilled up like a freezer full -of cream. He was in the habit of payin' his bills, -he give me to understand, and he'd pay this one when -'twas convenient. If I didn't care to sell the Windmill -goods, that was my affair, of course, but his -relations with my partner had been so pleasant that—and -so forth and so on. I sneaked out of that -office, feelin' like a henroost-thief instead of an honest -man tryin' to collect an honest debt. I'd bungled -things again. Instead of makin' matters better, I'd -made 'em worse; come nigh losin' a good customer -and all that. What business had an old salt herrin' -like me to be in business, anyhow? That's how I -felt when I was talkin' to him, and how I felt -when I shut that office door and come out into the -dinin'-room.</p> -<p class="pnext">But the sight of that dinin'-room, tables all vacant, -and two waiters where there had been four, fetched -all my uneasiness back again. If ever a place had -"Goin' down" marked on it 'twas the "Sign of the -Windmill." I stewed and fretted all the way to the -store and when I got there I found that another big -order of groceries and canned goods had been delivered -to the eatin' house while I was gone.</p> -<p class="pnext">The next week'll stick in my mind till doomsday, -I cal'late. Every blessed mornin' found me vowin' -I'd stop sellin' that Windmill, and every night found -more dollars added to the bill. You see, I didn't -know what to do. If I'd been sole owner and sailin' -master, I'd have set my foot down, I guess; but -there was Jim Henry to be considered. I wrote a -note to the Frank man, but he didn't even trouble -to answer it.</p> -<p class="pnext">Saturday noon came round and, after the mail was -sorted, I wandered out to the front platform and -set there, blue as a whetstone. The gang of summer -boarders and natives, that's always around mail -times, melted away fast and I was pretty nigh alone. -Not quite alone; Alpheus Perkins, the fish man, was -occupyin' moorin's at t'other end of the platform -and he didn't seem to be in any hurry. By and by -over he comes and sets down alongside of me.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Cap'n Zeb," he says, fidgety like, "I s'pose -likely you've been wonderin' why I don't pay your -bill here at the store, ain't you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I hadn't, havin' more important things to think -about, but now I remembered that he did owe consider'ble -and had owed it for some time. Alpheus -is as straight as they make 'em and usually pays his -debts prompt.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I know you must have," he went on, not waitin' -for me to answer. "Well, I intended to pay long -afore this, and I will pay pretty soon. But I've had -trouble collectin' my own debts and it's held me back. -If I could only get my hands on one account that's -owin' me, I'd be all right. Say," says he, tryin' hard -to act careless and as if 'twa'n't important one way -or t'other: "Say," he says, "you know Mr. Frank, -up here at the hotel, pretty well, don't you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">For a minute or so I didn't answer. Then I -knocked the ashes out of my pipe and says I, "Why, -yes. I know him. What of it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, nothin' much," he says. "Only I was told -he was a partic'lar friend of yours and Mr. Jacobs's -and—and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Who told you he was our partic'lar friend?" -I asked.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, he did. I was up there yesterday, just -hintin' I could use a check on account. Not pressin' -the matter nor tryin' to be hard on him, you -understand; course he's all right; but I was mighty short -of ready cash and so—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hold on, Al!" I said, quick. "Wait! Does -the 'Sign of the Windmill' owe you a bill?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Pretty nigh a hundred dollars," says he. "I've -supplied 'em with fish and lobsters and clams and such -ever since they started. Fust month they paid me -by the week. After that—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Good heavens and earth!" I sung out. "My -soul and body! And—and, when you asked for -it, this—this Frank man told you he'd pay you when -'twas convenient, same as he paid Jacobs and me, -who was his friends and was quite ready to do business -that way."</p> -<p class="pnext">He actually jumped, I'd surprised him so.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hey?" he sung out. "Zeb Snow, be you a -second-sighter? How did you know he told me -that?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I drew a long breath. "It didn't take second -sight for that," I says. "I was up there last Monday -and he told me the same thing, only 'twas you -and Ed Cahoon who was his friends then."</p> -<p class="pnext">He let that sink in slow.</p> -<p class="pnext">"My godfreys domino!" he groaned. "My -godfreys! He—he told—Why! why, he must -be workin' the same game on all hands!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Looks like it," says I, and, thinkin' of Jim -Henry, poor feller, sick as he could be, and the business -he'd left me to look out for, my heart went -down into my boots.</p> -<p class="pnext">Perkins set thinkin' for a jiffy. Then he got up -off the settee.</p> -<p class="pnext">"The son of a gun!" he says. "I'll fix him! -I'll put my bill in a lawyer's hands to-night."</p> -<p class="pnext">"No, you won't," I sung out, grabbin' him by the -arm. "You mustn't. He owes the Ostable Store -four times what he owes you, and it's likely he owes -Cahoon and a lot more. The rest of us can't afford -to let you upset the calabash that way. You might -get yours, though I'm pretty doubtful, but where -would the rest of us come in. You set down, Alpheus. -Set down, and let me think. Set down, I tell you!"</p> -<p class="pnext">When I talk that way—it's an old seafarin' habit—most -folks usually obey orders. Alpheus set. -He started to talk, but I hushed him up and, havin' -filled my pipe and got it to goin', I smoked and -thought for much as five minutes.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hum!" says I, after the spell was over, "the -way I sense it is like this: This ain't any fo'mast -hand's job; and it ain't a skipper's job neither. It's -a case for all hands and the ship's cat, workin' -together and standin' by each other. We've got to -find out who's who and what's what, make up our -minds and then all read the lesson in concert, like -young ones in school. This Frank Windmill critter -owes you and he owes me; we're sartin of that. -More'n likely he owes Ed Cahoon for chickens and -fowls and eggs, and Bill Bangs for milk, and Henry -Hall for ice, and land knows how many more. -S'pose you skirmish around and find out who he does -owe and fetch all the creditors to the store here -to-morrer mornin' at eleven o'clock. It'll be church -time, I know, but even the parson will excuse us for -this once, 'specially as the 'Sign of the Windmill' is -supposed to sell liquor and he's down on it."</p> -<p class="pnext">We had consider'ble more talk, but that was the -way it ended, finally. I went to bed that night, but -it didn't take; I might as well have set up, so fur's -sleep was concerned. All I could think of was -poor, sick Jim Henry and the trust he put in me.</p> -</div> -<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xicooks-and-crooks"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id12">CHAPTER XI—COOKS AND CROOKS</a></h2> -<p class="pfirst">I was at the store by quarter of eleven, but the -gang of creditors was there to meet me, seven -of 'em altogether. Cahoon, the chicken man, -and Bangs, the milk man, and Hall, the ice man, -and Alpheus, and Caleb Bearse, who'd been supplyin' -meat to that road-house, and Peleg Doane, who'd -done carpenterin' and repairs on it, and Jeremiah -Doane, his brother, who'd painted the repaired -places. Seven was all the creditors Perkins could -scare up on short notice, though he cal'lated there -was more.</p> -<p class="pnext">"There's one more, anyway," says Bill Bangs. -"That dark-complected woman—the one you call -the stewardess, Cap'n Zeb—was sick a spell ago -and Frank told Doctor Goodspeed he'd be responsible -for the bill. I see the doc this mornin' and -he's with us. Says he may be down later."</p> -<p class="pnext">They elected me chairman of the meetin' and we -started deliberatin'. The debts amounted to quite -a lot, though the Ostable Store's was the biggest. -Some was for doin' one thing and some another, but -we all agreed we must see Colcord, the lawyer, afore -we did much of anything. While we was still pow-wowin', -somebody knocked at the door. 'Twas -Doctor Goodspeed, on the way to see a patient.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says he, "how's the consultation comin' -on? Judgin' by your faces, I should imagine 'twas -a autopsy. Time to take desperate measures, if you -asked <em class="italics">me</em>. I never did believe that Frank chap was -anything but a crook, so I'm not surprised. I'm -with you in spirit, boys, though I can't stop. However, -here's a couple of pieces of information which -may interest you: One is that 'The Sign of the -Windmill's' account was overdrawn yesterday at the -bank and the bank folks sent notice. T'other is that -Lawyer Colcord is out of town for a couple of days, -so you can't get him. Otherwise than that, the -patient is normal. By, by. Life's a giddy jag of -joy, isn't it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He grinned and shut the door with a bang. The -eight of us looked at each other. Then Alpheus -Perkins riz to his feet.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" says he. "Account overdrawn, -hey? Well, maybe that Windmill ain't made -enough to pay its bills, but it's been takin' in consider'ble -cash. If it ain't at the bank, where is it? -I'm goin' to find out. And if I can't get a lawyer -to help me, I'll do without one. That Frank critter's -store clothes are wuth somethin', and, if I can't -get nothin' more, I'll rip <em class="italics">them</em> right off his back. -So long, fellers. Keep your ear to the ground and -you'll hear somethin' drop."</p> -<p class="pnext">He headed for the door, but he didn't go alone. -The rest of us got there at the same time, and I—well, -I wouldn't wonder if 'twas me that opened it. -I was desperate, and I've commanded vessels in my -time.</p> -<p class="pnext">Anyhow, 'twas me that led the procession up the -front steps of the "Sign of the Windmill" and into -the dinin'-room. The two waiters was busy. They -had five of the tables set end to end and covered with -cloths, and they was layin' plates and knives and -forks for a big crowd. 'Twas plain that special -customers was expected.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Mr. Frank in his office?" says I, headin' for the -skipper's cabin. The waiters looked at each other -and jabbered in some sort of foreign lingo.</p> -<p class="pnext">"No, sare," says one of 'em. "No, sare. -Meester Frank, he is away—out."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Away out, hey?" says I. "You're wrong, son. -We're the ones that are out, but we ain't goin' to -be out another cent's wuth. Come on, boys, we'll -find him."</p> -<p class="pnext">You can see I was mighty mad, or I wouldn't have -been so reckless. I walked acrost that dinin'-room -and flung open the office door. Frank himself wa'n't -there, but who should be settin' at his roll-top desk, -but the fleshy, dark-complected stewardess woman. -She glowered at me, ugly as a settin' hen.</p> -<p class="pnext">"This is a private room," she snaps.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I know, ma'am," says I; "but the business we've -come on is sort of private, too. Come in, boys."</p> -<p class="pnext">The seven of 'em come in and they filled that -office plumb full. The stewardess woman's black -eyes opened and then shut part way. But there was -fire between the lashes.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What do you mean by comin' in here?" says -she. "And what do you want?"</p> -<p class="pnext">The rest of the fellers looked at me, so I answered.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Ma'am," says I, "we don't want nothin' of you -and we're sorry to trouble you. We've come to see -Mr. Frank on a matter of business, important business—that -is, it's important to us."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Mr. Frank is out," says she. "You must call -again. Good day."</p> -<p class="pnext">She turned back again to the desk, but none of -us moved.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Out, is he?" says I. "Well then, I cal'late -we'll wait till he comes in."</p> -<p class="pnext">"He is out of town. He won't be in till to-morrer," -she snaps.</p> -<p class="pnext">I looked 'round at the rest of the crowd. Every -one of 'em nodded.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well, then, ma'am," I says, "I cal'late we'll -stay here and wait till to-morrer."</p> -<p class="pnext">That shook her. She got up from the desk and -turned to face us. If I'm any judge of a temper -she had one, and she was holdin' it in by main -strength.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You may tell me your business," she says. "I -am Mr. Frank's—er—secretary."</p> -<p class="pnext">So I told her. "We've waited for our money -long as we can," says I. "None of us are well-off -and every one of us needs what's owin' him. We've -called and we've wrote. Now we're goin' to stay -here till we're paid. Of course, ma'am, I realize -'tain't none of your affairs, and we ain't goin' to -make you any more trouble than we can help. We'll -just set down on the piazza or in the dinin'-room or -somewheres and wait for your boss, that's all."</p> -<p class="pnext">I said that, 'cause I didn't want her to think we -had anything against her personal. I cal'lated -'twould smooth her down, but it didn't. She looked -as if she'd like to murder us, every livin' soul.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You get out of here!" she screamed, her hands -openin' and shuttin'. "You get right out of here -this minute!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes, ma'am," says I, "we'll get out of your -office, of course. Further'n that you'll have to excuse -us. We're goin' to stay right in this house till -we see Mr. Frank."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I'll put you out!" she sputtered. "I'll have -the waiters put you out."</p> -<p class="pnext">I thought of them two puny lookin' waiters and, -to save me, I couldn't help smilin'. You'd think -she'd have seen the ridic'lous side of it, too, but -apparently she didn't, for she bust right through -between Alpheus and me and rushed into the dinin'-room.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Boys," says I, to the crowd, "maybe we'd better -step out of here. We may need more room."</p> -<p class="pnext">She was in the dinin'-room talkin' foreign language -in a blue streak to the waiters. They was -lookin' scared and spreadin' out their hands and -hunchin' their shoulders.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Ma'am," says I, "if I was you I wouldn't do -nothin' foolish. We ain't goin' and we won't be -put out, but, on the other hand, we won't make any -fuss. We'll just set down here and wait for the -boss, that's all. Set down, boys."</p> -<p class="pnext">So all hands come to anchor on chairs around that -dinin'-room and grinned and looked silly but determined. -The stewardess glared at us some more -and then rushed off upstairs. In a minute she was -back with her hat on.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You wait!" says she. "You just wait! I'll -put you in prison! I'll—Oh—" The rest of it -was French or Italian or somethin', but we didn't -need an interpreter. She shook her fists at us and -run down the front steps and away up the road.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well, gents all," says I, "man born of woman -is of few days and full of trouble. To-day we're -here and to-morrer we're in jail, as the sayin' is. -Anybody want to back out? Now's the accepted -time."</p> -<p class="pnext">Nobody backed. The two waiters went on with -their table settin' and we set and watched 'em. -'Twas the queerest Sunday mornin' ever I put in. -By and by Alpheus got uneasy and wandered away -out towards the kitchen. In a few minutes back -he comes, b'ilin' mad.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Say, fellers," he sung out. "Do you know -what's goin' on here? There's a party of thirty -folks comin' in automobiles for dinner. They're -gettin' the dinner ready now. And if we don't stop -'em, they'll be fed with our stuff, the grub we've -never got a cent for. I don't know how you feel, -but <em class="italics">I've</em> got ten dollar's wuth of clams and lobsters -in this eatin'-house that ain't goin' to be used unless -I get my pay for 'em. You can do as you please, -but I'm goin' to stay in that kitchen and watch them -lobsters and things."</p> -<p class="pnext">And out he put, headed for the kitchen. The -rest of us looked at each other. Then Caleb Bearse -rose to his feet.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says he, determined, "there's a lot of -chops and roastin' beef and steaks out aft here that -belong to me. None of <em class="italics">them</em> go to feed auto folks -unless I get my pay fust."</p> -<p class="pnext">And <em class="italics">he</em> started for the kitchen. Then up gets -Ed Cahoon and follers suit.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I've got six or eight fowl and some eggs aboard -this craft," he says. "I cal'late I'll keep 'em company."</p> -<p class="pnext">The rest of us never said nothin', but I presume -likely we all thought alike. Anyhow, inside of three -minutes we was all out in that kitchen and facin' as -mad a chief cook and bottle washer as ever hailed -from France or anywheres else. You see, 'twas -time to put the lobsters and clams and all the rest -of the truck on the fire and we wa'n't willin' to see -'em put there.</p> -<p class="pnext">The chief or "chef," or whatever they called -him, fairly hopped up and down. The madder he -got the less English he talked and the less everybody -else understood. Bill Bangs done most of the -talkin' for our side and he had the common idea that -to make foreigners understand you must holler at -'em. Some of the other fellers put in their remarks -to help along, all hollerin' too, and such a riot you -never heard outside of a darky camp-meetin'. -While the exercises was at their liveliest the telephone -bell rung. After it had rung five times I -went into the other room to answer it. When I -got back to that kitchen I got Alpheus to one side -and says I:</p> -<p class="pnext">"Al," I says, "this thing's gettin' more -interestin' every minute. That telephone call was from -the man that's ordered the big dinner here to-day. -There's thirty-two in his party and they've got as -far as Cohasset Narrows already. They'll be here -in an hour and a half. He 'phoned just to let me -know they was on the way."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" says he. "What did he say when -you told him there wouldn't be no dinner?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"He didn't say nothin'," says I, "because I didn't -tell him. The wire was a bad one and he couldn't -hear plain, so he lost patience and rung off. Said -I could tell him whatever I wanted to say when him -and his party got here. <em class="italics">I</em> don't want to tell him -anything. You can explain to thirty-two hungry -folks that there's nothin' doin' in the grub line, if -you want to—I don't."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" he says again. "I ain't hankerin' -for the job. What had we better do, Cap'n Zeb, -do you think?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says I, "I cal'late we'd better shorten -sail and haul out of the race, for a spell, anyhow. -At any rate we'd better clear out of this kitchen and -leave that chef and the rest to get the dinner. I -know it's our stuff that'll go to make that dinner, but -I don't see's we can help it. A few dollars more -won't break us more'n we're cracked already."</p> -<p class="pnext">But he waved his hand for me to stop. "No -question of a few dollars is in it. It's no use," he -says, solemn; "you're too late. The Frenchman's -quit."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Quit?" says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Um-hm," says he. "Bill Bangs told him that -we fellers had took charge of this road-house and -he and the rest of the kitchen help quit right then -and there. They're out in the barn now, holdin' -counsel of war, I shouldn't wonder. Bill seems to -think he's done a great piece of work, but I don't."</p> -<p class="pnext">I didn't either; and, after I'd hot-footed it to the -barn and tried to pump some reason and sense into -that chef and his gang, I was surer of it than ever. -They wouldn't listen to reason, not from us. They -wanted to see the boss, meanin' Mr. Frank. He -was the one that had hired 'em and they wouldn't -have anything to say to anybody else.</p> -<p class="pnext">I come back to the kitchen and found the boys -all settin' round lookin' pretty solemn. My joke -about the jail wa'n't half so funny as it had been. -Bill Bangs, who'd been the most savage outlaw of -us all, was the meekest now.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Say, Cap'n," he says to me, nervous like, -"hadn't we better clear out and go home? I don't -want to see them auto people when they get here. -And—and I'm scared that that stewardess has gone -after the sheriff."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I presume likely that's just where she's gone," -says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Wh-what'll we do?" says he.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Don't know," says I. "But I do know that -the time for backin' out is past and gone. We -started out to be pirates and now it's too late to -haul down the skull and cross-bones. We've got to -stand by our guns and fight to the finish, that's all I -see. If the rest of you have got anything better to -offer, I, for one, would be mighty glad to hear -it."</p> -<p class="pnext">Everybody looked at everybody else, but nobody -said anything. 'Twas a glum creditors' meetin', -now I tell you. We set and stood around that -kitchen for ten minutes; then we heard voices in the -dinin'-room.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Heavens and earth!" sings out Ed Cahoon. -"Who's that? It can't be the automobile gang so -soon!"</p> -<p class="pnext">It wa'n't. 'Twas a parcel of women. You see, -some of the crowd had told their wives about the -counsel at the store and that, more'n likely, we'd -pay a visit to the "Sign of the Windmill." Church -bein' over, they'd come to hunt us up. There was -Alpheus's wife, and Cahoon's, and Bangs's, and -Bearse's, and Jerry Doane's daughter, and Mary -Blaisdell. They was mighty excited and wanted to -know what was up. We told 'em, but we didn't -hurrah none while we was doin' it.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says Matildy Bangs, "I must say you -men folks have made a nice mess of it all. William -Bangs, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. -What'll I do when you're in state's prison? How'm -I goin' to get along, I'd like to know! You never -think of nobody but yourself."</p> -<p class="pnext">Poor Bill was about ready to cry, but this made -him mad. "Who would I think of, for thunder -sakes!" he sung out. "I'm the one that's goin' to -be jailed, ain't I?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Then Mary Blaisdell took me by the arm. Her -eyes were sparklin' and she looked excited.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Cap'n Snow," she whispered, "come here a -minute. I want to speak to you. I have an idea."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Lord!" says I, groanin', "I wish <em class="italics">I</em> had. What -is it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">What do you suppose 'twas? Why, that we, -ourselves, should get up the dinner for the auto folks. -Every woman there could cook, she said, and so -could some of the men. We'd seized the stuff for -the dinner already. It was ours, or, at any rate, it -hadn't been paid for.</p> -<p class="pnext">"We can get 'em a good dinner," says she. "I -know we can. And, if that Frank doesn't come back -until you have been paid, you can take that much -out of his bills. If he does come no one will be any -worse off, not even he. Let's do it."</p> -<p class="pnext">I looked at her. As she said, we wouldn't be any -worse off, and we might as well be hung for old -sheep as lamb. The auto folks would be better off; -they'd have some kind of a meal, anyhow.</p> -<p class="pnext">We had a grand confab, but, in the end, that's -what we done. Every one of them women could -cook plain food, and Mrs. Cahoon was the best cake -and pie maker in the county. We divided up the -job. All hands had somethin' to do, includin' me, -who undertook a clam chowder, and Bill Bangs, who -split wood and lugged water and cussed and groaned -about state's prison while he was doin' it.</p> -<p class="pnext">The last thing was ready and the last plate set -when the autos, six of 'em, purred and chugged up -to the front door. We expected Frank, or the -stewardess, or the constable, or all three of 'em, any -minute, but they hadn't showed up. The dinner -crowd piled in and set down at the tables and the -head man of 'em, the one who was givin' the party, -come over to see me. And who should he turn out -to be but the stout man I'd met at the store. The -one who had told me he'd been waitin' for a chance -to get even with Frank. I don't know which was -the most surprised to meet each other in that place, -he or I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hello!" says he. "What are you doin' here? -You joined the Forty Thieves? Where's the boss -robber?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I told him the boss was out; that there was some -complications that would take too long to explain.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But, at any rate," says I, "you're meal's ready -and that's the main thing, ain't it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says he, "it is. I've got a crowd of New -York men—business associates of mine and their -wives—down for the week end and I wanted to -give 'em a Cape dinner. I never would have come -here, but the Denboro place is full up and couldn't -take us in. I hope the dinner is a better one than -the last I had in this place."</p> -<p class="pnext">I told him not to expect too much, but to set and -be thankful for whatever he got. He didn't understand, -of course, but he set down and we commenced -servin' the dinner.</p> -<p class="pnext">We started in with Little Neck quahaugs and followed -them up with my clam chowder. Then we -jogged along with bluefish and hot biscuit and -creamed potatoes. After them come the lobsters -and corn and such. Eat! You never see anybody -stow food the way those New Yorkers did.</p> -<p class="pnext">In the middle of the lobster doin's I bent over my -fleshy friend and asked him if things was satisfactory. -He looked up with his mouth full.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Great Scott!" says he. "Cap'n, this is the best -feed I've had since I first struck the Cape, and that -was ten years ago. What's happened to this hotel? -Is it under new management?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I didn't feel like grinnin', but I couldn't help it.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says I, "it is—for the time bein'."</p> -<p class="pnext">The final layer we loaded that crowd up with was -blueberry dumplin' and they washed it down with -coffee. Then the fat man—his name was Johnson—hauled -out cigars and the males lit and started -puffin'. I went out to the kitchen to see how things -was goin' there.</p> -<p class="pnext">Mary Blaisdell, with a big apron tied over her -Sunday gown, was washin' dishes. Her sleeves was -rolled up, her hair was rumpled, and she looked -pretty enough to eat—at least, I shouldn't have -minded tryin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">"How was it?" she asked. "Are they satisfied?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"If they ain't they ought to be," says I. "And -to-morrer the dyspepsy doctors'll do business enough -to give us a commission. But where's our old college -chum, the chef, and the waiters and all?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"They're in the barn," says she. "They tried -to come in here and make trouble, but Mr. Perkins -wouldn't let 'em. He drove 'em back to the barn -again. But they're dreadfully cross."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I shouldn't wonder," I says. "Well, goodness -knows what'll come of this, Mary, but—"</p> -<p class="pnext">Bill Bangs interrupted me. He come tearin' out -of the dinin'-room, white as a new tops'l, and his -eyes pretty close to poppin' out of his head.</p> -<p class="pnext">"My soul!" he panted. "Oh, my soul, Cap'n -Zeb! They're comin'! they're comin'!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Who's comin'?" I wanted to know.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, Mr. Frank, and that stewardess! And -John Bean, the constable, is with 'em. What shall -I do? I'll have to go to jail!"</p> -<p class="pnext">He was all but cryin', like a young one. I left -him to his wife, who, judgin' by her actions, was -cal'latin' to soothe him with a pan of hot water, and -headed for the front porch. However, I was too -late. I hadn't any more than reached the dinin'-room, -where all the comp'ny was still settin' at the -tables, than in through the front door marches Mr. -Edwin Frank of Pittsburg, and the stewardess, and -John Bean, the constable. The band had begun to -play and 'twas time to face the music.</p> -<p class="pnext">Frank looked around at the crowd at the tables, -at Mrs. Cahoon, and Alpheus, and the rest who'd -done the waitin'; and then at me. His face was -fire red and he was ugly as a shark in a weir net.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" says he. "What does this mean? -Snow, what high-handed outrage have you committed -on these premises?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I held up my hand. "Shh!" says I, tryin' to -think quick and save a scene; "Shh, Mr. Frank!" -I says. "If you'll come into your private cabin -I'll explain best I can. Somebody had to get dinner -for this crowd. Your Frenchmen wouldn't -work, so we did. All we've used is our grub, that -which ain't been paid for, and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">His teeth snapped together and he was so mad -he couldn't speak for a second. The stewardess -was as mad as he was, but it took more'n that to -keep her quiet.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Fred," says she—and even then, upset as I was, -I noticed she didn't call him by the name he give -Jacobs and me—"Fred, have him arrested. He's -the one that's responsible for it all. Officer, you do -your duty. Arrest that Snow there! Do you -hear?"</p> -<p class="pnext">She was pointin' to me. Poor old Bean hadn't -arrested anybody for so long that he'd forgot how, -I cal'late. All he did was stammer and look silly.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Cap'n Zeb," he says, "I—I'm dreadful sorry, -but—but—"</p> -<p class="pnext">Then <em class="italics">he</em> was interrupted. A big, tall, gray-haired -chap, who was settin' about amidships of the table -got to his feet.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Just a minute, Officer," says he, quiet, and never -lettin' go of his cigar, "just a minute, please. The—er—lady -and gentleman you have with you are -old acquaintances of mine. Hello, Francis! I'm -very glad to see you. We've missed you at the Conquilquit -Club. This meetin' is unexpected, but not -the less pleasant."</p> -<p class="pnext">He was talkin' to the Frank man. And the Frank -man—well, you should have seen him! The red -went out of his face and he almost flopped over onto -the floor. The stewardess went white, too, and she -grabbed his arm with both hands.</p> -<p class="pnext">"My Lord!" she says, in a whisper like, "it's -Mr. Washburn!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Correct, Hortense," says the gray-haired man. -"You haven't forgotten me, I see. Flattered, I'm -sure."</p> -<p class="pnext">For just about ten seconds the three of 'em looked -at each other. Then Frank made a jump for the -door and the woman with him. They was out and -down the steps afore poor old Bean could get his -brains to workin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Stop 'em!" shouts Washburn. "Officer, don't -let 'em get away!"</p> -<p class="pnext">But they'd got away already. By the time we'd -reached the porch they was in the buggy they'd come -in and flyin' down the road in a cloud of dust.</p> -<p class="pnext">I wiped my forehead.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well!" says I, "<em class="italics">well!</em>"</p> -<p class="pnext">Johnson pushed through the excited bunch and -took the gray-haired feller by the arm.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Say, Wash," he says, "you're havin' too good -a time all by yourself. Let us in on it, won't you? -Your friends are goin' some; no use to run after -them. Who are they?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Washburn knocked the ashes from his cigar and -smiled. He'd been cool as a no'thwest breeze right -along.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," he says, "the masculine member used to -be called Fred Francis. He was steward of the Conquilquit -Country Club on Long Island for some -time. He cleared out a year ago with a thousand -or so of the Club funds, and we haven't been able -to trace him since. He was a first-class steward and -sharp as a steel trap—but he was a crook. The -woman—oh, she went with him. She is his wife."</p> -</div> -<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xiijim-henry-starts-screenin"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id13">CHAPTER XII—JIM HENRY STARTS SCREENIN'</a></h2> -<p class="pfirst">A whole month more went by afore Jim -Henry Jacobs was well enough to come -home. When he got off the train at the -Ostable depot, thin and white and lookin' as if he'd -been hauled through a knothole, I was waitin' for -him. Maybe we wa'n't glad to see each other! -We shook hands for pretty nigh five minutes, I cal'late. -I loaded him into my buggy and drove him -down to the Poquit House and took him upstairs -to his room, which had been made as comf'table and -cozy as it's possible to make a room in that kind of -a boardin'-house.</p> -<p class="pnext">He set down in a big chair and looked around -him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"By George, Skipper!" he says, fetchin' a long -breath, "this is home, and I'm mighty glad to be -here. Where'd all the flowers come from?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Mary is responsible for them," I told him. -"She thought they'd sort of brighten up things."</p> -<p class="pnext">"They do, all right," says he, grateful. "And -now tell me about business. How is everything?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I told him that everything was fine; trade was tip-top, -and so on. He listened and was pleased, but -I could see there was somethin' else on his mind.</p> -<p class="pnext">"There's just one thing more," he said, soon's -he got the chance. "I knew the store must be O. -K.; your letters told me that. But—er—but—" -tryin' hard to be casual and not too interested, "how -is Frank doin' with his restaurant? How's the -'Sign of the Windmill' gettin' on?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Then I told him the whole yarn, almost as I've -told it here. He listened, breakin' out with exclamations -and such every little while. When I got -to where the Washburn man told who Frank and -the stewardess was, he couldn't hold in any longer.</p> -<p class="pnext">"A crook!" he sung out. "A crook! And she -was his wife!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"So it seems," says I. "And that ain't all of -it, neither. You remember the doctor said he'd -drawn his account out of the Ostable bank. Yes. -Well, that account didn't amount to much; he'd used -it about all, anyway. But there was another account -in his wife's name at the Sandwich bank, and -<em class="italics">that</em> was fairly good size."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Did you get hold of that?" he asked, excited.</p> -<p class="pnext">"No, we didn't. 'Twas in her name and we -wouldn't have touched it, if we'd wanted to; but we -didn't get the chance. She drew it all the very next -mornin' and the pair of 'em cleared out. I judge -they'd planned to skip in a few days anyhow, and -our creditors' raid only hurried things up a little -mite. The whole thing was a skin game—Frank -and his precious wife had seen ruination comin' on -and they'd laid plans to feather their own nest and -let the rest of us whistle. We ain't seen 'em from -that day to this."</p> -<p class="pnext">He was shakin' all over. "You ain't?" he -shouted, jumpin' from the chair. "You ain't? -Why not? What did you let 'em get away for? -Why didn't you set the police after 'em? What -sort of managin' do you call that? I—I—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hush!" says I, surprised to see him act so. -"Hush, Jim! you ain't heard the whole of it yet. -Our bill—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Bill be hanged!" he broke in. "I don't care a -continental about the bill. I invested fifteen hundred -dollars of my own money in that road-house, -and you let that fakir get away with the whole of it. -You're a nice partner!"</p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">I</em> was surprised now, and a good deal cut up and -hurt. 'Twas an understandin' between us—not a -written one, but an understandin' just the same—that -neither should go into any outside deal without -tellin' the other. We'd agreed to that after the row -concernin' Taylor and the "Palace Parlors." So I -was surprised and hurt and mad. But I held in well -as I could.</p> -<p class="pnext">"That's enough of that, Jim Henry!" says I. -"I'll talk about that later. Now I'll tell you the -rest of the yarn I started with. After that critter -who called himself Frank, but whose name, it -seemed, was Francis, had galloped away with the -stewardess woman, there was consider'ble excitement -around that dinin'-room, now I tell you. However, -Johnson and Washburn and me managed to get together -in the private office and I told 'em all about -how we come to be there, and about our gettin' their -dinner, and all the rest of it. They seemed to think -'twas funny, laughed liked a pair of loons, but I was -a long ways from laughin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">"'Well, well, well!' says Johnson, when I'd finished, -'that's the best joke I've heard in a month -of Sundays. You sartinly have your own ways of -doin' business down here, Cap'n Snow. But the dinner -was a good one and I'll pay you for it now. -How much?'</p> -<p class="pnext">"'Well,' says I, 'I suppose I ought to get what -I can for our crowd to leave with their wives and -relations afore we're carted to jail. Course the meal -we got for you wa'n't what you expected and I can't -charge that Frank thief's price for it; but I've got -to charge somethin'. If you think a dollar a head -wouldn't be too much, I—'</p> -<p class="pnext">"'A <em class="italics">dollar</em>!' says both of 'em. 'A dollar!'</p> -<p class="pnext">"'Do you mean that's all you'll charge?' says -Johnson. 'A dollar for <em class="italics">that</em> dinner! It was the -best—'</p> -<p class="pnext">"'You bet it was!' says Washburn.</p> -<p class="pnext">"'Look here!' goes on Johnson. 'I was to pay -Frank, or whatever his real name is, two-fifty a plate. -Yours was wuth three of any meal I ever got here, -but, if you will be satisfied with the contract price I -made with him, I'll give you a check now. And, -Cap'n Snow, let me give you a piece of advice. Now -you've got this hotel, keep it; keep it and run it. -If you can furnish dinners like this one every day -in the week durin' the summer and fall you'll have -customers enough. Why, I'll engage twenty-five -plates for next Sunday, myself. I've got another -week-end party, haven't I, Wash?'</p> -<p class="pnext">"'If you haven't I can get one for you,' says -Washburn. 'Johnson's advice is good, Cap'n. -Keep this place and run it yourself. Don't be afraid -of Francis. Confound him! I ought to have him -jailed. The Club would pitch me out if they knew -I had the chance and didn't take it. But I won't, -for your sake. So long as he doesn't trouble you -I'll keep quiet. But if he <em class="italics">does</em> trouble you, if he -ever comes back, just send for me. However, you -won't have to send; he'll never come back.'</p> -<p class="pnext">"And," says I, to Jim Henry, "he ain't ever -come back. I talked the matter over with Mary -and Alpheus and a few of the others and, after -consider'ble misgivin's on my part, we reached an agreement. -I decided to run the 'Sign of the Windmill' -myself. We bounced the chef and his helpers and -the foreign waiters and hired Alpheus's wife and -Cahoon's daughter and four or five more. We fed -ten folks that next day and they all said they was -comin' again. They did and they fetched others. -The upshot of it is that all that hotel's outstandin' -bills have been paid, the place is out of debt, and -the outlook for next season is somethin' fine. There, -Jim Henry, that's the yarn. I went through Purgatory -because I figgered that you had trusted the store -business in my hands and the Windmill's bill was so -large and I thought I was responsible for it. If I'd -known you'd put money into the shebang without -tellin' me, your partner, a word about it, maybe I'd -have felt worse. I <em class="italics">should</em> have felt worse—I do -now—but in another way. I didn't think you'd -do such a thing, Jim! I honestly didn't."</p> -<p class="pnext">He'd set down while I was talkin'. Now he got -up again.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Skipper," he says, sort of broken, "I—I don't -know what to say to you. I—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"It's all right," says I, pretty sharp. "Your -fifteen hundred's all right, I cal'late. The furniture -and fixin's are wuth that, I guess. Is there anything -else you want to ask me? If not I'm goin' to the -store."</p> -<p class="pnext">I was turnin' to go, but he stepped for'ard and -stopped me.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Zeb," he says, his face workin', "don't go away -mad. I've been a chump. You ought to hate me, -but I—I hope you won't. I was a fool. I thought -because you was country that you hadn't any head -for business, and when you wouldn't invest in that -Windmill proposition I was sore and went into it -myself. My conscience has plagued me ever since. -I'm a low-down chump. I deserve to lose the fifteen -hundred and I'm glad I did. By the Lord -Harry! you've got more real business instinct than -I ever dreamed of."</p> -<p class="pnext">He looked so sort of weak and sick and pitiful -that I was awful sorry for him, in spite of everything.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Don't talk foolish," says I. "You ain't lost -your money. It's yours now; at least I don't think -Brother Fred George Eben Frank Francis'll ever -turn up to claim it."</p> -<p class="pnext">He shook his head. "Not much!" he says. -"You don't suppose I'll take a share in that hotel, -after you and your smart managin' saved it, do you? -I ain't quite as mean as that, no matter what you -think. No, sir, you've made good and the whole -property is yours. All I want you to do is to give -me another chance. If I live I'll show you how -thankful I—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"There! there!" says I, all upset, "don't say -another word. Of course we'll hang together in -this, same as in everything else. Shake, and let's -forget it."</p> -<p class="pnext">We shook hands and his was so thin and white I -felt worse than ever.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Skipper," he says, "I can't thank—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"No need to thank me," I cut in. "If you've -got to thank anybody, thank Mary Blaisdell. She's -been the brains of that eatin'-house concern ever -since I took hold of it. She's a wonder, that woman. -If she'd been my own sister she couldn't have done -more. I wish she was."</p> -<p class="pnext">He looked at me, pretty queer.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Skipper," says he, smilin', "if you wish that -you're a bigger chump than I've been, and that's -sayin' a heap."</p> -<p class="pnext">What in the world he meant by that I didn't know—but -I didn't ask him. Not that I didn't think. -I'd been thinkin' a lot of foolish things lately, but -you could have cut my head off afore I said 'em out -loud, even to myself.</p> -<p class="pnext">He came down to the store the next mornin' and -the sight of it seemed to be the very tonic he needed. -He got better day by day and pretty soon was his -own brisk self again. "The Sign of the Windmill"—by -the way, I'd changed the name on my own -hook and 'twas the "Sign of the Bluefish" now—done -fust rate all through the fall and when we -closed it we was sure that next summer it would be -a little gold mine for us. In fact, everything in the -trade line looked good, by-products and all, and I -ought to have been a happy man. But I wa'n't exactly. -Somehow or other I couldn't feel quite contented. -I didn't know what was the matter with -me and when I hinted as much to Jacobs he just -looked at me and laughed.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You're lonesome, that's what's the matter with -you," he says. "You're too good a man to be -boardin' at a one-horse ranch like the Poquit."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I'll admit that," says I. "I'll give in that I'm -next door to an angel and ought to wear wings, if -it'll please you any to have me say so. And the -Poquit ain't a paradise, by no means. But I've -sailed salt water for the biggest part of my life and -it ain't poor grub that ails me."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Who said it was?" says he. "I said you were -lonesome. You ought to have a home."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Old Mans' Home you mean, I s'pose. Well, -I ain't goin' there yet."</p> -<p class="pnext">He laughed again and walked off.</p> -<p class="pnext">In October he went up to Boston and came back -with his head full of new ideas and his pockets full -of notions. He'd been to what the advertisements -called the Industrial Exhibition in Mechanics' -Buildin' up there, and had fetched back every last -thing he could get for nothin' and some few that he -bought cheap. He had a sample trap that, accordin' -to the circular, would catch all the able-bodied rats -in a township the fust night and make all the crippled -and bedridden ones grieve themselves to death -of disappointment because they couldn't get into it -afore closin' hours. And he had the Gunners' -Pocket Companion, which was a foldin' hatchet and -butcher knife, with a corkscrew in the handle; and -samples of "cereal coffee" that didn't taste like -either cereal or coffee; and safety razors that were -warranted not to cut—and wouldn't; and—and I -don't know what all. These was side issues, however, -as you might say. What he was really enthusiastic -over was the Eureka Adjustable Aluminum -Window Screen. If he'd been a mosquito he -couldn't have been more anxious about them -screens.</p> -<p class="pnext">"They're the greatest ever, Skipper!" he says -to me, enthusiastic. "Fit any window; can't rust—and -a child of twelve can put 'em up."</p> -<p class="pnext">"That part don't count," says I. "Nowadays -if a child of twelve ain't halfway through Harvard -his folks send for the doctor. I may be a hayseed, -but I read the magazines."</p> -<p class="pnext">He went right along, never payin' no attention, -and praisin' up them screens as if he was nominatin' -'em for office. Finally he made proclamation that -he'd applied—in the store name, of course—for -the Ostable County agency for 'em.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But why?" says I. "We've got an adjustable -screen agency now. And they're good screens, too. -No mosquito can get through them—unless it takes -to usin' a can-opener, which wouldn't surprise me a -whole lot."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I know they are good screens," says he; "but -there's nothin' new or novel about 'em. And, I -tell you, Cap'n Zeb, it's novelty that catches the coin. -We want to get the contract for screenin' that new -hotel at West Ostable. It'll be ready in a couple of -months and there's two hundred rooms in it. Let's -say there are two windows to a room; that's four -hundred screens—besides doors and all the rest. -That hotel will need screens, won't it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Need 'em!" says I. "In West Ostable! In -among all them salt meadows and cedar swamps! -It'll need screens and nettin's and insect powder and -'intment—and even then nobody but the hard-of-hearin' -bo'rders'll be able to sleep on account of the -hummin'. Need screens! <em class="italics">That</em> hotel! My soul -and body!"</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, then, we must get the contract—that's all. -It was well wuth the trouble of gettin'. And with -the Adjustable Aluminum to start with, and he, Jim -Henry, to do the talkin', we would get it. He'd -applied for the county agency and the Adjustable -folks had about decided to give it to him. They'd -write and let us know pretty soon.</p> -<p class="pnext">A week went by and we didn't hear a word. -Then, on the followin' Monday but one, come a -letter. Jim Henry was openin' the mail and I heard -him rip loose a brisk remark.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What's the matter?" says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Matter!" he snarls. "Why, the miserable -four-flushers have turned me down—that's all. -Read that!"</p> -<p class="pnext">I took the letter he handed me. It was type-wrote -on a big sheet of paper, with a printed head, -readin': "Ormstein & Meyer, Hardware and -Tools. Manufacturers of Eureka Adjustable Aluminum -Window Screens." And this is what it said:</p> -<blockquote><div> -<p class="pfirst"><em class="italics">Mr. J. H. Jacobs</em>,</p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and -Fancy Goods Store, Ostable, Mass.</em></p> -<p class="pnext"><span class="small-caps">Dear Sir</span>: Regarding your application for Ostable -County ag'y Eureka Adjustable Aluminum Window -Screens, would say that we have decided to give -ag'y to party named Geo. Lentz, who will give entire -time to it instead making it a side issue as per -your conversation with our Mr. Meyer. Regretting -that we cannot do business together in this regard, -but trusting for a continuance of your valued patronage, -we remain</p> -<p class="pnext">Yours truly,</p> -<blockquote><div> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="small-caps">Ormstein & Meyer.</span></p> -</div></blockquote> -<p class="pfirst">Dic. M—L. G.</p> -</div></blockquote> -<p class="pfirst">"Now what do you think of that?" snaps Jim, -mad as he could stick. "What do you think of -that!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says I, slow, "I think that, speakin' as -a man in the crosstrees, it looks as if you and me -wouldn't furnish screens for the West Ostable Hotel."</p> -<p class="pnext">He half shut his eyes and stared at me hard.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh!" says he. "That's what you think, -hey?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, yes," I says. "Don't you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"No!" he sings out, so loud that 'Dolph Cahoon, -our new clerk, who'd been half asleep in the lee of -the gingham and calico dressgoods counter, jumped -up and stepped on the store cat. The cat beat -for port down the back stairs, whoopin' comments, -and 'Dolph begun measurin' calico as if he was -wound up for eight days.</p> -<p class="pnext">"No!" says Jacobs again, soon as the cat's opinion -of 'Dolph had faded away into the cellar—"No!" -he says. "I don't think it at all. We -may not sell Eureka Adjustables to that hotel, but -we'll sell screens to it—and don't you forget that. -I'll make it my business to get that contract if I -don't do anything else. I'm no quitter, if you are!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nary quit!" says I. "I'll stand by to pull -whatever rope I can; but it does seem to me that -this agent, whoever he is, will have an eye on that -hotel. And, accordin' to your accounts, he's got -better goods than we have."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Maybe. But if he's a better salesman than I -am he'll have to go some to prove it. I'll beat him, -by fair means or foul, just to get even. That's a -promise, Skipper, and I call you to witness it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Wonder who this Geo. Lentz is," says I. -"'Tain't a Cape name, that's sure."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I don't care who he is. I only wish he'd have -the nerve to come into this store—that's all. He'd -go out on the fly—I tell you that! And that's another -promise."</p> -<p class="pnext">Maybe 'twas; but, if so—However, I'm a little -mite ahead of myself; fust come fust served, as -the youngest boy said when the father undertook to -thrash the whole family. The fust thing that happened -after our talk and the Eureka folks' letter was -Jim Henry's goin' over to West Ostable to see -Parkinson, the hotel man. He went in the new runabout -automobile that he'd bought since he got back -from the West, and was gone pretty nigh all day. -When he got back he was hopeful—I could see -that.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says he, "I've laid the cornerstone. -I've talked the Nonesuch"—that was the brand of -screen we carried—"to beat the cars; and we'll have -a show to get in a bid, at any rate. It'll be six weeks -more afore the contract's given out, and meantime -yours truly will be on the job. If our old college -chum, G. Lentz, Esquire, don't hustle he'll be left at -the post."</p> -<p class="pnext">"What sort of a chap is this Parkinson man?" -I asked.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, he's all right; big and fat and good-natured. -A good feller, I should say. Likes automobilin', -too, and thinks my car is a winner."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Married, is he?" says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"No; he's a widower. That's a good thing, too."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why? What's that got to do with it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"A whole lot. If he was married I'd have to -take Mrs. P. along on our auto rides; and—let -alone the fact that there wouldn't be room—she'd -want to talk scenery instead of screens. Women -and business don't mix. That's one reason why I've -never married."</p> -<p class="pnext">I couldn't help thinkin' of some of the hints he'd -been heavin' at me—the "home" remarks and so -on—but I never said nothin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">This was a Tuesday. And when, on Thursday -afternoon, I walked into the store, after havin' had -dinner at the Poquit, I found 'Dolph Cahoon—our -new clerk I've mentioned already—leanin' graceful -and easy over the candy counter and talkin' with -a young woman I'd never seen afore. I didn't look -at her very close, but I got a sort of general observation -as I walked aft to the post-office department; -and, sifted down, that observation left me with remembrances -of a blue serge jacket and skirt, cut -clipper fashion and fittin' as if they was built for the -craft that was in 'em; a little blue hat—a real hat; -not a velvet tar barrel upside down—with a little -white gull's wing on it; brown eyes and brown hair, -and a white collar and shirtwaist. I didn't stop to -hail, you understand; but I judged that the stranger's -home port wa'n't Ostable or any of the Cape towns. -Ostable outfitters don't rig 'em that way.</p> -<p class="pnext">I come in the side door, and 'Dolph or his customer -didn't notice me. The young woman was -lookin' into the showcase; and, as for 'Dolph, he -wouldn't have noticed the President of the United -States just then. He was twirlin' his red mustache -with the hand that had the rock-crystal ring on the -finger of it, and his talk was a sort of sugared purr—at -least, that's the nighest description of it that -I can get at.</p> -<p class="pnext">I set down in my chair at the postmaster's desk -and begun to turn over some papers. Mary had -gone to dinner and Jim Henry was away in his auto; -so I was all alone. I turned over the papers, but I -couldn't get my mind on 'em—the talk outside was -too prevailin', so to speak.</p> -<p class="pnext">'Dolph was doin' the heft of it. The young -woman's answers was short and not too interested. -'Dolph was remarkin' about the weather and what -a dull winter we'd had, and how glad he'd be when -spring really set in and the summer folks begun to -come—and so on.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Really," says he, and though I couldn't see him -I'd have bet that the mustache and ring was doin' -business—"Really," he says, "there's a dreadful -lack of cultivated society in this town, Miss—er—"</p> -<p class="pnext">He held up here, waitin', I judged, for the young -woman to give her name. However, she didn't; so -he purred ahead.</p> -<p class="pnext">"There's so few folks," he says, "for a young -feller like me—used to the city—to associate with. -This is a jay place all right. I'm only here temporary. -I shall go back to Brockton in the fall, I -guess."</p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">I</em> guessed he'd go sooner; but I kept still.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Are you goin' to remain here for some time?" -he asked.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Possibly," says the girl.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I'm 'fraid you'll find it pretty dull, won't you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Perhaps."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I should be glad to introduce you to the folks -that are worth knowin'. Are you fond of dancin'? -There's a subscription ball at the town hall to-night."</p> -<p class="pnext">This was what a lawyer'd call a leadin' question, -seemed to me; but the answer didn't seem to lead to -anything warmer than the North Pole. The young -woman said, "Indeed?" and that was all.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I'm perfectly dippy about waltzin'," says 'Dolph. -"By the way, won't you have some confectionery? -These chocolates are pretty fair."</p> -<p class="pnext">I riz to my feet. I don't mind bein' a philanthropist -once in a while, but I like to do my philanthropin' -fust-hand. And them chocolates sold for sixty cents -a pound!</p> -<p class="pnext">I had my hand on the doorknob. Just as I turned -it I heard the young woman say, crisp and cold as a -fresh cucumber:</p> -<p class="pnext">"Pardon me, but will your employer be in soon? -If not I'll call again—when he is in."</p> -<p class="pnext">"You won't have to," says I, steppin' out of the -post-office room and walkin' over toward the candy -counter. "One of him's in now. 'Dolph, you can -put them chocolates back in the case. Oh, yes—and -you might associate yourself with the broom and -waltz out and sweep the front platform. It's been -needin' your cultivated society bad."</p> -<p class="pnext">The rest of that clerk's face turned as red as his -mustache, and the way he slammed the chocolate -box into the showcase was a caution! Then I turned -to the young woman, who was as sober as a deacon, -except for her eyes, which were snappin' with fun, -and says I:</p> -<p class="pnext">"You wanted to see me, I believe, miss. My -name's Zebulon Snow and I'm one of the partners -in this jay place. What can I do for you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">She waited until 'Dolph and the broom had moved -out to the platform. Then she turned to me and she -says:</p> -<p class="pnext">"Captain Snow," she says, "I understand that -your firm here is intendin' puttin' in a bid for the -window screens at the new hotel at West Ostable. -Is that so?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I was consider'ble surprised, but I didn't see any -reason why I shouldn't tell the truth.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, yes, ma'am," says I; "we are figgerin' -on the job. Are you interested in that hotel? If -you are I'd be glad to show you samples of the -Nonesuch screen. We cal'late that it's a mighty -slick article."</p> -<p class="pnext">She smiled, pretty as a picture.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I am interested in the hotel," she says; "and in -screens, though not exactly in the way you mean, -perhaps. Here is my card."</p> -<p class="pnext">She took a little leather wallet out of her jacket-pocket -and handed me a card. I took it. 'Twas -printed neat as could be; but it wa'n't the neatness -of the printin' that set me all aback, with my canvas -flappin'—'twas what that printin' said:</p> -<div class="center line-block noindent outermost"> -<div class="line">GEORGIANNA LENTZ</div> -<div class="line"> </div> -<div class="line"><span class="small-caps">Ostable County Agent for the</span></div> -<div class="line"><span class="small-caps">Eureka Adjustable Aluminum Window Screen</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pfirst">"What?—What!—Hey?" says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says she.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Agent for the Eureka Adjusta—You!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, yes; of course. The Eureka people wrote -you that they had given me the agency, didn't -they?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I rubbed my forehead.</p> -<p class="pnext">"They wrote my partner and me," I stammered, -"that they'd given it to—to a feller named George—er—that -is—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Not George—Georgianna. Oh, I see! They -abbreviated the name and so you thought—Of -course you did. How odd!"</p> -<p class="pnext">She laughed. I'd have laughed too, maybe, if -I'd had sense enough to think of it; but I hadn't, just -then.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You the agent!" says I. "A—a woman!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes."</p> -<p class="pnext">"But—but a woman!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well?" pretty crisp. "I admit I am a woman; -but is that any reason why I should not sell window -screens?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I rubbed my forehead some more. These are -progressive days we're livin' in, and sometimes I have -to hustle to keep abreast of 'em.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, no," says I, slow; "I cal'late 'tain't. I -suppose there's no law against a woman's sellin' -'most any article that is salable, window screens -or anything else if she wants to; but I can't -see—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why she should want to? Perhaps not. However, -we needn't go into that just now. The fact is -I do want to and intend to. I have secured a -boardin' place here in Ostable and shall make the -town my headquarters. This is a small community -and one naturally prefers to be friendly with all the -people in it. So, after thinkin' the matter over, I -decided that it was best to begin with a clear understandin'. -Do you follow me?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I—I guess so. Heave ahead; I'll do my best -to keep you in sight. If the weather gets too thick -I'll sound the foghorn. Go on."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I am naturally desirous of securin' the hotel -screen contract. So, I understand, are you. I have -seen Mr. Parkinson, the hotel man, and he tells me -that your firm and mine will probably be the only -bidders. Now that makes us rivals, but it need not -necessarily make us enemies. My proposition is this: -You will submit your bid and I will submit mine. -The party submittin' the lowest bid—quality of -product considered—will win. I propose that we -let it go in that way. We might, of course, do a -great many other things—might attempt to bring -influence to bear; might—well, might cultivate Mr. -Parkinson's acquaintance, and—and so on. You -might do that—so might I, I suppose; but, for my -part, I prefer to make this a fair, honorable business -rivalry, in which the best man—er—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Or woman," I couldn't help puttin' in.</p> -<p class="pnext">"In which the best bid wins. I have already -demonstrated the Eureka for Mr. Parkinson's benefit -and left a sample with him. He tells me that you -have done the same with the Nonesuch. I will agree—if -you will—to let the matter rest there, submittin' -our respective bids when the time comes and -abidin' by the result. Now what do you say?"</p> -<p class="pnext">'Twas pretty hard to say anything. I wanted to -laugh; but I couldn't do that. If there ever was -anybody in dead earnest 'twas this partic'lar young -woman. And she wa'n't the kind to laugh at either. -She might be in a queer sort of business for a female—but -she was nobody's fool.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," she asks again, "what do you say?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I shook my head. "I can't say anything very -definite just this minute," I told her. "I've got a -partner, and naturally I can't do much without consultin' -him; but I will say this, though," noticin' that -she looked pretty disappointed—"I'll say that, fur's -I'm concerned, I'm agreeable."</p> -<p class="pnext">She smiled and, as I cal'late I've said afore, her -smile was wuth lookin' at.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Thank you so much, Cap'n Snow," she says. -"Then we shall be friends, sha'n't we? Except in -business, I mean."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I hope so—sartin," says I. "Now it ain't -none of my affairs, of course, but I am curious. How -did you ever happen to take the agency for—for -window screens?"</p> -<p class="pnext">That made her serious right off. She might smile -at other things, but not at her trade; that was life -and death for sure.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I took it," she says, "for several reasons. My -mother died recently and I was left alone. My -means were not sufficient to support me. I have -done office work, typewritin', and so on, for some -years; but I felt that the opportunities in the positions -I held were limited and I determined to take -up sellin'—that is where the larger returns are. -Don't you think so?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, yes—sartin."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes. I knew Mr. Meyer slightly in a business -way. I took the Eureka screen and sold it on commission -about Boston for a time. Then I applied -for the Ostable County agency and got it—that's -all."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I see," says I. "Yes, yes. Well, I must say -that, for a girl, you—"</p> -<p class="pnext">She interrupted me quick.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I don't see that my bein' a girl has anything to -do with it," she says. "And in this agreement of -ours, if it is made, I don't wish the difference of sex -considered at all. This is a business proposition -and sex has nothin' to do with it. Is that plain?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says I, considerin', "it's plain; but I ain't -sure that—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I am sure," she interrupts—"and you must be. -I wish to be treated in this matter exactly as if I -were a man. I wish I were one!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I doubt if you'd get most men to agree with -you in that wish," I says. "However, never mind. -I'll do my best to get Mr. Jacobs, my partner, to -say 'Yes' to your proposal. And I hope you'll do -fust-rate, even if we are what you call rivals. Drop -in any time, Miss Georg—Georgianna, I mean."</p> -<p class="pnext">We shook hands and she went away. I went as -fur as the platform with her. When I turned to go -in again I noticed 'Dolph Cahoon starin' after her, -with his eyes and mouth open.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Gosh!" says he, grinnin'. "By gosh! She's -a peach! Ain't she, Cap'n Zeb?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Maybe so," says I, pretty short; "but I don't -recollect that we hired you as a judge of fruit. Has -that broom took root in the dirt on this platform? -Or what is the matter?"</p> -</div> -<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xiiiwhat-came-through-the-screen"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id14">CHAPTER XIII—WHAT CAME THROUGH THE SCREEN</a></h2> -<p class="pfirst">Jacobs come in late that afternoon.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Say," says he, "there was a sample of the -Eureka screen in Parkinson's office when I was -there just now. He wouldn't say who left it or -anything about it. When I asked he grinned and -winked. That's all. Confound his fat head! Do -you know where it came from?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I can guess," I says; and then I told him the -whole yarn. He was as surprised as I was to find -out that Geo. Lentz was a female; but it only made -him madder than ever—if such a thing's possible.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Wants to be treated like a man, does she?" he -says. "All right; we'll treat her like one. She -may be Georgianna, but she'll get just what was -comin' to George."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Then you won't agree to puttin' in the bids and -lettin' it go at that?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I'll agree to get that screen contract, all right!" -says he, emphatic.</p> -<p class="pnext">I was kind of sorry for Miss Lentz; but Jim Henry -was my partner, so there wa'n't nothin' more to be -said. We didn't mention the subject again for two -days. However, I did hear from the Eureka agent -durin' that time. 'Twas 'Dolph that I got my news -of her from. I was tellin' Mary Blaisdell about her -and Cahoon happened to be standin' by.</p> -<p class="pnext">"So she boards here in Ostable," says Mary. "I -wonder where."</p> -<p class="pnext">Afore I could answer 'Dolph spoke up. "She's -stoppin' at Maria Berry's, down on the Neck Road," -he says.</p> -<p class="pnext">"How did you know?" I asked.</p> -<p class="pnext">He looked sort of silly. "Oh, I found out," says -he, and walked off.</p> -<p class="pnext">The very next evenin', as I was strollin' along the -sidewalk, smokin' my good-night pipe, I happened -to see somebody turn the corner from the Neck Road -and hurry by me. I thought his gait and build were -pretty familiar, so I turned and followed. When he -got abreast the lighted windows of the billiard saloon -I recognized him. 'Twas 'Dolph, all togged out in -his Sunday-go-to-meetin' duds, light fall overcoat -and all.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" says I to myself. "So that's how -you knew, hey? Been callin' on her, have you? -Well, she may not hanker for my sympathy, but she -has it just the same. I swan, I thought she had better -taste! I'm surprised!"</p> -<p class="pnext">The followin' mornin', however, I was more -surprised still. I had an errand that made me late at -the store. When I came in who should I see talkin' -together but Jacobs and a young woman; the young -woman was Miss Georgianna Lentz. They ought -to have been quarrelin', 'cordin' to all reasonable -expectations; but they wa'n't. Fact is, they seemed -as friendly as could be. You'd have thought they -was old chums to see 'em.</p> -<p class="pnext">Georgianna sighted me fust.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Good mornin', Cap'n Snow," says she. "Mr. -Jacobs and I have made each other's acquaintance, -you see."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says I, doubtful. "I see you have. I -cal'late you think it's kind of unreasonable, our -not—"</p> -<p class="pnext">Jim Henry cut in ahead of me quick as a flash.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Miss Lentz and I have been goin' over the matter -of screens for Parkinson's hotel," he says. "I -tell her that her proposition suits us down to the -ground."</p> -<p class="pnext">Over I went on my beam-ends again. All I could -think of to say was: "Hey?"—and I said that -pretty feeble.</p> -<p class="pnext">"It is very nice of you to do this," says Georgianna. -"It makes it so much easier for me. Of -course, when I decided to make business my life-work, -I realized that I might be called upon to do -disagreeable things like—like wire-pullin', and so -on, which some business people do; but honorable -rivalry is so much better, isn't it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Sure!" says Jacobs, prompt. "Yes, indeed."</p> -<p class="pnext">"So it is all settled," she went on. "Our bids -are to go in on the same day; and meantime neither -of us is to call on Mr. Parkinson or to meet him—in -a business way, I mean."</p> -<p class="pnext">I nodded, bein' still too upset to talk; but Jim -Henry spoke quick and prompt.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What do you mean," he asks—"in a business -way?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why," says she—and it seemed to me that she -reddened a little—"I mean that—well, if we -should meet him by accident we wouldn't talk about -screens or the hotel contract. Of course one can't -help meetin' people sometimes. For instance, I -happened to meet Mr. Parkinson yesterday. He -had driven over and happened to be in the vicinity -of the house where I board. I was goin' out for -a walk, and he stopped his horse and spoke."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh," says I, "he did, hey?" Jim Henry didn't -say nothin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," she says; "but I didn't talk about the contract. -Though our agreement wasn't actually made -then, I hoped that it would be. Good mornin'; I -must be goin'."</p> -<p class="pnext">She started for the door, but she turned to say -one more thing.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Of course," she says, decided, "it is understood -that you haven't agreed to my proposal simply because -I am a girl. If that was the case I shouldn't -permit it. I insist upon bein' treated exactly as if -I were a man. You must promise that—both of -you."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Sure! Sure! That's understood," says Jacobs.</p> -<p class="pnext">I said "Sure!" too, but my tone wa'n't quite so -sartin. She went out, Jim Henry goin' with her -as fur as the door. I follered him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Say," says I, "next time you turn a back somerset -like this I'd like to know about it in advance. -I've got a weak heart."</p> -<p class="pnext">He didn't answer me at all. He was starin' down -the road, just as 'Dolph had stared when the Eureka -agent called the fust time.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Say, Jim—" says I. He didn't turn or move; -didn't seem to hear me. I touched him on the shoulder -and he jumped and come about.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Eh—what?" he says.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nothin'," says I, "only I want to know why—that's -all."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why?" says he. "Oh!—you mean what -made me change my mind? Well, I just thought it -over and decided we might as well agree. Agreein' -don't do any harm, you know. Hey, Skipper? -Ha-ha!"</p> -<p class="pnext">He slapped me on the shoulder and laughed. -The laugh seemed too big for the joke and sounded -a little mite forced, I thought.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes, yes! Ha-ha!" says I. "But your -changin' from lion to lamb so sudden—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"What are you talkin' about? I've got a right -to change my mind, ain't I?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Sartin sure. But you was so set on gettin' that -contract."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well, I ain't said I wasn't goin' to get it, have -I? We're goin' to put in a bid, ain't we? What's -the matter with you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nothin' at all; but <em class="italics">your</em> breakfast don't seem to -have set extry well! However, it takes two to make -a row, and I'm peaceful, myself. What do you -think of the rival entry? Kind of a nice-appearin' -girl—don't you think so?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He whirled round and looked at me as if he -thought I was crazy.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nice-appearin'!" he says. "Nice-ap—Why, -she's—"</p> -<p class="pnext">Then he pulled up short and headed for the back -room.</p> -<p class="pnext">Nothin' of much importance happened for a while -after that. And yet there was somethin'—two or -three somethin's—that had a bearin' on the case. -One was the change in 'Dolph Cahoon. For a few -days after that night I met him on the road he was -as gay and chipper as a blackbird in a pear tree—happy -even when I made him work, which was surprisin' -enough. And then, all to once, he turned -glum and ugly. Wouldn't speak and seemed to be -broodin' over his troubles all day long. I had my -suspicions; and so, one time when him and me was -alone, I hove over a little mite of bait just to see -if he'd rise to it.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Seen anything of the Lentz girl lately?" I asked, -casual.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Naw," says he, "and I don't want to, neither! -She's a bird, she is! Too stuck up to speak to common -folks. Everybody's gettin' on to her—you -bet! She won't make many friends in this town."</p> -<p class="pnext">I grinned to myself. Thinks I: "I guess, -young man, Georgianna's handed you your walkin' -papers. You won't go down the Neck Road any -more!"</p> -<p class="pnext">And yet, an evenin' or so after that, I see somebody -go down that road. I didn't see him plain, -but I'd have almost taken my oath 'twas Jim Henry -Jacobs. It couldn't be, of course—and yet—</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, two days later, I took back the "yet." I -happened to be standin' at the side door of the store, -lookin' across the fields, when I saw an auto with -two people in it sailin' along the crossroad from the -east'ard. 'Twas a runabout auto—and I looked -and looked! Then I called to 'Dolph.</p> -<p class="pnext">"'Dolph," says I, "come here! Who's -automobile's that? If I didn't know Mr. Jacobs was -off takin' orders in Denboro I should say 'twas his."</p> -<p class="pnext">'Dolph looked.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" says he—"'tis his. He's drivin' it -himself. But who's that with him? What? Well, -by gosh! if it ain't that stuck-up Georgianna Lentz!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Get out!" says I. "The softness of your heart -has struck to your head. It's likely he'd be takin' -her to ride, ain't it!"</p> -<p class="pnext">And then Jacobs looked up and sighted us standin' -in the doorway. His machine hadn't been goin' -slow afore—now it fairly jumped off the ground -and flew. In a minute there was nothin' but a dust-cloud -in the offin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">He came in about noon. I didn't say nothin', -but I guess my face was enough. He looked at me, -turned away—and then turned back again.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," he says, loud and cheerful, "you saw us, -didn't you? I was goin' to tell you, anyway, soon -as I got the chance."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh," says I, "I want to know!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Sure, I was. Of course you see through the -game."</p> -<p class="pnext">"The game?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, yes, yes! The game I'm playin'—the -game that's goin' to get us that screen contract! -Oh, I wasn't born yesterday. I knew a thing or -two. This—er—Lentz girl and you and me have -agreed not to go near Parkinson till the contract's -given out; but Parkinson ain't promised not to go -near her! He's been over there two or three times -lately, and that won't do. He's a widower, and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"A widower!" I put in. "What's that got to -do with it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, nothin'—nothin'. Just a joke, that's -all. But I realized right away that she and he -mustn't be together or he'll make her talk screens -in spite of herself, and that'll be dangerous for us. -So, says I to myself, 'Jim Henry,' says I, 'it's up to -you. You must keep her out of his way.' That's -why I've been goin' to see her once in a while and—and -takin' her to ride, and—and so on. See? -Oh, I'm wise! You trust your old doctor of sick -businesses."</p> -<p class="pnext">He'd been talkin' a blue streak. Seemed almost -as if he was afraid I'd say somethin' afore he could -say it all. Now he stopped to get his breath and -I put in a word.</p> -<p class="pnext">"So," says I, slow, "that's why you're doin' it, -hey? But ain't that—You know you promised -to treat her just as if she was a man!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well, ain't I?" he snaps—hotter than was -needful, I thought. "If she was a man I'd make -it my business to keep her in sight, wouldn't I? -Well, then! I never saw such a chap as you are for -lookin' for trouble when there isn't any."</p> -<p class="pnext">He stalked off. I follered him; and as I done so -I noticed 'Dolph Cahoon duck behind the calico -counter. I judged he'd heard every word.</p> -<p class="pnext">The finishin' work on the hotel hustled along and -inside of a month we got word that 'twas time to -put in our bid. Jacobs and I figured and figured till -we got the price down to the last cent we thought -it could stand, and then we sent our proposition over -to Parkinson by mail.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Wonder if Miss Georgianna's sent hers in," I -says, casual.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, yes," says Jim, prompt; "she is goin' to -mail it this morning'."</p> -<p class="pnext">I didn't ask him how he knew. His chasin' round -and keepin' watch on a girl who was as fair-minded -and square as she was had always seemed too much -like spyin' to please me, and I cal'lated he knew how -I felt—at any rate he'd scurcely spoke her name -since the day when I saw 'em autoin' together. But -now I did say that, so long as the bids was in, it -wouldn't be necessary for him to keep his eye on her -any longer.</p> -<p class="pnext">He looked at me kind of queer. "Umph!" he -says; "maybe not!" And he walked away to -attend to a customer.</p> -<p class="pnext">That afternoon he took his car and went off on -his reg'lar order trip to Denboro and Bayport -and round. 'Dolph Cahoon and I was alone in the -front part of the store. 'Dolph seemed to be in -mighty good spirits—for him—and kept chucklin' -to himself in a way I couldn't understand. At last -he says to me, lookin' back to be sure that Mary -Blaisdell, in the post-office department, couldn't -hear—</p> -<p class="pnext">"Cap'n Zeb," he says, "what would you give the -feller that got the screen contract for you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Give him?" I says. "What feller do you mean—Parkinson? -I wouldn't give him a cent! I -ain't a briber and I don't think he's a grafter."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I don't mean Parkinson," he says, chucklin'. -"But, suppose somebody else had been workin' for -you on the quiet, what would you give him?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I looked him over.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Look here, 'Dolph," says I; "I never try to -guess a riddle till I hear the whole of it. What -are you drivin' at?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He grinned. "I know who's goin' to get that -contract," he says.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You do. Who is it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"The Ostable Store's goin' to get it. Your bid's -a little mite the lowest. Parkinson told me so last -night."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Parkinson told you!" I sung out. "How did -you happen to see Parkinson?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He winked.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, I saw him!" says he. "I've seen him a -good many times lately. I made it my business to -see him. He was pretty stuck on the Eureka till -I got after him and I cal'late he'd have contracted -for Eurekas, bid or no bid. But I put in my licks; -I've drove over to West Ostable four nights and -two Sundays in the last fortni't. And didn't I -preach Nonesuch to him! He-he! You bet I did! -And last night he said he was goin' to give us the -job. Oh, I fixed that stuck-up Georgianna Lentz! -I got even with her. He-he-he!"</p> -<p class="pnext">I never was madder in my life. I took two steps -toward him with my fists doubled up.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You whelp!" says I—and then I stopped short. -The Lentz girl herself was walkin' in at the front -door.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Good mornin', Cap'n Snow," she says, holdin' -out her hand. She paid no more attention to 'Dolph -than if he'd been a graven image. "Good mornin'," -says she. "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I was past carin' about the weather.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Miss Georgianna," says I, "I'm glad you come -in. I've got somethin' to tell you. I've got to beg -your pardon for somethin' that ain't my fault or -Mr. Jacobs', either. You and my partner and me -had an agreement not to go nigh Parkinson or try -to influence him in any way. Well, unbeknown to -me, that agreement has been broke."</p> -<p class="pnext">She stared at me, too astonished to speak.</p> -<p class="pnext">"It's been broke," says I. "That—that critter -there," pointin' to 'Dolph, "has been sneakin—"</p> -<p class="pnext">'Dolph's face had been gettin' redder and redder, -I cal'late he thought I'd praise him for his doin's; -and when he found I wouldn't, but was goin' to give -the whole thing away, he blew up like a leaky b'iler.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I ain't been sneakin'!" he yelled. "And I ain't -broke no agreement, neither. You and Mr. Jacobs -agreed—but I never. I see Parkinson on my own -hook; and if it hadn't been for me he wouldn't be -goin' to give you the contract."</p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure" style="margin-left: 29%; width: 42%" id="figure-8"> -<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="'I ain't been sneakin'!' he yelled." src="images/illus4.jpg" width="100%"/> -<div class="caption italics"> -'I ain't been sneakin'!' he yelled.</div> -</div> -<p class="pfirst">There 'twas, out of the bag. I looked at Georgianna. -Her pretty face went white. That contract -meant all creation to her; but she stood up to the -news like a major. She was plucky, that girl!</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh!" she says. "Oh! Then he has given -you the contract? I—I congratulate you, Cap'n -Snow."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Don't congratulate me," says I. "The contract -ain't been given yet, though this pup says it's goin' -to be; but, as for me, if I'd known what was goin' -on I'd have stopped it mighty quick! I'm honorable -and decent, and so's Jacobs; and we don't take -underhanded advantages."</p> -<p class="pnext">'Dolph bust out from astern of the counter.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You don't, hey!" says he. "I want to know! -How about Jacobs' takin' her to ride and callin' on -her, and pretendin' to be dead gone on her? What -did he do that for? You know as well as I do. -'Twas so's to keep a watch on her, and not let -Parkinson see her and be influenced into buyin' -Eureka screens. You know it!"</p> -<p class="pnext">My own face grew red now, I cal'late.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You—you—" I begun. "You miserable -liar—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"'Tain't a lie," says he. "I heard him tell you -with my own ears. He said all he was beauin' her -round for was just that. If that ain't a underhanded -trick then I don't know what is."</p> -<p class="pnext">I wanted to say lots more; but, afore I could get -my talkin' machinery to runnin', the Lentz girl herself -spoke.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Is that true, Cap'n Snow?" says she.</p> -<p class="pnext">I was set back forty fathom.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well, miss," says I, "I—I—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Is that true?" says she.</p> -<p class="pnext">I got out my handkerchief and swabbed my forehead.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well, Miss Georgianna," says I, "I'll tell you. -Jim Henry—Mr. Jacobs, I mean—did say somethin' -like that; but—but—Well, you wanted to -be treated like a salesman, and—er—Mr. Jacobs -would have kept his eye on a man, you know; and -so—and so—"</p> -<p class="pnext">I stopped again. 'Twas the shoalest water ever -I cruised in. All I could do was mop away with the -handkerchief and look at Georgianna. And she—well, -the color, and plenty of it, begun to come back -to her cheeks. And how her brown eyes did -flash!</p> -<p class="pnext">"I see," she says, slow and so frosty I pretty nigh -shivered. "I—see!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says I, "'tain't anything I'm proud of, -I will admit; but—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"One moment, if you please. You haven't actually -got the contract yet?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"No. As I told you, all I know is what this consarned -fo'mast hand of mine says. For what he's -done, I'm ashamed as I can be. As for Mr. Jacobs, -I know he did keep to the letter of the agreement, -anyhow. For the rest—Well, all's fair in love -and war, they say—and there's precious little love -in business."</p> -<p class="pnext">She looked at me, with a queer little smile about -the corners of her lips, though her eyes wa'n't smilin', -by a consider'ble sight.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Isn't there?" she says. "I—I wonder. -Good-by, Cap'n Snow. You might tell Mr. Jacobs -not to order those Nonesuch screens just yet."</p> -<p class="pnext">Out she went; and for the next five minutes I had -a real enjoyable time. I told 'Dolph Cahoon just -what I thought of him—that took four of the minutes; -durin' the other one I fired him and run him -out of the office by the scruff of the neck.</p> -<p class="pnext">Then Mary Blaisdell and me held officers' council, -and that ended by our decidin' not to tell Jim Henry -that the Lentz girl knew why he'd been so friendly -with her. It wouldn't do any good and might make -him feel bad. Besides, the contract was as good as -got, 'cordin' to 'Dolph's yarn; and 'twa'n't likely -he'd see Georgianna again, anyway. When he come -back I told him I'd fired Cahoon for bein' no good -and sassy, and he agreed I'd done just right.</p> -<p class="pnext">When I said good night to him he was chipper -as could be; but next day he was blue as a whetstone—and -the blueness seemed to strike in, so to speak. -He didn't take any interest in anything—moped -round, glum and ugly; and I couldn't get him to talk -at all. If I mentioned the screen contract he shut -up like a quahaug, and only once did he give an -opinion about it. That opinion was a surprisin' one, -though.</p> -<p class="pnext">Alpheus Perkins was in the store, and says he:</p> -<p class="pnext">"Say, Mr. Jacobs," he says, "is old Parkinson, -the hotel man, cal'latin' to get married again? I -see him out ridin' with a girl yesterday? That -female screen drummer—that Georgianna Lentz, -'twas. She's a daisy, ain't she! I don't blame him -much for takin' a shine to her."</p> -<p class="pnext">Jim Henry didn't make any answer; but, knowin' -what I did, I was a little surprised.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Jim," says I, "that contract—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"D—n the contract!" says he, and cleared out -and left us.</p> -<p class="pnext">I was astonished, but I guessed 'twas a healthy -plan to keep my hatches closed.</p> -<p class="pnext">When I opened the mail a few mornin's later I -found a letter with the West Ostable Hotel's name -printed on the envelope. I figgered I knew what -was inside. Thinks I: "Here's the acceptance of -our bid!" But my figgers was on the wrong side -of the ledger. Parkinson wrote just a few words, -but they was enough. After considerin' the matter -careful, he wrote, he had decided the Eureka to be -a better screen than the Nonesuch; and, though our -bid was a trifle lower, he should give the Eureka -folks the contract.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well!" says I out loud. "Well, I'll—be—blessed!"</p> -<p class="pnext">Jim Henry was settin' at his desk—we was all -alone in the store—and he looked up.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What are you askin' a blessin' over?" says he.</p> -<p class="pnext">I handed him the letter. He read it through and -set for a full minute without speakin'. Then he -slammed it into the wastebasket and got up and -started to go away.</p> -<p class="pnext">"For thunder sakes!" I sung out. "What ails -you? Ain't you goin' to say nothin' at all?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"What is there to say?" he asked, gruff. -"We're stung—and that's the end of it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"But—but—don't you realize—Why, our -bid was the lowest! And yet the contract—"</p> -<p class="pnext">He whirled on me savage.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Didn't I tell you," says he, "that I didn't give -a durn about the contract?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"You don't! <em class="italics">You</em> don't! Then who on airth -does?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I don't know and I don't care!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"You don't care! I swan to man! Why, 'twas -you that swore you'd put the screens in that hotel -or die tryin'. You said 'twas a matter of principle -with you. And now that the Eureka folks have -beat us by some shenanigan or other—for our bid -was lower than theirs—you say you don't care! -Have you gone loony? What <em class="italics">do</em> you care -about?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nothin'—much," says he, and flopped down in -his chair again.</p> -<p class="pnext">I stared at him. All at once I begun to see a -light. You'd have thought anybody that wa'n't -stone blind would have seen it afore—but I hadn't. -You see, I cal'lated that I knew him from trunk to -keelson, and so it never once occurred to me. I riz -and walked over to him. Just as I done so, I heard -the front door open and shut, but I figgered 'twas -Mary comin' back, and didn't even look. I laid my -hand on his shoulder.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Jim," says I, "I guess likely I understand. I -declare I'm sorry! And yet I wouldn't wonder -if—"</p> -<p class="pnext">I didn't go on. He wa'n't payin' any attention, -but was lookin' over the top of his desk—lookin' -with all the eyes in his head. I looked, too, and -caught my breath with a jerk. The person who'd -come in wa'n't Mary Blaisdell, but Georgianna -Lentz.</p> -<p class="pnext">She saw us and walked straight down to where we -was. She was kind of pale and her eyes looked as -if she'd been awake all night; but when she spoke -'twas right to the point—there wa'n't any hesitation -about her.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Cap'n Snow," says she, "have you heard from -Mr. Parkinson?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says I, wonderin; "we've heard. We -don't understand exactly, but perhaps that ain't -necessary. I cal'late all there is left for us to do -is to offer congratulations and 'go 'way back and -set down,' as the boys say. You've got the contract."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," she says; "it has been given to me. -But—"</p> -<p class="pnext">Jim Henry stood up. "You'll excuse me," he -says, sharp. "I'm busy."</p> -<p class="pnext">He started to go, but she stopped him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"No," she says; "I want you both to hear what -I've got to say. Mr. Parkinson gave me the -contract yesterday; but I have decided not to take -it."</p> -<p class="pnext">We both looked at her.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You—you've what?" says I. "Not take it? -You want it, don't you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," she says, quiet but determined, "I want -it—or I did want it very, very much. It meant -so much to me—now—and might mean a great -deal more in the future; but I can't take it."</p> -<p class="pnext">This was too many for me. I looked at Jacobs. -He didn't say a word.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I can't take it," says Georgianna, "under the -circumstances. I don't feel that I got it fairly. We -agreed, you and I, that no personal influence should -be brought to bear upon Mr. Parkinson; and I"—she -blushed a little, but kept right on—"I have seen -Mr. Parkinson several times durin' the past week."</p> -<p class="pnext">I thought of her bein' to ride with the hotel man, -but I didn't say anything. Jim Henry, though, -started again to go. And again she stopped him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Wait, please!" she went on. "I didn't go to -him—you must understand that! But after what -you, Cap'n Snow, and that Mr. Cahoon told me the -other day I was hurt and angry. I felt that you had -broken your agreement with me. So when Mr. -Parkinson came to see me I didn't avoid him as I -had been doin'. I—I accepted invitations for -drives with him, and—and—Oh, don't you see? -I couldn't take the contract. I couldn't! What -would you think of me? What would I think of -myself? No, my mind is made up. I'm afraid"—with -a half smile that had more tears than fun in it—"that -my experience in business hasn't been a success. -I shall give it up and go back to stenography—or -somethin'. There! Good-by. I'm sure that the -Nonesuch screen will win now. Good-by!"</p> -<p class="pnext">And now 'twas she that started to go and Jim -Henry that stopped her.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Wait!" says he, sharp. "There's somethin' -here I don't understand. What do you mean by -what the Cap'n and Cahoon told you the other day? -Skipper, what have you been doin'?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I wished there was a crack or a knothole handy -for me to crawl into; but there wa'n't, so I braced -up best I could.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, Jim," says I, "I ain't told you the whole -of that business I fired 'Dolph for. Seems he'd been -seein' Parkinson on his own hook and pullin' wires -for the Nonesuch. 'Twas a sneakin' mean trick, -and I knew 'twould make you mad same as it done -me; so I didn't tell you. 'Twas for that I bounced -him."</p> -<p class="pnext">Jim Henry's fists shut.</p> -<p class="pnext">"The toad!" says he. "I wish I'd been there. -Wait till I get my hands on him! I'll—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"But you mustn't," put in Georgianna. "I hope -you don't think I care what such a creature as he -might do. When I first came here he—Oh, why -can't people forget that I'm a girl!"</p> -<p class="pnext">I could have answered that, but I didn't. Jacobs -asked another question.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Then, if it wa'n't 'Dolph, who was it?" says he. -"Parkinson?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"No!" with a flash of her eyes. "Certainly not. -Mr. Parkinson is a gentleman; but—but I don't -like him—that is, I don't dislike him exactly; -but—"</p> -<p class="pnext">She was dreadful fussed up. Jim Henry was -between her and the door, though, and he kept right -on with his questions.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Then what was the trouble?" he said, brisk.</p> -<p class="pnext">I answered for her.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well, Jim," says I, "there was somethin' else. -You see, 'Dolph got mad when I sailed into him, and -he come back at me by tellin' what you said about -your callin' on Miss Lentz here—and takin' her -autoin' and such. How you said you was doin' it -so's to keep a watch on her—that's all. I couldn't -deny that you did say it, you know—because you -did!"</p> -<p class="pnext">Jim's face was a sight to see—a sort of combination -of sheepishness and shame, mixed with another -look, almost of joy—or as if he'd got the answer to -a puzzle that had been troublin' him.</p> -<p class="pnext">The Lentz girl spoke up quick.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Of course," she says, "I understand now why -you did it. Then I was—was—Well, it did -hurt me to think that I hadn't seen through the -scheme, and for a while I felt that you hadn't been -true to our agreement; but, now that I have had -time to think, I understand. You promised to treat -me exactly as if I were a man; and, as Cap'n Snow -said, if I were a man you would have kept me in -sight. It's all right! But"—with a sigh—"I -realize that I'm not fitted for business—this kind of -business. I don't blame you, though. Good-by. -I must go!"</p> -<p class="pnext">Lettin' her go, however, was the last thing Jim -intended doin' just then. He stepped for'ard and -caught her by the hand.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Georgianna," says he, eager, "you know what -you're sayin' isn't true. I did tell the Cap'n that -yarn about watchin' you. He'd seen me with you -and I had to tell him somethin'; but it was a lie—every -word of it! You know it was."</p> -<p class="pnext">She tried to pull her hand away, but he hung on -to it as if 'twas the last life-preserver on a sinkin' -ship. I cal'late he'd forgot I was on earth.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You were keeping your promise," she said. -"You were treatin' me as you would if I were a -man! Please let me go, Mr. Jacobs; I have told -you that I didn't blame you."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nonsense!" says he. "If I had done that I -ought to be hung! A man! Treat you like a man! -Do you suppose if you were a man I should—"</p> -<p class="pnext">That was the last word I heard. I was bound -for the front platform, and makin' some headway for -a craft of my age and build. I have got some sense -and I know when three's a crowd!</p> -<p class="pnext">I didn't go back until they called me. I give the -pair of 'em one look and then I shook hands with 'em -up to the elbows. Georgianna was blushin', and her -eyes were damp, but shinin' like masthead lights on -a rainy night. As for Jim Henry Jacobs, he was -one broad grin.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says I, after I'd said all the joyful things -I could think of, "one point ain't settled even yet—who's -goin' to get that screen contract? There ain't -any love in business, you know."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" says Jim Henry. "I wonder!"</p> -<p class="pnext">I laughed out loud.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why," says I, "that's exactly what Georgianna -here said t'other day—she wondered!"</p> -</div> -<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xivthe-epistle-to-ichabod"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id15">CHAPTER XIV—THE EPISTLE TO ICHABOD</a></h2> -<p class="pfirst">Mary came in a few minutes later and she -had to be told the news. She was as -pleased as I was and there was more congratulatin'. -Then Georgianna had to go home and, -as she was altogether too precious to be allowed -to walk, Jim Henry went and got his auto and they -left in that.</p> -<p class="pnext">When he got back—that car must have been -sufferin' from a stroke of creepin' paralysis, for it -took him two hours to run that little distance—he -and I had a good confidential talk. He was way up -above this common earth, soarin' around in the -clouds, and all he wanted to talk was Georgianna. -The whole of creation had been set to music and was -dancin' to the one tune—"Georgianna."</p> -<p class="pnext">It was astonishin' to me who had been in the habit -of considerin' him just a sharp, up-to-date buyer and -seller, a man whose whole soul was wrapped up in -business with no room in it for anything else. I -found myself lookin' at him and wonderin': "Is -the world comin' to an end, I wonder? Is this my -partner? Is this moon-struck critter Jim Henry -Jacobs, doctor of sick businesses?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I couldn't help jokin' him a little.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Jim," says I, "for a feller who hadn't any use -for females you're doin' pretty well, I must say. -Either you was mistaken in your old opinions or your -new ones are wrong. Which is it? 'Women and -business don't mix,' you know. That ain't an original -notion; that is quoted from the Gospel according -to Jacobs, Chapter 1,000; two hundred and -eightieth verse."</p> -<p class="pnext">He reddened up and laughed. "Well, they <em class="italics">don't</em> -mix, as a general thing," he says. "I guess 'twas -Georgianna's sand in goin' into business that got me -in the first place. I leave it to you, Skipper—ain't -she a wonder? Now be honest, ain't she?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Course I said she was; I have the usual sane man's -regard for my head and I didn't want it knocked off -yet awhile. And Georgianna <em class="italics">was</em> as nice a girl as -I ever saw—that is, <em class="italics">almost</em> as nice. Jim went -sailin' on, about how now he could settle down and -live like a white man in a home of his own, about -the house he was goin' to build, and so forth and -etcetery. I declare it made me feel almost jealous -to hear him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"My! my!" says I, kind of spiteful, I'm afraid, -"you have got it bad, ain't you! Sudden attacks -are liable to be the most acute, I suppose."</p> -<p class="pnext">He laughed again. You couldn't have made him -mad just then.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Ha, ha!" says he. "Yes, I guess I'm way past -where there's any hope for me. But I'm glad of it. -It did come sudden, but that's the way most good -things come to me. It's my nature. Now if I was -like some folks that I won't name, I'd be mopin' -around for months without sense enough to know -what ailed me."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Who are you diggin' at?" I wanted to know. -He wouldn't tell; said 'twas a secret, and maybe -I'd find out the answer for myself some day.</p> -<p class="pnext">The next few weeks was busy times, in the store -and out of it. Georgianna havin' declined the screen -contract, Parkinson gave it to us, after a little -arguin'. That kept me hustlin', for Jim was too -interested in other things to care for screens. He -was making arrangements to be married.</p> -<p class="pnext">And married he and Georgianna were. She'd -have waited a little longer, I cal'late—that bein' a -woman's way—if it had been left to her to name the -time; but Jim Henry never was the waitin' kind. -They were married at the parson's and Mary Blaisdell -and I saw the splice made fast. Then we went -to the depot and said good-by to Mr. and Mrs. Jim -Henry Jacobs. They were goin' on a honeymoon -cruise to the West Indies that would last two months.</p> -<p class="pnext">Good-byes ain't ever pleasant to say, but I was so -glad for Jim, and so happy because he was, that I -tried to be as chipper as I could.</p> -<p class="pnext">"If you need me, wire at Havana, Skipper," he -says. "I'll come the minute you say the word."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I sha'n't need you," I told him. "Mary and -I'll run things as well as we can. She makes a good -fust mate, Mary does."</p> -<p class="pnext">"You bet!" says he. "I feel a little conscience-struck -to leave you just now, with that West End -crowd tryin' to make trouble for you, but Congressman -Shelton is your friend and he'll look out for you -in Washin'ton."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Don't you worry about that," I says. "I ain't -scared of Bill Phipps or Ike Hamilton—much, or -any of their West End crew. The decent folks in -town are on my side, and with Shelton to back me up -at Washin'ton, I cal'late I'll keep my job till you come -back anyhow."</p> -<p class="pnext">The train started and Mary and I waved till -'twas out of sight. Then we went back to the store. -I give in that the old feelin', the feelin' that I'd had -when Jim was sick out West, that of bein' adrift -without an anchor, was hangin' around me a little, -but I braced up and vowed to myself that I'd do -the best I could. If this post-office row did get dangerous, -I might telegraph for Jacobs, but I wouldn't -till the ship was founderin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">I suppose you can always get up an opposition -party. There was one amongst the Children of -Israel in Moses's time, and there's been plenty ever -since. So long as somebody has got somethin' -there'll always be somebody else to want to get it -away from him. That's human nature, and there's -as much human nature in Ostable, size considered, -as there was in the Land of Canaan.</p> -<p class="pnext">I'd been postmaster at Ostable for quite a spell. I -didn't try for the position, I was mad when 'twas -given to me, there wa'n't much of anything in it but -a lot of fuss and trouble, and I'd said forty times over -that I wished I didn't have it. But when the gang -up at the West End of the town set out to take it -away from me I r'ared up on my hind legs and swore -I'd fight for my job till the last plank sunk from -under me. Don't sound like sense, does it? It -wa'n't—'twas just more human nature.</p> -<p class="pnext">Course the opposition wa'n't large and 'twa'n't -very influential. Old man William Phipps and -young Ike Hamilton was at the head of it, and they -had forty or fifty West-Enders to back 'em up. -Phipps had been one of the leading workers for -Abubus Payne, the chap I beat for the app'intment -in the fust place; and young Hamilton was junior -partner in the firm of "Ichabod Hamilton & Co., -Stoves, Tinware and Fishermen's Supplies," a mile -or so up the main road. Young Ike—everybody -called him "Ike," though his real name was Ichabod, -same as his uncle's—was a pushin' critter, who'd -come back from a Boston business college and had -started right in to make the town sit up and take -notice. He was goin' to get rich—he admitted that -much—and he cal'lated to show us hayseeds a few -things. Up to now he hadn't showed much but -loud clothes and cheek, but he had enough of them to -keep all hands interested for a spell.</p> -<p class="pnext">His uncle, Ichabod, Senior, was a shrewd old -rooster, with twenty thousand or so that, accordin' -to his brags—he was always tellin' of it—he'd -put away for a "rainy day." We have consider'ble -damp weather at the Cape, but 'twould have taken a -Noah's Ark flood to make Ichabod's purse strings -loosen up. That twenty thousand dollars had -growed fast to his nervous system and when you -pulled away a cent he howled. Young Ike was the -only one that could mesmerize this old man into -spendin' anything, and how he did it nobody knew. -But he did. Since he got into that Stoves and Tinware -firm the store had been fixed up and advertisements -put in the papers, and I don't know what -all. The uncle had been under the weather with -rheumatism for a year; maybe that explained a little.</p> -<p class="pnext">Anyhow 'twas young Ike that picked himself to -be postmaster instead of me and he and Phipps -got the West-Enders, fifty or so of 'em, to sign a -petition askin' that a new app'intment be made. I -couldn't be removed except on charges, so a lot of -charges was made. Fust, the post-office, bein' in -the Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes -and Fancy Goods Store, was too far from the center -of the town. Second, I was neglectin' the office -and my assistant—Mary, that is—was really doin' -the whole of the government work. There was some -truth in this, because Mary knew a good deal more -about mail work than I did, and was as capable a -woman as ever lived; and besides, Jim Henry and -I had been so busy with our store and the "Windmill -Restaurant," and our other by-product ventures, that -I <em class="italics">had</em> left Mary to run the post-office. But it was -run better than any post-office ever was run afore -in Ostable and everybody with brains knew it.</p> -<p class="pnext">Third.... But never mind the rest of the -charges, they didn't amount to anything. In fact, -there was so little to 'em that when the West End -petition went in to Washin'ton, I didn't take the -trouble to send one of my own, though Jacobs -thought I'd better and a hundred folks asked me to -and said they'd sign. I just wrote to the Post-office -Department and told them that I was ready to submit -my case, if there was any need for it, and if they -cared to send a representative to investigate, I'd be -tickled to death to see him. They wrote back that -they'd look into the matter, and that's the way it -stood when Jim and Georgianna left and it stayed -so until the lost letter affair run me bows fust onto -the rocks and turned the situation from ridiculousness -into something that looked likely to be mighty serious -for me.</p> -<p class="pnext">It come about—same as such jolts generally come—when -I was least ready for it. Jim Henry had -been gone three weeks or more. 'Twas February -and none of my influential friends amongst the summer -folks was on hand to help. No, Mary and I -were all alone and sailin' free with what looked like -a fair wind, when "Bump!"—all at once our craft -was half full of water and sinkin' fast.</p> -<p class="pnext">That mornin' the mail was a little mite late and -there wa'n't any store trade to speak of. Mary was -in the post-office place writin', the usual gang of -loafers was settin' around the stove, and I was out -front talkin' with Sim Kelley, who lived up to the -west end of the town, amongst the mutineers. -'Twas from Sim that I got most of my news about -the doin's of the Phipps and Hamilton crowd. He -was a great, hulkin', cross-eyed lubber, too lazy to -get out of his own way, and as shif'less as a body -could be and take pains enough to live.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Sim," says I to him, "I thought you said old -man Hamilton was in bed with his rheumatiz. I -saw him up street as I was comin' by. He looked -pretty feeble, but he was toddlin' along on foot just -as he always does. Rheumatic or not, it's all the -same. I cal'late the old critter wouldn't spend -enough money to hire a team if he was dyin'."</p> -<p class="pnext">Sim was surprised, and not only surprised, but, -seemingly, a little mite worried. Why he should -be worried because Ichabod was takin' chances with -his diseases I couldn't see.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Old man Hamilton!" says he. "Is he out a -cold mornin' like this? Where was he bound?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Don't know," says I. "He stopped into the -drug store when I saw him. Whether that was his -final port of call or not I don't know."</p> -<p class="pnext">He seemed to be thinkin' it over. Then he got -up and walked to the door.</p> -<p class="pnext">"He ain't in sight nowheres," he says. "Guess -he wa'n't comin' as far as here, 'tain't likely."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says I, "how's the rest of the family? -The hopeful leader of the forlorn hope—how's -he?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Ike?" he says. "Oh, he's all right. He's a -mighty smart young feller, Ike is."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says I, "so I've heard him say. Gettin' -ready to stand in with him when he gets my job, -are you, Sim?"</p> -<p class="pnext">That shook him up a mite. 'Twas common talk -around town that Sim and Ike was pretty thick. He -turned red under his freckles.</p> -<p class="pnext">"No, no!" he sputtered. "Course I ain't! I'm -standin' by you, Cap'n Snow, and you know it. But, -all the same, Ike's a smart boy. He's gettin' rich -fast, Ike is."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Sold another cookstove, has he?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"He sells a lot of 'em. Sold two last month. -But that ain't it. He's got foresight and friends in -the stock exchange up to Boston. He's buyin' copper -stocks and they—"</p> -<p class="pnext">He stopped short; thought his tongue was runnin' -away with him, I presume likely. But I was interested -and I kept on.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh!" says I; "he's buyin' coppers, is he? Well, -where does he get the U. S. coppers to do it with? -Is Uncle Ichabod backin' him? Has the old man's -rheumatiz struck to his brains?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Course he ain't backin' him. <em class="italics">He</em> don't know -nothin' of stocks. He ain't up-to-date same as -Ike. But he'll be glad enough when his nephew -makes fifty thousand. When he finds that out -he'll—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"He'll never find it out on this earth," I cut in. -"If he found out that Ike made fifty dollars, all on -his own hook, he'd drop dead with heart disease. -If he didn't, everybody else in town would. But -it takes money to buy stocks, don't it? I never knew -Ike had any cash of his own."</p> -<p class="pnext">"He's in the firm, ain't he! And Hamilton and -Co. are——Hello! here comes the depot -wagon."</p> -<p class="pnext">Sure enough, 'twas the depot wagon with the mail. -I took the bags from the driver and went back to -help Mary sort. I'd taken to helpin' her a good -deal lately—more since Jacobs left than ever afore. -She said there wa'n't any need of it, but I didn't -agree with her. Of course I realized that I was -an old fool—but, somehow or other, I felt more -and more contented with life when I was alongside -of Mary. She and I understood each other and -I'd come to depend upon her same as a man might -on his sister—or his—well, or anybody, you understand, -that he thought a good deal of and knew was -square and—and so on. And she seemed to feel -the same way about me.</p> -<p class="pnext">We sorted the mail together, puttin' it in the different -boxes and such. And almost the fust thing -I run across was that registered letter addressed to -"Ichabod Hamilton, Jr." 'Twas a long envelope -and up in one corner of it was printed the name of -a Boston broker's firm. I laid it out by itself and -went on sortin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">When the sortin' and distributin' was over and the -crowd had gone, I called to Sim Kelley. We didn't -have Rural Free Delivery then and Sim carried the -West End mail box; that is, a lot of the folks up -that way chipped in and paid him so much for deliverin' -their mail to 'em.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Sim," says I, "there's a registered letter here -for young Ike Hamilton. If I give it to you will -you be careful and see that he signs the receipt and -the like of that?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He was outside the partition and he come to the -little window and took the letter from me. He -acted mighty interested.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Gosh!" says he, grinnin', "I wouldn't wonder -if this was.... Humph! Oh, I'll be careful -of it! don't you worry about that."</p> -<p class="pnext">Just then Mary called to me. I went over to -where she was settin' at her desk.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Cap'n Zeb," she whispered, "I wouldn't send -that letter by Sim. It is important, or it would not -be registered, and Sim is so irresponsible. If anything -<em class="italics">should</em> happen it would give Mr. Hamilton -and the rest such a chance. And they have accused -us of bein' careless already."</p> -<p class="pnext">They had, that was a fact. One or two letters -had gone astray durin' the past six months and the -loss of 'em was described, with trimmin's, in the -West End charges and petition. And Sim <em class="italics">was</em> a -lunkhead. I thought it over a jiffy and then I called -to Kelley once more. He was just comin' to the -hooks by the door outside the mail-box racks where -Mary and I and the store clerk—the one we'd hired -in place of 'Dolph—hung our overcoats and hats. -Sim had hung his coat there that mornin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Sim," I said, "let me see that registered letter -of Ike Hamilton's again, will you?" He took it -out of his pocket and passed it to me.</p> -<p class="pnext">"All right," says I; "you needn't bother about -this. I'll send a notice by you that it's here and Ike -can call for it himself. I won't take any chances of -your losin' it."</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, you'd ought to have seen him! His face -blazed up like a Fourth of July tar-barrel. -"Chances!" he sung out. "What are you talkin' -about? I cal'late I'm able to carry a letter without -losin' it. I ain't a kid."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Maybe not," says I, "but you ain't goin' to lose -this one, kid or not. Here's the notice, all made -out."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Notice be darned!" he snarled. "You give -me that letter. Hamilton and Co. pay me to carry -their mail, don't they? And, besides, Ike told me -particular that he was expectin'—"</p> -<p class="pnext">He pulled up short again.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well?" says I. "Heave ahead. What's the -rest of it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nothin'," he answered, ugly; "but you've got -no right to say I can't carry a letter when I'm paid -to do it. As for losin' things, there's others besides -me that lose mail in this town."</p> -<p class="pnext">There's no use arguin' when a matter's all settled. -I handed him the notice and walked off, leavin' him -standin' outside that partition, sore as a scalded cat.</p> -<p class="pnext">I looked at my watch. 'Twas twelve o'clock, my -dinner time. I walked out to the hook rack, took -down my overcoat and put it on. I had the Hamilton -letter in my hand. There wa'n't any reason why -I should be more worried about that registered letter -than any other, but I was, just the same. Maybe -'twas because 'twas Ike's and he was so anxious to -make trouble for me. Somehow or other I couldn't -feel safe till he got it and signed the receipt. I -thought for a minute and then I decided I'd walk -up to Hamilton and Co.'s and deliver it myself. -That decision was foolish, maybe, but I felt better -when 'twas made. I put the letter in the inside -pocket of the overcoat I had on, and just as I was -doin' it Mary come out of the post-office room with -her hat on.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh!" says she, "are you goin' out, Cap'n Zeb? -I thought—"</p> -<p class="pnext">Then I remembered. She'd asked to go to dinner -fust that day and I'd told her of course she could. -I begged her pardon and said I'd forgot. I'd wait -till she got back. So, after makin' sure that I didn't -care, she took her coat from the hook, put it on and -went out.</p> -<p class="pnext">I took off my overcoat and, just as I did so, somethin' -fell on the floor. I stooped and picked it up. -I swan to man if it wasn't that pesky Hamilton letter! -Thinks I, "That's funny!" I put my hand -into the pocket where it had been and there was a -hole right through the linin'. Now if there's one -thing I'm fussy about it is that my pockets are whole. -And I <em class="italics">knew</em> this one ought to be whole. So I looked -at the coat and I'm blessed if it was mine at all! -'Twas Sim Kelley's! Both coats had been hangin' -together on the hook-rack and both was blue and -about the same size. I'd been saved by a miracle, -as you might say.</p> -<p class="pnext">I was comin' to feel more and more as if there -was some sort of fate about that registered letter. -I took it back into the post-office room, handlin' it as -careful as if 'twas solid gold, and laid it down on the -sortin' bench behind the letter boxes. And then -somebody spoke to me through the little window.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Cap'n Zeb," says Sim Kelley, "there's a man -just drove over from Bayport to see you. Come in -Gabe Lumley's buggy, he did. His name's Peters -and Gabe says he's got some sort of government -job."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Government job?" says I. And then it flashed -through my mind who the feller might be. The -Post-office Department had said they might send an -investigator. I didn't care for that, but I did wish -Sim hadn't seen him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh," says I; "all right. It's the lighthouse -inspector, I shouldn't wonder. Guess 'tain't me he -is after. Probably I ain't the Snow he wants to -see; it's Henry Snow over to the Point. Where -is he?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Out on the platform," says Sim. I hurried out -of the post-office room, lockin' the door careful -astern of me. The man Peters was just comin' into -the store. I met him at the front door. We shook -hands and he introduced himself. 'Twas the investigator, -sure enough.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Glad to see you," says I. "I know that may -sound like a lie, but, as it happens, it ain't in this -case. I ain't got anything to be ashamed of and the -sooner the government finds that out the better I'll -be pleased."</p> -<p class="pnext">He laughed. He was a real good chap, this -Peters man, and I took to him right off the reel. -We stood there talkin' and laughin' and says he:</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well, Cap'n," he says, "I'll tell you frankly -that I'm not very much worried about the conduct -of your office here at Ostable. I've made some -inquiries about you, here and in Washin'ton, and the -answers are pretty satisfactory. Congressman -Shelton seems to be a friend of yours."</p> -<p class="pnext">I grinned. "Yes," says I, "but Shelton's prejudiced, -I'm afraid. He and old Major Clark ate a -chowder once that I cooked and ever since they've -both swore by me."</p> -<p class="pnext">He laughed, though I could see Shelton hadn't -told him the yarn.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" says he, "that's unusual, isn't it? -Judgin' by some chowders <em class="italics">I've</em> eaten, it would be -easier to swear <em class="italics">at</em> the cook. Speakin' of eatables, -though, reminds me that I'm hungry. Where's a -good place to get a meal around here?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nowhere," says I, prompt; "not at this season -of the year, with the summer dinin'-room closed. -But, if you'll wait until my assistant gets back, I'll -pilot you down to the Poquit House, where I feed, -and we'll face the wust together."</p> -<p class="pnext">He was willin' to risk it, he said, and we walked -back and set down in the post-office department. As -we left the front door Sim Kelley went out of it, -luggin' his West-End mail box. Peters and I talked. -Seems he hadn't come to the Cape a-purpose to investigate -me, but he had a job at the Bayport office and -had took me in on the way home. After a spell -Mary come back and Peters and I headed for the -Poquit, where the cold fish balls and warmed-over -beans was waitin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">On the way I saw old man Hamilton, Ike's uncle, -totterin' along, headin' to the west'ard this time. I -pointed him out to Peters.</p> -<p class="pnext">"There goes," I says, "one of the fellers that's -trying to knock me out of my job."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" says he; "he looks pretty near -knocked out himself. Why, he's all bent out of -shape."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," I told him. "Ichabod's bent, but he's -far from broke. And a tough old limb like him -stands a lot of bendin'."</p> -<p class="pnext">I was feelin' pretty good. With a square man -like this Peters to look into matters, I cal'lated I'd -be postmaster for a spell yet.</p> -<p class="pnext">But that afternoon, about three o'clock, as we was -inside the mail room, Mary at her desk, and Peters -alongside of her, goin' over the books and papers, -and me smokin' in a chair nigh the delivery window, -Ike Hamilton walked into the store.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Afternoon, Snow," says he, pert and important -as ever, "I understand there's a registered letter -for me. I s'pose it is part of your business to refuse -to give it to the regular carrier and put me to the -trouble of walkin' way down here."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I s'pose 'tis," says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," he says. "Well, if you were as careful -to put your partic'lar friends to the same inconvenience -there might not be as much talk about you and -your handlin' of this office as there is now."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, yes, there would," I told him. "There'd -always be more talk than anything else where you -lived, Ike. Want your letter, do you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He was mad, but he held in pretty well.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I do—if gettin' it won't make you work <em class="italics">too</em> -hard," he says, sarcastic. "I should hate to see you -really work."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," I says, "the sight of work never was a -joy to you, 'cordin' to all accounts. Well, here's -your letter."</p> -<p class="pnext">I reached down to the sortin' table where I'd laid -the letter at noon time—and it wa'n't there.</p> -<p class="pnext">I hunted that table over. "Mary," says I, "did -you put that registered letter of Mr. Hamilton's -away somewheres?"</p> -<p class="pnext">She looked surprised and, it seemed to me, rather -anxious.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why no!" says she; "I haven't touched it."</p> -<p class="pnext">Whew!... Well, there was a lively hunt -in that mail room for the next ten minutes, but it -ended in nothin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">Ike Hamilton's registered letter was <em class="italics">gone</em>!</p> -</div> -<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xvhow-ike-s-loss-turned-out-to-be-my-gain"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id16">CHAPTER XV—HOW IKE'S LOSS TURNED OUT TO BE MY GAIN</a></h2> -<p class="pfirst">There's no use dwelling on unpleasantness. -And there's no use tellin' what Ike Hamilton -said. I'd be liable to the law, if I -did tell it, and, besides, I've been away from seafarin' -so long that my memory for such language ain't as -good as 'twas. Ike wa'n't only mad now: he was -ha'f crazy, and pale and scared-lookin' besides. The -interview ended by my takin' him by the arm and -leadin' him to the door.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You get out of here," I told him, "and I'll leave -this door open so's to sweeten the air after you. -That letter of yours has turned up missin' and I'm -mighty sorry. I'll find it, though, or die a-tryin'. -Meanwhile, unless you can behave like a decent -human bein'—which I doubt—you'll find it turrible -unhealthy for you on these premises. Understand?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I cal'late he understood, for he waited till he was -out of reach afore he answered. Then he turned -and snarled at me like a kicked dog.</p> -<p class="pnext">"By the Almighty, Zeb Snow," he says, "this is -the wust day's work <em class="italics">you</em> ever did! That letter's -wuth hundreds of dollars to me and I'll sue you for -every cent. And, more'n that," he says, "this is the -last straw that'll break your back as postmaster of -this town. <em class="italics">You're</em> done! and don't you forget it!"</p> -<p class="pnext">I wa'n't likely to forget it—not to any consider'ble -extent.</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, all the rest of that day and for the next two -days, Mary and Peters and I hunted high and low -for that letter; but we couldn't find it. I was worried, -Peters was worried, and Mary Blaisdell seemed -the most worried of any of us. Ike Hamilton come -in every few hours, and, though he blustered and -threatened a whole lot, he kept a civil tongue in his -head, rememberin', I cal'late, what I said to him when -I showed him the door. Apparently he hadn't told -any of his cronies about his loss, for nobody else said -a word about it to me. This was queer, for I expected -the news would be all over town by this time.</p> -<p class="pnext">Peters asked a lot of questions and I done my best -to satisfy him. I showed him the exact place where -I laid the letter down afore I went to the front of -the store to meet him, and he remembered, same as -I did, that the door to the mail room was locked -when we come back to it. And we'd stayed in that -room together until Mary came and we went to dinner. -Nobody but Mary and I had keys to the room, -either.</p> -<p class="pnext">Course I thought of Sim Kelley and how mad -he was because I took the letter away from him, -and Peters and I cross-questioned him pretty sharp. -But he told a straight yarn and stuck to it. He -hadn't seen the letter since I took it. He'd delivered -the notice to Ike and Ike had said he'd call -and get the letter that afternoon. Well, all that -seemed to be true, and, besides, there was no way -Sim could have got hold of the thing if he'd wanted -to.</p> -<p class="pnext">"No use," says I, when the questionin' was over -and Sim had cleared out, protestin' injured innocence -and almost cryin'. "No use," says I, "I cal'late -he's tellin' the truth for once in his life. I -guess his skirts are clear."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Maybe so," says Peters. "His story is straight -enough; but he don't look you in the face; I don't -like that."</p> -<p class="pnext">"That's nothin'," I said. "He'd have to get -'round the corner to look a body in the face, as cross-eyed -as he is."</p> -<p class="pnext">Mary Blaisdell spoke up then. "If this letter -shouldn't be found at all, Mr. Peters," says she, -"what effect would it have on Cap'n Zeb's position -as postmaster?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Peters was pretty solemn, and he shook his head.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," he says, "to be perfectly frank with you, -Cap'n, it might have consider'ble effect. From -what I've seen of you and this office, generally -speakin', my report to headquarters would be a very -favorable one. Your records and accounts are -straight and the place is neat and well kept. But -your opponent's petition charges that several letters -have been lost already. This loss comes at a very -bad time and it <em class="italics">might</em> be considered serious."</p> -<p class="pnext">I'd realized all this, but it didn't help me much -to hear him say it. I didn't make any answer, but -Mary asked another question.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But if," she says, slow, "it should turn out that -the Cap'n was not to blame at all? If someone else -had lost that letter? He wouldn't be removed -<em class="italics">then</em>?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"No, certainly not. That is, not if my report -counted for anything."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I see," says she; and she didn't speak to us -again that afternoon. Peters, though, had more -questions to ask. What sort of a letter was this, -anyhow? And did I have any idea what was in it?</p> -<p class="pnext">I told him that I didn't really know much, but, -bein' a Yankee, I was subject to the guessin' habit. -Ike Hamilton had been buyin' stocks up to Boston -and this letter had a broker firm's name printed on -the envelope. My guess was that there was some -certificates, or such, inside.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I see," he says. "That would explain what he -said about its value. So he's been speculatin', hey?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"So Sim Kelley hinted. But where the money -comes from I don't see. Old Ichabod don't furnish -it, I'll bet a dollar. The old critter's got cramps in -the pocketbook worse than he has in his back."</p> -<p class="pnext">"That was the old feller you pointed out to me -the other day," he says. "I haven't seen him since. -Where is he?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Back in bed with the rheumatiz, so I hear. -Guess his cruise down town was too much for him."</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, the rest of our talk didn't amount to much -and I went home that night pretty blue and discouraged. -I didn't care so much about bein' postmaster, -but it hurt my pride to be bounced for bad -seamanship. I'd never wrecked a craft afore in -my life.</p> -<p class="pnext">Next mornin' I come to the store at my usual time, -but Mary was late, for a wonder. When she did -come she looked so pale and used up that I was -troubled.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Mary," says I, "what's the matter? Ain't sick, -are you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, no!" says she. "I—I didn't sleep well, -that's all. I'm all right."</p> -<p class="pnext">"But, Mary," I says, "I—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Please excuse me, Cap'n Zeb," she cut in. -"I'm very busy."</p> -<p class="pnext">She'd never used that tone to me afore, and I was -set back about forty mile. Why she should be so -frosty I couldn't see. I went out to the platform -and paced the quarter deck, thinkin'. I was down -at the heel anyway, and I thought a whole lot of -fool things. I was goin' to lose my job and so I -s'posed that, after all, I'd ought to expect my friends -to shake me. There's a proverb about rats leavin' -a leaky vessel. But Mary Blaisdell!! I cal'late I -come as nigh wishin' I was dead as ever I did in my -life.</p> -<p class="pnext">'Twas almost eleven afore the Peters man showed -up. He was walkin' brisk and smilin' a little.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says I, "you're lookin' a heap more -chipper than I feel. What are you grinnin' about?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, just for instance," he says. "Is Miss -Blaisdell in the office?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Guess so. She was awhile ago. Yes, she's -there. Why?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I want to see her—and you, too. Come on."</p> -<p class="pnext">He led the way to the mail room. Mary was -there, workin' at her books. She looked up when -we come in, and her face was whiter than ever. I -forgot all about my "rat" thoughts and the rest -of it.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Mary," says I, anxious, "you <em class="italics">are</em> under the -weather. Why don't you go home?"</p> -<p class="pnext">She held up her hand and stopped me.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Please don't," she says.</p> -<p class="pnext">Then, turnin' to Peters: "Mr. Peters, I want -to speak to you. And to you, too, Cap'n Zeb. I—I've -got somethin' that I must tell you."</p> -<p class="pnext">'Twa'n't so much what she said as the way she said -it. I looked at Peters and he looked at me. I cal'late -we was both wonderin' what sort of lightnin' -was goin' to strike now.</p> -<p class="pnext">She didn't leave us to wonder long. She went -right on, speakin' quick, as if she wanted to get it -over with.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Mr. Peters," she says, "last night you told me -that, if it should be proved that Cap'n Zeb had no -part in losin' that letter, if it wasn't his fault at all, -the postmastership wouldn't be taken from him. -You meant that, didn't you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Peters looked queer enough. "Why, yes," he -says, "I did. But how—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Mr. Peters," she went on, in the same hurried -way, "<em class="italics">I</em> lost that letter."</p> -<p class="pnext">I don't know what Peters did then, but I know -that my knees give from under me and I flopped -down in the armchair.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You? <em class="italics">You</em>, Mary!" says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">Peters seemed to be as much flabbergasted as I -was. He rubbed his forehead.</p> -<p class="pnext">"<em class="italics">You</em> lost it?" he says, slow.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says she. "That is, I—I destroyed it -by accident. It was while you two were at dinner. -I was clearin' up the sortin' table and—and puttin' -the waste paper in the stove. I—I must have -taken the letter with the other things."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nonsense!" I sung out. Peters didn't say -nothin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nonsense!" I said again. "You don't know -that 'twas—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"But I do," she interrupted. "I—I saw it -burnin' and—and it was too late to get it out. It -was my fault altogether. No one else is to blame -at all."</p> -<p class="pnext">If I hadn't been settin' down already you could -have knocked me over with a feather. 'Twas an -accident, of course; anybody might have done such -a thing; but what I couldn't understand was why she -hadn't told me of it afore. That didn't seem like -her at all.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well!" I says; "<em class="italics">well</em>!"</p> -<p class="pnext">Peters had transferred his rubbin' from his forehead -to his chin.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Miss Blaisdell," says he, quiet, "why didn't you -tell us sooner?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"That's all right," I cut in, quick. "I don't -blame her for not tellin'. I cal'late that she felt so -bad about it that she couldn't make up her mind to -tell right off. That was it, wa'n't it, Mary?"</p> -<p class="pnext">She didn't look up, but sat playin' with a pen-holder.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," she says, "that was it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"All right then," says I. "It was an accident, -and if anybody's to blame it's me. I shouldn't have -left the letter there."</p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">Then</em> she looked up. "Of course you're not to -blame," she says, awful earnest. "It was my fault -entirely. You know it was, Mr. Peters. It was -my fault and I must take the consequences. I will -resign my place as assistant and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Resign!" I sung out. "Resign! Well, I guess -not!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"But I shall. Of course I shall. Mr. Peters, -you see that it wasn't Cap'n Snow's fault, don't you? -<em class="italics">Don't</em> you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says Peters, short.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nonsense!" I roared. "He don't see no such -thing. Mary, I don't care—"</p> -<p class="pnext">She held up her hand. "Please don't talk to me -now," she begged. "Please—not now."</p> -<p class="pnext">I looked at Peters. There was a look in his eyes, -almost as if he was smilin' inside. I could have -punched his head for it.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But, Mary—" I begun.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Please don't talk to me," she begged, almost -cryin'. "Please go away and leave me now. -Please."</p> -<p class="pnext">I cal'late I shouldn't have gone; fact is, I know -I shouldn't; but that government investigator put his -hand on my arm.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Cap'n," he says, "come with me."</p> -<p class="pnext">"With you?" I snapped. "Why?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Because I want you to. It's important. I -won't keep you long."</p> -<p class="pnext">I went, but he'll never know how much I wanted -to kick him. As I shut the door of the mail room -I saw poor Mary's head go down on her arms on -the desk.</p> -<p class="pnext">Peters led me out to the front of the store, where -he come to anchor on a shoe-case.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Set down," says he, pattin' the case alongside -of him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I don't feel like settin'," I says, ugly. "And -I tell you, Mr. Peters—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"No," says he, "I'm goin' to tell <em class="italics">you</em> this time. -Or, if I'm not, the feller I told to be here at half past -eleven will. Yes ... here he comes now."</p> -<p class="pnext">In at the door comes Sim Kelley, and, if ever a -chap looked as if he was marchin' to be hung, he -did. His eyes was red and his face was white under -the freckles.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Here—here I be, Mr. Peters," he stammered.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes, I see you 'be,'" says Peters, dry as a chip. -"All right. Now you can tell Cap'n Snow what you -told me this mornin'."</p> -<p class="pnext">Sim looked at me, and at the government man. -He was shakin' all over.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Aw, Cap'n Zeb," he bust out, "don't be too -hard on me. Don't put me in jail! I know I -hadn't ought to have taken that letter, but you riled -me up when you told me I couldn't be trusted with -it. Ike pays me to fetch the mail. And he told me -he was expectin' an important letter from them stockbrokers. -So I—"</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, there's no use tryin' to spin the yarn the -way he did. 'Twas all mixed up with prayers about -not puttin' him in jail, and what would his ma say, -and "pleases" and "oh, dont's" and such. B'iled -down and skimmed it amounted to this: He'd seen -me lay that Hamilton letter on the sortin' table, saw -it when he come back to tell me that Peters had -arrived. After I'd gone out to the platform he was -struck with an idea. He <em class="italics">would</em> take that letter to -Ike, just to show that he could be trusted, and, besides -Ike had promised him fifty cents for lookin' -out for it and fetchin' it to him direct. He had a -key to the Hamilton box and the letter laid right -back of that box. All he had to do was to reach -through the box to the table, take the letter, and lock -up again. So he did it, and put the letter in his -overcoat inside pocket.</p> -<p class="pnext">"And—and—" he finished up, almost blubberin', -"there was a great big hole in that pocket -and I didn't know it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I did," says I, involuntary, so to speak. -"Never mind. Heave ahead."</p> -<p class="pnext">"And the letter must have dropped out of it. -When I got a little ways up the road I found 'twas -gone. I didn't dast tell Ike or you. I—I didn't -<em class="italics">dast</em> to. Ike would kill me if I told him, and—and—Oh, -please, Cap'n Zeb, don't put me in jail! I -don't know where the letter is. Honest, I don't! -<em class="italics">Please</em> ..." and so on.</p> -<p class="pnext">Peters cut him short. "There!" says he, "that'll -do. Kelley, you go out on the platform and wait -till we need you. Go ahead! Shut up—and -go."</p> -<p class="pnext">Sim went, but I cal'late if we'd listened we could -have heard the platform boards tremblin' underneath -where he was standin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">Peters looked at me and grinned. 'Twas my time -to rub my forehead.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well!" says I. "Well, I—I.... Is he -lyin'?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Didn't act like it, did he?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"No-o, he didn't. But—but, if he took that letter, -how did it get back onto that sortin' table?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"How do you know it did?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"How do I know! Course it got back there! -Didn't Mary say—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Wait a minute," he put in. "How do you explain -that, Cap'n?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He was holdin' out somethin' that he'd took from -his pocket. I grabbed it. 'Twas the regular -receipt for that registered letter, and 'twas signed by -Ichabod Hamilton, Junior.</p> -<p class="pnext">I looked at that receipt and then at him. The -paddin' in my head that, up to then, I'd complimented -by callin' brains was whirlin' as if somebody -was stirrin' it. I couldn't say a word. He laughed -out loud.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Don't have a fit, Cap'n Snow," he says. "It's -simple enough. What you told me yesterday about -the firm of Hamilton and Co. put me wise to the -real answer to the riddle. I remembered that you -pointed out Hamilton to me on the street when you -and I were on the way to that hotel where we dined -the noon of my arrival. He was on his way home -then and he had been somewhere in this vicinity. -There was a chance that he had been here at the -office. This mornin' I went to his house and found -him in bed. He was full of rheumatism and groans, -but fuller still of the Evil One. I told him I knew -he'd got his partner's registered letter—a bluff of -course—and he didn't take the trouble to deny it. -Seems Sim Kelley, with the mail box, passed him -right here by the store platform. As they passed -each other the letter fell from Kelley's overcoat -pocket. The old man picked it up, intendin' to call -to Kelley and give it back to him. When he saw -the address he didn't."</p> -<p class="pnext">He stopped then, waitin' for me to say somethin', -I s'pose. But I couldn't say anything. My head -was fuller of stir-about than ever, and I just stared -at him with my mouth open.</p> -<p class="pnext">"When he saw the address—and the name of -the brokerage firm—he didn't. He took that letter -home and opened it. You see, the old feller is -nobody's fool, even if his rheumatism has kept him -from active business for the last few months. He -had suspected his nephew of speculatin' and here was -the proof, a hundred shares of cheap minin' stock, -and a letter sayin' that two hundred more had been -bought on a margin. Young Hamilton had been -stockjobbin' with the firm's money."</p> -<p class="pnext">"My—soul!" was all I could say.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes; well, old Ichabod is—ha! ha!—a queer -character. His rheumatism had come back and he -was waitin' to get better afore he took the matter -up with his partner. 'What I'll say and do to that -young pup is a well man's job,' he told me. We had -a long talk and it ended in his sendin' for Ike. As -soon as the young chap came I cleared out—that is, -after I got this receipt signed. That bedroom was -too sulphurous for me. I could smell brimstone -even in the front yard. Cap'n, I guess you needn't -worry about your rival candidate for postmaster. -He's got troubles enough of his own."</p> -<p class="pnext">I got up, slow and deliberate, from that shoe-case.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But—but—" I stuttered.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes? Anything that I haven't made clear?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Anything? Why! if all this yarn of yours is -so—.... But it <em class="italics">can't</em> be so! Why did Mary -burn that letter?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"She didn't."</p> -<p class="pnext">"But she said she did."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I know. Well, Cap'n, if you'll remember when -we talked, the three of us, yesterday, I hinted that -unless you were cleared of blame in this affair you -might be removed from office."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I know, but.... Hey? You mean that -she lied and put the blame on herself, so as to save -<em class="italics">me</em>? So's I'd keep my job?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Looks that way to a man up a tree, doesn't it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"But why? Why should she sacrifice herself for—for -me?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Peters bit the end off of a cigar. "That," says -he, "don't come under the head of government business."</p> -<hr class="docutils"/> -<p class="pfirst">Mary was still at her desk when I walked into the -mail room. I put my hand on her shoulder.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Mary," says I, "I know all about it."</p> -<p class="pnext">She looked at me. Her eyes were wet, and I -cal'late mine wa'n't as dry as a sand bank in July.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You know?" she says.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says I. And I told her the yarn. Afore -I got through the color had come back to her cheeks.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Then you did leave it on the sortin' table after -all," she says, almost in a whisper.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Course I did! Didn't I say so?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes; but Cap'n Zeb, I saw you put that letter -in your overcoat pocket. I saw you do it, myself."</p> -<p class="pnext">So there 'twas. I'd forgot to tell her about my -mistake in the overcoats and she thought I'd lost the -letter and didn't know it.</p> -<p class="pnext">"And so," says I, after I'd explained, "you -thought I'd lost it and yet you took the blame all on -yourself. You risked your place and told a lie just -to save me, Mary. Why did you do it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"How could I help it?" she says. "You've been -so good to me and so kind."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Good and kind be keelhauled!" I sung out. -"Mary, my goodness and kindness wouldn't explain -a thing like that. Oh, Mary, don't let's have another -misunderstandin'. I'm crazy maybe to think -of such a thing, and I'm ten years older than you, -and you'll be throwin' yourself away, but, <em class="italics">do</em> you -care enough for me to—"</p> -<p class="pnext">She got up from her desk, all flustered like.</p> -<p class="pnext">"It's mail time," she says. "I—I must—"</p> -<p class="pnext">But 'twa'n't mail I was interested in just then. I -caught her afore she could get away.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Could you, Mary?" I pleaded. She wouldn't -look at me, so I put my hand under her chin and -tipped her head back so I could see her face. 'Twas -as red as a spring peony, and her eyes were wetter -than ever. But they were shinin' behind the fog.</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, about three that afternoon, we were alone -together in the mail room. Peters, who had as much -common sense as anybody ever I see, had gone for -a walk.</p> -<p class="pnext">Mary was thinkin' things over and says she, "But -it was too bad," she says, "that all the worry and -trouble had to come on you just because of that foolish -Sim Kelley. I'm so sorry."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Sorry!" says I. "I'm goin' to give Sim a ten-dollar -bill next time I see him. If I gave him a -million 'twould be a cheap price for what I've got -by his buttin' in. Sorry! <em class="italics">I</em> ain't sorry, I tell you -that!"</p> -<p class="pnext">And I've never been sorry since, either.</p> -</div> -<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xvii-pay-my-other-bet"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id17">CHAPTER XVI—I PAY MY OTHER BET</a></h2> -<p class="pfirst">'Twas June, and Mary and I were in -New York together, on <em class="italics">our</em> honeymoon. -We'd been married, quietly, by the same -parson that tied the knot for Jim and Georgianna, -and Georgianna and Jim had been on hand at the -ceremony. We was cal'latin' to stop in New York -a few days, then go to Washington, and from there -to Chicago, and from there to California or the -Yellerstone, or anywhere that seemed good to us at -the time. I'd waited fifty years for my weddin' -tour and I didn't intend to let dollars and cents cut -much figger, so far as regulatin' the limits of the -cruise was concerned. Jim Henry and the clerk, -who'd been swore in as substitute assistant, believed -they could run the store and post-office while we -were gone.</p> -<p class="pnext">Mary and I were walkin' down Broadway together. -I'd told her I had an errand to do and -asked her if she wanted to come along. She said -she did and we were walkin' down Broadway, as I -said, when all at once I pulled up short.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What is it?" asked Mary, lookin' to see what -had run across my bows to bring me up into the -wind so sudden.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nothin' serious," says I; "but, unless my eyesight -is goin' back on me, this shop we're in front -of is what I've been huntin' for."</p> -<p class="pnext">She looked at the shop I was p'intin' at. The -window was full of hats, straw ones mainly.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why!" says she, "it's a hat store, isn't it? -You don't need a new hat, Zebulon, do you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"You bet I do!" says I, chucklin'. "I need -just as much hat as there is. Come in and watch -me buy it."</p> -<p class="pnext">I could see she was puzzled, but she was more -so after I got into the store. A slick-lookin', but -pretty condescendin' young clerk marched up to us -and says he:</p> -<p class="pnext">"Somethin' in a hat, sir?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes, sir," says I; "<em class="italics">everything</em> in a hat."</p> -<p class="pnext">He didn't know what to make of that, so he tried -again.</p> -<p class="pnext">"One of our new straws, perhaps?" he asks. -"The fifteenth is almost here, you know."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Maybe so," I told him, "but I don't want any -straw, the fifteenth or the sixteenth either. I want -a plug hat, a beaver hat—that's what I want."</p> -<p class="pnext">The clerk was a little set back, I guess, but poor -Mary was all at sea.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, Zebulon!" she whispers, grabbin' me by -the arm, "what are you doin'? You're not goin' -to buy a silk hat!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes, I am," says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But you aren't goin' to <em class="italics">wear</em> it."</p> -<p class="pnext">To save me, when I looked at her face I couldn't -help laughin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Ain't I?" says I. "Why, I think I'd look too -cute for anything in a tall hat. What's your opinion?" -turnin' to the clerk.</p> -<p class="pnext">He coughed behind his hand and then made proclamation -that a silk hat would become me very well, -he was sure.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Then you're a whole lot surer than I am," says -I. "However, trot one out, the best article you've -got in stock."</p> -<p class="pnext">That clerk's back was gettin' limberer every second. -"Yes, sir," says he, bowin'. "Our imported -hat at ten dollars is the finest in New York. -If you and the lady will step this way, please."</p> -<p class="pnext">We stepped; that is, I did. I pretty nigh had to -<em class="italics">drag</em> Mary.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What size, sir?" asked the clerk.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, I don't know," says I. "Any nice genteel -size will do, I guess."</p> -<p class="pnext">I had consider'ble fun with that clerk, fust and -last, and when we came out of that store I was -luggin' a fine leather box with the imported tall hat -inside it. I'd made arrangements that, if the size -shouldn't be right, it could be exchanged.</p> -<p class="pnext">"And now, Mary," says I, "I cal'late you're -wonderin' where we'll go next, ain't you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">She looked at me and shook her head.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Zeb," she says, half laughin', "I—I'm almost -afraid we ought to go to the insane asylum."</p> -<p class="pnext">I laughed out loud then. "Not just yet," I told -her. "We're goin' on a cruise down South Street -fust."</p> -<p class="pnext">So I hired a hack—street cars ain't good enough -for a man on his weddin' trip—and the feller drove -us to the number I give him on South Street. The -old place looked mighty familiar.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Is Mr. Pike in?" I asked the bookkeeper, who -had hollered my name out as if he was glad to see -me.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, yes, Cap'n Snow, he's in. I'll tell him -you're here."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Wait a minute," says I. "Is he alone? -Good! Then I'll tell him myself. Come, Mary."</p> -<p class="pnext">Pike was in his private office, not lookin' a day -older than when I left him four years and a half -ago. He looked up, jumped, and then grabbed -me by both hands. "Why, Cap'n Zeb!" he sung -out. "If this isn't good for sore eyes. How are -you? What are you doin' here in New York? By -George, I'm glad to see you! What—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Wait!" I interrupted. "Business fust, and -pleasure afterwards. I'm here to pay my debts."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Debts?" says he, wonderin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," I says. "Did you get a hat from me -four year or so ago?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He laughed. "Yes, I did," he says. "I wrote -you that I did. I knew I should win that bet. You -couldn't stay idle to save your soul."</p> -<p class="pnext">"There was another bet, too, if you recollect. -A bet with a five-year limit on it. The limit won't -be up till next fall, so here I am—and here's the -other hat."</p> -<p class="pnext">I set the leather box on the table. He stared at -it and then at me.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What do you mean?" he says, slow. "I don't -remember.... Why, yes—I do! You don't -mean to tell me that you're—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"That's the hat, ain't it?" I cut in. "You're a -man of judgment, Mr. Pike, and any time you want -to set up professionally as a prophet I'd like to take -stock in the company."</p> -<p class="pnext">He was beginnin' to smile.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Then—" says he—"Why, then this must -be—"</p> -<p class="pnext">I cut in and stopped him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hold on," says I. "Hold on! I'm prouder -to be able to say it than I ever was of anything else -in this world, and I sha'n't let you say it fust. Mr. -Pike, let me introduce you to my wife—Mrs. Zebulon -Snow."</p> -<p class="pnext">About half an hour afterwards he found time to -look at the hat.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Whew!" says he. "Cap'n, this is much too -good a hat for you to buy for me. I'm mighty glad, -for your sake, that I won the bet, but—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Ssh-h! shh!" says I. "Don't say another -word. Think of what <em class="italics">I</em> won! Hey, Mary?"</p> -<div class="center level-3 section" id="the-end"> -<h3 class="level-3 pfirst section-title title">THE END</h3> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 5em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst" id="pg-end-line">*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POSTMASTER ***</p> -<div class="backmatter"> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div class="language-en level-2 pgfooter section" xml:lang="en" id="a-word-from-project-gutenberg"> -<span id="pg-footer"/><h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title">A Word from Project Gutenberg</h2> -<p class="pfirst">We will update this book if we find any errors.</p> -<p class="pnext">This book can be found under: <a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37482">http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37482</a></p> -<p class="pnext">Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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-
-.. meta::
- :PG.Id: 37482
- :PG.Title: The Postmaster
- :PG.Released: 2011-09-19
- :PG.Rights: Public Domain
- :PG.Producer: Roger Frank
- :PG.Producer: Mary Meehan
- :PG.Producer: the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
- :PG.Credits:
- :DC.Creator: Joseph C. Lincoln
- :MARCREL.ill: Howard Heath
- :DC.Title: The Postmaster
- :DC.Language: en
- :DC.Created: 1912
-
-.. role:: small-caps
- :class: small-caps
-
-==============
-THE POSTMASTER
-==============
-
-.. _pg-header:
-
-.. container:: pgheader language-en
-
- .. style:: paragraph
- :class: noindent
-
- 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
- http://www.gutenberg.org/license.
-
-
-
- |
-
- .. _pg-machine-header:
-
- .. container::
-
- Title: The Postmaster
-
- Author: Joseph C. Lincoln
-
- Release Date: September 19, 2011 [EBook #37482]
-
- Language: English
-
- Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
- |
-
- .. _pg-start-line:
-
- \*\*\* START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POSTMASTER \*\*\*
-
- |
- |
- |
- |
-
- .. _pg-produced-by:
-
- .. container::
-
- Produced by Roger Frank, Mary Meehan, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net.
-
- |
-
-
-
-
-.. class:: center x-large
-
- | BY JOSEPH C. LINCOLN
-
-.. class:: center large
-
- | Author of "The Depot Master," "Cap'n Warrens Wards,"
- | "Cap'n Eri," "Mr. Pratt," etc.
-
- | :small-caps:`With Four Illustrations`
- | :small-caps:`By` HOWARD HEATH
-
- | A. L. BURT COMPANY
- | :small-caps:`Publishers New York`
-
- | :small-caps:`Copyright, 1912, by`
- | D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
-
- | Copyright, 1911, 1912, by the Curtis Publishing Company
- | Copyright, 1911, 1912, by the Ainslee Magazine Company
- | Copyright, 1912, by the Ridgeway Company
-
- | Published, April, 1912
-
- | Printed in the United States of America
-
-----
-
-.. figure:: images/illus1.jpg
- :align: center
- :alt: Seems to me I never saw her look prettier.
-
- Seems to me I never saw her look prettier.
-
-----
-
-.. contents:: CONTENTS
- :depth: 1
- :backlinks: entry
-
-
-----
-
-.. class:: center larger
-
-THE POSTMASTER
-
-----
-
-
-
-CHAPTER I—I MAKE TWO BETS—AND LOSE ONE OF 'EM
-=============================================
-
-
-"So you're through with the sea for good, are you,
-Cap'n Zeb," says Mr. Pike.
-
-"You bet!" says I. "Through for good
-is just *what* I am."
-
-"Well, I'm sorry, for the firm's sake," he says.
-"It won't seem natural for the *Fair Breeze* to make
-port without you in command. Cap'n, you're goin'
-to miss the old schooner."
-
-"Cal'late I shall—some—along at fust," I told
-him. "But I'll get over it, same as the cat got
-over missin' the canary bird's singin'; and I'll have
-the cat's consolation—that I done what seemed
-best for me."
-
-He laughed. He and I were good friends, even
-though he was ship-owner and I was only skipper,
-just retired.
-
-"So you're goin' back to Ostable?" he says.
-"What are you goin' to do after you get there?"
-
-"Nothin'; thank you very much," says I, prompt.
-
-"No work at *all*?" he says, surprised. "Not a
-hand's turn? Goin' to be a gentleman of leisure,
-hey?"
-
-"Nigh as I can, with my trainin'. The 'leisure'
-part'll be all right, anyway."
-
-He shook his head and laughed again.
-
-"I think I see you," says he. "Cap'n, you've
-been too busy all your life even to get married,
-and—"
-
-"Humph!" I cut in. "Most married men I've
-met have been a good deal busier than ever I was.
-And a good deal more worried when business was
-dull. No, sir-ee! 'twa'n't that that kept me from
-gettin' married. I've been figgerin' on the day
-when I could go home and settle down. If I'd
-had a wife all these years I'd have been figgerin'
-on bein' able to settle up. I ain't goin' to Ostable
-to get married."
-
-"I'll bet you do, just the same," says he.
-"And I'll bet you somethin' else: I'll bet a new
-hat, the best one I can buy, that inside of a year
-you'll be head over heels in some sort of hard
-work. It may not be seafarin', but it'll be somethin'
-to keep you busy. You're too good a man
-to rust in the scrap heap. Come! I'll bet the hat.
-What do you say?"
-
-"Take you," says I, quick. "And if you want
-to risk another on my marryin', I'll take that, too."
-
-"Go you," says he. "You'll be married inside
-of three years—or five, anyway."
-
-"One year that I'll be at work—steady work—and
-five that I'm married. You're shipped,
-both ways. And I wear a seven and a quarter,
-soft hat, black preferred."
-
-"If I don't win the first bet I will the second,
-sure," he says, confident. "'Satan finds some mischief
-still for idle hands,' you know. Well, good-by,
-and good luck. Come in and see us whenever
-you get to New York."
-
-We shook hands, and I walked out of that office,
-the office that had been my home port ever
-since I graduated from fust mate to skipper. And
-on the way to the Fall River boat I vowed my vow
-over and over again.
-
-"Zebulon Snow," I says to myself—not out
-loud, you understand; for, accordin' to Scriptur' or
-the Old Farmers' Almanac or somethin', a feller
-who talks to himself is either rich or crazy and,
-though I was well enough fixed to keep the wolf
-from the door, I wa'n't by no means so crazy as to
-leave the door open and take chances—"Zebulon
-Snow," says I, "you're forty-eight year old and
-blessedly single. All your life you've been haulin'
-ropes, or bossin' fo'mast hands, or tryin' to make
-harbor in a fog. Now that you've got an anchor
-to wind'ard—now that the one talent you put under
-the stock exchange napkin has spread out so
-that you have to have a tablecloth to tote it home
-in, don't you be a fool. Don't plant it again, cal'latin'
-to fill a mains'l next time, 'cause you won't
-do it. Take what you've got and be thankful—and
-careful. You go ashore at Ostable, where you
-was born, and settle down and be somebody."
-
-That's about what I said to myself, and that's
-what I started to do. I made Ostable on the next
-mornin's train. The town had changed a whole
-lot since I left it, mainly on account of so many
-summer folks buyin' and buildin' everywhere, especially
-along the water front. The few reg'lar inhabitants
-that I knew seemed to be glad to see me,
-which I took as a sort of compliment, for it don't
-always foller by a consider'ble sight. I got into
-the depot wagon—the same horse was drawin' it,
-I judged, that Eben Hendricks had bought when
-I was a boy—and asked to be carted to the Travelers'
-Inn. It appeared that there wa'n't any
-Travelers' Inn now, that is to say, the name of it
-had been changed to the Poquit House; "Poquit"
-bein' Injun or Portygee or somethin' foreign.
-
-But the name was the only thing about that hotel
-that was changed. The grub was the same and the
-wallpaper on the rooms they showed to me looked
-about the same age as I was, and wa'n't enough
-handsomer to count, either. I hired a couple of
-them rooms, one to sleep in and smoke in, and
-t'other to entertain the parson in, if he should call,
-which—unless the profession had changed, too—I
-judged he would do pretty quick. I had the
-rooms cleaned and papered, bought some dyspepsy
-medicine to offset the meals I was likely to have,
-and settled down to be what Mr. Pike had called a
-"gentleman of leisure."
-
-Fust three months 'twas fine. At the end of the
-second three it commenced to get a little mite dull.
-In about two more I found my mind was shrinkin'
-so that the little mean cat-talks at the breakfast
-table was beginnin' to seem interestin' and important.
-Then I knew 'twas time to doctor up with somethin'
-besides dyspepsy pills. Ossification was settin'
-in and I'd got to do somethin' to keep me interested,
-even if I paid for Pike's hats for the next
-generation.
-
-You see, there was such a sameness to the programme.
-Turn out in the mornin', eat and listen
-to gossip, go out and take a walk, smoke, talk with
-folks I met—more gossip—come back and eat
-again, go over and watch the carpenters on the
-latest summer cottage, smoke some more, eat some
-more, and then go down to the Ostable Grocery,
-Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods
-Store, or to the post-office, and set around with the
-gang till bedtime. That may be an excitin' life for
-a jellyfish, or a reg'lar Ostable loafer—but it
-didn't suit me.
-
-I was feelin' that way, and pretty desperate, the
-night when Winthrop Adams Beanblossom—which
-wa'n't the critter's name but is nigh enough to the
-real one for him to cruise under in this yarn—told
-me the story of his life and started me on the v'yage
-that come to mean so much to me. I didn't know
-'twas goin' to mean much of anything when I
-started in. But that night Winthrop got me to paddlin',
-so's to speak, and, later on, come Jim Henry
-Jacobs to coax me into deeper water; and, after
-that, the combination of them two and Miss Letitia
-Lee Pendlebury shoved me in all under, so 'twas a
-case of stickin' to it or swimmin' or drownin'.
-
-I was in the Ostable Store that evenin', as usual.
-'Twas almost nine o'clock and the rest of the
-bunch around the stove had gone home. I was
-fillin' my pipe and cal'latin' to go, too—if you can
-call a tavern like the Poquit House a home. Beanblossom
-was in behind the desk, his funny little grizzly-gray
-head down over a pile of account books
-and papers, his specs roostin' on the end of his thin
-nose, and his pen scratchin' away like a stray hen in
-a flower bed.
-
-"Well, Beanblossom," says I, gettin' up and
-stretchin', "I cal'late it's time to shed the partin'
-tear. I'll leave you to figger out whether to spend
-this week's profits in government bonds or trips to
-Europe and go and lay my weary bones in the tomb,
-meanin' my private vault on the second floor of the
-Poquit. Adieu, Beanblossom," I says; "remember
-me at my best, won't you?"
-
-He didn't seem to sense what I was drivin' at.
-He lifted his head out of the books and papers,
-heaved a sigh that must have started somewheres
-down along his keelson, and says, sorrowful but polite—he
-was always polite—"Er—yes? You
-were addressin' me, Cap'n Snow?"
-
-"Nothin' in particular," I says. "I was just
-askin' if you intended spendin' your profits on a trip
-to Europe this summer."
-
-Would you believe it, that little storekeepin' man
-looked at me through his specs, his pale face twitchin'
-and workin' like a youngster's when he's tryin'
-not to cry, and then, all to once, he broke right
-down, leaned his head on his hands and sobbed out
-loud.
-
-I looked at him. "For the dear land sakes,"
-I sung out, soon's I could collect sense enough to say
-anything, "what is the matter? Is anybody dead
-or—"
-
-He groaned. "Dead?" he interrupted. "I
-wish to heaven, I was dead."
-
-"Well!" I gasps. "*Well!*"
-
-"Oh, why," says he, "was I ever born?"
-
-That bein' a question that I didn't feel competent
-to answer, I didn't try. My remark about
-goin' to Europe was intended for a joke, but if my
-jokes made grown-up folks cry I cal'lated 'twas time
-I turned serious.
-
-"What *is* the matter, Beanblossom?" I says.
-"Are you in trouble?"
-
-For a spell he wouldn't answer, just kept on sobbin'
-and wringin' his thin hands, but, after consider'ble
-of such, and a good many unsatisfyin' remarks,
-he give in and told me the whole yarn, told
-me all his troubles. They were complicated and
-various.
-
-Picked over and b'iled down they amounted to
-this: He used to have an income and he lived on
-it—in bachelor quarters up to Boston. Nigh as I
-could gather he never did any real work except to
-putter in libraries and collect books and such.
-Then, somehow or other, the bank the heft of his
-money was in broke up and his health broke down.
-The doctors said he must go away into the country.
-He couldn't afford to go and do nothin', so he
-has a wonderful inspiration—he'll buy a little store
-in what he called a "rural community" and go into
-business. He advertises, "Country Store Wanted
-Cheap," or words to that effect. Abial Beasley's
-widow had the "Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots
-and Shoes and Fancy Goods Store" on her hands.
-She answers the ad and they make a dicker. Said
-dicker took about all the cash Beanblossom had left.
-For a year he had been fightin' along tryin' to make
-both ends meet, but now they was so fur apart they
-was likely to meet on the back stretch. He owed
-'most a thousand dollars, his trade was fallin' off,
-he hadn't a cent and nobody to turn to. What
-should he do? *What* should he do?
-
-That was another question I couldn't answer off
-hand. It was plain enough why he was in the hole
-he was, but how to get him out was different. I set
-down on the edge of the counter, swung my legs
-and tried to think.
-
-"Hum," says I, "you don't know much about
-keepin' store, do you, Beanblossom? Didn't know
-nothin' about it when you started in?"
-
-He shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Cap'n
-Snow," he says. "Why should I? I never was
-obliged to labor. I was not interested in trade. I
-never supposed I should be brought to this. I am
-a man of family, Cap'n Snow."
-
-"Yes," I says, "so'm I. Number eight in a family
-of thirteen. But that never helped me none.
-My experience is that you can't count much on your
-relations."
-
-Would I pardon him, but that was not the sense
-in which he had used the word "family." He
-meant that he came of the best blood in New
-England. His ancestors had made their marks and—
-
-"Made their marks!" I put in. "Why?
-Couldn't they write their names?"
-
-He was dreadful shocked, but he explained. The
-Beanblossoms and their gang were big-bugs, fine
-folks. He was terrible proud of his family. During
-the latter part of his life in Boston he had become
-interested in genealogy. He had begun a
-"family tree"—whatever that was—but he never
-finished it. The smash came and shook him out of
-the branches; that wa'n't what he said, but 'twas the
-way I sensed it. And now he had come to this.
-His money was gone; he couldn't pay his debts; he
-couldn't have any more credit. He must fail; he
-was bankrupt. Oh, the disgrace! and likewise oh,
-the poorhouse!
-
-"But," says I, considerin', "it can't be so turrible
-bad. You don't owe but a thousand dollars,
-this store's the only one in town and Abial used to
-do pretty well with it. If your debts was paid, and
-you had a little cash to stock up with, seems to me
-you might make a decent v'yage yet. Couldn't
-you?"
-
-He didn't know. Perhaps he could. But what
-was the use of talkin' that way? For him to pick
-up a thousand would be about as easy as for a paralyzed
-man with boxin' gloves on to pick up a flea,
-or words to that effect. No, no, 'twas no use! he
-must go to the poorhouse! and so forth and so on.
-
-"You hold on," I says. "Don't you engage
-your poorhouse berth yet. You keep mum and say
-nothin' to nobody and let me think this over a
-spell. I need somethin' to keep me interested and ... I'll
-see you to-morrow sometime. Good
-night."
-
-I went home thinkin' and I thought till pretty
-nigh one o'clock. Then I decided I was a fool even
-to think for five minutes. Hadn't I sworn to be
-careful and never take another risk? I was sorry
-for poor old Winthrop, but I couldn't afford to mix
-pity and good legal tender; that was the sort of
-blue and yeller drink that filled the poor-debtors'
-courts. And, besides, wasn't I pridin' myself on
-bein' a gentleman of leisure. If I got mixed up in
-this, no tellin' what I might be led into. Hadn't I
-bragged to Pike about—Oh, I *was* a fool!
-
-Which was all right, only, after listenin' to the
-breakfast conversation at the Poquit House, down
-I goes to the store and afore the forenoon was over
-I was Winthrop Adams Beanblossom's silent partner
-to the extent of twenty-five hundred dollars. I
-was busy once more and glad of it, even though
-Pike *was* goin' to get a hat free.
-
-This was in January. By early March I was
-twice as busy and not half as glad. You see I'd
-cal'lated that the store was all right, all it needed
-was financin'. Trade was just asleep, taking a nap,
-and I could wake it up. I was wrong. Trade was
-dead, and, barrin' the comin' of a prophet or some
-miracle worker to fetch it to life, what that shop
-was really sufferin' for was an undertaker. My
-twenty-five hundred was funeral expenses, that's all.
-
-But the prophet came. Yes, sir, he came and
-fetched his miracle with him. One evenin', after
-all the reg'lar customers, who set around in chairs
-borrowin' our genuine tobacco and payin' for it
-with counterfeit funny stories, had gone—after
-everybody, as we cal'lated, had cleared out—Beanblossom
-and I set down to hold our usual autopsy
-over the remains of the fortni't's trade. 'Twas a
-small corpse and didn't take long to dissect. We'd
-lost twenty-one dollars and sixty-eight cents, and
-the only comfort in that was that 'twas seventy-six
-cents less than the two weeks previous. The
-weather had been some cooler and less stuff had
-sp'iled on our hands; that accounted for the savin'.
-
-Beanblossom—I'd got into the habit of callin'
-him "Pullet" 'cause his general build was so similar
-to a moultin' chicken—he vowed he couldn't
-understand it.
-
-"I think I shall give up buyin' so liberally, Cap'n
-Snow," says he. "If we didn't keep on buyin' we
-shouldn't lose half so much," he says.
-
-"Yes," says I, "that's logic. And if we give up
-sellin' we shouldn't lose the other half. You and
-me are all right as fur as we go, Pullet, and I guess
-we've gone about as fur as we can."
-
-"Please don't call me 'Pullet,'" he says, dignified.
-"When I think of what I once was, it—"
-
-"S-sh-h!" I broke in. "It's what I am that troubles
-me. I don't dare think of that when the minister's
-around—he might be a mind-reader. No,
-Pul—Beanblossom, I mean—it's no use. I imagined
-because I could run a three-masted
-schooner I could navigate this craft. I can't. I
-know twice as much as you do about keepin' store,
-but the trouble with that example is the answer,
-which is that you don't know nothin'. We might
-just exactly as well shut up shop now, while there's
-enough left to square the outstandin' debts."
-
-He turned white and began the hand-wringin'
-exercise.
-
-"Think of the disgrace!" he says.
-
-"Think of my twenty-five hundred," says I.
-
-"Excuse me, gentlemen," says a voice astern of
-us; "excuse me for buttin' in; but I judge that what
-you need is a butter."
-
-Pullet and I jumped and turned round. We'd
-supposed we was alone and to say we was surprised
-is puttin' it mild. For a second I couldn't make out
-what had happened, or where the voice came from,
-or who 'twas that had spoke—then, as he come
-across into the lamplight I recognized him. 'Twas
-Jim Henry Jacobs, the livin' mystery.
-
-.. figure:: images/illus2.jpg
- :align: center
- :alt: As he come across into the lamplight I recognized him.
-
- As he come across into the lamplight I recognized him.
-
-Jim Henry was middlin'-sized, sharp-faced,
-dressed like a ready-tailored advertisement, and as
-smooth and slick as an eel in a barrel of sweet ile.
-Accordin' to his entry on the books of the Poquit
-House he hailed from Chicago. He'd been in Ostable
-for pretty nigh a month and nobody had been
-able to find out any more about him than just that,
-which is a some miracle of itself—if you know
-Ostable. He was always ready to talk—talkin'
-was one of his main holts—but when you got
-through talkin' with him all you had to remember
-was a smile and a flow of words. He was at the
-seashore for his health, that he always give you to
-understand. You could believe it if you wanted
-to.
-
-He'd got into the habit of spendin' his evenin's
-at Pullet's store, settin' around listenin' and smilin'
-and agreein' with folks. He was the only feller
-I ever met who could say no and agree with you
-at the same time. Solon Saunders tried to borrow
-fifty cents of him once and when the pair of 'em
-parted, Saunders was scratchin' his head and lookin'
-puzzled. "I can't understand it," says Solon. "I
-would have swore he'd lent it to me. 'Twas just
-as if I had the fifty in my hand. I—I thanked
-him for it and all that, but—but now he's gone I
-don't seem to be no richer than when I started. I
-can't understand it."
-
-Pullet and I had seen him settin' abaft the stove
-early in the evenin', but, somehow or other, we got
-the notion that he'd cleared out with the other
-loafers. However, he hadn't, and he'd heard all
-we'd been sayin'.
-
-He walked across to where we was, pulled a shoe
-box from under the counter, come to anchor on it
-and crossed his legs.
-
-"Gentlemen," he says again, "you need a butter."
-
-Poor old Pullet was so set back his brains was
-sort of scrambled, like a pan of eggs.
-
-"Er-er, Mr. Jacobs," he says, "I am very
-sorry, extremely sorry, but we are all out just at
-this minute. I fully intended to order some to-day,
-but I—I guess I must have forgotten it."
-
-Jacobs couldn't seem to make any more out of
-this than I did.
-
-"Out?" he says, wonderin'. "Out? Who's
-out? What's out? I guess I've dropped the key
-or lost the combination. What's the answer?"
-
-"Why, butter," says Pullet, apologizin'. "You
-asked for butter, didn't you? As I was sayin', I
-should have ordered some to-day, but—"
-
-Jim Henry waved his hands. "Sh-h," he says,
-"don't mention it. Forget it. If I'd wanted butter
-in this emporium I should have asked for somethin'
-else. I've been givin' this mart of trade some
-attention for the past three weeks and I judge that
-its specialty is bein' able to supply what ain't wanted.
-I hinted that you two needed a butter-in. All
-right. I'm the goat. Now if you'll kindly give
-me your attention, I'll elucidate."
-
-We give the attention. After he'd "elucidated"
-for five minutes we'd have given him our clothes.
-You never heard such a mess of language as that
-Chicago man turned loose. He talked and talked
-and talked. He knew all about the store and the
-business, and what he didn't know he guessed and
-guessed right. He knew about Pullet and his buyin'
-the place, about my goin' in as silent partner—though
-*that* nobody was supposed to know. He
-knew the shebang wa'n't payin' and, also and moreover,
-he knew why. And he had the remedy buttoned
-up in his jacket—the name of it was James
-Henry Jacobs.
-
-"Gentlemen," he says, "I'm a specialist. I'm a
-doctor of sick business. Ever since my medicine
-man ordered me to quit the giddy metropolis and
-the Grand Central Department Store, where I was
-third assistant manager, I've been driftin' about
-seekin' a nice, quiet hamlet and an opportunity.
-Here's the ham and, if you say the word, here's
-the opportunity. This shop is in a decline; it's got
-creepin' paralysis and locomotive hang-back-tia.
-There's only one thing that can change the funeral
-to a silver weddin'—that's to call in Old Doctor
-Jacobs. Here he is, with his pocket full of testimonials.
-Now you listen."
-
-We'd been listenin'—'twas by long odds the
-easiest thing to do—and we kept right on. He
-had testimonials—he showed 'em to us—and they
-took oath to his bein' honest and the eighth business
-wonder of the world. He went on to elaborate.
-He had a thousand to invest and he'd invest it provided
-we'd take him in as manager and give him
-full swing. He'd guarantee—etcetery and so on,
-unlimited and eternal.
-
-"But," says I, when he stopped to eat a throat
-lozenge, "sellin' goods is one thing; gettin' the
-right goods to sell is another. Me and Pullet—Mr.
-Beanblossom here—have tried to keep a pretty
-fair-sized stock, but it's the kind of stock that keeps
-better'n it sells."
-
-"Sell!" he puts in. "You can sell anything, if
-you know how. See here, let me prove it to you.
-You think this over to-night and to-morrow forenoon
-I'll be on hand and demonstrate. Just put on
-your smoked glasses and watch me. *I'll* show you."
-
-He did. Next mornin' old Aunt Sarah Oliver
-came in to buy a hank of black yarn to darn stockin's
-with. With diplomacy and patience the average
-feller could conclude that dicker in an hour and
-a quarter—if he had the yarn. Pullet was just
-out of black, of course, but that Jim Henry Jacobs
-stepped alongside and within twenty minutes he sold
-Aunt Sarah two packages of needles, a brass thimble
-and a half dozen pair of blue and yellow striped
-stockin's that had been on the shelves since Abial
-Beasley's time, and was so loud that a sane person
-wouldn't dare wear 'em except when it thundered.
-She went out of the store with her bundles in one
-hand and holdin' her head with the other. Then
-that Jim Henry man turned to Pullet and me.
-
-"Well?" he says, serene and smilin'.
-
-It was well, all right. At just quarter to twelve
-that night the arrangements was made. Jacobs was
-partner in and manager of the "Ostable Grocery,
-Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods
-Store."
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER II—WHAT A "PULLET" DID TO A PEDIGREE
-============================================
-
-
-In less than two months that store of ours was
-a payin' proposition. Jim Henry Jacobs was
-responsible, that is all I can tell you. Don't
-ask me how he did it. 'Twas advertisin', mainly.
-Advertisin' in the papers, advertisin' on the fences,
-things set out in the windows, a new gaudy delivery
-cart, special bargain days for special stuff—they all
-helped. Of course if we'd limited ourselves to
-Ostable the cargo wouldn't have been so heavy that
-we'd get stoop-shouldered, but that Jim Henry was
-unlimited. He advertised in the county weekly and
-sent a special cart to take orders for twenty mile
-around. The early summer cottages was beginnin'
-to open and 'twas summer trade, rich city
-folks' trade, that the Jacobs man said we must have.
-And we got it, one way or another we got it all.
-Most of the swell big-bugs had been in the habit
-of orderin' wholesale from Boston, but he soon
-stopped that. One after another Jim Henry
-landed 'em. When I asked him how, he just
-winked.
-
-"Skipper," says he—he most generally called
-me "Skipper" same as I called Beanblossom "Pullet"—"Skipper,"
-he says, "you can always hook
-a cod if there's any around and you keepin' changin'
-bait; ain't that so? Um-hm; well, I change bait,
-that's all. Every man, woman and suffragette has
-got a weak p'int somewheres. I just cast around
-till I find that particular weak p'int; then they swaller
-hook, line and sinker."
-
-"Humph!" I says, "Miss Letitia ain't swallowed
-nothin' yet, that I've noticed. Her weak
-p'ints all strong ones? or what is the matter?"
-
-He made a face. "Sister Pendlebury," says he,
-"is the frostiest proposition I ever tackled outside
-of an ice chest. But I'll get her yet. You wait and
-see. Why, man, we've *got* to get her."
-
-Well, I could find more truth in them statements
-than I could satisfaction. We'd got to get her—yes.
-But she wouldn't be got. She was the richest
-old maid on the North Shore; lived in a stone
-and plaster house bigger'n the Ostable County jail,
-which she'd labeled "Pendlebury Villa"; had six
-servants, three cats and a poll parrot; and was so
-tipped back with dignity and importance that a
-plumb-line dropped from her after-hair comb would
-have missed her heels by three inches. Her winter
-port was Brookline; summers she condescended to
-shed glory over Ostable.
-
-To get the trade of Pendlebury Villa had been
-Jim Henry's dream from the start. And up to date
-he was still dreamin'. The other big-bugs he had
-caged, but Letitia was still flyin' free and importin'
-her honey from Boston, so to speak. Jacobs had
-tried everything he could think of, bribin' the servants,
-sendin' samples of fancy breakfast food and
-pickles free gratis, writin' letters, callin' with his
-Sunday clothes on, everything—but 'twas "Keep
-Off the Grass" at Pendlebury Villa so far as we
-was concerned. 'Twas the biggest chunk of trade
-under one head on the Cape and it hurt Jim Henry's
-pride not to get it. However, he kept on tryin'.
-
-One mornin' he comes back to the store after a
-cruise to the Villa and it seemed to me that he
-looked happier than was usual after one of these
-trips.
-
-"Skipper," says he, "I think—I wouldn't bet
-any more'n my small change, but I *think* I've laid
-a corner stone."
-
-"With Miss Pendlebury?" says I, excited.
-
-"With Letitia," he says, noddin'. "I haven't
-got an order, but I have got a promise. She's
-agreed to drop in one of these days and look us
-over."
-
-"Well!" says I, "I should say that *was* a corner
-stone."
-
-"We'll hope 'tis," he says. "Ho, ho! Skipper,
-I wish you might have been present at the exercises.
-They were funny."
-
-Seems he'd managed—bribery and corruption of
-the hired help again—to see Letitia alone in what
-she called her "mornin' room." He said that, if
-he'd paid any attention to the temperature of that
-room when he and she first met in it, he'd have figgered
-he'd struck the morgue; but he warmed it up a
-little afore he left. Miss Pendlebury just set and
-glared frosty while he talked and talked and talked.
-She said about three words to his two hundred
-thousand, but every one of hers was a "no." She
-didn't care to patronize the local merchants. The
-city ones were bad enough—she had all the trouble
-she wanted with *them*. She was not interested;
-and would he please be careful when he went out
-and not step on the flower beds.
-
-He was about ready to give it up when he
-happened to notice an ile portrait in a gorgeous gold
-frame hangin' on the wall. 'Twas the picture of
-a man, and Jim Henry said there was a kind of great-I-am
-look to it, a combination of fatness and importance
-and wisdom, same as you see in a stuffed
-owl, that give him an idea. He started to go,
-stopped in front of the picture and began to look
-it over, admirin' but reverent, same as a garter
-snake might look at a boa-constrictor, as proof of
-what the race was capable of.
-
-"Excuse me, Miss Pendlebury," he says, "but
-that is a wonderful portrait. I have had some experience
-in judgin' paintin's—" he was clerk in the
-Grand Central Store framed picture department once—"and
-I think I know what I'm talkin' about."
-
-Would you believe it, she commenced to unbend
-right off.
-
-"It is a Sargent," says she.
-
-Now I should have asked: "Sergeant of militia,
-or what?" and upset the whole calabash; but
-Jim Henry knew better. He bows, solemn and wise,
-and says he'd been sure of it right along.
-
-"But any painter," he says, "would have made
-a success with a subject like that gentleman before
-him. There is somethin' about him, the height of
-his brow, and his wonderful eyes, etcetery, which
-reminds me—You'll excuse me, Miss Pendlebury,
-but isn't that a portrait of one of your near relatives?"
-
-She unbent some more and almost smiled. The
-painted critter was her pa and he was considered
-a wonderful likeness.
-
-Well, that was enough for your uncle Jim Henry.
-He settled down to his job then and the way he
-poured gush over that painted Pendlebury man was
-close to sacreligion. But Letitia never pumped up
-a blush; worship was what she expected for her
-and her pa. He'd been a member of the
-Governor's staff and a bank president and a church
-warden and an alderman and land knows what.
-His daughter and Jacobs had a real sociable interview
-and it ended by her promisin' to drop in at the
-store and look our stock over. 'Course 'twa'n't
-likely 'twould suit her—she was very exacting, she
-said—but she'd look it over.
-
-We looked it over fust. We put in the rest of
-that day changin' everything around on the counters
-and shelves, puttin' the canned stuff in piles
-where they'd do the most good, and settin' advertisin'
-signs and such in front of the empty places
-where they'd been afore. Even Pullet worked,
-though he couldn't understand it, and growled because
-he had to leave the musty old book he was
-readin' and the "genealogical tree" he'd begun to
-cultivate once more. Jacobs was pretty well disgusted
-with Pullet. Said he was an incumbrance
-on the concern and hadn't any business instinct.
-
-All the next day and the next we hung around,
-dressed up to kill—that is, Jim Henry's togs would
-have killed anything with weak eyes—waitin' for
-Letitia Pendlebury to come aboard and inspect.
-But she didn't come that day, or the next either.
-Jacobs was disapp'inted, but he wouldn't give in
-that he was discouraged. The fourth forenoon,
-when there was still nothin' doin', he and I went
-on a cruise with a hired horse and buggy over to
-Bayport, where we had some business. We left
-Pullet in charge of the store and when we came back
-he was lookin' pretty joyful.
-
-"Who do you think has been here?" he says,
-in his thin, polite little voice. "Miss Letitia Pendlebury
-called this afternoon."
-
-"She did!" shouts Jacobs.
-
-"Did she buy anythin'?" I wanted to know.
-
-No, it appeared that she hadn't bought anythin'.
-Fact is, Pullet had forgot he was supposed to be
-a storekeeper. When Letitia came in he was
-roostin' in his family tree, had the chart spread out
-on the counter and was fillin' in some of the twigs
-with the names of dead and gone Beanblossoms.
-He couldn't climb down to common things like
-crackers and salt pork.
-
-"But she was very much interested," he says, his
-specs shinin' with joy. "When she found out what
-I was busy with she was *very* much interested, really.
-She is a lady of family, too."
-
-"She *is*?" I sings out. "What are you talkin'
-about? She's an old maid and an only child besides,
-and—"
-
-"Hush up, Skipper," orders Jacobs. "Go on,
-Pullet—Mr. Beanblossom, I mean—go on."
-
-So on went Pullet, both wings flappin'. Letitia
-and he had talked "family" to beat the cars. She
-had 'most everything in the Villa except a family
-tree. She must have one right away. She simply
-must.
-
-"And I am to help her in preparin' it," says Pullet,
-puffed up and vainglorious. "The Pendlebury
-family tree will be an honor to prepare. Of course
-it will require much labor and research, but I shall
-enjoy doing it. I told her so. Her father would
-have prepared one himself, had often spoken of it,
-but he was a very busy man of affairs and lacked the
-time."
-
-My, but I was mad! I cal'late if I had a marlinspike
-handy our coop would have been a Pullet
-short. But Jim Henry Jacobs was so full of tickle
-he couldn't keep still. He fairly dragged me into
-the back room.
-
-"Skipper," he says, "here it is at last! We've
-got it!"
-
-"Yes," I sputters, thinkin' he was referrin' to
-Beanblossom, "we've got it; and, if you ask me,
-I'd tell you we'd ought to chloroform it afore it
-does any more harm."
-
-"No, no," he says, "you don't understand.
-We've got the old girl's weak p'int at last. It's
-genealogy. Pullet shall grow her a family tree if
-I have to buy a carload of fertilizer to-morrer.
-Think of it! think of it! Why, she won't give him
-a minute's rest from now on. She'll be after him
-the whole time."
-
-"But I can't see where the trade comes in,"
-says I.
-
-"You *can't*! With our senior pardner head forester?
-My boy, if any other shop sells Pendlebury
-Villa a dollar's worth after this, I'll Fletcherize my
-hat, that's all!"
-
-He knew what he was talkin' about, as usual.
-The very next forenoon Letitia was in to consult
-with Pullet about huntin' up her family records.
-Afore she left Jacobs took orders for thirty-two dollars'
-worth and I'd have bet she didn't know a thing
-she bought. After dinner, Jim Henry sent Pullet
-up to see her. He stayed until supper time. Next
-day he had supper at the Villa. A week later he
-made his first trip to Boston, to the Genealogical
-Society, to hunt for records. And Jacobs stayed
-in Ostable and kept the Villa supplied with the luxuries
-of life. If the Pendlebury servants didn't die
-of gout and overeatin', it wasn't our fault.
-
-By August the whole town was talkin'. They
-had it all settled. 'Cordin' to the gossip-spreaders
-there could be only one reason for Pullet and Miss
-Letitia bein' together so much—they was cal'latin'
-to marry. The weddin' day was prophesied and set
-anywheres from to-morrer to next Christmas. I
-thought such talk ought to be stopped. Jim Henry
-didn't.
-
-"Why?" says he.
-
-"*Why!*" I says. "Because it's foolishness,
-that's why. 'Cause there's no truth in it and you
-know it."
-
-"No, I don't know," says he. "Stranger things
-than that have happened."
-
-"*She* marry that old fossilized pauper!"
-
-"Why not? He's a gentleman and a scholar, if
-he *is* poor. She's rich, but if there's one thing she
-isn't, it's a scholar."
-
-"Humph! fur's that goes," says I, "she ain't a
-gentleman, either—though she's next door to
-it."
-
-"That's all right. Skipper, there's some things
-money can't buy. Pullet's got book learnin' and
-treed ancestors and she ain't. She's got money
-and he ain't. Both want what t'other's best fixed
-in. If old Beanblossom had any sand, I should believe
-'twas a sure thing. I guess I'll drop him a
-hint."
-
-"My land!" I sang out; "don't you do it. The
-fat'll all be in the fire then."
-
-"Skipper," says he, "you're a cagey old bird,
-but you don't know it all. There's some things you
-can leave to me. And, anyhow, whether the weddin'
-bells chime or not, all this talk is good free
-advertisin' for the store."
-
-'Twa'n't long after this that the genealogical man
-begun to seem less gay-like. He and Letitia was
-together as much as ever, the Pendlebury tree and
-the Beanblossom tree—he worked on both at the
-same time—was flourishin', after the topsy-turvy
-way of such vegetables—from the upper branches
-down towards the trunks; but there was a look on
-Pullet's face as he pawed through his books and
-papers that I couldn't understand. He looked worried
-and troubled about somethin'.
-
-"What's the matter?" I asked him, once.
-"Ain't your ancestors turnin' up satisfactory?"
-
-"Yes," he says, polite as ever, but sort of condescendin'
-and proud, "the Beanblossom history
-is, if you will permit me to say so, a very satisfactory
-record indeed."
-
-"And the Pendleburys?" says I. "George
-Washin'ton was first cousin on their ma's side, I
-s'pose."
-
-He didn't answer for a minute. Then he wiped
-his specs with his handkerchief. "The Pendlebury
-records are," he says, slow, "a trifle more confused
-and difficult. But I am progressin'—yes, Cap'n
-Snow, I think I may say that I am progressin'."
-
-The thunderbolt hit us, out of a clear sky, the
-fust week in September. Yet I s'pose we'd ought
-to have seen it comin' at least a day ahead. That
-day the Pendlebury gasoline carryall come buzzin'
-up to the front platform and Letitia steps out, grand
-as the Queen of Sheba, of course.
-
-"Cap'n Snow," says she, and it seemed to me
-that she hesitated just a minute, "is Mr. Beanblossom
-about?"
-
-"No," says I, "he ain't. I don't know where
-he is exactly. He was in the store this mornin'
-askin' about a letter he's expectin' from the Genealogical
-Society folks, but he went out right afterwards
-and I ain't seen him since. I s'posed, of
-course, he was up to your house."
-
-"No," she says, and I thought she colored up a
-little mite; "he has not been there since day before
-yesterday. Perhaps that is natural, under the circumstances,"
-speakin' more to herself than to me,
-"but ... however, will you kindly tell him
-I called before leavin' for the city. I am goin' to
-Boston on a shoppin' excursion," she adds, condescendin'.
-"I shall return on Wednesday."
-
-She went away. Pullet didn't show up until night
-and then the first thing he asked for was the mail.
-When I told him about the Pendlebury woman he
-turned round and went out again.
-
-Next day was Saturday and we was pretty busy,
-that is, Jim Henry and the clerk was busy. I was
-about as much use as usual, and, as for Pullet, he
-was no use at all. A big green envelope from the
-Genealogical Society come for him in the morning
-mail—he was always gettin' letters from that Society—and
-he grabbed at it and went out on the platform.
-A little while afterwards I saw him roostin'
-on a box out there, with his hair, what there was
-of it, all rumpled up, and an expression of such
-everlastin', world-without-end misery on his face
-that I stopped stock still and looked at him.
-
-"For the mercy sakes," says I, "what's happened?"
-
-He turned his head, stared at me fishy-eyed, and
-got up off the box.
-
-"What's wrong?" I asked. "Is the world comin'
-to an end?"
-
-He put one hand to his head and waved the other
-up and down like a pump handle.
-
-"Yes," he sings out, frantic like. "It is ended
-already. It is all over. I—I—"
-
-And with that he jumps off the platform and
-goes staggerin' up the road. I'd have follered him,
-but just then Jim Henry calls to me from inside the
-store and in a little while I'd forgot Beanblossom
-altogether. I thought of him once or twice durin'
-the day, but 'twa'n't till about shuttin'-up time that
-I thought enough to mention him to Jacobs. Then
-he mentioned him fust.
-
-"Whew!" says he, settin' down for the fust time
-in two hours. "Whew! I'm tired. This has been
-the best day this concern has had since I took hold
-of it, and I've worked like a perpetual motion
-machine. We'll need another boy pretty soon,
-Skipper. Pullet's no good as a salesman. By the
-way, where *is* Pullet? I ain't seen him since
-noon."
-
-Neither had I, now that I come to think of it.
-
-"I wonder if the poor critter's sick," I says. Then
-I started to tell how queer he'd acted out on the platform.
-I'd just begun when Amos Hallett's boy
-come into the store with a note.
-
-"It's for you, Cap'n Zeb," he says, all out of
-breath. "I meant to give it to you afore, but I
-just this minute remembered it. Mr. Beanblossom,
-he give it to me at the depot when he took the
-up train."
-
-"Took the up train?" says I. "Who did?
-Not Pul—Mr. Beanblossom?"
-
-"Yes," says the boy. "He's gone to Boston,
-leastways the depot-master said he bought a ticket
-for there. Why? Didn't you know it? He—"
-
-I was too astonished to speak at all, but Jim
-Henry was cool as usual.
-
-"Yes, yes, son," he says. "It's all right. You
-trot right along home afore you catch cold in your
-freckles." Then, after the youngster'd gone, he
-turns to me quick. "Open it, Skipper," he orders.
-"Somethin's happened. Open it."
-
-I opened the envelope. Inside was a sheet of
-foolscap covered from top to bottom with mighty
-shaky handwritin'. I read it out loud.
-
- "*Captain Zebulon Snow*,
-
- ":small-caps:`Dear Sir`:
-
-"Polite as ever, ain't he?" I says. "He'd been
-genteel if he was writin' his will."
-
-"Go on!" snaps Jacobs. "Hurry up."
-
- ":small-caps:`Dear Sir`: When you receive this I shall have
- left Ostable, it may be forever. I have made a
- horrible discovery, which has wrecked all my hopes
- and my life. In accordance with Mr. Jacob's kindly
- counsel, I recently summoned courage to ask Miss
- Pendlebury to become my wife.
-
-"Good heavens to Betsy!" I sang out, almost
-droppin' the letter.
-
-"Go on!" shouts Jacobs. "Don't stop now."
-
-"But he asked her to *marry* him!" I gasps.
-"In accordance with your advice—\ *yours*! Did
-*you* have the cheek to—"
-
-"*Will* you go on? Of course I advised him.
-We'd got the Pendlebury trade, hadn't we? Can
-you think of any surer way to cinch it than to have
-those two idiots marry each other? Go on—or
-give me the letter."
-
-I went on, as well as I could, everything considered.
-
- "She did not refuse. She was kinder than I had
- a right to expect. I realized my presumption,
- but—"
-
-"Skip that," orders Jim Henry. "Get down to
-brass tacks."
-
-I skipped some.
-
- "She told me she must have a few days' time to
- consider. I waited. To-day I received a communication
- from the Genealogical Society which has
- dashed my hopes to the ground. It was in connection
- with my work on the Pendlebury family tree.
- For some time I have been very much troubled concerning
- developments in that work. The later Pendleburys
- have been ladies and gentlemen of repute
- and worth, but as I delved deeper into the past and
- approached the early generations in this country,
- I—"
-
-"Skip again," says Jacobs.
-
-I skipped.
-
- "And now, to my horror, I find the fact proven
- beyond doubt. Ezekiel Jonas Pendlebury—whose
- name should be inscribed upon the trunk of the tree,
- he being the original settler in America—was
- hanged in the Massachusetts Bay Colony for stealing
- a hog upon the Sabbath Day."
-
-Then I *did* drop the letter. "My land of love!"
-was all I could say. And what Jacobs said was
-just as emphatic. We stared at each other; and
-then, all at once, he began to laugh, laugh till I
-thought he'd never stop. His laughin' made me
-mad until I commenced to see the funny side of the
-thing; then I laughed, too, and the pair of us rocked
-back and forth and haw-hawed like loons.
-
-"Oh, dear me!" says Jim Henry, wipin' his
-eyes. "The original Pendlebury hung for hog
-stealin'!"
-
-"Stealin' it on Sunday," says I. "Don't forget
-that. Sabbath-breakin' was worse than thievin' in
-them days."
-
-"Well, go on, go on," says he. "There's more
-of it, ain't they?"
-
-There was. The writing got finer and finer as
-it got close to the bottom of the page. Poor Pullet
-had caved in when that revelation struck him.
-Honor compelled him to tell Letitia the truth and
-how could he tell her such a truth as that? She,
-so proud and all. He had led her into this dreadful
-research work and she would blame him, of course,
-and dismiss him with scorn and contempt. Her
-contempt he could not bear. No, he must go away.
-He could never face her again. He was goin' to
-Boston, to his cousin's house in Newton, and stay
-there for a spell. Perhaps some day, after she had
-shut up her summer villa and gone, too, he might
-return; he didn't know. But would we forgive
-him, etcetery and so forth, and—good-by.
-
-His name was squeezed in the very corner. I
-looked at Jacobs.
-
-"Well," I says, some disgusted, "it looks to me,
-as a man up a tree—not a family tree, neither,
-thank the Lord—as if instead of cinchin' the Pendlebury
-trade your 'advice' had queered it forever."
-
-He didn't say nothin'. Just scowled and kicked
-his heels together. Then he grabbed the letter out
-of my hand and begun to read it again. I scowled,
-too, and set starin' at the floor and thinkin'. All
-at once I heard him swear, a sort of joyful swear-word,
-seemed to me. I looked up. As I did he
-swung off the counter, crumpled up the letter,
-jammed it in his pocket and grabbed up his hat.
-
-"Skipper," he says, his eyes shinin', "there's a
-night freight to Boston, ain't there?"
-
-"Yes, there is, but—"
-
-"So long, then. I'll be back soon's I can. You
-and Bill"—that was the clerk—"must do as well
-as you can for a day or so. So long. But you just
-remember this: Old Doctor James Henry Jacobs,
-specialist in sick businesses, ain't given up hopes of
-this patient yet, not by any manner of means. By,
-by."
-
-He was gone afore I could say another word,
-and for the rest of that night and all day Sunday
-and until Monday evenin's train come in, I was like
-a feller walkin' in his sleep. All creation looked
-crazy and I was the only sane critter in it.
-
-On Monday evenin' he came sailin' into the store,
-all smiles. 'Twas some time afore I could get him
-alone, but, when I could, I nailed him.
-
-"Now," says I, "perhaps you'll tell me why you
-run off and left me, and where you've been, and
-what you mean by it, and a few other things."
-
-He grinned. "Been?" he says. "Well, I've
-been to see the last of Miss Letitia Pendlebury of
-Pendlebury Villa, Ostable, Mass. Miss Pendlebury
-is no more."
-
-"No more!" I hollered. "No *more*! Don't
-tell me she's dead!"
-
-"I sha'n't," says he, "because she isn't. She's
-alive, all right, but she's no more Miss Pendlebury.
-She's Mrs. Winthrop Adams Beanblossom
-now," he says. "They were married this forenoon."
-
-"*Married?*"
-
-"Married."
-
-"But—but—after the hangin' news—and
-the hog-stealin'—and—Does she know it? She
-wouldn't marry him after *that*?"
-
-"She knows and she was tickled to death to
-marry him. Skipper, there was a P.S. on the back
-of that letter of Pullet's. You didn't turn the page
-over; I did and I recognized the life-saver right off.
-Here it is."
-
-He passed me Beanblossom's letter, back side up.
-There was a P.S., but it looked to me more like
-the finishin' knock on the head than it did like a
-life-saver. This was it:
-
- "P.S. I have neglected to state another fact
- which my researches have brought to light and
- which makes the affair even more hopeless. My
- own ancestor, at that time Governor of the Colony,
- was the person who sentenced Ezekiel Pendlebury
- and caused him to be hanged."
-
-"And that," says I, "is what you call a life-saver!
-My nine-times great-granddad has your
-nine-times great-granddad hung and that removes
-all my objections to marryin' you. Oh, sure and sartin!
-Yes, indeed!"
-
-He smiled superior. "Listen, you doubtin'
-Thomas," says he. "You can't see it, but Sister
-Letitia saw it right off when I put Pullet's case
-afore her at the Hotel Somerset, where she was
-stoppin'. *Her* ancestor was a hog-stealer and a
-hobo; but Beanblossom's ancestor was a Governor
-and a nabob from way back. If by just sayin' yes
-you could swap a pig-thief for a governor, you'd
-do it, wouldn't you? You would if you'd been
-braggin' 'family' as Letitia has for the past three
-months. I saw her, turned on some of my convincin'
-conversation, saw Pullet at his cousin's and
-convinced him. They were married at Trinity
-parsonage this very forenoon."
-
-"My! my! my!" I says, after this had really
-sunk in. "And the Pendlebury tree is—"
-
-"There ain't any Pendlebury tree," he interrupts.
-"It's the kindlin'-bin for that shrub. But
-the *Beanblossom* tree, with governors and judges
-and generals proppin' up every main limb, is goin'
-to hang right next to Pa Pendlebury's picture in the
-mornin' room of Pendlebury Villa. And the head
-of Pendlebury Villa is the senior partner in the
-Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and
-Fancy Goods Store."
-
-He was wrong there. Letitia Pendlebury Beanblossom
-had another surprise under her bonnet and
-she sprung it when she got back. She sent for
-Jacobs and me and made proclamation that her husband
-would withdraw from the firm.
-
-"I trust that Mr. Beanblossom and I are democratic,"
-she says. "Of course we shall continue
-to purchase our supplies from you gentlemen. But,
-really," she says, "you *must* see that a man whose
-ancestor by direct descent was Governor of Massachusetts
-Bay Colony could scarcely humiliate himself
-by engaging in *trade*."
-
-So, instead of gettin' out of storekeepin', I was
-left deeper in it than ever. But Jim Henry cheered
-me up by sayin' I hadn't really been in it at all yet.
-
-"This foundlin' is only beginnin' to set up and
-take notice," he says. "Skipper, you put your faith
-in old Doctor Jacobs' Teethin' Syrup and Tonic for
-Business Infants."
-
-"I guess that's where it's put," says I, drawin' a
-long breath.
-
-"It couldn't be in a better place, could it? No,
-we've got a good start, but that's all it is. Before
-I get through you'll see. We've got to make this
-store prominent and keep it prominent, and the best
-way to do that is to be prominent ourselves. Skipper,
-I wish you'd go into politics."
-
-"Politics!" says I, soon as I could catch my
-breath. "Well, when I do, I give you leave to
-order my room at the Taunton Asylum. What do
-you cal'late I'd better try to get elected to—President
-or pound-keeper?"
-
-He laughed.
-
-"Both of them jobs are filled at the present time,"
-I went on, sarcastic. "So is every other I can think
-of off-hand."
-
-"That's all right," says he. "Some of these
-days you'll hold office right in this town. We need
-political prestige in our business and you, Cap'n Snow,
-bein' the solid citizen of this close corporation, will
-have to sacrifice yourself on the altar of public duty."
-
-"Nary sacrifice," says I. Which shows how little
-the average man knows what's in store for him.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER III—I GET INTO POLITICS
-===============================
-
-
-When I shook hands with Mary Blaisdell
-and left her standin' under the wistaria
-vine at the front door of the little old
-house that had belonged to Henry, all I said was
-for her to keep a stiff upper lip and not to be any
-bluer than was necessary. "Ostable's lost a good
-postmaster," says I, "and you've lost a kind,
-thoughtful, providin' brother. I know it looks
-pretty foggy ahead to you just now and you can't
-see how you're goin' to get along; but you keep up
-your pluck and a way'll be provided. Meantime
-I'm goin' to think hard and perhaps I can see a light
-somewheres. My owners used to tell me I was consider'ble
-of a navigator, so between us we'd ought
-to fetch you into port."
-
-Her eyes were wet, but she smiled, rainbow
-fashion, through the shower, and said I was awful
-good and she'd never forget how kind I'd been
-through it all.
-
-"Whatever becomes of me, Cap'n Snow," she
-says, "I shall never forget that."
-
-What I'd done wa'n't worth talkin' about, so I
-said good-by and hurried away. At the top of the
-hill I turned and looked back. She was still standin'
-in the door and, in spite of the wistaria and the
-hollyhocks and the green summer stuff everywheres,
-the whole picture was pretty forlorn. The little
-white buildin' by the road, with the sign, "Post-office"
-over the window, looked more lonesome still.
-And yet the sight of it and the sight of that sign
-give me an inspiration. I stood stock still and
-thumped my fists together.
-
-"Why not?" says I to myself. "By mighty,
-yes! Why not?"
-
-You see, Henry Blaisdell was one of the few
-Ostable folks that I'd known as a boy and who was
-livin' there yet when I came back. He was younger
-than I, and Mary, his sister, was younger still. I
-liked Henry and his death was a sort of personal
-loss to me, as you might say. I liked Mary, too.
-She was always so quiet and common-sense and comfortable.
-*She* didn't gossip, and the way she helped
-her brother in the post-office was a treat to see.
-She wa'n't exactly what you'd call young, and the
-world hadn't been all fair winds and smooth water
-for her, by a whole lot; but, in spite of it, she'd
-managed to keep sweet and fresh. She and Henry
-and I had got to be good friends and I gen'rally
-took a walk up towards their house of a Sunday or
-managed to run in at the post-office buildin' at least
-once every week-day and have a chat with 'em.
-
-When I heard of Henry's dyin' so sudden my
-fust thought was about Mary and what would she
-do. How was she goin' to get along? I thought
-of that even durin' the funeral, and now, the day
-after it, when I went up to see her, I was thinkin'
-of it still. And, at last, I believed I had got the
-answer to the puzzle.
-
-Half the way back to the "Ostable Grocery, Dry
-Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods Store,"
-I was thinkin' of my new notion and makin' up my
-mind. The other half I was layin' plans to put it
-through. When I walked into the store, Jim Henry
-met me.
-
-"Hello, Skipper," says he, brisk and fresh as a
-no'theast breeze in dog days, "did you ever hear
-the story about the office-seekin' feller in Washin'ton,
-back in President Harrison's time? He
-wanted a gov'ment job and he happened to notice
-a crowd down by the Potomac and asked what was
-up. They told him one of the Treasury clerks had
-been found drowned. He run full speed to the
-White House, saw the President, and asked for the
-drowned chap's place. 'You're too late,' says Harrison,
-'I've just app'inted the man that saw him
-fall in.'"
-
-I'd heard it afore, but I laughed, out of politeness,
-and wanted to know what made him think of
-the yarn.
-
-"Why," says he, "because that's the way it's
-workin' here in Ostable. Poor old Blaisdell's
-funeral was only yesterday and it's already settled
-who's to be the new postmaster."
-
-Considerin' what I'd been goin' over in my mind
-all the way home from Mary's, this statement, just
-at this time, knocked me pretty nigh out of water.
-
-"What?" I gasped. "How did you know?"
-
-"Why wouldn't I know?" says he. "I got the
-advance information right from the oracle. I was
-told not ten minutes since that the app'intment was
-to go to Abubus Payne."
-
-I stared at him. "Abubus Payne!" says I.
-"Abubus—Are you dreamin'?"
-
-He laughed. "I'd never dream a name like
-'Abubus,' he says, 'even after one of our Poquit
-House dinners. No, it's no dream. The Major
-was just in and he says his mind is made up. That
-settles it, don't it? You wouldn't contradict the all-wise
-mouthpiece of Providence, would you, Cap'n
-Zeb?"
-
-I never said anything—not then. I was realizin'
-that, if I wanted Mary Blaisdell to be postmistress
-at Ostable—which was the inspiration I was took
-with when I looked back at her from the hill—I'd
-got to do somethin' besides say. I'd got to work
-and work hard. And even at that my work was
-cut out from the small end of the goods. To beat
-Major Cobden Clark in a political fight was no boy's
-job. But Abubus Payne! Abubus Payne postmaster
-at Ostable!! Think of it! Maybe you can;
-*I* couldn't without stimulants.
-
-You see, this critter Abubus—did you ever hear
-such a name in your life?—had lived around 'most
-every town on the Cape at one time or another.
-He and his wife wa'n't what you'd call permanent
-settlers anywhere, but had a habit of breakin' out
-in new and unexpected places, like a p'ison-ivy rash.
-He worked some at carpenterin', when he couldn't
-help it, but his main business, as you might say, had
-always been lookin' for an easier job. In Ostable
-he'd got one. He was caretaker and general nurse
-of Major Cobden Clark. His wife, who was about
-as shiftless as he was, was the Major's housekeeper.
-
-And the Major? Well, the Major was a star, a
-planet—yes, in his own opinion, the whole solar
-system. He was big and fleshy and straight and
-gray-haired and red-faced. He belonged to land
-knows how many clubs and societies and milishys,
-includin' the Ancient and Honorable Artillery Company
-of Boston and the Old Guard of New York.
-He had political influence and a long pocketbook
-and a short temper. Likewise he suffered from pig-headedness
-and chronic indigestion. 'Twas the
-indigestion that brought him to Ostable and Abubus;
-or rather 'twas his doctor, Dr. Conquest Payne, the
-celebrated food and diet specializer—see advertisements
-in 'most any newspaper—who sent him there.
-Abubus was Doctor Conquest's cousin and I judge
-the two of 'em figgered the Clark stomach and
-income as things too good to be treated outside of
-the family.
-
-Anyway, the spring afore I landed in Ostable,
-down comes the Major, buys a good-sized house on
-the lower road nigh the water front, hires Abubus
-and his wife to look out for the place and him, and
-settles down to the simple life, which wa'n't the
-kind he'd been livin', by a consider'ble sight. But
-he lived it now; yes, sir, he did! He lived by the
-clock and he ate and slept by the clock, and that
-clock was wound up and set accordin' to the rules
-prescribed by Dr. Conquest Payne, "World Famous
-Dietitian and Food Specialist"—see more advertisin',
-with a tintype of the Doctor in the corner.
-
-Nigh as I could find out the diet was a queer one.
-It give me dyspepsy just to think of it. Breakfast
-at seven sharp, consistin' of a dozen nut meats, two
-raw prunes, some "whole wheat bread"—whatever
-that is—and a pint of hot water. Luncheon
-at quarter to eleven, with another assortment of
-similar truck. Afternoon snack at three and dinner
-at half-past seven. He had two soft b'iled eggs
-for dinner, or else a two-inch slice of rare steak,
-and, with them exceptions, the whole bill of fare
-was, accordin' to my notion, more fittin' for a goat
-than a human bein'. He mustn't smoke and he
-mustn't drink: Considerin' what he'd been used
-to afore the "World Famous" one hooked him it
-ain't much wonder that he was as crabbed and
-cranky as a liveoak windlass.
-
-However, it—or somethin' else—had made
-him feel better since he landed in Ostable and he
-swore by that Conquest Payne man and everybody
-connected with him. And if he once took a notion
-into his tough old head, nothin' short of a surgeon's
-operation could get it out. He'd decided to make
-Abubus postmaster and he'd move heaven and earth
-to do it. All right, then, it was up to me to do some
-movin' likewise. I can be a little mite pig-headed
-myself, if I set out to be.
-
-And I set out right then. It may seem funny to
-say so, but I was about as good a friend as the
-Major had in Ostable. Course he had a tremendous
-influence with the selectmen and the like of
-that, owin' to his soldier record and his pompousness
-and the amount of taxes he paid. And he and
-I never agreed on one single p'int. But just the
-same he spent the heft of his evenin's at the store
-and I was always glad to see him. I respected the
-cantankerous old critter, and liked him, in a way.
-And I'm inclined to think he respected and liked
-me. I cal'late both of us enjoyed fightin' with
-somebody that never tried for an under-holt or quit
-even when he was licked.
-
-So that night, when he comes puffin' in and sets
-down, as usual, in the most comfortable chair, I
-went over and come to anchor alongside of him.
-
-"Hello," he grunts, "you old salt hayseed. Any
-closer to bankruptcy than you was yesterday?"
-
-"Your bill's a little bigger and more overdue,
-that's all," says I. "See here, I want to talk politics
-with you. Mary Blaisdell, Henry's sister, is
-goin' to have the post-office now he's gone, and I
-want you to put your name on her petition. Not
-that she needs it, or anybody else's, but just to help
-fill up the paper."
-
-Well, sir, you ought to have seen him! His red
-face fairly puffed out, like a young-one's rubber balloon.
-He whirled round on the edge of his chair—he
-was too big to move in any other part of it—and
-glared at me. What did I mean by that?
-Hey? Was my punkin head sp'ilin' now that warm
-weather had come, or what? Had I heard what
-he told my partner that very mornin'?
-
-"Yes," says I, "I heard it. But I judged you
-must have broke your rule about drinkin' liquor,
-or else your dyspepsy has struck to your brains.
-No sane person would set out to make Abubus
-Payne anythin' more responsible than keeper of a
-pig pen. You didn't mean it, of course."
-
-He didn't! He'd show me what he meant!
-Abubus was the most honest, able man on the whole
-blessed sand-heap, and he was goin' to be postmaster.
-Mary Blaisdell was an old maid, good enough
-of her kind, maybe, but the place for her was some
-kind of an asylum or home for incompetent females.
-He'd sign a petition to put her in one of them places,
-but nothin' else. Abubus was just as good as app'inted
-already.
-
-We had it back and forth. There was consider'ble
-chair thumpin' and hollerin', I shouldn't wonder.
-Anyhow, afore 'twas over every loafer on
-the main road was crowdin' 'round us and Jim Henry
-Jacobs was pacin' up and down back of the counter
-with the most worried look on his face ever I see
-there. It ended by the Major's jumpin' to his feet
-and headin' for the door.
-
-"You—you—you tarry old imbecile," he hollers,
-shakin' a fat forefinger at me, "I'll show you
-a few things. I'll never set foot in this rathole of
-yours again."
-
-"You better not," I sung out. "If you dare to,
-I'll—"
-
-"What?" he interrupts. "You'll what? I'll
-be back here to-morrow night. Then what'll you
-do?"
-
-"I'll show you Mary Blaisdell's petition," I says.
-"And the names on it'll make you curl up and quit
-like a sick caterpillar."
-
-"Humph! I'll show *you* a petition for Abubus
-Payne, next postmaster of Ostable, with a string of
-names on it so long you'll die of old age afore you can
-finish readin' 'em. Bah!"
-
-With that he went out and I went into the back
-room to wash my face in cold water.
-
-I wrote the headin' to the Blaisdell petition afore
-I turned in that very night. Next mornin' I hurried
-over and, after consider'ble arguin', I got Mary
-to say she'd try for the place. All the rest of that
-day I put in drivin' from Dan to Beersheby gettin'
-signatures. And I got 'em, too, a schooner load
-of 'em. I had the petition ready to show the Major
-that evenin'; but, when he come into the store, he
-had a petition, too, just as long as mine. And the
-worst of it was, in a lot of cases the same names
-was signed to both papers. Accordin' to those petitions
-the heft of Ostable folks wanted somebody to
-keep post-office and they didn't much care who.
-They wanted to please me and they didn't like to
-say no to the Major.
-
-He was mad and I was mad and we had another
-session. But he wouldn't cross the names off and
-neither would I and so, after another week, both
-petitions went in as they was. All the good they
-seemed to do was that we each got a letter from
-the Post-office Department and Mary Blaisdell was
-allowed to hold over her brother's place until somebody
-was picked out permanent. And every evenin'
-Major Clark came into the store to tell me Abubus
-was sure to win and get my prediction that Mary
-was as good as elected. One week dragged along
-and then another, and 'twas still a draw, fur's a
-body could tell. The Washin'ton folks wa'n't makin'
-a peep.
-
-But old Ancient and Honorable Clark was workin'
-his wires on the quiet and I must give in that he
-pulled one on me that I wa'n't expectin'. The
-whole town had got sort of tired of guessin' and
-talkin' about the post-office squabble and had drifted
-back into the reg'lar rut of pickin' their neighbors to
-pieces. The Major had set 'em talkin' on a new
-line durin' the last fortni't. He'd been fixin' up
-his house and havin' the grounds seen to, and so
-forth. Likewise he'd bought an automobile, one
-of the nobbiest kind. This was somethin' of a surprise,
-'cause afore that he'd been pretty much down
-on autos and did his drivin' around in a high-seated
-sort of buggy—"dog cart" he called it—though
-'twas hauled by a horse and he hated dogs so that
-he kept a shotgun loaded with rock salt on his porch
-to drive stray ones off his premises.
-
-"Who's goin' to run that smell-wagon of yours?"
-I asked him, sarcastic. He kept comin' to the store
-just the same as ever and we had our reg'lar rows
-constant. I cal'late we'd both have missed 'em if
-they'd stopped. I know I should.
-
-"Humph!" he snorts; "smell-wagon, hey? If
-it smells any worse than that old fish dory of yours,
-I'll have it buried, for the sake of the public health."
-
-By "fish dory" he meant a catboat I'd bought.
-She was named the *Glide* and she could glide away
-from anything of her inches in the bay.
-
-"But who's goin' to run that auto?" I asked
-again. "'Tain't possible you're goin' to do it yourself.
-If she went by alcohol power, I could understand,
-but—"
-
-"Hush up!" he says, forgettin' to be mad for
-once and speakin' actually plaintive. "Don't talk
-that way, Snow," says he. "If you knew how much
-I wanted a drink you wouldn't speak lightly of
-alcohol."
-
-"Why don't you take one, then?" I wanted to
-know. "I believe 'twould do you good. That and
-a square meal. If you'd forget your prunes and
-your nutmeats and your quack doctorin'—"
-
-He was mad then, all right. To slur at the
-"World Famous" was a good deal worse than
-murder, in his mind. He expressed his opinion of
-me, free and loud. He said I'd ought to try Doctor
-Conquest, myself, for developin' my brains. The
-Doctor was pretty nigh a vegetarian, he said, and
-my head was mainly cabbage—and so on. Incidentally
-he announced that Abubus was to run the
-new auto.
-
-"Abubus!" says I. "Why, he don't know a
-gas engine from a coffee mill! He wouldn't know
-what the craft's for."
-
-"That's all right," he says. "He's been takin'
-lessons at the garage in Hyannis and he can run
-it like a bird. He knows what it's for. He! he!
-so do I. By the way, Snow, are you ready to give
-up the post-office to my candidate yet?"
-
-"Give up?" says I. "Tut! tut! tut! I hate
-to hear a supposed sane man talk so. Mary Blaisdell
-handles the mail in the Ostable post-office for
-the next three years—longer, if she wants to."
-
-"Bet you five she don't," he says.
-
-"Take the bet," says I.
-
-He went out chucklin'. I wondered what he had
-up his sleeve. A week later I found out. Congressman
-Shelton, our district Representative at
-Washin'ton, came to Ostable to look the post-office
-situation over and, lo and behold you, he comes as
-Major Cobden Clark's guest, to stay at his house.
-
-When Jim Henry Jacobs learned that, he took
-me to one side to give me some brotherly advice.
-
-"It's all up for Mary now," he says. "She
-can't win. Clark and Shelton are old chums in politics.
-There's only one chance to beat Payne and
-that's to bring forward a compromise candidate—a
-dark horse."
-
-"Rubbish!" I sung out. "Dark horse be hanged!
-Shelton's square as a brick. Nobody can bribe him."
-
-"It ain't a question of bribin'," he says. "If it
-was, you could bribe, too. Shelton is square, and
-that's why he'd welcome a compromise candidate.
-But if it comes to a fight between Mary Blaisdell
-and Abubus Payne, Abubus'll win because he's the
-Major's pet. Shelton knows the Major better than
-he knows you. Take my advice now and look out
-for the dark horse."
-
-But I wouldn't listen. All the next hour I was
-ugly as a bear with a sore head and long afore dinner
-time I told Jacobs I was goin' for a sail in the
-*Glide*. "Goin' somewheres on salt water where the
-air's clean and not p'isoned by politics and automobiles
-and congressmen and Paynes," I told him.
-
-I headed out of the harbor and then run, afore
-a wind that was fair but gettin' lighter all the time,
-up the bay. I sailed and sailed until some of my
-bad temper wore off and my appetite begun to come
-back. All the time I was settin' at the tiller I was
-thinkin' over the post-office situation and, try as hard
-as I could to see the bright side for Mary Blaisdell,
-it looked pretty dark. The Major would give that
-Shelton man the time of his life and he'd talk
-Abubus to him to beat the cars. I couldn't get at
-the Congressman to put in an oar for Mary and—well,
-I'd have discounted my five-dollar bet for about
-seventy-five cents, at that time.
-
-I thought and thought and sailed and sailed.
-When I came to myself and realized I was hungry
-the *Glide* was miles away from Ostable. I came
-about and started to beat back; then I saw I was
-in for a long job. Let alone that the wind was
-ahead, 'twas dyin' fast, and if I knew the signs of
-a flat calm, there was one due in half an hour. I
-took as long tacks as I could, but I made mighty
-little progress.
-
-On the second tack inshore I came up abreast of
-Jonathan Crowell's house at Heron P'int. Jonathan's
-just a no-account longshoreman or he wouldn't
-live in that place, which is the fag-end of creation.
-There's a twenty-mile stretch of beach and pines and
-such close to the shore there, with a road along it.
-The first eight mile of that road is pretty good
-macadam and hard dirt. A land company tried to
-develop that section of beach once and they put in
-the road; but the land didn't sell and the company
-busted and after that eight mile the road is just
-beach sand, soft and coarse. The strip of solid
-ground, with its pines and scrub-oaks, is, as I said
-afore, twenty mile long, but it's only a half mile or
-so wide. Between it and the main cape is a
-tremendous salt marsh, all cut up with cricks that
-nobody can get over without a boat. Jonathan's
-is the only house for the whole twenty mile, except
-the lighthouse buildin's down at the end. The land
-company put up a few summer shacks on speculation,
-but they're all rickety and fallin' to pieces.
-
-I knew Jonathan had gone to Bayport, quahaug
-rakin', and that his wife was visitin' over to Wellmouth,
-so when the *Glide* crept in towards the beach
-and I saw a couple of folk by the Crowell house,
-I was surprised. I didn't pay much attention to
-'em, however, until I was just about ready to put
-the helm over and stand out into the bay again.
-Then they come runnin' down to the beach, yellin'
-and wavin' their arms. I thought one of 'em had
-a familiar look and, as I come closer, I got more
-and more sure of it. It didn't seem possible, but
-it was—one of those fellers on the beach was Major
-Cobden Clark.
-
-"Hi-i!" yells the Major, hoppin' up and down
-and wavin' both arms as if he was practicin' flyin';
-"Hi-i-i! you man in the boat! Come here! I
-want you!"
-
-That was him, all over. He wanted me, so of
-course I must come. My feelin's in the matter
-didn't count at all. I run the *Glide* in as nigh the
-beach as I dared and then fetched her up into what
-little wind there was left.
-
-"Ahoy there, Major," I sung out. "Is that
-you?"
-
-"Hey?" he shouts. "Do you know—Why,
-I believe it's Snow! Is that you, Snow?"
-
-"Yes, it's me," I hollers. "What in time are
-you doin' way over here?"
-
-"Never mind what I'm doin'," he roared. "You
-come ashore here. I want you."
-
-If I hadn't been so curious to know what he was
-doin', I'd have seen him in glory afore I ever
-thought of obeyin' an order from him; but I was
-curious. While I was considerin' the breeze give
-a final puff and died out altogether. That settled
-it. I might as well go ashore as stay aboard. I
-couldn't get anywhere without wind. So I hove
-anchor and dropped the mains'l.
-
-"Come on!" he kept yellin'. "What are you
-waitin' for? Don't you hear me say I want you?"
-
-I had on my long-legged rubber boots and the
-water wa'n't more'n up to my knees. When I got
-good and ready, I swung over the side and waded
-to the beach.
-
-"Hello, Maje," I says, brisk and easy, "you
-ought not to holler like that. You'll bust a b'iler.
-Your face looks like a red-hot stove already."
-
-He mopped his forehead. "Shut up, you old
-fool," says he. "Think I'm here to listen to
-a lecture about my face? You carry Mr. Shelton
-and me out to that boat of yours. We want you
-to sail us home."
-
-So the other chap was the Congressman. I'd
-guessed as much. I went up to him and held out
-my hand.
-
-"Pleased to know you, Mr. Shelton," says I.
-"Had the pleasure of votin' for you last fall."
-
-Shelton shook and smiled. "This is Cap'n
-Snow, isn't it?" he says, his eyes twinklin'. "Glad
-to meet you, I'm sure. I've heard of you often."
-
-"I shouldn't wonder," says I. "Major Clark
-and me are old chums and I cal'late he's mentioned
-my name at least once. Hey, Maje?"
-
-The Major grinned. I grinned, too; and Shelton
-laughed out loud.
-
-"I never saw such a talkin' machine in my life,"
-snaps Clark. "Don't stop to tell us the story of
-your life. Take us aboard that boat of yours.
-You've got to get us back to Ostable, d'you understand?"
-
-"Have, hey?" says I. "I appreciate the honor,
-but.... However, maybe you won't mind
-tellin' me what you're doin' here, twelve miles from
-nowhere?"
-
-The Major was too mad to answer, so Shelton
-did it for him.
-
-"Well," he says, smilin' and with a wink at his
-partner, "we *came* in the Major's auto, but—"
-
-He stopped without finishin' the sentence.
-
-"The auto?" says I. "You came in the auto?
-Well, why don't you go back in it? What's the
-matter? Has it broke down? Humph! I ain't
-surprised; them things are always breakin' down,
-'specially the cheap ones."
-
-*That* stirred up the kettle. The Major give me
-to understand that his auto cost six thousand dollars
-and was the best blessedty-blank car on earth. It
-wa'n't the auto's fault. It hadn't broke down. It
-had stuck in the eternal and everlastin' sand and
-they couldn't get it out, that was the trouble.
-
-"But Abubus can get it out, can't he?" says I.
-"Abubus runs it like a bird, you told me so yourself.
-Now a bird can fly, and if you want to get from
-here to Ostable in anything like a straight line,
-you've *got* to fly. By the way, where is Abubus?"
-
-Three or four more questions, and a hogshead
-of profanity on the Major's part, and I had the
-whole story. He and Shelton had started for a ride
-way up the Cape. They was cal'latin' to get home
-by eleven o'clock, but the machine went so fast that
-they got where they was goin' early and had time
-to spare. Shelton happened to remember that he'd
-sunk some money in the land company I mentioned
-and he thought he'd like to see the place where
-'twas sunk. He asked Abubus if they couldn't run
-along the beach road a ways. Abubus hemmed and
-hawed and didn't know for sure—he never was
-sure about anything. But the Major said course
-they could; that car could go anywhere. So they
-turned in way up by Sandwich and come b'ilin' down
-alongshore. Long's the old land company road
-lasted they was all right, but when, runnin' thirty-five
-miles an hour, they whizzed off the end of that
-road, 'twas different. The automobile lit in the
-soft sand like a snow-plow and stopped—and
-stayed. They tried to dig it out with boards from
-Jonathan Crowell's pig pen, but the more they dug
-the deeper it sunk. At last they give it up; nothin'
-but a team of horses could haul that machine out of
-that sand. So Abubus starts to walk the ten or
-eleven miles back to civilization and livery stables
-and the Major and Shelton waited for him. And
-the more they waited the hungrier and madder
-Clark got. 'Twas all Abubus's fault, of course. He
-ought to have had more sense than to run that way
-on that road, anyhow. He ought to have known
-better than to get into that sand, a feller that had
-lived in sand all his life. He was an incompetent
-jackass. Well, I knew that afore, but it certainly
-did me good to hear the Major confirm my judgment.
-
-I went over and looked at the automobile. It
-had always acted like a mighty lively contraption,
-but now it looked dead enough. And not only dead,
-but two-thirds buried.
-
-"Well?" fumes Clark, "how much longer have
-we got to stay in this hole?"
-
-"It's consider'ble of a hole," says I, "and it
-looks to me as if she'd stay there till Abubus gets
-back with a pair of horses. Considerin' how far
-he's got to tramp and how long it'll be afore he can
-get a pair, I cal'late the hole'll be occupied until
-some time in the night."
-
-That wa'n't what he meant and I knew it. Did
-I suppose he and Shelton was goin' to wait and
-starve until the middle of the night? No, sir; the
-auto could stay where it was; he and the Congressman
-would sail home with me in the *Glide*.
-
-"I hope you ain't in any partic'lar hurry," says
-I, lookin' out over the bay. There wa'n't a breath
-of air stirrin' and the water was slick and shiny as
-a starched shirt. "The *Glide* runs by wind power
-and there's no wind. This calm may last one hour
-or it may last two. As long as it lasts I stay where
-I am."
-
-What! Did I think they would stay there just
-because I was too lazy to get my whoopety-bang
-fish-dory under way? Stay there in that sand-heap—sand-heap
-was the politest of the names he called
-Crowell's plantation—and starve?
-
-"Oh," says I. "I won't starve. I'm goin' to
-get dinner."
-
-Dinner! The very name of it was like a
-life-preserver to a feller who'd gone under for the second
-time.
-
-"Can you get us dinner?" roars the Major.
-"By George, if you can I'll—"
-
-"Not for you I can't," I says. "You live accordin'
-to the Payne schedule, on prunes and pecans
-and such. The prune crop 'round here is a failure
-and I don't see a pecan tree in Jonathan's back yard.
-No, any dinner I'd get would give you compound,
-gallopin' dyspepsy, and I can't be responsible for
-your death—I love you too much. But I cal'late
-I can scratch up a meal that'll keep folks with common
-insides from perishin' of hunger. Anyhow,
-I'm goin' to try."
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER IV—HOW I MADE A CLAM CHOWDER; AND WHAT A CLAM CHOWDER MADE OF ME
-========================================================================
-
-
-Well, sir, even the Major's guns was spiked
-for a minute. I cal'late that, for once,
-he'd forgot all about his dietizin' and
-only remembered his appetite. He gurgled and
-choked and glared. Afore he could get his artillery
-ready for a broadside I walked off and left him.
-He'd riled me up a little and I saw a chance to rile
-him back.
-
-I went around to the back part of the Crowell
-house and tried the kitchen door. 'Twas locked,
-for a wonder, but the window side of it wasn't. I
-pushed up the sash and reached in fur enough to
-unhook the door. Then I went into the house and
-begun to overhaul the supplies in the galley. I
-found flour and sugar and salt and pepper and
-coffee and butter and canned milk and salt pork—about
-everything I wanted. Jonathan and I was
-friendly enough so's I knew he wouldn't care what
-I used so long as I paid for it. If he had I'd have
-taken the risk, just then.
-
-The wood-box was full and I got a fire goin' in
-the cookstove, and put on a couple of kettles of
-water to heat. Then I went out to the shed and
-located a clam hoe and a bucket. There's clams
-a-plenty 'most anywheres along that beach and the
-tide was out fur enough for me to get a bucket-full
-of small ones in no time. I fetched 'em up to
-the house and set down on the back step to open
-'em.
-
-The Major and Shelton was watchin' me all this
-time and they looked interested—that is, the Congressman
-did, and Clark was doin' his best not to.
-Pretty soon Shelton walks over and asks a question.
-"What are you doin' with those things, Cap'n
-Snow?" says he, referrin' to the clams.
-
-"Oh," says I, cheerful, "I'm figgerin' on makin'
-a chowder, if nothin' busts."
-
-"A chowder," he says, sort of eager. "A clam
-chowder? Can you?"
-
-"I can. That is, I have made a good many and
-I cal'late to make this one, unless I'm struck with
-paralysis."
-
-"A clam chowder!" he says again, sort of eager
-but reverent. "By George! that's good—er—for
-you, I mean."
-
-"I hope 'twill be good for you, too," says I.
-"I'm sorry that Major Clark's dyspepsy's such that
-'twon't be good for him, but that's his misfortune,
-not my fault."
-
-Shelton looked sort of queer and went away to
-jine his chum. The two of 'em did consider'ble
-talkin' and the Major appeared to be deliverin' a
-sermon, at least I heard a good many orthodox
-words in the course of it. I finished my clam
-openin', went in and got my cookin' started. The
-flour and the butter made me think that some hot
-spider-bread would go good with the chowder
-and I started to mix a batch. Then I got another
-idea.
-
-'Twas too late for huckleberries and such, but out
-back of the shed, beyond the pines, was a little
-swampy place. I took a tin pail, went out there and
-filled the pail with early wild cranberries in five
-minutes. As I was comin' back I noticed an onion
-patch in the garden. A chowder without onions is
-like a camp-meetin' Sunday without your best girl—pretty
-flat and impersonal. Most of those left
-in the patch had gone to seed, but I got a half
-dozen.
-
-After a short spell that kitchen begun to get
-fragrant and folksy, as you might say. The coffee
-was b'ilin', the chowder was about ready, there was
-a pan of red-hot spider-bread on the back of the
-stove and a cranberry shortcake—'twould have
-been better with cream, but to skim condensed milk
-is more exercise than profit—in the oven. I'd
-opened all the windows and the door, so the smell
-drifted out and livened up the surroundin' scenery.
-Clark and Shelton were settin' on a sand hummock
-a little ways off and I could see 'em wrinklin' their
-noses.
-
-When the table was set and everything was ready
-I put my head out of the window and hollered:
-
-"Dinner!" I sung out.
-
-There wa'n't any answer. The pair on the hummock
-stirred and acted uneasy, but they didn't move.
-I ladled out some of the chowder and the perfume
-of it got more pervadin' and extensive. Then I
-rattled the dishes and tried again.
-
-"Dinner!" I hollered. "Come on; chowder's
-gettin' cold."
-
-Still they didn't move and I begun to think my
-fun had been all for myself. I was disappointed,
-but I set down to the table and commenced to eat.
-Then I heard a noise. The pair of 'em had drifted
-over to the doorway and was lookin' in.
-
-"Hello!" says I, blowin' a spoonful of chowder
-to cool it. "Am I givin' a good imitation of a
-hungry man? If I ain't, appearances are deceitful."
-
-"*Hog!*" snarls Clark, with enthusiasm.
-
-"Not at all," says I. "There's plenty of everything
-and Mr. Shelton's welcome. So would you
-be, Major, if there was anything aboard you could
-eat. I'm awful sorry about them prunes and
-nutmeats. I only wish Crowell had laid in a supply—I
-do so."
-
-The Major's mouth was waterin' so he had to
-swallow afore he could answer. When he did I
-realized what he was at his best. Shelton didn't
-say a word, but the looks of him was enough.
-
-"My, my!" says I, "I'm glad I made a whole
-kettleful of this stuff; I can use a grown man's share
-of it."
-
-Shelton looked at Clark and Clark looked at him.
-Then the Major yelps at him like a sore pup.
-
-"Go ahead!" he shouts. "Go ahead in!
-Don't stand starin' at me like a cannibal. Go in
-and eat, why don't you?"
-
-You could see the Congressman was divided in
-his feelin's. He wanted dinner worse than the Old
-Harry wanted the backslidin' deacon, but he hated
-to desert his friend.
-
-"You're sure—" he stammered. "It seems
-mean to leave you, but.... Sure you wouldn't
-mind? If it wasn't that you are on a diet and *can't*
-eat I shouldn't think of it, but—"
-
-"Shut up!" The Major fairly whooped it to
-Jericho. "If you talk diet to me again I'll kill
-you. Go in and eat. Eat, you idiot! I'd just as
-soon watch two pigs as one. Go in!"
-
-So Shelton came in and I had a plate of chowder
-waitin' for him. He grabbed up his spoon and
-didn't speak until he'd finished the whole of it.
-Then he fetched a long breath, passed the plate for
-more, and says he:
-
-"By George, Cap'n, that is the best stuff I ever
-tasted. You're a wonderful cook."
-
-"Much obliged," says I. "But you ain't competent
-to judge until after the third helpin'. And
-now you try a slab of that spider-bread and a cup
-of coffee. And don't forget to leave room for the
-shortcake because.... Well, I swan to man!
-Why, Major Clark, are you crazy?"
-
-For, as sure as I'm settin' here, old Clark had
-come bustin' into that kitchen, yanked a chair up to
-that table, grabbed a plate and the ladle and was
-helpin' himself to chowder.
-
-"Major!" says I.
-
-"Why, *Cobden*!" says Shelton.
-
-"Shut up!" roars the Major. "If either of you
-say a word I won't be responsible for the consequences."
-
-We didn't say anything and neither did he.
-Judgin' by the silence 'twas a mighty solemn occasion.
-Everybody ate chowder and just thought, I
-guess.
-
-"Pass me that bread," snaps Clark.
-
-"But Cobden," says Shelton again.
-
-"It's hot," says I, "and it's fried, and—"
-
-"Give it to me! If you don't I shall know it's
-because you're too rip-slap stingy to part with it."
-
-After that, there was nothin' to be done but the
-one thing. He got the bread and he ate it—not
-one slice, but two. And he drank coffee and ate a
-three-inch slab of shortcake. When the meal was
-over there wa'n't enough left to feed a healthy
-canary.
-
-"Now," growls the Major, turnin' to Shelton,
-"have you a cigar in your pocket? If you have,
-hand it over."
-
-The Congressman fairly gasped. "A cigar!" he
-sings out. "You—goin' to *smoke*? *You?*"
-
-"Yes—me. I'm goin' to die anyway. This
-murderer here," p'intin' to me, "laid his plans to
-kill me and he's succeeded. But I'll die happy.
-Give me that cigar! If you had a drink about you
-I'd take that."
-
-He bit the end off his cigar, lit it, and slammed
-out of that kitchen, puffin' like a soft-coal tug. Shelton
-shook his head at me and I shook mine back.
-
-"Do you s'pose he *will* die?" he asked. "He's
-eaten enough to kill anybody. And with his stomach!
-And to smoke!"
-
-"The dear land knows," says I. To tell you
-the truth I was a little conscience-struck and worried.
-My idea had been to play a joke on Clark—tantalize
-him by eatin' a square meal that he couldn't
-touch—and get even for some of the names he'd
-called me. But now I wa'n't sure that my fun
-wouldn't turn out serious. When a man with a lame
-digestion eats enough to satisfy an elephant nobody
-can be sure what'll come of it.
-
-The Congressman and I washed the dishes and
-'twas a pretty average sorrowful job. Only once,
-when I happened to glance at him and caught a
-queer look in his eyes, was the ceremony any more
-joyful than a funeral. Then the funny side of it
-struck me and I commenced to laugh. He joined
-in and the pair of us haw-hawed like loons. Then
-we was sorry for it.
-
-Shelton went out when the dish-washin' was over.
-I cleaned up everything, left a note and some money
-on Jonathan's table and locked up the house.
-When I got outside there was a fair to middlin'
-breeze springin' up. Shelton was settin' on the hummock
-waitin' for me.
-
-"Where—where's the Major?" I asked, pretty
-fearful.
-
-"He's over there in the shade—asleep," he
-whispered.
-
-"Asleep!" says I. "Sure he ain't dead?"
-
-"Listen," says he.
-
-I listened. If the Major was dead he was a
-mighty noisy remains.
-
-He woke up, after an hour or so, and come
-trampin' over to where we was.
-
-"Well," he snaps, "it's blowin' hard enough now,
-ain't it? Why don't you take us home?"
-
-"How about the auto?" I asked.
-
-The auto could stay where it was until the horses
-came to pull it out. As for him he wanted to be
-took home.
-
-"But—but are you able to go?" asked Shelton,
-anxious.
-
-What in the sulphur blazes did we mean by that?
-Course he was able to go! And had Shelton got
-another cigar in his clothes?
-
-All of the sail home I was expectin' to see that
-military man keel over and begin his digestion torments.
-But he didn't keel. He smoked and
-talked and was better-natured than ever I'd seen
-him. He didn't mention his stomach once and you
-can be sure and sartin that I didn't. As we was
-comin' up to the moorin's in Ostable I'm blessed if
-he didn't begin to sing, a kind of a fool tune about
-"Down where the somethin'-or-other runs."
-Then I *was* scared, because I judged that his attack
-had started and delirium was settin' in.
-
-Shelton shook hands with me at the landin'.
-
-"You're all right, Cap'n Snow," he says. "That
-was the best meal I ever tasted and nobody but you
-could have conjured it up in the middle of a howlin'
-wilderness. If there's anything I can do for you
-at any time just let me know."
-
-There was one thing he could do, of course, but
-I wouldn't be mean enough to mention it then. The
-Major and I had, generally speakin', fought fair,
-and I wouldn't take advantage of a delirious invalid.
-And just then up comes the invalid himself.
-
-"See here, Snow," says he, pretty gruff; "I'll
-probably be dead afore mornin', but afore I die I
-want to tell you that I'm much obliged to you for
-bringin' us home. Yes, and—and, by the great
-and mighty, I'm obliged to you for that chowder
-and the rest of it! It'll be my death, but nothin'
-ever tasted so good to me afore. There!"
-
-"That's all right," says I.
-
-"No, it ain't all right. I'm much obliged, I tell
-you. You're a stubborn, obstinate, unreasonable
-old hayseed, but you're the most competent person
-in this town just the same. Of course though," he
-adds, sharp, "you understand that this don't affect
-our post-office fight in the least. That Blaisdell
-woman don't get it."
-
-"Who said it did affect it?" I asked, just as
-snappy as he was. That's the way we parted and
-I wondered if I'd ever see him alive again.
-
-I didn't see him for quite a spell, but I heard
-about him. I woke up nights expectin' to be jailed
-for murder, but I wa'n't; and when, three days
-later, Shelton started for Washin'ton, the Major
-went away on the train with him. Abubus and his
-wife shut up the house and went off, too, and nobody
-seemed to know where they'd gone. All's could be
-found out was that Abubus acted pretty ugly and
-wouldn't talk to anybody. This was comfortin' in
-a way, though, most likely, it didn't mean anything
-at all.
-
-But at the end of two weeks a thing happened
-that meant somethin'. I got two letters in the mail,
-one in a big, long envelope postmarked from the
-Post-Office Department at Washington and the
-other a letter from Shelton himself. I don't suppose
-I'll ever forget that letter to my dyin' day.
-
- "Dear Captain Snow," it begun. "You may be
- interested to know that our mutual friend, Major
- Clark, has suffered no ill effects from our picnic at
- the beach. In fact, he is better than he ever was
- and has been enjoying the comforts of city life
- to an extent which I should not dare attempt.
- Whether his long respite from such comforts
- helped, or whether the celebrated Doctor Conquest
- was responsible, I know not. The Major, however,
- declares Doctor Payne to be a fraud and to have
- been, as he says, 'working him for a sucker.'
- Therefore he has discharged the doctor and discharged
- the cousin with the odd name—your fellow
- townsman, Abubus Payne. The mishap with
- the auto was the beginning of Abubus's finish and the
- fact that no indigestion followed our chowder party
- completed it. And also—which may interest you
- still more—Major Clark has withdrawn his support
- of Payne's candidacy for the post-office and
- urged the appointment of another person, one whom
- he declares to be the only able, common-sense, honest
- *man* in the village. As I have long felt the
- appointment of a compromise candidate to be the
- sole solution of the problem, I was very happy to
- agree with him, particularly as I thoroughly approve
- of his choice. When you learn the new postmaster's
- name I trust you may agree with us both. I
- know the citizens of Ostable will do so.
-
- "Yours sincerely,
-
- ":small-caps:`William A. Shelton.`
-
- "P.S. I am coming down next summer and shall
- expect another one of your chowders."
-
-My hands shook as I ripped open the other envelope.
-I knew what was comin'—somethin' inside
-me warned me what to expect. And there it
-was. Me—\ *me*—Zebulon Snow, was app'inted
-postmaster of Ostable!
-
-Was I mad? I was crazy! I fairly hopped up
-and down. What in thunder did I want of the
-postmastership? And if I wanted it ever so much
-did they think I was a traitor? Was it likely that
-I'd take it, after workin' tooth and nail for Mary
-Blaisdell? What would Mary say to me? By
-time, *I'd* show 'em! It should go back that minute
-and my free and frank opinion with it. I'd
-kicked one chair to pieces already, and was beginnin'
-on another, when Jim Henry Jacobs come runnin'
-in and stopped me.
-
-No use to goin' into particulars of the argument
-we had. It lasted till after one o'clock next
-mornin'. Jim Henry argued and coaxed and proved
-and I ripped and vowed I wouldn't. He was
-tickled to death. The post-office was the greatest
-thing to bring trade that the store could have, and
-so on. I *must* take the job. If I didn't somebody
-else would, somebody that, more'n likely, we
-wouldn't like any better than we did Abubus.
-
-"No," says I. "*No!* Mary Blaisdell shall
-have—"
-
-"She won't get it anyway," says he. "She's out
-of it—Shelton as much as says so—whatever happens.
-And she don't want the title anyway. All
-she needs or cares for is the pay and I've thought of
-a way to fix that. You listen."
-
-I listened—under protest, and the upshot of it
-was that the next day I went up to see Mary. She'd
-heard that I was likely to get the appointment—old
-Clark had been doin' some hintin' afore he left
-town, I cal'late—and she congratulated me as
-hearty as if 'twas what she'd wanted all along. But
-I wa'n't huntin' congratulations. I felt as mean as
-if I'd been took up by the constable for bein' a
-chicken thief, and I told her so.
-
-"Mary," says I, "I wa'n't after the postmastership.
-I swear by all that is good and great I wa'n't.
-I don't know what you must think of me."
-
-"What I've always thought," says she, "and
-what poor Henry thought before he died. My
-opinion is like Major Clark's," with a kind of half
-smile, "that the appointment has gone to the best
-man in Ostable."
-
-"My, my!" says I. "*Your* digestion ain't given
-you delirium, has it? No sir-ee! I'm no more fit
-to be postmaster than a ship's goat is to teach
-school."
-
-"You mustn't talk so," she says, earnest. "You
-will take the position, won't you?"
-
-"I'll take it," says I, "under one condition."
-Then I told her what the condition was. She argued
-against it at fust, but after I'd said flat-footed
-that 'twas either that or the government could take
-its appointment and make paper boats of it, and
-she'd seen that I meant it, she give in.
-
-"But," says she, chokin' up a little, "I know
-you're doin' this just to help me. How I can ever
-repay your kindness I don't—"
-
-I cut in quick. My deadlights was more misty
-than I like to have 'em. "Rubbish!" says I,
-"I'm doin' it to win my bet with old Clark. I'd do
-anything to beat out that old critter."
-
-So it happened that when, along in November,
-the Major came back to Ostable to look over his
-place, afore leavin' for Florida, and come into the
-store, I was ready for him. He grinned and asked
-me if he had any mail.
-
-"While you're about it," he says, chucklin', "you
-can pay me that bet."
-
-Now the very sound of the word "bet" hit me on
-a sore place. I'd lost one hat to Mr. Pike and the
-letter I'd got from him rubbed me across the grain
-every time I thought of it.
-
-"What bet?" says I.
-
-"Why, the bet you made that the Blaisdell
-woman would be postmistress here."
-
-"I didn't bet that," I says.
-
-"You didn't?" he roared. "You did, too!
-You bet—"
-
-"I bet that Mary would handle the mail, that's
-all. So she will; fact is, she's handlin' it now.
-She's my assistant in the post-office here. If you
-don't believe it, go back to the mail window and
-look in. No, Major, *I* win the bet."
-
-Maybe I did, but he wouldn't pay it. He
-vowed I was a low down swindler and a "welsher,"
-whatever that is. He blew out of that store like
-a toy typhoon and I didn't see him again until the
-next summer. However, I had a feelin' that Major
-Cobden Clark wa'n't the wust friend I had, by
-a consider'ble sight.
-
-You see, that was Jim Henry's great scheme—to
-hire Mary to run the office as my assistant. He
-didn't say what salary I was to pay her, and, if I
-chose to hand over three-quarters of the postmaster's
-pay to her, what business was it of his? I told
-him that plain, and, to do him justice, he didn't seem
-to care.
-
-But he did rub it in about my declarin' I'd never
-go into politics.
-
-In a little while the mail department was as much
-a part of the "Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots
-and Shoes and Fancy Goods Store" as the calico
-and dress goods counter. We bought the Blaisdell
-letter-box rack and fixin's and set 'em up and they
-done fust-rate for the time bein'. I was postmaster,
-so fur as name goes, but 'twas Mary that really run
-that end of the ship. It seemed as natural to have
-her come in mornin's, as it did for the sun to rise;
-and, if she was late, which didn't happen often, it
-seemed almost as if the sun hadn't rose. The old
-store needed somethin' like her to keep it clean and
-sweet and even Jim Henry give in that she was the
-best investment the business had made yet.
-
-As for business it kept on good, even though the
-summer folks had gone and winter had set in. Our
-order carts kept runnin' and they *took* orders, too.
-The store was doin' well by us both and I certainly
-owed old Pullet a debt of thanks for workin' on
-my sympathies until I put my cash into it. There
-was consider'ble buildin' goin' on in town and,
-when spring begun to show symptoms of makin'
-Ostable harbor, Jim Henry got possessed of a new
-idea. I didn't pay much attention at fust. He
-was always as full of notions as a peddler's cart
-and if I took every one of 'em serious we'd either
-been Rockefellers or star boarders at the poorhouse,
-one or t'other. 'Twa'n't till that day in April when
-old Ebenezer Taylor came in after his mail and
-went out after the constable that I realized somethin'
-had to be done.
-
-You see, Ebenezer's eyes was failin' on him and,
-to make things worse, he'd forgot his nigh-to specs
-and had on his far-off pair. Consequently, when he
-headed for the after end of the store, he wa'n't in
-no condition to keep clear of the rocks and shoals
-in the channel. Fust thing he run into was a couple
-of dress-forms with some bargain calico gowns on
-'em. While he was beggin' pardon of them forms,
-under the impression that they was women customers,
-he backed into a roll of barbed wire fencin'
-that was leanin' against the candy and cigar counter.
-His clothes was sort of thin and if that barbed wire
-had been somebody tryin' to borrer a quarter of
-him he couldn't have jumped higher or been more
-emphatic in his remarks. The third jump landed
-him against the gunwale of a bushel basket of eggs
-that Jacobs was makin' a special run on and had
-set out prominent in the aisle. Maybe Ebenezer
-was tired from the jumpin' or maybe the excitement
-had gone to his head and he thought he was a hen.
-Anyhow he set on them eggs, and in two shakes of
-a heifer's tail he was the messiest lookin' omelet
-ever I see. Jacobs and me and the clerk scraped
-him off best we could with pieces of barrel hoop
-and the cheese knife, and Mary come out from behind
-the letter boxes and helped along with the
-floor mop, but when we'd finished with him he was
-consider'ble more like somethin' for breakfast than
-he was human.
-
-And mad! An April fool chocolate cream
-couldn't have been more peppery than he was. He
-distributed his commentaries around pretty general—Mary
-got some and so did Jacobs—but the heft
-was fired at me. He hated me anyhow, 'count of
-my bein' made postmaster and for some other reasons.
-
-"You—you thunderin' murderer!" he hollered,
-shakin' his old fist in my face. "'Twas all
-your fault. You done it a-purpose. Look at me!
-Look! my legs punched full of holes like a skimmer,
-and—and my clothes! Just look at my
-clothes! A whole suit ruined! A suit I paid ten
-dollars and a half for—"
-
-"Ten year and a half ago," I put in, involuntary,
-as you might say.
-
-"It's a lie. 'Twon't be nine year till next
-September. You think you're funny, don't you?
-Ever since this consarned, robbin' Black Republican
-administration made you postmaster! Postmaster!
-You're a healthy postmaster! I'll have you arrested!
-I'll march straight out and have you took
-up. I will!"
-
-He headed for the door. I didn't say nothin'.
-I was sorry about the clothes and I'd have paid for
-'em willin'ly, but arguin' just then was a waste of
-time, as the feller said when the deef and dumb
-man caught him stealin' apples. Ebenezer stamped
-as fur as the door and then turned around.
-
-"I may not have you took up," he says; "but
-I'll get even with you, Zeb Snow, yet. You wait."
-
-After he'd gone and we'd made the place look
-a little less like an egg-nog, I took Jim Henry by
-the sleeve and led him into the back room where
-we could be alone. Even there the surroundin's
-was so cluttered up with goods and bales and boxes
-that we had to stand edgeways and talk out of the
-sides of our mouths.
-
-"Jim," says I, "this place of ours ain't big
-enough. We've got to have more room."
-
-He pretended to be dreadful surprised.
-
-"Why, why, Skipper!" he says. "You shock
-me. This is so sudden. What put such an idea as
-that in your head? Seems to me I have a vague
-remembrance of handin' you that suggestion no less
-than twenty-five times since the last change of the
-moon, but I hope *that* didn't influence you."
-
-"Aw, dry up," says I. "You was right. Let it
-go at that. Afore I got the postmastership this
-buildin' was big enough. Now it ain't. We've got
-to build on or move or somethin'. Have you got
-any definite plan?"
-
-He smiled, superior and top-lofty, and reached
-over to pat me on the back; but reachin' in that
-crowded junk-shop was bad judgment, 'cause his
-elbow hit against the corner of a tea chest and his
-next set of remarks was as explosive and fiery as a
-box of ship rockets.
-
-"Never mind the blessin'," I says. "Go ahead
-with the fust course. Have you got anything up
-your sleeve? anything besides that bump, I mean."
-
-Well, it seems he had. Seems he'd thought it
-all out. We'd ought to buy Philander Foster's
-buildin', which was on the next lot to ours, move it
-close up, cut doors through, and use it for the post-office
-department.
-
-"Humph!" says I, after I'd turned the notion
-over in my mind. "That ain't so bad, considerin'
-where it come from. I can only sight one possible
-objection in the offin'."
-
-"What's that, you confounded Jezebel?" he
-says.
-
-"Jezebel?" says I. "What on airth do you call
-me that for?"
-
-"'Cause you're him all over," he says. "He
-was the feller I used to hear about in Sunday School,
-the prophet chap that was always croakin' and believed
-everything was goin' to the dogs. That was
-Jezebel, wasn't it?"
-
-"No," says I, "that was Jeremiah; Jezebel was
-the one the dogs *went* to. And she was a woman,
-at that."
-
-"Well, all right," he says. "Whatever he or
-she was they didn't have anything on you when it
-comes to croaks. What's the objection?"
-
-"Nothin' much. Only I don't know's you've
-happened to think that Philander might not care to
-sell his buildin', to us or to anybody else."
-
-That was all right. We could go and see,
-couldn't we? Well, we could of course—and we
-did.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER V—A TRAP AND WHAT THE "RAT" CAUGHT IN IT
-================================================
-
-
-Foster run a shebang that was labeled
-"The Palace Billiard, Pool and Sipio Parlors.
-Cigars and Tobacco. Tonics, all
-Flavors. Ice Cream in Season." The "Palace"
-part was some exaggeration and so was the "Parlors,"
-but the place was the favorite hang-out of
-all the loafers and young sports in town and the
-church folks was tumble down on it, callin' it a
-"gilded hell" and such pious profanity. The gilt
-had wore off years afore and if the hot place ain't
-more interestin' than that billiard saloon it must be
-dull for some of the permanent boarders.
-
-We found Philander asleep back of the soft
-drink counter and young Erastus Taylor—"Ratty,"
-everybody called him—practicin' pin pool, as
-usual, at one of the tables. "Ratty" was Ebenezer
-Taylor's only son and the combination trial
-and idol of the old man's soul. Ebenezer thought
-most as much of him as he did of his money, and when
-you've said that you couldn't make it any stronger.
-He'd done a heap to make a man of "Rat"—his
-idea of a man—even separatin' from enough cash
-to send him to a business college up to Middleboro;
-but all the boy got from that college was a thunder
-and lightnin' taste in clothes and a post-graduate
-course in pool playin'. Pool playin' was the only
-thing he cared about and he could spot any one of
-the Ostable sharps four balls and beat 'em hands
-down. He'd sampled two or three jobs up to Boston,
-but they always undermined his health and he
-drifted back home to live on dad and look for another
-"openin'." I cal'late the pair lived a cat and
-dog life, for Ratty always wanted money to spend
-and Ebenezer wanted it to keep. The old man
-was the wust down on the billiard room of anybody
-and his son put in most of his time there.
-
-Me and Jim Henry woke up Philander and told
-him we wanted to talk with him private. He said
-go ahead and talk; there wa'n't anybody to hear
-but Ratty, and Rat was just like one of the family.
-So, as we couldn't do it any different, we went
-ahead. Jacobs explained that we felt that maybe
-we might some time or other need a little extry
-room for our business and, bein' as he—Philander—was
-handy by and we was always prejudiced in
-favor of a neighbor and so on, perhaps he'd consider
-sellin' us his buildin' and lot. Course it didn't make
-so much difference to him; he could easy move his
-"Parlors" somewheres else—and similar sweet
-ile. Philander listened till Jim Henry had poured
-on the last soothin' drop, and then he laughed.
-
-"Um ... ya-as," he says. "I could
-move a heap, *I* could! I'm so durned popular
-amongst the good landholders in this town that any
-one of 'em would turn their best settin'-rooms over
-to me the minute I mentioned it. Yes, indeed!
-Just where 'bouts would I move?—if 'tain't too
-much to ask."
-
-Well, that was some of a sticker, 'cause *I*
-couldn't think of anybody that would have that
-billiard room within a thousand fathoms of their
-premises, if they could help it. But Jim Henry he
-pretended not to be shook up a cent's wuth. That
-was easy; 'twas just a matter of Philander's
-pickin' out the right place, that was all there was
-to it.
-
-Philander heard him through and then he
-laughed again.
-
-"You're wastin' good business breath," he says.
-"I wouldn't sell if I could, unless I had a fust-class
-place to move into, and there ain't no such
-place on the main road and you know it. I'm doin'
-trade enough to keep me alive and I'm satisfied,
-though I can't lay up a cent. But, so fur as movin'
-out is concerned, I expect to do that on the fust of
-next November. I'll be fired out, I judge, and
-prob'ly'll have to leave town. Hey, Rat?"
-
-Ratty Taylor, who'd been listenin', twisted his
-mouth and grunted.
-
-"Yes," he says, "I guess that's right, worse
-luck!"
-
-"You bet it's right!" says Philander. "As I
-said, Mr. Jacobs, if I could sell out to you and
-Cap'n Zeb I wouldn't, without a good handy place
-to move into. And I can't sell any way. There's
-a thousand dollar mortgage on this shop and lot;
-it's due June fust; and, unless I pay it off—which
-I can't, havin' not more'n five hundred to my name—the
-mortgage'll be foreclosed and out I go."
-
-This was news all right. Then me and Jim
-Henry asked the same question, both speakin' together.
-
-"Who owns the mortgage?" we asked.
-
-Foster looked at Ratty and grinned. Rat grinned
-back, sort of sickly.
-
-"Shall I tell 'em?" says Philander.
-
-"I don't care," says Ratty. "Tell 'em, if you
-want to."
-
-"Well," says Foster, "old Ebenezer Taylor,
-Ratty's dad, owns it, drat him! and he's tryin' to
-drive me out of town 'count of Rat's spendin' so
-much time in here. Ratty's a fine feller, but his
-pa's the meanest old skinflint that ever drawed the
-breath of life. Not meanin' no reflections on your
-family, Rat—but ain't it so?"
-
-"*I* shan't contradict you, Phi," says Ratty.
-
-Jacobs and I looked at each other. Then I got
-up from my chair.
-
-"Jim Henry," says I, "I don't see as we've got
-much to gain by stayin' here. Let's go home."
-
-We went back to the store, neither of us speakin',
-but both thinkin' hard. It was all off now, of course.
-If old Taylor owned that mortgage, he'd foreclose
-on the nail, if only to get rid of his son's loafin' place.
-And he wouldn't sell to us—hatin' us as he did—unless
-we covered the place with cash an inch deep.
-No, buyin' the "Palace" was a dead proposition.
-And there wa'n't another available buildin' or lot big
-enough for us to move to within a mile of Ostable
-Center.
-
-"Humph!" says I, some sarcastic. "It looks to
-me—speakin' as a man in the crosstrees—as if that
-wonderful business brain of yours had sprung a leak
-somewheres, Jim. Better get your pumps to workin',
-hadn't you?"
-
-He snorted. "I'd rather have a leaky head than
-a solid wood one like some I know," he says.
-"Quiet your Jezebellerin' and let me think....
-There's one thing we might do, of course: We
-might advance the other five hundred to Foster, let
-him pay off his mortagage, and then—"
-
-"And then trust to luck to get the money back,"
-I put in. "There's more charity than profit in that,
-if you ask me. Once that mortgage is paid, you
-couldn't get Philander out of that buildin' with a
-derrick. He don't want to go."
-
-"But we might make some sort of a deal to
-pay him a hundred dollars or so to boot and
-then—"
-
-"And then you'd have another hundred to collect,
-that's all. I wouldn't trust that billiard and sipio
-man as fur as old Ebenezer could see through his
-nigh-to specs. No sir-ee! Nothin' doin', as the
-boys say."
-
-Next forenoon I met old Ebenezer Taylor on the
-sidewalk in front of the Methodist meetin'-house
-and, when he saw me, he stopped and commenced
-chucklin' and gigglin' as if he was wound up.
-
-"He, he, he!" says he. "He, he! I hear you
-and that partner of yours, Zebulon, want to buy my
-property next door to you. Well, I'll sell it to you—at
-a price. He, he, he! at a price."
-
-.. figure:: images/illus3.jpg
- :align: center
- :alt: 'Well, I'll sell it to you—at a price.'
-
- 'Well, I'll sell it to you—at a price.'
-
-"So your hopeful and promisin' son's been tellin'
-tales, has he?" says I. "I wa'n't aware that it was
-your property—yet."
-
-He stopped gigglin' and glared at me, sour and
-bitter as a green crab-apple.
-
-"It's goin' to be," he says. "Don't you forget
-that, it's goin' to be. And if you want it, you'll pay
-my price. You owe me for them clothes you
-ruined, Zeb Snow—for them and for other things.
-And I cal'late I've got you fellers about where I
-want you."
-
-"Oh, I don't know," says I. "You may be glad
-enough to sell to us later on. What good is an
-empty buildin' on your hands? Unless of course you
-intend rentin' it for another billiard saloon."
-
-That made him so mad he fairly gurgled.
-
-"There'll be no billiard saloon in this town," he
-declared. "No more gilded ha'nts of sin, temptin'
-young men whose parents have spent good money on
-their education. No, you bet there won't! And
-that buildin' may not be empty, nuther. I know
-somethin'. He, he, he!"
-
-"Sho!" says I. "Do you? I wouldn't have
-believed it of you, Ebenezer."
-
-I left him tryin' to think of a fittin' answer, and
-walked on to the store. Mary called to me from
-behind the letter-boxes.
-
-"Mr. Jacobs is in the back room," she says, "and
-he wants to see you right away. Erastus Taylor is
-with him."
-
-"'Rastus Taylor?" I sung out. "Ratty? What
-in the world—?"
-
-I hurried into the back room. Sure enough, there
-was Jim Henry and Ratty caged behind a pile of
-boxes and barrels.
-
-"Ah, Skipper!" says Jacobs; "is that you? I
-was hopin' you'd come. Young Taylor here has
-been suggestin' an idea that looks good to me. Tell
-the Cap'n what you've been tellin' me, Ratty."
-
-Rat twisted uneasy on the box where he was settin'
-and give me a side look out of his little eyes. I never
-saw him look more like his nickname.
-
-"Well, Cap'n Zeb," he says, "it's like this: I've
-been thinkin' and I believe I've thought of a way
-so you and Mr. Jacobs can get Philander's lot and
-buildin'."
-
-"You have, hey?" says I. "That's interestin',
-if true. What's the way?"
-
-"Why," says he, twistin' some more, "that mortgage
-is due on the first of June. If it ain't paid,
-Philander'll be foreclosed and he'll move out of
-town. It's only a thousand dollars and Phi's got
-half of it. If somebody—you and Mr. Jacobs,
-say—was to lend him t'other half, why then he
-could pay it off and—and—"
-
-"And stay where he is," I finished disgusted.
-"That would be real lovely for Philander, but I
-don't see where we come in. This ain't a billiard
-and loan society Mr. Jacobs and I are runnin',
-thankin' you and Foster for the suggestion."
-
-"Wait a minute, Skipper," says Jim Henry.
-"Your engine is runnin' wild. That ain't Ratty's
-scheme at all. Go on, Rat; spring it on him."
-
-"Philander wouldn't be so set on stayin' where
-he is, Cap'n Zeb," says Rat, quick as a flash, "if he
-had another place to move into; another place here
-on the main road, convenient and handy by. And
-I think I know a place that could be got for him."
-
-I didn't answer for a minute. I was runnin' over
-in my mind every possible place that might be sold
-or let to Philander Foster for a "Palace." And to
-save my life I couldn't think of one.
-
-"Well," says I, at last, "where is it?"
-
-Ratty leaned forward. "What's the matter with
-Aunt Hannah Watson's buildin' up the street?" he
-says. "She's been crazy to sell it for a long spell.
-And the lower floor would make a pretty fair billiard
-room, wouldn't it?"
-
-I was disgusted. I knew the buildin' he meant,
-of course. Jacobs and I had talked it over that very
-mornin' as a possible place to move the "Ostable
-Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy
-Goods Store" to, but we'd both decided it wa'n't
-nigh big enough.
-
-"Humph!" says I, "that scheme's so brilliant
-you need smoked glass to look at it. Do you cal'late
-as good a church woman as Aunt Hannah Watson
-would sell or let her place for a billiard room? She
-needs the money bad enough, land knows; but she's
-as down on those ha'nts of sin as your dad is, Rat
-Taylor. She'd never sell to Phi Foster in this
-world."
-
-"*She* mightn't, I give in," answered Rat. "But
-her nephew up to Wareham is a diff'rent breed of
-cats. And since she moved over there to live along
-with him, he's got the handlin' of her property. I
-found that out to-day. From what I hear of this
-nephew man he ain't as particular as his aunt. And,
-anyway, 'tain't necessary for Philander to make the
-deal. You and Mr. Jacobs might make it for him."
-
-I thought this over for a minute. I begun to
-catch the idea that the young scamp had in his noddle—or
-I thought I did.
-
-"H'm," I says. "Yes, yes. You mean that if
-we'd lend Philander enough to pay the balance of
-his mortgage on the buildin' he's in now and would
-fix it so's Aunt Hannah'd sell us her place, under the
-notion that *we* was goin' to use it—you mean that
-then, after June fust, Foster'd swap. He'd move
-in there and turn over the old 'Palace' to us."
-
-He and Jim Henry both bobbed their heads emphatic.
-
-"That's what he means," says Jim.
-
-"That's the idea exactly, Cap'n," says Rat. "I
-think Philander might be willin' to do that."
-
-"Is that so!" says I, sarcastic. "Well, well!
-I want to know! But, say, Ratty, ain't you takin'
-an awful lot of trouble on Foster's account? You're
-turrible unselfish and disinterested all to once; or
-else there's a nigger in the woodpile somewheres.
-Where do you come in on this?"
-
-He looked pretty average cheap. He fussed and
-fumed for a minute and then he blurts out his reason.
-"Well, I'll tell you, Cap'n," he says. "Philander's
-about the best friend I've got in this bum town and
-I get more solid comfort in his saloon than anywheres
-else. If he's drove out of Ostable, I'll be lonesomer
-than the grave. I don't want him to go. And
-besides—well, you see, the old man—dad, I mean—has
-got a notion about settin' me up in business
-here. And I don't want to be set up—not in his
-kind of business. I know the kind of business I
-want to go into, and ... but never mind that
-part," he adds, in a hurry.
-
-I smiled. I remembered what old Ebenezer had
-said about the "Palace" buildin' not bein' empty on
-his hands very long and about somethin' he knew.
-It was all plain enough now. He intended openin'
-some sort of a store there with his son as boss. I
-almost wished he would. 'Twould be as good as
-a three-ring circus, that store would, if I knew Ratty.
-But I was mad, just the same, and when Jim Henry
-spoke, I was ready for him.
-
-"Well, Skipper," says Jacobs, "what do you think
-of the plan?"
-
-"Think it's a good one, if you're willin' to heave
-morals and common honesty overboard—otherwise
-no. To put up a trick like that on an old widow
-woman like Aunt Hannah Watson—to land a
-billiard room on her property, when she'd rather die
-than have it there, is too close to robbin' the Old
-Ladies' Home to suit me. I wouldn't touch it with
-a ten-foot pole. So good day to you, Rat Taylor,"
-says I, and walked out.
-
-But Jim Henry Jacobs didn't walk out. No, sir!
-him and that young Taylor scamp stayed in that
-back room for another half hour and left it whisperin'
-in each other's ears and actin' thicker than
-thieves. I wondered what was up, but I was too
-put-out and mad to ask.
-
-"I'll look it over right after dinner to-morrer,"
-says Jacobs, as they shook hands at the front door.
-
-"Sure you will, now?" asks Ratty, anxious.
-"Don't put it off, 'cause it may be too late."
-
-"At one o'clock to-morrer I'll be there," says Jim
-Henry, and Rat went away lookin' pretty average
-happy.
-
-Jacobs scarcely spoke to me all the rest of that
-day nor the next mornin'. As we got up from the
-boardin' house table the follerin' noon he says, without
-lookin' me in the face, "I ain't goin' back to the
-store now. I've got an errand somewheres else."
-
-"Yes," says I, "I imagined you had. You're
-goin' down to look at that buildin' of poor old Aunt
-Hannah's. That's where you're goin'. Ain't you
-ashamed of yourself, Jim Jacobs?"
-
-"Oh, cut it out!" he snaps, savage. "You make
-me tired, Skipper. You and your backwoods scruples
-give me a pain. I've lived where people aren't
-so narrow and bigoted and I don't consider a billiard
-room an annex to the hot place. If, by a
-business deal, I can get that buildin' next door to
-add to our establishment, I'm goin' to do it, if I
-have to use my own money and not a cent of yours.
-Yes, I *am* goin' to look at that Watson property.
-Now, what have you got to say about it?"
-
-"Why, just this," says I; "I cal'late I'll go with
-you."
-
-"You will?" he sings out. "*You?*"
-
-"Yes," says I, "me. Not that I feel any different
-about skinnin' Aunt Hannah than I ever did,
-but because there's a bare chance that her place may
-be big enough for us to move the store and post-office
-to, after all. With that idea and no other,
-I'll go with you, Jim."
-
-So we went together, though we never spoke more
-than two words on the way down. We got the key
-at the jewelry and hardware shop next door and
-went in. The Watson place was an old-fashioned
-tumble-down buildin' with a big open lower floor
-and two or three rooms overhead. I saw right off
-'twouldn't do for us to move into, but likewise I
-saw that the lower floor *might* do for Foster, though
-'twa'n't as good as where he was, by consider'ble.
-
-Jim Henry looked the place over.
-
-"No good for us," he snapped.
-
-"None at all," says I.
-
-"Humph!" says he, and we locked up and came
-down the steps together. As we did so I noticed
-someone watchin' us from acrost the road.
-
-"There's our friend, Jim Henry," says I. "And,
-judgin' by the way he's starin', he's got on his fur-off
-glasses and knows who we are."
-
-He looked across. "Old Taylor, by thunder!"
-says he. "Well, if my deal goes through we'll jolt
-the old tight-wad yet."
-
-"Do you mean you're goin' on with that low-down
-billiard-room game?" I asked.
-
-"Of course I do," he snapped.
-
-"Then you'll do it on your own hook. *I* won't
-be part or parcel of it."
-
-"Who asked you to?" he wanted to know. And
-we didn't speak again for the rest of that day. It
-made me feel bad, because he and I had been mighty
-friendly, as well as partners together. The only
-comfort I got out of it was that, judgin' by the way
-he kept from lookin' at me or speakin', he didn't
-feel any too good himself.
-
-But that evenin' Ratty drifted in and the pair of
-'em had another confab. And next day, after the
-mail had gone, Jacobs got me alone and says he:
-
-"Well," he says, "I think I ought to tell you that
-I've written that nephew in Wareham and made
-an offer on the Watson property. I did it on my
-own responsibility and I'll pay the freight. But I
-thought perhaps I ought to tell you."
-
-"What did you offer?" I asked. He told me.
-
-"I'll take half," says I, "because I consider it a
-good investment at that figger. But only with the
-agreement that the billiard saloon sha'n't go there."
-
-"Then you can keep your money," he says, short.
-And there was another long spell of not speakin'
-between the two of us.
-
-Mary noticed that there was somethin' wrong,
-and it worried her. She spoke to me about it.
-
-"Cap'n Zeb," she says, "what's the trouble between
-you and Mr. Jacobs? Of course it isn't my
-business, and you mustn't tell me unless you wish to."
-
-I thought it over. "Well," says I, "I can't tell
-you just now, Mary. It's a business matter we don't
-agree on and it's kind of private. I'll tell you some
-day, but just now I can't. It ain't all my secret, you
-see."
-
-"I see," says she. "I shouldn't have asked. I
-beg your pardon. I wasn't curious, but I do hate to
-see any trouble between you two. I like you both."
-
-I nodded. I was feelin' pretty blue. "Jim's a
-mighty good chap at heart," I says. "I owe him
-a lot and he's consider'ble more than just a partner
-to me."
-
-"He thinks the world of you, too," says she.
-"He's told me so a great many times. That is why
-I can't bear to see you disagree."
-
-I couldn't bear it none too well, either, but Jim
-Henry showed no signs of givin' in and I wouldn't.
-So we moped around, keepin' out of each other's
-way, and actin' for all the world like a couple of
-young-ones in bad need of a switch.
-
-A couple more days went by afore the answer
-came from Wareham. When I saw the envelope
-on the desk, with the Watson man's name in the
-corner, I knew what it meant and I was on hand
-when Jim Henry opened it. He was ugly and
-scowlin' when he ripped off the envelope. Then I
-heard him swear. I was dyin' to know what the
-letter said, but I wouldn't have asked him for no
-money. I walked out to the front of the store.
-Five minutes later I felt his hand on my shoulder.
-He had a curious expression on his face, sort of a
-mixture of mad and glad.
-
-"Skipper," he says, "we're buncoed again. We
-don't get the Watson place."
-
-"Don't, hey?" says I. "All right, I sha'n't shed
-any tears. I wa'n't after it, and you know it. But
-I'm surprised that your offer wa'n't accepted. Why
-wa'n't it?"
-
-"Because somebody got ahead of me. Here's
-the letter. Listen to this: 'Your offer for my
-aunt's property in Ostable came a day too late.
-Yesterday I gave a year's option on that property,
-for five hundred dollars cash, to—'"
-
-"Land of love!" I interrupted. "Only yesterday!
-That was close haulin', I must say."
-
-"Wait," says he, "you haven't heard the whole
-of it. 'A year's option ... for five hundred
-dollars cash, to Mr. Taylor of your town.'"
-
-"Taylor!" says I. "*Taylor!* My soul and
-body! The old skinflint beat us again! Well, I
-swan!"
-
-"Um-hm," says he. "I size it up like this.
-He saw us come out of there the other day and
-guessed that we thought of buyin' and movin'. So,
-as he owed us a grudge, and because the Watson
-property is, as you said, a good investment anyhow,
-he makes his option offer on the jump, and beat me
-to it."
-
-I whistled. "I cal'late you've hit the nailhead,
-Jim," says I. "Well, to be free and frank, I'm glad
-of it."
-
-"So am I," says he.
-
-*That* was a staggerer. I whirled round and
-looked at him.
-
-"You *are*?" I sung out.
-
-"Yes," says he, "I am. Of course I had my
-heart set on gettin' that 'Palace' for an addition
-that would give more room and extry space to our
-place here; and the only way I could see to get it
-was to take up with that Rat's proposition. I
-haven't any prejudice against billiards—"
-
-"Neither have I, but—"
-
-"I know. And you're right. Old lady Watson
-has, and to run Foster's establishment in on her
-would have been a low-down mean trick. I've felt
-like a thief, but I was so pig-headed I wouldn't back
-down. Now that I've got it where the chicken got
-his, I'm glad of it, I really am. Partner, will you
-forget my meanness and shake hands?"
-
-Would I? I was as tickled as a youngster with
-a new tin whistle. And so was he.
-
-"There's only one thing that keeps me mad," he
-says, "and that is that old Ebenezer's got the laugh
-on us again. As for more room for the store—well,
-we'll have to think that out."
-
-We thought, but it wa'n't us that got the answer.
-'Twas Mary Blaisdell. I told her what our fuss had
-been about, and she agreed that I was right and that
-Jim Henry's sharp business sense had sort of run
-away with him for the time bein'.
-
-"But," says she, "we certainly do need more
-room, both in the mail department and the store.
-I've had an idea for some time. Let *me* think a
-while."
-
-Next day she told Jacobs and me what her idea
-was. 'Twas that we should build an addition on
-to our own buildin'. Run it two stories high and
-right out into the back yard. 'Twas just the thing
-and the wonder is that we hadn't thought of it ourselves.
-
-"She's a wonder, Jim, ain't she?" says I, when
-we was alone together.
-
-"*You* think so, don't you, Skipper," says he,
-smilin'.
-
-I flared up. "Sartin I do," I says. "Don't
-you?"
-
-"Indeed I do."
-
-"Then what do you mean?"
-
-"Oh, nothin', nothin'. Say, have you seen old
-Taylor lately? I suppose he's crowin' like a Shanghai
-rooster. I do hate for that old skinflint to have
-the joke always on his side."
-
-"I know," says I. "So do I. But some day,
-if we wait long enough, we may have a chance to
-laugh at him. I've lived a good many year and
-I've seen it work that way pretty often. We'll
-wait—and when we do laugh, we'll laugh hard."
-
-And we didn't have to wait so turrible long
-neither. We got a carpenter in, told him to keep
-it a secret, but to plan how we could build the backyard
-extension. The plannin' and estimatin' kept
-us busy and we forgot about everything else. Fust
-along I expected young Taylor would pester us with
-more schemes, but he didn't. He never came nigh
-us once, fact is he seemed mighty anxious to keep
-out of our way, and so long as he did we didn't
-complain. His dad come crowin' and chucklin'
-around a couple of times and finally Jacobs lost his
-temper and told him if he ever showed his face on
-our premises again he was liable to be put to the
-expense of havin' it repaired by the doctor.
-Ebenezer vowed vengeance and law suits, but he
-went, and after that he sent a boy for his mail instead
-of comin' to fetch it himself.
-
-One forenoon, about eleven o'clock 'twas, I was
-standin' on the store platform, when I heard the
-Old Harry's own row in the "Palace Billiard, Pool
-and Sipio Parlors." Loud voices, all goin' at once,
-and two or three different assortments of language.
-Jim Henry heard it, too, and come out to listen.
-
-"Skipper," he says, sudden; "what day is
-this?"
-
-"Why, Thursday," says I, "ain't it? Oh, you
-mean what day of the month. Hey? By the everlastin'!
-I declare if it ain't the fust of June!"
-
-"The day Foster's mortgage falls due," he says,
-excited. "I wonder.... You don't suppose—"
-
-He didn't have to suppose, for inside of the next
-two minutes we both knew. Three men came bustin'
-out of the billiard room door. One was Philander
-himself, the other was Ezra Colcord, the lawyer,
-and the third was our old shipmate and bosom friend,
-Ebenezer Taylor. The old man was fairly frothin'
-at the mouth.
-
-"You—you—" he sputtered, "you've deceived
-me. You've lied to me. You led me to think—"
-
-"I don't see as you've got any kick, Mr. Taylor,"
-purrs Philander, smilin'. "You've got your money.
-What more can you ask?"
-
-"But—but I don't want the money. I want
-this property, and I'll have it."
-
-"Oh, no, you won't, Mr. Taylor," says Colcord,
-the lawyer. "This property belongs to Foster now.
-He's paid your mortgage in full. You have no
-rights here whatever and I advise you to go before
-you are arrested for trespassin'."
-
-Well, the old man went, but he was still talkin'
-and threatenin' when he turned the corner. Colcord
-laughed and shook hands with Philander.
-
-"Don't mind him, Foster," he says. "He's sore,
-that's all, but he has no claim whatever. You've
-paid off your mortgage and the property is yours
-absolutely. As for the other matter, the papers will
-be ready for signature this afternoon. Ha, ha!
-I imagine they won't add to our friend's joy."
-
-"Cal'late not," says Philander, grinnin'. "This'll
-be his day for surprises, hey?"
-
-They shook hands again and Colcord left. Soon's
-he'd gone, Jim Henry grabbed me by the arm. He
-didn't even wait for the lawyer to get out of sight.
-
-"Come on," he says. "This is too good to be
-true. We must find out about this, Skipper."
-
-So over to the "Parlors" we hurried. Philander
-looked sort of queer when he saw us comin', but he
-didn't run away. We commenced to ask questions,
-both of us together. After we'd asked a dozen or
-so, he held up his hand.
-
-"Come inside," he says, "and I'll tell you about
-it. The secret'll be out in a little while, anyhow,
-and maybe we do owe you fellers a little mite of
-explanation."
-
-We went in, wonderin'. Philander set up the
-cigars, ten-centers at that, and then he says:
-"Yes, I've paid off my mortgage and I cal'late
-you wonder where the money came from. Five
-hundred of it I had myself. You knew that."
-
-"Yes," says Jacobs, and I nodded.
-
-"Um-hm," says he. "Well, I loaned the five
-hundred to Ratty and he bought the option on Aunt
-Hannah's buildin' with it."
-
-We fairly jumped off our pins.
-
-"What?" says I.
-
-"*Rat* bought that option?" gasped Jim Henry.
-"Nonsense! his dad bought it."
-
-"No-o," says Philander, solemn, "'twas Rat that
-bought it at fust. The whole scheme was his and
-I give him credit for it. After Mr. Jacobs here
-had agreed to look at the Watson place, Ratty got
-Ed. Holmes to take him over to Wareham in his
-auto. There he see this nephew of Aunt Hannah's,
-paid down his five hundred and got the option."
-
-"But that letter I got said—" began Jim Henry,
-and then he pulled up short. "No," says he, "it
-said 'Mr. Taylor' had secured the option; I remember
-now. But, of course, we supposed it was
-Ebenezer."
-
-"And Ebenezer did have it," I put in. "He
-told me so himself. I met him on the road and
-he—"
-
-"Hold on, Cap'n," cuts in Philander, "no use
-goin' through all that. Ebenezer *has* got it now.
-Ratty decoyed his dad down abreast the Watson
-place while you and Mr. Jacobs was inside lookin'
-it over, and the old man see you two come out."
-
-"I know he did," says I. "I saw him peekin'
-at us from behind a tree."
-
-"Yes," goes on Foster, "he was there. And,
-naturally, he jedged you was cal'latin' to buy that
-buildin' and move into it. Fact is, he'd been intendin'
-to buy it himself as an investment, and, now
-that there was a chance to spite you fellers hove
-in for good measure, he was more anxious to get
-it than ever. Then Rat broke the news that he
-had the option and was willin' to sell it to the highest
-bidder. Ha! ha! I guess there was a lively session,
-but the upshot of it was that Ebenezer bought
-that option off his boy for a thousand dollars.
-That's how *he* got it."
-
-"Well, I'll be hanged!" says Jim Henry. I was
-way past sayin' anything.
-
-"And so," continues Philander, "the five hundred
-dollars' profit on the option and the five hundred
-dollars I lent Rat to start with made just the amount
-needful to pay off my mortgage. And, Squire Colcord
-and me paid it off this mornin'. You fellers
-heard the concludin' section of the ceremonies.
-Ebenezer's benediction was some spicy, hey!"
-
-"But—but—why, look here, Philander," says
-I. "I don't understand this at all. Five hundred
-of that thousand was Rat's. He ain't no philanthropist;
-he wouldn't *give* it to you, unless miracles
-are comin' into fashion again. What—"
-
-Foster laughed. "There is a little somethin'
-underneath," he says. "It's been kept pretty close,
-but the cat'll be out of the bag afore the day's over
-and, considerin' how much you two helped without
-meanin' to, I'd just as soon tell you. Ratty told you
-that his pa was cal'latin' to set him up in business,
-didn't he? Yes. Well, Rat's had a notion for a
-long spell about the business he meant to get into.
-There's a new sign been ordered for this shebang
-of mine. Here's the copy for it."
-
-He reached under the cigar counter and held up
-a long piece of pasteboard. 'Twas lettered like this:
-
-.. class:: center
-
- PALACE BILLIARD, POOL AND SIPIO PARLORS.
-
- :small-caps:`Philander Foster & Erastus Taylor,`
-
- *Proprietors.*
-
-"I cal'late the old man'll disown his son when he
-knows it," goes on Foster, "but Rat had rather run
-a pool room than be rich, any day in the week. And
-say," he adds, "if I was you fellers I'd try to be on
-hand when Ebenezer fust sees the new sign. I
-should think you'd get consider'ble satisfaction from
-watchin' his face. I'm cal'latin' to, myself," says
-Philander Foster.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER VI—I RUN AFOUL OF COUSIN LEMUEL
-=======================================
-
-
-Well, to be honest, I felt pretty bad about
-that billiard room business. I was real
-sorry for old Ebenezer. Of course
-Taylor was a skinflint and a thorough-goin' mean
-man, but Ratty was his son and his pride, and to
-have a son play a dog's trick like that on the father
-that had, at least, tried to make somethin' out of
-him, seemed tough enough. And my conscience
-plagued me. I felt almost as if I was to blame
-somehow. I wa'n't, of course, but I felt that way.
-A feller's conscience is the most unreasonable part
-of his works; I've noticed it often.
-
-But I needn't have wasted any sympathy on
-Ebenezer. For the fust little while after his boy
-went into the pool and sipio business, he was a sore
-chap. Then, all at once, I noticed that he took to
-hangin' around the "Parlors" consider'ble and one
-evenin' I saw him comin' out of there, all smiles. I
-was standin' on the store platform and as he passed
-me I hailed him. We hadn't spoken for a consider'ble
-spell, but I hadn't any grudge, for my part.
-
-"Hello!" says I, "what are you so tickled
-about?"
-
-I didn't know as he wouldn't throw somethin' at
-me for darin' to hail him, but no, he was ready to
-talk to anybody, even me.
-
-"No use," says he, "that boy of mine's a mighty
-smart feller. He just beat Tom Baker three games
-runnin', and spotted him two balls on the last one.
-He's a wonder, if I do say it."
-
-I looked at him. This didn't sound much like
-disinheritin'.
-
-"Three games of what?" says I.
-
-"Why, pool," says he, "of course. And Baker's
-been countin' himself the best player in the county.
-'Rastus was playin' for the house. Him and Philander
-cleared over a hundred dollars in the last
-month. That ain't so bad for a young feller just
-startin' in, is it? I always knew that boy had the
-business instinct, if he'd only wake up to it. I've
-told folks so time and again."
-
-He went along, chucklin' to himself, and I stood
-still and whistled. And when I heard that the old
-man had taken to callin' the anti-billiard-room crowd
-bigoted and narrer it didn't surprise me much. I
-judged that Ebenezer's opinions was like those of
-others of his tribe—dependent on the profit and
-loss account in the ledger. You can forgive your
-own kith and kin a lot easier than you can outsiders,
-especially if your moral scruples are the Taylor
-kind, to be reckoned in dollars and cents.
-
-The carpenters were ready to begin work on our
-store addition at last, and we started right in to
-build on. 'Twas an awful job, enough sight worse
-than movin', but it had to be got through with some
-way and we wanted to have it finished when the
-summer season opened for good. If the store had
-been cluttered up and crowded afore, it was ten
-times worse now. The amount of energy and
-healthy remarks that Jacobs and I wasted in fallin'
-over and runnin' into things would have kept a
-steamer's engines goin' from Boston to Liverpool,
-I cal'late. I expected one of us would break our
-neck sartin sure, but we didn't and, by the fust of
-July we thought we could see the end.
-
-"There!" says I, "in another week we'll be
-clear of sawdust, I do believe. The painters won't
-be so bad. And we've got on without any accidents,
-too, which is a miracle."
-
-"You ought to knock wood when you say that,
-Skipper," says Jim Henry.
-
-"I've knocked enough of it already—with my
-head," I told him. But I hadn't. At any rate the
-accident come, and not by reason of the buildin' on,
-either. It come right in the way of everyday trade,
-from where we wa'n't expectin' it. That's the way
-such things generally happen. A feller runs under
-a tree, so's to keep from gettin' rained on and catchin'
-cold, and then the tree's struck by lightnin'.
-
-If I'd remembered what old Sylvanus Baxter said
-when they asked him to prove one of his fish statements,
-I'd have been a wiser man. Sylvanus was
-tellin' how many mack'rel him and his brother caught
-off Setucket P'int with a hand line, back when Methusalum
-was a child, or about then. Forty-eight barrels
-they caught, and it nigh filled the dory. One
-of the young city fellers who was listenin' undertook
-to doubt the yarn. He got a piece of paper and a
-pencil and proved that a dory wouldn't hold that
-many fish. Sylvanus shut him up in a hurry.
-
-"Young man," he says, scornful, "where a human
-bein' is blessed with a memory same as I've got,
-proof's too unsartin to compare with it."
-
-If I'd borne in mind what Sylvanus said and abided
-by it I might not have dropped the barrel of sugar
-on my starboard foot. I'd have been satisfied to
-remember my strength and not try to prove it by
-liftin' the said barrel off the tailboard of our delivery
-wagon.
-
-However, I did try, and the result was that the
-barrel slipped when I'd got it 'most to the ground,
-and my foot went out of commission with a hurrah,
-so to speak.
-
-Jim Henry come runnin' and him and the clerk
-loaded me into the wagon and carted me off to my
-rooms at the Poquit House. And there I stayed
-in dry dock for three weeks, while the doctor done
-his best to patch up my busted trotter and get me
-off the ways and into active service again.
-
-He done his part all right. I was mendin' so
-far as the lower end of me was concerned, but my
-upper works and temper was gettin' more tangled
-and snarled every day. Too much company was
-the trouble. I had too many folks runnin' in to
-ask how I was gettin' on and to talk and talk and
-talk. Jim Henry he come, of course, to talk about
-the store; and Mary Blaisdell, to tell me how the
-post-office was doin'. I could stand them; fact is,
-Mary was a sort of soothin' sirup, with her pleasant
-face and calm, cheery voice. But the parson he
-come, to keep the spiritual part of me ready for
-whatever might happen; and the undertaker, to be
-sure he got the other part, if it *did* happen; and
-twenty-odd old maids and widows from sewin'-circle
-to talk about each other and church squabbles and
-the dreadful sufferin's and agonizin' deaths of their
-relations, who'd had accidents similar to mine.
-
-They made me so fidgety and mad that the doctor
-noticed it. "What's troublin' you, Cap'n Snow?"
-he asked. "No new pains, I hope?"
-
-"Humph!" says I. "Your hope's blasted.
-I've got the meanest pain I've had yet."
-
-"Where?" says he, anxious.
-
-"All over," I says. "Tabitha Nickerson's responsible
-for it. She's been here for the last hour
-and a half, tellin' about how her second cousin, by
-her uncle's marriage, stuck a nail in his hand and
-was amputated twice and finally died of lingerin'
-lockjaw. She never missed a groan. Consarn her!
-*She* gives me a pain just to look at."
-
-He laughed. "That's the trouble with you old
-bachelors," he says. "You're too popular with the
-fair sex."
-
-"Fair!" I sung out. "Doc, if you mean to say
-Tabby Nickerson's fair, then I'm goin' to switch to
-the homeopaths. *Your* judgment ain't dependable."
-
-He laughed again and then he went on. Seems
-he'd been thinkin' for quite a spell that the Poquit
-House wasn't the place for me.
-
-"What you need, Cap'n," he says, "is a nice quiet
-spot where nobody can get at you—that is, nobody
-but the disagreeable necessities, like me. I've found
-the place for you to board durin' your convalescence.
-Do you know the Deacon house over at South
-Ostable on the lower road?"
-
-"If you mean Lot Deacon's, I do—yes," says I.
-
-"That's it," says he. "Lot's all alone there, and
-he'd be mighty glad of a boarder. The house is as
-neat as wax, and Lot used to go as cook on a Banks'
-boat, so you'll be fed well. It's right on the shore,
-with the woods back of it. There's a splendid view,
-the air's fine, and—and—"
-
-"Don't strain yourself, Doc," I put in. "You
-couldn't think of anything else if you thought for a
-week. Air and view is all there is in that neighborhood.
-What on earth have I done to be sentenced
-to serve a term at Lot Deacon's?"
-
-Well, it was quiet, and I needed quiet. It was
-restful, and I needed rest. It was too far from
-civilization for the undertaker or the sewin'-circle
-to get at me. It was—but there! never mind the
-rest. The upshot was that I agreed to board at
-Lot's till my foot got well enough to navigate and
-they carted me down in the delivery wagon, next day.
-
-The Deacon place lived up to specifications all
-right. Nighest neighbor half a mile off, woods all
-round on three sides, and the bay on t'other. Good
-grub and plenty of it. And no company except the
-doctor every other day, and Jim Henry the days
-between, and Lot—oh, land, yes! Lot, always and
-forever.
-
-He was a meek little critter, Lot was, accommodatin'
-and willin' to please, as good a cook as ever
-fried a clam, and a great talker on some subjects.
-He was a widower, with no relations except an aunt-in-law
-over to Denboro, and a third cousin up to
-Boston; and his principal hobby was spirits and
-mediums and such. He was as sot on Spiritu'lism
-as anybody ever you see, and hadn't missed a Spirit'list
-camp-meetin' in Harniss durin' the memory of
-man.
-
-However, Lot and I got along first-rate and he'd
-set and talk by the hour about the camp-meetin',
-which was a couple of weeks off, and how he was
-goin', and so on. Said I needn't worry about bein'
-left alone, 'cause his wife's Aunt Lucindy from Denboro
-was comin' to keep house for me durin' the
-two days he was away.
-
-"Is your Aunt Lucindy given to spirits, too?"
-I wanted to know.
-
-No, she wasn't. Seems her particular bug was
-"mind cure." She was a widow whose husband
-had died of creepin' paralysis. She'd tried every
-kind of doctorin' and patent medicines on him and,
-in spite of it, the last specimen of "Swamp Bitters"
-or "Thistle Tea" finished him. But, anyhow,
-Aunt Lucindy had no faith in medicines or doctors
-after that. She'd tried 'em all and they'd gone back
-on her. Now she was a "mind-curer."
-
-"She'll prob'bly try to cure your foot with mind,
-Cap'n Zeb," says Lot, apologetic as usual. "But you
-mustn't worry about that. She means well."
-
-"I sha'n't worry," I says. "She can put her
-mind on my foot, if she wants to; unless it's as hefty
-as that sugar barrel I cal'late 'twon't hurt me much.
-But say, Lot," I says, "are all your folks taken with
-something special in the line of religion or cures?
-How about this cousin—this Lemuel one? What's
-possessin' *him*?"
-
-Oh, Cousin Lemuel was different. He'd had
-money left him and was an aristocrat. He never
-married, but lived in "chambers" up to Boston.
-He didn't have to work, but was a "collector" for
-the fun of it; collected postage stamps and folks'
-hand-writin's and insects and such. He wasn't very
-well, his nerves was kind of twittery, so Lot said.
-
-"Um-hm," says I. "Well, collectin' insects
-would make most anybody's nerves twitter, I cal'late.
-But if Cousin Lemuel likes 'em, I s'pose we hadn't
-ought to fret. He could pick up a healthy collection
-of wood-ticks back here in the pines, if he'd only
-come after 'em, though it ain't likely he will."
-
-But he did, just the same. Not after the ticks,
-exactly, but, as sure as I'm settin' here, this Cousin
-Lemuel landed in the house at South Ostable, bag
-and baggage. 'Twas three days afore the beginnin'
-of camp-meetin' and two afore Aunt Lucindy
-was expected over. Lot and me was settin' in rockin'
-chairs by the front windows in my room lookin' out
-over the bay, when all to once we heard the rattle
-of a wagon from the woods abaft the kitchen.
-
-"It's the doctor, I cal'late," says Lot, wakin' up
-and stretchin'. "Ah, hum, I s'pose I'll have to go
-down and let him in."
-
-"'Tain't the doctor," says I. "He come yesterday.
-More likely it's Mr. Jacobs, though I thought
-he'd gone to Boston and wouldn't be back for three
-or four days."
-
-But a minute later we see we was mistaken.
-Around the house come rattlin' Simeon Wixon's old
-depot wagon, with the curtains all drawed down—though
-'twas hot summer—and the rack astern and
-the seat in front piled up high with trunks and bags
-and satchels and goodness knows what all. Sim was
-drivin' and he had a grin on him like a Chessy cat.
-
-"Whoa!" says he, haulin' in the horses. "Ahoy,
-Lot! Turn out there! Got a passenger for you."
-
-Lot was so surprised he could hardly believe his
-ears, though they was big enough to be believed.
-He h'isted up the window screen and looked out.
-
-"Hey?" he says, bewildered-like. "Did you
-say a *passenger*?"
-
-"That's what I said. A passenger for you.
-Come on down."
-
-"A passenger? For *me*?"
-
-"Yes! yes! yes!" Simeon's patience was givin'
-out, and no wonder. "Don't stay up there," he
-snaps, "with your head stuck out of that window
-like a poll-parrot's out of a cage. And don't keep
-sayin' things over and over or I'll believe you *are* a
-poll-parrot. Come down!" Then, leaning back
-and hollerin' in behind the carriage curtains, he sung
-out, "Hi, mister! here we be. You can get out
-now."
-
-The curtains shook a little mite and then, from
-behind 'em, sounded a voice, a man's voice, but kind
-of shrill and high, and with a quiver in the middle
-of it.
-
-"Are you sure this is the right place, driver?"
-it says.
-
-"Sartin sure. This is it."
-
-"But are you certain those animals are perfectly
-safe? They won't run away?"
-
-The horses was takin' a nap, the two of 'em. Sim
-grinned, wider'n ever, and winks up at the window.
-
-"I'll do my best to hold 'em," he says. "If
-I'd known you was comin' I'd have fetched an
-anchor."
-
-The curtains shook some more, as if the feller
-inside was fidgetin' with 'em. Then the voice says
-again and more excited than ever, "Well, why in
-Heaven's name don't you unfasten this dreadful
-door? How am I to get out?"
-
-Simeon stood grinnin', ripped a remark loose under
-his breath, jumped from the seat, and yanked
-the door open. There was a full half minute afore
-anything happened. Then out from that wagon
-door popped a black felt hat with a brim like a small-sized
-umbrella. Under the hat was a pair of thin,
-grayish side-whiskers, a long nose, and a pair of specs
-like full moons. The hat and the rest of it turned
-towards the horses and the voice says:
-
-"You're *perfectly* sure of those creatures you are
-drivin'? Very good. Where is the step? Oh,
-dear! where is the *step*?"
-
-Sim reached in, grabbed a little foot with one of
-them things they call a "gaiter" on it, hauled it
-down and planted it on the step of the carriage.
-
-"There!" he snaps. "There 'tis, underneath
-you. Come on! Here! I'll unload you."
-
-Maybe the passenger would have said somethin'
-else, but he didn't have a chance. Afore he could
-even think he was jerked out of that depot wagon
-and stood up on the ground.
-
-"There!" says Simeon. "Now you're safe and
-no bones broken. Where do you want your dunnage;
-in the house?"
-
-I don't know what answer he got. Afore I could
-hear it there was a gasp and a gurgle from Lot.
-I turned to him. He was leaning out of the window
-starin' down at the little man under the big hat.
-
-"I believe—" he says, "I—I—\ *why*, it's
-Cousin Lemuel!"
-
-Cousin Lemuel looked around him, at the house,
-at the woods, at the bay, at everything.
-
-"Good heavens!" says he, in a sort of groan.—"Good
-heavens! what an awful place!"
-
-That's how he made port and that was his first
-observation after landin'. He made consider'ble
-many more durin' the next few days, but the drift
-of 'em was all similar. He was a bird, Cousin
-Lemuel was. His twittery nerves had twittered so
-much durin' the past month or so that his doctors—he
-had seven or eight of 'em—had got tired of the
-chirrup, I cal'late, had held officers' counsel, and
-decided he must be got rid of somehow. They
-couldn't kill him, 'cause that was against the law, so
-they done the next best and ordered him to the seashore
-for a complete rest; at least, he said the rest
-was to be for him, but I judge 'twas the doctors that
-needed it most. He wouldn't go to a hotel—hotels
-were horrible,—but he happened to think of relation
-Lot down in South Ostable and headed for there.
-Whether or not Lot could take him in, or wanted
-to, didn't trouble him a mite! *He* wanted to come
-and that was sufficient! He never even took the
-trouble to write that he was comin'. When he once
-made up his mind to do a thing, and got sot on it,
-he was like the laws of the Medes and Possums—or
-whatever they was—in Scripture; you couldn't
-upset him in two thousand years. It got to be a
-"matter of principle" with him—he was always
-tellin' about his matters of principle—and when the
-"principle" complication struck, that settled it. Oh,
-Cousin Lemuel was a bird, just as I said.
-
-And Lot, of course, didn't have gumption enough
-to say he wasn't welcome. No, indeed; fact is, Lot
-seemed to consider his comin' a sort of honor, as
-you might say. If that retired bug-collector had been
-the Queen of Sheba, he couldn't have had more fuss
-made over him. The schooner-load of trunks and
-satchels was carted aloft to the big room next to
-mine,—Lot's room 'twas, but Lot soared to the
-attic,—and Cousin Lemuel was carted there likewise.
-He was introduced to me, and about the first
-thing he said was, would I mind wearin' a dressin'-robe,
-or a bath-sack, or somethin' to cover up my
-game foot? the sight of the dreadful bandage affected
-his nerves. I was sort of shy on sacks and dolmans
-and such, but I done my best to please him with
-a patchwork comforter.
-
-I can't begin to tell you the things he did, or had
-Lot do for him. Changin' the feather bed for a
-pumped-up air mattress he'd fetched along—air
-mattresses was a matter of principle with him—and
-firin' the rag mats off the floor of his room, 'cause
-the round-and-round braids made whirligigs in his
-head—and so on. But I sha'n't forget that first
-night in a hurry.
-
-He was in and out of my room no less than fifteen
-times, rigged out in some sort of blanket dress, fastened
-with a rope amidships. He wore that over
-his nightgown, and a shawl like an old woman's on
-top of the blanket. His head was tied up in a silk
-handkerchief; and his feet was shoved into slippers
-that flapped up and down when he walked and
-sounded like a slack jib in a light breeze. First off
-he couldn't sleep 'cause the frogs hollered. Next,
-'twas the surf that troubled him. Then the window
-blinds creaked. And, at last, I'm blessed if he didn't
-come flappin' and rustlin' in at half-past one to ask
-what made it so quiet. I was desp'rate, and I told
-him I was subject to nightmare, and had been known
-to cripple folks that come in and woke me sudden
-that way. He cleared out and I heard him pilin'
-chairs and furniture against his door on the inside.
-After that I managed to sleep till six o'clock. Then
-he knocked and asked if I was thoroughly awake,
-'cause if I was would I tell him what sort of weather
-'twas likely to be, so's he could dress accordin'. His
-risin' hour was nine,—more principle, of course,—but
-he liked to know what to wear when he did
-get up.
-
-And he was just as bad all that day and the next.
-I'd have quit and had the doctor take me back to the
-Poquit House, but I didn't like to on Lot's account.
-Poor Lot was all upset and needed some sane person
-to turn to for comfort. And besides, although
-he made me mad, I got consider'ble fun out of this
-Lemuel man's doin's. He was such a specimen that
-I liked to study him, same as he used to study a new
-species of insect, when he had that particular craze.
-
-He seemed to like me, too, in a way. Anyhow
-he used to come in and talk to me pretty frequent.
-He had three words that he used all the time—"awful"
-and "dreadful" and "horrible." Everything
-in the neighborhood fitted to them words,
-'cordin' to his notion. And he had one question that
-he kept askin' over and over: What should he do?
-What was there to do in the dreadful place?
-
-"Why don't you keep on collectin'?" I asked him.
-"We're kind of scurce on postage stamps, and the
-handwritin' supply is limited; though you never collected
-anything like Lot's signature, I'll bet a cooky.
-But there's bugs enough, land knows! Why don't
-you go bug-huntin'?"
-
-Oh, he was tired of insects. Never wanted to see
-one again!
-
-"Then you'll have to wear blinders when you go
-past the salt-marsh," says I. "The moskeeters are
-so thick there they get in your eyes. Why not take
-a swim?"
-
-Horrible! he loathed salt-water. He never
-bathed in it, as a matter of—
-
-I interrupted quick—"Then take a walk," says I.
-
-Walking was a "bore."
-
-"Well then," I says, "just do what the doctor
-ordered—set and rest."
-
-But settin' made his nerves worse than ever! "I
-don't know what is the matter with me, Cap'n Snow,"
-he says. "My physicians seemed to think I should
-find what I needed here, but I don't!—I don't!
-I am more depressed and enervated than ever."
-
-"I know what you need," I said emphatic.
-
-"Do you indeed? What, pray?"
-
-"Somethin' to keep you interested," I told him.
-"Your life's like a wharf timber that the worms
-have been at—there's too many 'bores' in it. If
-you could find somethin' bran-new to interest you,
-you'd be lively enough. I'd risk the depression then—and
-the enervation, too, whatever that is."
-
-Oh, horrible! How could I joke about a matter
-of life and death?
-
-Well, so it went for the two days and in the
-evenin' of the second day, Lot come tiptoein' into
-my room. He was all nerved up. The next
-mornin' was the time he'd planned to go to camp-meetin';
-and how could he go now?
-
-"Why not?" says I. "I'll be all right. Your
-Aunt Lucindy's comin' to keep house, ain't she?"
-
-"Yes—yes, she's comin'. But how can I leave
-Cousin Lemuel? He won't want me to go, I'm
-sure."
-
-"So'm I," I says; "he'll kick as a matter of principle.
-But if you're gone afore he knows it, he'll
-*have* to like it—or lump it, one or t'other. See
-here, Lot Deacon; you take my advice and clear out
-to-morrow early, afore the bug-hunter's nerves twitter
-loud enough to wake him. You can get our
-breakfast and leave it on the table out here in the
-hall. I can manage to hobble that far. Afore dinner
-Aunt Lucindy'll be on deck."
-
-He brightened up consider'ble. "I might do
-that," he says. "And anyway Aunt Lucindy's likely
-to be here afore breakfast. She's always terrible
-prompt. But will Cousin Lemuel forgive me, do
-you think?"
-
-"I don't know," says I. "But I will, provided
-you don't say 'terrible' again. Now clear out and
-don't let me see you till camp-meetin's over. And
-say," I called after him, "just ask one of your spirit
-chums what's good for nerve twitters."
-
-Next mornin' was sort of dark and cloudy, so
-probably that accounts for my oversleepin'. Anyhow
-'twas after seven o'clock when Cousin Lemuel,
-blanket and shawl and slippers, full undress uniform,
-comes flappin' into my room. I woke up and
-stared at him. He was pale, and tremblin' all over.
-
-"What's the matter now?" says I.
-
-"Hush!" he whispers, fearful. "Hush! somethin'
-awful has happened. My cousin Lot is insane."
-
-"*What?*" I sung out, settin' up in bed.
-
-"Hush! hush!" says he. "It is horrible. Insanity
-is hereditary in our family. What shall we
-do?"
-
-"Insane—rubbish!" says I, havin' waked up a
-little more by this time. "What makes you think
-he's insane?"
-
-He held up a shakin' hand. "Listen!" he whispers.
-"He has been makin' dreadful noises for
-the past half-hour, and singin'—actually singin'—in
-the strangest voice. Listen!"
-
-I listened. Down below in the kitchen there was
-a racket of pans and dishes and a stompin' as if a
-menagerie elephant had broke loose from its moorin's.
-Then somebody busts out singin', loud and
-high:
-
- | "There's a land that is fairer than day,
- | And by faith we can see it afar."
-
-"There, there!" says Lemuel. "Don't you
-hear it? Would a sane man sing like that?"
-
-I rocked back and forth in bed and roared and
-laughed. "A sane man wouldn't," I says, "but a
-sane *woman* might, if she had strong enough lungs.
-That ain't Lot. Lot's gone to camp-meetin', to be
-gone till to-morrow night. That's his wife's aunt,
-Lucindy Hammond, from Denboro. She's goin' to
-keep house for us till he gets back."
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER VII—THE FORCE AND THE OBJECT
-====================================
-
-
-Well, it took all of fifteen minutes for me
-to drive the idea out of that critter's head
-that his relative had gone loony. I was
-hoppin' around on my sound foot tryin' to dress,
-while I explained things. I had enough clothes on
-to be presentable in white folks' society, when there
-come a whoop up the back stairs.
-
-"Good morn-in'!" whoops Aunt Lucindy.
-"Breakfast is ready! Shall I fetch it up?"
-
-"My soul!" squeals Cousin Lemuel, and bolts
-for his own room. I buttoned my collar by main
-strength and answered the hail.
-
-"All hands on deck!" I sung out. "Fetch her
-along."
-
-There was a mighty stompin' on the stairs, and
-then through the door marches as big a woman as
-ever I see in my born days. 'Twa'n't only that she
-was fleshy,—she must have weighed all of two hundred
-and thirty,—but she was big, big as a small
-mountain, seemed so, and was dressed in some sort
-of curtain-calico gown that made her look bigger
-yet. She was luggin' a tray heaped up with vittles
-enough for a small ship's company.
-
-"Good mornin'," says she, in a voice as big as
-the rest of her, and as cheery as the fust sunshine
-on a foggy day. She was smilin' all over, but there
-was a square look to her chin—the upper one, for
-she had no less than two and a half—that made
-me think she could be the other thing if occasion
-called for. "Good mornin'," says she. "Is this
-Lemuel?"
-
-"It ain't," says I. "Cousin Lemuel is in disability
-just at present. My name's Snow."
-
-"Oh, yes!" she hollers—every time she spoke
-she hollered—"Oh, yes! Cap'n Zebulon Snow, of
-course. I'm Mrs. Hammond. Here's your breakfast."
-
-"Mine!" says I, lookin' at the heap of rations.
-"You mean mine and Cousin Lemuel's."
-
-"Oh, no, I don't," says she, still smilin', and
-puttin' the tray down on the table, in the way she
-did everything, with a bang; "I mean yours, Cap'n
-Snow. Lemuel's is all ready, though, and I'll fetch
-it right up. I know what men's appetites are; I've
-had experience."
-
-Afore I could think of an answer to this she swept
-out of the door like a toy typhoon, the breeze from
-her skirts settin' papers and light stuff flyin', and
-was stompin' down the stairs, singin' "Sweet By and
-By" at the top of her lungs. I looked at the tray
-and scratched my head. My appetite ain't a hummin'-bird's,
-by a considerable sight, but that breakfast
-would have lasted me all day. As for Lemuel,
-about all he did with food was find fault with it.
-And just then in he comes.
-
-"What's that?" says he, pointin' to the tray.
-
-"That?" says I. "That's my breakfast.
-Yours is just like it and it'll be right up."
-
-He fidgeted with his specs and bent over to look.
-His nose was anything but a pug, but I give you
-my word you could almost see it turn up.
-
-"Fried potatoes!" he says; "and fried fish!
-and fried eggs! and griddle-cakes! Why—why
-it's *all* fried! Horrible!"
-
-"Ain't there enough?" I asks, sarcastic. "If
-not, I presume likely there's more in the kitchen."
-
-"Enough!" he fairly screamed it. "I never take
-anything but a slice of very dry toast and a cup of
-tea in the mornin'. It's a principle of mine. And
-I never eat anything fried! I—I—"
-
-"All right," says I, "you tell her so. Here she
-is." And afore he could get out of the door she
-sailed through it, luggin' another tray loaded like
-the fust one. She slammed it down and turned to
-the invalid, who was tryin' to hide his blanket dressin'-sack
-behind a chair.
-
-"Here is Lemuel!" she hollers. "It *is* Lemuel,
-isn't it? I'm *so* glad to see you! I'm Lucindy,
-Lot's auntie. In a way we're related, so we must
-shake hands."
-
-She reached over and took his little thin hand
-in her big one and gave it a squeeze that made him
-curl up like a fishin' worm.
-
-"There!" says she, "now we're all acquainted
-and sociable. Ain't that nice! You two set right
-down and eat. I'll trot up again in a few minutes
-to see how you're gettin' on. Sure you've got all
-you want? All right, then." Out she went, singin'
-away, and Cousin Lemuel flopped down in a chair.
-
-"Good heavens!" he gasps, working the fingers
-Aunt Lucindy had shook, to make sure they was all
-there. "Good heavens!" says he.
-
-"Yes," says I, "I agree with you."
-
-"She calls me by my Christian name!" he says,
-pantin', "and I never saw her before in my life!
-And it—it didn't seem to occur to her that I was
-not fully dressed. What shall I do?"
-
-"Well," says I, "if you asked me I should say
-you better make believe eat somethin'. What *I*
-can't eat I'm goin' to heave out of the back window.
-I'd ruther satisfy that woman than explain to her,
-enough sight."
-
-But he wouldn't eat, seemed to be in a sort of
-daze, as you might say, and went flappin' back to
-his own room. I tackled the breakfast.
-
-It would take a week to tell you all that happened
-that forenoon. My time's limited, so I'll
-only tell a little of it. When Aunt Lucindy come
-upstairs again and see his tray, not a thing on it
-touched, she wanted to know why. I done my best
-to explain, tellin' her Cousin Lemuel was afflicted
-in the nerves, and about his tea and toast, and his
-diff'rent kinds of medicines, and his doctors, and so
-on, but she wouldn't listen to more'n half of it.
-
-"The poor thing!" she says, "Lot told me some
-about him. He's in error, ain't he. Horatio, my
-husband that was, was in error, too, but he died of
-it. That was afore I got enlightened. And you're
-in error with your foot, Cap'n Snow, so Lot says.
-Well, it's a mercy I'm here. The first thing I'll
-do for you is to give you a cheerful thought. 'All's
-right in the world.' You keep thinkin' that this
-forenoon and I'll give you another after dinner. I
-must get a thought for poor Lemuel, but he needs
-a stronger one. I'll have one ready for him pretty
-soon. Now I must do my dishes."
-
-Soon's she cleared out this time I locked my door.
-An hour or so later there was a snappish kind of
-knock on it.
-
-"Cap'n Snow! I say, Cap'n Snow," whispers
-Lemuel, pretty average testy, "where is my tea and
-toast? Did you tell that woman about my tea and
-toast? I'm hungry."
-
-"I told her," says I. "If you ain't got it, you
-better tell her yourself."
-
-"But I don't want to see the creature," he says.
-
-"Neither do I; that is, I ain't partic'lar about
-it. And I couldn't hop down-stairs if I was.
-You'll have to do your own tellin'. I'm goin' to
-read a spell."
-
-My readin' didn't amount to much. He went
-grumblin' back to his room, but I judge his longin'
-for tea and toast got the better of his dread for the
-"creature," 'cause pretty soon I heard him go down-stairs.
-Aunt Lucindy's singin' and dish-clatterin'
-stopped, and I heard consider'ble pow-wow goin'
-on. Cousin Lemuel's voice kept gettin' higher and
-shriller, but Aunt Lucindy's was just the same even
-cheerfulness all the time. Then the ex-insect man
-comes up the stairs again. I was curious, so I unlocked
-the door.
-
-"How was the toast?" I asked. His usual pale
-face was bright red and he was a heap more energetic
-than I'd ever seen him.
-
-"She—she—that woman's crazy!" he sputters.
-"She's insane; I told her so. I—"
-
-"Hold on!" I interrupted. "Did you get the
-toast?"
-
-"I did not. She refused to give it to me. Actually
-refused! She—she had that dreadful fried
-breakfast on the back of the stove and told me to
-sit right down and eat it—like a good fellow. A
-good fellow—to me!—as if I was a dog! A dog,
-by Jove! I explained—in spite of my just resentment
-I endeavored to reason with her. I told her
-the doctor had forbidden my eatin' a heavy breakfast.
-I said that my nerves were shattered and
-so on. And what do you suppose she said to me?
-She had the brazen effrontery to tell me that I had
-no nerves. Nerves were 'errors,' whatever that
-means. All I had to do was to think that—that
-those fried outrages were all right and they would
-be. And when I—you'll admit I had a good reason—when
-I lost my temper and expressed my
-opinion of her she began to sing. And she kept on
-singin'. *Such* singin'! Good heavens! Horrible!"
-
-"Then you ain't had any breakfast?"
-
-"I have not. But I will have it! I will! You
-mark my words, I—"
-
-He stopped. "The Sweet By and By" had
-swung into the lower entry and was movin' up the
-stairs. I expected to see Cousin Lemuel beat for
-snug harbor, but no sir-ee! he stayed right where
-he was, settin' up in his chair as straight as a ramrod.
-Aunt Lucindy's treatment might not be
-workin' exactly as she intended, the patient's nerves
-might not be any better, but his *nerve* was improvin'
-fast.
-
-In she swept, smilin' like clockwork, as smooth
-and as serene as a flat calm in Ostable cove. She
-paid no attention to the way the little man glared
-at her, but turned to me and says: "Well, Cap'n,"
-she says, "have you cherished the thought I gave
-you?"
-
-"Um-hm," says I, "I've put it on ice. I cal'late
-'twill keep over Sunday."
-
-"I've thought up one for you, Lemuel, you poor
-thing," she says, turnin' to the insect chaser. "It
-is—"
-
-"Woman," broke in Cousin Lemuel, "I'll trouble
-you not to call me a poor thing. Where is my tea
-and toast?"
-
-She smiled at him, condescendin' but pitiful, same
-as a cow might smile at a kitten that tried to scratch
-it—if a cow could smile.
-
-"Your breakfast is on the stove, all nice and
-warm," she says. "You don't really want tea and
-toast; you only think so. Cap'n Snow will tell you
-how nice those fried potatoes are, and the codfish
-and—"
-
-"Confound your codfish, madam! I shall have
-that tea and toast. I—I *must* have it. My system
-demands it."
-
-She shook her head. "Oh, no, it doesn't," says
-she. "It will demand all the nice things I've cooked
-for you if you only think so. Thought is all. Now
-let me give you your cheerful thought for the day.
-It is—"
-
-"Confound your thoughts!" yells the nerve
-sufferer, jumpin' out of his chair and makin' for the
-door. "I always have tea and toast for breakfast,
-and I intend to have it now."
-
-I hate a fuss, so I tried to pour a little ile on the
-troubled waters. "Now, Lemuel," says I, "don't
-let's be stubborn. You—"
-
-He whirled on me like a teetotum. "Stubborn!"
-he snaps, "I was never stubborn in my life. This
-is a matter of principle with me. That woman shall
-give me my tea and toast."
-
-Aunt Lucindy smiled, same as ever. "Oh, no, I
-sha'n't," says she, "it would only encourage you in
-your error and that I shall not permit. Please listen
-to the thought I have for you. It is *such* a nice
-one. 'Be true to your higher self and'—"
-
-"Madam," shrieks Lemuel, "my thought about
-you is that you're an old fat fool! There!" And
-he rushed into the hall and the next second his door
-slammed so it shook the house.
-
-For just one minute I thought Aunt Lucindy was
-goin' after him. Her smile stopped, her teeth
-snapped together, she took one step towards the
-door, and her big hands opened and shut. But that
-one step was all she took. When she turned back
-to me her face was red, but the smile had got busy
-once more. She set down in the cane rocker—it
-cracked, but it held—and says she:
-
-"He's a little mite antagonistic, don't you think
-so, Cap'n Snow?"
-
-"Well," says I, "I should think you might call
-it that without exaggeratin' much."
-
-"Yes," says she, "but I don't mind. There was
-a time when if anybody'd called me an old fat fool
-I'd have—well, never mind. I'm above such
-things now. Nothin' can make me cross any more.
-Not even a sassy little, long-nosed shrimp like....
-Ahem. Cap'n Snow, have you read 'The
-Soarin' of Self'? It's a lovely book, an upliftin'
-book."
-
-I said I hadn't read it and she commenced to tell
-me about it, repeatin' it by chapters, so to speak. I
-couldn't make much out of it but a whirligig of
-words, and when she was just beginnin' I thought
-I heard Lemuel's door creak. However, I didn't
-hear anything more, and she strung along and strung
-along, about "soul" and "mental uplift" and
-"high altitude of spirit" and a lot more. By and
-by I commenced to sniff.
-
-"Excuse me, marm," I says, "but seems to me
-I smell somethin' burnin'. Have you got anything
-on cookin'?"
-
-*She* sniffed then. "No," says she, wonderin'.
-"I can't remember anything." Then, with another
-sniff, "But seems as if I smelt it, too. Like—like
-bread burnin'. Hey? You don't s'pose—"
-
-She put for down-stairs. Next thing I knew there
-was the greatest hullabaloo below decks that you
-ever heard. Then up the stairs comes Cousin Lemuel,
-two steps at a jump, which, considerin' that his
-usual gait had been a crawl, was surprisin' enough
-of itself. He had a scorched slice of bread in each
-hand and he stopped on the upper landin' and waved
-'em.
-
-"I've got the toast," he yells, triumphant, "and
-I'm goin' to have the tea." Then he bolts into his
-room and locked the door.
-
-Up the stairs comes Aunt Lucindy. Her face
-was so red that it looked as if somebody'd lit a fire
-inside it, and her big hands was shut tight. She
-marched straight to that locked door and hollers
-through the keyhole.
-
-"You—you little, dried-up critter!" she pants.
-"Humph! I s'pose you've been sent to try my
-faith, but you sha'n't shake it. No, sir! you nor
-nobody else can shake it or make me lose my temper.
-I'm perfectly calm and cheerful this minute.
-I am! Ha, ha! Ha, ha!"
-
-"I got my toast," hollers Cousin Lemuel from
-inside. "And I'll have my tea, in spite of all the
-New Thought cranks in this horrible hole!"
-
-"Indeed you won't. I was prepared for a difficult
-case when I came here. Cousin Lot told me
-about your foolish 'nerves' and all the other errors
-your selfishness has brought onto you. I made up
-my mind to set you in the right path and I'm goin'
-to do it."
-
-"I'll have that tea."
-
-"No, you sha'n't. When folks are in error I
-never give in to 'em. That's my principle and I
-stick to it."
-
-When she said "principle" I pretty nigh fell
-over. If *she'd* got the "principle" disease the case
-was desperate. Anyhow, I thought 'twas about
-time for somebody with a teaspoonful of common
-sense to take a hand.
-
-"See here," says I, "for grown-up folks this is
-the most ridiculous doin's I ever heard of. Mrs.
-Hammond, for the land sakes let him have his tea
-and maybe we'll have peace along with it."
-
-She turned to me. "Cap'n Snow," she says,
-"speakin' as one who has learned to rise above their
-baser self, and perfectly calm and good-tempered,
-I advise you to mind your own business. I don't
-care nothin' about the tea itself; it's the principle
-I'm strivin' for, I tell you. Do you s'pose I'll let
-that little withered-up, sassy, benighted scoffer—"
-
-"There! there!" says I. Then I bent down to
-the keyhole. "Lemuel," I says, "be a man and not
-prize inmate in a feeble-minded home. You're not
-an idiot. Apologize to this lady and, if you can't
-get tea, take hot water."
-
-The answer I got was hotter than any water he
-was likely to get, enough sight. And there was
-some "principle" in it, too.
-
-"Well," says I, disgusted, "I'm durn glad that
-I'm unprincipled. Fight it out amongst yourselves,
-but don't you either of you dare come nigh me. I
-mean that." And I went into my room and locked
-*that* door.
-
-For two hours I stayed there, readin' some and
-thinkin' a whole lot more. Down-stairs Aunt Lucindy
-was singin' at the top of her lungs—to show
-how good her temper was, I presume likely—and
-out in the upper hall Cousin Lemuel was tiptoein'
-back and forth and yellin' at her that he'd have
-his tea in spite of her, and passin' comments on her
-music. I never knew two such stubborn critters in
-my life, and I couldn't see any signs of either of 'em
-givin' in, long as their principles held out.
-
-I remembered a conundrum that, when I was a
-young one in school, the teacher used to spring on
-the big boys in the first class in arithmetic. 'Twas
-somethin' like this:
-
-"If an irresistible force runs afoul of an immovable
-object, what's the result?"
-
-The boys used to grin and say they didn't know.
-Neither did I—then; but I was learnin' the answer
-that very minute. When an irresistible force meets
-an immovable object it's a matter of principle, and
-the result is liable to be 'most anything. That was
-the answer, and I was learnin' it by observation and
-experience, same as the barefooted boy learned
-where the snappin'-turtle's mouth was.
-
-Now the force and the object was in the same
-house with me, and the minute the doctor, or Jim
-Henry Jacobs, or anybody else with a horse and
-team, come to that house, they could take me away
-with 'em. I'd contracted for quiet and rest, not
-for a session in Bedlam.
-
-Twelve o'clock struck and I begun to think of
-dinner. I hobbled over to my door, unlocked it
-and looked out. Cousin Lemuel's door was open,
-too, but he wasn't in his room or in the hall either.
-I wondered where on earth he could be. Next minute
-I found out.
-
-There was a whoop from the kitchen—Lemuel's
-voice and brimmin' with pure joy. Then, somewhere
-in the same neighborhood, began a most tremendous
-thumpin' and bangin'. A "cast" horse in
-a narrow stall was the only sounds I ever heard that
-compared with it. It kept on and kept on, and
-Lemuel was whoopin' and hurrahin' accompaniments.
-Such a racket you never heard in your born
-days.
-
-Thinks I, "The critter's nerves have gone back
-on him for good. He's really crazy and he's killin'
-that poor mind-curer out of principle."
-
-Somehow or other I hopped down them stairs on
-my sound foot, draggin' t'other after me. Through
-the dinin'-room I hobbled and into the kitchen.
-There was a roarin' fire in the cookstove and in
-front of that stove was Cousin Lemuel dancin' round
-with a teapot in his hand. The cellar door opened
-out of the kitchen. It was shut tight, and somebody
-behind it was bangin' the panels till I expected
-every second to see 'em go by the board. If they
-hadn't been built in the days when they made things
-solid they would have.
-
-"What in the world—" I commenced. "You—Lemuel—whatever
-your name is—what are
-you doin'?"
-
-He turned and saw me. His bald head was all
-shinin' with the heat, his big round specs was almost
-droppin' off the end of his long nose, and he sartin
-did look like somethin' the cat brought in.
-
-"What am I doin'?" he says. "Can't you see?
-I'm gettin' my tea, same as I said I would. Ho!
-ho!"
-
-"Where's Aunt Lucinda?" I sung out. "You
-loon, have you killed her?"
-
-He laughed. "No, no!" he says. "She deserves
-to be killed, but she's alive. She refused to
-give me my tea; she refused to stop her horrible
-singin'. She was utterly impossible and I got rid
-of her. I crept down and watched until she went
-into the cellar. Then I closed the door and locked
-it. Cap'n Snow, I have never been treated as that
-woman treated me in my life! It was a matter of
-principle with me and I was obliged—"
-
-He couldn't say any more because the poundin'
-on the door broke out again louder than ever. I
-headed for it and he got in front of me.
-
-"She is absolutely unharmed, I assure you," he
-says.
-
-She sounded healthy, that was a fact. The names
-she called that insect-hunter was a caution!
-
-"Let me out!" she kept hollerin'. "You let
-me out of this cellar, you miserable little good-for-nothin'!
-If I ever get my hands on you I'll—"
-
-"Ha! ha!" laughs Lemuel. "I couldn't make
-her lose her temper, could I? Oh, no, she's perfectly
-calm now! You're not in the cellar, madam,"
-he calls to her, "you're in error. Thought can do
-anything; think yourself out."
-
-I looked at him. "Well," says I, "for a person
-with twitterin' nerves, you—"
-
-"D—n my nerves!" says he, which was the most
-human remark he'd ever made in my hearin' and
-proved that he wasn't beyond hopes. "You told
-me that all I needed was somethin' to keep me interested.
-Well, I've got it."
-
-"You let me out!" whoops Aunt Lucindy.
-"Cap'n Snow, if you're there, you let me out!"
-
-I think maybe I would have let her out, but when
-I heard what she intended doin' to Lemuel I thought
-'twas too big a risk. I turned and hobbled through
-the dinin'-room to the front outside door. And
-there, just turnin' into the yard, was Jim Henry
-Jacobs, with his horse and buggy. When he saw
-me he almost fell off the seat. And maybe I wa'n't
-glad to see him!
-
-"You!" he says. "You! *walkin'!*"
-
-"Yes," says I, "and in five minutes I'd have
-been flyin', I cal'late. Don't stop to talk. Help
-me into that buggy.... There! drive home
-as fast as you can!"
-
-"But what under the canopy is the row?" he
-says.
-
-"Row enough," says I. "I've been shut up
-along with an irresistible force and an immovable
-object, and I want to get away from 'em. Git dap."
-
-We turned the horse's head. We had just left
-the yard when he looked back. I looked, too. The
-cellar had an outside entrance, a bulkhead door.
-This door was bendin' and heavin' as if an earthquake
-was under it. Next minute the staple flew,
-the door slammed back, and Aunt Lucindy popped
-out like a jack-in-the-box. She never paid no attention
-to us, but made for the kitchen.
-
-"Who—what is that?" gasps Jacobs.
-
-"That," says I, "is the irresistible force."
-
-There was a yell from the kitchen and then out
-of the door flew Cousin Lemuel. *He* didn't stop
-for us, either, but ran like a lamplighter to the fence,
-fell over it, and dove head-fust into the woods.
-After he was away out of sight we could hear the
-bushes crackin'.
-
-"And—and *what*," gasps Jim Henry, "was
-*that*?"
-
-"That," says I, "was the immovable object.
-Drive on, for mercy sakes!"
-
-----
-
-Next day Lot came to see me at the Poquit House.
-He was dreadful upset. Seems he hadn't stayed
-his time out at camp-meetin'. One of the mediums
-or spooks or somethin' over there told him there
-was a destructive influence hoverin' over his house
-and he'd hurried back to find out about it.
-
-"Humph!" says I. "I should have said it
-had quit hoverin' and had lit. How's Cousin
-Lemuel?"
-
-Seems Cousin Lemuel was at the hotel over to
-Bayport. He'd telephoned for his trunks.
-
-"And he told me," says Lot, wonderin' like, "to
-tell Aunt Lucindy that he intended havin' tea and
-toast three times a day now, as a matter of principle.
-That's strange, isn't it?"
-
-"Not to me 'tain't," says I. "And how's Aunt
-Lucindy?"
-
-"Aunt Lucindy's gone back to Denboro," he says.
-"And she left word for Cousin Lemuel that she
-should send him a 'thought'—whatever that is—every
-day by mail from now on. And you'd ought
-to have seen her face when she said it! But, Cap'n
-Zeb, when are you comin' back to board with me?"
-
-I shook my head. "Lot," says I, "I like you
-fust-rate, but your relations are too irresistibly immovable.
-I'm goin' to keep clear of 'em for the
-rest of my life—as a matter of principle," I says,
-chucklin'.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER VIII—ARMENIANS AND INJUNS; LIKEWISE BY-PRODUCTS
-=======================================================
-
-
-You can imagine that Jim Henry and Mary
-had a good deal of fun over my experience
-with Lot and his tribe. They joked me
-about it consider'ble. But I didn't mind. My foot
-was all right again, or nearly so, and the extension
-to the store had been finished and was workin' out
-fine. We moved the mail room way back and that
-give us lots of room on the main floor, and Mary
-had a nice clean place, with plenty of air and light,
-new sortin' table, new desks, and all that. As for
-business, we done more that summer than we had
-previous and it kept up surprisin' well through the
-winter. I was happy and satisfied and Jacobs
-seemed to be.
-
-But he wa'n't. It took a whole lot to satisfy him
-and, by the time another spring reached us and the
-cottages begun to open I could see that he was gettin'
-fidgety. One mornin' he come back from a
-cruise amongst the cottagers—he always handled
-their trade himself—and I could see that he was
-about ready to bile over.
-
-"Well," says I, "what's weighin' on your mind
-now? Or is it your stomach? I'm willin' to bet
-that I'm two pound heftier than I was afore I ate
-them hot biscuits at our boardin' house this mornin';
-and you got away with three more'n I did. Has
-your ballast shifted, or what?"
-
-He shook his head.
-
-"Skipper," says he, "we're ruined by foreign
-cheap labor."
-
-"You're right," says I. "I heard that that
-Dutch cook used to work in a cement factory, and
-them biscuits prove it."
-
-"Nothin' doin'," he says. "My noon lunch for
-two years was 'Draw one with a plate of sinkers';
-and when it comes to warm dough, I'm an immune.
-That Poquit House cook could practice on me for
-a week and never dent my nickel-steel digestion.
-No. What I'm full of just now is embroidery."
-
-I looked at him.
-
-"See here, Jim Henry," says I, "you've got me
-a mile offshore in a fog. Unless you've swallowed
-your napkin, I don't see—"
-
-"There! There!" he interrupted. "It's nothin'
-I've swallowed, I tell you! It's somethin' I've
-seen that I *can't* swallow. I can't swallow those tan-faced,
-hook-nosed lace peddlers. It's only spring,
-yet they are thicker round here already than lumps
-of saleratus in those biscuit we've been talkin' about.
-They're separatin' perfectly good easy marks from
-money that belongs to us, and I'm gettin' mad. My
-Turkish blood's risin', and there's likely to be another
-Armenian massacre in this neighborhood pretty
-soon."
-
-I understood what he meant then. Every summer
-for the last year or two the Cape has been
-sufferin' from a plague of fellers peddlin' handmade
-lace, and embroidery, and such. They're all shades
-of color except white, and they talk all sorts of languages
-except plain United States; but, no matter
-what they look like or how they jabber, every last
-one of them claims to be an Armenian, and to have
-his hand satchel solid full of native-made tidies, and
-tablecloths, and the like of that. I never run across
-the Armenian flag on any of my v'yages, but if it
-ain't a doily, then it ought to be.
-
-And the prices they charge! Whew! A white
-man would blush every time he named one; but these
-fellers, bein' all complexions, from light tan Oxford
-to dark rubber boot, are born to blush unseen, and
-can charge four dollars for a crocheted necktie and
-never crack, spot, nor fade.
-
-Jim Henry was some on high prices himself; likewise,
-he considered the summer cottagers and the
-hotel folks as more or less our special property.
-Therefore, you can understand how this Armenian
-competition riled and disturbed him. And, as it
-turned out, that very mornin' he'd gone to call on
-Mrs. Burke Smythe, who was one of the Ostable
-Store's best and most well-off customers, and found
-her ankle-deep in lamp mats and centerpieces which
-an Armenian specimen was diggin' out of a couple
-of suit cases. And she'd told him that she couldn't
-pay our bill for another month 'count of havin' spent
-all her "household allowance" on the "loveliest set
-of embroidered dress and waist patterns" and such
-that ever was. There was the dress pattern.
-Didn't he think it was a "dear"?
-
-Well, Jim Henry give in to the "dear" part—she'd
-paid sixty-four dollars for it—and come away
-disgusted. These peddlers was takin' the coin right
-out of our mouths, he vowed. What was we goin'
-to do about it?
-
-"Keep our mouths shut, I guess," says I. "I
-can't see anything else."
-
-But that wouldn't do for him. He went away
-growlin', and for the next couple of days he hardly
-said a word. I knew he was hatchin' some scheme
-or other, and I took care not to scare him off the
-nest. The third mornin', he came off himself,
-fetchin' his brood with him.
-
-"Skipper," says he, joyful, "I believe I've got it.
-I believe I've got the idea that'll put those Armenians
-in the discard. You listen to me."
-
-I listened, and what he'd hatched was somethin'
-like this: We—that is, the "Ostable Grocery,
-Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes, and Fancy Goods
-Store"—would sell embroidery and crocheted plunder,
-and run the peddlers out of business. We'd
-open a tidy department on our own hook. What
-did I think of that?
-
-Well, I didn't think much of it, and I told him so.
-
-"Don't believe we can do it," says I.
-
-"Why not?" says he. "We can charge as much
-as they can, and that seems to be the main thing."
-
-"That ain't it," I told him. "We can't get the
-stuff to sell. Plenty of machine made, but the summer
-folks won't have that, cheap or high. What
-they wake up nights and cry for is the genuine, hand-manufactured
-article; and, unless you buy it off the
-peddlers themselves—which would be unprofitable,
-to say the least—\ *I* don't see where you're goin' to
-get it. Besides, if you could get it, sellin' it in a
-store wouldn't do. 'Tain't romantic and foolish
-enough. Take this Burke Smythe woman," says I;
-"she's a fair sample. She could have got just as
-nice, pretty dress patterns out of a fashion magazine,
-or—"
-
-"Great snakes!" he broke in. "You don't
-think 'twas a *paper* pattern she paid sixty-four dollars
-for, do you?"
-
-"Never mind what 'twas," I says, dignified;
-"'twould be all the same, paper or sheet iron. She
-wouldn't care for it at all if she'd bought it in a
-store. There's nothin' mysterious or romantic in
-that. But here comes one of these liver-complected,
-black-haired fellers, lookin' for all the world like a
-pirate, and whispers in her ear he's got somethin'
-in that carpetbag of his that nobody else has got,
-and that'll make Mrs. General Jupiter Jones, or
-some other of the Smythe bosom friends, look like
-a last summer's scarecrow. And, as a favor to her,
-he ain't showed it to Mrs. Jupiter—which is most
-likely a lie, but never mind—and he'll sell it to
-her at a sixty-four-dollar sacrifice, because—"
-
-"Hold on!" he interrupts. "Cut it out! Break
-away! Don't you s'pose I've thought of that?
-Your old Uncle James Henry Jacobs, doctor of sick
-businesses, wa'n't born yesterday by about thirty-eight
-years. I ain't figgerin' to handle Armenian
-stuff. See here, Skipper. What makes the summer
-bunch so crazy to get hold of old clocks, and old
-chains, and antique junk generally?"
-
-"Well," says I, "for one thing, 'cause they *are*
-antiques. For another, because they come from
-right here on the Cape, and—"
-
-"That's it," he sings out. "And that's enough.
-Well, there's plenty of handmade embroideries and
-laces, not to mention lamp mats and bed quilts, made
-right here on the Cape, too. Last fall, the county
-fair had a buildin' solid full of 'em. This is my
-plan. Do stop your Doubtin' Thomas act, and
-listen."
-
-The plan was sort of simple but complicated.
-Fust off, him and me was to see all the old ladies
-and young girls in Ostable and the surroundin' country,
-and get 'em to agree to sell their handmade
-knittin' to us. If they wouldn't sell to us direct,
-then we'd sell it for them on commission. We'd fit
-up a room in the loft over the store, advertise it as
-the "Colonial Curio Shop" or the "Pilgrim Mothers'
-Exchange," or some such ridiculous or mysterious
-name, stock it full of the truck the widows
-and orphans had been knittin' or tattin' all winter,
-drop a hint to the summer folks—and then set back
-and take the money.
-
-"It'll go, I tell you," he says, enthusiastic. "It's
-a sure winner. Just say the word, Skipper, and we'll
-start fittin' up the loft to-morrow mornin'."
-
-"Well," says I, pretty doubtful, "if you're so
-sure, Jim, I—"
-
-"Sure!" he broke in. "Why wouldn't I be
-sure? There's only one kind of people that can get
-ahead of me in a business deal—and they don't
-hail from Armenia. Skipper, here's where we hand
-our peddlin' friends theirs, and then some."
-
-Next mornin' he took the spare horse and started
-out. When he got back that night, he had the bottom
-of the wagon covered with bundles of knittin'
-and handmade contraptions, and he made proclamations
-that he hadn't begun to cover the available
-territory. He'd seen I don't know how many single
-females and widows who had the fancywork and
-crochetin' habit; and they sold him everything they
-had in stock, and promised more.
-
-"They take to it like a duck to water," says he,
-joyful. "They're all down on the peddlers, and
-they're goin' to pitch in and supply the home market.
-In another week you can't pass two houses in this
-town without hearin' the merry click of the needle.
-To-morrow I canvass Denboro and Bayport, and the
-next day I tackle Harniss. By Monday we'll be
-ready to fit up the loft."
-
-And, sure enough, he was right. The amount
-of stuff he fetched back in that wagon was surprisin'.
-How the female population of Ostable County could
-have turned out all that embroidery and found time
-to cook meals and sweep, let alone make calls and
-talk about their neighbors, beat me a mile. But
-when he told me what he paid for the collection I
-begun to understand. However, I didn't say nothin'.
-'Twa'n't until he commenced to rig up the room over
-the store that I spoke my thoughts.
-
-"Why, Jim Henry!" I says. "What are you
-thinkin' of? Puttin' panelin' on those walls! And
-paperin' with that expensive paper! It must have
-cost land knows how much a roll. And, for the
-dear land sakes, what are those carpenters cuttin'
-that hole in the upper deck for?"
-
-"For stairs, of course," says he. "Think the
-customers are goin' to fly up there? Don't bother
-me, Skipper, I'm busy."
-
-"Stairs!" I sings out. "Why, there's stairs already.
-What's the matter with the steps leadin'
-aloft from the back room? *We've* used them ever
-since we've been here, and—"
-
-"S-shh! S-shh!" says he, resigned but impatient.
-"Cap'n, your business instinct is all right in some
-things, like—like—well, I can't think what just
-now, but never mind. You're a good feller, but
-you're too apt to cal'late by last year's almanac.
-You ain't as up to date as you might be. Do you
-suppose Her Majesty Burke Smythe, and the rest
-of the Royal Family we're settin' this trap for, will
-take the trouble to hunt up that back room, and
-fall over egg cases and kerosene barrels to find the
-ladder to that loft? And climb the ladder after they
-find it? No, no! We'll have a flight of stairs right
-from the main part of this store, where they can't
-help seein' 'em. And there'll be old-fashioned rag
-mats on the landin's, and brass candlesticks with candles
-in 'em at night, and—"
-
-"Candles!" says I. "Well; that is the final
-piece of lunacy! Why, I could light those stairs like
-a glory with kerosene lamps while a body was tryin'
-to get *sight* of 'em with a candle! I never heard
-such nonsense."
-
-But 'twas no use. What we must do was make
-that loft "quaint," and old-fashioned, and the like
-of that. I didn't understand—and so on.
-
-"All right," says I, "maybe I don't; but I do
-understand this: Judgin' by the amount of hard
-cash you've spent for lace tuckers and doilies, and
-the bill them stairs and panelin's and candlesticks'll
-come to, I don't see a profit on the Pilgrim Curio
-Mothers' Exchange in ten year big enough to cover
-a five-cent piece."
-
-He'd risk the profit. Besides, there was another
-reason for the stairs, and such. To get to 'em all,
-the rich folks would have to go right through the
-store; and if they didn't buy anything upstairs they
-would down, sure and sartin. He was figgerin' on
-catchin' the transient trade, the automobile trade;
-and all around the foot of the stairs we'd have
-temptin' lunches put up and set out, and bottles of
-ginger ale and boxes of cigars, and so forth, and so
-on. He preached for half an hour, windin' up with:
-
-"Anyhow, Skipper, if the curio shop should lose
-money—which it won't—it will bring customers
-to the Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes,
-and Fancy Goods Store, which is the main thing;
-that and keepin' the coin in the United States instead
-of shippin' it to Armenia. The embroideries and
-laces are by-products, as you might say; and if a
-plant comes out even on its by-products, it's a payin'
-proposition."
-
-He had me there. I didn't know a by-product
-from a salt herrin'; so I shut up.
-
-The "Old Colony Women's Exchange and Curio
-Room," which was the name he finally picked out,
-opened at the end of a fortni't. Jacobs had advertised
-it in the papers, and put signs for miles up and
-down the main roads, let alone tellin' every well-off
-summer woman within reachin' distance. And, almost
-from the very start, it done well. The loft
-was crowded 'most every afternoon; and sometimes
-there'd be as many as three automobiles anchored
-alongside our main platform.
-
-At the end of the fust month, the Exchange had
-cleared—cleared, mind you—over two hundred
-dollars; and Jim Henry was crowin' over me like a
-Shanghai rooster over a bantam. He'd had another
-happy thought, and had added "antiques" to the
-stock in the loft; and the prices he got for lame
-chairs and rheumatic tables was somethin' scandalous.
-But it wa'n't all joy. There was two things that
-troubled him.
-
-One of the things was that the supply of knittin'
-and fancywork was givin' out. Likewise the "antiques."
-Of course, there was some on hand. Aunt
-Susannah Cahoon's yeller and black mittens, ear
-lappets, and tippets hadn't sold, and wa'n't likely to;
-and Abinadab Saint's alabaster whale-oil lamp with
-the crack in it, that his Great-uncle Peleg brought
-home from sea, hadn't been grabbed to any extent.
-But these were the exceptions. 'Most all the good
-stuff had gone; and, though Jacobs had raked the
-county with a fine-tooth comb, as you might say, the
-reg'lar dealers from Boston had raked it ahead of
-him, and there wa'n't any "antiques" left.
-
-There was several reasons for the shortage in
-fancywork. One was that the knitters and tatters
-couldn't turn it out fast enough; and, moreover,
-the season for church fairs was settin' in, and the
-heft of the females, bein' reg'lar members in good
-standin', *had* to tack ship and go to helpin' their
-meetin'-houses. So our stock was gettin' low, and
-Jim Henry was worried.
-
-The other thing that worried him was that we
-couldn't get the right kind of help to sell the stuff.
-He couldn't tend to it himself, bein' too busy otherwise.
-Mary had the post-office department on her
-hands. The clerk and the delivery boys wa'n't fitted
-for the job at all; and, as for me, I couldn't sell a
-blue sugar bowl without a cover for seven dollars
-and take the money. I knew the one that bought
-it was perfectly satisfied, but I couldn't do it; I ain't
-built that way.
-
-"It's no use, Jim Henry," says I. "I may be
-foolish, but I have ideas about some things; and it's
-my notion that sartin kinds of folks are fitted by
-nature for sartin kinds of things. Now, Cape Codders
-they're fitted for seafarin', and such; and New
-Yorkers and Chicagoers, like you, are fitted for stock-brokin'
-and storekeepin'; and Italians for hand organs,
-and diggin' streets, and singin' in opera. And
-when it comes to sellin' secondhand stuff or keepin'
-a pawnshop, there's—"
-
-"Rubbish!" he snaps. "A while ago, you'd
-have said that the embroidery trade was cornered
-by the Armenians. We've proved that's a fairy tale,
-ain't we? I've got some ideas myself. I know the
-kind of person I want to run that Exchange, and,
-sooner or later, I'll find him—or her. Meantime,
-we'll have to do the best we can; and I'll take it as
-a favor if you'll let up on the hammer exercise."
-
-I wa'n't sure what he meant by the "hammer
-exercise"; but 'twas plain enough that them "by-products"
-was a sore subject, and that he was worried.
-
-However, he wa'n't the only worried lace dealer
-in the neighborhood. The Old Colony Exchange
-had made good in one direction, anyhow. It had
-knocked the embroidery peddlin' business higher'n a
-kite. Where there used to be a dozen suitcase
-luggers paradin' through the town, now you scarcely
-sighted one; and that one looked pretty sick and
-discouraged. The home market had smashed foreign
-competition for the time bein'; that much was pretty
-sure. But our stock kept gettin' lower and lower,
-and the auto crowds begun to go by now instead of
-stoppin'. And the few that did stop hardly ever
-bought anything unless Jim Henry himself was there
-to hypnotize 'em into it.
-
-One mornin' I came to the store pretty late, and
-found our clerk talkin' to a dark-complected chap
-with curly hair and a suitcase. I didn't shove my
-bows into the talk; but, when 'twas over, I asked
-the clerk what the critter wanted. He laughed.
-
-"Oh, he's the last survivor of the peddlin' crew,"
-he says. "He ain't sold a thing, and he's goin'
-back to Boston right off. I told him he might as
-well. He asked a lot of questions about the Exchange,
-and I took him upstairs and showed him
-around."
-
-"You did?" says I. "What for?"
-
-"Oh, just to let him see what he was up against,
-that's all. He was a pretty decent feller—some
-of them Armenians ain't so bad—and I pitied him.
-He was awful discouraged. He'd heard Mr.
-Jacobs had been tryin' to hire a salesman for up
-there; and he hinted that he'd kind of like the
-job."
-
-"Did, hey?" says I. "Well, it's a good thing
-for you and him that Mr. Jacobs didn't catch you.
-He'd sooner have a snake on the premises than one
-of them peddlers. What else did he say? Anything?"
-
-Why, yes. It developed that he'd said a good
-deal. Asked where we got our stuff, and so on. I
-judged 'twas a providence that I come in when I
-did, or that clerk would have told every last word
-he knew. I didn't say anything to Jim Henry. No
-use frettin' him unnecessary.
-
-Three days after that the Injun showed up. I
-don't know as you know it, but there are a few
-Injuns left on the Cape—half-breeds, or three-quarters,
-they are mostly; and they live up around
-Cohasset Narrows, or off in the woods in those latitudes.
-This one was an old feller, black-haired, of
-course, and kind of fleshy, with a hook nose and skin
-the color of gingerbread. I heard talk upstairs in
-the Exchange; and, when I went aloft, I found him
-and Jim Henry settin' among the by-products, and
-as confidential as a couple of rats in a schooner's
-hold. Soon as Jacobs seen me, he sung out for me
-to heave alongside.
-
-"Look at that, Cap'n Zeb," he says. "What do
-you think of that?"
-
-I took what he handed me, and looked at it.
-'Twas a piece of handmade lace—a centerpiece, I
-believe they call it—and 'twas mighty well done.
-
-"Think of it?" says I. "Well, I ain't much of
-a judge, but I'd call it a pretty slick article. Who
-made it?"
-
-The old black-haired chap answered.
-
-"My sister," he says. "She make 'em. Make
-'em plenty."
-
-"Bully for her!" says I. "She's the lady we've
-been lookin' for. Maybe she make some more;
-hey?"
-
-He grinned; and Jacobs mentioned for me to
-clear out; so I done it. He and old Gingerbread
-Face stayed aloft in that Exchange for upward of
-an hour; and, when they came down, Jim Henry
-went with him as fur as the door. When the
-stranger had gone, Jim turns to me and stuck out
-his hand.
-
-"Skipper," says he, grinnin' like a punkin lantern,
-"shake! I've got it."
-
-"What have you got?" I asked. I was a little
-mite provoked at bein' sent below so unceremonious.
-"What have you got—Asiatic cholery? Thought
-you wouldn't have nothin' to do with Armenians."
-
-"Armenians be hanged!" says he. "That's no
-Armenian. He's an Indian, a full-blooded Indian,
-or pretty near it. And his family is about the only
-full-bloods left. There's a colony of them up the
-Cape a ways; and it seems that they pick berries in
-the summer, and put in their winters turnin' out
-stuff like that centerpiece. He heard about the
-Exchange, and he's come way down here to see if we
-bought such things. I told him we bought 'em with
-bells on, and he'll be back here to-morrow with another
-load."
-
-Sure enough, he was, load and all; and 'twould
-have astonished you to see what fust-class fancywork
-his sister and the rest of the squaws turned out.
-Jacobs bought the whole lot, and ordered more; said
-he'd take all the tribe could scare up; and old Gingerbread—his
-American name, so he said, was
-Rose, Solomon Rose—went away happy. When
-I found what Jim Henry had paid him for the
-plunder, I didn't blame Rose for bein' joyful.
-
-But Jacobs didn't care. He was all excitement
-and hurrah again. He had a new addition made
-to the Exchange sign. 'Twas "The Old Colony
-Women's Exchange, Curio Room, and Indian Exhibit"
-now; and inside of two days the Burke
-Smythes and their friends was callin' reg'lar, the
-auto parties was rollin' up to the door, and the money
-was rollin' in. Injun embroidery was somethin'
-new; and the summer gang snapped at it like bullfrogs
-at a red rag.
-
-Then that partner of mine was seized violent with
-another rush of ideas to the head. I'm blessed if
-he didn't hire old Rose—the "Last of the Mohicans,"
-he called him, among other ridiculous and
-outlandish names—to spend his days in that Injun
-Exchange loft. Paid him ten dollars a week, he
-did, just to set there and look the part. 'Twas
-a sinful waste of money, 'cordin' to my notion; but
-Jim Henry shut me up like a huntin'-case watch—with
-a snap.
-
-"Who said he could sell?" he wanted to know.
-"I didn't, did I? I don't know that he can't—he's
-shrewd enough when it comes to sellin' us the stuff
-he brings with him; but if he don't sell a fifty-cent
-article—"
-
-"Which he won't," I interrupted; "for there's
-nothin' less than two-seventy-five *in* the robbers' den,
-and you know it. How you have the face to
-charge—"
-
-"Will you be quiet?" he wanted to know. "As
-I say, whether he sells or not, he's wuth his wages
-twice over. Can't you understand? Just oblige me
-by rubbin' your brains with scourin' soap or somethin',
-and *try* to understand. All the auto bunch
-ain't lambs; some of them—the males especially—are
-a fairly cagey collection; and there's been doubts
-expressed concernin' the genuineness of our Injun
-exhibit. But with old Uncas—with the Last of the
-Mohicans himself right on deck as a livin' guarantee,
-why, we could sell clam-shells as small change from
-Sittin' Bull's wampum belt, and never raise a sacrilegious
-question even from a Unitarian freethinker.
-It's a cinch."
-
-"See here, Jim Henry," says I, "if this thing's
-a fraud, I won't have anything to do with it."
-
-"Neither will I," says he, emphatic. "Frauds
-don't pay, not in the long run. But grandmother's
-genuine antiques and the A-number-one, Simon-pure
-embroideries of the noble red man—or woman—pay,
-and don't you forget it."
-
-They did pay; and old Mohican himself was a
-payin' investment, too, in spite of my doubts and
-Jeremiah prophesyin'. He made a ten-strike with
-every female that hit that loft. They said he was
-so "quaint," and "odd," and "pathetic." Mrs.
-Burke Smythe vowed there was somethin' "big" and
-"great" about him—meanin' his nose or his boots,
-I presume likely—and, somehow or other, though
-he didn't look like a salesman, he sold. And every
-week or so he'd take a day off and go back home,
-to return with a fresh supply of tidies, and lace, and
-gimcracks. I changed my mind about Injuns. I
-see right off that all the yarns I'd read about 'em
-was lies. They didn't murder nor scalp their enemies—they
-smothered 'em with lamp mats.
-
-And 'twa'n't fancywork alone that the Rose critter
-fetched back from these home v'yages of his. He
-struck an "antique" vein somewheres in the reservation;
-and not a week went by that he didn't resurrect
-an old bedstead or a table or a spinnin' wheel or
-somethin', and fetched 'em down in an old wagon
-towed by an old white horse. The "children of the
-forest"—which was another of Jim Henry's names
-for the Injuns and half-breeds—didn't give up
-these things for nothin'; far from it. We had to
-pay as much as if they was made of solid silver;
-but we sold 'em at gold prices, so that part was all
-right.
-
-And every other day Jacobs would ask me what
-I thought of "by-products" now. As for Armenian
-competition, it was dead. There wa'n't any.
-
-Well, three more weeks drifted along, and the
-summer season was 'most over. Then, one Tuesday
-mornin', old Rose, the Mohican, didn't show
-up. He'd gone away on Friday cal'latin' to be back
-Monday with a fresh lot of "antiques" and centerpieces;
-but he wa'n't. And Tuesday and Wednesday
-passed, and he didn't come. Jim Henry was
-awful worried. We needed more stock, and we
-needed our Injun curio; and nothin' would do but I
-must turn myself into a relief expedition and hunt
-him up.
-
-"Somethin's happened, sure," says Jacobs.
-"He's never missed his time afore. Those fellers
-pride themselves on keepin' their word—you read
-Cooper, if you don't believe it—and he's sick or
-dead; one or the other."
-
-"Dead nothin'!" says I. "He's too tough to
-kill, and nothin' would make him sick but soap and
-water, which ain't one of his bad habits by a consider'ble
-sight. However, if it'll make you any
-easier, I'll take the mornin' train and locate him if
-I can."
-
-"Go ahead," says he. "I'd do it myself, but I
-can't leave just now. Go ahead, Skipper, and don't
-come back till you've got him, or found out why he
-isn't on hand."
-
-So I took the mornin' train and set out to locate
-the noble red man.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER IX—ROSES—BY ANOTHER NAME
-================================
-
-
-But locatin' him wa'n't such an easy matter.
-All we knew was he lived somewheres in
-Wampaquoit, and Wampaquoit is ten miles
-from nowhere, in the woods up around Cohasset
-Narrows. I got off the train at the Narrows depot,
-and, after considerable cruisin' and bargainin',
-I hired a horse and buggy, and started to drive over.
-I lost my way and got onto a wood road. Don't
-ask me about that road. I don't want to talk about
-it. I'd been on salt water for a good many years,
-and I'd seen some rough goin', but rockin' and
-bouncin' over that wood road come nigher to makin'
-me seasick than any of my Grand Banks trips. Narrow!
-And grown over! My land! I had to
-stoop to keep from bein' scraped off the seat; and,
-whenever I'd straighten up to ease my back, a pine
-branch would fetch me a slap in the face that you
-could hear half a mile.
-
-As for my language, you could hear that *two*
-miles. That road ruined my moral reputation, I'm
-afraid. They had a revival meetin' in the Narrows
-meetin'-house the follerin' week, but whether 'twas
-on my account or not I don't know.
-
-However, I made port after a spell—that is, I
-run afoul of a house and lot in a clearin' sort of;
-and I asked a black-lookin' male critter, who was
-asleep under a tree, how to get to Wampaquoit. He
-riz upon one elbow, brushed the mosquitoes away
-from his mouth, and made answer that 'twas Wampaquoit
-I was in.
-
-"But the town?" says I. "Where's the town?"
-
-Well, it appeared that this was the town, or part of
-it. The rest was scattered along through the next
-three or four miles of wilderness. Where was the
-center? Oh, there wa'n't any. There was a schoolhouse
-and a meetin'-house, and a blacksmith's, and
-such, on the main road up a piece, that was all.
-
-"But where do the Injuns live?" I wanted to
-know. "The knittin' women, the Lamp Mat
-Trust—where does it—she—they, I mean,
-live?"
-
-He couldn't seem to make much out of this; and
-by and by he went into the house and fetched out his
-wife. She was about as black as he was; and I
-cal'lated they was a Portygee family; but, no, lo and
-behold you, it turned out they was Injuns themselves!
-But they never heard of anybody named Rose, nor
-of anybody that knit centerpieces, nor of an "antique,"
-nor anything. I give it up pretty soon, for
-my temper was beginnin' to heat up the surroundin'
-air, and the mosquitoes seemed to think I was "Old
-Home Week," and come for miles around and
-brought their relations. I give up and drove away
-over a fairly decent road this time, till I found another
-house. But this was just the same; Injuns in
-plenty—'most everybody was part Injun—but nobody
-had heard of our special Mohican nor of an
-"antique." And, which was queerer still, they
-never heard of anybody around that done knittin'
-or crochetin' or lace makin', or had sold any, if they
-did do it. And they didn't any of 'em talk story-book
-Injun dialect, same as Uncas did. They used
-pretty fair United States.
-
-Well, to bile this yarn of mine down, I rode
-through those woods and around the settlement
-most of that afternoon. Then I was ready to give
-up, and so was my old livery-stable horse. He'd
-gone dead lame, and 'twould have been a sin and a
-shame to make him walk a step farther. I took
-him to the blacksmith's shop, and left him there. I
-pounded mosquitoes, and asked the blacksmith some
-questions, and he pounded iron and wanted to ask
-me a million; but neither of us got a heap of satisfaction
-out of the duet.
-
-Two things seemed to be sure and sartin. One
-was that Solomon Uncas Rose, the "child of the
-forest" and chief of the tattin' tribe, was mistook
-when he give Wampaquoit as his home town; and
-t'other that, much as I wanted to, I couldn't get
-out of that town until evenin'. My horse wa'n't fit
-to travel, and I couldn't hire another, not until after
-the blacksmith had had his supper. Then he'd
-hitch up and drive me back to the Narrows.
-
-But luck was with me for once. Up the road
-came bumpin' a nice-lookin' mare and runabout
-wagon, with a pleasant-faced, gray-haired man on
-the seat. The mare pulled up at the blacksmith's
-house, and the man got down and went inside.
-
-"Who's that?" says I. "And what's he done
-to be sentenced to this place?"
-
-"Doctor," says the blacksmith, with a grunt—he
-was one-quarter Injun, too. "Comes from West
-Ostable. My wife's sick."
-
-"I sympathize with her," says I. "I'm sick,
-too—homesick. Maybe this doctor'll help me
-out. What I need is a change of scene; and I need
-it bad."
-
-So, when the doctor come out of the house, I
-hailed him, and asked him if he'd do a kindness to a
-shipwrecked mariner stranded on a lee shore.
-
-"Why, what's the matter?" says he, laughin'.
-
-"Matter enough," I told him. "I want to go
-home. Besides, a merciful man is merciful to the
-beasts; and if I stay here much longer these mosquitoes'll
-die of rush of my blood to their heads.
-I understand you come from West Ostable, Doctor;
-but if 'twas Jericho 'twould be all the same. I
-want you to let me ride there with you. And you
-can charge anything you want to."
-
-That doctor was a fine feller. He laughed some
-more, and told me to jump right in. Said he'd got
-to see one more patient on his way back; but, if I
-didn't mind that stop, he'd be glad of my company.
-So I told the blacksmith to keep my horse and buggy
-overnight, and when I got to West Ostable I'd
-telephone for the livery folks to send for 'em.
-Then I got into the doctor's runabout, and off we
-drove.
-
-We did consider'ble talkin' durin' the drive; but
-'twas all general, and nothin' definite on my part.
-'Course, he was curious to know what I was doin'
-'way over there; but I said I come on business, and
-let it go at that. I was beginnin' to have some
-suspicions, and I cal'lated not to be laughed at if I
-could help it. So we drove and drove; and, by and
-by, when I judged we must be pretty nigh to West
-Ostable, he turned the horse into a side road, and
-brought him to anchor alongside of an old ramshackle
-house, with a tumble-down barn and out-buildin's
-astern of it.
-
-"Now, Cap'n," he says, "I'll have to ask you to
-wait a few minutes while I see that last patient of
-mine. 'Twon't take long."
-
-"Patient?" says I. "Good land! Does anybody
-*live* in this fag end of nothin'ness?"
-
-"Yes," says he. "'Twas empty for years, but
-now a couple of fellers live here all by themselves.
-Foreigners of some kind they are. Been here for
-a month or more. One of 'em let a packin' case
-fall on his foot, and—"
-
-"I sympathize with him," says I. "The same
-thing happened to me a spell ago. But a packin'
-case! Cranberry crate, you mean, I guess."
-
-"Maybe so," he says. "I didn't ask. But
-'twas somethin' heavy, anyhow. Nobody seems to
-know much about these chaps or what they do.
-Well, be as comfort'ble as you can. I'll be back
-soon."
-
-He took his medicine satchel and went into the
-house. Soon's he was out of sight, I climbed out
-of the buggy and started explorin'. I was curious.
-
-I wandered around back of the house. Such a
-slapjack place you never see in your life! Windows
-plugged with papers and old rags, shingles off the
-roof, chimneys shy of bricks—'twas a miracle it
-didn't blow down long ago. Whoever the tenants
-was, they was only temporary, I judged, and willin'
-to take chances.
-
-From somewheres out in the barn I heard a
-scratchin' kind of noise, and I headed for there.
-The big door was open a little ways, and I squeezed
-through. 'Twas pretty dark, and I couldn't see
-much for a minute; but soon as my eyes got used to
-the gloominess, I saw lots of things. That barn
-was half filled with boxes and crates, some empty
-and some not. There was a horse in the stall—an
-old white horse—and standin' in the middle of
-the floor was a wagon heaped with things, and covered
-with a piece of tarpaulin. I lifted the tarpaulin.
-Underneath it was a spinnin' wheel, an old-fashioned
-table, two chairs, and a basket. There
-was embroidery and fancywork in the basket.
-
-Then I took a few soundin's among the full
-boxes and crates standin' round. I didn't do much
-of this, 'cause the scratchin' noise kept up in a room
-at the back of the barn, and I wa'n't anxious to disturb
-the scratcher, whoever he was. But I saw a
-plenty. There was enough bran-new "antiques"
-and "genuine" Injun knittin' work in them crates
-and boxes to stock the "Colonial Exchange" for
-six weeks, even with better trade than we'd had.
-
-I'd seen all I wanted to in *that* room, so I tiptoed
-into the other. A feller was in there, standin'
-back to me, and hard at work. He was sandpaperin'
-the polish off a mahogany sewin' table; the
-kind Mrs. Burke Smythe called a "find," and had
-in her best front parlor as an example of what our
-great-granddads used to make, and we wa'n't capable
-of in these cheap and shoddy days. There was
-another "find" on the floor side of him, a chair
-layin' on its side. Pasted on the under side of the
-seat was a paper label with "Grand Rivers Furniture
-Manufacturing Company" printed on it. I
-judged that the hand of Time hadn't got to work
-on that chair yet, but it would as soon as it had antiqued
-the table.
-
-I watched the mellowin' influence gettin' in its
-licks—much as twenty year passed over that table
-in the three minutes I stood there—and then I
-spoke.
-
-"Hello, shipmate!" says I. "You're busy,
-ain't you?"
-
-He jumped as if I'd stuck a sail needle in him,
-the table tipped over with a bang, and he swung
-around and faced me. And I'm blessed if he wa'n't
-that Armenian critter; the one that the clerk had
-talked to—the "last survivor of the peddlin'
-crew."
-
-I was expectin' 'most anything to happen, and I
-was kind of hopin' it would. My fists sort of shut
-of themselves. But it didn't happen. I knew the
-feller; but, as luck would have it, he didn't recognize
-me. He swallered hard a couple of times, and
-then he says, pretty average ugly:
-
-"Vat d'ye want?"
-
-"Oh, nothin'," says I. "I just drove over with
-the doctor, and I cruised 'round the premises a little,
-that's all. You must do a good business here.
-Make this stuff yourself?"
-
-"No," he snapped.
-
-I could see that he was dyin' to chuck me out, and
-didn't dast to. I picked up the chair and looked at
-it.
-
-"Humph!" I says. "Grand Rivers Company,
-hey? Buy of them, do you?"
-
-"Yes," says he.
-
-"And this?" I took a centerpiece out of one
-of the boxes. "This come from Grand Rivers,
-too?"
-
-"No," says he. "Boston. Is dere anything
-else you vant to know?"
-
-"Guess not. You the sick man?"
-
-"No; mine brudder."
-
-"Your brother, hey? Let's see. I wonder if I
-don't know him. Kind of tall and thin, ain't he?"
-
-He sniffed contemptuous.
-
-"No," says he, "he's short and fat."
-
-"Beg your pardon," says I, "guess I was mistook.
-Well, I must be gettin' back to the buggy;
-the doctor's prob'ly waitin' for me. Good day, mister."
-
-He never said good-by; but I saw him watchin'
-me all the way to the gate. I climbed into the
-buggy, and set there till he went back into the barn;
-then I got down and hurried to the front of the
-house. The door wa'n't fastened, and I went in.
-I met the doctor in the hall. He was some surprised
-to see me there.
-
-"Hello, Doc!" says I. "Where's your patient?"
-
-"In there," says he, pointin' to the door astern
-of him. "But—"
-
-"How's he gettin' along?" I wanted to know.
-
-"Why, he's better," he says. "He's practically
-all right. I wanted him to get up and walk, but he
-wouldn't."
-
-"Wouldn't, hey?" says I. "Humph! Well,
-maybe he wouldn't walk for you; but I'll bet *I* can
-make him *fly*."
-
-Before he could stop me, I flung that door open
-and walked into that room. The sufferer from
-fallin' packin' boxes was settin' in one chair with
-his foot in another. I drew off, and slapped him
-on the shoulder hard as I could.
-
-"Hello, Sol Uncas Mohicans!" I sung out.
-"How's genuine antique lamp mats these days?"
-
-For about two seconds he just set there and
-looked at me, set and glared, with his mouth open.
-Then he let out a scream like a scared woman,
-jumped out of that chair, and made for the kitchen
-door, lame foot and all. I headed him off, and he
-turned and set sail for the one I'd come in at. He
-reached the front hall just ahead of me; but my
-boot caught him at the top step and helped him
-*some*. He never stopped at the gate, but went
-head-first into the woods whoopin' anthems.
-
-The sandpaperin' chap came runnin' out of the
-barn, and I took after him; but he didn't wait to see
-what I had to say. He dove for the woods on his
-side. We had the premises to ourselves, and I went
-back and picked up the doctor, who'd been upset
-by the "child of the forest" on his way to the ancestral
-tall timber.
-
-"What—what—what?" gasps the medical
-man. "For Heaven sakes! Why, he wouldn't *try*
-to walk when I asked him to. *How* did you do
-that?"
-
-"Easy enough," says I. "'Twas an old-fashioned
-treatment, but it helps—in some cases. Just
-layin' on of hands, that's all. Now, Doc, afore you
-ask another question, let me ask you one. Ain't
-that critter's name Rose?"
-
-He was consider'ble shook, but he managed to
-grin a little.
-
-"No," says he, "but you've guessed pretty near
-it."
-
-Then he told me what the name was.
-
-I rode back to West Ostable with that doctor and
-took the evenin' train home. Jim Henry was
-waitin' for me on the store platform when I got out
-of the depot wagon.
-
-"Well?" he wanted to know. "Did you find
-him?"
-
-"Humph!" says I. "I did find the lost tribes,
-a couple of members of 'em, anyway."
-
-"What do you mean by that?" says he.
-
-"Come somewheres where 'tain't so public and I'll
-tell you."
-
-So we went back into the back room and I told
-him my yarn. He listened, with his mouth open,
-gettin' madder and madder all the time.
-
-"Now," says I, endin' up, "the way I look at it
-is this. I've been thinkin' it out on the cars and I
-cal'late we'll have to do this way. We ain't crooks—that
-is, we didn't mean to be—and now we
-know all our 'antiques' are frauds and our 'Injun
-curios' made up to Boston, we must either shut up
-the 'Exchange' or go back to home products.
-We'll have to keep mum about those we have sold,
-because most of 'em have been carted out of town
-and we don't know where to locate the buyers.
-But, for my part, bein' average honest and meanin'
-to be square, I feel mighty bad. What do you
-say?"
-
-He said enough. He felt as bad as I did about
-stickin' our customers, but what seemed to cut him
-the most was that somebody had got ahead of him in
-business.
-
-"Think of it!" says he. "Skipper, we're
-gold-bricked! Cheated! Faked! Done! Think of it!
-If I could only get my hands on that—"
-
-"Hold on a minute," says I. "Better think the
-whole of it while you're about it. We set out to
-drive those peddlers out of what was *their* trade.
-If they was smart enough to turn the tables and
-make a good profit out of sellin' us the stuff, I don't
-know as I blame 'em much. It was just tit for tat—or
-so it seems to me now that I've cooled off."
-
-"Maybe so," says he; "but it hurts my pride just
-the same. James Henry Jacobs, doctor of sick
-businesses, beat by a couple of peddlers from Armenia!"
-
-"Hold on again," I says. "I ain't told you
-their real name yet."
-
-"Their name?" he says. "I know it already.
-It's Rose."
-
-"Not accordin' to that West Ostable doctor, it
-ain't. The name they give *him* was Rosenstein."
-
-He looked at me for a spell without speakin'.
-Then he smiled, heaved a long breath, and reached
-over and shook my hand.
-
-"Whew!" says he. "Skipper, I feel better.
-Richard's himself again. To be beat in a business
-deal by Roses is one thing—but by Rosensteins is
-another. You can't beat the Rosensteins in business."
-
-"Not in the secondhand and by-productin'
-business you can't," says I. "Them lines belong to
-'em. We hadn't any right to butt in."
-
-And we both laughed, good and hearty.
-
-"But," says I, after a little, "what'll we do with
-that curio room, anyway? Give it up?"
-
-"Not much!" says he, emphatic. "I guess
-we'll have to give up the antiques; but we've got the
-winter ahead of us, Skipper, and the Ostable County
-embroidery crop flourishes best in cold weather.
-We'll start the old ladies knittin' again and have a
-fairly good-sized stock when the autos commence
-runnin' once more. Give up the Colonial Pilgrim
-Mothers? I should say not!"
-
-"All right," I says, dubious. "You may be
-right, Jim; you generally are. But I'm a little
-scary of this by-product game. It'll get us into serious
-trouble, I'm afraid, some day. It's easier to
-steer one big craft, than 'tis to maneuver a fleet of
-little ones."
-
-He sniffed, scornful. "As I understand it,
-Cap'n Zeb," he says, "this business of yours was in
-a pretty feeble condition when you called me in to
-prescribe."
-
-"No doubt of that, Jim, but—"
-
-"Yes. And it's a healthy, growin' child now."
-
-"Yes. It sartin is."
-
-"Then, if I was you, I'd take my medicine and
-be thankful. Time enough to complain when you
-commence to go into another decline. Ain't that
-so?"
-
-I didn't answer.
-
-"Isn't it so?" he asked again.
-
-"Maybe," I said; "but it may be a fatal disease
-next time; and it's better to keep well than to be
-cured—and a lot cheaper."
-
-He said I was a reg'lar bullfrog for croakin',
-and hinted that I was in the back row of the primer
-class so fur's business instinct went. I had a feelin'
-that he was right, but I had another feelin' that *I*
-was right, too. However, there was nothin' to do
-but keep quiet and wait the next development.
-Afore Christmas the development landed with both
-feet.
-
-I'd heard the news twice already that mornin'.
-Fust at the Poquit House breakfast table, where
-'twas served along with the chopped hay cereal and
-warmed over and picked to pieces, as you might
-say, all through the b'iled eggs and spider-bread,
-plumb down to the doughnuts and imitation coffee.
-Then I'd no sooner got outdoor than Solon Saunders
-sighted me, and he 'bout ship and beat acrost the
-road like a porgie-boat bearin' down on a school of
-fish. He was so excited that he couldn't wait to
-get alongside, but commenced heavin' overboard his
-cargo of information while he was in mid-channel.
-
-"Did you hear about the Higgins Place bein'
-rented, Cap'n Snow?" he sung out. "It's been
-took for next summer and—"
-
-"Yes, yes, I heard it," says I. "Fine seasonable
-weather we're havin' these days. Don't see
-any signs of snow yet, do you?"
-
-If he'd been skipper of a pleasure boat with a
-picnic party aboard he couldn't have paid less attention
-to my weather signals.
-
-"It's been hired for an eatin'-house," he says,
-puffin' and out of breath. "A man by the name of
-Fred from Buffalo, has hired it, and—"
-
-"Fred, hey?" I interrupted. "Humph! 'Cordin'
-to the proclamations *I* heard he cruises under the
-name of George—Eben George—and he hails
-from Bangor."
-
-"No, no!" he says, emphatic. "His name's
-Edgar Fred and it's Buffalo he comes from. Henry
-Williams told me and he got it from his wife's aunt,
-Mrs. Debby Baker, and her cousin by marriage told
-her. She is a Knowles—the cousin is—married
-one of the Denboro Knowleses—and *she* got it
-from Peleg Kendrick's nephew whose stepmother
-is related to the woman that used to do old Judge
-Higgins's cookin' when he was alive. So it come
-straight, you see."
-
-"Yes," I says, "about as straight as the eel went
-through the snarled fish net. All right. I don't
-care. How's your rheumatiz gettin' on, Solon?"
-
-I thought that would fetch him, but it didn't.
-Gen'rally speakin', he'd talk for an hour about his
-rheumatiz and never skip an ache; but now he was
-too much interested in the Higgins Place even to
-catalogue his symptoms.
-
-"It's some better," he says, "since I tried the
-Electric Ointment out of the newspaper. But,
-Cap'n Zeb, did you know that this Fred man was
-goin' to start a swell dinin'-room for automobile
-folks? He is. He's had all kinds of experience in
-them lines. He's goin' to have foreign help and
-a chief Frenchman to do the cookin' and—and I
-don't know what all."
-
-"I guess that's right," says I. "Well, I don't
-know what all, either, and I ain't goin' to worry.
-We'll see what we shall see, as the blind feller said.
-Hello! there's the minister over there and I'll bet he
-ain't heard a word about it."
-
-That done the trick. Away he put, all sail set, to
-give the minister the earache, and I went on down
-to the store. And there was Jacobs talkin' to a
-man I'd never seen afore and both of 'em so interested
-they scarcely noticed me when I come in.
-
-He was a kind of ordinary-lookin' feller at fust
-sight, the stranger was, sort of a cross between a
-parson and a circus agent, judgin' by his get-up.
-Pretty thin, with black hair and a black beard, and
-dressed all in black except his vest, which was
-thunder-storm plaid. I'd have cal'lated he was in
-mournin' if it hadn't been for that vest. As 'twas he
-looked like a hearse with a brass band aboard. Both
-him and Jacobs was smokin' cigars, the best ten-centers
-we carried in stock.
-
-"Mornin'," says I, passin' by 'em. Jim Henry
-looked up and saw me.
-
-"Ah, Skipper," says he; "glad to see you.
-Come here. I want to make you acquainted with
-Mr. Edwin Frank, who is intendin' to locate here
-in Ostable. Mr. Frank, shake hands with my partner,
-Cap'n Zebulon Snow."
-
-We shook, the band wagon hearse and me, and I
-felt as if I was back aboard the old *Fair Breeze*,
-handlin' cold fish. Jim Henry went right along explainin'
-matters.
-
-"Mr. Frank," he says, "has had a long experience
-in the restaurant and hotel line and he believes
-there is an openin' for a first-class road-house
-in this town. He has leased the—"
-
-Then I understood. "Why, yes, yes!" I interrupted.
-"I know now. You're Mr. Eben Edgar
-Fred George from Buffalo and Bangor, ain't you?"
-
-Then *they* didn't understand. When I explained
-about the boardin'-house talk and Solon Saunders'
-"straight" news, Jacobs laughed fit to kill and even
-Mr. Fred George Frank pumped up a smile. But
-his pumps was out of gear, or somethin', for the
-smile looked more like a crack in an ice chest than
-anything human. However, he said he was glad
-to see me and I strained the truth enough to say I
-was glad to meet him.
-
-"So you've hired the Higgins Place, Mr. Frank,"
-I went on. "Well, well! And you're goin' to
-make a hotel of it. If old Judge Higgins don't turn
-over in his grave at that, he's fast moored, that's
-all."
-
-I meant what I said, almost. Judge Higgins, in
-his day, had been one of the big-bugs of the town
-and his place on the hill was one of the best on the
-main road. It set 'way back from the street and
-the view from under the two big silver-leaf trees by
-the front door took in all creation and part of Ostable
-Neck, as the sayin' is. The Judge had been
-dead most eight year now, and, bein' a three times
-widower without chick nor child, the estate was all
-tied up amongst the heirs of the three wives and
-was fast tumblin' to pieces. It couldn't be sold, on
-account of the row between the owners, but it had
-been let once or twice to summer folks. To turn it
-into a tavern was pretty nigh the final come-down,
-seemed to me.
-
-But Jim Henry Jacobs wa'n't worryin' about
-come-downs. He never let dead dignity interfere
-with live business. He didn't shed a tear over the
-old place, or lay a wreath on Judge Higgins's tomb.
-No, sir! he got down to the keelson of things
-in a jiffy.
-
-"Skipper," he says, sweet and plausible as a dose
-of sugared soothin'-syrup. "Skipper," he says,
-"Mr. Frank's proposition is to open, not a hotel
-exactly, but a first-class, up-to-date road-house and
-restaurant. As progressive citizens of Ostable, as
-business men, wide-awake to the town's welfare, that
-ought to interest you and me, on general principles,
-hadn't it?"
-
-I judged that this was only Genesis, and that Revelation
-would come later, so I nodded and said I
-cal'lated that it had—on general principles.
-
-"You bet!" he goes on. "It does interest us.
-Speakin' personally, I've long felt that there was a
-place in Ostable for a dinin'-room, run to bag—to
-attract, I mean—the wealthy, the well-to-do transient
-trade. Why, just think of it!" he says,
-warmin' up, "it's winter now. By May or June
-there'll be a steady string of autos runnin' along this
-road here, every one of 'em solid full of city people
-and all hungry. Now, it's a shame to let those
-good things—I mean hungry gents and ladies, go
-by without givin' 'em what they want. If I hadn't
-had so many things on my mind, if the Ostable
-Store's large and growin' business hadn't took my
-attention exclusive, I should have ventured a flyer
-in that direction myself. But never mind that; Mr.
-Frank here has got ahead of me and the job's in
-better hands. Mr. Frank is right up to the minute;
-he's abreast of the times and he—by the way, Mr.
-Frank, perhaps you wouldn't mind tellin' my partner
-here somethin' about your plans. Just give him
-the line of talk you've been givin' me, say."
-
-Mr. Frank didn't mind. He had the line over
-in a minute and if I'd been cal'latin' that he was a
-frosty specimen with the water in his talk-b'iler
-froze, I got rid of the notion in a hurry. He
-smiled, polite, and begun slow and deliberate, but
-pretty soon he was runnin' twenty knots an hour.
-He told about his experience in the eatin'-house line—he'd
-been everything from hotel manager to club
-steward—and about how successful he'd been and
-how big the profits was, and what his customers said
-about him, and so on. Afore a body had a chance
-to think this over—or to digest it, long's we're
-talkin' about eatin'—he was under full steam
-through Ostable with the Higgins Place loaded to
-the guards and beatin' all entries two mile to the
-lap. He'd never seen a better openin'; his experience
-backed his judgment in callin' it the ideal
-location and opportunity, and the like of that. He
-talked his throat dry and wound up, husky but
-hurrahin', with somethin' like this:
-
-"Cap'n Snow," he says, "you and Mr. Jacobs
-must understand that I know what I'm talkin' about.
-This enterprise of mine will be the very highest
-class. French chef, French waiters, all the delicacies
-and game in season. A country Delmonico's,
-that's the dope—ahem! I mean that is the reputation
-this establishment of ours will have; yes."
-
-I judged that the "dope" had slipped out unexpected
-and that the miscue jarred him a little mite,
-for he colored up and wiped his forehead with a red
-and yellow bordered handkerchief. I was jarred,
-too, but not by that.
-
-"Establishment of *ours*?" I says, slow. "You
-mean yours, of course."
-
-He was goin' to answer, but Jim Henry got ahead
-of him.
-
-"Sure! of course, Skipper," he says. "That's
-all right. There!" he went on, gettin' up and takin'
-me by the arm. "Mr. Frank's got to be trottin'
-along and we mustn't detain him. So long, Mr.
-Frank. My partner and I will have some conversation
-and we'll meet again. Drop in any time.
-Good day."
-
-I hadn't noticed any signs of Frank's impatience
-to trot along, but he took the hint all right and got
-up to go. He said good-by and I was turnin' away,
-when I see Jim Henry wink at him when they
-thought I wa'n't lookin'. I was suspicious afore;
-that wink made me uneasy as a spring pullet tied to
-the choppin'-block.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER X—THE SIGN OF THE WINDMILL
-==================================
-
-
-Eben George Edgar Edwin Delmonico
-Frank went out, dabbin' at his
-forehead with the red and yellow handkerchief.
-Jacobs kept his clove hitch on my arm and
-led me out to the settee on the front platform.
-
-"Set down, Skipper," he says, cheerful and
-more'n extra friendly, seemed to me. "Set down,"
-he says, "and enjoy the December ozone."
-
-We come to anchor on the settee and there we
-set and shivered for much as five minutes, each of
-us waitin' for the other to begin. Finally Jim
-Henry says, without lookin' at me:
-
-"Well, Skipper," he says, "that chap's sharp all
-right, ain't he?"
-
-"Seems to be," says I, not too enthusiastic.
-
-"Yes, he is. If I'm any judge of human nature—and
-I hand myself *that* bouquet any day in the
-week—he knows his business. Don't you think
-so?"
-
-"Maybe," I says. "But what business of ours
-his business is I don't see—yet. If you do, bein'
-as you and me are supposed to be partners, perhaps
-you wouldn't mind soundin' the fog whistle for my
-benefit. I seem to have lost my reckonin' on this
-v'yage. Why should we be interested in this Frank
-man and his eatin'-house?"
-
-He laughed, louder'n was necessary, I thought, and
-slapped me on the shoulder.
-
-"You don't see where we come in, hey?" he says.
-"Well, I do. A dinin'-room like that one of his
-will need a good many supplies, won't it? And, if
-I can mesmerize him into patronizin' the home
-market, the Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and
-Shoes and Fancy Goods Emporium will gain some,
-I shouldn't wonder. Hey, pard! How about
-that?" And he slapped my shoulder again.
-
-I turned this over in my mind. "Humph!" I
-says. "I begin to see."
-
-"You bet you do!" he says, laughin'. "The
-amount of stuff I can sell that restaurant will—"
-
-But I broke in here. I remembered that wink
-and I didn't believe I was clear of the choppin'-block
-yet.
-
-"Hold on!" says I. "Heave to! And never
-mind poundin' my starboard shoulder to pieces,
-either. I said I *begun* to see; I don't see clear yet.
-How did you and he come to get together in the
-fust place? Did you go and hunt him up? or did
-he come in here to see you?"
-
-He kind of hesitated. "Why," he says, "he
-come into the store, and—"
-
-"Did he happen in, or did he come to see you
-a-purpose?"
-
-"He—I believe he came to see me. Then he
-and I—"
-
-"Heave to again! He didn't come to see you
-to beg the favor of buyin' goods of you, 'tain't
-likely. Jim Jacobs, answer me straight. There's
-somethin' else. That feller wants somethin' of you—or
-of us. Now what is it?"
-
-He hesitated some more. Then he upset the
-woodpile and let out the darky.
-
-"Well," he says, "I'll tell you. I was goin' to
-tell you, anyway. Frank's all right. He's got a
-good idea and he's got the experience to put it into
-practice; but he's somethin' the way old Beanblossom
-was afore you took a share in this store—he needs
-a little more capital."
-
-I swung round on the settee and looked him square
-in the eye.
-
-"I—see," I says, slow. "Now—I see! He's
-after money and he wants us to lend it to him. I
-might have guessed it. Well, did you say no right
-off? or was you waitin' to have me say it? You
-might have said it yourself. You knew I'd back
-you up."
-
-Would you believe it? he got as red as a beet.
-
-"I didn't say anything," he says. "Don't go off
-half-cocked like that. What's the matter with you
-this mornin'? He don't want to borrer money. He
-wants more capital in the proposition—wants to
-float it right. And he's been inquirin' around and
-has found that you and me are the two leadin' business
-men in the place and has come to us first. It's
-more a favor on his part than anything else. He
-offers to let us have a third interest between us; you
-put in a thousand and I do the same. Why, man,
-it's a cinch! It's a chance that don't come every day.
-As I told you, I've had the same notion in my head
-for a long time. A summer dinin'-room like that in
-this town is—"
-
-"Wait!" I interrupted. "What do you know
-about this Frank critter? Where'd he come from?
-Who is he?"
-
-"He comes from Pittsburg. That's the last place
-he was in. And he's got his pockets full of references
-and testimonials."
-
-"Humph! Anybody can get testimonials.
-Write 'em himself, if there wa'n't any other way.
-I had a second mate once with more testimonials
-than shirts, enough sight, and he—"
-
-"Oh, cut it out! Besides, I don't care where he
-comes from. He's sharp as a steel trap; that much
-I can tell with one eye shut. And he's run dinin'-rooms
-and hotels; that I'll bet my hat on. That's
-all we need to know. A road-house in this town is a
-twenty per cent proposition durin' the summer
-months. It's the chance of a lifetime, I tell you."
-
-"Maybe so. But how do you know the feller's
-honest?"
-
-"I don't care whether he's honest or not. It
-doesn't make any difference. If I wa'n't here to
-keep my eye peeled, it might be; but I'll be here
-and if he gets ahead of me, he'll be movin' to some
-extent. Someone else'll grab the chance if we don't.
-I'm for it. What do you say?"
-
-I shook my head. "Jim," says I, "I can see
-where you stand. You're so dead sartin that an
-eatin'-house of that kind'll pay big, that you're blind
-to the rest of it. Now I don't pretend to be a judge
-of human nature like you—leavin' out Injun and
-Rosenstein human nature, of course—nor a doctor
-of sick businesses, which is your profession. But my
-experience is—"
-
-He stood up and sniffed impatient.
-
-"Cut it out, I tell you!" he says, again. "This
-ain't an experience meetin'. Will you take a flyer
-with me in that road-house, or won't you?"
-
-"Way I feel now, I won't," says I, prompt.
-
-He turned on his heel, took a step towards the
-door and then stopped.
-
-"Well," he says, "you think it over till to-morrer
-mornin' and then let me know. Only, you mark my
-words, it's a chance. And, with me to keep my eye
-on it, there's no risk at all."
-
-So that's the way it ended that day. And half
-that night I laid awake, feelin' meaner'n dirt to say no
-to as good a partner as I had, and yet pretty average
-sure I was right, just the same.
-
-In the mornin' my mind was still betwixt and between.
-I went down to the store and walked back
-to the post-office department. I looked in through
-the little window and saw Mary Blaisdell inside,
-sortin' the outgoin' letters. The sunshine, streamin'
-in from outside, lit up her hair till it looked like one
-of them halos in a church picture. Seems to me I
-never saw her look prettier; but then, every time I
-saw her I thought the same thing. A good-lookin'
-woman and a good woman—yes, and capable.
-That she'd lived so many years without gettin' married,
-was one of the things that made a feller lose
-confidence in the good-sense of humans. The chap
-that got her would be lucky. Then I caught a
-glimpse of myself in the lookin'-glass where customers
-tried on hats, and decided I'd better stop
-thinkin' foolishness or somebody would catch me at
-it and send me to the comic papers.
-
-"Mornin', Mary," says I. "Has Mr. Jacobs
-come aboard yet?"
-
-She turned and came to her side of the window.
-
-"Yes," she says, "he was here. He's gone out
-now with that Mr. Frank. I believe they've gone
-up to the old Higgins Place."
-
-"Um-hm," says I. "Well, Mary, just between
-friends, I'd like to ask you somethin'. Do you like
-that Frank man's looks?"
-
-She wa'n't expectin' that and she didn't know how
-to answer for a jiffy. Then she kind of half laughed,
-and says: "No, Cap'n Zeb, since you ask me, I—I
-don't. I don't like him. And I haven't any good
-reason, either."
-
-I nodded. "Much obliged, Mary," says I.
-"And, since you ain't asked me, I'll tell you that *I*
-don't like him. And my reason's about as good as
-yours. Maybe it's his clothes. A man, 'cordin'
-to my notion, has a right to look like a horse jockey,
-if he wants to; and he's got a right to look like an
-undertaker. But when he looks like a combination
-of the two, I—well, I get skittish and begin to shy,
-that's all. It's too much as if he was baited to trap
-you dead or alive."
-
-Then Jim Henry come in and when, an hour or
-so later, he got me one side and asked me if I'd
-made up my mind about investin' in Frank's road-house,
-I answered prompt that my mind was made up
-and the answer was still no. He was disapp'inted,
-I could see that, and pretty mad.
-
-"Humph!" says he. "Skipper, you're all right
-except for one fault—you're as 'country' as they
-make 'em, and they make 'em pretty narrer sometimes.
-Well, you've had the chance. Don't ever
-tell me you haven't."
-
-"I won't," says I, and we didn't mention the subject
-for a long time. Then—but that comes later.
-However, I judged that Frank had found folks in
-Ostable who wa'n't as narrer and "country" as I
-was, for, inside of a week, the carpenters was busy
-on the Higgins Place. They built on great, wide
-piazzas; they knocked out partitions between rooms;
-they made the house pretty much over. In March
-loads of fancy furniture came from Boston. At
-last a windmill three feet high—made to look like
-a little copy of the old Cape windmills our great-granddads
-used to grind grist in, with sails that
-turned—was set up in the front yard, and on a
-post by the big gate was swingin' a fancy notice
-board, with a gilt windmill painted on that, and the
-words in big letters:
-
-.. class:: center
-
- | THE SIGN OF THE WINDMILL.
- |
- | MEALS AT ALL HOURS.
- |
- | :small-caps:`Steaks, Chops, Game, Etc.`
- | :small-caps:`Table D'hote Dinner Each Day at 1.15.`
- |
- | *Special Accommodations for Auto Parties.*
-
-That was it, you see. "The Sign of the Windmill"
-was the name of the new road-house.
-
-But that wa'n't all the advertisin', by a consider'ble
-sight. There was signs all up and down the
-main roads, with hands p'intin' in the "Windmill"
-direction. And there was ads in the Cape papers
-and in the Boston papers, too. I swan, I didn't
-believe anybody but Jim Henry Jacobs could have
-engineered such advertisin'! And there was a
-black-lookin' critter with the ends of his mustache
-waxed so sharp you could have sewed canvas with
-'em—he was the French chef—and three foreign
-waiters, and a dark-complected fleshy woman who
-seemed to be a sort of general assistant manager and
-stewardess, and—and—goodness knows what
-there wa'n't. There was so many kinds of hired
-help that I couldn't see where Frank himself come
-in—unless he was the spare "windmill," which,
-judgin' by his gift of gab, I cal'late might be the
-fact.
-
-"The Sign of the Windmill" bought all its groceries
-and general supplies at the store, which, considerin'
-that we'd turned down the "chance" to be
-part owners, seemed sort of odd to me, 'cause Frank
-didn't look like a feller who'd forgive a slight like
-that. But I judged Jim Henry had hypnotized him,
-as he done other difficult customers, and so I said
-nothin'. The auto season opened and our weekly
-bills with that road-house was big ones, but they was
-paid every week, and I hadn't any kick there,
-either.
-
-As for the business that dinin'-room done, it was
-surprisin', particularly Saturdays and Sundays, when
-there'd be twenty or more autos in the front yard
-and more a-comin'. The table d'hote dinner at 1.15
-was so well patronized that folks had to wait their
-turns at table and later, on moonlight nights, the old
-house was all lighted up and you could hear the noise
-of dishes rattlin' and the laughin' and singin' till
-after eleven o'clock. And our bills with the "Sign
-of the Windmill" kept gettin' bigger and bigger.
-
-But though the auto parties was thick and the
-patronage good, still there was some dissatisfaction,
-I found out. One big car stopped at the store on a
-Saturday afternoon and the boss of it talked with
-me while the women folks was inside buyin' postcards
-and such.
-
-"Well," says I, to the owner of the car, a big,
-fleshy, good-natured chap he was, "well," says I,
-"I cal'late you've all had a good dinner. Feed you
-fust-class up there at the Windmill place, don't
-they?"
-
-He sniffed. "Humph!" says he, "the food's
-all right. It ought to be, at the price. Is the proprietor
-of that hotel named Allie Baby?"
-
-"Allie which?" I says, laughin'. "No, no, his
-name's Frank. Edwin George Eben etcetery Frank.
-What made you think 'twas Allie?"
-
-"'Cause he's a close connection of the Forty
-Thieves," he says, sharp. "He'd take a prize in
-the hog class at a county fair, that chap would.
-What's the matter with him? Does he think he's
-runnin' a get-rich-quick shop? Two weeks ago I
-paid a dollar and a half for a dinner there, and that
-was seventy-five cents too much. Now he's jumped
-to two-fifty and the feed ain't a bit better."
-
-"Two dollars and a half for a *dinner*!" says I.
-"Whew! The cost of livin' *is* goin' up, ain't it?
-What do they give you? Canary birds' tongues on
-toast? Any shore dinner ever I see could be cooked
-for—"
-
-He interrupted. "Shore dinner nothin'!" he
-snorts. "I wouldn't kick at the price if I got a good
-shore dinner. But what we got here is a poor imitation
-of a country Waldorf. Everybody's kickin',
-but we all go there because it's the best we can find
-for twenty miles. However, I hear another place
-is to be started in Denboro and if *that* makes good,
-your Forty Thief friend will have to haul in his
-horns. He'll never get another cent from me, or a
-hundred others I know, who have been his best customers.
-We're all waitin' to give him the shake
-and it looks as if we should be able to do it. We
-motorin' fellers stick together and, if the word's
-passed along the line, the "Sign of the Windmill"
-will be a dead one, mark my words."
-
-I marked 'em, and when, by and by, I heard that
-the Denboro dinin'-room was open and doin' a good
-business, I underscored the mark.
-
-This was about the middle of June. A week
-later Jim Henry got the telegram about his younger
-brother out in Colorado bein' sick and wantin' to see
-him bad. He hated to go, but he felt he had to,
-so he went.
-
-I said good-by to him up at the depot and told him
-not to worry a mite. "I'll look out for everything,"
-I says. "Course I'll miss you at the store, but
-I'll write you every day or so and keep you posted,
-and you can give me business prescriptions by
-mail."
-
-"That's all right, Skipper," says he, "I know the
-store'll be took care of. But there's one thing that—that—"
-
-"What's the one thing?" I asked. "Overboard
-with it. My shoulders are broad and I won't mind
-totin' another hogshead or so."
-
-He hesitated and it seemed to me that he looked
-troubled. But finally he said he'd guessed 'twas
-nothin' that amounted to nothin' anyway and he'd
-be back in a couple of weeks sure. So off he went
-and I had a sort of Robinson Crusoe desert island
-feelin' that lasted all that day and night.
-
-It lasted longer than that, too. I didn't hear
-from him for ten days. Then I got a note sayin'
-his brother had scarlet fever—which seemed a fool
-disease for a grown-up man to have—and was pretty
-sick. I wrote to him for the land sakes to be careful
-he didn't get it himself, and the next news I heard
-was from a doctor sayin' he *had* got it. After that
-the bulletins was infrequent and alarmin'.
-
-I'd have put for Colorado in a minute, but I
-couldn't; that store was on my shoulders and I
-couldn't leave. I telegraphed not to spare no
-expense and to write or wire every day. 'Twas all
-I could do, but I never spent such a worried time
-afore nor since. I was worried, not only about my
-partner, but about the business he'd put in my charge.
-There was new developments in that business and
-they kept on developin'.
-
-'Twas the "Sign of the Windmill" that was troublin'
-me. As I told you, the weekly bills for that
-eatin'-house was big ones, but the fust three or four
-had been paid on the dot. Now, however, they
-wa'n't paid and they was just as big. Frank's
-account on our books kept gettin' larger and larger
-and, not only that, but anybody could see that the
-Windmill wa'n't doin' half the trade it begun with.
-There was more auto parties than ever, but the heft
-of 'em went right on by to the new road-house in
-Denboro. I remembered what the fleshy man told
-me and I judged that the word had been passed to
-the motorin' crew, just as he prophesied.
-
-I went up to see Frank and had a talk with him.
-I found him in his office, settin' at a fine new roll-top
-desk, with the dark-complected stewardess alongside
-of him. She seemed to be helpin' him with his letters
-and accounts, which looked odd to me, and she
-glowered at me when I come in like a cat at a stray
-poodle. She didn't get up and go out, neither, till
-he hinted p'raps she'd better, and even then she
-whispered to him mighty confidential afore she went.
-'Twas a queer way for hired help to act, but 'twa'n't
-none of my affairs, of course.
-
-He was cordial enough till he found out what I
-was after and then he chilled up like a freezer full
-of cream. He was in the habit of payin' his bills,
-he give me to understand, and he'd pay this one when
-'twas convenient. If I didn't care to sell the Windmill
-goods, that was my affair, of course, but his
-relations with my partner had been so pleasant that—and
-so forth and so on. I sneaked out of that
-office, feelin' like a henroost-thief instead of an honest
-man tryin' to collect an honest debt. I'd bungled
-things again. Instead of makin' matters better, I'd
-made 'em worse; come nigh losin' a good customer
-and all that. What business had an old salt herrin'
-like me to be in business, anyhow? That's how I
-felt when I was talkin' to him, and how I felt
-when I shut that office door and come out into the
-dinin'-room.
-
-But the sight of that dinin'-room, tables all vacant,
-and two waiters where there had been four, fetched
-all my uneasiness back again. If ever a place had
-"Goin' down" marked on it 'twas the "Sign of the
-Windmill." I stewed and fretted all the way to the
-store and when I got there I found that another big
-order of groceries and canned goods had been delivered
-to the eatin' house while I was gone.
-
-The next week'll stick in my mind till doomsday,
-I cal'late. Every blessed mornin' found me vowin'
-I'd stop sellin' that Windmill, and every night found
-more dollars added to the bill. You see, I didn't
-know what to do. If I'd been sole owner and sailin'
-master, I'd have set my foot down, I guess; but
-there was Jim Henry to be considered. I wrote a
-note to the Frank man, but he didn't even trouble
-to answer it.
-
-Saturday noon came round and, after the mail was
-sorted, I wandered out to the front platform and
-set there, blue as a whetstone. The gang of summer
-boarders and natives, that's always around mail
-times, melted away fast and I was pretty nigh alone.
-Not quite alone; Alpheus Perkins, the fish man, was
-occupyin' moorin's at t'other end of the platform
-and he didn't seem to be in any hurry. By and by
-over he comes and sets down alongside of me.
-
-"Cap'n Zeb," he says, fidgety like, "I s'pose
-likely you've been wonderin' why I don't pay your
-bill here at the store, ain't you?"
-
-I hadn't, havin' more important things to think
-about, but now I remembered that he did owe consider'ble
-and had owed it for some time. Alpheus
-is as straight as they make 'em and usually pays his
-debts prompt.
-
-"I know you must have," he went on, not waitin'
-for me to answer. "Well, I intended to pay long
-afore this, and I will pay pretty soon. But I've had
-trouble collectin' my own debts and it's held me back.
-If I could only get my hands on one account that's
-owin' me, I'd be all right. Say," says he, tryin' hard
-to act careless and as if 'twa'n't important one way
-or t'other: "Say," he says, "you know Mr. Frank,
-up here at the hotel, pretty well, don't you?"
-
-For a minute or so I didn't answer. Then I
-knocked the ashes out of my pipe and says I, "Why,
-yes. I know him. What of it?"
-
-"Oh, nothin' much," he says. "Only I was told
-he was a partic'lar friend of yours and Mr. Jacobs's
-and—and—"
-
-"Who told you he was our partic'lar friend?"
-I asked.
-
-"Why, he did. I was up there yesterday, just
-hintin' I could use a check on account. Not pressin'
-the matter nor tryin' to be hard on him, you
-understand; course he's all right; but I was mighty short
-of ready cash and so—"
-
-"Hold on, Al!" I said, quick. "Wait! Does
-the 'Sign of the Windmill' owe you a bill?"
-
-"Pretty nigh a hundred dollars," says he. "I've
-supplied 'em with fish and lobsters and clams and such
-ever since they started. Fust month they paid me
-by the week. After that—"
-
-"Good heavens and earth!" I sung out. "My
-soul and body! And—and, when you asked for
-it, this—this Frank man told you he'd pay you when
-'twas convenient, same as he paid Jacobs and me,
-who was his friends and was quite ready to do business
-that way."
-
-He actually jumped, I'd surprised him so.
-
-"Hey?" he sung out. "Zeb Snow, be you a
-second-sighter? How did you know he told me
-that?"
-
-I drew a long breath. "It didn't take second
-sight for that," I says. "I was up there last Monday
-and he told me the same thing, only 'twas you
-and Ed Cahoon who was his friends then."
-
-He let that sink in slow.
-
-"My godfreys domino!" he groaned. "My
-godfreys! He—he told—Why! why, he must
-be workin' the same game on all hands!"
-
-"Looks like it," says I, and, thinkin' of Jim
-Henry, poor feller, sick as he could be, and the business
-he'd left me to look out for, my heart went
-down into my boots.
-
-Perkins set thinkin' for a jiffy. Then he got up
-off the settee.
-
-"The son of a gun!" he says. "I'll fix him!
-I'll put my bill in a lawyer's hands to-night."
-
-"No, you won't," I sung out, grabbin' him by the
-arm. "You mustn't. He owes the Ostable Store
-four times what he owes you, and it's likely he owes
-Cahoon and a lot more. The rest of us can't afford
-to let you upset the calabash that way. You might
-get yours, though I'm pretty doubtful, but where
-would the rest of us come in. You set down, Alpheus.
-Set down, and let me think. Set down, I tell you!"
-
-When I talk that way—it's an old seafarin' habit—most
-folks usually obey orders. Alpheus set.
-He started to talk, but I hushed him up and, havin'
-filled my pipe and got it to goin', I smoked and
-thought for much as five minutes.
-
-"Hum!" says I, after the spell was over, "the
-way I sense it is like this: This ain't any fo'mast
-hand's job; and it ain't a skipper's job neither. It's
-a case for all hands and the ship's cat, workin'
-together and standin' by each other. We've got to
-find out who's who and what's what, make up our
-minds and then all read the lesson in concert, like
-young ones in school. This Frank Windmill critter
-owes you and he owes me; we're sartin of that.
-More'n likely he owes Ed Cahoon for chickens and
-fowls and eggs, and Bill Bangs for milk, and Henry
-Hall for ice, and land knows how many more.
-S'pose you skirmish around and find out who he does
-owe and fetch all the creditors to the store here
-to-morrer mornin' at eleven o'clock. It'll be church
-time, I know, but even the parson will excuse us for
-this once, 'specially as the 'Sign of the Windmill' is
-supposed to sell liquor and he's down on it."
-
-We had consider'ble more talk, but that was the
-way it ended, finally. I went to bed that night, but
-it didn't take; I might as well have set up, so fur's
-sleep was concerned. All I could think of was
-poor, sick Jim Henry and the trust he put in me.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XI—COOKS AND CROOKS
-===========================
-
-
-I was at the store by quarter of eleven, but the
-gang of creditors was there to meet me, seven
-of 'em altogether. Cahoon, the chicken man,
-and Bangs, the milk man, and Hall, the ice man,
-and Alpheus, and Caleb Bearse, who'd been supplyin'
-meat to that road-house, and Peleg Doane, who'd
-done carpenterin' and repairs on it, and Jeremiah
-Doane, his brother, who'd painted the repaired
-places. Seven was all the creditors Perkins could
-scare up on short notice, though he cal'lated there
-was more.
-
-"There's one more, anyway," says Bill Bangs.
-"That dark-complected woman—the one you call
-the stewardess, Cap'n Zeb—was sick a spell ago
-and Frank told Doctor Goodspeed he'd be responsible
-for the bill. I see the doc this mornin' and
-he's with us. Says he may be down later."
-
-They elected me chairman of the meetin' and we
-started deliberatin'. The debts amounted to quite
-a lot, though the Ostable Store's was the biggest.
-Some was for doin' one thing and some another, but
-we all agreed we must see Colcord, the lawyer, afore
-we did much of anything. While we was still pow-wowin',
-somebody knocked at the door. 'Twas
-Doctor Goodspeed, on the way to see a patient.
-
-"Well," says he, "how's the consultation comin'
-on? Judgin' by your faces, I should imagine 'twas
-a autopsy. Time to take desperate measures, if you
-asked *me*. I never did believe that Frank chap was
-anything but a crook, so I'm not surprised. I'm
-with you in spirit, boys, though I can't stop. However,
-here's a couple of pieces of information which
-may interest you: One is that 'The Sign of the
-Windmill's' account was overdrawn yesterday at the
-bank and the bank folks sent notice. T'other is that
-Lawyer Colcord is out of town for a couple of days,
-so you can't get him. Otherwise than that, the
-patient is normal. By, by. Life's a giddy jag of
-joy, isn't it?"
-
-He grinned and shut the door with a bang. The
-eight of us looked at each other. Then Alpheus
-Perkins riz to his feet.
-
-"Humph!" says he. "Account overdrawn,
-hey? Well, maybe that Windmill ain't made
-enough to pay its bills, but it's been takin' in consider'ble
-cash. If it ain't at the bank, where is it?
-I'm goin' to find out. And if I can't get a lawyer
-to help me, I'll do without one. That Frank critter's
-store clothes are wuth somethin', and, if I can't
-get nothin' more, I'll rip *them* right off his back.
-So long, fellers. Keep your ear to the ground and
-you'll hear somethin' drop."
-
-He headed for the door, but he didn't go alone.
-The rest of us got there at the same time, and I—well,
-I wouldn't wonder if 'twas me that opened it.
-I was desperate, and I've commanded vessels in my
-time.
-
-Anyhow, 'twas me that led the procession up the
-front steps of the "Sign of the Windmill" and into
-the dinin'-room. The two waiters was busy. They
-had five of the tables set end to end and covered with
-cloths, and they was layin' plates and knives and
-forks for a big crowd. 'Twas plain that special
-customers was expected.
-
-"Mr. Frank in his office?" says I, headin' for the
-skipper's cabin. The waiters looked at each other
-and jabbered in some sort of foreign lingo.
-
-"No, sare," says one of 'em. "No, sare.
-Meester Frank, he is away—out."
-
-"Away out, hey?" says I. "You're wrong, son.
-We're the ones that are out, but we ain't goin' to
-be out another cent's wuth. Come on, boys, we'll
-find him."
-
-You can see I was mighty mad, or I wouldn't have
-been so reckless. I walked acrost that dinin'-room
-and flung open the office door. Frank himself wa'n't
-there, but who should be settin' at his roll-top desk,
-but the fleshy, dark-complected stewardess woman.
-She glowered at me, ugly as a settin' hen.
-
-"This is a private room," she snaps.
-
-"I know, ma'am," says I; "but the business we've
-come on is sort of private, too. Come in, boys."
-
-The seven of 'em come in and they filled that
-office plumb full. The stewardess woman's black
-eyes opened and then shut part way. But there was
-fire between the lashes.
-
-"What do you mean by comin' in here?" says
-she. "And what do you want?"
-
-The rest of the fellers looked at me, so I answered.
-
-"Ma'am," says I, "we don't want nothin' of you
-and we're sorry to trouble you. We've come to see
-Mr. Frank on a matter of business, important business—that
-is, it's important to us."
-
-"Mr. Frank is out," says she. "You must call
-again. Good day."
-
-She turned back again to the desk, but none of
-us moved.
-
-"Out, is he?" says I. "Well then, I cal'late
-we'll wait till he comes in."
-
-"He is out of town. He won't be in till to-morrer,"
-she snaps.
-
-I looked 'round at the rest of the crowd. Every
-one of 'em nodded.
-
-"Well, then, ma'am," I says, "I cal'late we'll
-stay here and wait till to-morrer."
-
-That shook her. She got up from the desk and
-turned to face us. If I'm any judge of a temper
-she had one, and she was holdin' it in by main
-strength.
-
-"You may tell me your business," she says. "I
-am Mr. Frank's—er—secretary."
-
-So I told her. "We've waited for our money
-long as we can," says I. "None of us are well-off
-and every one of us needs what's owin' him. We've
-called and we've wrote. Now we're goin' to stay
-here till we're paid. Of course, ma'am, I realize
-'tain't none of your affairs, and we ain't goin' to
-make you any more trouble than we can help. We'll
-just set down on the piazza or in the dinin'-room or
-somewheres and wait for your boss, that's all."
-
-I said that, 'cause I didn't want her to think we
-had anything against her personal. I cal'lated
-'twould smooth her down, but it didn't. She looked
-as if she'd like to murder us, every livin' soul.
-
-"You get out of here!" she screamed, her hands
-openin' and shuttin'. "You get right out of here
-this minute!"
-
-"Yes, ma'am," says I, "we'll get out of your
-office, of course. Further'n that you'll have to excuse
-us. We're goin' to stay right in this house till
-we see Mr. Frank."
-
-"I'll put you out!" she sputtered. "I'll have
-the waiters put you out."
-
-I thought of them two puny lookin' waiters and,
-to save me, I couldn't help smilin'. You'd think
-she'd have seen the ridic'lous side of it, too, but
-apparently she didn't, for she bust right through
-between Alpheus and me and rushed into the dinin'-room.
-
-"Boys," says I, to the crowd, "maybe we'd better
-step out of here. We may need more room."
-
-She was in the dinin'-room talkin' foreign language
-in a blue streak to the waiters. They was
-lookin' scared and spreadin' out their hands and
-hunchin' their shoulders.
-
-"Ma'am," says I, "if I was you I wouldn't do
-nothin' foolish. We ain't goin' and we won't be
-put out, but, on the other hand, we won't make any
-fuss. We'll just set down here and wait for the
-boss, that's all. Set down, boys."
-
-So all hands come to anchor on chairs around that
-dinin'-room and grinned and looked silly but determined.
-The stewardess glared at us some more
-and then rushed off upstairs. In a minute she was
-back with her hat on.
-
-"You wait!" says she. "You just wait! I'll
-put you in prison! I'll—Oh—" The rest of it
-was French or Italian or somethin', but we didn't
-need an interpreter. She shook her fists at us and
-run down the front steps and away up the road.
-
-"Well, gents all," says I, "man born of woman
-is of few days and full of trouble. To-day we're
-here and to-morrer we're in jail, as the sayin' is.
-Anybody want to back out? Now's the accepted
-time."
-
-Nobody backed. The two waiters went on with
-their table settin' and we set and watched 'em.
-'Twas the queerest Sunday mornin' ever I put in.
-By and by Alpheus got uneasy and wandered away
-out towards the kitchen. In a few minutes back
-he comes, b'ilin' mad.
-
-"Say, fellers," he sung out. "Do you know
-what's goin' on here? There's a party of thirty
-folks comin' in automobiles for dinner. They're
-gettin' the dinner ready now. And if we don't stop
-'em, they'll be fed with our stuff, the grub we've
-never got a cent for. I don't know how you feel,
-but *I've* got ten dollar's wuth of clams and lobsters
-in this eatin'-house that ain't goin' to be used unless
-I get my pay for 'em. You can do as you please,
-but I'm goin' to stay in that kitchen and watch them
-lobsters and things."
-
-And out he put, headed for the kitchen. The
-rest of us looked at each other. Then Caleb Bearse
-rose to his feet.
-
-"Well," says he, determined, "there's a lot of
-chops and roastin' beef and steaks out aft here that
-belong to me. None of *them* go to feed auto folks
-unless I get my pay fust."
-
-And *he* started for the kitchen. Then up gets
-Ed Cahoon and follers suit.
-
-"I've got six or eight fowl and some eggs aboard
-this craft," he says. "I cal'late I'll keep 'em company."
-
-The rest of us never said nothin', but I presume
-likely we all thought alike. Anyhow, inside of three
-minutes we was all out in that kitchen and facin' as
-mad a chief cook and bottle washer as ever hailed
-from France or anywheres else. You see, 'twas
-time to put the lobsters and clams and all the rest
-of the truck on the fire and we wa'n't willin' to see
-'em put there.
-
-The chief or "chef," or whatever they called
-him, fairly hopped up and down. The madder he
-got the less English he talked and the less everybody
-else understood. Bill Bangs done most of the
-talkin' for our side and he had the common idea that
-to make foreigners understand you must holler at
-'em. Some of the other fellers put in their remarks
-to help along, all hollerin' too, and such a riot you
-never heard outside of a darky camp-meetin'.
-While the exercises was at their liveliest the telephone
-bell rung. After it had rung five times I
-went into the other room to answer it. When I
-got back to that kitchen I got Alpheus to one side
-and says I:
-
-"Al," I says, "this thing's gettin' more
-interestin' every minute. That telephone call was from
-the man that's ordered the big dinner here to-day.
-There's thirty-two in his party and they've got as
-far as Cohasset Narrows already. They'll be here
-in an hour and a half. He 'phoned just to let me
-know they was on the way."
-
-"Humph!" says he. "What did he say when
-you told him there wouldn't be no dinner?"
-
-"He didn't say nothin'," says I, "because I didn't
-tell him. The wire was a bad one and he couldn't
-hear plain, so he lost patience and rung off. Said
-I could tell him whatever I wanted to say when him
-and his party got here. *I* don't want to tell him
-anything. You can explain to thirty-two hungry
-folks that there's nothin' doin' in the grub line, if
-you want to—I don't."
-
-"Humph!" he says again. "I ain't hankerin'
-for the job. What had we better do, Cap'n Zeb,
-do you think?"
-
-"Well," says I, "I cal'late we'd better shorten
-sail and haul out of the race, for a spell, anyhow.
-At any rate we'd better clear out of this kitchen and
-leave that chef and the rest to get the dinner. I
-know it's our stuff that'll go to make that dinner, but
-I don't see's we can help it. A few dollars more
-won't break us more'n we're cracked already."
-
-But he waved his hand for me to stop. "No
-question of a few dollars is in it. It's no use," he
-says, solemn; "you're too late. The Frenchman's
-quit."
-
-"Quit?" says I.
-
-"Um-hm," says he. "Bill Bangs told him that
-we fellers had took charge of this road-house and
-he and the rest of the kitchen help quit right then
-and there. They're out in the barn now, holdin'
-counsel of war, I shouldn't wonder. Bill seems to
-think he's done a great piece of work, but I don't."
-
-I didn't either; and, after I'd hot-footed it to the
-barn and tried to pump some reason and sense into
-that chef and his gang, I was surer of it than ever.
-They wouldn't listen to reason, not from us. They
-wanted to see the boss, meanin' Mr. Frank. He
-was the one that had hired 'em and they wouldn't
-have anything to say to anybody else.
-
-I come back to the kitchen and found the boys
-all settin' round lookin' pretty solemn. My joke
-about the jail wa'n't half so funny as it had been.
-Bill Bangs, who'd been the most savage outlaw of
-us all, was the meekest now.
-
-"Say, Cap'n," he says to me, nervous like,
-"hadn't we better clear out and go home? I don't
-want to see them auto people when they get here.
-And—and I'm scared that that stewardess has gone
-after the sheriff."
-
-"I presume likely that's just where she's gone,"
-says I.
-
-"Wh-what'll we do?" says he.
-
-"Don't know," says I. "But I do know that
-the time for backin' out is past and gone. We
-started out to be pirates and now it's too late to
-haul down the skull and cross-bones. We've got to
-stand by our guns and fight to the finish, that's all I
-see. If the rest of you have got anything better to
-offer, I, for one, would be mighty glad to hear
-it."
-
-Everybody looked at everybody else, but nobody
-said anything. 'Twas a glum creditors' meetin',
-now I tell you. We set and stood around that
-kitchen for ten minutes; then we heard voices in the
-dinin'-room.
-
-"Heavens and earth!" sings out Ed Cahoon.
-"Who's that? It can't be the automobile gang so
-soon!"
-
-It wa'n't. 'Twas a parcel of women. You see,
-some of the crowd had told their wives about the
-counsel at the store and that, more'n likely, we'd
-pay a visit to the "Sign of the Windmill." Church
-bein' over, they'd come to hunt us up. There was
-Alpheus's wife, and Cahoon's, and Bangs's, and
-Bearse's, and Jerry Doane's daughter, and Mary
-Blaisdell. They was mighty excited and wanted to
-know what was up. We told 'em, but we didn't
-hurrah none while we was doin' it.
-
-"Well," says Matildy Bangs, "I must say you
-men folks have made a nice mess of it all. William
-Bangs, you ought to be ashamed of yourself.
-What'll I do when you're in state's prison? How'm
-I goin' to get along, I'd like to know! You never
-think of nobody but yourself."
-
-Poor Bill was about ready to cry, but this made
-him mad. "Who would I think of, for thunder
-sakes!" he sung out. "I'm the one that's goin' to
-be jailed, ain't I?"
-
-Then Mary Blaisdell took me by the arm. Her
-eyes were sparklin' and she looked excited.
-
-"Cap'n Snow," she whispered, "come here a
-minute. I want to speak to you. I have an idea."
-
-"Lord!" says I, groanin', "I wish *I* had. What
-is it?"
-
-What do you suppose 'twas? Why, that we,
-ourselves, should get up the dinner for the auto folks.
-Every woman there could cook, she said, and so
-could some of the men. We'd seized the stuff for
-the dinner already. It was ours, or, at any rate, it
-hadn't been paid for.
-
-"We can get 'em a good dinner," says she. "I
-know we can. And, if that Frank doesn't come back
-until you have been paid, you can take that much
-out of his bills. If he does come no one will be any
-worse off, not even he. Let's do it."
-
-I looked at her. As she said, we wouldn't be any
-worse off, and we might as well be hung for old
-sheep as lamb. The auto folks would be better off;
-they'd have some kind of a meal, anyhow.
-
-We had a grand confab, but, in the end, that's
-what we done. Every one of them women could
-cook plain food, and Mrs. Cahoon was the best cake
-and pie maker in the county. We divided up the
-job. All hands had somethin' to do, includin' me,
-who undertook a clam chowder, and Bill Bangs, who
-split wood and lugged water and cussed and groaned
-about state's prison while he was doin' it.
-
-The last thing was ready and the last plate set
-when the autos, six of 'em, purred and chugged up
-to the front door. We expected Frank, or the
-stewardess, or the constable, or all three of 'em, any
-minute, but they hadn't showed up. The dinner
-crowd piled in and set down at the tables and the
-head man of 'em, the one who was givin' the party,
-come over to see me. And who should he turn out
-to be but the stout man I'd met at the store. The
-one who had told me he'd been waitin' for a chance
-to get even with Frank. I don't know which was
-the most surprised to meet each other in that place,
-he or I.
-
-"Hello!" says he. "What are you doin' here?
-You joined the Forty Thieves? Where's the boss
-robber?"
-
-I told him the boss was out; that there was some
-complications that would take too long to explain.
-
-"But, at any rate," says I, "you're meal's ready
-and that's the main thing, ain't it?"
-
-"Yes," says he, "it is. I've got a crowd of New
-York men—business associates of mine and their
-wives—down for the week end and I wanted to
-give 'em a Cape dinner. I never would have come
-here, but the Denboro place is full up and couldn't
-take us in. I hope the dinner is a better one than
-the last I had in this place."
-
-I told him not to expect too much, but to set and
-be thankful for whatever he got. He didn't understand,
-of course, but he set down and we commenced
-servin' the dinner.
-
-We started in with Little Neck quahaugs and followed
-them up with my clam chowder. Then we
-jogged along with bluefish and hot biscuit and
-creamed potatoes. After them come the lobsters
-and corn and such. Eat! You never see anybody
-stow food the way those New Yorkers did.
-
-In the middle of the lobster doin's I bent over my
-fleshy friend and asked him if things was satisfactory.
-He looked up with his mouth full.
-
-"Great Scott!" says he. "Cap'n, this is the best
-feed I've had since I first struck the Cape, and that
-was ten years ago. What's happened to this hotel?
-Is it under new management?"
-
-I didn't feel like grinnin', but I couldn't help it.
-
-"Yes," says I, "it is—for the time bein'."
-
-The final layer we loaded that crowd up with was
-blueberry dumplin' and they washed it down with
-coffee. Then the fat man—his name was Johnson—hauled
-out cigars and the males lit and started
-puffin'. I went out to the kitchen to see how things
-was goin' there.
-
-Mary Blaisdell, with a big apron tied over her
-Sunday gown, was washin' dishes. Her sleeves was
-rolled up, her hair was rumpled, and she looked
-pretty enough to eat—at least, I shouldn't have
-minded tryin'.
-
-"How was it?" she asked. "Are they satisfied?"
-
-"If they ain't they ought to be," says I. "And
-to-morrer the dyspepsy doctors'll do business enough
-to give us a commission. But where's our old college
-chum, the chef, and the waiters and all?"
-
-"They're in the barn," says she. "They tried
-to come in here and make trouble, but Mr. Perkins
-wouldn't let 'em. He drove 'em back to the barn
-again. But they're dreadfully cross."
-
-"I shouldn't wonder," I says. "Well, goodness
-knows what'll come of this, Mary, but—"
-
-Bill Bangs interrupted me. He come tearin' out
-of the dinin'-room, white as a new tops'l, and his
-eyes pretty close to poppin' out of his head.
-
-"My soul!" he panted. "Oh, my soul, Cap'n
-Zeb! They're comin'! they're comin'!"
-
-"Who's comin'?" I wanted to know.
-
-"Why, Mr. Frank, and that stewardess! And
-John Bean, the constable, is with 'em. What shall
-I do? I'll have to go to jail!"
-
-He was all but cryin', like a young one. I left
-him to his wife, who, judgin' by her actions, was
-cal'latin' to soothe him with a pan of hot water, and
-headed for the front porch. However, I was too
-late. I hadn't any more than reached the dinin'-room,
-where all the comp'ny was still settin' at the
-tables, than in through the front door marches Mr.
-Edwin Frank of Pittsburg, and the stewardess, and
-John Bean, the constable. The band had begun to
-play and 'twas time to face the music.
-
-Frank looked around at the crowd at the tables,
-at Mrs. Cahoon, and Alpheus, and the rest who'd
-done the waitin'; and then at me. His face was
-fire red and he was ugly as a shark in a weir net.
-
-"Humph!" says he. "What does this mean?
-Snow, what high-handed outrage have you committed
-on these premises?"
-
-I held up my hand. "Shh!" says I, tryin' to
-think quick and save a scene; "Shh, Mr. Frank!"
-I says. "If you'll come into your private cabin
-I'll explain best I can. Somebody had to get dinner
-for this crowd. Your Frenchmen wouldn't
-work, so we did. All we've used is our grub, that
-which ain't been paid for, and—"
-
-His teeth snapped together and he was so mad
-he couldn't speak for a second. The stewardess
-was as mad as he was, but it took more'n that to
-keep her quiet.
-
-"Fred," says she—and even then, upset as I was,
-I noticed she didn't call him by the name he give
-Jacobs and me—"Fred, have him arrested. He's
-the one that's responsible for it all. Officer, you do
-your duty. Arrest that Snow there! Do you
-hear?"
-
-She was pointin' to me. Poor old Bean hadn't
-arrested anybody for so long that he'd forgot how,
-I cal'late. All he did was stammer and look silly.
-
-"Cap'n Zeb," he says, "I—I'm dreadful sorry,
-but—but—"
-
-Then *he* was interrupted. A big, tall, gray-haired
-chap, who was settin' about amidships of the table
-got to his feet.
-
-"Just a minute, Officer," says he, quiet, and never
-lettin' go of his cigar, "just a minute, please. The—er—lady
-and gentleman you have with you are
-old acquaintances of mine. Hello, Francis! I'm
-very glad to see you. We've missed you at the Conquilquit
-Club. This meetin' is unexpected, but not
-the less pleasant."
-
-He was talkin' to the Frank man. And the Frank
-man—well, you should have seen him! The red
-went out of his face and he almost flopped over onto
-the floor. The stewardess went white, too, and she
-grabbed his arm with both hands.
-
-"My Lord!" she says, in a whisper like, "it's
-Mr. Washburn!"
-
-"Correct, Hortense," says the gray-haired man.
-"You haven't forgotten me, I see. Flattered, I'm
-sure."
-
-For just about ten seconds the three of 'em looked
-at each other. Then Frank made a jump for the
-door and the woman with him. They was out and
-down the steps afore poor old Bean could get his
-brains to workin'.
-
-"Stop 'em!" shouts Washburn. "Officer, don't
-let 'em get away!"
-
-But they'd got away already. By the time we'd
-reached the porch they was in the buggy they'd come
-in and flyin' down the road in a cloud of dust.
-
-I wiped my forehead.
-
-"Well!" says I, "*well!*"
-
-Johnson pushed through the excited bunch and
-took the gray-haired feller by the arm.
-
-"Say, Wash," he says, "you're havin' too good
-a time all by yourself. Let us in on it, won't you?
-Your friends are goin' some; no use to run after
-them. Who are they?"
-
-Washburn knocked the ashes from his cigar and
-smiled. He'd been cool as a no'thwest breeze right
-along.
-
-"Well," he says, "the masculine member used to
-be called Fred Francis. He was steward of the Conquilquit
-Country Club on Long Island for some
-time. He cleared out a year ago with a thousand
-or so of the Club funds, and we haven't been able
-to trace him since. He was a first-class steward and
-sharp as a steel trap—but he was a crook. The
-woman—oh, she went with him. She is his wife."
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XII—JIM HENRY STARTS SCREENIN'
-======================================
-
-
-A whole month more went by afore Jim
-Henry Jacobs was well enough to come
-home. When he got off the train at the
-Ostable depot, thin and white and lookin' as if he'd
-been hauled through a knothole, I was waitin' for
-him. Maybe we wa'n't glad to see each other!
-We shook hands for pretty nigh five minutes, I cal'late.
-I loaded him into my buggy and drove him
-down to the Poquit House and took him upstairs
-to his room, which had been made as comf'table and
-cozy as it's possible to make a room in that kind of
-a boardin'-house.
-
-He set down in a big chair and looked around
-him.
-
-"By George, Skipper!" he says, fetchin' a long
-breath, "this is home, and I'm mighty glad to be
-here. Where'd all the flowers come from?"
-
-"Mary is responsible for them," I told him.
-"She thought they'd sort of brighten up things."
-
-"They do, all right," says he, grateful. "And
-now tell me about business. How is everything?"
-
-I told him that everything was fine; trade was tip-top,
-and so on. He listened and was pleased, but
-I could see there was somethin' else on his mind.
-
-"There's just one thing more," he said, soon's
-he got the chance. "I knew the store must be O.
-K.; your letters told me that. But—er—but—"
-tryin' hard to be casual and not too interested, "how
-is Frank doin' with his restaurant? How's the
-'Sign of the Windmill' gettin' on?"
-
-Then I told him the whole yarn, almost as I've
-told it here. He listened, breakin' out with exclamations
-and such every little while. When I got
-to where the Washburn man told who Frank and
-the stewardess was, he couldn't hold in any longer.
-
-"A crook!" he sung out. "A crook! And she
-was his wife!"
-
-"So it seems," says I. "And that ain't all of
-it, neither. You remember the doctor said he'd
-drawn his account out of the Ostable bank. Yes.
-Well, that account didn't amount to much; he'd used
-it about all, anyway. But there was another account
-in his wife's name at the Sandwich bank, and
-*that* was fairly good size."
-
-"Did you get hold of that?" he asked, excited.
-
-"No, we didn't. 'Twas in her name and we
-wouldn't have touched it, if we'd wanted to; but we
-didn't get the chance. She drew it all the very next
-mornin' and the pair of 'em cleared out. I judge
-they'd planned to skip in a few days anyhow, and
-our creditors' raid only hurried things up a little
-mite. The whole thing was a skin game—Frank
-and his precious wife had seen ruination comin' on
-and they'd laid plans to feather their own nest and
-let the rest of us whistle. We ain't seen 'em from
-that day to this."
-
-He was shakin' all over. "You ain't?" he
-shouted, jumpin' from the chair. "You ain't?
-Why not? What did you let 'em get away for?
-Why didn't you set the police after 'em? What
-sort of managin' do you call that? I—I—"
-
-"Hush!" says I, surprised to see him act so.
-"Hush, Jim! you ain't heard the whole of it yet.
-Our bill—"
-
-"Bill be hanged!" he broke in. "I don't care a
-continental about the bill. I invested fifteen hundred
-dollars of my own money in that road-house,
-and you let that fakir get away with the whole of it.
-You're a nice partner!"
-
-*I* was surprised now, and a good deal cut up and
-hurt. 'Twas an understandin' between us—not a
-written one, but an understandin' just the same—that
-neither should go into any outside deal without
-tellin' the other. We'd agreed to that after the row
-concernin' Taylor and the "Palace Parlors." So I
-was surprised and hurt and mad. But I held in well
-as I could.
-
-"That's enough of that, Jim Henry!" says I.
-"I'll talk about that later. Now I'll tell you the
-rest of the yarn I started with. After that critter
-who called himself Frank, but whose name, it
-seemed, was Francis, had galloped away with the
-stewardess woman, there was consider'ble excitement
-around that dinin'-room, now I tell you. However,
-Johnson and Washburn and me managed to get together
-in the private office and I told 'em all about
-how we come to be there, and about our gettin' their
-dinner, and all the rest of it. They seemed to think
-'twas funny, laughed liked a pair of loons, but I was
-a long ways from laughin'.
-
-"'Well, well, well!' says Johnson, when I'd finished,
-'that's the best joke I've heard in a month
-of Sundays. You sartinly have your own ways of
-doin' business down here, Cap'n Snow. But the dinner
-was a good one and I'll pay you for it now.
-How much?'
-
-"'Well,' says I, 'I suppose I ought to get what
-I can for our crowd to leave with their wives and
-relations afore we're carted to jail. Course the meal
-we got for you wa'n't what you expected and I can't
-charge that Frank thief's price for it; but I've got
-to charge somethin'. If you think a dollar a head
-wouldn't be too much, I—'
-
-"'A *dollar*!' says both of 'em. 'A dollar!'
-
-"'Do you mean that's all you'll charge?' says
-Johnson. 'A dollar for *that* dinner! It was the
-best—'
-
-"'You bet it was!' says Washburn.
-
-"'Look here!' goes on Johnson. 'I was to pay
-Frank, or whatever his real name is, two-fifty a plate.
-Yours was wuth three of any meal I ever got here,
-but, if you will be satisfied with the contract price I
-made with him, I'll give you a check now. And,
-Cap'n Snow, let me give you a piece of advice. Now
-you've got this hotel, keep it; keep it and run it.
-If you can furnish dinners like this one every day
-in the week durin' the summer and fall you'll have
-customers enough. Why, I'll engage twenty-five
-plates for next Sunday, myself. I've got another
-week-end party, haven't I, Wash?'
-
-"'If you haven't I can get one for you,' says
-Washburn. 'Johnson's advice is good, Cap'n.
-Keep this place and run it yourself. Don't be afraid
-of Francis. Confound him! I ought to have him
-jailed. The Club would pitch me out if they knew
-I had the chance and didn't take it. But I won't,
-for your sake. So long as he doesn't trouble you
-I'll keep quiet. But if he *does* trouble you, if he
-ever comes back, just send for me. However, you
-won't have to send; he'll never come back.'
-
-"And," says I, to Jim Henry, "he ain't ever
-come back. I talked the matter over with Mary
-and Alpheus and a few of the others and, after
-consider'ble misgivin's on my part, we reached an agreement.
-I decided to run the 'Sign of the Windmill'
-myself. We bounced the chef and his helpers and
-the foreign waiters and hired Alpheus's wife and
-Cahoon's daughter and four or five more. We fed
-ten folks that next day and they all said they was
-comin' again. They did and they fetched others.
-The upshot of it is that all that hotel's outstandin'
-bills have been paid, the place is out of debt, and
-the outlook for next season is somethin' fine. There,
-Jim Henry, that's the yarn. I went through Purgatory
-because I figgered that you had trusted the store
-business in my hands and the Windmill's bill was so
-large and I thought I was responsible for it. If I'd
-known you'd put money into the shebang without
-tellin' me, your partner, a word about it, maybe I'd
-have felt worse. I *should* have felt worse—I do
-now—but in another way. I didn't think you'd
-do such a thing, Jim! I honestly didn't."
-
-He'd set down while I was talkin'. Now he got
-up again.
-
-"Skipper," he says, sort of broken, "I—I don't
-know what to say to you. I—"
-
-"It's all right," says I, pretty sharp. "Your
-fifteen hundred's all right, I cal'late. The furniture
-and fixin's are wuth that, I guess. Is there anything
-else you want to ask me? If not I'm goin' to the
-store."
-
-I was turnin' to go, but he stepped for'ard and
-stopped me.
-
-"Zeb," he says, his face workin', "don't go away
-mad. I've been a chump. You ought to hate me,
-but I—I hope you won't. I was a fool. I thought
-because you was country that you hadn't any head
-for business, and when you wouldn't invest in that
-Windmill proposition I was sore and went into it
-myself. My conscience has plagued me ever since.
-I'm a low-down chump. I deserve to lose the fifteen
-hundred and I'm glad I did. By the Lord
-Harry! you've got more real business instinct than
-I ever dreamed of."
-
-He looked so sort of weak and sick and pitiful
-that I was awful sorry for him, in spite of everything.
-
-"Don't talk foolish," says I. "You ain't lost
-your money. It's yours now; at least I don't think
-Brother Fred George Eben Frank Francis'll ever
-turn up to claim it."
-
-He shook his head. "Not much!" he says.
-"You don't suppose I'll take a share in that hotel,
-after you and your smart managin' saved it, do you?
-I ain't quite as mean as that, no matter what you
-think. No, sir, you've made good and the whole
-property is yours. All I want you to do is to give
-me another chance. If I live I'll show you how
-thankful I—"
-
-"There! there!" says I, all upset, "don't say
-another word. Of course we'll hang together in
-this, same as in everything else. Shake, and let's
-forget it."
-
-We shook hands and his was so thin and white I
-felt worse than ever.
-
-"Skipper," he says, "I can't thank—"
-
-"No need to thank me," I cut in. "If you've
-got to thank anybody, thank Mary Blaisdell. She's
-been the brains of that eatin'-house concern ever
-since I took hold of it. She's a wonder, that woman.
-If she'd been my own sister she couldn't have done
-more. I wish she was."
-
-He looked at me, pretty queer.
-
-"Skipper," says he, smilin', "if you wish that
-you're a bigger chump than I've been, and that's
-sayin' a heap."
-
-What in the world he meant by that I didn't know—but
-I didn't ask him. Not that I didn't think.
-I'd been thinkin' a lot of foolish things lately, but
-you could have cut my head off afore I said 'em out
-loud, even to myself.
-
-He came down to the store the next mornin' and
-the sight of it seemed to be the very tonic he needed.
-He got better day by day and pretty soon was his
-own brisk self again. "The Sign of the Windmill"—by
-the way, I'd changed the name on my own
-hook and 'twas the "Sign of the Bluefish" now—done
-fust rate all through the fall and when we
-closed it we was sure that next summer it would be
-a little gold mine for us. In fact, everything in the
-trade line looked good, by-products and all, and I
-ought to have been a happy man. But I wa'n't exactly.
-Somehow or other I couldn't feel quite contented.
-I didn't know what was the matter with
-me and when I hinted as much to Jacobs he just
-looked at me and laughed.
-
-"You're lonesome, that's what's the matter with
-you," he says. "You're too good a man to be
-boardin' at a one-horse ranch like the Poquit."
-
-"I'll admit that," says I. "I'll give in that I'm
-next door to an angel and ought to wear wings, if
-it'll please you any to have me say so. And the
-Poquit ain't a paradise, by no means. But I've
-sailed salt water for the biggest part of my life and
-it ain't poor grub that ails me."
-
-"Who said it was?" says he. "I said you were
-lonesome. You ought to have a home."
-
-"Old Mans' Home you mean, I s'pose. Well,
-I ain't goin' there yet."
-
-He laughed again and walked off.
-
-In October he went up to Boston and came back
-with his head full of new ideas and his pockets full
-of notions. He'd been to what the advertisements
-called the Industrial Exhibition in Mechanics'
-Buildin' up there, and had fetched back every last
-thing he could get for nothin' and some few that he
-bought cheap. He had a sample trap that, accordin'
-to the circular, would catch all the able-bodied rats
-in a township the fust night and make all the crippled
-and bedridden ones grieve themselves to death
-of disappointment because they couldn't get into it
-afore closin' hours. And he had the Gunners'
-Pocket Companion, which was a foldin' hatchet and
-butcher knife, with a corkscrew in the handle; and
-samples of "cereal coffee" that didn't taste like
-either cereal or coffee; and safety razors that were
-warranted not to cut—and wouldn't; and—and I
-don't know what all. These was side issues, however,
-as you might say. What he was really enthusiastic
-over was the Eureka Adjustable Aluminum
-Window Screen. If he'd been a mosquito he
-couldn't have been more anxious about them
-screens.
-
-"They're the greatest ever, Skipper!" he says
-to me, enthusiastic. "Fit any window; can't rust—and
-a child of twelve can put 'em up."
-
-"That part don't count," says I. "Nowadays
-if a child of twelve ain't halfway through Harvard
-his folks send for the doctor. I may be a hayseed,
-but I read the magazines."
-
-He went right along, never payin' no attention,
-and praisin' up them screens as if he was nominatin'
-'em for office. Finally he made proclamation that
-he'd applied—in the store name, of course—for
-the Ostable County agency for 'em.
-
-"But why?" says I. "We've got an adjustable
-screen agency now. And they're good screens, too.
-No mosquito can get through them—unless it takes
-to usin' a can-opener, which wouldn't surprise me a
-whole lot."
-
-"I know they are good screens," says he; "but
-there's nothin' new or novel about 'em. And, I
-tell you, Cap'n Zeb, it's novelty that catches the coin.
-We want to get the contract for screenin' that new
-hotel at West Ostable. It'll be ready in a couple of
-months and there's two hundred rooms in it. Let's
-say there are two windows to a room; that's four
-hundred screens—besides doors and all the rest.
-That hotel will need screens, won't it?"
-
-"Need 'em!" says I. "In West Ostable! In
-among all them salt meadows and cedar swamps!
-It'll need screens and nettin's and insect powder and
-'intment—and even then nobody but the hard-of-hearin'
-bo'rders'll be able to sleep on account of the
-hummin'. Need screens! *That* hotel! My soul
-and body!"
-
-Well, then, we must get the contract—that's all.
-It was well wuth the trouble of gettin'. And with
-the Adjustable Aluminum to start with, and he, Jim
-Henry, to do the talkin', we would get it. He'd
-applied for the county agency and the Adjustable
-folks had about decided to give it to him. They'd
-write and let us know pretty soon.
-
-A week went by and we didn't hear a word.
-Then, on the followin' Monday but one, come a
-letter. Jim Henry was openin' the mail and I heard
-him rip loose a brisk remark.
-
-"What's the matter?" says I.
-
-"Matter!" he snarls. "Why, the miserable
-four-flushers have turned me down—that's all.
-Read that!"
-
-I took the letter he handed me. It was type-wrote
-on a big sheet of paper, with a printed head,
-readin': "Ormstein & Meyer, Hardware and
-Tools. Manufacturers of Eureka Adjustable Aluminum
-Window Screens." And this is what it said:
-
- *Mr. J. H. Jacobs*,
-
- *Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and
- Fancy Goods Store, Ostable, Mass.*
-
- :small-caps:`Dear Sir`: Regarding your application for Ostable
- County ag'y Eureka Adjustable Aluminum Window
- Screens, would say that we have decided to give
- ag'y to party named Geo. Lentz, who will give entire
- time to it instead making it a side issue as per
- your conversation with our Mr. Meyer. Regretting
- that we cannot do business together in this regard,
- but trusting for a continuance of your valued patronage,
- we remain
-
- Yours truly,
-
- :small-caps:`Ormstein & Meyer.`
-
- Dic. M—L. G.
-
-"Now what do you think of that?" snaps Jim,
-mad as he could stick. "What do you think of
-that!"
-
-"Well," says I, slow, "I think that, speakin' as
-a man in the crosstrees, it looks as if you and me
-wouldn't furnish screens for the West Ostable Hotel."
-
-He half shut his eyes and stared at me hard.
-
-"Oh!" says he. "That's what you think,
-hey?"
-
-"Why, yes," I says. "Don't you?"
-
-"No!" he sings out, so loud that 'Dolph Cahoon,
-our new clerk, who'd been half asleep in the lee of
-the gingham and calico dressgoods counter, jumped
-up and stepped on the store cat. The cat beat
-for port down the back stairs, whoopin' comments,
-and 'Dolph begun measurin' calico as if he was
-wound up for eight days.
-
-"No!" says Jacobs again, soon as the cat's opinion
-of 'Dolph had faded away into the cellar—"No!"
-he says. "I don't think it at all. We
-may not sell Eureka Adjustables to that hotel, but
-we'll sell screens to it—and don't you forget that.
-I'll make it my business to get that contract if I
-don't do anything else. I'm no quitter, if you are!"
-
-"Nary quit!" says I. "I'll stand by to pull
-whatever rope I can; but it does seem to me that
-this agent, whoever he is, will have an eye on that
-hotel. And, accordin' to your accounts, he's got
-better goods than we have."
-
-"Maybe. But if he's a better salesman than I
-am he'll have to go some to prove it. I'll beat him,
-by fair means or foul, just to get even. That's a
-promise, Skipper, and I call you to witness it."
-
-"Wonder who this Geo. Lentz is," says I.
-"'Tain't a Cape name, that's sure."
-
-"I don't care who he is. I only wish he'd have
-the nerve to come into this store—that's all. He'd
-go out on the fly—I tell you that! And that's another
-promise."
-
-Maybe 'twas; but, if so—However, I'm a little
-mite ahead of myself; fust come fust served, as
-the youngest boy said when the father undertook to
-thrash the whole family. The fust thing that happened
-after our talk and the Eureka folks' letter was
-Jim Henry's goin' over to West Ostable to see
-Parkinson, the hotel man. He went in the new runabout
-automobile that he'd bought since he got back
-from the West, and was gone pretty nigh all day.
-When he got back he was hopeful—I could see
-that.
-
-"Well," says he, "I've laid the cornerstone.
-I've talked the Nonesuch"—that was the brand of
-screen we carried—"to beat the cars; and we'll have
-a show to get in a bid, at any rate. It'll be six weeks
-more afore the contract's given out, and meantime
-yours truly will be on the job. If our old college
-chum, G. Lentz, Esquire, don't hustle he'll be left at
-the post."
-
-"What sort of a chap is this Parkinson man?"
-I asked.
-
-"Oh, he's all right; big and fat and good-natured.
-A good feller, I should say. Likes automobilin',
-too, and thinks my car is a winner."
-
-"Married, is he?" says I.
-
-"No; he's a widower. That's a good thing, too."
-
-"Why? What's that got to do with it?"
-
-"A whole lot. If he was married I'd have to
-take Mrs. P. along on our auto rides; and—let
-alone the fact that there wouldn't be room—she'd
-want to talk scenery instead of screens. Women
-and business don't mix. That's one reason why I've
-never married."
-
-I couldn't help thinkin' of some of the hints he'd
-been heavin' at me—the "home" remarks and so
-on—but I never said nothin'.
-
-This was a Tuesday. And when, on Thursday
-afternoon, I walked into the store, after havin' had
-dinner at the Poquit, I found 'Dolph Cahoon—our
-new clerk I've mentioned already—leanin' graceful
-and easy over the candy counter and talkin' with
-a young woman I'd never seen afore. I didn't look
-at her very close, but I got a sort of general observation
-as I walked aft to the post-office department;
-and, sifted down, that observation left me with remembrances
-of a blue serge jacket and skirt, cut
-clipper fashion and fittin' as if they was built for the
-craft that was in 'em; a little blue hat—a real hat;
-not a velvet tar barrel upside down—with a little
-white gull's wing on it; brown eyes and brown hair,
-and a white collar and shirtwaist. I didn't stop to
-hail, you understand; but I judged that the stranger's
-home port wa'n't Ostable or any of the Cape towns.
-Ostable outfitters don't rig 'em that way.
-
-I come in the side door, and 'Dolph or his customer
-didn't notice me. The young woman was
-lookin' into the showcase; and, as for 'Dolph, he
-wouldn't have noticed the President of the United
-States just then. He was twirlin' his red mustache
-with the hand that had the rock-crystal ring on the
-finger of it, and his talk was a sort of sugared purr—at
-least, that's the nighest description of it that
-I can get at.
-
-I set down in my chair at the postmaster's desk
-and begun to turn over some papers. Mary had
-gone to dinner and Jim Henry was away in his auto;
-so I was all alone. I turned over the papers, but I
-couldn't get my mind on 'em—the talk outside was
-too prevailin', so to speak.
-
-'Dolph was doin' the heft of it. The young
-woman's answers was short and not too interested.
-'Dolph was remarkin' about the weather and what
-a dull winter we'd had, and how glad he'd be when
-spring really set in and the summer folks begun to
-come—and so on.
-
-"Really," says he, and though I couldn't see him
-I'd have bet that the mustache and ring was doin'
-business—"Really," he says, "there's a dreadful
-lack of cultivated society in this town, Miss—er—"
-
-He held up here, waitin', I judged, for the young
-woman to give her name. However, she didn't; so
-he purred ahead.
-
-"There's so few folks," he says, "for a young
-feller like me—used to the city—to associate with.
-This is a jay place all right. I'm only here temporary.
-I shall go back to Brockton in the fall, I
-guess."
-
-*I* guessed he'd go sooner; but I kept still.
-
-"Are you goin' to remain here for some time?"
-he asked.
-
-"Possibly," says the girl.
-
-"I'm 'fraid you'll find it pretty dull, won't you?"
-
-"Perhaps."
-
-"I should be glad to introduce you to the folks
-that are worth knowin'. Are you fond of dancin'?
-There's a subscription ball at the town hall to-night."
-
-This was what a lawyer'd call a leadin' question,
-seemed to me; but the answer didn't seem to lead to
-anything warmer than the North Pole. The young
-woman said, "Indeed?" and that was all.
-
-"I'm perfectly dippy about waltzin'," says 'Dolph.
-"By the way, won't you have some confectionery?
-These chocolates are pretty fair."
-
-I riz to my feet. I don't mind bein' a philanthropist
-once in a while, but I like to do my philanthropin'
-fust-hand. And them chocolates sold for sixty cents
-a pound!
-
-I had my hand on the doorknob. Just as I turned
-it I heard the young woman say, crisp and cold as a
-fresh cucumber:
-
-"Pardon me, but will your employer be in soon?
-If not I'll call again—when he is in."
-
-"You won't have to," says I, steppin' out of the
-post-office room and walkin' over toward the candy
-counter. "One of him's in now. 'Dolph, you can
-put them chocolates back in the case. Oh, yes—and
-you might associate yourself with the broom and
-waltz out and sweep the front platform. It's been
-needin' your cultivated society bad."
-
-The rest of that clerk's face turned as red as his
-mustache, and the way he slammed the chocolate
-box into the showcase was a caution! Then I turned
-to the young woman, who was as sober as a deacon,
-except for her eyes, which were snappin' with fun,
-and says I:
-
-"You wanted to see me, I believe, miss. My
-name's Zebulon Snow and I'm one of the partners
-in this jay place. What can I do for you?"
-
-She waited until 'Dolph and the broom had moved
-out to the platform. Then she turned to me and she
-says:
-
-"Captain Snow," she says, "I understand that
-your firm here is intendin' puttin' in a bid for the
-window screens at the new hotel at West Ostable.
-Is that so?"
-
-I was consider'ble surprised, but I didn't see any
-reason why I shouldn't tell the truth.
-
-"Why, yes, ma'am," says I; "we are figgerin'
-on the job. Are you interested in that hotel? If
-you are I'd be glad to show you samples of the
-Nonesuch screen. We cal'late that it's a mighty
-slick article."
-
-She smiled, pretty as a picture.
-
-"I am interested in the hotel," she says; "and in
-screens, though not exactly in the way you mean,
-perhaps. Here is my card."
-
-She took a little leather wallet out of her jacket-pocket
-and handed me a card. I took it. 'Twas
-printed neat as could be; but it wa'n't the neatness
-of the printin' that set me all aback, with my canvas
-flappin'—'twas what that printin' said:
-
-
-.. class:: center
-
- | GEORGIANNA LENTZ
- |
- | :small-caps:`Ostable County Agent for the`
- | :small-caps:`Eureka Adjustable Aluminum Window Screen`
-
-"What?—What!—Hey?" says I.
-
-"Yes," says she.
-
-"Agent for the Eureka Adjusta—You!"
-
-"Why, yes; of course. The Eureka people wrote
-you that they had given me the agency, didn't
-they?"
-
-I rubbed my forehead.
-
-"They wrote my partner and me," I stammered,
-"that they'd given it to—to a feller named George—er—that
-is—"
-
-"Not George—Georgianna. Oh, I see! They
-abbreviated the name and so you thought—Of
-course you did. How odd!"
-
-She laughed. I'd have laughed too, maybe, if
-I'd had sense enough to think of it; but I hadn't, just
-then.
-
-"You the agent!" says I. "A—a woman!"
-
-"Yes."
-
-"But—but a woman!"
-
-"Well?" pretty crisp. "I admit I am a woman;
-but is that any reason why I should not sell window
-screens?"
-
-I rubbed my forehead some more. These are
-progressive days we're livin' in, and sometimes I have
-to hustle to keep abreast of 'em.
-
-"Why, no," says I, slow; "I cal'late 'tain't. I
-suppose there's no law against a woman's sellin'
-'most any article that is salable, window screens
-or anything else if she wants to; but I can't
-see—"
-
-"Why she should want to? Perhaps not. However,
-we needn't go into that just now. The fact is
-I do want to and intend to. I have secured a
-boardin' place here in Ostable and shall make the
-town my headquarters. This is a small community
-and one naturally prefers to be friendly with all the
-people in it. So, after thinkin' the matter over, I
-decided that it was best to begin with a clear understandin'.
-Do you follow me?"
-
-"I—I guess so. Heave ahead; I'll do my best
-to keep you in sight. If the weather gets too thick
-I'll sound the foghorn. Go on."
-
-"I am naturally desirous of securin' the hotel
-screen contract. So, I understand, are you. I have
-seen Mr. Parkinson, the hotel man, and he tells me
-that your firm and mine will probably be the only
-bidders. Now that makes us rivals, but it need not
-necessarily make us enemies. My proposition is this:
-You will submit your bid and I will submit mine.
-The party submittin' the lowest bid—quality of
-product considered—will win. I propose that we
-let it go in that way. We might, of course, do a
-great many other things—might attempt to bring
-influence to bear; might—well, might cultivate Mr.
-Parkinson's acquaintance, and—and so on. You
-might do that—so might I, I suppose; but, for my
-part, I prefer to make this a fair, honorable business
-rivalry, in which the best man—er—"
-
-"Or woman," I couldn't help puttin' in.
-
-"In which the best bid wins. I have already
-demonstrated the Eureka for Mr. Parkinson's benefit
-and left a sample with him. He tells me that you
-have done the same with the Nonesuch. I will agree—if
-you will—to let the matter rest there, submittin'
-our respective bids when the time comes and
-abidin' by the result. Now what do you say?"
-
-'Twas pretty hard to say anything. I wanted to
-laugh; but I couldn't do that. If there ever was
-anybody in dead earnest 'twas this partic'lar young
-woman. And she wa'n't the kind to laugh at either.
-She might be in a queer sort of business for a female—but
-she was nobody's fool.
-
-"Well," she asks again, "what do you say?"
-
-I shook my head. "I can't say anything very
-definite just this minute," I told her. "I've got a
-partner, and naturally I can't do much without consultin'
-him; but I will say this, though," noticin' that
-she looked pretty disappointed—"I'll say that, fur's
-I'm concerned, I'm agreeable."
-
-She smiled and, as I cal'late I've said afore, her
-smile was wuth lookin' at.
-
-"Thank you so much, Cap'n Snow," she says.
-"Then we shall be friends, sha'n't we? Except in
-business, I mean."
-
-"I hope so—sartin," says I. "Now it ain't
-none of my affairs, of course, but I am curious. How
-did you ever happen to take the agency for—for
-window screens?"
-
-That made her serious right off. She might smile
-at other things, but not at her trade; that was life
-and death for sure.
-
-"I took it," she says, "for several reasons. My
-mother died recently and I was left alone. My
-means were not sufficient to support me. I have
-done office work, typewritin', and so on, for some
-years; but I felt that the opportunities in the positions
-I held were limited and I determined to take
-up sellin'—that is where the larger returns are.
-Don't you think so?"
-
-"Oh, yes—sartin."
-
-"Yes. I knew Mr. Meyer slightly in a business
-way. I took the Eureka screen and sold it on commission
-about Boston for a time. Then I applied
-for the Ostable County agency and got it—that's
-all."
-
-"I see," says I. "Yes, yes. Well, I must say
-that, for a girl, you—"
-
-She interrupted me quick.
-
-"I don't see that my bein' a girl has anything to
-do with it," she says. "And in this agreement of
-ours, if it is made, I don't wish the difference of sex
-considered at all. This is a business proposition
-and sex has nothin' to do with it. Is that plain?"
-
-"Yes," says I, considerin', "it's plain; but I ain't
-sure that—"
-
-"I am sure," she interrupts—"and you must be.
-I wish to be treated in this matter exactly as if I
-were a man. I wish I were one!"
-
-"I doubt if you'd get most men to agree with
-you in that wish," I says. "However, never mind.
-I'll do my best to get Mr. Jacobs, my partner, to
-say 'Yes' to your proposal. And I hope you'll do
-fust-rate, even if we are what you call rivals. Drop
-in any time, Miss Georg—Georgianna, I mean."
-
-We shook hands and she went away. I went as
-fur as the platform with her. When I turned to go
-in again I noticed 'Dolph Cahoon starin' after her,
-with his eyes and mouth open.
-
-"Gosh!" says he, grinnin'. "By gosh! She's
-a peach! Ain't she, Cap'n Zeb?"
-
-"Maybe so," says I, pretty short; "but I don't
-recollect that we hired you as a judge of fruit. Has
-that broom took root in the dirt on this platform?
-Or what is the matter?"
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XIII—WHAT CAME THROUGH THE SCREEN
-=========================================
-
-
-Jacobs come in late that afternoon.
-
-"Say," says he, "there was a sample of the
-Eureka screen in Parkinson's office when I was
-there just now. He wouldn't say who left it or
-anything about it. When I asked he grinned and
-winked. That's all. Confound his fat head! Do
-you know where it came from?"
-
-"I can guess," I says; and then I told him the
-whole yarn. He was as surprised as I was to find
-out that Geo. Lentz was a female; but it only made
-him madder than ever—if such a thing's possible.
-
-"Wants to be treated like a man, does she?" he
-says. "All right; we'll treat her like one. She
-may be Georgianna, but she'll get just what was
-comin' to George."
-
-"Then you won't agree to puttin' in the bids and
-lettin' it go at that?"
-
-"I'll agree to get that screen contract, all right!"
-says he, emphatic.
-
-I was kind of sorry for Miss Lentz; but Jim Henry
-was my partner, so there wa'n't nothin' more to be
-said. We didn't mention the subject again for two
-days. However, I did hear from the Eureka agent
-durin' that time. 'Twas 'Dolph that I got my news
-of her from. I was tellin' Mary Blaisdell about her
-and Cahoon happened to be standin' by.
-
-"So she boards here in Ostable," says Mary. "I
-wonder where."
-
-Afore I could answer 'Dolph spoke up. "She's
-stoppin' at Maria Berry's, down on the Neck Road,"
-he says.
-
-"How did you know?" I asked.
-
-He looked sort of silly. "Oh, I found out," says
-he, and walked off.
-
-The very next evenin', as I was strollin' along the
-sidewalk, smokin' my good-night pipe, I happened
-to see somebody turn the corner from the Neck Road
-and hurry by me. I thought his gait and build were
-pretty familiar, so I turned and followed. When he
-got abreast the lighted windows of the billiard saloon
-I recognized him. 'Twas 'Dolph, all togged out in
-his Sunday-go-to-meetin' duds, light fall overcoat
-and all.
-
-"Humph!" says I to myself. "So that's how
-you knew, hey? Been callin' on her, have you?
-Well, she may not hanker for my sympathy, but she
-has it just the same. I swan, I thought she had better
-taste! I'm surprised!"
-
-The followin' mornin', however, I was more
-surprised still. I had an errand that made me late at
-the store. When I came in who should I see talkin'
-together but Jacobs and a young woman; the young
-woman was Miss Georgianna Lentz. They ought
-to have been quarrelin', 'cordin' to all reasonable
-expectations; but they wa'n't. Fact is, they seemed
-as friendly as could be. You'd have thought they
-was old chums to see 'em.
-
-Georgianna sighted me fust.
-
-"Good mornin', Cap'n Snow," says she. "Mr.
-Jacobs and I have made each other's acquaintance,
-you see."
-
-"Yes," says I, doubtful. "I see you have. I
-cal'late you think it's kind of unreasonable, our
-not—"
-
-Jim Henry cut in ahead of me quick as a flash.
-
-"Miss Lentz and I have been goin' over the matter
-of screens for Parkinson's hotel," he says. "I
-tell her that her proposition suits us down to the
-ground."
-
-Over I went on my beam-ends again. All I could
-think of to say was: "Hey?"—and I said that
-pretty feeble.
-
-"It is very nice of you to do this," says Georgianna.
-"It makes it so much easier for me. Of
-course, when I decided to make business my life-work,
-I realized that I might be called upon to do
-disagreeable things like—like wire-pullin', and so
-on, which some business people do; but honorable
-rivalry is so much better, isn't it?"
-
-"Sure!" says Jacobs, prompt. "Yes, indeed."
-
-"So it is all settled," she went on. "Our bids
-are to go in on the same day; and meantime neither
-of us is to call on Mr. Parkinson or to meet him—in
-a business way, I mean."
-
-I nodded, bein' still too upset to talk; but Jim
-Henry spoke quick and prompt.
-
-"What do you mean," he asks—"in a business
-way?"
-
-"Why," says she—and it seemed to me that she
-reddened a little—"I mean that—well, if we
-should meet him by accident we wouldn't talk about
-screens or the hotel contract. Of course one can't
-help meetin' people sometimes. For instance, I
-happened to meet Mr. Parkinson yesterday. He
-had driven over and happened to be in the vicinity
-of the house where I board. I was goin' out for
-a walk, and he stopped his horse and spoke."
-
-"Oh," says I, "he did, hey?" Jim Henry didn't
-say nothin'.
-
-"Yes," she says; "but I didn't talk about the contract.
-Though our agreement wasn't actually made
-then, I hoped that it would be. Good mornin'; I
-must be goin'."
-
-She started for the door, but she turned to say
-one more thing.
-
-"Of course," she says, decided, "it is understood
-that you haven't agreed to my proposal simply because
-I am a girl. If that was the case I shouldn't
-permit it. I insist upon bein' treated exactly as if
-I were a man. You must promise that—both of
-you."
-
-"Sure! Sure! That's understood," says Jacobs.
-
-I said "Sure!" too, but my tone wa'n't quite so
-sartin. She went out, Jim Henry goin' with her
-as fur as the door. I follered him.
-
-"Say," says I, "next time you turn a back somerset
-like this I'd like to know about it in advance.
-I've got a weak heart."
-
-He didn't answer me at all. He was starin' down
-the road, just as 'Dolph had stared when the Eureka
-agent called the fust time.
-
-"Say, Jim—" says I. He didn't turn or move;
-didn't seem to hear me. I touched him on the shoulder
-and he jumped and come about.
-
-"Eh—what?" he says.
-
-"Nothin'," says I, "only I want to know why—that's
-all."
-
-"Why?" says he. "Oh!—you mean what
-made me change my mind? Well, I just thought it
-over and decided we might as well agree. Agreein'
-don't do any harm, you know. Hey, Skipper?
-Ha-ha!"
-
-He slapped me on the shoulder and laughed.
-The laugh seemed too big for the joke and sounded
-a little mite forced, I thought.
-
-"Yes, yes! Ha-ha!" says I. "But your
-changin' from lion to lamb so sudden—"
-
-"What are you talkin' about? I've got a right
-to change my mind, ain't I?"
-
-"Sartin sure. But you was so set on gettin' that
-contract."
-
-"Well, I ain't said I wasn't goin' to get it, have
-I? We're goin' to put in a bid, ain't we? What's
-the matter with you?"
-
-"Nothin' at all; but *your* breakfast don't seem to
-have set extry well! However, it takes two to make
-a row, and I'm peaceful, myself. What do you
-think of the rival entry? Kind of a nice-appearin'
-girl—don't you think so?"
-
-He whirled round and looked at me as if he
-thought I was crazy.
-
-"Nice-appearin'!" he says. "Nice-ap—Why,
-she's—"
-
-Then he pulled up short and headed for the back
-room.
-
-Nothin' of much importance happened for a while
-after that. And yet there was somethin'—two or
-three somethin's—that had a bearin' on the case.
-One was the change in 'Dolph Cahoon. For a few
-days after that night I met him on the road he was
-as gay and chipper as a blackbird in a pear tree—happy
-even when I made him work, which was surprisin'
-enough. And then, all to once, he turned
-glum and ugly. Wouldn't speak and seemed to be
-broodin' over his troubles all day long. I had my
-suspicions; and so, one time when him and me was
-alone, I hove over a little mite of bait just to see
-if he'd rise to it.
-
-"Seen anything of the Lentz girl lately?" I asked,
-casual.
-
-"Naw," says he, "and I don't want to, neither!
-She's a bird, she is! Too stuck up to speak to common
-folks. Everybody's gettin' on to her—you
-bet! She won't make many friends in this town."
-
-I grinned to myself. Thinks I: "I guess,
-young man, Georgianna's handed you your walkin'
-papers. You won't go down the Neck Road any
-more!"
-
-And yet, an evenin' or so after that, I see somebody
-go down that road. I didn't see him plain,
-but I'd have almost taken my oath 'twas Jim Henry
-Jacobs. It couldn't be, of course—and yet—
-
-Well, two days later, I took back the "yet." I
-happened to be standin' at the side door of the store,
-lookin' across the fields, when I saw an auto with
-two people in it sailin' along the crossroad from the
-east'ard. 'Twas a runabout auto—and I looked
-and looked! Then I called to 'Dolph.
-
-"'Dolph," says I, "come here! Who's
-automobile's that? If I didn't know Mr. Jacobs was
-off takin' orders in Denboro I should say 'twas his."
-
-'Dolph looked.
-
-"Humph!" says he—"'tis his. He's drivin' it
-himself. But who's that with him? What? Well,
-by gosh! if it ain't that stuck-up Georgianna Lentz!"
-
-"Get out!" says I. "The softness of your heart
-has struck to your head. It's likely he'd be takin'
-her to ride, ain't it!"
-
-And then Jacobs looked up and sighted us standin'
-in the doorway. His machine hadn't been goin'
-slow afore—now it fairly jumped off the ground
-and flew. In a minute there was nothin' but a dust-cloud
-in the offin'.
-
-He came in about noon. I didn't say nothin',
-but I guess my face was enough. He looked at me,
-turned away—and then turned back again.
-
-"Well," he says, loud and cheerful, "you saw us,
-didn't you? I was goin' to tell you, anyway, soon
-as I got the chance."
-
-"Oh," says I, "I want to know!"
-
-"Sure, I was. Of course you see through the
-game."
-
-"The game?"
-
-"Why, yes, yes! The game I'm playin'—the
-game that's goin' to get us that screen contract!
-Oh, I wasn't born yesterday. I knew a thing or
-two. This—er—Lentz girl and you and me have
-agreed not to go near Parkinson till the contract's
-given out; but Parkinson ain't promised not to go
-near her! He's been over there two or three times
-lately, and that won't do. He's a widower, and—"
-
-"A widower!" I put in. "What's that got to
-do with it?"
-
-"Oh, nothin'—nothin'. Just a joke, that's
-all. But I realized right away that she and he
-mustn't be together or he'll make her talk screens
-in spite of herself, and that'll be dangerous for us.
-So, says I to myself, 'Jim Henry,' says I, 'it's up to
-you. You must keep her out of his way.' That's
-why I've been goin' to see her once in a while and—and
-takin' her to ride, and—and so on. See?
-Oh, I'm wise! You trust your old doctor of sick
-businesses."
-
-He'd been talkin' a blue streak. Seemed almost
-as if he was afraid I'd say somethin' afore he could
-say it all. Now he stopped to get his breath and
-I put in a word.
-
-"So," says I, slow, "that's why you're doin' it,
-hey? But ain't that—You know you promised
-to treat her just as if she was a man!"
-
-"Well, ain't I?" he snaps—hotter than was
-needful, I thought. "If she was a man I'd make
-it my business to keep her in sight, wouldn't I?
-Well, then! I never saw such a chap as you are for
-lookin' for trouble when there isn't any."
-
-He stalked off. I follered him; and as I done so
-I noticed 'Dolph Cahoon duck behind the calico
-counter. I judged he'd heard every word.
-
-The finishin' work on the hotel hustled along and
-inside of a month we got word that 'twas time to
-put in our bid. Jacobs and I figured and figured till
-we got the price down to the last cent we thought
-it could stand, and then we sent our proposition over
-to Parkinson by mail.
-
-"Wonder if Miss Georgianna's sent hers in," I
-says, casual.
-
-"Oh, yes," says Jim, prompt; "she is goin' to
-mail it this morning'."
-
-I didn't ask him how he knew. His chasin' round
-and keepin' watch on a girl who was as fair-minded
-and square as she was had always seemed too much
-like spyin' to please me, and I cal'lated he knew how
-I felt—at any rate he'd scurcely spoke her name
-since the day when I saw 'em autoin' together. But
-now I did say that, so long as the bids was in, it
-wouldn't be necessary for him to keep his eye on her
-any longer.
-
-He looked at me kind of queer. "Umph!" he
-says; "maybe not!" And he walked away to
-attend to a customer.
-
-That afternoon he took his car and went off on
-his reg'lar order trip to Denboro and Bayport
-and round. 'Dolph Cahoon and I was alone in the
-front part of the store. 'Dolph seemed to be in
-mighty good spirits—for him—and kept chucklin'
-to himself in a way I couldn't understand. At last
-he says to me, lookin' back to be sure that Mary
-Blaisdell, in the post-office department, couldn't
-hear—
-
-"Cap'n Zeb," he says, "what would you give the
-feller that got the screen contract for you?"
-
-"Give him?" I says. "What feller do you mean—Parkinson?
-I wouldn't give him a cent! I
-ain't a briber and I don't think he's a grafter."
-
-"I don't mean Parkinson," he says, chucklin'.
-"But, suppose somebody else had been workin' for
-you on the quiet, what would you give him?"
-
-I looked him over.
-
-"Look here, 'Dolph," says I; "I never try to
-guess a riddle till I hear the whole of it. What
-are you drivin' at?"
-
-He grinned. "I know who's goin' to get that
-contract," he says.
-
-"You do. Who is it?"
-
-"The Ostable Store's goin' to get it. Your bid's
-a little mite the lowest. Parkinson told me so last
-night."
-
-"Parkinson told you!" I sung out. "How did
-you happen to see Parkinson?"
-
-He winked.
-
-"Oh, I saw him!" says he. "I've seen him a
-good many times lately. I made it my business to
-see him. He was pretty stuck on the Eureka till
-I got after him and I cal'late he'd have contracted
-for Eurekas, bid or no bid. But I put in my licks;
-I've drove over to West Ostable four nights and
-two Sundays in the last fortni't. And didn't I
-preach Nonesuch to him! He-he! You bet I did!
-And last night he said he was goin' to give us the
-job. Oh, I fixed that stuck-up Georgianna Lentz!
-I got even with her. He-he-he!"
-
-I never was madder in my life. I took two steps
-toward him with my fists doubled up.
-
-"You whelp!" says I—and then I stopped short.
-The Lentz girl herself was walkin' in at the front
-door.
-
-"Good mornin', Cap'n Snow," she says, holdin'
-out her hand. She paid no more attention to 'Dolph
-than if he'd been a graven image. "Good mornin',"
-says she. "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"
-
-I was past carin' about the weather.
-
-"Miss Georgianna," says I, "I'm glad you come
-in. I've got somethin' to tell you. I've got to beg
-your pardon for somethin' that ain't my fault or
-Mr. Jacobs', either. You and my partner and me
-had an agreement not to go nigh Parkinson or try
-to influence him in any way. Well, unbeknown to
-me, that agreement has been broke."
-
-She stared at me, too astonished to speak.
-
-"It's been broke," says I. "That—that critter
-there," pointin' to 'Dolph, "has been sneakin—"
-
-'Dolph's face had been gettin' redder and redder,
-I cal'late he thought I'd praise him for his doin's;
-and when he found I wouldn't, but was goin' to give
-the whole thing away, he blew up like a leaky b'iler.
-
-"I ain't been sneakin'!" he yelled. "And I ain't
-broke no agreement, neither. You and Mr. Jacobs
-agreed—but I never. I see Parkinson on my own
-hook; and if it hadn't been for me he wouldn't be
-goin' to give you the contract."
-
-.. figure:: images/illus4.jpg
- :align: center
- :alt: 'I ain't been sneakin'!' he yelled.
-
- 'I ain't been sneakin'!' he yelled.
-
-There 'twas, out of the bag. I looked at Georgianna.
-Her pretty face went white. That contract
-meant all creation to her; but she stood up to the
-news like a major. She was plucky, that girl!
-
-"Oh!" she says. "Oh! Then he has given
-you the contract? I—I congratulate you, Cap'n
-Snow."
-
-"Don't congratulate me," says I. "The contract
-ain't been given yet, though this pup says it's goin'
-to be; but, as for me, if I'd known what was goin'
-on I'd have stopped it mighty quick! I'm honorable
-and decent, and so's Jacobs; and we don't take
-underhanded advantages."
-
-'Dolph bust out from astern of the counter.
-
-"You don't, hey!" says he. "I want to know!
-How about Jacobs' takin' her to ride and callin' on
-her, and pretendin' to be dead gone on her? What
-did he do that for? You know as well as I do.
-'Twas so's to keep a watch on her, and not let
-Parkinson see her and be influenced into buyin'
-Eureka screens. You know it!"
-
-My own face grew red now, I cal'late.
-
-"You—you—" I begun. "You miserable
-liar—"
-
-"'Tain't a lie," says he. "I heard him tell you
-with my own ears. He said all he was beauin' her
-round for was just that. If that ain't a underhanded
-trick then I don't know what is."
-
-I wanted to say lots more; but, afore I could get
-my talkin' machinery to runnin', the Lentz girl herself
-spoke.
-
-"Is that true, Cap'n Snow?" says she.
-
-I was set back forty fathom.
-
-"Well, miss," says I, "I—I—"
-
-"Is that true?" says she.
-
-I got out my handkerchief and swabbed my forehead.
-
-"Well, Miss Georgianna," says I, "I'll tell you.
-Jim Henry—Mr. Jacobs, I mean—did say somethin'
-like that; but—but—Well, you wanted to
-be treated like a salesman, and—er—Mr. Jacobs
-would have kept his eye on a man, you know; and
-so—and so—"
-
-I stopped again. 'Twas the shoalest water ever
-I cruised in. All I could do was mop away with the
-handkerchief and look at Georgianna. And she—well,
-the color, and plenty of it, begun to come back
-to her cheeks. And how her brown eyes did
-flash!
-
-"I see," she says, slow and so frosty I pretty nigh
-shivered. "I—see!"
-
-"Well," says I, "'tain't anything I'm proud of,
-I will admit; but—"
-
-"One moment, if you please. You haven't actually
-got the contract yet?"
-
-"No. As I told you, all I know is what this consarned
-fo'mast hand of mine says. For what he's
-done, I'm ashamed as I can be. As for Mr. Jacobs,
-I know he did keep to the letter of the agreement,
-anyhow. For the rest—Well, all's fair in love
-and war, they say—and there's precious little love
-in business."
-
-She looked at me, with a queer little smile about
-the corners of her lips, though her eyes wa'n't smilin',
-by a consider'ble sight.
-
-"Isn't there?" she says. "I—I wonder.
-Good-by, Cap'n Snow. You might tell Mr. Jacobs
-not to order those Nonesuch screens just yet."
-
-Out she went; and for the next five minutes I had
-a real enjoyable time. I told 'Dolph Cahoon just
-what I thought of him—that took four of the minutes;
-durin' the other one I fired him and run him
-out of the office by the scruff of the neck.
-
-Then Mary Blaisdell and me held officers' council,
-and that ended by our decidin' not to tell Jim Henry
-that the Lentz girl knew why he'd been so friendly
-with her. It wouldn't do any good and might make
-him feel bad. Besides, the contract was as good as
-got, 'cordin' to 'Dolph's yarn; and 'twa'n't likely
-he'd see Georgianna again, anyway. When he come
-back I told him I'd fired Cahoon for bein' no good
-and sassy, and he agreed I'd done just right.
-
-When I said good night to him he was chipper
-as could be; but next day he was blue as a whetstone—and
-the blueness seemed to strike in, so to speak.
-He didn't take any interest in anything—moped
-round, glum and ugly; and I couldn't get him to talk
-at all. If I mentioned the screen contract he shut
-up like a quahaug, and only once did he give an
-opinion about it. That opinion was a surprisin' one,
-though.
-
-Alpheus Perkins was in the store, and says he:
-
-"Say, Mr. Jacobs," he says, "is old Parkinson,
-the hotel man, cal'latin' to get married again? I
-see him out ridin' with a girl yesterday? That
-female screen drummer—that Georgianna Lentz,
-'twas. She's a daisy, ain't she! I don't blame him
-much for takin' a shine to her."
-
-Jim Henry didn't make any answer; but, knowin'
-what I did, I was a little surprised.
-
-"Jim," says I, "that contract—"
-
-"D—n the contract!" says he, and cleared out
-and left us.
-
-I was astonished, but I guessed 'twas a healthy
-plan to keep my hatches closed.
-
-When I opened the mail a few mornin's later I
-found a letter with the West Ostable Hotel's name
-printed on the envelope. I figgered I knew what
-was inside. Thinks I: "Here's the acceptance of
-our bid!" But my figgers was on the wrong side
-of the ledger. Parkinson wrote just a few words,
-but they was enough. After considerin' the matter
-careful, he wrote, he had decided the Eureka to be
-a better screen than the Nonesuch; and, though our
-bid was a trifle lower, he should give the Eureka
-folks the contract.
-
-"Well!" says I out loud. "Well, I'll—be—blessed!"
-
-Jim Henry was settin' at his desk—we was all
-alone in the store—and he looked up.
-
-"What are you askin' a blessin' over?" says he.
-
-I handed him the letter. He read it through and
-set for a full minute without speakin'. Then he
-slammed it into the wastebasket and got up and
-started to go away.
-
-"For thunder sakes!" I sung out. "What ails
-you? Ain't you goin' to say nothin' at all?"
-
-"What is there to say?" he asked, gruff.
-"We're stung—and that's the end of it."
-
-"But—but—don't you realize—Why, our
-bid was the lowest! And yet the contract—"
-
-He whirled on me savage.
-
-"Didn't I tell you," says he, "that I didn't give
-a durn about the contract?"
-
-"You don't! *You* don't! Then who on airth
-does?"
-
-"I don't know and I don't care!"
-
-"You don't care! I swan to man! Why, 'twas
-you that swore you'd put the screens in that hotel
-or die tryin'. You said 'twas a matter of principle
-with you. And now that the Eureka folks have
-beat us by some shenanigan or other—for our bid
-was lower than theirs—you say you don't care!
-Have you gone loony? What *do* you care
-about?"
-
-"Nothin'—much," says he, and flopped down in
-his chair again.
-
-I stared at him. All at once I begun to see a
-light. You'd have thought anybody that wa'n't
-stone blind would have seen it afore—but I hadn't.
-You see, I cal'lated that I knew him from trunk to
-keelson, and so it never once occurred to me. I riz
-and walked over to him. Just as I done so, I heard
-the front door open and shut, but I figgered 'twas
-Mary comin' back, and didn't even look. I laid my
-hand on his shoulder.
-
-"Jim," says I, "I guess likely I understand. I
-declare I'm sorry! And yet I wouldn't wonder
-if—"
-
-I didn't go on. He wa'n't payin' any attention,
-but was lookin' over the top of his desk—lookin'
-with all the eyes in his head. I looked, too, and
-caught my breath with a jerk. The person who'd
-come in wa'n't Mary Blaisdell, but Georgianna
-Lentz.
-
-She saw us and walked straight down to where we
-was. She was kind of pale and her eyes looked as
-if she'd been awake all night; but when she spoke
-'twas right to the point—there wa'n't any hesitation
-about her.
-
-"Cap'n Snow," says she, "have you heard from
-Mr. Parkinson?"
-
-"Yes," says I, wonderin; "we've heard. We
-don't understand exactly, but perhaps that ain't
-necessary. I cal'late all there is left for us to do
-is to offer congratulations and 'go 'way back and
-set down,' as the boys say. You've got the contract."
-
-"Yes," she says; "it has been given to me.
-But—"
-
-Jim Henry stood up. "You'll excuse me," he
-says, sharp. "I'm busy."
-
-He started to go, but she stopped him.
-
-"No," she says; "I want you both to hear what
-I've got to say. Mr. Parkinson gave me the
-contract yesterday; but I have decided not to take
-it."
-
-We both looked at her.
-
-"You—you've what?" says I. "Not take it?
-You want it, don't you?"
-
-"Yes," she says, quiet but determined, "I want
-it—or I did want it very, very much. It meant
-so much to me—now—and might mean a great
-deal more in the future; but I can't take it."
-
-This was too many for me. I looked at Jacobs.
-He didn't say a word.
-
-"I can't take it," says Georgianna, "under the
-circumstances. I don't feel that I got it fairly. We
-agreed, you and I, that no personal influence should
-be brought to bear upon Mr. Parkinson; and I"—she
-blushed a little, but kept right on—"I have seen
-Mr. Parkinson several times durin' the past week."
-
-I thought of her bein' to ride with the hotel man,
-but I didn't say anything. Jim Henry, though,
-started again to go. And again she stopped him.
-
-"Wait, please!" she went on. "I didn't go to
-him—you must understand that! But after what
-you, Cap'n Snow, and that Mr. Cahoon told me the
-other day I was hurt and angry. I felt that you had
-broken your agreement with me. So when Mr.
-Parkinson came to see me I didn't avoid him as I
-had been doin'. I—I accepted invitations for
-drives with him, and—and—Oh, don't you see?
-I couldn't take the contract. I couldn't! What
-would you think of me? What would I think of
-myself? No, my mind is made up. I'm afraid"—with
-a half smile that had more tears than fun in it—"that
-my experience in business hasn't been a success.
-I shall give it up and go back to stenography—or
-somethin'. There! Good-by. I'm sure that the
-Nonesuch screen will win now. Good-by!"
-
-And now 'twas she that started to go and Jim
-Henry that stopped her.
-
-"Wait!" says he, sharp. "There's somethin'
-here I don't understand. What do you mean by
-what the Cap'n and Cahoon told you the other day?
-Skipper, what have you been doin'?"
-
-I wished there was a crack or a knothole handy
-for me to crawl into; but there wa'n't, so I braced
-up best I could.
-
-"Why, Jim," says I, "I ain't told you the whole
-of that business I fired 'Dolph for. Seems he'd been
-seein' Parkinson on his own hook and pullin' wires
-for the Nonesuch. 'Twas a sneakin' mean trick,
-and I knew 'twould make you mad same as it done
-me; so I didn't tell you. 'Twas for that I bounced
-him."
-
-Jim Henry's fists shut.
-
-"The toad!" says he. "I wish I'd been there.
-Wait till I get my hands on him! I'll—"
-
-"But you mustn't," put in Georgianna. "I hope
-you don't think I care what such a creature as he
-might do. When I first came here he—Oh, why
-can't people forget that I'm a girl!"
-
-I could have answered that, but I didn't. Jacobs
-asked another question.
-
-"Then, if it wa'n't 'Dolph, who was it?" says he.
-"Parkinson?"
-
-"No!" with a flash of her eyes. "Certainly not.
-Mr. Parkinson is a gentleman; but—but I don't
-like him—that is, I don't dislike him exactly;
-but—"
-
-She was dreadful fussed up. Jim Henry was
-between her and the door, though, and he kept right
-on with his questions.
-
-"Then what was the trouble?" he said, brisk.
-
-I answered for her.
-
-"Well, Jim," says I, "there was somethin' else.
-You see, 'Dolph got mad when I sailed into him, and
-he come back at me by tellin' what you said about
-your callin' on Miss Lentz here—and takin' her
-autoin' and such. How you said you was doin' it
-so's to keep a watch on her—that's all. I couldn't
-deny that you did say it, you know—because you
-did!"
-
-Jim's face was a sight to see—a sort of combination
-of sheepishness and shame, mixed with another
-look, almost of joy—or as if he'd got the answer to
-a puzzle that had been troublin' him.
-
-The Lentz girl spoke up quick.
-
-"Of course," she says, "I understand now why
-you did it. Then I was—was—Well, it did
-hurt me to think that I hadn't seen through the
-scheme, and for a while I felt that you hadn't been
-true to our agreement; but, now that I have had
-time to think, I understand. You promised to treat
-me exactly as if I were a man; and, as Cap'n Snow
-said, if I were a man you would have kept me in
-sight. It's all right! But"—with a sigh—"I
-realize that I'm not fitted for business—this kind of
-business. I don't blame you, though. Good-by.
-I must go!"
-
-Lettin' her go, however, was the last thing Jim
-intended doin' just then. He stepped for'ard and
-caught her by the hand.
-
-"Georgianna," says he, eager, "you know what
-you're sayin' isn't true. I did tell the Cap'n that
-yarn about watchin' you. He'd seen me with you
-and I had to tell him somethin'; but it was a lie—every
-word of it! You know it was."
-
-She tried to pull her hand away, but he hung on
-to it as if 'twas the last life-preserver on a sinkin'
-ship. I cal'late he'd forgot I was on earth.
-
-"You were keeping your promise," she said.
-"You were treatin' me as you would if I were a
-man! Please let me go, Mr. Jacobs; I have told
-you that I didn't blame you."
-
-"Nonsense!" says he. "If I had done that I
-ought to be hung! A man! Treat you like a man!
-Do you suppose if you were a man I should—"
-
-That was the last word I heard. I was bound
-for the front platform, and makin' some headway for
-a craft of my age and build. I have got some sense
-and I know when three's a crowd!
-
-I didn't go back until they called me. I give the
-pair of 'em one look and then I shook hands with 'em
-up to the elbows. Georgianna was blushin', and her
-eyes were damp, but shinin' like masthead lights on
-a rainy night. As for Jim Henry Jacobs, he was
-one broad grin.
-
-"Well," says I, after I'd said all the joyful things
-I could think of, "one point ain't settled even yet—who's
-goin' to get that screen contract? There ain't
-any love in business, you know."
-
-"Humph!" says Jim Henry. "I wonder!"
-
-I laughed out loud.
-
-"Why," says I, "that's exactly what Georgianna
-here said t'other day—she wondered!"
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XIV—THE EPISTLE TO ICHABOD
-==================================
-
-
-Mary came in a few minutes later and she
-had to be told the news. She was as
-pleased as I was and there was more congratulatin'.
-Then Georgianna had to go home and,
-as she was altogether too precious to be allowed
-to walk, Jim Henry went and got his auto and they
-left in that.
-
-When he got back—that car must have been
-sufferin' from a stroke of creepin' paralysis, for it
-took him two hours to run that little distance—he
-and I had a good confidential talk. He was way up
-above this common earth, soarin' around in the
-clouds, and all he wanted to talk was Georgianna.
-The whole of creation had been set to music and was
-dancin' to the one tune—"Georgianna."
-
-It was astonishin' to me who had been in the habit
-of considerin' him just a sharp, up-to-date buyer and
-seller, a man whose whole soul was wrapped up in
-business with no room in it for anything else. I
-found myself lookin' at him and wonderin': "Is
-the world comin' to an end, I wonder? Is this my
-partner? Is this moon-struck critter Jim Henry
-Jacobs, doctor of sick businesses?"
-
-I couldn't help jokin' him a little.
-
-"Jim," says I, "for a feller who hadn't any use
-for females you're doin' pretty well, I must say.
-Either you was mistaken in your old opinions or your
-new ones are wrong. Which is it? 'Women and
-business don't mix,' you know. That ain't an original
-notion; that is quoted from the Gospel according
-to Jacobs, Chapter 1,000; two hundred and
-eightieth verse."
-
-He reddened up and laughed. "Well, they *don't*
-mix, as a general thing," he says. "I guess 'twas
-Georgianna's sand in goin' into business that got me
-in the first place. I leave it to you, Skipper—ain't
-she a wonder? Now be honest, ain't she?"
-
-Course I said she was; I have the usual sane man's
-regard for my head and I didn't want it knocked off
-yet awhile. And Georgianna *was* as nice a girl as
-I ever saw—that is, *almost* as nice. Jim went
-sailin' on, about how now he could settle down and
-live like a white man in a home of his own, about
-the house he was goin' to build, and so forth and
-etcetery. I declare it made me feel almost jealous
-to hear him.
-
-"My! my!" says I, kind of spiteful, I'm afraid,
-"you have got it bad, ain't you! Sudden attacks
-are liable to be the most acute, I suppose."
-
-He laughed again. You couldn't have made him
-mad just then.
-
-"Ha, ha!" says he. "Yes, I guess I'm way past
-where there's any hope for me. But I'm glad of it.
-It did come sudden, but that's the way most good
-things come to me. It's my nature. Now if I was
-like some folks that I won't name, I'd be mopin'
-around for months without sense enough to know
-what ailed me."
-
-"Who are you diggin' at?" I wanted to know.
-He wouldn't tell; said 'twas a secret, and maybe
-I'd find out the answer for myself some day.
-
-The next few weeks was busy times, in the store
-and out of it. Georgianna havin' declined the screen
-contract, Parkinson gave it to us, after a little
-arguin'. That kept me hustlin', for Jim was too
-interested in other things to care for screens. He
-was making arrangements to be married.
-
-And married he and Georgianna were. She'd
-have waited a little longer, I cal'late—that bein' a
-woman's way—if it had been left to her to name the
-time; but Jim Henry never was the waitin' kind.
-They were married at the parson's and Mary Blaisdell
-and I saw the splice made fast. Then we went
-to the depot and said good-by to Mr. and Mrs. Jim
-Henry Jacobs. They were goin' on a honeymoon
-cruise to the West Indies that would last two months.
-
-Good-byes ain't ever pleasant to say, but I was so
-glad for Jim, and so happy because he was, that I
-tried to be as chipper as I could.
-
-"If you need me, wire at Havana, Skipper," he
-says. "I'll come the minute you say the word."
-
-"I sha'n't need you," I told him. "Mary and
-I'll run things as well as we can. She makes a good
-fust mate, Mary does."
-
-"You bet!" says he. "I feel a little conscience-struck
-to leave you just now, with that West End
-crowd tryin' to make trouble for you, but Congressman
-Shelton is your friend and he'll look out for you
-in Washin'ton."
-
-"Don't you worry about that," I says. "I ain't
-scared of Bill Phipps or Ike Hamilton—much, or
-any of their West End crew. The decent folks in
-town are on my side, and with Shelton to back me up
-at Washin'ton, I cal'late I'll keep my job till you come
-back anyhow."
-
-The train started and Mary and I waved till
-'twas out of sight. Then we went back to the store.
-I give in that the old feelin', the feelin' that I'd had
-when Jim was sick out West, that of bein' adrift
-without an anchor, was hangin' around me a little,
-but I braced up and vowed to myself that I'd do
-the best I could. If this post-office row did get dangerous,
-I might telegraph for Jacobs, but I wouldn't
-till the ship was founderin'.
-
-I suppose you can always get up an opposition
-party. There was one amongst the Children of
-Israel in Moses's time, and there's been plenty ever
-since. So long as somebody has got somethin'
-there'll always be somebody else to want to get it
-away from him. That's human nature, and there's
-as much human nature in Ostable, size considered,
-as there was in the Land of Canaan.
-
-I'd been postmaster at Ostable for quite a spell. I
-didn't try for the position, I was mad when 'twas
-given to me, there wa'n't much of anything in it but
-a lot of fuss and trouble, and I'd said forty times over
-that I wished I didn't have it. But when the gang
-up at the West End of the town set out to take it
-away from me I r'ared up on my hind legs and swore
-I'd fight for my job till the last plank sunk from
-under me. Don't sound like sense, does it? It
-wa'n't—'twas just more human nature.
-
-Course the opposition wa'n't large and 'twa'n't
-very influential. Old man William Phipps and
-young Ike Hamilton was at the head of it, and they
-had forty or fifty West-Enders to back 'em up.
-Phipps had been one of the leading workers for
-Abubus Payne, the chap I beat for the app'intment
-in the fust place; and young Hamilton was junior
-partner in the firm of "Ichabod Hamilton & Co.,
-Stoves, Tinware and Fishermen's Supplies," a mile
-or so up the main road. Young Ike—everybody
-called him "Ike," though his real name was Ichabod,
-same as his uncle's—was a pushin' critter, who'd
-come back from a Boston business college and had
-started right in to make the town sit up and take
-notice. He was goin' to get rich—he admitted that
-much—and he cal'lated to show us hayseeds a few
-things. Up to now he hadn't showed much but
-loud clothes and cheek, but he had enough of them to
-keep all hands interested for a spell.
-
-His uncle, Ichabod, Senior, was a shrewd old
-rooster, with twenty thousand or so that, accordin'
-to his brags—he was always tellin' of it—he'd
-put away for a "rainy day." We have consider'ble
-damp weather at the Cape, but 'twould have taken a
-Noah's Ark flood to make Ichabod's purse strings
-loosen up. That twenty thousand dollars had
-growed fast to his nervous system and when you
-pulled away a cent he howled. Young Ike was the
-only one that could mesmerize this old man into
-spendin' anything, and how he did it nobody knew.
-But he did. Since he got into that Stoves and Tinware
-firm the store had been fixed up and advertisements
-put in the papers, and I don't know what
-all. The uncle had been under the weather with
-rheumatism for a year; maybe that explained a little.
-
-Anyhow 'twas young Ike that picked himself to
-be postmaster instead of me and he and Phipps
-got the West-Enders, fifty or so of 'em, to sign a
-petition askin' that a new app'intment be made. I
-couldn't be removed except on charges, so a lot of
-charges was made. Fust, the post-office, bein' in
-the Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes
-and Fancy Goods Store, was too far from the center
-of the town. Second, I was neglectin' the office
-and my assistant—Mary, that is—was really doin'
-the whole of the government work. There was some
-truth in this, because Mary knew a good deal more
-about mail work than I did, and was as capable a
-woman as ever lived; and besides, Jim Henry and
-I had been so busy with our store and the "Windmill
-Restaurant," and our other by-product ventures, that
-I *had* left Mary to run the post-office. But it was
-run better than any post-office ever was run afore
-in Ostable and everybody with brains knew it.
-
-Third.... But never mind the rest of the
-charges, they didn't amount to anything. In fact,
-there was so little to 'em that when the West End
-petition went in to Washin'ton, I didn't take the
-trouble to send one of my own, though Jacobs
-thought I'd better and a hundred folks asked me to
-and said they'd sign. I just wrote to the Post-office
-Department and told them that I was ready to submit
-my case, if there was any need for it, and if they
-cared to send a representative to investigate, I'd be
-tickled to death to see him. They wrote back that
-they'd look into the matter, and that's the way it
-stood when Jim and Georgianna left and it stayed
-so until the lost letter affair run me bows fust onto
-the rocks and turned the situation from ridiculousness
-into something that looked likely to be mighty serious
-for me.
-
-It come about—same as such jolts generally come—when
-I was least ready for it. Jim Henry had
-been gone three weeks or more. 'Twas February
-and none of my influential friends amongst the summer
-folks was on hand to help. No, Mary and I
-were all alone and sailin' free with what looked like
-a fair wind, when "Bump!"—all at once our craft
-was half full of water and sinkin' fast.
-
-That mornin' the mail was a little mite late and
-there wa'n't any store trade to speak of. Mary was
-in the post-office place writin', the usual gang of
-loafers was settin' around the stove, and I was out
-front talkin' with Sim Kelley, who lived up to the
-west end of the town, amongst the mutineers.
-'Twas from Sim that I got most of my news about
-the doin's of the Phipps and Hamilton crowd. He
-was a great, hulkin', cross-eyed lubber, too lazy to
-get out of his own way, and as shif'less as a body
-could be and take pains enough to live.
-
-"Sim," says I to him, "I thought you said old
-man Hamilton was in bed with his rheumatiz. I
-saw him up street as I was comin' by. He looked
-pretty feeble, but he was toddlin' along on foot just
-as he always does. Rheumatic or not, it's all the
-same. I cal'late the old critter wouldn't spend
-enough money to hire a team if he was dyin'."
-
-Sim was surprised, and not only surprised, but,
-seemingly, a little mite worried. Why he should
-be worried because Ichabod was takin' chances with
-his diseases I couldn't see.
-
-"Old man Hamilton!" says he. "Is he out a
-cold mornin' like this? Where was he bound?"
-
-"Don't know," says I. "He stopped into the
-drug store when I saw him. Whether that was his
-final port of call or not I don't know."
-
-He seemed to be thinkin' it over. Then he got
-up and walked to the door.
-
-"He ain't in sight nowheres," he says. "Guess
-he wa'n't comin' as far as here, 'tain't likely."
-
-"Well," says I, "how's the rest of the family?
-The hopeful leader of the forlorn hope—how's
-he?"
-
-"Ike?" he says. "Oh, he's all right. He's a
-mighty smart young feller, Ike is."
-
-"Yes," says I, "so I've heard him say. Gettin'
-ready to stand in with him when he gets my job,
-are you, Sim?"
-
-That shook him up a mite. 'Twas common talk
-around town that Sim and Ike was pretty thick. He
-turned red under his freckles.
-
-"No, no!" he sputtered. "Course I ain't! I'm
-standin' by you, Cap'n Snow, and you know it. But,
-all the same, Ike's a smart boy. He's gettin' rich
-fast, Ike is."
-
-"Sold another cookstove, has he?"
-
-"He sells a lot of 'em. Sold two last month.
-But that ain't it. He's got foresight and friends in
-the stock exchange up to Boston. He's buyin' copper
-stocks and they—"
-
-He stopped short; thought his tongue was runnin'
-away with him, I presume likely. But I was interested
-and I kept on.
-
-"Oh!" says I; "he's buyin' coppers, is he? Well,
-where does he get the U. S. coppers to do it with?
-Is Uncle Ichabod backin' him? Has the old man's
-rheumatiz struck to his brains?"
-
-"Course he ain't backin' him. *He* don't know
-nothin' of stocks. He ain't up-to-date same as
-Ike. But he'll be glad enough when his nephew
-makes fifty thousand. When he finds that out
-he'll—"
-
-"He'll never find it out on this earth," I cut in.
-"If he found out that Ike made fifty dollars, all on
-his own hook, he'd drop dead with heart disease.
-If he didn't, everybody else in town would. But
-it takes money to buy stocks, don't it? I never knew
-Ike had any cash of his own."
-
-"He's in the firm, ain't he! And Hamilton and
-Co. are——Hello! here comes the depot
-wagon."
-
-Sure enough, 'twas the depot wagon with the mail.
-I took the bags from the driver and went back to
-help Mary sort. I'd taken to helpin' her a good
-deal lately—more since Jacobs left than ever afore.
-She said there wa'n't any need of it, but I didn't
-agree with her. Of course I realized that I was
-an old fool—but, somehow or other, I felt more
-and more contented with life when I was alongside
-of Mary. She and I understood each other and
-I'd come to depend upon her same as a man might
-on his sister—or his—well, or anybody, you understand,
-that he thought a good deal of and knew was
-square and—and so on. And she seemed to feel
-the same way about me.
-
-We sorted the mail together, puttin' it in the different
-boxes and such. And almost the fust thing
-I run across was that registered letter addressed to
-"Ichabod Hamilton, Jr." 'Twas a long envelope
-and up in one corner of it was printed the name of
-a Boston broker's firm. I laid it out by itself and
-went on sortin'.
-
-When the sortin' and distributin' was over and the
-crowd had gone, I called to Sim Kelley. We didn't
-have Rural Free Delivery then and Sim carried the
-West End mail box; that is, a lot of the folks up
-that way chipped in and paid him so much for deliverin'
-their mail to 'em.
-
-"Sim," says I, "there's a registered letter here
-for young Ike Hamilton. If I give it to you will
-you be careful and see that he signs the receipt and
-the like of that?"
-
-He was outside the partition and he come to the
-little window and took the letter from me. He
-acted mighty interested.
-
-"Gosh!" says he, grinnin', "I wouldn't wonder
-if this was.... Humph! Oh, I'll be careful
-of it! don't you worry about that."
-
-Just then Mary called to me. I went over to
-where she was settin' at her desk.
-
-"Cap'n Zeb," she whispered, "I wouldn't send
-that letter by Sim. It is important, or it would not
-be registered, and Sim is so irresponsible. If anything
-*should* happen it would give Mr. Hamilton
-and the rest such a chance. And they have accused
-us of bein' careless already."
-
-They had, that was a fact. One or two letters
-had gone astray durin' the past six months and the
-loss of 'em was described, with trimmin's, in the
-West End charges and petition. And Sim *was* a
-lunkhead. I thought it over a jiffy and then I called
-to Kelley once more. He was just comin' to the
-hooks by the door outside the mail-box racks where
-Mary and I and the store clerk—the one we'd hired
-in place of 'Dolph—hung our overcoats and hats.
-Sim had hung his coat there that mornin'.
-
-"Sim," I said, "let me see that registered letter
-of Ike Hamilton's again, will you?" He took it
-out of his pocket and passed it to me.
-
-"All right," says I; "you needn't bother about
-this. I'll send a notice by you that it's here and Ike
-can call for it himself. I won't take any chances of
-your losin' it."
-
-Well, you'd ought to have seen him! His face
-blazed up like a Fourth of July tar-barrel.
-"Chances!" he sung out. "What are you talkin'
-about? I cal'late I'm able to carry a letter without
-losin' it. I ain't a kid."
-
-"Maybe not," says I, "but you ain't goin' to lose
-this one, kid or not. Here's the notice, all made
-out."
-
-"Notice be darned!" he snarled. "You give
-me that letter. Hamilton and Co. pay me to carry
-their mail, don't they? And, besides, Ike told me
-particular that he was expectin'—"
-
-He pulled up short again.
-
-"Well?" says I. "Heave ahead. What's the
-rest of it?"
-
-"Nothin'," he answered, ugly; "but you've got
-no right to say I can't carry a letter when I'm paid
-to do it. As for losin' things, there's others besides
-me that lose mail in this town."
-
-There's no use arguin' when a matter's all settled.
-I handed him the notice and walked off, leavin' him
-standin' outside that partition, sore as a scalded cat.
-
-I looked at my watch. 'Twas twelve o'clock, my
-dinner time. I walked out to the hook rack, took
-down my overcoat and put it on. I had the Hamilton
-letter in my hand. There wa'n't any reason why
-I should be more worried about that registered letter
-than any other, but I was, just the same. Maybe
-'twas because 'twas Ike's and he was so anxious to
-make trouble for me. Somehow or other I couldn't
-feel safe till he got it and signed the receipt. I
-thought for a minute and then I decided I'd walk
-up to Hamilton and Co.'s and deliver it myself.
-That decision was foolish, maybe, but I felt better
-when 'twas made. I put the letter in the inside
-pocket of the overcoat I had on, and just as I was
-doin' it Mary come out of the post-office room with
-her hat on.
-
-"Oh!" says she, "are you goin' out, Cap'n Zeb?
-I thought—"
-
-Then I remembered. She'd asked to go to dinner
-fust that day and I'd told her of course she could.
-I begged her pardon and said I'd forgot. I'd wait
-till she got back. So, after makin' sure that I didn't
-care, she took her coat from the hook, put it on and
-went out.
-
-I took off my overcoat and, just as I did so, somethin'
-fell on the floor. I stooped and picked it up.
-I swan to man if it wasn't that pesky Hamilton letter!
-Thinks I, "That's funny!" I put my hand
-into the pocket where it had been and there was a
-hole right through the linin'. Now if there's one
-thing I'm fussy about it is that my pockets are whole.
-And I *knew* this one ought to be whole. So I looked
-at the coat and I'm blessed if it was mine at all!
-'Twas Sim Kelley's! Both coats had been hangin'
-together on the hook-rack and both was blue and
-about the same size. I'd been saved by a miracle,
-as you might say.
-
-I was comin' to feel more and more as if there
-was some sort of fate about that registered letter.
-I took it back into the post-office room, handlin' it as
-careful as if 'twas solid gold, and laid it down on the
-sortin' bench behind the letter boxes. And then
-somebody spoke to me through the little window.
-
-"Cap'n Zeb," says Sim Kelley, "there's a man
-just drove over from Bayport to see you. Come in
-Gabe Lumley's buggy, he did. His name's Peters
-and Gabe says he's got some sort of government
-job."
-
-"Government job?" says I. And then it flashed
-through my mind who the feller might be. The
-Post-office Department had said they might send an
-investigator. I didn't care for that, but I did wish
-Sim hadn't seen him.
-
-"Oh," says I; "all right. It's the lighthouse
-inspector, I shouldn't wonder. Guess 'tain't me he
-is after. Probably I ain't the Snow he wants to
-see; it's Henry Snow over to the Point. Where
-is he?"
-
-"Out on the platform," says Sim. I hurried out
-of the post-office room, lockin' the door careful
-astern of me. The man Peters was just comin' into
-the store. I met him at the front door. We shook
-hands and he introduced himself. 'Twas the investigator,
-sure enough.
-
-"Glad to see you," says I. "I know that may
-sound like a lie, but, as it happens, it ain't in this
-case. I ain't got anything to be ashamed of and the
-sooner the government finds that out the better I'll
-be pleased."
-
-He laughed. He was a real good chap, this
-Peters man, and I took to him right off the reel.
-We stood there talkin' and laughin' and says he:
-
-"Well, Cap'n," he says, "I'll tell you frankly
-that I'm not very much worried about the conduct
-of your office here at Ostable. I've made some
-inquiries about you, here and in Washin'ton, and the
-answers are pretty satisfactory. Congressman
-Shelton seems to be a friend of yours."
-
-I grinned. "Yes," says I, "but Shelton's prejudiced,
-I'm afraid. He and old Major Clark ate a
-chowder once that I cooked and ever since they've
-both swore by me."
-
-He laughed, though I could see Shelton hadn't
-told him the yarn.
-
-"Humph!" says he, "that's unusual, isn't it?
-Judgin' by some chowders *I've* eaten, it would be
-easier to swear *at* the cook. Speakin' of eatables,
-though, reminds me that I'm hungry. Where's a
-good place to get a meal around here?"
-
-"Nowhere," says I, prompt; "not at this season
-of the year, with the summer dinin'-room closed.
-But, if you'll wait until my assistant gets back, I'll
-pilot you down to the Poquit House, where I feed,
-and we'll face the wust together."
-
-He was willin' to risk it, he said, and we walked
-back and set down in the post-office department. As
-we left the front door Sim Kelley went out of it,
-luggin' his West-End mail box. Peters and I talked.
-Seems he hadn't come to the Cape a-purpose to investigate
-me, but he had a job at the Bayport office and
-had took me in on the way home. After a spell
-Mary come back and Peters and I headed for the
-Poquit, where the cold fish balls and warmed-over
-beans was waitin'.
-
-On the way I saw old man Hamilton, Ike's uncle,
-totterin' along, headin' to the west'ard this time. I
-pointed him out to Peters.
-
-"There goes," I says, "one of the fellers that's
-trying to knock me out of my job."
-
-"Humph!" says he; "he looks pretty near
-knocked out himself. Why, he's all bent out of
-shape."
-
-"Yes," I told him. "Ichabod's bent, but he's
-far from broke. And a tough old limb like him
-stands a lot of bendin'."
-
-I was feelin' pretty good. With a square man
-like this Peters to look into matters, I cal'lated I'd
-be postmaster for a spell yet.
-
-But that afternoon, about three o'clock, as we was
-inside the mail room, Mary at her desk, and Peters
-alongside of her, goin' over the books and papers,
-and me smokin' in a chair nigh the delivery window,
-Ike Hamilton walked into the store.
-
-"Afternoon, Snow," says he, pert and important
-as ever, "I understand there's a registered letter
-for me. I s'pose it is part of your business to refuse
-to give it to the regular carrier and put me to the
-trouble of walkin' way down here."
-
-"I s'pose 'tis," says I.
-
-"Yes," he says. "Well, if you were as careful
-to put your partic'lar friends to the same inconvenience
-there might not be as much talk about you and
-your handlin' of this office as there is now."
-
-"Oh, yes, there would," I told him. "There'd
-always be more talk than anything else where you
-lived, Ike. Want your letter, do you?"
-
-He was mad, but he held in pretty well.
-
-"I do—if gettin' it won't make you work *too*
-hard," he says, sarcastic. "I should hate to see you
-really work."
-
-"Yes," I says, "the sight of work never was a
-joy to you, 'cordin' to all accounts. Well, here's
-your letter."
-
-I reached down to the sortin' table where I'd laid
-the letter at noon time—and it wa'n't there.
-
-I hunted that table over. "Mary," says I, "did
-you put that registered letter of Mr. Hamilton's
-away somewheres?"
-
-She looked surprised and, it seemed to me, rather
-anxious.
-
-"Why no!" says she; "I haven't touched it."
-
-Whew!... Well, there was a lively hunt
-in that mail room for the next ten minutes, but it
-ended in nothin'.
-
-Ike Hamilton's registered letter was *gone*!
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XV—HOW IKE'S LOSS TURNED OUT TO BE MY GAIN
-==================================================
-
-
-There's no use dwelling on unpleasantness.
-And there's no use tellin' what Ike Hamilton
-said. I'd be liable to the law, if I
-did tell it, and, besides, I've been away from seafarin'
-so long that my memory for such language ain't as
-good as 'twas. Ike wa'n't only mad now: he was
-ha'f crazy, and pale and scared-lookin' besides. The
-interview ended by my takin' him by the arm and
-leadin' him to the door.
-
-"You get out of here," I told him, "and I'll leave
-this door open so's to sweeten the air after you.
-That letter of yours has turned up missin' and I'm
-mighty sorry. I'll find it, though, or die a-tryin'.
-Meanwhile, unless you can behave like a decent
-human bein'—which I doubt—you'll find it turrible
-unhealthy for you on these premises. Understand?"
-
-I cal'late he understood, for he waited till he was
-out of reach afore he answered. Then he turned
-and snarled at me like a kicked dog.
-
-"By the Almighty, Zeb Snow," he says, "this is
-the wust day's work *you* ever did! That letter's
-wuth hundreds of dollars to me and I'll sue you for
-every cent. And, more'n that," he says, "this is the
-last straw that'll break your back as postmaster of
-this town. *You're* done! and don't you forget it!"
-
-I wa'n't likely to forget it—not to any consider'ble
-extent.
-
-Well, all the rest of that day and for the next two
-days, Mary and Peters and I hunted high and low
-for that letter; but we couldn't find it. I was worried,
-Peters was worried, and Mary Blaisdell seemed
-the most worried of any of us. Ike Hamilton come
-in every few hours, and, though he blustered and
-threatened a whole lot, he kept a civil tongue in his
-head, rememberin', I cal'late, what I said to him when
-I showed him the door. Apparently he hadn't told
-any of his cronies about his loss, for nobody else said
-a word about it to me. This was queer, for I expected
-the news would be all over town by this time.
-
-Peters asked a lot of questions and I done my best
-to satisfy him. I showed him the exact place where
-I laid the letter down afore I went to the front of
-the store to meet him, and he remembered, same as
-I did, that the door to the mail room was locked
-when we come back to it. And we'd stayed in that
-room together until Mary came and we went to dinner.
-Nobody but Mary and I had keys to the room,
-either.
-
-Course I thought of Sim Kelley and how mad
-he was because I took the letter away from him,
-and Peters and I cross-questioned him pretty sharp.
-But he told a straight yarn and stuck to it. He
-hadn't seen the letter since I took it. He'd delivered
-the notice to Ike and Ike had said he'd call
-and get the letter that afternoon. Well, all that
-seemed to be true, and, besides, there was no way
-Sim could have got hold of the thing if he'd wanted
-to.
-
-"No use," says I, when the questionin' was over
-and Sim had cleared out, protestin' injured innocence
-and almost cryin'. "No use," says I, "I cal'late
-he's tellin' the truth for once in his life. I
-guess his skirts are clear."
-
-"Maybe so," says Peters. "His story is straight
-enough; but he don't look you in the face; I don't
-like that."
-
-"That's nothin'," I said. "He'd have to get
-'round the corner to look a body in the face, as cross-eyed
-as he is."
-
-Mary Blaisdell spoke up then. "If this letter
-shouldn't be found at all, Mr. Peters," says she,
-"what effect would it have on Cap'n Zeb's position
-as postmaster?"
-
-Peters was pretty solemn, and he shook his head.
-
-"Well," he says, "to be perfectly frank with you,
-Cap'n, it might have consider'ble effect. From
-what I've seen of you and this office, generally
-speakin', my report to headquarters would be a very
-favorable one. Your records and accounts are
-straight and the place is neat and well kept. But
-your opponent's petition charges that several letters
-have been lost already. This loss comes at a very
-bad time and it *might* be considered serious."
-
-I'd realized all this, but it didn't help me much
-to hear him say it. I didn't make any answer, but
-Mary asked another question.
-
-"But if," she says, slow, "it should turn out that
-the Cap'n was not to blame at all? If someone else
-had lost that letter? He wouldn't be removed
-*then*?"
-
-"No, certainly not. That is, not if my report
-counted for anything."
-
-"I see," says she; and she didn't speak to us
-again that afternoon. Peters, though, had more
-questions to ask. What sort of a letter was this,
-anyhow? And did I have any idea what was in it?
-
-I told him that I didn't really know much, but,
-bein' a Yankee, I was subject to the guessin' habit.
-Ike Hamilton had been buyin' stocks up to Boston
-and this letter had a broker firm's name printed on
-the envelope. My guess was that there was some
-certificates, or such, inside.
-
-"I see," he says. "That would explain what he
-said about its value. So he's been speculatin', hey?"
-
-"So Sim Kelley hinted. But where the money
-comes from I don't see. Old Ichabod don't furnish
-it, I'll bet a dollar. The old critter's got cramps in
-the pocketbook worse than he has in his back."
-
-"That was the old feller you pointed out to me
-the other day," he says. "I haven't seen him since.
-Where is he?"
-
-"Back in bed with the rheumatiz, so I hear.
-Guess his cruise down town was too much for him."
-
-Well, the rest of our talk didn't amount to much
-and I went home that night pretty blue and discouraged.
-I didn't care so much about bein' postmaster,
-but it hurt my pride to be bounced for bad
-seamanship. I'd never wrecked a craft afore in
-my life.
-
-Next mornin' I come to the store at my usual time,
-but Mary was late, for a wonder. When she did
-come she looked so pale and used up that I was
-troubled.
-
-"Mary," says I, "what's the matter? Ain't sick,
-are you?"
-
-"Oh, no!" says she. "I—I didn't sleep well,
-that's all. I'm all right."
-
-"But, Mary," I says, "I—"
-
-"Please excuse me, Cap'n Zeb," she cut in.
-"I'm very busy."
-
-She'd never used that tone to me afore, and I was
-set back about forty mile. Why she should be so
-frosty I couldn't see. I went out to the platform
-and paced the quarter deck, thinkin'. I was down
-at the heel anyway, and I thought a whole lot of
-fool things. I was goin' to lose my job and so I
-s'posed that, after all, I'd ought to expect my friends
-to shake me. There's a proverb about rats leavin'
-a leaky vessel. But Mary Blaisdell!! I cal'late I
-come as nigh wishin' I was dead as ever I did in my
-life.
-
-'Twas almost eleven afore the Peters man showed
-up. He was walkin' brisk and smilin' a little.
-
-"Well," says I, "you're lookin' a heap more
-chipper than I feel. What are you grinnin' about?"
-
-"Oh, just for instance," he says. "Is Miss
-Blaisdell in the office?"
-
-"Guess so. She was awhile ago. Yes, she's
-there. Why?"
-
-"I want to see her—and you, too. Come on."
-
-He led the way to the mail room. Mary was
-there, workin' at her books. She looked up when
-we come in, and her face was whiter than ever. I
-forgot all about my "rat" thoughts and the rest
-of it.
-
-"Mary," says I, anxious, "you *are* under the
-weather. Why don't you go home?"
-
-She held up her hand and stopped me.
-
-"Please don't," she says.
-
-Then, turnin' to Peters: "Mr. Peters, I want
-to speak to you. And to you, too, Cap'n Zeb. I—I've
-got somethin' that I must tell you."
-
-'Twa'n't so much what she said as the way she said
-it. I looked at Peters and he looked at me. I cal'late
-we was both wonderin' what sort of lightnin'
-was goin' to strike now.
-
-She didn't leave us to wonder long. She went
-right on, speakin' quick, as if she wanted to get it
-over with.
-
-"Mr. Peters," she says, "last night you told me
-that, if it should be proved that Cap'n Zeb had no
-part in losin' that letter, if it wasn't his fault at all,
-the postmastership wouldn't be taken from him.
-You meant that, didn't you?"
-
-Peters looked queer enough. "Why, yes," he
-says, "I did. But how—"
-
-"Mr. Peters," she went on, in the same hurried
-way, "*I* lost that letter."
-
-I don't know what Peters did then, but I know
-that my knees give from under me and I flopped
-down in the armchair.
-
-"You? *You*, Mary!" says I.
-
-Peters seemed to be as much flabbergasted as I
-was. He rubbed his forehead.
-
-"*You* lost it?" he says, slow.
-
-"Yes," says she. "That is, I—I destroyed it
-by accident. It was while you two were at dinner.
-I was clearin' up the sortin' table and—and puttin'
-the waste paper in the stove. I—I must have
-taken the letter with the other things."
-
-"Nonsense!" I sung out. Peters didn't say
-nothin'.
-
-"Nonsense!" I said again. "You don't know
-that 'twas—"
-
-"But I do," she interrupted. "I—I saw it
-burnin' and—and it was too late to get it out. It
-was my fault altogether. No one else is to blame
-at all."
-
-If I hadn't been settin' down already you could
-have knocked me over with a feather. 'Twas an
-accident, of course; anybody might have done such
-a thing; but what I couldn't understand was why she
-hadn't told me of it afore. That didn't seem like
-her at all.
-
-"Well!" I says; "*well*!"
-
-Peters had transferred his rubbin' from his forehead
-to his chin.
-
-"Miss Blaisdell," says he, quiet, "why didn't you
-tell us sooner?"
-
-"That's all right," I cut in, quick. "I don't
-blame her for not tellin'. I cal'late that she felt so
-bad about it that she couldn't make up her mind to
-tell right off. That was it, wa'n't it, Mary?"
-
-She didn't look up, but sat playin' with a pen-holder.
-
-"Yes," she says, "that was it."
-
-"All right then," says I. "It was an accident,
-and if anybody's to blame it's me. I shouldn't have
-left the letter there."
-
-*Then* she looked up. "Of course you're not to
-blame," she says, awful earnest. "It was my fault
-entirely. You know it was, Mr. Peters. It was
-my fault and I must take the consequences. I will
-resign my place as assistant and—"
-
-"Resign!" I sung out. "Resign! Well, I guess
-not!"
-
-"But I shall. Of course I shall. Mr. Peters,
-you see that it wasn't Cap'n Snow's fault, don't you?
-*Don't* you?"
-
-"Yes," says Peters, short.
-
-"Nonsense!" I roared. "He don't see no such
-thing. Mary, I don't care—"
-
-She held up her hand. "Please don't talk to me
-now," she begged. "Please—not now."
-
-I looked at Peters. There was a look in his eyes,
-almost as if he was smilin' inside. I could have
-punched his head for it.
-
-"But, Mary—" I begun.
-
-"Please don't talk to me," she begged, almost
-cryin'. "Please go away and leave me now.
-Please."
-
-I cal'late I shouldn't have gone; fact is, I know
-I shouldn't; but that government investigator put his
-hand on my arm.
-
-"Cap'n," he says, "come with me."
-
-"With you?" I snapped. "Why?"
-
-"Because I want you to. It's important. I
-won't keep you long."
-
-I went, but he'll never know how much I wanted
-to kick him. As I shut the door of the mail room
-I saw poor Mary's head go down on her arms on
-the desk.
-
-Peters led me out to the front of the store, where
-he come to anchor on a shoe-case.
-
-"Set down," says he, pattin' the case alongside
-of him.
-
-"I don't feel like settin'," I says, ugly. "And
-I tell you, Mr. Peters—"
-
-"No," says he, "I'm goin' to tell *you* this time.
-Or, if I'm not, the feller I told to be here at half past
-eleven will. Yes ... here he comes now."
-
-In at the door comes Sim Kelley, and, if ever a
-chap looked as if he was marchin' to be hung, he
-did. His eyes was red and his face was white under
-the freckles.
-
-"Here—here I be, Mr. Peters," he stammered.
-
-"Yes, I see you 'be,'" says Peters, dry as a chip.
-"All right. Now you can tell Cap'n Snow what you
-told me this mornin'."
-
-Sim looked at me, and at the government man.
-He was shakin' all over.
-
-"Aw, Cap'n Zeb," he bust out, "don't be too
-hard on me. Don't put me in jail! I know I
-hadn't ought to have taken that letter, but you riled
-me up when you told me I couldn't be trusted with
-it. Ike pays me to fetch the mail. And he told me
-he was expectin' an important letter from them stockbrokers.
-So I—"
-
-Well, there's no use tryin' to spin the yarn the
-way he did. 'Twas all mixed up with prayers about
-not puttin' him in jail, and what would his ma say,
-and "pleases" and "oh, dont's" and such. B'iled
-down and skimmed it amounted to this: He'd seen
-me lay that Hamilton letter on the sortin' table, saw
-it when he come back to tell me that Peters had
-arrived. After I'd gone out to the platform he was
-struck with an idea. He *would* take that letter to
-Ike, just to show that he could be trusted, and, besides
-Ike had promised him fifty cents for lookin'
-out for it and fetchin' it to him direct. He had a
-key to the Hamilton box and the letter laid right
-back of that box. All he had to do was to reach
-through the box to the table, take the letter, and lock
-up again. So he did it, and put the letter in his
-overcoat inside pocket.
-
-"And—and—" he finished up, almost blubberin',
-"there was a great big hole in that pocket
-and I didn't know it."
-
-"I did," says I, involuntary, so to speak.
-"Never mind. Heave ahead."
-
-"And the letter must have dropped out of it.
-When I got a little ways up the road I found 'twas
-gone. I didn't dast tell Ike or you. I—I didn't
-*dast* to. Ike would kill me if I told him, and—and—Oh,
-please, Cap'n Zeb, don't put me in jail! I
-don't know where the letter is. Honest, I don't!
-*Please* ..." and so on.
-
-Peters cut him short. "There!" says he, "that'll
-do. Kelley, you go out on the platform and wait
-till we need you. Go ahead! Shut up—and
-go."
-
-Sim went, but I cal'late if we'd listened we could
-have heard the platform boards tremblin' underneath
-where he was standin'.
-
-Peters looked at me and grinned. 'Twas my time
-to rub my forehead.
-
-"Well!" says I. "Well, I—I.... Is he
-lyin'?"
-
-"Didn't act like it, did he?"
-
-"No-o, he didn't. But—but, if he took that letter,
-how did it get back onto that sortin' table?"
-
-"How do you know it did?"
-
-"How do I know! Course it got back there!
-Didn't Mary say—"
-
-"Wait a minute," he put in. "How do you explain
-that, Cap'n?"
-
-He was holdin' out somethin' that he'd took from
-his pocket. I grabbed it. 'Twas the regular
-receipt for that registered letter, and 'twas signed by
-Ichabod Hamilton, Junior.
-
-I looked at that receipt and then at him. The
-paddin' in my head that, up to then, I'd complimented
-by callin' brains was whirlin' as if somebody
-was stirrin' it. I couldn't say a word. He laughed
-out loud.
-
-"Don't have a fit, Cap'n Snow," he says. "It's
-simple enough. What you told me yesterday about
-the firm of Hamilton and Co. put me wise to the
-real answer to the riddle. I remembered that you
-pointed out Hamilton to me on the street when you
-and I were on the way to that hotel where we dined
-the noon of my arrival. He was on his way home
-then and he had been somewhere in this vicinity.
-There was a chance that he had been here at the
-office. This mornin' I went to his house and found
-him in bed. He was full of rheumatism and groans,
-but fuller still of the Evil One. I told him I knew
-he'd got his partner's registered letter—a bluff of
-course—and he didn't take the trouble to deny it.
-Seems Sim Kelley, with the mail box, passed him
-right here by the store platform. As they passed
-each other the letter fell from Kelley's overcoat
-pocket. The old man picked it up, intendin' to call
-to Kelley and give it back to him. When he saw
-the address he didn't."
-
-He stopped then, waitin' for me to say somethin',
-I s'pose. But I couldn't say anything. My head
-was fuller of stir-about than ever, and I just stared
-at him with my mouth open.
-
-"When he saw the address—and the name of
-the brokerage firm—he didn't. He took that letter
-home and opened it. You see, the old feller is
-nobody's fool, even if his rheumatism has kept him
-from active business for the last few months. He
-had suspected his nephew of speculatin' and here was
-the proof, a hundred shares of cheap minin' stock,
-and a letter sayin' that two hundred more had been
-bought on a margin. Young Hamilton had been
-stockjobbin' with the firm's money."
-
-"My—soul!" was all I could say.
-
-"Yes; well, old Ichabod is—ha! ha!—a queer
-character. His rheumatism had come back and he
-was waitin' to get better afore he took the matter
-up with his partner. 'What I'll say and do to that
-young pup is a well man's job,' he told me. We had
-a long talk and it ended in his sendin' for Ike. As
-soon as the young chap came I cleared out—that is,
-after I got this receipt signed. That bedroom was
-too sulphurous for me. I could smell brimstone
-even in the front yard. Cap'n, I guess you needn't
-worry about your rival candidate for postmaster.
-He's got troubles enough of his own."
-
-I got up, slow and deliberate, from that shoe-case.
-
-"But—but—" I stuttered.
-
-"Yes? Anything that I haven't made clear?"
-
-"Anything? Why! if all this yarn of yours is
-so—.... But it *can't* be so! Why did Mary
-burn that letter?"
-
-"She didn't."
-
-"But she said she did."
-
-"I know. Well, Cap'n, if you'll remember when
-we talked, the three of us, yesterday, I hinted that
-unless you were cleared of blame in this affair you
-might be removed from office."
-
-"I know, but.... Hey? You mean that
-she lied and put the blame on herself, so as to save
-*me*? So's I'd keep my job?"
-
-"Looks that way to a man up a tree, doesn't it?"
-
-"But why? Why should she sacrifice herself for—for
-me?"
-
-Peters bit the end off of a cigar. "That," says
-he, "don't come under the head of government business."
-
-----
-
-Mary was still at her desk when I walked into the
-mail room. I put my hand on her shoulder.
-
-"Mary," says I, "I know all about it."
-
-She looked at me. Her eyes were wet, and I
-cal'late mine wa'n't as dry as a sand bank in July.
-
-"You know?" she says.
-
-"Yes," says I. And I told her the yarn. Afore
-I got through the color had come back to her cheeks.
-
-"Then you did leave it on the sortin' table after
-all," she says, almost in a whisper.
-
-"Course I did! Didn't I say so?"
-
-"Yes; but Cap'n Zeb, I saw you put that letter
-in your overcoat pocket. I saw you do it, myself."
-
-So there 'twas. I'd forgot to tell her about my
-mistake in the overcoats and she thought I'd lost the
-letter and didn't know it.
-
-"And so," says I, after I'd explained, "you
-thought I'd lost it and yet you took the blame all on
-yourself. You risked your place and told a lie just
-to save me, Mary. Why did you do it?"
-
-"How could I help it?" she says. "You've been
-so good to me and so kind."
-
-"Good and kind be keelhauled!" I sung out.
-"Mary, my goodness and kindness wouldn't explain
-a thing like that. Oh, Mary, don't let's have another
-misunderstandin'. I'm crazy maybe to think
-of such a thing, and I'm ten years older than you,
-and you'll be throwin' yourself away, but, *do* you
-care enough for me to—"
-
-She got up from her desk, all flustered like.
-
-"It's mail time," she says. "I—I must—"
-
-But 'twa'n't mail I was interested in just then. I
-caught her afore she could get away.
-
-"Could you, Mary?" I pleaded. She wouldn't
-look at me, so I put my hand under her chin and
-tipped her head back so I could see her face. 'Twas
-as red as a spring peony, and her eyes were wetter
-than ever. But they were shinin' behind the fog.
-
-Well, about three that afternoon, we were alone
-together in the mail room. Peters, who had as much
-common sense as anybody ever I see, had gone for
-a walk.
-
-Mary was thinkin' things over and says she, "But
-it was too bad," she says, "that all the worry and
-trouble had to come on you just because of that foolish
-Sim Kelley. I'm so sorry."
-
-"Sorry!" says I. "I'm goin' to give Sim a ten-dollar
-bill next time I see him. If I gave him a
-million 'twould be a cheap price for what I've got
-by his buttin' in. Sorry! *I* ain't sorry, I tell you
-that!"
-
-And I've never been sorry since, either.
-
-
-
-
-CHAPTER XVI—I PAY MY OTHER BET
-==============================
-
-
-'Twas June, and Mary and I were in
-New York together, on *our* honeymoon.
-We'd been married, quietly, by the same
-parson that tied the knot for Jim and Georgianna,
-and Georgianna and Jim had been on hand at the
-ceremony. We was cal'latin' to stop in New York
-a few days, then go to Washington, and from there
-to Chicago, and from there to California or the
-Yellerstone, or anywhere that seemed good to us at
-the time. I'd waited fifty years for my weddin'
-tour and I didn't intend to let dollars and cents cut
-much figger, so far as regulatin' the limits of the
-cruise was concerned. Jim Henry and the clerk,
-who'd been swore in as substitute assistant, believed
-they could run the store and post-office while we
-were gone.
-
-Mary and I were walkin' down Broadway together.
-I'd told her I had an errand to do and
-asked her if she wanted to come along. She said
-she did and we were walkin' down Broadway, as I
-said, when all at once I pulled up short.
-
-"What is it?" asked Mary, lookin' to see what
-had run across my bows to bring me up into the
-wind so sudden.
-
-"Nothin' serious," says I; "but, unless my eyesight
-is goin' back on me, this shop we're in front
-of is what I've been huntin' for."
-
-She looked at the shop I was p'intin' at. The
-window was full of hats, straw ones mainly.
-
-"Why!" says she, "it's a hat store, isn't it?
-You don't need a new hat, Zebulon, do you?"
-
-"You bet I do!" says I, chucklin'. "I need
-just as much hat as there is. Come in and watch
-me buy it."
-
-I could see she was puzzled, but she was more
-so after I got into the store. A slick-lookin', but
-pretty condescendin' young clerk marched up to us
-and says he:
-
-"Somethin' in a hat, sir?"
-
-"Yes, sir," says I; "*everything* in a hat."
-
-He didn't know what to make of that, so he tried
-again.
-
-"One of our new straws, perhaps?" he asks.
-"The fifteenth is almost here, you know."
-
-"Maybe so," I told him, "but I don't want any
-straw, the fifteenth or the sixteenth either. I want
-a plug hat, a beaver hat—that's what I want."
-
-The clerk was a little set back, I guess, but poor
-Mary was all at sea.
-
-"Why, Zebulon!" she whispers, grabbin' me by
-the arm, "what are you doin'? You're not goin'
-to buy a silk hat!"
-
-"Yes, I am," says I.
-
-"But you aren't goin' to *wear* it."
-
-To save me, when I looked at her face I couldn't
-help laughin'.
-
-"Ain't I?" says I. "Why, I think I'd look too
-cute for anything in a tall hat. What's your opinion?"
-turnin' to the clerk.
-
-He coughed behind his hand and then made proclamation
-that a silk hat would become me very well,
-he was sure.
-
-"Then you're a whole lot surer than I am," says
-I. "However, trot one out, the best article you've
-got in stock."
-
-That clerk's back was gettin' limberer every second.
-"Yes, sir," says he, bowin'. "Our imported
-hat at ten dollars is the finest in New York.
-If you and the lady will step this way, please."
-
-We stepped; that is, I did. I pretty nigh had to
-*drag* Mary.
-
-"What size, sir?" asked the clerk.
-
-"Oh, I don't know," says I. "Any nice genteel
-size will do, I guess."
-
-I had consider'ble fun with that clerk, fust and
-last, and when we came out of that store I was
-luggin' a fine leather box with the imported tall hat
-inside it. I'd made arrangements that, if the size
-shouldn't be right, it could be exchanged.
-
-"And now, Mary," says I, "I cal'late you're
-wonderin' where we'll go next, ain't you?"
-
-She looked at me and shook her head.
-
-"Zeb," she says, half laughin', "I—I'm almost
-afraid we ought to go to the insane asylum."
-
-I laughed out loud then. "Not just yet," I told
-her. "We're goin' on a cruise down South Street
-fust."
-
-So I hired a hack—street cars ain't good enough
-for a man on his weddin' trip—and the feller drove
-us to the number I give him on South Street. The
-old place looked mighty familiar.
-
-"Is Mr. Pike in?" I asked the bookkeeper, who
-had hollered my name out as if he was glad to see
-me.
-
-"Why, yes, Cap'n Snow, he's in. I'll tell him
-you're here."
-
-"Wait a minute," says I. "Is he alone?
-Good! Then I'll tell him myself. Come, Mary."
-
-Pike was in his private office, not lookin' a day
-older than when I left him four years and a half
-ago. He looked up, jumped, and then grabbed
-me by both hands. "Why, Cap'n Zeb!" he sung
-out. "If this isn't good for sore eyes. How are
-you? What are you doin' here in New York? By
-George, I'm glad to see you! What—"
-
-"Wait!" I interrupted. "Business fust, and
-pleasure afterwards. I'm here to pay my debts."
-
-"Debts?" says he, wonderin'.
-
-"Yes," I says. "Did you get a hat from me
-four year or so ago?"
-
-He laughed. "Yes, I did," he says. "I wrote
-you that I did. I knew I should win that bet. You
-couldn't stay idle to save your soul."
-
-"There was another bet, too, if you recollect.
-A bet with a five-year limit on it. The limit won't
-be up till next fall, so here I am—and here's the
-other hat."
-
-I set the leather box on the table. He stared at
-it and then at me.
-
-"What do you mean?" he says, slow. "I don't
-remember.... Why, yes—I do! You don't
-mean to tell me that you're—"
-
-"That's the hat, ain't it?" I cut in. "You're a
-man of judgment, Mr. Pike, and any time you want
-to set up professionally as a prophet I'd like to take
-stock in the company."
-
-He was beginnin' to smile.
-
-"Then—" says he—"Why, then this must
-be—"
-
-I cut in and stopped him.
-
-"Hold on," says I. "Hold on! I'm prouder
-to be able to say it than I ever was of anything else
-in this world, and I sha'n't let you say it fust. Mr.
-Pike, let me introduce you to my wife—Mrs. Zebulon
-Snow."
-
-About half an hour afterwards he found time to
-look at the hat.
-
-"Whew!" says he. "Cap'n, this is much too
-good a hat for you to buy for me. I'm mighty glad,
-for your sake, that I won the bet, but—"
-
-"Ssh-h! shh!" says I. "Don't say another
-word. Think of what *I* won! Hey, Mary?"
-
-.. class:: center
-
-THE END
--------
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diff --git a/old/2011-09-19-37482-rst/images/illus1.jpg b/old/2011-09-19-37482-rst/images/illus1.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 0aa27dc..0000000 --- a/old/2011-09-19-37482-rst/images/illus1.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/2011-09-19-37482-rst/images/illus2.jpg b/old/2011-09-19-37482-rst/images/illus2.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 9e08852..0000000 --- a/old/2011-09-19-37482-rst/images/illus2.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/2011-09-19-37482-rst/images/illus3.jpg b/old/2011-09-19-37482-rst/images/illus3.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 9f6d9da..0000000 --- a/old/2011-09-19-37482-rst/images/illus3.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/2011-09-19-37482-rst/images/illus4.jpg b/old/2011-09-19-37482-rst/images/illus4.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 62cff99..0000000 --- a/old/2011-09-19-37482-rst/images/illus4.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/2011-09-19-37482.txt b/old/2011-09-19-37482.txt deleted file mode 100644 index cfb3942..0000000 --- a/old/2011-09-19-37482.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8636 +0,0 @@ - THE POSTMASTER - - -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 http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Title: The Postmaster - -Author: Joseph C. Lincoln - -Release Date: September 19, 2011 [EBook #37482] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: US-ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POSTMASTER *** - - - - -Produced by Roger Frank, Mary Meehan, and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. - - BY JOSEPH C. LINCOLN - - Author of "The Depot Master," "Cap'n Warrens Wards," - "Cap'n Eri," "Mr. Pratt," etc. - - _With Four Illustrations_ - _By_ HOWARD HEATH - - A. L. BURT COMPANY - _Publishers New York_ - - _Copyright, 1912, by_ - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY - - Copyright, 1911, 1912, by the Curtis Publishing Company - Copyright, 1911, 1912, by the Ainslee Magazine Company - Copyright, 1912, by the Ridgeway Company - - Published, April, 1912 - - Printed in the United States of America - - ---- - -[Illustration: _Seems to me I never saw her look prettier._] - - ---- - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER I--I MAKE TWO BETS--AND LOSE ONE OF 'EM - CHAPTER II--WHAT A "PULLET" DID TO A PEDIGREE - CHAPTER III--I GET INTO POLITICS - CHAPTER IV--HOW I MADE A CLAM CHOWDER; AND WHAT A CLAM CHOWDER MADE - OF ME - CHAPTER V--A TRAP AND WHAT THE "RAT" CAUGHT IN IT - CHAPTER VI--I RUN AFOUL OF COUSIN LEMUEL - CHAPTER VII--THE FORCE AND THE OBJECT - CHAPTER VIII--ARMENIANS AND INJUNS; LIKEWISE BY-PRODUCTS - CHAPTER IX--ROSES--BY ANOTHER NAME - CHAPTER X--THE SIGN OF THE WINDMILL - CHAPTER XI--COOKS AND CROOKS - CHAPTER XII--JIM HENRY STARTS SCREENIN' - CHAPTER XIII--WHAT CAME THROUGH THE SCREEN - CHAPTER XIV--THE EPISTLE TO ICHABOD - CHAPTER XV--HOW IKE'S LOSS TURNED OUT TO BE MY GAIN - CHAPTER XVI--I PAY MY OTHER BET - - ---- - - THE POSTMASTER - - ---- - - - - -CHAPTER I--I MAKE TWO BETS--AND LOSE ONE OF 'EM - - -"So you're through with the sea for good, are you, Cap'n Zeb," says Mr. -Pike. - -"You bet!" says I. "Through for good is just _what_ I am." - -"Well, I'm sorry, for the firm's sake," he says. "It won't seem natural -for the _Fair Breeze_ to make port without you in command. Cap'n, you're -goin' to miss the old schooner." - -"Cal'late I shall--some--along at fust," I told him. "But I'll get over -it, same as the cat got over missin' the canary bird's singin'; and I'll -have the cat's consolation--that I done what seemed best for me." - -He laughed. He and I were good friends, even though he was ship-owner -and I was only skipper, just retired. - -"So you're goin' back to Ostable?" he says. "What are you goin' to do -after you get there?" - -"Nothin'; thank you very much," says I, prompt. - -"No work at _all_?" he says, surprised. "Not a hand's turn? Goin' to be -a gentleman of leisure, hey?" - -"Nigh as I can, with my trainin'. The 'leisure' part'll be all right, -anyway." - -He shook his head and laughed again. - -"I think I see you," says he. "Cap'n, you've been too busy all your life -even to get married, and--" - -"Humph!" I cut in. "Most married men I've met have been a good deal -busier than ever I was. And a good deal more worried when business was -dull. No, sir-ee! 'twa'n't that that kept me from gettin' married. I've -been figgerin' on the day when I could go home and settle down. If I'd -had a wife all these years I'd have been figgerin' on bein' able to -settle up. I ain't goin' to Ostable to get married." - -"I'll bet you do, just the same," says he. "And I'll bet you somethin' -else: I'll bet a new hat, the best one I can buy, that inside of a year -you'll be head over heels in some sort of hard work. It may not be -seafarin', but it'll be somethin' to keep you busy. You're too good a -man to rust in the scrap heap. Come! I'll bet the hat. What do you say?" - -"Take you," says I, quick. "And if you want to risk another on my -marryin', I'll take that, too." - -"Go you," says he. "You'll be married inside of three years--or five, -anyway." - -"One year that I'll be at work--steady work--and five that I'm married. -You're shipped, both ways. And I wear a seven and a quarter, soft hat, -black preferred." - -"If I don't win the first bet I will the second, sure," he says, -confident. "'Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands,' you know. -Well, good-by, and good luck. Come in and see us whenever you get to New -York." - -We shook hands, and I walked out of that office, the office that had -been my home port ever since I graduated from fust mate to skipper. And -on the way to the Fall River boat I vowed my vow over and over again. - -"Zebulon Snow," I says to myself--not out loud, you understand; for, -accordin' to Scriptur' or the Old Farmers' Almanac or somethin', a -feller who talks to himself is either rich or crazy and, though I was -well enough fixed to keep the wolf from the door, I wa'n't by no means -so crazy as to leave the door open and take chances--"Zebulon Snow," -says I, "you're forty-eight year old and blessedly single. All your life -you've been haulin' ropes, or bossin' fo'mast hands, or tryin' to make -harbor in a fog. Now that you've got an anchor to wind'ard--now that the -one talent you put under the stock exchange napkin has spread out so -that you have to have a tablecloth to tote it home in, don't you be a -fool. Don't plant it again, cal'latin' to fill a mains'l next time, -'cause you won't do it. Take what you've got and be thankful--and -careful. You go ashore at Ostable, where you was born, and settle down -and be somebody." - -That's about what I said to myself, and that's what I started to do. I -made Ostable on the next mornin's train. The town had changed a whole -lot since I left it, mainly on account of so many summer folks buyin' -and buildin' everywhere, especially along the water front. The few -reg'lar inhabitants that I knew seemed to be glad to see me, which I -took as a sort of compliment, for it don't always foller by a -consider'ble sight. I got into the depot wagon--the same horse was -drawin' it, I judged, that Eben Hendricks had bought when I was a -boy--and asked to be carted to the Travelers' Inn. It appeared that -there wa'n't any Travelers' Inn now, that is to say, the name of it had -been changed to the Poquit House; "Poquit" bein' Injun or Portygee or -somethin' foreign. - -But the name was the only thing about that hotel that was changed. The -grub was the same and the wallpaper on the rooms they showed to me -looked about the same age as I was, and wa'n't enough handsomer to -count, either. I hired a couple of them rooms, one to sleep in and smoke -in, and t'other to entertain the parson in, if he should call, -which--unless the profession had changed, too--I judged he would do -pretty quick. I had the rooms cleaned and papered, bought some dyspepsy -medicine to offset the meals I was likely to have, and settled down to -be what Mr. Pike had called a "gentleman of leisure." - -Fust three months 'twas fine. At the end of the second three it -commenced to get a little mite dull. In about two more I found my mind -was shrinkin' so that the little mean cat-talks at the breakfast table -was beginnin' to seem interestin' and important. Then I knew 'twas time -to doctor up with somethin' besides dyspepsy pills. Ossification was -settin' in and I'd got to do somethin' to keep me interested, even if I -paid for Pike's hats for the next generation. - -You see, there was such a sameness to the programme. Turn out in the -mornin', eat and listen to gossip, go out and take a walk, smoke, talk -with folks I met--more gossip--come back and eat again, go over and -watch the carpenters on the latest summer cottage, smoke some more, eat -some more, and then go down to the Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and -Shoes and Fancy Goods Store, or to the post-office, and set around with -the gang till bedtime. That may be an excitin' life for a jellyfish, or -a reg'lar Ostable loafer--but it didn't suit me. - -I was feelin' that way, and pretty desperate, the night when Winthrop -Adams Beanblossom--which wa'n't the critter's name but is nigh enough to -the real one for him to cruise under in this yarn--told me the story of -his life and started me on the v'yage that come to mean so much to me. I -didn't know 'twas goin' to mean much of anything when I started in. But -that night Winthrop got me to paddlin', so's to speak, and, later on, -come Jim Henry Jacobs to coax me into deeper water; and, after that, the -combination of them two and Miss Letitia Lee Pendlebury shoved me in all -under, so 'twas a case of stickin' to it or swimmin' or drownin'. - -I was in the Ostable Store that evenin', as usual. 'Twas almost nine -o'clock and the rest of the bunch around the stove had gone home. I was -fillin' my pipe and cal'latin' to go, too--if you can call a tavern like -the Poquit House a home. Beanblossom was in behind the desk, his funny -little grizzly-gray head down over a pile of account books and papers, -his specs roostin' on the end of his thin nose, and his pen scratchin' -away like a stray hen in a flower bed. - -"Well, Beanblossom," says I, gettin' up and stretchin', "I cal'late it's -time to shed the partin' tear. I'll leave you to figger out whether to -spend this week's profits in government bonds or trips to Europe and go -and lay my weary bones in the tomb, meanin' my private vault on the -second floor of the Poquit. Adieu, Beanblossom," I says; "remember me at -my best, won't you?" - -He didn't seem to sense what I was drivin' at. He lifted his head out of -the books and papers, heaved a sigh that must have started somewheres -down along his keelson, and says, sorrowful but polite--he was always -polite--"Er--yes? You were addressin' me, Cap'n Snow?" - -"Nothin' in particular," I says. "I was just askin' if you intended -spendin' your profits on a trip to Europe this summer." - -Would you believe it, that little storekeepin' man looked at me through -his specs, his pale face twitchin' and workin' like a youngster's when -he's tryin' not to cry, and then, all to once, he broke right down, -leaned his head on his hands and sobbed out loud. - -I looked at him. "For the dear land sakes," I sung out, soon's I could -collect sense enough to say anything, "what is the matter? Is anybody -dead or--" - -He groaned. "Dead?" he interrupted. "I wish to heaven, I was dead." - -"Well!" I gasps. "_Well!_" - -"Oh, why," says he, "was I ever born?" - -That bein' a question that I didn't feel competent to answer, I didn't -try. My remark about goin' to Europe was intended for a joke, but if my -jokes made grown-up folks cry I cal'lated 'twas time I turned serious. - -"What _is_ the matter, Beanblossom?" I says. "Are you in trouble?" - -For a spell he wouldn't answer, just kept on sobbin' and wringin' his -thin hands, but, after consider'ble of such, and a good many -unsatisfyin' remarks, he give in and told me the whole yarn, told me all -his troubles. They were complicated and various. - -Picked over and b'iled down they amounted to this: He used to have an -income and he lived on it--in bachelor quarters up to Boston. Nigh as I -could gather he never did any real work except to putter in libraries -and collect books and such. Then, somehow or other, the bank the heft of -his money was in broke up and his health broke down. The doctors said he -must go away into the country. He couldn't afford to go and do nothin', -so he has a wonderful inspiration--he'll buy a little store in what he -called a "rural community" and go into business. He advertises, "Country -Store Wanted Cheap," or words to that effect. Abial Beasley's widow had -the "Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods Store" -on her hands. She answers the ad and they make a dicker. Said dicker -took about all the cash Beanblossom had left. For a year he had been -fightin' along tryin' to make both ends meet, but now they was so fur -apart they was likely to meet on the back stretch. He owed 'most a -thousand dollars, his trade was fallin' off, he hadn't a cent and nobody -to turn to. What should he do? _What_ should he do? - -That was another question I couldn't answer off hand. It was plain -enough why he was in the hole he was, but how to get him out was -different. I set down on the edge of the counter, swung my legs and -tried to think. - -"Hum," says I, "you don't know much about keepin' store, do you, -Beanblossom? Didn't know nothin' about it when you started in?" - -He shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Cap'n Snow," he says. "Why should I? -I never was obliged to labor. I was not interested in trade. I never -supposed I should be brought to this. I am a man of family, Cap'n Snow." - -"Yes," I says, "so'm I. Number eight in a family of thirteen. But that -never helped me none. My experience is that you can't count much on your -relations." - -Would I pardon him, but that was not the sense in which he had used the -word "family." He meant that he came of the best blood in New England. -His ancestors had made their marks and-- - -"Made their marks!" I put in. "Why? Couldn't they write their names?" - -He was dreadful shocked, but he explained. The Beanblossoms and their -gang were big-bugs, fine folks. He was terrible proud of his family. -During the latter part of his life in Boston he had become interested in -genealogy. He had begun a "family tree"--whatever that was--but he never -finished it. The smash came and shook him out of the branches; that -wa'n't what he said, but 'twas the way I sensed it. And now he had come -to this. His money was gone; he couldn't pay his debts; he couldn't have -any more credit. He must fail; he was bankrupt. Oh, the disgrace! and -likewise oh, the poorhouse! - -"But," says I, considerin', "it can't be so turrible bad. You don't owe -but a thousand dollars, this store's the only one in town and Abial used -to do pretty well with it. If your debts was paid, and you had a little -cash to stock up with, seems to me you might make a decent v'yage yet. -Couldn't you?" - -He didn't know. Perhaps he could. But what was the use of talkin' that -way? For him to pick up a thousand would be about as easy as for a -paralyzed man with boxin' gloves on to pick up a flea, or words to that -effect. No, no, 'twas no use! he must go to the poorhouse! and so forth -and so on. - -"You hold on," I says. "Don't you engage your poorhouse berth yet. You -keep mum and say nothin' to nobody and let me think this over a spell. I -need somethin' to keep me interested and ... I'll see you to-morrow -sometime. Good night." - -I went home thinkin' and I thought till pretty nigh one o'clock. Then I -decided I was a fool even to think for five minutes. Hadn't I sworn to -be careful and never take another risk? I was sorry for poor old -Winthrop, but I couldn't afford to mix pity and good legal tender; that -was the sort of blue and yeller drink that filled the poor-debtors' -courts. And, besides, wasn't I pridin' myself on bein' a gentleman of -leisure. If I got mixed up in this, no tellin' what I might be led into. -Hadn't I bragged to Pike about--Oh, I _was_ a fool! - -Which was all right, only, after listenin' to the breakfast conversation -at the Poquit House, down I goes to the store and afore the forenoon was -over I was Winthrop Adams Beanblossom's silent partner to the extent of -twenty-five hundred dollars. I was busy once more and glad of it, even -though Pike _was_ goin' to get a hat free. - -This was in January. By early March I was twice as busy and not half as -glad. You see I'd cal'lated that the store was all right, all it needed -was financin'. Trade was just asleep, taking a nap, and I could wake it -up. I was wrong. Trade was dead, and, barrin' the comin' of a prophet or -some miracle worker to fetch it to life, what that shop was really -sufferin' for was an undertaker. My twenty-five hundred was funeral -expenses, that's all. - -But the prophet came. Yes, sir, he came and fetched his miracle with -him. One evenin', after all the reg'lar customers, who set around in -chairs borrowin' our genuine tobacco and payin' for it with counterfeit -funny stories, had gone--after everybody, as we cal'lated, had cleared -out--Beanblossom and I set down to hold our usual autopsy over the -remains of the fortni't's trade. 'Twas a small corpse and didn't take -long to dissect. We'd lost twenty-one dollars and sixty-eight cents, and -the only comfort in that was that 'twas seventy-six cents less than the -two weeks previous. The weather had been some cooler and less stuff had -sp'iled on our hands; that accounted for the savin'. - -Beanblossom--I'd got into the habit of callin' him "Pullet" 'cause his -general build was so similar to a moultin' chicken--he vowed he couldn't -understand it. - -"I think I shall give up buyin' so liberally, Cap'n Snow," says he. "If -we didn't keep on buyin' we shouldn't lose half so much," he says. - -"Yes," says I, "that's logic. And if we give up sellin' we shouldn't -lose the other half. You and me are all right as fur as we go, Pullet, -and I guess we've gone about as fur as we can." - -"Please don't call me 'Pullet,'" he says, dignified. "When I think of -what I once was, it--" - -"S-sh-h!" I broke in. "It's what I am that troubles me. I don't dare -think of that when the minister's around--he might be a mind-reader. No, -Pul--Beanblossom, I mean--it's no use. I imagined because I could run a -three-masted schooner I could navigate this craft. I can't. I know twice -as much as you do about keepin' store, but the trouble with that example -is the answer, which is that you don't know nothin'. We might just -exactly as well shut up shop now, while there's enough left to square -the outstandin' debts." - -He turned white and began the hand-wringin' exercise. - -"Think of the disgrace!" he says. - -"Think of my twenty-five hundred," says I. - -"Excuse me, gentlemen," says a voice astern of us; "excuse me for -buttin' in; but I judge that what you need is a butter." - -Pullet and I jumped and turned round. We'd supposed we was alone and to -say we was surprised is puttin' it mild. For a second I couldn't make -out what had happened, or where the voice came from, or who 'twas that -had spoke--then, as he come across into the lamplight I recognized him. -'Twas Jim Henry Jacobs, the livin' mystery. - -[Illustration: _As he come across into the lamplight I recognized him._] - -Jim Henry was middlin'-sized, sharp-faced, dressed like a ready-tailored -advertisement, and as smooth and slick as an eel in a barrel of sweet -ile. Accordin' to his entry on the books of the Poquit House he hailed -from Chicago. He'd been in Ostable for pretty nigh a month and nobody -had been able to find out any more about him than just that, which is a -some miracle of itself--if you know Ostable. He was always ready to -talk--talkin' was one of his main holts--but when you got through -talkin' with him all you had to remember was a smile and a flow of -words. He was at the seashore for his health, that he always give you to -understand. You could believe it if you wanted to. - -He'd got into the habit of spendin' his evenin's at Pullet's store, -settin' around listenin' and smilin' and agreein' with folks. He was the -only feller I ever met who could say no and agree with you at the same -time. Solon Saunders tried to borrow fifty cents of him once and when -the pair of 'em parted, Saunders was scratchin' his head and lookin' -puzzled. "I can't understand it," says Solon. "I would have swore he'd -lent it to me. 'Twas just as if I had the fifty in my hand. I--I thanked -him for it and all that, but--but now he's gone I don't seem to be no -richer than when I started. I can't understand it." - -Pullet and I had seen him settin' abaft the stove early in the evenin', -but, somehow or other, we got the notion that he'd cleared out with the -other loafers. However, he hadn't, and he'd heard all we'd been sayin'. - -He walked across to where we was, pulled a shoe box from under the -counter, come to anchor on it and crossed his legs. - -"Gentlemen," he says again, "you need a butter." - -Poor old Pullet was so set back his brains was sort of scrambled, like a -pan of eggs. - -"Er-er, Mr. Jacobs," he says, "I am very sorry, extremely sorry, but we -are all out just at this minute. I fully intended to order some to-day, -but I--I guess I must have forgotten it." - -Jacobs couldn't seem to make any more out of this than I did. - -"Out?" he says, wonderin'. "Out? Who's out? What's out? I guess I've -dropped the key or lost the combination. What's the answer?" - -"Why, butter," says Pullet, apologizin'. "You asked for butter, didn't -you? As I was sayin', I should have ordered some to-day, but--" - -Jim Henry waved his hands. "Sh-h," he says, "don't mention it. Forget -it. If I'd wanted butter in this emporium I should have asked for -somethin' else. I've been givin' this mart of trade some attention for -the past three weeks and I judge that its specialty is bein' able to -supply what ain't wanted. I hinted that you two needed a butter-in. All -right. I'm the goat. Now if you'll kindly give me your attention, I'll -elucidate." - -We give the attention. After he'd "elucidated" for five minutes we'd -have given him our clothes. You never heard such a mess of language as -that Chicago man turned loose. He talked and talked and talked. He knew -all about the store and the business, and what he didn't know he guessed -and guessed right. He knew about Pullet and his buyin' the place, about -my goin' in as silent partner--though _that_ nobody was supposed to -know. He knew the shebang wa'n't payin' and, also and moreover, he knew -why. And he had the remedy buttoned up in his jacket--the name of it was -James Henry Jacobs. - -"Gentlemen," he says, "I'm a specialist. I'm a doctor of sick business. -Ever since my medicine man ordered me to quit the giddy metropolis and -the Grand Central Department Store, where I was third assistant manager, -I've been driftin' about seekin' a nice, quiet hamlet and an -opportunity. Here's the ham and, if you say the word, here's the -opportunity. This shop is in a decline; it's got creepin' paralysis and -locomotive hang-back-tia. There's only one thing that can change the -funeral to a silver weddin'--that's to call in Old Doctor Jacobs. Here -he is, with his pocket full of testimonials. Now you listen." - -We'd been listenin'--'twas by long odds the easiest thing to do--and we -kept right on. He had testimonials--he showed 'em to us--and they took -oath to his bein' honest and the eighth business wonder of the world. He -went on to elaborate. He had a thousand to invest and he'd invest it -provided we'd take him in as manager and give him full swing. He'd -guarantee--etcetery and so on, unlimited and eternal. - -"But," says I, when he stopped to eat a throat lozenge, "sellin' goods -is one thing; gettin' the right goods to sell is another. Me and -Pullet--Mr. Beanblossom here--have tried to keep a pretty fair-sized -stock, but it's the kind of stock that keeps better'n it sells." - -"Sell!" he puts in. "You can sell anything, if you know how. See here, -let me prove it to you. You think this over to-night and to-morrow -forenoon I'll be on hand and demonstrate. Just put on your smoked -glasses and watch me. _I'll_ show you." - -He did. Next mornin' old Aunt Sarah Oliver came in to buy a hank of -black yarn to darn stockin's with. With diplomacy and patience the -average feller could conclude that dicker in an hour and a quarter--if -he had the yarn. Pullet was just out of black, of course, but that Jim -Henry Jacobs stepped alongside and within twenty minutes he sold Aunt -Sarah two packages of needles, a brass thimble and a half dozen pair of -blue and yellow striped stockin's that had been on the shelves since -Abial Beasley's time, and was so loud that a sane person wouldn't dare -wear 'em except when it thundered. She went out of the store with her -bundles in one hand and holdin' her head with the other. Then that Jim -Henry man turned to Pullet and me. - -"Well?" he says, serene and smilin'. - -It was well, all right. At just quarter to twelve that night the -arrangements was made. Jacobs was partner in and manager of the "Ostable -Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods Store." - - - - -CHAPTER II--WHAT A "PULLET" DID TO A PEDIGREE - - -In less than two months that store of ours was a payin' proposition. Jim -Henry Jacobs was responsible, that is all I can tell you. Don't ask me -how he did it. 'Twas advertisin', mainly. Advertisin' in the papers, -advertisin' on the fences, things set out in the windows, a new gaudy -delivery cart, special bargain days for special stuff--they all helped. -Of course if we'd limited ourselves to Ostable the cargo wouldn't have -been so heavy that we'd get stoop-shouldered, but that Jim Henry was -unlimited. He advertised in the county weekly and sent a special cart to -take orders for twenty mile around. The early summer cottages was -beginnin' to open and 'twas summer trade, rich city folks' trade, that -the Jacobs man said we must have. And we got it, one way or another we -got it all. Most of the swell big-bugs had been in the habit of orderin' -wholesale from Boston, but he soon stopped that. One after another Jim -Henry landed 'em. When I asked him how, he just winked. - -"Skipper," says he--he most generally called me "Skipper" same as I -called Beanblossom "Pullet"--"Skipper," he says, "you can always hook a -cod if there's any around and you keepin' changin' bait; ain't that so? -Um-hm; well, I change bait, that's all. Every man, woman and suffragette -has got a weak p'int somewheres. I just cast around till I find that -particular weak p'int; then they swaller hook, line and sinker." - -"Humph!" I says, "Miss Letitia ain't swallowed nothin' yet, that I've -noticed. Her weak p'ints all strong ones? or what is the matter?" - -He made a face. "Sister Pendlebury," says he, "is the frostiest -proposition I ever tackled outside of an ice chest. But I'll get her -yet. You wait and see. Why, man, we've _got_ to get her." - -Well, I could find more truth in them statements than I could -satisfaction. We'd got to get her--yes. But she wouldn't be got. She was -the richest old maid on the North Shore; lived in a stone and plaster -house bigger'n the Ostable County jail, which she'd labeled "Pendlebury -Villa"; had six servants, three cats and a poll parrot; and was so -tipped back with dignity and importance that a plumb-line dropped from -her after-hair comb would have missed her heels by three inches. Her -winter port was Brookline; summers she condescended to shed glory over -Ostable. - -To get the trade of Pendlebury Villa had been Jim Henry's dream from the -start. And up to date he was still dreamin'. The other big-bugs he had -caged, but Letitia was still flyin' free and importin' her honey from -Boston, so to speak. Jacobs had tried everything he could think of, -bribin' the servants, sendin' samples of fancy breakfast food and -pickles free gratis, writin' letters, callin' with his Sunday clothes -on, everything--but 'twas "Keep Off the Grass" at Pendlebury Villa so -far as we was concerned. 'Twas the biggest chunk of trade under one head -on the Cape and it hurt Jim Henry's pride not to get it. However, he -kept on tryin'. - -One mornin' he comes back to the store after a cruise to the Villa and -it seemed to me that he looked happier than was usual after one of these -trips. - -"Skipper," says he, "I think--I wouldn't bet any more'n my small change, -but I _think_ I've laid a corner stone." - -"With Miss Pendlebury?" says I, excited. - -"With Letitia," he says, noddin'. "I haven't got an order, but I have -got a promise. She's agreed to drop in one of these days and look us -over." - -"Well!" says I, "I should say that _was_ a corner stone." - -"We'll hope 'tis," he says. "Ho, ho! Skipper, I wish you might have been -present at the exercises. They were funny." - -Seems he'd managed--bribery and corruption of the hired help again--to -see Letitia alone in what she called her "mornin' room." He said that, -if he'd paid any attention to the temperature of that room when he and -she first met in it, he'd have figgered he'd struck the morgue; but he -warmed it up a little afore he left. Miss Pendlebury just set and glared -frosty while he talked and talked and talked. She said about three words -to his two hundred thousand, but every one of hers was a "no." She -didn't care to patronize the local merchants. The city ones were bad -enough--she had all the trouble she wanted with _them_. She was not -interested; and would he please be careful when he went out and not step -on the flower beds. - -He was about ready to give it up when he happened to notice an ile -portrait in a gorgeous gold frame hangin' on the wall. 'Twas the picture -of a man, and Jim Henry said there was a kind of great-I-am look to it, -a combination of fatness and importance and wisdom, same as you see in a -stuffed owl, that give him an idea. He started to go, stopped in front -of the picture and began to look it over, admirin' but reverent, same as -a garter snake might look at a boa-constrictor, as proof of what the -race was capable of. - -"Excuse me, Miss Pendlebury," he says, "but that is a wonderful -portrait. I have had some experience in judgin' paintin's--" he was -clerk in the Grand Central Store framed picture department once--"and I -think I know what I'm talkin' about." - -Would you believe it, she commenced to unbend right off. - -"It is a Sargent," says she. - -Now I should have asked: "Sergeant of militia, or what?" and upset the -whole calabash; but Jim Henry knew better. He bows, solemn and wise, and -says he'd been sure of it right along. - -"But any painter," he says, "would have made a success with a subject -like that gentleman before him. There is somethin' about him, the height -of his brow, and his wonderful eyes, etcetery, which reminds me--You'll -excuse me, Miss Pendlebury, but isn't that a portrait of one of your -near relatives?" - -She unbent some more and almost smiled. The painted critter was her pa -and he was considered a wonderful likeness. - -Well, that was enough for your uncle Jim Henry. He settled down to his -job then and the way he poured gush over that painted Pendlebury man was -close to sacreligion. But Letitia never pumped up a blush; worship was -what she expected for her and her pa. He'd been a member of the -Governor's staff and a bank president and a church warden and an -alderman and land knows what. His daughter and Jacobs had a real -sociable interview and it ended by her promisin' to drop in at the store -and look our stock over. 'Course 'twa'n't likely 'twould suit her--she -was very exacting, she said--but she'd look it over. - -We looked it over fust. We put in the rest of that day changin' -everything around on the counters and shelves, puttin' the canned stuff -in piles where they'd do the most good, and settin' advertisin' signs -and such in front of the empty places where they'd been afore. Even -Pullet worked, though he couldn't understand it, and growled because he -had to leave the musty old book he was readin' and the "genealogical -tree" he'd begun to cultivate once more. Jacobs was pretty well -disgusted with Pullet. Said he was an incumbrance on the concern and -hadn't any business instinct. - -All the next day and the next we hung around, dressed up to kill--that -is, Jim Henry's togs would have killed anything with weak eyes--waitin' -for Letitia Pendlebury to come aboard and inspect. But she didn't come -that day, or the next either. Jacobs was disapp'inted, but he wouldn't -give in that he was discouraged. The fourth forenoon, when there was -still nothin' doin', he and I went on a cruise with a hired horse and -buggy over to Bayport, where we had some business. We left Pullet in -charge of the store and when we came back he was lookin' pretty joyful. - -"Who do you think has been here?" he says, in his thin, polite little -voice. "Miss Letitia Pendlebury called this afternoon." - -"She did!" shouts Jacobs. - -"Did she buy anythin'?" I wanted to know. - -No, it appeared that she hadn't bought anythin'. Fact is, Pullet had -forgot he was supposed to be a storekeeper. When Letitia came in he was -roostin' in his family tree, had the chart spread out on the counter and -was fillin' in some of the twigs with the names of dead and gone -Beanblossoms. He couldn't climb down to common things like crackers and -salt pork. - -"But she was very much interested," he says, his specs shinin' with joy. -"When she found out what I was busy with she was _very_ much interested, -really. She is a lady of family, too." - -"She _is_?" I sings out. "What are you talkin' about? She's an old maid -and an only child besides, and--" - -"Hush up, Skipper," orders Jacobs. "Go on, Pullet--Mr. Beanblossom, I -mean--go on." - -So on went Pullet, both wings flappin'. Letitia and he had talked -"family" to beat the cars. She had 'most everything in the Villa except -a family tree. She must have one right away. She simply must. - -"And I am to help her in preparin' it," says Pullet, puffed up and -vainglorious. "The Pendlebury family tree will be an honor to prepare. -Of course it will require much labor and research, but I shall enjoy -doing it. I told her so. Her father would have prepared one himself, had -often spoken of it, but he was a very busy man of affairs and lacked the -time." - -My, but I was mad! I cal'late if I had a marlinspike handy our coop -would have been a Pullet short. But Jim Henry Jacobs was so full of -tickle he couldn't keep still. He fairly dragged me into the back room. - -"Skipper," he says, "here it is at last! We've got it!" - -"Yes," I sputters, thinkin' he was referrin' to Beanblossom, "we've got -it; and, if you ask me, I'd tell you we'd ought to chloroform it afore -it does any more harm." - -"No, no," he says, "you don't understand. We've got the old girl's weak -p'int at last. It's genealogy. Pullet shall grow her a family tree if I -have to buy a carload of fertilizer to-morrer. Think of it! think of it! -Why, she won't give him a minute's rest from now on. She'll be after him -the whole time." - -"But I can't see where the trade comes in," says I. - -"You _can't_! With our senior pardner head forester? My boy, if any -other shop sells Pendlebury Villa a dollar's worth after this, I'll -Fletcherize my hat, that's all!" - -He knew what he was talkin' about, as usual. The very next forenoon -Letitia was in to consult with Pullet about huntin' up her family -records. Afore she left Jacobs took orders for thirty-two dollars' worth -and I'd have bet she didn't know a thing she bought. After dinner, Jim -Henry sent Pullet up to see her. He stayed until supper time. Next day -he had supper at the Villa. A week later he made his first trip to -Boston, to the Genealogical Society, to hunt for records. And Jacobs -stayed in Ostable and kept the Villa supplied with the luxuries of life. -If the Pendlebury servants didn't die of gout and overeatin', it wasn't -our fault. - -By August the whole town was talkin'. They had it all settled. 'Cordin' -to the gossip-spreaders there could be only one reason for Pullet and -Miss Letitia bein' together so much--they was cal'latin' to marry. The -weddin' day was prophesied and set anywheres from to-morrer to next -Christmas. I thought such talk ought to be stopped. Jim Henry didn't. - -"Why?" says he. - -"_Why!_" I says. "Because it's foolishness, that's why. 'Cause there's -no truth in it and you know it." - -"No, I don't know," says he. "Stranger things than that have happened." - -"_She_ marry that old fossilized pauper!" - -"Why not? He's a gentleman and a scholar, if he _is_ poor. She's rich, -but if there's one thing she isn't, it's a scholar." - -"Humph! fur's that goes," says I, "she ain't a gentleman, either--though -she's next door to it." - -"That's all right. Skipper, there's some things money can't buy. -Pullet's got book learnin' and treed ancestors and she ain't. She's got -money and he ain't. Both want what t'other's best fixed in. If old -Beanblossom had any sand, I should believe 'twas a sure thing. I guess -I'll drop him a hint." - -"My land!" I sang out; "don't you do it. The fat'll all be in the fire -then." - -"Skipper," says he, "you're a cagey old bird, but you don't know it all. -There's some things you can leave to me. And, anyhow, whether the -weddin' bells chime or not, all this talk is good free advertisin' for -the store." - -'Twa'n't long after this that the genealogical man begun to seem less -gay-like. He and Letitia was together as much as ever, the Pendlebury -tree and the Beanblossom tree--he worked on both at the same time--was -flourishin', after the topsy-turvy way of such vegetables--from the -upper branches down towards the trunks; but there was a look on Pullet's -face as he pawed through his books and papers that I couldn't -understand. He looked worried and troubled about somethin'. - -"What's the matter?" I asked him, once. "Ain't your ancestors turnin' up -satisfactory?" - -"Yes," he says, polite as ever, but sort of condescendin' and proud, -"the Beanblossom history is, if you will permit me to say so, a very -satisfactory record indeed." - -"And the Pendleburys?" says I. "George Washin'ton was first cousin on -their ma's side, I s'pose." - -He didn't answer for a minute. Then he wiped his specs with his -handkerchief. "The Pendlebury records are," he says, slow, "a trifle -more confused and difficult. But I am progressin'--yes, Cap'n Snow, I -think I may say that I am progressin'." - -The thunderbolt hit us, out of a clear sky, the fust week in September. -Yet I s'pose we'd ought to have seen it comin' at least a day ahead. -That day the Pendlebury gasoline carryall come buzzin' up to the front -platform and Letitia steps out, grand as the Queen of Sheba, of course. - -"Cap'n Snow," says she, and it seemed to me that she hesitated just a -minute, "is Mr. Beanblossom about?" - -"No," says I, "he ain't. I don't know where he is exactly. He was in the -store this mornin' askin' about a letter he's expectin' from the -Genealogical Society folks, but he went out right afterwards and I ain't -seen him since. I s'posed, of course, he was up to your house." - -"No," she says, and I thought she colored up a little mite; "he has not -been there since day before yesterday. Perhaps that is natural, under -the circumstances," speakin' more to herself than to me, "but ... -however, will you kindly tell him I called before leavin' for the city. -I am goin' to Boston on a shoppin' excursion," she adds, condescendin'. -"I shall return on Wednesday." - -She went away. Pullet didn't show up until night and then the first -thing he asked for was the mail. When I told him about the Pendlebury -woman he turned round and went out again. - -Next day was Saturday and we was pretty busy, that is, Jim Henry and the -clerk was busy. I was about as much use as usual, and, as for Pullet, he -was no use at all. A big green envelope from the Genealogical Society -come for him in the morning mail--he was always gettin' letters from -that Society--and he grabbed at it and went out on the platform. A -little while afterwards I saw him roostin' on a box out there, with his -hair, what there was of it, all rumpled up, and an expression of such -everlastin', world-without-end misery on his face that I stopped stock -still and looked at him. - -"For the mercy sakes," says I, "what's happened?" - -He turned his head, stared at me fishy-eyed, and got up off the box. - -"What's wrong?" I asked. "Is the world comin' to an end?" - -He put one hand to his head and waved the other up and down like a pump -handle. - -"Yes," he sings out, frantic like. "It is ended already. It is all over. -I--I--" - -And with that he jumps off the platform and goes staggerin' up the road. -I'd have follered him, but just then Jim Henry calls to me from inside -the store and in a little while I'd forgot Beanblossom altogether. I -thought of him once or twice durin' the day, but 'twa'n't till about -shuttin'-up time that I thought enough to mention him to Jacobs. Then he -mentioned him fust. - -"Whew!" says he, settin' down for the fust time in two hours. "Whew! I'm -tired. This has been the best day this concern has had since I took hold -of it, and I've worked like a perpetual motion machine. We'll need -another boy pretty soon, Skipper. Pullet's no good as a salesman. By the -way, where _is_ Pullet? I ain't seen him since noon." - -Neither had I, now that I come to think of it. - -"I wonder if the poor critter's sick," I says. Then I started to tell -how queer he'd acted out on the platform. I'd just begun when Amos -Hallett's boy come into the store with a note. - -"It's for you, Cap'n Zeb," he says, all out of breath. "I meant to give -it to you afore, but I just this minute remembered it. Mr. Beanblossom, -he give it to me at the depot when he took the up train." - -"Took the up train?" says I. "Who did? Not Pul--Mr. Beanblossom?" - -"Yes," says the boy. "He's gone to Boston, leastways the depot-master -said he bought a ticket for there. Why? Didn't you know it? He--" - -I was too astonished to speak at all, but Jim Henry was cool as usual. - -"Yes, yes, son," he says. "It's all right. You trot right along home -afore you catch cold in your freckles." Then, after the youngster'd -gone, he turns to me quick. "Open it, Skipper," he orders. "Somethin's -happened. Open it." - -I opened the envelope. Inside was a sheet of foolscap covered from top -to bottom with mighty shaky handwritin'. I read it out loud. - - "_Captain Zebulon Snow_, - - "_Dear Sir_: - -"Polite as ever, ain't he?" I says. "He'd been genteel if he was writin' -his will." - -"Go on!" snaps Jacobs. "Hurry up." - - "_Dear Sir_: When you receive this I shall have left Ostable, it - may be forever. I have made a horrible discovery, which has - wrecked all my hopes and my life. In accordance with Mr. Jacob's - kindly counsel, I recently summoned courage to ask Miss - Pendlebury to become my wife. - -"Good heavens to Betsy!" I sang out, almost droppin' the letter. - -"Go on!" shouts Jacobs. "Don't stop now." - -"But he asked her to _marry_ him!" I gasps. "In accordance with your -advice--_yours_! Did _you_ have the cheek to--" - -"_Will_ you go on? Of course I advised him. We'd got the Pendlebury -trade, hadn't we? Can you think of any surer way to cinch it than to -have those two idiots marry each other? Go on--or give me the letter." - -I went on, as well as I could, everything considered. - - "She did not refuse. She was kinder than I had a right to - expect. I realized my presumption, but--" - -"Skip that," orders Jim Henry. "Get down to brass tacks." - -I skipped some. - - "She told me she must have a few days' time to consider. I - waited. To-day I received a communication from the Genealogical - Society which has dashed my hopes to the ground. It was in - connection with my work on the Pendlebury family tree. For some - time I have been very much troubled concerning developments in - that work. The later Pendleburys have been ladies and gentlemen - of repute and worth, but as I delved deeper into the past and - approached the early generations in this country, I--" - -"Skip again," says Jacobs. - -I skipped. - - "And now, to my horror, I find the fact proven beyond doubt. - Ezekiel Jonas Pendlebury--whose name should be inscribed upon - the trunk of the tree, he being the original settler in - America--was hanged in the Massachusetts Bay Colony for stealing - a hog upon the Sabbath Day." - -Then I _did_ drop the letter. "My land of love!" was all I could say. -And what Jacobs said was just as emphatic. We stared at each other; and -then, all at once, he began to laugh, laugh till I thought he'd never -stop. His laughin' made me mad until I commenced to see the funny side -of the thing; then I laughed, too, and the pair of us rocked back and -forth and haw-hawed like loons. - -"Oh, dear me!" says Jim Henry, wipin' his eyes. "The original Pendlebury -hung for hog stealin'!" - -"Stealin' it on Sunday," says I. "Don't forget that. Sabbath-breakin' -was worse than thievin' in them days." - -"Well, go on, go on," says he. "There's more of it, ain't they?" - -There was. The writing got finer and finer as it got close to the bottom -of the page. Poor Pullet had caved in when that revelation struck him. -Honor compelled him to tell Letitia the truth and how could he tell her -such a truth as that? She, so proud and all. He had led her into this -dreadful research work and she would blame him, of course, and dismiss -him with scorn and contempt. Her contempt he could not bear. No, he must -go away. He could never face her again. He was goin' to Boston, to his -cousin's house in Newton, and stay there for a spell. Perhaps some day, -after she had shut up her summer villa and gone, too, he might return; -he didn't know. But would we forgive him, etcetery and so forth, -and--good-by. - -His name was squeezed in the very corner. I looked at Jacobs. - -"Well," I says, some disgusted, "it looks to me, as a man up a tree--not -a family tree, neither, thank the Lord--as if instead of cinchin' the -Pendlebury trade your 'advice' had queered it forever." - -He didn't say nothin'. Just scowled and kicked his heels together. Then -he grabbed the letter out of my hand and begun to read it again. I -scowled, too, and set starin' at the floor and thinkin'. All at once I -heard him swear, a sort of joyful swear-word, seemed to me. I looked up. -As I did he swung off the counter, crumpled up the letter, jammed it in -his pocket and grabbed up his hat. - -"Skipper," he says, his eyes shinin', "there's a night freight to -Boston, ain't there?" - -"Yes, there is, but--" - -"So long, then. I'll be back soon's I can. You and Bill"--that was the -clerk--"must do as well as you can for a day or so. So long. But you -just remember this: Old Doctor James Henry Jacobs, specialist in sick -businesses, ain't given up hopes of this patient yet, not by any manner -of means. By, by." - -He was gone afore I could say another word, and for the rest of that -night and all day Sunday and until Monday evenin's train come in, I was -like a feller walkin' in his sleep. All creation looked crazy and I was -the only sane critter in it. - -On Monday evenin' he came sailin' into the store, all smiles. 'Twas some -time afore I could get him alone, but, when I could, I nailed him. - -"Now," says I, "perhaps you'll tell me why you run off and left me, and -where you've been, and what you mean by it, and a few other things." - -He grinned. "Been?" he says. "Well, I've been to see the last of Miss -Letitia Pendlebury of Pendlebury Villa, Ostable, Mass. Miss Pendlebury -is no more." - -"No more!" I hollered. "No _more_! Don't tell me she's dead!" - -"I sha'n't," says he, "because she isn't. She's alive, all right, but -she's no more Miss Pendlebury. She's Mrs. Winthrop Adams Beanblossom -now," he says. "They were married this forenoon." - -"_Married?_" - -"Married." - -"But--but--after the hangin' news--and the hog-stealin'--and--Does she -know it? She wouldn't marry him after _that_?" - -"She knows and she was tickled to death to marry him. Skipper, there was -a P.S. on the back of that letter of Pullet's. You didn't turn the page -over; I did and I recognized the life-saver right off. Here it is." - -He passed me Beanblossom's letter, back side up. There was a P.S., but -it looked to me more like the finishin' knock on the head than it did -like a life-saver. This was it: - - "P.S. I have neglected to state another fact which my researches - have brought to light and which makes the affair even more - hopeless. My own ancestor, at that time Governor of the Colony, - was the person who sentenced Ezekiel Pendlebury and caused him - to be hanged." - -"And that," says I, "is what you call a life-saver! My nine-times -great-granddad has your nine-times great-granddad hung and that removes -all my objections to marryin' you. Oh, sure and sartin! Yes, indeed!" - -He smiled superior. "Listen, you doubtin' Thomas," says he. "You can't -see it, but Sister Letitia saw it right off when I put Pullet's case -afore her at the Hotel Somerset, where she was stoppin'. _Her_ ancestor -was a hog-stealer and a hobo; but Beanblossom's ancestor was a Governor -and a nabob from way back. If by just sayin' yes you could swap a -pig-thief for a governor, you'd do it, wouldn't you? You would if you'd -been braggin' 'family' as Letitia has for the past three months. I saw -her, turned on some of my convincin' conversation, saw Pullet at his -cousin's and convinced him. They were married at Trinity parsonage this -very forenoon." - -"My! my! my!" I says, after this had really sunk in. "And the Pendlebury -tree is--" - -"There ain't any Pendlebury tree," he interrupts. "It's the kindlin'-bin -for that shrub. But the _Beanblossom_ tree, with governors and judges -and generals proppin' up every main limb, is goin' to hang right next to -Pa Pendlebury's picture in the mornin' room of Pendlebury Villa. And the -head of Pendlebury Villa is the senior partner in the Ostable Grocery, -Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods Store." - -He was wrong there. Letitia Pendlebury Beanblossom had another surprise -under her bonnet and she sprung it when she got back. She sent for -Jacobs and me and made proclamation that her husband would withdraw from -the firm. - -"I trust that Mr. Beanblossom and I are democratic," she says. "Of -course we shall continue to purchase our supplies from you gentlemen. -But, really," she says, "you _must_ see that a man whose ancestor by -direct descent was Governor of Massachusetts Bay Colony could scarcely -humiliate himself by engaging in _trade_." - -So, instead of gettin' out of storekeepin', I was left deeper in it than -ever. But Jim Henry cheered me up by sayin' I hadn't really been in it -at all yet. - -"This foundlin' is only beginnin' to set up and take notice," he says. -"Skipper, you put your faith in old Doctor Jacobs' Teethin' Syrup and -Tonic for Business Infants." - -"I guess that's where it's put," says I, drawin' a long breath. - -"It couldn't be in a better place, could it? No, we've got a good start, -but that's all it is. Before I get through you'll see. We've got to make -this store prominent and keep it prominent, and the best way to do that -is to be prominent ourselves. Skipper, I wish you'd go into politics." - -"Politics!" says I, soon as I could catch my breath. "Well, when I do, I -give you leave to order my room at the Taunton Asylum. What do you -cal'late I'd better try to get elected to--President or pound-keeper?" - -He laughed. - -"Both of them jobs are filled at the present time," I went on, -sarcastic. "So is every other I can think of off-hand." - -"That's all right," says he. "Some of these days you'll hold office -right in this town. We need political prestige in our business and you, -Cap'n Snow, bein' the solid citizen of this close corporation, will have -to sacrifice yourself on the altar of public duty." - -"Nary sacrifice," says I. Which shows how little the average man knows -what's in store for him. - - - - -CHAPTER III--I GET INTO POLITICS - - -When I shook hands with Mary Blaisdell and left her standin' under the -wistaria vine at the front door of the little old house that had -belonged to Henry, all I said was for her to keep a stiff upper lip and -not to be any bluer than was necessary. "Ostable's lost a good -postmaster," says I, "and you've lost a kind, thoughtful, providin' -brother. I know it looks pretty foggy ahead to you just now and you -can't see how you're goin' to get along; but you keep up your pluck and -a way'll be provided. Meantime I'm goin' to think hard and perhaps I can -see a light somewheres. My owners used to tell me I was consider'ble of -a navigator, so between us we'd ought to fetch you into port." - -Her eyes were wet, but she smiled, rainbow fashion, through the shower, -and said I was awful good and she'd never forget how kind I'd been -through it all. - -"Whatever becomes of me, Cap'n Snow," she says, "I shall never forget -that." - -What I'd done wa'n't worth talkin' about, so I said good-by and hurried -away. At the top of the hill I turned and looked back. She was still -standin' in the door and, in spite of the wistaria and the hollyhocks -and the green summer stuff everywheres, the whole picture was pretty -forlorn. The little white buildin' by the road, with the sign, -"Post-office" over the window, looked more lonesome still. And yet the -sight of it and the sight of that sign give me an inspiration. I stood -stock still and thumped my fists together. - -"Why not?" says I to myself. "By mighty, yes! Why not?" - -You see, Henry Blaisdell was one of the few Ostable folks that I'd known -as a boy and who was livin' there yet when I came back. He was younger -than I, and Mary, his sister, was younger still. I liked Henry and his -death was a sort of personal loss to me, as you might say. I liked Mary, -too. She was always so quiet and common-sense and comfortable. _She_ -didn't gossip, and the way she helped her brother in the post-office was -a treat to see. She wa'n't exactly what you'd call young, and the world -hadn't been all fair winds and smooth water for her, by a whole lot; -but, in spite of it, she'd managed to keep sweet and fresh. She and -Henry and I had got to be good friends and I gen'rally took a walk up -towards their house of a Sunday or managed to run in at the post-office -buildin' at least once every week-day and have a chat with 'em. - -When I heard of Henry's dyin' so sudden my fust thought was about Mary -and what would she do. How was she goin' to get along? I thought of that -even durin' the funeral, and now, the day after it, when I went up to -see her, I was thinkin' of it still. And, at last, I believed I had got -the answer to the puzzle. - -Half the way back to the "Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes -and Fancy Goods Store," I was thinkin' of my new notion and makin' up my -mind. The other half I was layin' plans to put it through. When I walked -into the store, Jim Henry met me. - -"Hello, Skipper," says he, brisk and fresh as a no'theast breeze in dog -days, "did you ever hear the story about the office-seekin' feller in -Washin'ton, back in President Harrison's time? He wanted a gov'ment job -and he happened to notice a crowd down by the Potomac and asked what was -up. They told him one of the Treasury clerks had been found drowned. He -run full speed to the White House, saw the President, and asked for the -drowned chap's place. 'You're too late,' says Harrison, 'I've just -app'inted the man that saw him fall in.'" - -I'd heard it afore, but I laughed, out of politeness, and wanted to know -what made him think of the yarn. - -"Why," says he, "because that's the way it's workin' here in Ostable. -Poor old Blaisdell's funeral was only yesterday and it's already settled -who's to be the new postmaster." - -Considerin' what I'd been goin' over in my mind all the way home from -Mary's, this statement, just at this time, knocked me pretty nigh out of -water. - -"What?" I gasped. "How did you know?" - -"Why wouldn't I know?" says he. "I got the advance information right -from the oracle. I was told not ten minutes since that the app'intment -was to go to Abubus Payne." - -I stared at him. "Abubus Payne!" says I. "Abubus--Are you dreamin'?" - -He laughed. "I'd never dream a name like 'Abubus,' he says, 'even after -one of our Poquit House dinners. No, it's no dream. The Major was just -in and he says his mind is made up. That settles it, don't it? You -wouldn't contradict the all-wise mouthpiece of Providence, would you, -Cap'n Zeb?" - -I never said anything--not then. I was realizin' that, if I wanted Mary -Blaisdell to be postmistress at Ostable--which was the inspiration I was -took with when I looked back at her from the hill--I'd got to do -somethin' besides say. I'd got to work and work hard. And even at that -my work was cut out from the small end of the goods. To beat Major -Cobden Clark in a political fight was no boy's job. But Abubus Payne! -Abubus Payne postmaster at Ostable!! Think of it! Maybe you can; _I_ -couldn't without stimulants. - -You see, this critter Abubus--did you ever hear such a name in your -life?--had lived around 'most every town on the Cape at one time or -another. He and his wife wa'n't what you'd call permanent settlers -anywhere, but had a habit of breakin' out in new and unexpected places, -like a p'ison-ivy rash. He worked some at carpenterin', when he couldn't -help it, but his main business, as you might say, had always been -lookin' for an easier job. In Ostable he'd got one. He was caretaker and -general nurse of Major Cobden Clark. His wife, who was about as -shiftless as he was, was the Major's housekeeper. - -And the Major? Well, the Major was a star, a planet--yes, in his own -opinion, the whole solar system. He was big and fleshy and straight and -gray-haired and red-faced. He belonged to land knows how many clubs and -societies and milishys, includin' the Ancient and Honorable Artillery -Company of Boston and the Old Guard of New York. He had political -influence and a long pocketbook and a short temper. Likewise he suffered -from pig-headedness and chronic indigestion. 'Twas the indigestion that -brought him to Ostable and Abubus; or rather 'twas his doctor, Dr. -Conquest Payne, the celebrated food and diet specializer--see -advertisements in 'most any newspaper--who sent him there. Abubus was -Doctor Conquest's cousin and I judge the two of 'em figgered the Clark -stomach and income as things too good to be treated outside of the -family. - -Anyway, the spring afore I landed in Ostable, down comes the Major, buys -a good-sized house on the lower road nigh the water front, hires Abubus -and his wife to look out for the place and him, and settles down to the -simple life, which wa'n't the kind he'd been livin', by a consider'ble -sight. But he lived it now; yes, sir, he did! He lived by the clock and -he ate and slept by the clock, and that clock was wound up and set -accordin' to the rules prescribed by Dr. Conquest Payne, "World Famous -Dietitian and Food Specialist"--see more advertisin', with a tintype of -the Doctor in the corner. - -Nigh as I could find out the diet was a queer one. It give me dyspepsy -just to think of it. Breakfast at seven sharp, consistin' of a dozen nut -meats, two raw prunes, some "whole wheat bread"--whatever that is--and a -pint of hot water. Luncheon at quarter to eleven, with another -assortment of similar truck. Afternoon snack at three and dinner at -half-past seven. He had two soft b'iled eggs for dinner, or else a -two-inch slice of rare steak, and, with them exceptions, the whole bill -of fare was, accordin' to my notion, more fittin' for a goat than a -human bein'. He mustn't smoke and he mustn't drink: Considerin' what -he'd been used to afore the "World Famous" one hooked him it ain't much -wonder that he was as crabbed and cranky as a liveoak windlass. - -However, it--or somethin' else--had made him feel better since he landed -in Ostable and he swore by that Conquest Payne man and everybody -connected with him. And if he once took a notion into his tough old -head, nothin' short of a surgeon's operation could get it out. He'd -decided to make Abubus postmaster and he'd move heaven and earth to do -it. All right, then, it was up to me to do some movin' likewise. I can -be a little mite pig-headed myself, if I set out to be. - -And I set out right then. It may seem funny to say so, but I was about -as good a friend as the Major had in Ostable. Course he had a tremendous -influence with the selectmen and the like of that, owin' to his soldier -record and his pompousness and the amount of taxes he paid. And he and I -never agreed on one single p'int. But just the same he spent the heft of -his evenin's at the store and I was always glad to see him. I respected -the cantankerous old critter, and liked him, in a way. And I'm inclined -to think he respected and liked me. I cal'late both of us enjoyed -fightin' with somebody that never tried for an under-holt or quit even -when he was licked. - -So that night, when he comes puffin' in and sets down, as usual, in the -most comfortable chair, I went over and come to anchor alongside of him. - -"Hello," he grunts, "you old salt hayseed. Any closer to bankruptcy than -you was yesterday?" - -"Your bill's a little bigger and more overdue, that's all," says I. "See -here, I want to talk politics with you. Mary Blaisdell, Henry's sister, -is goin' to have the post-office now he's gone, and I want you to put -your name on her petition. Not that she needs it, or anybody else's, but -just to help fill up the paper." - -Well, sir, you ought to have seen him! His red face fairly puffed out, -like a young-one's rubber balloon. He whirled round on the edge of his -chair--he was too big to move in any other part of it--and glared at me. -What did I mean by that? Hey? Was my punkin head sp'ilin' now that warm -weather had come, or what? Had I heard what he told my partner that very -mornin'? - -"Yes," says I, "I heard it. But I judged you must have broke your rule -about drinkin' liquor, or else your dyspepsy has struck to your brains. -No sane person would set out to make Abubus Payne anythin' more -responsible than keeper of a pig pen. You didn't mean it, of course." - -He didn't! He'd show me what he meant! Abubus was the most honest, able -man on the whole blessed sand-heap, and he was goin' to be postmaster. -Mary Blaisdell was an old maid, good enough of her kind, maybe, but the -place for her was some kind of an asylum or home for incompetent -females. He'd sign a petition to put her in one of them places, but -nothin' else. Abubus was just as good as app'inted already. - -We had it back and forth. There was consider'ble chair thumpin' and -hollerin', I shouldn't wonder. Anyhow, afore 'twas over every loafer on -the main road was crowdin' 'round us and Jim Henry Jacobs was pacin' up -and down back of the counter with the most worried look on his face ever -I see there. It ended by the Major's jumpin' to his feet and headin' for -the door. - -"You--you--you tarry old imbecile," he hollers, shakin' a fat forefinger -at me, "I'll show you a few things. I'll never set foot in this rathole -of yours again." - -"You better not," I sung out. "If you dare to, I'll--" - -"What?" he interrupts. "You'll what? I'll be back here to-morrow night. -Then what'll you do?" - -"I'll show you Mary Blaisdell's petition," I says. "And the names on -it'll make you curl up and quit like a sick caterpillar." - -"Humph! I'll show _you_ a petition for Abubus Payne, next postmaster of -Ostable, with a string of names on it so long you'll die of old age -afore you can finish readin' 'em. Bah!" - -With that he went out and I went into the back room to wash my face in -cold water. - -I wrote the headin' to the Blaisdell petition afore I turned in that -very night. Next mornin' I hurried over and, after consider'ble arguin', -I got Mary to say she'd try for the place. All the rest of that day I -put in drivin' from Dan to Beersheby gettin' signatures. And I got 'em, -too, a schooner load of 'em. I had the petition ready to show the Major -that evenin'; but, when he come into the store, he had a petition, too, -just as long as mine. And the worst of it was, in a lot of cases the -same names was signed to both papers. Accordin' to those petitions the -heft of Ostable folks wanted somebody to keep post-office and they -didn't much care who. They wanted to please me and they didn't like to -say no to the Major. - -He was mad and I was mad and we had another session. But he wouldn't -cross the names off and neither would I and so, after another week, both -petitions went in as they was. All the good they seemed to do was that -we each got a letter from the Post-office Department and Mary Blaisdell -was allowed to hold over her brother's place until somebody was picked -out permanent. And every evenin' Major Clark came into the store to tell -me Abubus was sure to win and get my prediction that Mary was as good as -elected. One week dragged along and then another, and 'twas still a -draw, fur's a body could tell. The Washin'ton folks wa'n't makin' a -peep. - -But old Ancient and Honorable Clark was workin' his wires on the quiet -and I must give in that he pulled one on me that I wa'n't expectin'. The -whole town had got sort of tired of guessin' and talkin' about the -post-office squabble and had drifted back into the reg'lar rut of -pickin' their neighbors to pieces. The Major had set 'em talkin' on a -new line durin' the last fortni't. He'd been fixin' up his house and -havin' the grounds seen to, and so forth. Likewise he'd bought an -automobile, one of the nobbiest kind. This was somethin' of a surprise, -'cause afore that he'd been pretty much down on autos and did his -drivin' around in a high-seated sort of buggy--"dog cart" he called -it--though 'twas hauled by a horse and he hated dogs so that he kept a -shotgun loaded with rock salt on his porch to drive stray ones off his -premises. - -"Who's goin' to run that smell-wagon of yours?" I asked him, sarcastic. -He kept comin' to the store just the same as ever and we had our reg'lar -rows constant. I cal'late we'd both have missed 'em if they'd stopped. I -know I should. - -"Humph!" he snorts; "smell-wagon, hey? If it smells any worse than that -old fish dory of yours, I'll have it buried, for the sake of the public -health." - -By "fish dory" he meant a catboat I'd bought. She was named the _Glide_ -and she could glide away from anything of her inches in the bay. - -"But who's goin' to run that auto?" I asked again. "'Tain't possible -you're goin' to do it yourself. If she went by alcohol power, I could -understand, but--" - -"Hush up!" he says, forgettin' to be mad for once and speakin' actually -plaintive. "Don't talk that way, Snow," says he. "If you knew how much I -wanted a drink you wouldn't speak lightly of alcohol." - -"Why don't you take one, then?" I wanted to know. "I believe 'twould do -you good. That and a square meal. If you'd forget your prunes and your -nutmeats and your quack doctorin'--" - -He was mad then, all right. To slur at the "World Famous" was a good -deal worse than murder, in his mind. He expressed his opinion of me, -free and loud. He said I'd ought to try Doctor Conquest, myself, for -developin' my brains. The Doctor was pretty nigh a vegetarian, he said, -and my head was mainly cabbage--and so on. Incidentally he announced -that Abubus was to run the new auto. - -"Abubus!" says I. "Why, he don't know a gas engine from a coffee mill! -He wouldn't know what the craft's for." - -"That's all right," he says. "He's been takin' lessons at the garage in -Hyannis and he can run it like a bird. He knows what it's for. He! he! -so do I. By the way, Snow, are you ready to give up the post-office to -my candidate yet?" - -"Give up?" says I. "Tut! tut! tut! I hate to hear a supposed sane man -talk so. Mary Blaisdell handles the mail in the Ostable post-office for -the next three years--longer, if she wants to." - -"Bet you five she don't," he says. - -"Take the bet," says I. - -He went out chucklin'. I wondered what he had up his sleeve. A week -later I found out. Congressman Shelton, our district Representative at -Washin'ton, came to Ostable to look the post-office situation over and, -lo and behold you, he comes as Major Cobden Clark's guest, to stay at -his house. - -When Jim Henry Jacobs learned that, he took me to one side to give me -some brotherly advice. - -"It's all up for Mary now," he says. "She can't win. Clark and Shelton -are old chums in politics. There's only one chance to beat Payne and -that's to bring forward a compromise candidate--a dark horse." - -"Rubbish!" I sung out. "Dark horse be hanged! Shelton's square as a -brick. Nobody can bribe him." - -"It ain't a question of bribin'," he says. "If it was, you could bribe, -too. Shelton is square, and that's why he'd welcome a compromise -candidate. But if it comes to a fight between Mary Blaisdell and Abubus -Payne, Abubus'll win because he's the Major's pet. Shelton knows the -Major better than he knows you. Take my advice now and look out for the -dark horse." - -But I wouldn't listen. All the next hour I was ugly as a bear with a -sore head and long afore dinner time I told Jacobs I was goin' for a -sail in the _Glide_. "Goin' somewheres on salt water where the air's -clean and not p'isoned by politics and automobiles and congressmen and -Paynes," I told him. - -I headed out of the harbor and then run, afore a wind that was fair but -gettin' lighter all the time, up the bay. I sailed and sailed until some -of my bad temper wore off and my appetite begun to come back. All the -time I was settin' at the tiller I was thinkin' over the post-office -situation and, try as hard as I could to see the bright side for Mary -Blaisdell, it looked pretty dark. The Major would give that Shelton man -the time of his life and he'd talk Abubus to him to beat the cars. I -couldn't get at the Congressman to put in an oar for Mary and--well, I'd -have discounted my five-dollar bet for about seventy-five cents, at that -time. - -I thought and thought and sailed and sailed. When I came to myself and -realized I was hungry the _Glide_ was miles away from Ostable. I came -about and started to beat back; then I saw I was in for a long job. Let -alone that the wind was ahead, 'twas dyin' fast, and if I knew the signs -of a flat calm, there was one due in half an hour. I took as long tacks -as I could, but I made mighty little progress. - -On the second tack inshore I came up abreast of Jonathan Crowell's house -at Heron P'int. Jonathan's just a no-account longshoreman or he wouldn't -live in that place, which is the fag-end of creation. There's a -twenty-mile stretch of beach and pines and such close to the shore -there, with a road along it. The first eight mile of that road is pretty -good macadam and hard dirt. A land company tried to develop that section -of beach once and they put in the road; but the land didn't sell and the -company busted and after that eight mile the road is just beach sand, -soft and coarse. The strip of solid ground, with its pines and -scrub-oaks, is, as I said afore, twenty mile long, but it's only a half -mile or so wide. Between it and the main cape is a tremendous salt -marsh, all cut up with cricks that nobody can get over without a boat. -Jonathan's is the only house for the whole twenty mile, except the -lighthouse buildin's down at the end. The land company put up a few -summer shacks on speculation, but they're all rickety and fallin' to -pieces. - -I knew Jonathan had gone to Bayport, quahaug rakin', and that his wife -was visitin' over to Wellmouth, so when the _Glide_ crept in towards the -beach and I saw a couple of folk by the Crowell house, I was surprised. -I didn't pay much attention to 'em, however, until I was just about -ready to put the helm over and stand out into the bay again. Then they -come runnin' down to the beach, yellin' and wavin' their arms. I thought -one of 'em had a familiar look and, as I come closer, I got more and -more sure of it. It didn't seem possible, but it was--one of those -fellers on the beach was Major Cobden Clark. - -"Hi-i!" yells the Major, hoppin' up and down and wavin' both arms as if -he was practicin' flyin'; "Hi-i-i! you man in the boat! Come here! I -want you!" - -That was him, all over. He wanted me, so of course I must come. My -feelin's in the matter didn't count at all. I run the _Glide_ in as nigh -the beach as I dared and then fetched her up into what little wind there -was left. - -"Ahoy there, Major," I sung out. "Is that you?" - -"Hey?" he shouts. "Do you know--Why, I believe it's Snow! Is that you, -Snow?" - -"Yes, it's me," I hollers. "What in time are you doin' way over here?" - -"Never mind what I'm doin'," he roared. "You come ashore here. I want -you." - -If I hadn't been so curious to know what he was doin', I'd have seen him -in glory afore I ever thought of obeyin' an order from him; but I was -curious. While I was considerin' the breeze give a final puff and died -out altogether. That settled it. I might as well go ashore as stay -aboard. I couldn't get anywhere without wind. So I hove anchor and -dropped the mains'l. - -"Come on!" he kept yellin'. "What are you waitin' for? Don't you hear me -say I want you?" - -I had on my long-legged rubber boots and the water wa'n't more'n up to -my knees. When I got good and ready, I swung over the side and waded to -the beach. - -"Hello, Maje," I says, brisk and easy, "you ought not to holler like -that. You'll bust a b'iler. Your face looks like a red-hot stove -already." - -He mopped his forehead. "Shut up, you old fool," says he. "Think I'm -here to listen to a lecture about my face? You carry Mr. Shelton and me -out to that boat of yours. We want you to sail us home." - -So the other chap was the Congressman. I'd guessed as much. I went up to -him and held out my hand. - -"Pleased to know you, Mr. Shelton," says I. "Had the pleasure of votin' -for you last fall." - -Shelton shook and smiled. "This is Cap'n Snow, isn't it?" he says, his -eyes twinklin'. "Glad to meet you, I'm sure. I've heard of you often." - -"I shouldn't wonder," says I. "Major Clark and me are old chums and I -cal'late he's mentioned my name at least once. Hey, Maje?" - -The Major grinned. I grinned, too; and Shelton laughed out loud. - -"I never saw such a talkin' machine in my life," snaps Clark. "Don't -stop to tell us the story of your life. Take us aboard that boat of -yours. You've got to get us back to Ostable, d'you understand?" - -"Have, hey?" says I. "I appreciate the honor, but.... However, maybe you -won't mind tellin' me what you're doin' here, twelve miles from -nowhere?" - -The Major was too mad to answer, so Shelton did it for him. - -"Well," he says, smilin' and with a wink at his partner, "we _came_ in -the Major's auto, but--" - -He stopped without finishin' the sentence. - -"The auto?" says I. "You came in the auto? Well, why don't you go back -in it? What's the matter? Has it broke down? Humph! I ain't surprised; -them things are always breakin' down, 'specially the cheap ones." - -_That_ stirred up the kettle. The Major give me to understand that his -auto cost six thousand dollars and was the best blessedty-blank car on -earth. It wa'n't the auto's fault. It hadn't broke down. It had stuck in -the eternal and everlastin' sand and they couldn't get it out, that was -the trouble. - -"But Abubus can get it out, can't he?" says I. "Abubus runs it like a -bird, you told me so yourself. Now a bird can fly, and if you want to -get from here to Ostable in anything like a straight line, you've _got_ -to fly. By the way, where is Abubus?" - -Three or four more questions, and a hogshead of profanity on the Major's -part, and I had the whole story. He and Shelton had started for a ride -way up the Cape. They was cal'latin' to get home by eleven o'clock, but -the machine went so fast that they got where they was goin' early and -had time to spare. Shelton happened to remember that he'd sunk some -money in the land company I mentioned and he thought he'd like to see -the place where 'twas sunk. He asked Abubus if they couldn't run along -the beach road a ways. Abubus hemmed and hawed and didn't know for -sure--he never was sure about anything. But the Major said course they -could; that car could go anywhere. So they turned in way up by Sandwich -and come b'ilin' down alongshore. Long's the old land company road -lasted they was all right, but when, runnin' thirty-five miles an hour, -they whizzed off the end of that road, 'twas different. The automobile -lit in the soft sand like a snow-plow and stopped--and stayed. They -tried to dig it out with boards from Jonathan Crowell's pig pen, but the -more they dug the deeper it sunk. At last they give it up; nothin' but a -team of horses could haul that machine out of that sand. So Abubus -starts to walk the ten or eleven miles back to civilization and livery -stables and the Major and Shelton waited for him. And the more they -waited the hungrier and madder Clark got. 'Twas all Abubus's fault, of -course. He ought to have had more sense than to run that way on that -road, anyhow. He ought to have known better than to get into that sand, -a feller that had lived in sand all his life. He was an incompetent -jackass. Well, I knew that afore, but it certainly did me good to hear -the Major confirm my judgment. - -I went over and looked at the automobile. It had always acted like a -mighty lively contraption, but now it looked dead enough. And not only -dead, but two-thirds buried. - -"Well?" fumes Clark, "how much longer have we got to stay in this hole?" - -"It's consider'ble of a hole," says I, "and it looks to me as if she'd -stay there till Abubus gets back with a pair of horses. Considerin' how -far he's got to tramp and how long it'll be afore he can get a pair, I -cal'late the hole'll be occupied until some time in the night." - -That wa'n't what he meant and I knew it. Did I suppose he and Shelton -was goin' to wait and starve until the middle of the night? No, sir; the -auto could stay where it was; he and the Congressman would sail home -with me in the _Glide_. - -"I hope you ain't in any partic'lar hurry," says I, lookin' out over the -bay. There wa'n't a breath of air stirrin' and the water was slick and -shiny as a starched shirt. "The _Glide_ runs by wind power and there's -no wind. This calm may last one hour or it may last two. As long as it -lasts I stay where I am." - -What! Did I think they would stay there just because I was too lazy to -get my whoopety-bang fish-dory under way? Stay there in that -sand-heap--sand-heap was the politest of the names he called Crowell's -plantation--and starve? - -"Oh," says I. "I won't starve. I'm goin' to get dinner." - -Dinner! The very name of it was like a life-preserver to a feller who'd -gone under for the second time. - -"Can you get us dinner?" roars the Major. "By George, if you can I'll--" - -"Not for you I can't," I says. "You live accordin' to the Payne -schedule, on prunes and pecans and such. The prune crop 'round here is a -failure and I don't see a pecan tree in Jonathan's back yard. No, any -dinner I'd get would give you compound, gallopin' dyspepsy, and I can't -be responsible for your death--I love you too much. But I cal'late I can -scratch up a meal that'll keep folks with common insides from perishin' -of hunger. Anyhow, I'm goin' to try." - - - - -CHAPTER IV--HOW I MADE A CLAM CHOWDER; AND WHAT A CLAM CHOWDER MADE OF -ME - - -Well, sir, even the Major's guns was spiked for a minute. I cal'late -that, for once, he'd forgot all about his dietizin' and only remembered -his appetite. He gurgled and choked and glared. Afore he could get his -artillery ready for a broadside I walked off and left him. He'd riled me -up a little and I saw a chance to rile him back. - -I went around to the back part of the Crowell house and tried the -kitchen door. 'Twas locked, for a wonder, but the window side of it -wasn't. I pushed up the sash and reached in fur enough to unhook the -door. Then I went into the house and begun to overhaul the supplies in -the galley. I found flour and sugar and salt and pepper and coffee and -butter and canned milk and salt pork--about everything I wanted. -Jonathan and I was friendly enough so's I knew he wouldn't care what I -used so long as I paid for it. If he had I'd have taken the risk, just -then. - -The wood-box was full and I got a fire goin' in the cookstove, and put -on a couple of kettles of water to heat. Then I went out to the shed and -located a clam hoe and a bucket. There's clams a-plenty 'most anywheres -along that beach and the tide was out fur enough for me to get a -bucket-full of small ones in no time. I fetched 'em up to the house and -set down on the back step to open 'em. - -The Major and Shelton was watchin' me all this time and they looked -interested--that is, the Congressman did, and Clark was doin' his best -not to. Pretty soon Shelton walks over and asks a question. "What are -you doin' with those things, Cap'n Snow?" says he, referrin' to the -clams. - -"Oh," says I, cheerful, "I'm figgerin' on makin' a chowder, if nothin' -busts." - -"A chowder," he says, sort of eager. "A clam chowder? Can you?" - -"I can. That is, I have made a good many and I cal'late to make this -one, unless I'm struck with paralysis." - -"A clam chowder!" he says again, sort of eager but reverent. "By George! -that's good--er--for you, I mean." - -"I hope 'twill be good for you, too," says I. "I'm sorry that Major -Clark's dyspepsy's such that 'twon't be good for him, but that's his -misfortune, not my fault." - -Shelton looked sort of queer and went away to jine his chum. The two of -'em did consider'ble talkin' and the Major appeared to be deliverin' a -sermon, at least I heard a good many orthodox words in the course of it. -I finished my clam openin', went in and got my cookin' started. The -flour and the butter made me think that some hot spider-bread would go -good with the chowder and I started to mix a batch. Then I got another -idea. - -'Twas too late for huckleberries and such, but out back of the shed, -beyond the pines, was a little swampy place. I took a tin pail, went out -there and filled the pail with early wild cranberries in five minutes. -As I was comin' back I noticed an onion patch in the garden. A chowder -without onions is like a camp-meetin' Sunday without your best -girl--pretty flat and impersonal. Most of those left in the patch had -gone to seed, but I got a half dozen. - -After a short spell that kitchen begun to get fragrant and folksy, as -you might say. The coffee was b'ilin', the chowder was about ready, -there was a pan of red-hot spider-bread on the back of the stove and a -cranberry shortcake--'twould have been better with cream, but to skim -condensed milk is more exercise than profit--in the oven. I'd opened all -the windows and the door, so the smell drifted out and livened up the -surroundin' scenery. Clark and Shelton were settin' on a sand hummock a -little ways off and I could see 'em wrinklin' their noses. - -When the table was set and everything was ready I put my head out of the -window and hollered: - -"Dinner!" I sung out. - -There wa'n't any answer. The pair on the hummock stirred and acted -uneasy, but they didn't move. I ladled out some of the chowder and the -perfume of it got more pervadin' and extensive. Then I rattled the -dishes and tried again. - -"Dinner!" I hollered. "Come on; chowder's gettin' cold." - -Still they didn't move and I begun to think my fun had been all for -myself. I was disappointed, but I set down to the table and commenced to -eat. Then I heard a noise. The pair of 'em had drifted over to the -doorway and was lookin' in. - -"Hello!" says I, blowin' a spoonful of chowder to cool it. "Am I givin' -a good imitation of a hungry man? If I ain't, appearances are -deceitful." - -"_Hog!_" snarls Clark, with enthusiasm. - -"Not at all," says I. "There's plenty of everything and Mr. Shelton's -welcome. So would you be, Major, if there was anything aboard you could -eat. I'm awful sorry about them prunes and nutmeats. I only wish Crowell -had laid in a supply--I do so." - -The Major's mouth was waterin' so he had to swallow afore he could -answer. When he did I realized what he was at his best. Shelton didn't -say a word, but the looks of him was enough. - -"My, my!" says I, "I'm glad I made a whole kettleful of this stuff; I -can use a grown man's share of it." - -Shelton looked at Clark and Clark looked at him. Then the Major yelps at -him like a sore pup. - -"Go ahead!" he shouts. "Go ahead in! Don't stand starin' at me like a -cannibal. Go in and eat, why don't you?" - -You could see the Congressman was divided in his feelin's. He wanted -dinner worse than the Old Harry wanted the backslidin' deacon, but he -hated to desert his friend. - -"You're sure--" he stammered. "It seems mean to leave you, but.... Sure -you wouldn't mind? If it wasn't that you are on a diet and _can't_ eat I -shouldn't think of it, but--" - -"Shut up!" The Major fairly whooped it to Jericho. "If you talk diet to -me again I'll kill you. Go in and eat. Eat, you idiot! I'd just as soon -watch two pigs as one. Go in!" - -So Shelton came in and I had a plate of chowder waitin' for him. He -grabbed up his spoon and didn't speak until he'd finished the whole of -it. Then he fetched a long breath, passed the plate for more, and says -he: - -"By George, Cap'n, that is the best stuff I ever tasted. You're a -wonderful cook." - -"Much obliged," says I. "But you ain't competent to judge until after -the third helpin'. And now you try a slab of that spider-bread and a cup -of coffee. And don't forget to leave room for the shortcake because.... -Well, I swan to man! Why, Major Clark, are you crazy?" - -For, as sure as I'm settin' here, old Clark had come bustin' into that -kitchen, yanked a chair up to that table, grabbed a plate and the ladle -and was helpin' himself to chowder. - -"Major!" says I. - -"Why, _Cobden_!" says Shelton. - -"Shut up!" roars the Major. "If either of you say a word I won't be -responsible for the consequences." - -We didn't say anything and neither did he. Judgin' by the silence 'twas -a mighty solemn occasion. Everybody ate chowder and just thought, I -guess. - -"Pass me that bread," snaps Clark. - -"But Cobden," says Shelton again. - -"It's hot," says I, "and it's fried, and--" - -"Give it to me! If you don't I shall know it's because you're too -rip-slap stingy to part with it." - -After that, there was nothin' to be done but the one thing. He got the -bread and he ate it--not one slice, but two. And he drank coffee and ate -a three-inch slab of shortcake. When the meal was over there wa'n't -enough left to feed a healthy canary. - -"Now," growls the Major, turnin' to Shelton, "have you a cigar in your -pocket? If you have, hand it over." - -The Congressman fairly gasped. "A cigar!" he sings out. "You--goin' to -_smoke_? _You?_" - -"Yes--me. I'm goin' to die anyway. This murderer here," p'intin' to me, -"laid his plans to kill me and he's succeeded. But I'll die happy. Give -me that cigar! If you had a drink about you I'd take that." - -He bit the end off his cigar, lit it, and slammed out of that kitchen, -puffin' like a soft-coal tug. Shelton shook his head at me and I shook -mine back. - -"Do you s'pose he _will_ die?" he asked. "He's eaten enough to kill -anybody. And with his stomach! And to smoke!" - -"The dear land knows," says I. To tell you the truth I was a little -conscience-struck and worried. My idea had been to play a joke on -Clark--tantalize him by eatin' a square meal that he couldn't touch--and -get even for some of the names he'd called me. But now I wa'n't sure -that my fun wouldn't turn out serious. When a man with a lame digestion -eats enough to satisfy an elephant nobody can be sure what'll come of -it. - -The Congressman and I washed the dishes and 'twas a pretty average -sorrowful job. Only once, when I happened to glance at him and caught a -queer look in his eyes, was the ceremony any more joyful than a funeral. -Then the funny side of it struck me and I commenced to laugh. He joined -in and the pair of us haw-hawed like loons. Then we was sorry for it. - -Shelton went out when the dish-washin' was over. I cleaned up -everything, left a note and some money on Jonathan's table and locked up -the house. When I got outside there was a fair to middlin' breeze -springin' up. Shelton was settin' on the hummock waitin' for me. - -"Where--where's the Major?" I asked, pretty fearful. - -"He's over there in the shade--asleep," he whispered. - -"Asleep!" says I. "Sure he ain't dead?" - -"Listen," says he. - -I listened. If the Major was dead he was a mighty noisy remains. - -He woke up, after an hour or so, and come trampin' over to where we was. - -"Well," he snaps, "it's blowin' hard enough now, ain't it? Why don't you -take us home?" - -"How about the auto?" I asked. - -The auto could stay where it was until the horses came to pull it out. -As for him he wanted to be took home. - -"But--but are you able to go?" asked Shelton, anxious. - -What in the sulphur blazes did we mean by that? Course he was able to -go! And had Shelton got another cigar in his clothes? - -All of the sail home I was expectin' to see that military man keel over -and begin his digestion torments. But he didn't keel. He smoked and -talked and was better-natured than ever I'd seen him. He didn't mention -his stomach once and you can be sure and sartin that I didn't. As we was -comin' up to the moorin's in Ostable I'm blessed if he didn't begin to -sing, a kind of a fool tune about "Down where the somethin'-or-other -runs." Then I _was_ scared, because I judged that his attack had started -and delirium was settin' in. - -Shelton shook hands with me at the landin'. - -"You're all right, Cap'n Snow," he says. "That was the best meal I ever -tasted and nobody but you could have conjured it up in the middle of a -howlin' wilderness. If there's anything I can do for you at any time -just let me know." - -There was one thing he could do, of course, but I wouldn't be mean -enough to mention it then. The Major and I had, generally speakin', -fought fair, and I wouldn't take advantage of a delirious invalid. And -just then up comes the invalid himself. - -"See here, Snow," says he, pretty gruff; "I'll probably be dead afore -mornin', but afore I die I want to tell you that I'm much obliged to you -for bringin' us home. Yes, and--and, by the great and mighty, I'm -obliged to you for that chowder and the rest of it! It'll be my death, -but nothin' ever tasted so good to me afore. There!" - -"That's all right," says I. - -"No, it ain't all right. I'm much obliged, I tell you. You're a -stubborn, obstinate, unreasonable old hayseed, but you're the most -competent person in this town just the same. Of course though," he adds, -sharp, "you understand that this don't affect our post-office fight in -the least. That Blaisdell woman don't get it." - -"Who said it did affect it?" I asked, just as snappy as he was. That's -the way we parted and I wondered if I'd ever see him alive again. - -I didn't see him for quite a spell, but I heard about him. I woke up -nights expectin' to be jailed for murder, but I wa'n't; and when, three -days later, Shelton started for Washin'ton, the Major went away on the -train with him. Abubus and his wife shut up the house and went off, too, -and nobody seemed to know where they'd gone. All's could be found out -was that Abubus acted pretty ugly and wouldn't talk to anybody. This was -comfortin' in a way, though, most likely, it didn't mean anything at -all. - -But at the end of two weeks a thing happened that meant somethin'. I got -two letters in the mail, one in a big, long envelope postmarked from the -Post-Office Department at Washington and the other a letter from Shelton -himself. I don't suppose I'll ever forget that letter to my dyin' day. - - "Dear Captain Snow," it begun. "You may be interested to know - that our mutual friend, Major Clark, has suffered no ill effects - from our picnic at the beach. In fact, he is better than he ever - was and has been enjoying the comforts of city life to an extent - which I should not dare attempt. Whether his long respite from - such comforts helped, or whether the celebrated Doctor Conquest - was responsible, I know not. The Major, however, declares Doctor - Payne to be a fraud and to have been, as he says, 'working him - for a sucker.' Therefore he has discharged the doctor and - discharged the cousin with the odd name--your fellow townsman, - Abubus Payne. The mishap with the auto was the beginning of - Abubus's finish and the fact that no indigestion followed our - chowder party completed it. And also--which may interest you - still more--Major Clark has withdrawn his support of Payne's - candidacy for the post-office and urged the appointment of - another person, one whom he declares to be the only able, - common-sense, honest _man_ in the village. As I have long felt - the appointment of a compromise candidate to be the sole - solution of the problem, I was very happy to agree with him, - particularly as I thoroughly approve of his choice. When you - learn the new postmaster's name I trust you may agree with us - both. I know the citizens of Ostable will do so. - - "Yours sincerely, - - "_William A. Shelton._ - - "P.S. I am coming down next summer and shall expect another one - of your chowders." - -My hands shook as I ripped open the other envelope. I knew what was -comin'--somethin' inside me warned me what to expect. And there it was. -Me--_me_--Zebulon Snow, was app'inted postmaster of Ostable! - -Was I mad? I was crazy! I fairly hopped up and down. What in thunder did -I want of the postmastership? And if I wanted it ever so much did they -think I was a traitor? Was it likely that I'd take it, after workin' -tooth and nail for Mary Blaisdell? What would Mary say to me? By time, -_I'd_ show 'em! It should go back that minute and my free and frank -opinion with it. I'd kicked one chair to pieces already, and was -beginnin' on another, when Jim Henry Jacobs come runnin' in and stopped -me. - -No use to goin' into particulars of the argument we had. It lasted till -after one o'clock next mornin'. Jim Henry argued and coaxed and proved -and I ripped and vowed I wouldn't. He was tickled to death. The -post-office was the greatest thing to bring trade that the store could -have, and so on. I _must_ take the job. If I didn't somebody else would, -somebody that, more'n likely, we wouldn't like any better than we did -Abubus. - -"No," says I. "_No!_ Mary Blaisdell shall have--" - -"She won't get it anyway," says he. "She's out of it--Shelton as much as -says so--whatever happens. And she don't want the title anyway. All she -needs or cares for is the pay and I've thought of a way to fix that. You -listen." - -I listened--under protest, and the upshot of it was that the next day I -went up to see Mary. She'd heard that I was likely to get the -appointment--old Clark had been doin' some hintin' afore he left town, I -cal'late--and she congratulated me as hearty as if 'twas what she'd -wanted all along. But I wa'n't huntin' congratulations. I felt as mean -as if I'd been took up by the constable for bein' a chicken thief, and I -told her so. - -"Mary," says I, "I wa'n't after the postmastership. I swear by all that -is good and great I wa'n't. I don't know what you must think of me." - -"What I've always thought," says she, "and what poor Henry thought -before he died. My opinion is like Major Clark's," with a kind of half -smile, "that the appointment has gone to the best man in Ostable." - -"My, my!" says I. "_Your_ digestion ain't given you delirium, has it? No -sir-ee! I'm no more fit to be postmaster than a ship's goat is to teach -school." - -"You mustn't talk so," she says, earnest. "You will take the position, -won't you?" - -"I'll take it," says I, "under one condition." Then I told her what the -condition was. She argued against it at fust, but after I'd said -flat-footed that 'twas either that or the government could take its -appointment and make paper boats of it, and she'd seen that I meant it, -she give in. - -"But," says she, chokin' up a little, "I know you're doin' this just to -help me. How I can ever repay your kindness I don't--" - -I cut in quick. My deadlights was more misty than I like to have 'em. -"Rubbish!" says I, "I'm doin' it to win my bet with old Clark. I'd do -anything to beat out that old critter." - -So it happened that when, along in November, the Major came back to -Ostable to look over his place, afore leavin' for Florida, and come into -the store, I was ready for him. He grinned and asked me if he had any -mail. - -"While you're about it," he says, chucklin', "you can pay me that bet." - -Now the very sound of the word "bet" hit me on a sore place. I'd lost -one hat to Mr. Pike and the letter I'd got from him rubbed me across the -grain every time I thought of it. - -"What bet?" says I. - -"Why, the bet you made that the Blaisdell woman would be postmistress -here." - -"I didn't bet that," I says. - -"You didn't?" he roared. "You did, too! You bet--" - -"I bet that Mary would handle the mail, that's all. So she will; fact -is, she's handlin' it now. She's my assistant in the post-office here. -If you don't believe it, go back to the mail window and look in. No, -Major, _I_ win the bet." - -Maybe I did, but he wouldn't pay it. He vowed I was a low down swindler -and a "welsher," whatever that is. He blew out of that store like a toy -typhoon and I didn't see him again until the next summer. However, I had -a feelin' that Major Cobden Clark wa'n't the wust friend I had, by a -consider'ble sight. - -You see, that was Jim Henry's great scheme--to hire Mary to run the -office as my assistant. He didn't say what salary I was to pay her, and, -if I chose to hand over three-quarters of the postmaster's pay to her, -what business was it of his? I told him that plain, and, to do him -justice, he didn't seem to care. - -But he did rub it in about my declarin' I'd never go into politics. - -In a little while the mail department was as much a part of the "Ostable -Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods Store" as the calico -and dress goods counter. We bought the Blaisdell letter-box rack and -fixin's and set 'em up and they done fust-rate for the time bein'. I was -postmaster, so fur as name goes, but 'twas Mary that really run that end -of the ship. It seemed as natural to have her come in mornin's, as it -did for the sun to rise; and, if she was late, which didn't happen -often, it seemed almost as if the sun hadn't rose. The old store needed -somethin' like her to keep it clean and sweet and even Jim Henry give in -that she was the best investment the business had made yet. - -As for business it kept on good, even though the summer folks had gone -and winter had set in. Our order carts kept runnin' and they _took_ -orders, too. The store was doin' well by us both and I certainly owed -old Pullet a debt of thanks for workin' on my sympathies until I put my -cash into it. There was consider'ble buildin' goin' on in town and, when -spring begun to show symptoms of makin' Ostable harbor, Jim Henry got -possessed of a new idea. I didn't pay much attention at fust. He was -always as full of notions as a peddler's cart and if I took every one of -'em serious we'd either been Rockefellers or star boarders at the -poorhouse, one or t'other. 'Twa'n't till that day in April when old -Ebenezer Taylor came in after his mail and went out after the constable -that I realized somethin' had to be done. - -You see, Ebenezer's eyes was failin' on him and, to make things worse, -he'd forgot his nigh-to specs and had on his far-off pair. Consequently, -when he headed for the after end of the store, he wa'n't in no condition -to keep clear of the rocks and shoals in the channel. Fust thing he run -into was a couple of dress-forms with some bargain calico gowns on 'em. -While he was beggin' pardon of them forms, under the impression that -they was women customers, he backed into a roll of barbed wire fencin' -that was leanin' against the candy and cigar counter. His clothes was -sort of thin and if that barbed wire had been somebody tryin' to borrer -a quarter of him he couldn't have jumped higher or been more emphatic in -his remarks. The third jump landed him against the gunwale of a bushel -basket of eggs that Jacobs was makin' a special run on and had set out -prominent in the aisle. Maybe Ebenezer was tired from the jumpin' or -maybe the excitement had gone to his head and he thought he was a hen. -Anyhow he set on them eggs, and in two shakes of a heifer's tail he was -the messiest lookin' omelet ever I see. Jacobs and me and the clerk -scraped him off best we could with pieces of barrel hoop and the cheese -knife, and Mary come out from behind the letter boxes and helped along -with the floor mop, but when we'd finished with him he was consider'ble -more like somethin' for breakfast than he was human. - -And mad! An April fool chocolate cream couldn't have been more peppery -than he was. He distributed his commentaries around pretty general--Mary -got some and so did Jacobs--but the heft was fired at me. He hated me -anyhow, 'count of my bein' made postmaster and for some other reasons. - -"You--you thunderin' murderer!" he hollered, shakin' his old fist in my -face. "'Twas all your fault. You done it a-purpose. Look at me! Look! my -legs punched full of holes like a skimmer, and--and my clothes! Just -look at my clothes! A whole suit ruined! A suit I paid ten dollars and a -half for--" - -"Ten year and a half ago," I put in, involuntary, as you might say. - -"It's a lie. 'Twon't be nine year till next September. You think you're -funny, don't you? Ever since this consarned, robbin' Black Republican -administration made you postmaster! Postmaster! You're a healthy -postmaster! I'll have you arrested! I'll march straight out and have you -took up. I will!" - -He headed for the door. I didn't say nothin'. I was sorry about the -clothes and I'd have paid for 'em willin'ly, but arguin' just then was a -waste of time, as the feller said when the deef and dumb man caught him -stealin' apples. Ebenezer stamped as fur as the door and then turned -around. - -"I may not have you took up," he says; "but I'll get even with you, Zeb -Snow, yet. You wait." - -After he'd gone and we'd made the place look a little less like an -egg-nog, I took Jim Henry by the sleeve and led him into the back room -where we could be alone. Even there the surroundin's was so cluttered up -with goods and bales and boxes that we had to stand edgeways and talk -out of the sides of our mouths. - -"Jim," says I, "this place of ours ain't big enough. We've got to have -more room." - -He pretended to be dreadful surprised. - -"Why, why, Skipper!" he says. "You shock me. This is so sudden. What put -such an idea as that in your head? Seems to me I have a vague -remembrance of handin' you that suggestion no less than twenty-five -times since the last change of the moon, but I hope _that_ didn't -influence you." - -"Aw, dry up," says I. "You was right. Let it go at that. Afore I got the -postmastership this buildin' was big enough. Now it ain't. We've got to -build on or move or somethin'. Have you got any definite plan?" - -He smiled, superior and top-lofty, and reached over to pat me on the -back; but reachin' in that crowded junk-shop was bad judgment, 'cause -his elbow hit against the corner of a tea chest and his next set of -remarks was as explosive and fiery as a box of ship rockets. - -"Never mind the blessin'," I says. "Go ahead with the fust course. Have -you got anything up your sleeve? anything besides that bump, I mean." - -Well, it seems he had. Seems he'd thought it all out. We'd ought to buy -Philander Foster's buildin', which was on the next lot to ours, move it -close up, cut doors through, and use it for the post-office department. - -"Humph!" says I, after I'd turned the notion over in my mind. "That -ain't so bad, considerin' where it come from. I can only sight one -possible objection in the offin'." - -"What's that, you confounded Jezebel?" he says. - -"Jezebel?" says I. "What on airth do you call me that for?" - -"'Cause you're him all over," he says. "He was the feller I used to hear -about in Sunday School, the prophet chap that was always croakin' and -believed everything was goin' to the dogs. That was Jezebel, wasn't it?" - -"No," says I, "that was Jeremiah; Jezebel was the one the dogs _went_ -to. And she was a woman, at that." - -"Well, all right," he says. "Whatever he or she was they didn't have -anything on you when it comes to croaks. What's the objection?" - -"Nothin' much. Only I don't know's you've happened to think that -Philander might not care to sell his buildin', to us or to anybody -else." - -That was all right. We could go and see, couldn't we? Well, we could of -course--and we did. - - - - -CHAPTER V--A TRAP AND WHAT THE "RAT" CAUGHT IN IT - - -Foster run a shebang that was labeled "The Palace Billiard, Pool and -Sipio Parlors. Cigars and Tobacco. Tonics, all Flavors. Ice Cream in -Season." The "Palace" part was some exaggeration and so was the -"Parlors," but the place was the favorite hang-out of all the loafers -and young sports in town and the church folks was tumble down on it, -callin' it a "gilded hell" and such pious profanity. The gilt had wore -off years afore and if the hot place ain't more interestin' than that -billiard saloon it must be dull for some of the permanent boarders. - -We found Philander asleep back of the soft drink counter and young -Erastus Taylor--"Ratty," everybody called him--practicin' pin pool, as -usual, at one of the tables. "Ratty" was Ebenezer Taylor's only son and -the combination trial and idol of the old man's soul. Ebenezer thought -most as much of him as he did of his money, and when you've said that -you couldn't make it any stronger. He'd done a heap to make a man of -"Rat"--his idea of a man--even separatin' from enough cash to send him -to a business college up to Middleboro; but all the boy got from that -college was a thunder and lightnin' taste in clothes and a post-graduate -course in pool playin'. Pool playin' was the only thing he cared about -and he could spot any one of the Ostable sharps four balls and beat 'em -hands down. He'd sampled two or three jobs up to Boston, but they always -undermined his health and he drifted back home to live on dad and look -for another "openin'." I cal'late the pair lived a cat and dog life, for -Ratty always wanted money to spend and Ebenezer wanted it to keep. The -old man was the wust down on the billiard room of anybody and his son -put in most of his time there. - -Me and Jim Henry woke up Philander and told him we wanted to talk with -him private. He said go ahead and talk; there wa'n't anybody to hear but -Ratty, and Rat was just like one of the family. So, as we couldn't do it -any different, we went ahead. Jacobs explained that we felt that maybe -we might some time or other need a little extry room for our business -and, bein' as he--Philander--was handy by and we was always prejudiced -in favor of a neighbor and so on, perhaps he'd consider sellin' us his -buildin' and lot. Course it didn't make so much difference to him; he -could easy move his "Parlors" somewheres else--and similar sweet ile. -Philander listened till Jim Henry had poured on the last soothin' drop, -and then he laughed. - -"Um ... ya-as," he says. "I could move a heap, _I_ could! I'm so durned -popular amongst the good landholders in this town that any one of 'em -would turn their best settin'-rooms over to me the minute I mentioned -it. Yes, indeed! Just where 'bouts would I move?--if 'tain't too much to -ask." - -Well, that was some of a sticker, 'cause _I_ couldn't think of anybody -that would have that billiard room within a thousand fathoms of their -premises, if they could help it. But Jim Henry he pretended not to be -shook up a cent's wuth. That was easy; 'twas just a matter of -Philander's pickin' out the right place, that was all there was to it. - -Philander heard him through and then he laughed again. - -"You're wastin' good business breath," he says. "I wouldn't sell if I -could, unless I had a fust-class place to move into, and there ain't no -such place on the main road and you know it. I'm doin' trade enough to -keep me alive and I'm satisfied, though I can't lay up a cent. But, so -fur as movin' out is concerned, I expect to do that on the fust of next -November. I'll be fired out, I judge, and prob'ly'll have to leave town. -Hey, Rat?" - -Ratty Taylor, who'd been listenin', twisted his mouth and grunted. - -"Yes," he says, "I guess that's right, worse luck!" - -"You bet it's right!" says Philander. "As I said, Mr. Jacobs, if I could -sell out to you and Cap'n Zeb I wouldn't, without a good handy place to -move into. And I can't sell any way. There's a thousand dollar mortgage -on this shop and lot; it's due June fust; and, unless I pay it -off--which I can't, havin' not more'n five hundred to my name--the -mortgage'll be foreclosed and out I go." - -This was news all right. Then me and Jim Henry asked the same question, -both speakin' together. - -"Who owns the mortgage?" we asked. - -Foster looked at Ratty and grinned. Rat grinned back, sort of sickly. - -"Shall I tell 'em?" says Philander. - -"I don't care," says Ratty. "Tell 'em, if you want to." - -"Well," says Foster, "old Ebenezer Taylor, Ratty's dad, owns it, drat -him! and he's tryin' to drive me out of town 'count of Rat's spendin' so -much time in here. Ratty's a fine feller, but his pa's the meanest old -skinflint that ever drawed the breath of life. Not meanin' no -reflections on your family, Rat--but ain't it so?" - -"_I_ shan't contradict you, Phi," says Ratty. - -Jacobs and I looked at each other. Then I got up from my chair. - -"Jim Henry," says I, "I don't see as we've got much to gain by stayin' -here. Let's go home." - -We went back to the store, neither of us speakin', but both thinkin' -hard. It was all off now, of course. If old Taylor owned that mortgage, -he'd foreclose on the nail, if only to get rid of his son's loafin' -place. And he wouldn't sell to us--hatin' us as he did--unless we -covered the place with cash an inch deep. No, buyin' the "Palace" was a -dead proposition. And there wa'n't another available buildin' or lot big -enough for us to move to within a mile of Ostable Center. - -"Humph!" says I, some sarcastic. "It looks to me--speakin' as a man in -the crosstrees--as if that wonderful business brain of yours had sprung -a leak somewheres, Jim. Better get your pumps to workin', hadn't you?" - -He snorted. "I'd rather have a leaky head than a solid wood one like -some I know," he says. "Quiet your Jezebellerin' and let me think.... -There's one thing we might do, of course: We might advance the other -five hundred to Foster, let him pay off his mortagage, and then--" - -"And then trust to luck to get the money back," I put in. "There's more -charity than profit in that, if you ask me. Once that mortgage is paid, -you couldn't get Philander out of that buildin' with a derrick. He don't -want to go." - -"But we might make some sort of a deal to pay him a hundred dollars or -so to boot and then--" - -"And then you'd have another hundred to collect, that's all. I wouldn't -trust that billiard and sipio man as fur as old Ebenezer could see -through his nigh-to specs. No sir-ee! Nothin' doin', as the boys say." - -Next forenoon I met old Ebenezer Taylor on the sidewalk in front of the -Methodist meetin'-house and, when he saw me, he stopped and commenced -chucklin' and gigglin' as if he was wound up. - -"He, he, he!" says he. "He, he! I hear you and that partner of yours, -Zebulon, want to buy my property next door to you. Well, I'll sell it to -you--at a price. He, he, he! at a price." - -[Illustration: _'Well, I'll sell it to you--at a price.'_] - -"So your hopeful and promisin' son's been tellin' tales, has he?" says -I. "I wa'n't aware that it was your property--yet." - -He stopped gigglin' and glared at me, sour and bitter as a green -crab-apple. - -"It's goin' to be," he says. "Don't you forget that, it's goin' to be. -And if you want it, you'll pay my price. You owe me for them clothes you -ruined, Zeb Snow--for them and for other things. And I cal'late I've got -you fellers about where I want you." - -"Oh, I don't know," says I. "You may be glad enough to sell to us later -on. What good is an empty buildin' on your hands? Unless of course you -intend rentin' it for another billiard saloon." - -That made him so mad he fairly gurgled. - -"There'll be no billiard saloon in this town," he declared. "No more -gilded ha'nts of sin, temptin' young men whose parents have spent good -money on their education. No, you bet there won't! And that buildin' may -not be empty, nuther. I know somethin'. He, he, he!" - -"Sho!" says I. "Do you? I wouldn't have believed it of you, Ebenezer." - -I left him tryin' to think of a fittin' answer, and walked on to the -store. Mary called to me from behind the letter-boxes. - -"Mr. Jacobs is in the back room," she says, "and he wants to see you -right away. Erastus Taylor is with him." - -"'Rastus Taylor?" I sung out. "Ratty? What in the world--?" - -I hurried into the back room. Sure enough, there was Jim Henry and Ratty -caged behind a pile of boxes and barrels. - -"Ah, Skipper!" says Jacobs; "is that you? I was hopin' you'd come. Young -Taylor here has been suggestin' an idea that looks good to me. Tell the -Cap'n what you've been tellin' me, Ratty." - -Rat twisted uneasy on the box where he was settin' and give me a side -look out of his little eyes. I never saw him look more like his -nickname. - -"Well, Cap'n Zeb," he says, "it's like this: I've been thinkin' and I -believe I've thought of a way so you and Mr. Jacobs can get Philander's -lot and buildin'." - -"You have, hey?" says I. "That's interestin', if true. What's the way?" - -"Why," says he, twistin' some more, "that mortgage is due on the first -of June. If it ain't paid, Philander'll be foreclosed and he'll move out -of town. It's only a thousand dollars and Phi's got half of it. If -somebody--you and Mr. Jacobs, say--was to lend him t'other half, why -then he could pay it off and--and--" - -"And stay where he is," I finished disgusted. "That would be real lovely -for Philander, but I don't see where we come in. This ain't a billiard -and loan society Mr. Jacobs and I are runnin', thankin' you and Foster -for the suggestion." - -"Wait a minute, Skipper," says Jim Henry. "Your engine is runnin' wild. -That ain't Ratty's scheme at all. Go on, Rat; spring it on him." - -"Philander wouldn't be so set on stayin' where he is, Cap'n Zeb," says -Rat, quick as a flash, "if he had another place to move into; another -place here on the main road, convenient and handy by. And I think I know -a place that could be got for him." - -I didn't answer for a minute. I was runnin' over in my mind every -possible place that might be sold or let to Philander Foster for a -"Palace." And to save my life I couldn't think of one. - -"Well," says I, at last, "where is it?" - -Ratty leaned forward. "What's the matter with Aunt Hannah Watson's -buildin' up the street?" he says. "She's been crazy to sell it for a -long spell. And the lower floor would make a pretty fair billiard room, -wouldn't it?" - -I was disgusted. I knew the buildin' he meant, of course. Jacobs and I -had talked it over that very mornin' as a possible place to move the -"Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods Store" to, -but we'd both decided it wa'n't nigh big enough. - -"Humph!" says I, "that scheme's so brilliant you need smoked glass to -look at it. Do you cal'late as good a church woman as Aunt Hannah Watson -would sell or let her place for a billiard room? She needs the money bad -enough, land knows; but she's as down on those ha'nts of sin as your dad -is, Rat Taylor. She'd never sell to Phi Foster in this world." - -"_She_ mightn't, I give in," answered Rat. "But her nephew up to Wareham -is a diff'rent breed of cats. And since she moved over there to live -along with him, he's got the handlin' of her property. I found that out -to-day. From what I hear of this nephew man he ain't as particular as -his aunt. And, anyway, 'tain't necessary for Philander to make the deal. -You and Mr. Jacobs might make it for him." - -I thought this over for a minute. I begun to catch the idea that the -young scamp had in his noddle--or I thought I did. - -"H'm," I says. "Yes, yes. You mean that if we'd lend Philander enough to -pay the balance of his mortgage on the buildin' he's in now and would -fix it so's Aunt Hannah'd sell us her place, under the notion that _we_ -was goin' to use it--you mean that then, after June fust, Foster'd swap. -He'd move in there and turn over the old 'Palace' to us." - -He and Jim Henry both bobbed their heads emphatic. - -"That's what he means," says Jim. - -"That's the idea exactly, Cap'n," says Rat. "I think Philander might be -willin' to do that." - -"Is that so!" says I, sarcastic. "Well, well! I want to know! But, say, -Ratty, ain't you takin' an awful lot of trouble on Foster's account? -You're turrible unselfish and disinterested all to once; or else there's -a nigger in the woodpile somewheres. Where do you come in on this?" - -He looked pretty average cheap. He fussed and fumed for a minute and -then he blurts out his reason. "Well, I'll tell you, Cap'n," he says. -"Philander's about the best friend I've got in this bum town and I get -more solid comfort in his saloon than anywheres else. If he's drove out -of Ostable, I'll be lonesomer than the grave. I don't want him to go. -And besides--well, you see, the old man--dad, I mean--has got a notion -about settin' me up in business here. And I don't want to be set up--not -in his kind of business. I know the kind of business I want to go into, -and ... but never mind that part," he adds, in a hurry. - -I smiled. I remembered what old Ebenezer had said about the "Palace" -buildin' not bein' empty on his hands very long and about somethin' he -knew. It was all plain enough now. He intended openin' some sort of a -store there with his son as boss. I almost wished he would. 'Twould be -as good as a three-ring circus, that store would, if I knew Ratty. But I -was mad, just the same, and when Jim Henry spoke, I was ready for him. - -"Well, Skipper," says Jacobs, "what do you think of the plan?" - -"Think it's a good one, if you're willin' to heave morals and common -honesty overboard--otherwise no. To put up a trick like that on an old -widow woman like Aunt Hannah Watson--to land a billiard room on her -property, when she'd rather die than have it there, is too close to -robbin' the Old Ladies' Home to suit me. I wouldn't touch it with a -ten-foot pole. So good day to you, Rat Taylor," says I, and walked out. - -But Jim Henry Jacobs didn't walk out. No, sir! him and that young Taylor -scamp stayed in that back room for another half hour and left it -whisperin' in each other's ears and actin' thicker than thieves. I -wondered what was up, but I was too put-out and mad to ask. - -"I'll look it over right after dinner to-morrer," says Jacobs, as they -shook hands at the front door. - -"Sure you will, now?" asks Ratty, anxious. "Don't put it off, 'cause it -may be too late." - -"At one o'clock to-morrer I'll be there," says Jim Henry, and Rat went -away lookin' pretty average happy. - -Jacobs scarcely spoke to me all the rest of that day nor the next -mornin'. As we got up from the boardin' house table the follerin' noon -he says, without lookin' me in the face, "I ain't goin' back to the -store now. I've got an errand somewheres else." - -"Yes," says I, "I imagined you had. You're goin' down to look at that -buildin' of poor old Aunt Hannah's. That's where you're goin'. Ain't you -ashamed of yourself, Jim Jacobs?" - -"Oh, cut it out!" he snaps, savage. "You make me tired, Skipper. You and -your backwoods scruples give me a pain. I've lived where people aren't -so narrow and bigoted and I don't consider a billiard room an annex to -the hot place. If, by a business deal, I can get that buildin' next door -to add to our establishment, I'm goin' to do it, if I have to use my own -money and not a cent of yours. Yes, I _am_ goin' to look at that Watson -property. Now, what have you got to say about it?" - -"Why, just this," says I; "I cal'late I'll go with you." - -"You will?" he sings out. "_You?_" - -"Yes," says I, "me. Not that I feel any different about skinnin' Aunt -Hannah than I ever did, but because there's a bare chance that her place -may be big enough for us to move the store and post-office to, after -all. With that idea and no other, I'll go with you, Jim." - -So we went together, though we never spoke more than two words on the -way down. We got the key at the jewelry and hardware shop next door and -went in. The Watson place was an old-fashioned tumble-down buildin' with -a big open lower floor and two or three rooms overhead. I saw right off -'twouldn't do for us to move into, but likewise I saw that the lower -floor _might_ do for Foster, though 'twa'n't as good as where he was, by -consider'ble. - -Jim Henry looked the place over. - -"No good for us," he snapped. - -"None at all," says I. - -"Humph!" says he, and we locked up and came down the steps together. As -we did so I noticed someone watchin' us from acrost the road. - -"There's our friend, Jim Henry," says I. "And, judgin' by the way he's -starin', he's got on his fur-off glasses and knows who we are." - -He looked across. "Old Taylor, by thunder!" says he. "Well, if my deal -goes through we'll jolt the old tight-wad yet." - -"Do you mean you're goin' on with that low-down billiard-room game?" I -asked. - -"Of course I do," he snapped. - -"Then you'll do it on your own hook. _I_ won't be part or parcel of it." - -"Who asked you to?" he wanted to know. And we didn't speak again for the -rest of that day. It made me feel bad, because he and I had been mighty -friendly, as well as partners together. The only comfort I got out of it -was that, judgin' by the way he kept from lookin' at me or speakin', he -didn't feel any too good himself. - -But that evenin' Ratty drifted in and the pair of 'em had another -confab. And next day, after the mail had gone, Jacobs got me alone and -says he: - -"Well," he says, "I think I ought to tell you that I've written that -nephew in Wareham and made an offer on the Watson property. I did it on -my own responsibility and I'll pay the freight. But I thought perhaps I -ought to tell you." - -"What did you offer?" I asked. He told me. - -"I'll take half," says I, "because I consider it a good investment at -that figger. But only with the agreement that the billiard saloon -sha'n't go there." - -"Then you can keep your money," he says, short. And there was another -long spell of not speakin' between the two of us. - -Mary noticed that there was somethin' wrong, and it worried her. She -spoke to me about it. - -"Cap'n Zeb," she says, "what's the trouble between you and Mr. Jacobs? -Of course it isn't my business, and you mustn't tell me unless you wish -to." - -I thought it over. "Well," says I, "I can't tell you just now, Mary. -It's a business matter we don't agree on and it's kind of private. I'll -tell you some day, but just now I can't. It ain't all my secret, you -see." - -"I see," says she. "I shouldn't have asked. I beg your pardon. I wasn't -curious, but I do hate to see any trouble between you two. I like you -both." - -I nodded. I was feelin' pretty blue. "Jim's a mighty good chap at -heart," I says. "I owe him a lot and he's consider'ble more than just a -partner to me." - -"He thinks the world of you, too," says she. "He's told me so a great -many times. That is why I can't bear to see you disagree." - -I couldn't bear it none too well, either, but Jim Henry showed no signs -of givin' in and I wouldn't. So we moped around, keepin' out of each -other's way, and actin' for all the world like a couple of young-ones in -bad need of a switch. - -A couple more days went by afore the answer came from Wareham. When I -saw the envelope on the desk, with the Watson man's name in the corner, -I knew what it meant and I was on hand when Jim Henry opened it. He was -ugly and scowlin' when he ripped off the envelope. Then I heard him -swear. I was dyin' to know what the letter said, but I wouldn't have -asked him for no money. I walked out to the front of the store. Five -minutes later I felt his hand on my shoulder. He had a curious -expression on his face, sort of a mixture of mad and glad. - -"Skipper," he says, "we're buncoed again. We don't get the Watson -place." - -"Don't, hey?" says I. "All right, I sha'n't shed any tears. I wa'n't -after it, and you know it. But I'm surprised that your offer wa'n't -accepted. Why wa'n't it?" - -"Because somebody got ahead of me. Here's the letter. Listen to this: -'Your offer for my aunt's property in Ostable came a day too late. -Yesterday I gave a year's option on that property, for five hundred -dollars cash, to--'" - -"Land of love!" I interrupted. "Only yesterday! That was close haulin', -I must say." - -"Wait," says he, "you haven't heard the whole of it. 'A year's option -... for five hundred dollars cash, to Mr. Taylor of your town.'" - -"Taylor!" says I. "_Taylor!_ My soul and body! The old skinflint beat us -again! Well, I swan!" - -"Um-hm," says he. "I size it up like this. He saw us come out of there -the other day and guessed that we thought of buyin' and movin'. So, as -he owed us a grudge, and because the Watson property is, as you said, a -good investment anyhow, he makes his option offer on the jump, and beat -me to it." - -I whistled. "I cal'late you've hit the nailhead, Jim," says I. "Well, to -be free and frank, I'm glad of it." - -"So am I," says he. - -_That_ was a staggerer. I whirled round and looked at him. - -"You _are_?" I sung out. - -"Yes," says he, "I am. Of course I had my heart set on gettin' that -'Palace' for an addition that would give more room and extry space to -our place here; and the only way I could see to get it was to take up -with that Rat's proposition. I haven't any prejudice against -billiards--" - -"Neither have I, but--" - -"I know. And you're right. Old lady Watson has, and to run Foster's -establishment in on her would have been a low-down mean trick. I've felt -like a thief, but I was so pig-headed I wouldn't back down. Now that -I've got it where the chicken got his, I'm glad of it, I really am. -Partner, will you forget my meanness and shake hands?" - -Would I? I was as tickled as a youngster with a new tin whistle. And so -was he. - -"There's only one thing that keeps me mad," he says, "and that is that -old Ebenezer's got the laugh on us again. As for more room for the -store--well, we'll have to think that out." - -We thought, but it wa'n't us that got the answer. 'Twas Mary Blaisdell. -I told her what our fuss had been about, and she agreed that I was right -and that Jim Henry's sharp business sense had sort of run away with him -for the time bein'. - -"But," says she, "we certainly do need more room, both in the mail -department and the store. I've had an idea for some time. Let _me_ think -a while." - -Next day she told Jacobs and me what her idea was. 'Twas that we should -build an addition on to our own buildin'. Run it two stories high and -right out into the back yard. 'Twas just the thing and the wonder is -that we hadn't thought of it ourselves. - -"She's a wonder, Jim, ain't she?" says I, when we was alone together. - -"_You_ think so, don't you, Skipper," says he, smilin'. - -I flared up. "Sartin I do," I says. "Don't you?" - -"Indeed I do." - -"Then what do you mean?" - -"Oh, nothin', nothin'. Say, have you seen old Taylor lately? I suppose -he's crowin' like a Shanghai rooster. I do hate for that old skinflint -to have the joke always on his side." - -"I know," says I. "So do I. But some day, if we wait long enough, we may -have a chance to laugh at him. I've lived a good many year and I've seen -it work that way pretty often. We'll wait--and when we do laugh, we'll -laugh hard." - -And we didn't have to wait so turrible long neither. We got a carpenter -in, told him to keep it a secret, but to plan how we could build the -backyard extension. The plannin' and estimatin' kept us busy and we -forgot about everything else. Fust along I expected young Taylor would -pester us with more schemes, but he didn't. He never came nigh us once, -fact is he seemed mighty anxious to keep out of our way, and so long as -he did we didn't complain. His dad come crowin' and chucklin' around a -couple of times and finally Jacobs lost his temper and told him if he -ever showed his face on our premises again he was liable to be put to -the expense of havin' it repaired by the doctor. Ebenezer vowed -vengeance and law suits, but he went, and after that he sent a boy for -his mail instead of comin' to fetch it himself. - -One forenoon, about eleven o'clock 'twas, I was standin' on the store -platform, when I heard the Old Harry's own row in the "Palace Billiard, -Pool and Sipio Parlors." Loud voices, all goin' at once, and two or -three different assortments of language. Jim Henry heard it, too, and -come out to listen. - -"Skipper," he says, sudden; "what day is this?" - -"Why, Thursday," says I, "ain't it? Oh, you mean what day of the month. -Hey? By the everlastin'! I declare if it ain't the fust of June!" - -"The day Foster's mortgage falls due," he says, excited. "I wonder.... -You don't suppose--" - -He didn't have to suppose, for inside of the next two minutes we both -knew. Three men came bustin' out of the billiard room door. One was -Philander himself, the other was Ezra Colcord, the lawyer, and the third -was our old shipmate and bosom friend, Ebenezer Taylor. The old man was -fairly frothin' at the mouth. - -"You--you--" he sputtered, "you've deceived me. You've lied to me. You -led me to think--" - -"I don't see as you've got any kick, Mr. Taylor," purrs Philander, -smilin'. "You've got your money. What more can you ask?" - -"But--but I don't want the money. I want this property, and I'll have -it." - -"Oh, no, you won't, Mr. Taylor," says Colcord, the lawyer. "This -property belongs to Foster now. He's paid your mortgage in full. You -have no rights here whatever and I advise you to go before you are -arrested for trespassin'." - -Well, the old man went, but he was still talkin' and threatenin' when he -turned the corner. Colcord laughed and shook hands with Philander. - -"Don't mind him, Foster," he says. "He's sore, that's all, but he has no -claim whatever. You've paid off your mortgage and the property is yours -absolutely. As for the other matter, the papers will be ready for -signature this afternoon. Ha, ha! I imagine they won't add to our -friend's joy." - -"Cal'late not," says Philander, grinnin'. "This'll be his day for -surprises, hey?" - -They shook hands again and Colcord left. Soon's he'd gone, Jim Henry -grabbed me by the arm. He didn't even wait for the lawyer to get out of -sight. - -"Come on," he says. "This is too good to be true. We must find out about -this, Skipper." - -So over to the "Parlors" we hurried. Philander looked sort of queer when -he saw us comin', but he didn't run away. We commenced to ask questions, -both of us together. After we'd asked a dozen or so, he held up his -hand. - -"Come inside," he says, "and I'll tell you about it. The secret'll be -out in a little while, anyhow, and maybe we do owe you fellers a little -mite of explanation." - -We went in, wonderin'. Philander set up the cigars, ten-centers at that, -and then he says: "Yes, I've paid off my mortgage and I cal'late you -wonder where the money came from. Five hundred of it I had myself. You -knew that." - -"Yes," says Jacobs, and I nodded. - -"Um-hm," says he. "Well, I loaned the five hundred to Ratty and he -bought the option on Aunt Hannah's buildin' with it." - -We fairly jumped off our pins. - -"What?" says I. - -"_Rat_ bought that option?" gasped Jim Henry. "Nonsense! his dad bought -it." - -"No-o," says Philander, solemn, "'twas Rat that bought it at fust. The -whole scheme was his and I give him credit for it. After Mr. Jacobs here -had agreed to look at the Watson place, Ratty got Ed. Holmes to take him -over to Wareham in his auto. There he see this nephew of Aunt Hannah's, -paid down his five hundred and got the option." - -"But that letter I got said--" began Jim Henry, and then he pulled up -short. "No," says he, "it said 'Mr. Taylor' had secured the option; I -remember now. But, of course, we supposed it was Ebenezer." - -"And Ebenezer did have it," I put in. "He told me so himself. I met him -on the road and he--" - -"Hold on, Cap'n," cuts in Philander, "no use goin' through all that. -Ebenezer _has_ got it now. Ratty decoyed his dad down abreast the Watson -place while you and Mr. Jacobs was inside lookin' it over, and the old -man see you two come out." - -"I know he did," says I. "I saw him peekin' at us from behind a tree." - -"Yes," goes on Foster, "he was there. And, naturally, he jedged you was -cal'latin' to buy that buildin' and move into it. Fact is, he'd been -intendin' to buy it himself as an investment, and, now that there was a -chance to spite you fellers hove in for good measure, he was more -anxious to get it than ever. Then Rat broke the news that he had the -option and was willin' to sell it to the highest bidder. Ha! ha! I guess -there was a lively session, but the upshot of it was that Ebenezer -bought that option off his boy for a thousand dollars. That's how _he_ -got it." - -"Well, I'll be hanged!" says Jim Henry. I was way past sayin' anything. - -"And so," continues Philander, "the five hundred dollars' profit on the -option and the five hundred dollars I lent Rat to start with made just -the amount needful to pay off my mortgage. And, Squire Colcord and me -paid it off this mornin'. You fellers heard the concludin' section of -the ceremonies. Ebenezer's benediction was some spicy, hey!" - -"But--but--why, look here, Philander," says I. "I don't understand this -at all. Five hundred of that thousand was Rat's. He ain't no -philanthropist; he wouldn't _give_ it to you, unless miracles are comin' -into fashion again. What--" - -Foster laughed. "There is a little somethin' underneath," he says. "It's -been kept pretty close, but the cat'll be out of the bag afore the day's -over and, considerin' how much you two helped without meanin' to, I'd -just as soon tell you. Ratty told you that his pa was cal'latin' to set -him up in business, didn't he? Yes. Well, Rat's had a notion for a long -spell about the business he meant to get into. There's a new sign been -ordered for this shebang of mine. Here's the copy for it." - -He reached under the cigar counter and held up a long piece of -pasteboard. 'Twas lettered like this: - - PALACE BILLIARD, POOL AND SIPIO PARLORS. - - _Philander Foster & Erastus Taylor,_ - - _Proprietors._ - -"I cal'late the old man'll disown his son when he knows it," goes on -Foster, "but Rat had rather run a pool room than be rich, any day in the -week. And say," he adds, "if I was you fellers I'd try to be on hand -when Ebenezer fust sees the new sign. I should think you'd get -consider'ble satisfaction from watchin' his face. I'm cal'latin' to, -myself," says Philander Foster. - - - - -CHAPTER VI--I RUN AFOUL OF COUSIN LEMUEL - - -Well, to be honest, I felt pretty bad about that billiard room business. -I was real sorry for old Ebenezer. Of course Taylor was a skinflint and -a thorough-goin' mean man, but Ratty was his son and his pride, and to -have a son play a dog's trick like that on the father that had, at -least, tried to make somethin' out of him, seemed tough enough. And my -conscience plagued me. I felt almost as if I was to blame somehow. I -wa'n't, of course, but I felt that way. A feller's conscience is the -most unreasonable part of his works; I've noticed it often. - -But I needn't have wasted any sympathy on Ebenezer. For the fust little -while after his boy went into the pool and sipio business, he was a sore -chap. Then, all at once, I noticed that he took to hangin' around the -"Parlors" consider'ble and one evenin' I saw him comin' out of there, -all smiles. I was standin' on the store platform and as he passed me I -hailed him. We hadn't spoken for a consider'ble spell, but I hadn't any -grudge, for my part. - -"Hello!" says I, "what are you so tickled about?" - -I didn't know as he wouldn't throw somethin' at me for darin' to hail -him, but no, he was ready to talk to anybody, even me. - -"No use," says he, "that boy of mine's a mighty smart feller. He just -beat Tom Baker three games runnin', and spotted him two balls on the -last one. He's a wonder, if I do say it." - -I looked at him. This didn't sound much like disinheritin'. - -"Three games of what?" says I. - -"Why, pool," says he, "of course. And Baker's been countin' himself the -best player in the county. 'Rastus was playin' for the house. Him and -Philander cleared over a hundred dollars in the last month. That ain't -so bad for a young feller just startin' in, is it? I always knew that -boy had the business instinct, if he'd only wake up to it. I've told -folks so time and again." - -He went along, chucklin' to himself, and I stood still and whistled. And -when I heard that the old man had taken to callin' the -anti-billiard-room crowd bigoted and narrer it didn't surprise me much. -I judged that Ebenezer's opinions was like those of others of his -tribe--dependent on the profit and loss account in the ledger. You can -forgive your own kith and kin a lot easier than you can outsiders, -especially if your moral scruples are the Taylor kind, to be reckoned in -dollars and cents. - -The carpenters were ready to begin work on our store addition at last, -and we started right in to build on. 'Twas an awful job, enough sight -worse than movin', but it had to be got through with some way and we -wanted to have it finished when the summer season opened for good. If -the store had been cluttered up and crowded afore, it was ten times -worse now. The amount of energy and healthy remarks that Jacobs and I -wasted in fallin' over and runnin' into things would have kept a -steamer's engines goin' from Boston to Liverpool, I cal'late. I expected -one of us would break our neck sartin sure, but we didn't and, by the -fust of July we thought we could see the end. - -"There!" says I, "in another week we'll be clear of sawdust, I do -believe. The painters won't be so bad. And we've got on without any -accidents, too, which is a miracle." - -"You ought to knock wood when you say that, Skipper," says Jim Henry. - -"I've knocked enough of it already--with my head," I told him. But I -hadn't. At any rate the accident come, and not by reason of the buildin' -on, either. It come right in the way of everyday trade, from where we -wa'n't expectin' it. That's the way such things generally happen. A -feller runs under a tree, so's to keep from gettin' rained on and -catchin' cold, and then the tree's struck by lightnin'. - -If I'd remembered what old Sylvanus Baxter said when they asked him to -prove one of his fish statements, I'd have been a wiser man. Sylvanus -was tellin' how many mack'rel him and his brother caught off Setucket -P'int with a hand line, back when Methusalum was a child, or about then. -Forty-eight barrels they caught, and it nigh filled the dory. One of the -young city fellers who was listenin' undertook to doubt the yarn. He got -a piece of paper and a pencil and proved that a dory wouldn't hold that -many fish. Sylvanus shut him up in a hurry. - -"Young man," he says, scornful, "where a human bein' is blessed with a -memory same as I've got, proof's too unsartin to compare with it." - -If I'd borne in mind what Sylvanus said and abided by it I might not -have dropped the barrel of sugar on my starboard foot. I'd have been -satisfied to remember my strength and not try to prove it by liftin' the -said barrel off the tailboard of our delivery wagon. - -However, I did try, and the result was that the barrel slipped when I'd -got it 'most to the ground, and my foot went out of commission with a -hurrah, so to speak. - -Jim Henry come runnin' and him and the clerk loaded me into the wagon -and carted me off to my rooms at the Poquit House. And there I stayed in -dry dock for three weeks, while the doctor done his best to patch up my -busted trotter and get me off the ways and into active service again. - -He done his part all right. I was mendin' so far as the lower end of me -was concerned, but my upper works and temper was gettin' more tangled -and snarled every day. Too much company was the trouble. I had too many -folks runnin' in to ask how I was gettin' on and to talk and talk and -talk. Jim Henry he come, of course, to talk about the store; and Mary -Blaisdell, to tell me how the post-office was doin'. I could stand them; -fact is, Mary was a sort of soothin' sirup, with her pleasant face and -calm, cheery voice. But the parson he come, to keep the spiritual part -of me ready for whatever might happen; and the undertaker, to be sure he -got the other part, if it _did_ happen; and twenty-odd old maids and -widows from sewin'-circle to talk about each other and church squabbles -and the dreadful sufferin's and agonizin' deaths of their relations, -who'd had accidents similar to mine. - -They made me so fidgety and mad that the doctor noticed it. "What's -troublin' you, Cap'n Snow?" he asked. "No new pains, I hope?" - -"Humph!" says I. "Your hope's blasted. I've got the meanest pain I've -had yet." - -"Where?" says he, anxious. - -"All over," I says. "Tabitha Nickerson's responsible for it. She's been -here for the last hour and a half, tellin' about how her second cousin, -by her uncle's marriage, stuck a nail in his hand and was amputated -twice and finally died of lingerin' lockjaw. She never missed a groan. -Consarn her! _She_ gives me a pain just to look at." - -He laughed. "That's the trouble with you old bachelors," he says. -"You're too popular with the fair sex." - -"Fair!" I sung out. "Doc, if you mean to say Tabby Nickerson's fair, -then I'm goin' to switch to the homeopaths. _Your_ judgment ain't -dependable." - -He laughed again and then he went on. Seems he'd been thinkin' for quite -a spell that the Poquit House wasn't the place for me. - -"What you need, Cap'n," he says, "is a nice quiet spot where nobody can -get at you--that is, nobody but the disagreeable necessities, like me. -I've found the place for you to board durin' your convalescence. Do you -know the Deacon house over at South Ostable on the lower road?" - -"If you mean Lot Deacon's, I do--yes," says I. - -"That's it," says he. "Lot's all alone there, and he'd be mighty glad of -a boarder. The house is as neat as wax, and Lot used to go as cook on a -Banks' boat, so you'll be fed well. It's right on the shore, with the -woods back of it. There's a splendid view, the air's fine, and--and--" - -"Don't strain yourself, Doc," I put in. "You couldn't think of anything -else if you thought for a week. Air and view is all there is in that -neighborhood. What on earth have I done to be sentenced to serve a term -at Lot Deacon's?" - -Well, it was quiet, and I needed quiet. It was restful, and I needed -rest. It was too far from civilization for the undertaker or the -sewin'-circle to get at me. It was--but there! never mind the rest. The -upshot was that I agreed to board at Lot's till my foot got well enough -to navigate and they carted me down in the delivery wagon, next day. - -The Deacon place lived up to specifications all right. Nighest neighbor -half a mile off, woods all round on three sides, and the bay on t'other. -Good grub and plenty of it. And no company except the doctor every other -day, and Jim Henry the days between, and Lot--oh, land, yes! Lot, always -and forever. - -He was a meek little critter, Lot was, accommodatin' and willin' to -please, as good a cook as ever fried a clam, and a great talker on some -subjects. He was a widower, with no relations except an aunt-in-law over -to Denboro, and a third cousin up to Boston; and his principal hobby was -spirits and mediums and such. He was as sot on Spiritu'lism as anybody -ever you see, and hadn't missed a Spirit'list camp-meetin' in Harniss -durin' the memory of man. - -However, Lot and I got along first-rate and he'd set and talk by the -hour about the camp-meetin', which was a couple of weeks off, and how he -was goin', and so on. Said I needn't worry about bein' left alone, -'cause his wife's Aunt Lucindy from Denboro was comin' to keep house for -me durin' the two days he was away. - -"Is your Aunt Lucindy given to spirits, too?" I wanted to know. - -No, she wasn't. Seems her particular bug was "mind cure." She was a -widow whose husband had died of creepin' paralysis. She'd tried every -kind of doctorin' and patent medicines on him and, in spite of it, the -last specimen of "Swamp Bitters" or "Thistle Tea" finished him. But, -anyhow, Aunt Lucindy had no faith in medicines or doctors after that. -She'd tried 'em all and they'd gone back on her. Now she was a -"mind-curer." - -"She'll prob'bly try to cure your foot with mind, Cap'n Zeb," says Lot, -apologetic as usual. "But you mustn't worry about that. She means well." - -"I sha'n't worry," I says. "She can put her mind on my foot, if she -wants to; unless it's as hefty as that sugar barrel I cal'late 'twon't -hurt me much. But say, Lot," I says, "are all your folks taken with -something special in the line of religion or cures? How about this -cousin--this Lemuel one? What's possessin' _him_?" - -Oh, Cousin Lemuel was different. He'd had money left him and was an -aristocrat. He never married, but lived in "chambers" up to Boston. He -didn't have to work, but was a "collector" for the fun of it; collected -postage stamps and folks' hand-writin's and insects and such. He wasn't -very well, his nerves was kind of twittery, so Lot said. - -"Um-hm," says I. "Well, collectin' insects would make most anybody's -nerves twitter, I cal'late. But if Cousin Lemuel likes 'em, I s'pose we -hadn't ought to fret. He could pick up a healthy collection of -wood-ticks back here in the pines, if he'd only come after 'em, though -it ain't likely he will." - -But he did, just the same. Not after the ticks, exactly, but, as sure as -I'm settin' here, this Cousin Lemuel landed in the house at South -Ostable, bag and baggage. 'Twas three days afore the beginnin' of -camp-meetin' and two afore Aunt Lucindy was expected over. Lot and me -was settin' in rockin' chairs by the front windows in my room lookin' -out over the bay, when all to once we heard the rattle of a wagon from -the woods abaft the kitchen. - -"It's the doctor, I cal'late," says Lot, wakin' up and stretchin'. "Ah, -hum, I s'pose I'll have to go down and let him in." - -"'Tain't the doctor," says I. "He come yesterday. More likely it's Mr. -Jacobs, though I thought he'd gone to Boston and wouldn't be back for -three or four days." - -But a minute later we see we was mistaken. Around the house come -rattlin' Simeon Wixon's old depot wagon, with the curtains all drawed -down--though 'twas hot summer--and the rack astern and the seat in front -piled up high with trunks and bags and satchels and goodness knows what -all. Sim was drivin' and he had a grin on him like a Chessy cat. - -"Whoa!" says he, haulin' in the horses. "Ahoy, Lot! Turn out there! Got -a passenger for you." - -Lot was so surprised he could hardly believe his ears, though they was -big enough to be believed. He h'isted up the window screen and looked -out. - -"Hey?" he says, bewildered-like. "Did you say a _passenger_?" - -"That's what I said. A passenger for you. Come on down." - -"A passenger? For _me_?" - -"Yes! yes! yes!" Simeon's patience was givin' out, and no wonder. "Don't -stay up there," he snaps, "with your head stuck out of that window like -a poll-parrot's out of a cage. And don't keep sayin' things over and -over or I'll believe you _are_ a poll-parrot. Come down!" Then, leaning -back and hollerin' in behind the carriage curtains, he sung out, "Hi, -mister! here we be. You can get out now." - -The curtains shook a little mite and then, from behind 'em, sounded a -voice, a man's voice, but kind of shrill and high, and with a quiver in -the middle of it. - -"Are you sure this is the right place, driver?" it says. - -"Sartin sure. This is it." - -"But are you certain those animals are perfectly safe? They won't run -away?" - -The horses was takin' a nap, the two of 'em. Sim grinned, wider'n ever, -and winks up at the window. - -"I'll do my best to hold 'em," he says. "If I'd known you was comin' I'd -have fetched an anchor." - -The curtains shook some more, as if the feller inside was fidgetin' with -'em. Then the voice says again and more excited than ever, "Well, why in -Heaven's name don't you unfasten this dreadful door? How am I to get -out?" - -Simeon stood grinnin', ripped a remark loose under his breath, jumped -from the seat, and yanked the door open. There was a full half minute -afore anything happened. Then out from that wagon door popped a black -felt hat with a brim like a small-sized umbrella. Under the hat was a -pair of thin, grayish side-whiskers, a long nose, and a pair of specs -like full moons. The hat and the rest of it turned towards the horses -and the voice says: - -"You're _perfectly_ sure of those creatures you are drivin'? Very good. -Where is the step? Oh, dear! where is the _step_?" - -Sim reached in, grabbed a little foot with one of them things they call -a "gaiter" on it, hauled it down and planted it on the step of the -carriage. - -"There!" he snaps. "There 'tis, underneath you. Come on! Here! I'll -unload you." - -Maybe the passenger would have said somethin' else, but he didn't have a -chance. Afore he could even think he was jerked out of that depot wagon -and stood up on the ground. - -"There!" says Simeon. "Now you're safe and no bones broken. Where do you -want your dunnage; in the house?" - -I don't know what answer he got. Afore I could hear it there was a gasp -and a gurgle from Lot. I turned to him. He was leaning out of the window -starin' down at the little man under the big hat. - -"I believe--" he says, "I--I--_why_, it's Cousin Lemuel!" - -Cousin Lemuel looked around him, at the house, at the woods, at the bay, -at everything. - -"Good heavens!" says he, in a sort of groan.--"Good heavens! what an -awful place!" - -That's how he made port and that was his first observation after -landin'. He made consider'ble many more durin' the next few days, but -the drift of 'em was all similar. He was a bird, Cousin Lemuel was. His -twittery nerves had twittered so much durin' the past month or so that -his doctors--he had seven or eight of 'em--had got tired of the chirrup, -I cal'late, had held officers' counsel, and decided he must be got rid -of somehow. They couldn't kill him, 'cause that was against the law, so -they done the next best and ordered him to the seashore for a complete -rest; at least, he said the rest was to be for him, but I judge 'twas -the doctors that needed it most. He wouldn't go to a hotel--hotels were -horrible,--but he happened to think of relation Lot down in South -Ostable and headed for there. Whether or not Lot could take him in, or -wanted to, didn't trouble him a mite! _He_ wanted to come and that was -sufficient! He never even took the trouble to write that he was comin'. -When he once made up his mind to do a thing, and got sot on it, he was -like the laws of the Medes and Possums--or whatever they was--in -Scripture; you couldn't upset him in two thousand years. It got to be a -"matter of principle" with him--he was always tellin' about his matters -of principle--and when the "principle" complication struck, that settled -it. Oh, Cousin Lemuel was a bird, just as I said. - -And Lot, of course, didn't have gumption enough to say he wasn't -welcome. No, indeed; fact is, Lot seemed to consider his comin' a sort -of honor, as you might say. If that retired bug-collector had been the -Queen of Sheba, he couldn't have had more fuss made over him. The -schooner-load of trunks and satchels was carted aloft to the big room -next to mine,--Lot's room 'twas, but Lot soared to the attic,--and -Cousin Lemuel was carted there likewise. He was introduced to me, and -about the first thing he said was, would I mind wearin' a dressin'-robe, -or a bath-sack, or somethin' to cover up my game foot? the sight of the -dreadful bandage affected his nerves. I was sort of shy on sacks and -dolmans and such, but I done my best to please him with a patchwork -comforter. - -I can't begin to tell you the things he did, or had Lot do for him. -Changin' the feather bed for a pumped-up air mattress he'd fetched -along--air mattresses was a matter of principle with him--and firin' the -rag mats off the floor of his room, 'cause the round-and-round braids -made whirligigs in his head--and so on. But I sha'n't forget that first -night in a hurry. - -He was in and out of my room no less than fifteen times, rigged out in -some sort of blanket dress, fastened with a rope amidships. He wore that -over his nightgown, and a shawl like an old woman's on top of the -blanket. His head was tied up in a silk handkerchief; and his feet was -shoved into slippers that flapped up and down when he walked and sounded -like a slack jib in a light breeze. First off he couldn't sleep 'cause -the frogs hollered. Next, 'twas the surf that troubled him. Then the -window blinds creaked. And, at last, I'm blessed if he didn't come -flappin' and rustlin' in at half-past one to ask what made it so quiet. -I was desp'rate, and I told him I was subject to nightmare, and had been -known to cripple folks that come in and woke me sudden that way. He -cleared out and I heard him pilin' chairs and furniture against his door -on the inside. After that I managed to sleep till six o'clock. Then he -knocked and asked if I was thoroughly awake, 'cause if I was would I -tell him what sort of weather 'twas likely to be, so's he could dress -accordin'. His risin' hour was nine,--more principle, of course,--but he -liked to know what to wear when he did get up. - -And he was just as bad all that day and the next. I'd have quit and had -the doctor take me back to the Poquit House, but I didn't like to on -Lot's account. Poor Lot was all upset and needed some sane person to -turn to for comfort. And besides, although he made me mad, I got -consider'ble fun out of this Lemuel man's doin's. He was such a specimen -that I liked to study him, same as he used to study a new species of -insect, when he had that particular craze. - -He seemed to like me, too, in a way. Anyhow he used to come in and talk -to me pretty frequent. He had three words that he used all the -time--"awful" and "dreadful" and "horrible." Everything in the -neighborhood fitted to them words, 'cordin' to his notion. And he had -one question that he kept askin' over and over: What should he do? What -was there to do in the dreadful place? - -"Why don't you keep on collectin'?" I asked him. "We're kind of scurce -on postage stamps, and the handwritin' supply is limited; though you -never collected anything like Lot's signature, I'll bet a cooky. But -there's bugs enough, land knows! Why don't you go bug-huntin'?" - -Oh, he was tired of insects. Never wanted to see one again! - -"Then you'll have to wear blinders when you go past the salt-marsh," -says I. "The moskeeters are so thick there they get in your eyes. Why -not take a swim?" - -Horrible! he loathed salt-water. He never bathed in it, as a matter of-- - -I interrupted quick--"Then take a walk," says I. - -Walking was a "bore." - -"Well then," I says, "just do what the doctor ordered--set and rest." - -But settin' made his nerves worse than ever! "I don't know what is the -matter with me, Cap'n Snow," he says. "My physicians seemed to think I -should find what I needed here, but I don't!--I don't! I am more -depressed and enervated than ever." - -"I know what you need," I said emphatic. - -"Do you indeed? What, pray?" - -"Somethin' to keep you interested," I told him. "Your life's like a -wharf timber that the worms have been at--there's too many 'bores' in -it. If you could find somethin' bran-new to interest you, you'd be -lively enough. I'd risk the depression then--and the enervation, too, -whatever that is." - -Oh, horrible! How could I joke about a matter of life and death? - -Well, so it went for the two days and in the evenin' of the second day, -Lot come tiptoein' into my room. He was all nerved up. The next mornin' -was the time he'd planned to go to camp-meetin'; and how could he go -now? - -"Why not?" says I. "I'll be all right. Your Aunt Lucindy's comin' to -keep house, ain't she?" - -"Yes--yes, she's comin'. But how can I leave Cousin Lemuel? He won't -want me to go, I'm sure." - -"So'm I," I says; "he'll kick as a matter of principle. But if you're -gone afore he knows it, he'll _have_ to like it--or lump it, one or -t'other. See here, Lot Deacon; you take my advice and clear out -to-morrow early, afore the bug-hunter's nerves twitter loud enough to -wake him. You can get our breakfast and leave it on the table out here -in the hall. I can manage to hobble that far. Afore dinner Aunt -Lucindy'll be on deck." - -He brightened up consider'ble. "I might do that," he says. "And anyway -Aunt Lucindy's likely to be here afore breakfast. She's always terrible -prompt. But will Cousin Lemuel forgive me, do you think?" - -"I don't know," says I. "But I will, provided you don't say 'terrible' -again. Now clear out and don't let me see you till camp-meetin's over. -And say," I called after him, "just ask one of your spirit chums what's -good for nerve twitters." - -Next mornin' was sort of dark and cloudy, so probably that accounts for -my oversleepin'. Anyhow 'twas after seven o'clock when Cousin Lemuel, -blanket and shawl and slippers, full undress uniform, comes flappin' -into my room. I woke up and stared at him. He was pale, and tremblin' -all over. - -"What's the matter now?" says I. - -"Hush!" he whispers, fearful. "Hush! somethin' awful has happened. My -cousin Lot is insane." - -"_What?_" I sung out, settin' up in bed. - -"Hush! hush!" says he. "It is horrible. Insanity is hereditary in our -family. What shall we do?" - -"Insane--rubbish!" says I, havin' waked up a little more by this time. -"What makes you think he's insane?" - -He held up a shakin' hand. "Listen!" he whispers. "He has been makin' -dreadful noises for the past half-hour, and singin'--actually -singin'--in the strangest voice. Listen!" - -I listened. Down below in the kitchen there was a racket of pans and -dishes and a stompin' as if a menagerie elephant had broke loose from -its moorin's. Then somebody busts out singin', loud and high: - - "There's a land that is fairer than day, - And by faith we can see it afar." - -"There, there!" says Lemuel. "Don't you hear it? Would a sane man sing -like that?" - -I rocked back and forth in bed and roared and laughed. "A sane man -wouldn't," I says, "but a sane _woman_ might, if she had strong enough -lungs. That ain't Lot. Lot's gone to camp-meetin', to be gone till -to-morrow night. That's his wife's aunt, Lucindy Hammond, from Denboro. -She's goin' to keep house for us till he gets back." - - - - -CHAPTER VII--THE FORCE AND THE OBJECT - - -Well, it took all of fifteen minutes for me to drive the idea out of -that critter's head that his relative had gone loony. I was hoppin' -around on my sound foot tryin' to dress, while I explained things. I had -enough clothes on to be presentable in white folks' society, when there -come a whoop up the back stairs. - -"Good morn-in'!" whoops Aunt Lucindy. "Breakfast is ready! Shall I fetch -it up?" - -"My soul!" squeals Cousin Lemuel, and bolts for his own room. I buttoned -my collar by main strength and answered the hail. - -"All hands on deck!" I sung out. "Fetch her along." - -There was a mighty stompin' on the stairs, and then through the door -marches as big a woman as ever I see in my born days. 'Twa'n't only that -she was fleshy,--she must have weighed all of two hundred and -thirty,--but she was big, big as a small mountain, seemed so, and was -dressed in some sort of curtain-calico gown that made her look bigger -yet. She was luggin' a tray heaped up with vittles enough for a small -ship's company. - -"Good mornin'," says she, in a voice as big as the rest of her, and as -cheery as the fust sunshine on a foggy day. She was smilin' all over, -but there was a square look to her chin--the upper one, for she had no -less than two and a half--that made me think she could be the other -thing if occasion called for. "Good mornin'," says she. "Is this -Lemuel?" - -"It ain't," says I. "Cousin Lemuel is in disability just at present. My -name's Snow." - -"Oh, yes!" she hollers--every time she spoke she hollered--"Oh, yes! -Cap'n Zebulon Snow, of course. I'm Mrs. Hammond. Here's your breakfast." - -"Mine!" says I, lookin' at the heap of rations. "You mean mine and -Cousin Lemuel's." - -"Oh, no, I don't," says she, still smilin', and puttin' the tray down on -the table, in the way she did everything, with a bang; "I mean yours, -Cap'n Snow. Lemuel's is all ready, though, and I'll fetch it right up. I -know what men's appetites are; I've had experience." - -Afore I could think of an answer to this she swept out of the door like -a toy typhoon, the breeze from her skirts settin' papers and light stuff -flyin', and was stompin' down the stairs, singin' "Sweet By and By" at -the top of her lungs. I looked at the tray and scratched my head. My -appetite ain't a hummin'-bird's, by a considerable sight, but that -breakfast would have lasted me all day. As for Lemuel, about all he did -with food was find fault with it. And just then in he comes. - -"What's that?" says he, pointin' to the tray. - -"That?" says I. "That's my breakfast. Yours is just like it and it'll be -right up." - -He fidgeted with his specs and bent over to look. His nose was anything -but a pug, but I give you my word you could almost see it turn up. - -"Fried potatoes!" he says; "and fried fish! and fried eggs! and -griddle-cakes! Why--why it's _all_ fried! Horrible!" - -"Ain't there enough?" I asks, sarcastic. "If not, I presume likely -there's more in the kitchen." - -"Enough!" he fairly screamed it. "I never take anything but a slice of -very dry toast and a cup of tea in the mornin'. It's a principle of -mine. And I never eat anything fried! I--I--" - -"All right," says I, "you tell her so. Here she is." And afore he could -get out of the door she sailed through it, luggin' another tray loaded -like the fust one. She slammed it down and turned to the invalid, who -was tryin' to hide his blanket dressin'-sack behind a chair. - -"Here is Lemuel!" she hollers. "It _is_ Lemuel, isn't it? I'm _so_ glad -to see you! I'm Lucindy, Lot's auntie. In a way we're related, so we -must shake hands." - -She reached over and took his little thin hand in her big one and gave -it a squeeze that made him curl up like a fishin' worm. - -"There!" says she, "now we're all acquainted and sociable. Ain't that -nice! You two set right down and eat. I'll trot up again in a few -minutes to see how you're gettin' on. Sure you've got all you want? All -right, then." Out she went, singin' away, and Cousin Lemuel flopped down -in a chair. - -"Good heavens!" he gasps, working the fingers Aunt Lucindy had shook, to -make sure they was all there. "Good heavens!" says he. - -"Yes," says I, "I agree with you." - -"She calls me by my Christian name!" he says, pantin', "and I never saw -her before in my life! And it--it didn't seem to occur to her that I was -not fully dressed. What shall I do?" - -"Well," says I, "if you asked me I should say you better make believe -eat somethin'. What _I_ can't eat I'm goin' to heave out of the back -window. I'd ruther satisfy that woman than explain to her, enough -sight." - -But he wouldn't eat, seemed to be in a sort of daze, as you might say, -and went flappin' back to his own room. I tackled the breakfast. - -It would take a week to tell you all that happened that forenoon. My -time's limited, so I'll only tell a little of it. When Aunt Lucindy come -upstairs again and see his tray, not a thing on it touched, she wanted -to know why. I done my best to explain, tellin' her Cousin Lemuel was -afflicted in the nerves, and about his tea and toast, and his diff'rent -kinds of medicines, and his doctors, and so on, but she wouldn't listen -to more'n half of it. - -"The poor thing!" she says, "Lot told me some about him. He's in error, -ain't he. Horatio, my husband that was, was in error, too, but he died -of it. That was afore I got enlightened. And you're in error with your -foot, Cap'n Snow, so Lot says. Well, it's a mercy I'm here. The first -thing I'll do for you is to give you a cheerful thought. 'All's right in -the world.' You keep thinkin' that this forenoon and I'll give you -another after dinner. I must get a thought for poor Lemuel, but he needs -a stronger one. I'll have one ready for him pretty soon. Now I must do -my dishes." - -Soon's she cleared out this time I locked my door. An hour or so later -there was a snappish kind of knock on it. - -"Cap'n Snow! I say, Cap'n Snow," whispers Lemuel, pretty average testy, -"where is my tea and toast? Did you tell that woman about my tea and -toast? I'm hungry." - -"I told her," says I. "If you ain't got it, you better tell her -yourself." - -"But I don't want to see the creature," he says. - -"Neither do I; that is, I ain't partic'lar about it. And I couldn't hop -down-stairs if I was. You'll have to do your own tellin'. I'm goin' to -read a spell." - -My readin' didn't amount to much. He went grumblin' back to his room, -but I judge his longin' for tea and toast got the better of his dread -for the "creature," 'cause pretty soon I heard him go down-stairs. Aunt -Lucindy's singin' and dish-clatterin' stopped, and I heard consider'ble -pow-wow goin' on. Cousin Lemuel's voice kept gettin' higher and -shriller, but Aunt Lucindy's was just the same even cheerfulness all the -time. Then the ex-insect man comes up the stairs again. I was curious, -so I unlocked the door. - -"How was the toast?" I asked. His usual pale face was bright red and he -was a heap more energetic than I'd ever seen him. - -"She--she--that woman's crazy!" he sputters. "She's insane; I told her -so. I--" - -"Hold on!" I interrupted. "Did you get the toast?" - -"I did not. She refused to give it to me. Actually refused! She--she had -that dreadful fried breakfast on the back of the stove and told me to -sit right down and eat it--like a good fellow. A good fellow--to me!--as -if I was a dog! A dog, by Jove! I explained--in spite of my just -resentment I endeavored to reason with her. I told her the doctor had -forbidden my eatin' a heavy breakfast. I said that my nerves were -shattered and so on. And what do you suppose she said to me? She had the -brazen effrontery to tell me that I had no nerves. Nerves were 'errors,' -whatever that means. All I had to do was to think that--that those fried -outrages were all right and they would be. And when I--you'll admit I -had a good reason--when I lost my temper and expressed my opinion of her -she began to sing. And she kept on singin'. _Such_ singin'! Good -heavens! Horrible!" - -"Then you ain't had any breakfast?" - -"I have not. But I will have it! I will! You mark my words, I--" - -He stopped. "The Sweet By and By" had swung into the lower entry and was -movin' up the stairs. I expected to see Cousin Lemuel beat for snug -harbor, but no sir-ee! he stayed right where he was, settin' up in his -chair as straight as a ramrod. Aunt Lucindy's treatment might not be -workin' exactly as she intended, the patient's nerves might not be any -better, but his _nerve_ was improvin' fast. - -In she swept, smilin' like clockwork, as smooth and as serene as a flat -calm in Ostable cove. She paid no attention to the way the little man -glared at her, but turned to me and says: "Well, Cap'n," she says, "have -you cherished the thought I gave you?" - -"Um-hm," says I, "I've put it on ice. I cal'late 'twill keep over -Sunday." - -"I've thought up one for you, Lemuel, you poor thing," she says, turnin' -to the insect chaser. "It is--" - -"Woman," broke in Cousin Lemuel, "I'll trouble you not to call me a poor -thing. Where is my tea and toast?" - -She smiled at him, condescendin' but pitiful, same as a cow might smile -at a kitten that tried to scratch it--if a cow could smile. - -"Your breakfast is on the stove, all nice and warm," she says. "You -don't really want tea and toast; you only think so. Cap'n Snow will tell -you how nice those fried potatoes are, and the codfish and--" - -"Confound your codfish, madam! I shall have that tea and toast. I--I -_must_ have it. My system demands it." - -She shook her head. "Oh, no, it doesn't," says she. "It will demand all -the nice things I've cooked for you if you only think so. Thought is -all. Now let me give you your cheerful thought for the day. It is--" - -"Confound your thoughts!" yells the nerve sufferer, jumpin' out of his -chair and makin' for the door. "I always have tea and toast for -breakfast, and I intend to have it now." - -I hate a fuss, so I tried to pour a little ile on the troubled waters. -"Now, Lemuel," says I, "don't let's be stubborn. You--" - -He whirled on me like a teetotum. "Stubborn!" he snaps, "I was never -stubborn in my life. This is a matter of principle with me. That woman -shall give me my tea and toast." - -Aunt Lucindy smiled, same as ever. "Oh, no, I sha'n't," says she, "it -would only encourage you in your error and that I shall not permit. -Please listen to the thought I have for you. It is _such_ a nice one. -'Be true to your higher self and'--" - -"Madam," shrieks Lemuel, "my thought about you is that you're an old fat -fool! There!" And he rushed into the hall and the next second his door -slammed so it shook the house. - -For just one minute I thought Aunt Lucindy was goin' after him. Her -smile stopped, her teeth snapped together, she took one step towards the -door, and her big hands opened and shut. But that one step was all she -took. When she turned back to me her face was red, but the smile had got -busy once more. She set down in the cane rocker--it cracked, but it -held--and says she: - -"He's a little mite antagonistic, don't you think so, Cap'n Snow?" - -"Well," says I, "I should think you might call it that without -exaggeratin' much." - -"Yes," says she, "but I don't mind. There was a time when if anybody'd -called me an old fat fool I'd have--well, never mind. I'm above such -things now. Nothin' can make me cross any more. Not even a sassy little, -long-nosed shrimp like.... Ahem. Cap'n Snow, have you read 'The Soarin' -of Self'? It's a lovely book, an upliftin' book." - -I said I hadn't read it and she commenced to tell me about it, repeatin' -it by chapters, so to speak. I couldn't make much out of it but a -whirligig of words, and when she was just beginnin' I thought I heard -Lemuel's door creak. However, I didn't hear anything more, and she -strung along and strung along, about "soul" and "mental uplift" and -"high altitude of spirit" and a lot more. By and by I commenced to -sniff. - -"Excuse me, marm," I says, "but seems to me I smell somethin' burnin'. -Have you got anything on cookin'?" - -_She_ sniffed then. "No," says she, wonderin'. "I can't remember -anything." Then, with another sniff, "But seems as if I smelt it, too. -Like--like bread burnin'. Hey? You don't s'pose--" - -She put for down-stairs. Next thing I knew there was the greatest -hullabaloo below decks that you ever heard. Then up the stairs comes -Cousin Lemuel, two steps at a jump, which, considerin' that his usual -gait had been a crawl, was surprisin' enough of itself. He had a -scorched slice of bread in each hand and he stopped on the upper landin' -and waved 'em. - -"I've got the toast," he yells, triumphant, "and I'm goin' to have the -tea." Then he bolts into his room and locked the door. - -Up the stairs comes Aunt Lucindy. Her face was so red that it looked as -if somebody'd lit a fire inside it, and her big hands was shut tight. -She marched straight to that locked door and hollers through the -keyhole. - -"You--you little, dried-up critter!" she pants. "Humph! I s'pose you've -been sent to try my faith, but you sha'n't shake it. No, sir! you nor -nobody else can shake it or make me lose my temper. I'm perfectly calm -and cheerful this minute. I am! Ha, ha! Ha, ha!" - -"I got my toast," hollers Cousin Lemuel from inside. "And I'll have my -tea, in spite of all the New Thought cranks in this horrible hole!" - -"Indeed you won't. I was prepared for a difficult case when I came here. -Cousin Lot told me about your foolish 'nerves' and all the other errors -your selfishness has brought onto you. I made up my mind to set you in -the right path and I'm goin' to do it." - -"I'll have that tea." - -"No, you sha'n't. When folks are in error I never give in to 'em. That's -my principle and I stick to it." - -When she said "principle" I pretty nigh fell over. If _she'd_ got the -"principle" disease the case was desperate. Anyhow, I thought 'twas -about time for somebody with a teaspoonful of common sense to take a -hand. - -"See here," says I, "for grown-up folks this is the most ridiculous -doin's I ever heard of. Mrs. Hammond, for the land sakes let him have -his tea and maybe we'll have peace along with it." - -She turned to me. "Cap'n Snow," she says, "speakin' as one who has -learned to rise above their baser self, and perfectly calm and -good-tempered, I advise you to mind your own business. I don't care -nothin' about the tea itself; it's the principle I'm strivin' for, I -tell you. Do you s'pose I'll let that little withered-up, sassy, -benighted scoffer--" - -"There! there!" says I. Then I bent down to the keyhole. "Lemuel," I -says, "be a man and not prize inmate in a feeble-minded home. You're not -an idiot. Apologize to this lady and, if you can't get tea, take hot -water." - -The answer I got was hotter than any water he was likely to get, enough -sight. And there was some "principle" in it, too. - -"Well," says I, disgusted, "I'm durn glad that I'm unprincipled. Fight -it out amongst yourselves, but don't you either of you dare come nigh -me. I mean that." And I went into my room and locked _that_ door. - -For two hours I stayed there, readin' some and thinkin' a whole lot -more. Down-stairs Aunt Lucindy was singin' at the top of her lungs--to -show how good her temper was, I presume likely--and out in the upper -hall Cousin Lemuel was tiptoein' back and forth and yellin' at her that -he'd have his tea in spite of her, and passin' comments on her music. I -never knew two such stubborn critters in my life, and I couldn't see any -signs of either of 'em givin' in, long as their principles held out. - -I remembered a conundrum that, when I was a young one in school, the -teacher used to spring on the big boys in the first class in arithmetic. -'Twas somethin' like this: - -"If an irresistible force runs afoul of an immovable object, what's the -result?" - -The boys used to grin and say they didn't know. Neither did I--then; but -I was learnin' the answer that very minute. When an irresistible force -meets an immovable object it's a matter of principle, and the result is -liable to be 'most anything. That was the answer, and I was learnin' it -by observation and experience, same as the barefooted boy learned where -the snappin'-turtle's mouth was. - -Now the force and the object was in the same house with me, and the -minute the doctor, or Jim Henry Jacobs, or anybody else with a horse and -team, come to that house, they could take me away with 'em. I'd -contracted for quiet and rest, not for a session in Bedlam. - -Twelve o'clock struck and I begun to think of dinner. I hobbled over to -my door, unlocked it and looked out. Cousin Lemuel's door was open, too, -but he wasn't in his room or in the hall either. I wondered where on -earth he could be. Next minute I found out. - -There was a whoop from the kitchen--Lemuel's voice and brimmin' with -pure joy. Then, somewhere in the same neighborhood, began a most -tremendous thumpin' and bangin'. A "cast" horse in a narrow stall was -the only sounds I ever heard that compared with it. It kept on and kept -on, and Lemuel was whoopin' and hurrahin' accompaniments. Such a racket -you never heard in your born days. - -Thinks I, "The critter's nerves have gone back on him for good. He's -really crazy and he's killin' that poor mind-curer out of principle." - -Somehow or other I hopped down them stairs on my sound foot, draggin' -t'other after me. Through the dinin'-room I hobbled and into the -kitchen. There was a roarin' fire in the cookstove and in front of that -stove was Cousin Lemuel dancin' round with a teapot in his hand. The -cellar door opened out of the kitchen. It was shut tight, and somebody -behind it was bangin' the panels till I expected every second to see 'em -go by the board. If they hadn't been built in the days when they made -things solid they would have. - -"What in the world--" I commenced. "You--Lemuel--whatever your name -is--what are you doin'?" - -He turned and saw me. His bald head was all shinin' with the heat, his -big round specs was almost droppin' off the end of his long nose, and he -sartin did look like somethin' the cat brought in. - -"What am I doin'?" he says. "Can't you see? I'm gettin' my tea, same as -I said I would. Ho! ho!" - -"Where's Aunt Lucinda?" I sung out. "You loon, have you killed her?" - -He laughed. "No, no!" he says. "She deserves to be killed, but she's -alive. She refused to give me my tea; she refused to stop her horrible -singin'. She was utterly impossible and I got rid of her. I crept down -and watched until she went into the cellar. Then I closed the door and -locked it. Cap'n Snow, I have never been treated as that woman treated -me in my life! It was a matter of principle with me and I was obliged--" - -He couldn't say any more because the poundin' on the door broke out -again louder than ever. I headed for it and he got in front of me. - -"She is absolutely unharmed, I assure you," he says. - -She sounded healthy, that was a fact. The names she called that -insect-hunter was a caution! - -"Let me out!" she kept hollerin'. "You let me out of this cellar, you -miserable little good-for-nothin'! If I ever get my hands on you I'll--" - -"Ha! ha!" laughs Lemuel. "I couldn't make her lose her temper, could I? -Oh, no, she's perfectly calm now! You're not in the cellar, madam," he -calls to her, "you're in error. Thought can do anything; think yourself -out." - -I looked at him. "Well," says I, "for a person with twitterin' nerves, -you--" - -"D--n my nerves!" says he, which was the most human remark he'd ever -made in my hearin' and proved that he wasn't beyond hopes. "You told me -that all I needed was somethin' to keep me interested. Well, I've got -it." - -"You let me out!" whoops Aunt Lucindy. "Cap'n Snow, if you're there, you -let me out!" - -I think maybe I would have let her out, but when I heard what she -intended doin' to Lemuel I thought 'twas too big a risk. I turned and -hobbled through the dinin'-room to the front outside door. And there, -just turnin' into the yard, was Jim Henry Jacobs, with his horse and -buggy. When he saw me he almost fell off the seat. And maybe I wa'n't -glad to see him! - -"You!" he says. "You! _walkin'!_" - -"Yes," says I, "and in five minutes I'd have been flyin', I cal'late. -Don't stop to talk. Help me into that buggy.... There! drive home as -fast as you can!" - -"But what under the canopy is the row?" he says. - -"Row enough," says I. "I've been shut up along with an irresistible -force and an immovable object, and I want to get away from 'em. Git -dap." - -We turned the horse's head. We had just left the yard when he looked -back. I looked, too. The cellar had an outside entrance, a bulkhead -door. This door was bendin' and heavin' as if an earthquake was under -it. Next minute the staple flew, the door slammed back, and Aunt Lucindy -popped out like a jack-in-the-box. She never paid no attention to us, -but made for the kitchen. - -"Who--what is that?" gasps Jacobs. - -"That," says I, "is the irresistible force." - -There was a yell from the kitchen and then out of the door flew Cousin -Lemuel. _He_ didn't stop for us, either, but ran like a lamplighter to -the fence, fell over it, and dove head-fust into the woods. After he was -away out of sight we could hear the bushes crackin'. - -"And--and _what_," gasps Jim Henry, "was _that_?" - -"That," says I, "was the immovable object. Drive on, for mercy sakes!" - - ---- - -Next day Lot came to see me at the Poquit House. He was dreadful upset. -Seems he hadn't stayed his time out at camp-meetin'. One of the mediums -or spooks or somethin' over there told him there was a destructive -influence hoverin' over his house and he'd hurried back to find out -about it. - -"Humph!" says I. "I should have said it had quit hoverin' and had lit. -How's Cousin Lemuel?" - -Seems Cousin Lemuel was at the hotel over to Bayport. He'd telephoned -for his trunks. - -"And he told me," says Lot, wonderin' like, "to tell Aunt Lucindy that -he intended havin' tea and toast three times a day now, as a matter of -principle. That's strange, isn't it?" - -"Not to me 'tain't," says I. "And how's Aunt Lucindy?" - -"Aunt Lucindy's gone back to Denboro," he says. "And she left word for -Cousin Lemuel that she should send him a 'thought'--whatever that -is--every day by mail from now on. And you'd ought to have seen her face -when she said it! But, Cap'n Zeb, when are you comin' back to board with -me?" - -I shook my head. "Lot," says I, "I like you fust-rate, but your -relations are too irresistibly immovable. I'm goin' to keep clear of 'em -for the rest of my life--as a matter of principle," I says, chucklin'. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII--ARMENIANS AND INJUNS; LIKEWISE BY-PRODUCTS - - -You can imagine that Jim Henry and Mary had a good deal of fun over my -experience with Lot and his tribe. They joked me about it consider'ble. -But I didn't mind. My foot was all right again, or nearly so, and the -extension to the store had been finished and was workin' out fine. We -moved the mail room way back and that give us lots of room on the main -floor, and Mary had a nice clean place, with plenty of air and light, -new sortin' table, new desks, and all that. As for business, we done -more that summer than we had previous and it kept up surprisin' well -through the winter. I was happy and satisfied and Jacobs seemed to be. - -But he wa'n't. It took a whole lot to satisfy him and, by the time -another spring reached us and the cottages begun to open I could see -that he was gettin' fidgety. One mornin' he come back from a cruise -amongst the cottagers--he always handled their trade himself--and I -could see that he was about ready to bile over. - -"Well," says I, "what's weighin' on your mind now? Or is it your -stomach? I'm willin' to bet that I'm two pound heftier than I was afore -I ate them hot biscuits at our boardin' house this mornin'; and you got -away with three more'n I did. Has your ballast shifted, or what?" - -He shook his head. - -"Skipper," says he, "we're ruined by foreign cheap labor." - -"You're right," says I. "I heard that that Dutch cook used to work in a -cement factory, and them biscuits prove it." - -"Nothin' doin'," he says. "My noon lunch for two years was 'Draw one -with a plate of sinkers'; and when it comes to warm dough, I'm an -immune. That Poquit House cook could practice on me for a week and never -dent my nickel-steel digestion. No. What I'm full of just now is -embroidery." - -I looked at him. - -"See here, Jim Henry," says I, "you've got me a mile offshore in a fog. -Unless you've swallowed your napkin, I don't see--" - -"There! There!" he interrupted. "It's nothin' I've swallowed, I tell -you! It's somethin' I've seen that I _can't_ swallow. I can't swallow -those tan-faced, hook-nosed lace peddlers. It's only spring, yet they -are thicker round here already than lumps of saleratus in those biscuit -we've been talkin' about. They're separatin' perfectly good easy marks -from money that belongs to us, and I'm gettin' mad. My Turkish blood's -risin', and there's likely to be another Armenian massacre in this -neighborhood pretty soon." - -I understood what he meant then. Every summer for the last year or two -the Cape has been sufferin' from a plague of fellers peddlin' handmade -lace, and embroidery, and such. They're all shades of color except -white, and they talk all sorts of languages except plain United States; -but, no matter what they look like or how they jabber, every last one of -them claims to be an Armenian, and to have his hand satchel solid full -of native-made tidies, and tablecloths, and the like of that. I never -run across the Armenian flag on any of my v'yages, but if it ain't a -doily, then it ought to be. - -And the prices they charge! Whew! A white man would blush every time he -named one; but these fellers, bein' all complexions, from light tan -Oxford to dark rubber boot, are born to blush unseen, and can charge -four dollars for a crocheted necktie and never crack, spot, nor fade. - -Jim Henry was some on high prices himself; likewise, he considered the -summer cottagers and the hotel folks as more or less our special -property. Therefore, you can understand how this Armenian competition -riled and disturbed him. And, as it turned out, that very mornin' he'd -gone to call on Mrs. Burke Smythe, who was one of the Ostable Store's -best and most well-off customers, and found her ankle-deep in lamp mats -and centerpieces which an Armenian specimen was diggin' out of a couple -of suit cases. And she'd told him that she couldn't pay our bill for -another month 'count of havin' spent all her "household allowance" on -the "loveliest set of embroidered dress and waist patterns" and such -that ever was. There was the dress pattern. Didn't he think it was a -"dear"? - -Well, Jim Henry give in to the "dear" part--she'd paid sixty-four -dollars for it--and come away disgusted. These peddlers was takin' the -coin right out of our mouths, he vowed. What was we goin' to do about -it? - -"Keep our mouths shut, I guess," says I. "I can't see anything else." - -But that wouldn't do for him. He went away growlin', and for the next -couple of days he hardly said a word. I knew he was hatchin' some scheme -or other, and I took care not to scare him off the nest. The third -mornin', he came off himself, fetchin' his brood with him. - -"Skipper," says he, joyful, "I believe I've got it. I believe I've got -the idea that'll put those Armenians in the discard. You listen to me." - -I listened, and what he'd hatched was somethin' like this: We--that is, -the "Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes, and Fancy Goods -Store"--would sell embroidery and crocheted plunder, and run the -peddlers out of business. We'd open a tidy department on our own hook. -What did I think of that? - -Well, I didn't think much of it, and I told him so. - -"Don't believe we can do it," says I. - -"Why not?" says he. "We can charge as much as they can, and that seems -to be the main thing." - -"That ain't it," I told him. "We can't get the stuff to sell. Plenty of -machine made, but the summer folks won't have that, cheap or high. What -they wake up nights and cry for is the genuine, hand-manufactured -article; and, unless you buy it off the peddlers themselves--which would -be unprofitable, to say the least--_I_ don't see where you're goin' to -get it. Besides, if you could get it, sellin' it in a store wouldn't do. -'Tain't romantic and foolish enough. Take this Burke Smythe woman," says -I; "she's a fair sample. She could have got just as nice, pretty dress -patterns out of a fashion magazine, or--" - -"Great snakes!" he broke in. "You don't think 'twas a _paper_ pattern -she paid sixty-four dollars for, do you?" - -"Never mind what 'twas," I says, dignified; "'twould be all the same, -paper or sheet iron. She wouldn't care for it at all if she'd bought it -in a store. There's nothin' mysterious or romantic in that. But here -comes one of these liver-complected, black-haired fellers, lookin' for -all the world like a pirate, and whispers in her ear he's got somethin' -in that carpetbag of his that nobody else has got, and that'll make Mrs. -General Jupiter Jones, or some other of the Smythe bosom friends, look -like a last summer's scarecrow. And, as a favor to her, he ain't showed -it to Mrs. Jupiter--which is most likely a lie, but never mind--and -he'll sell it to her at a sixty-four-dollar sacrifice, because--" - -"Hold on!" he interrupts. "Cut it out! Break away! Don't you s'pose I've -thought of that? Your old Uncle James Henry Jacobs, doctor of sick -businesses, wa'n't born yesterday by about thirty-eight years. I ain't -figgerin' to handle Armenian stuff. See here, Skipper. What makes the -summer bunch so crazy to get hold of old clocks, and old chains, and -antique junk generally?" - -"Well," says I, "for one thing, 'cause they _are_ antiques. For another, -because they come from right here on the Cape, and--" - -"That's it," he sings out. "And that's enough. Well, there's plenty of -handmade embroideries and laces, not to mention lamp mats and bed -quilts, made right here on the Cape, too. Last fall, the county fair had -a buildin' solid full of 'em. This is my plan. Do stop your Doubtin' -Thomas act, and listen." - -The plan was sort of simple but complicated. Fust off, him and me was to -see all the old ladies and young girls in Ostable and the surroundin' -country, and get 'em to agree to sell their handmade knittin' to us. If -they wouldn't sell to us direct, then we'd sell it for them on -commission. We'd fit up a room in the loft over the store, advertise it -as the "Colonial Curio Shop" or the "Pilgrim Mothers' Exchange," or some -such ridiculous or mysterious name, stock it full of the truck the -widows and orphans had been knittin' or tattin' all winter, drop a hint -to the summer folks--and then set back and take the money. - -"It'll go, I tell you," he says, enthusiastic. "It's a sure winner. Just -say the word, Skipper, and we'll start fittin' up the loft to-morrow -mornin'." - -"Well," says I, pretty doubtful, "if you're so sure, Jim, I--" - -"Sure!" he broke in. "Why wouldn't I be sure? There's only one kind of -people that can get ahead of me in a business deal--and they don't hail -from Armenia. Skipper, here's where we hand our peddlin' friends theirs, -and then some." - -Next mornin' he took the spare horse and started out. When he got back -that night, he had the bottom of the wagon covered with bundles of -knittin' and handmade contraptions, and he made proclamations that he -hadn't begun to cover the available territory. He'd seen I don't know -how many single females and widows who had the fancywork and crochetin' -habit; and they sold him everything they had in stock, and promised -more. - -"They take to it like a duck to water," says he, joyful. "They're all -down on the peddlers, and they're goin' to pitch in and supply the home -market. In another week you can't pass two houses in this town without -hearin' the merry click of the needle. To-morrow I canvass Denboro and -Bayport, and the next day I tackle Harniss. By Monday we'll be ready to -fit up the loft." - -And, sure enough, he was right. The amount of stuff he fetched back in -that wagon was surprisin'. How the female population of Ostable County -could have turned out all that embroidery and found time to cook meals -and sweep, let alone make calls and talk about their neighbors, beat me -a mile. But when he told me what he paid for the collection I begun to -understand. However, I didn't say nothin'. 'Twa'n't until he commenced -to rig up the room over the store that I spoke my thoughts. - -"Why, Jim Henry!" I says. "What are you thinkin' of? Puttin' panelin' on -those walls! And paperin' with that expensive paper! It must have cost -land knows how much a roll. And, for the dear land sakes, what are those -carpenters cuttin' that hole in the upper deck for?" - -"For stairs, of course," says he. "Think the customers are goin' to fly -up there? Don't bother me, Skipper, I'm busy." - -"Stairs!" I sings out. "Why, there's stairs already. What's the matter -with the steps leadin' aloft from the back room? _We've_ used them ever -since we've been here, and--" - -"S-shh! S-shh!" says he, resigned but impatient. "Cap'n, your business -instinct is all right in some things, like--like--well, I can't think -what just now, but never mind. You're a good feller, but you're too apt -to cal'late by last year's almanac. You ain't as up to date as you might -be. Do you suppose Her Majesty Burke Smythe, and the rest of the Royal -Family we're settin' this trap for, will take the trouble to hunt up -that back room, and fall over egg cases and kerosene barrels to find the -ladder to that loft? And climb the ladder after they find it? No, no! -We'll have a flight of stairs right from the main part of this store, -where they can't help seein' 'em. And there'll be old-fashioned rag mats -on the landin's, and brass candlesticks with candles in 'em at night, -and--" - -"Candles!" says I. "Well; that is the final piece of lunacy! Why, I -could light those stairs like a glory with kerosene lamps while a body -was tryin' to get _sight_ of 'em with a candle! I never heard such -nonsense." - -But 'twas no use. What we must do was make that loft "quaint," and -old-fashioned, and the like of that. I didn't understand--and so on. - -"All right," says I, "maybe I don't; but I do understand this: Judgin' -by the amount of hard cash you've spent for lace tuckers and doilies, -and the bill them stairs and panelin's and candlesticks'll come to, I -don't see a profit on the Pilgrim Curio Mothers' Exchange in ten year -big enough to cover a five-cent piece." - -He'd risk the profit. Besides, there was another reason for the stairs, -and such. To get to 'em all, the rich folks would have to go right -through the store; and if they didn't buy anything upstairs they would -down, sure and sartin. He was figgerin' on catchin' the transient trade, -the automobile trade; and all around the foot of the stairs we'd have -temptin' lunches put up and set out, and bottles of ginger ale and boxes -of cigars, and so forth, and so on. He preached for half an hour, -windin' up with: - -"Anyhow, Skipper, if the curio shop should lose money--which it -won't--it will bring customers to the Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots -and Shoes, and Fancy Goods Store, which is the main thing; that and -keepin' the coin in the United States instead of shippin' it to Armenia. -The embroideries and laces are by-products, as you might say; and if a -plant comes out even on its by-products, it's a payin' proposition." - -He had me there. I didn't know a by-product from a salt herrin'; so I -shut up. - -The "Old Colony Women's Exchange and Curio Room," which was the name he -finally picked out, opened at the end of a fortni't. Jacobs had -advertised it in the papers, and put signs for miles up and down the -main roads, let alone tellin' every well-off summer woman within -reachin' distance. And, almost from the very start, it done well. The -loft was crowded 'most every afternoon; and sometimes there'd be as many -as three automobiles anchored alongside our main platform. - -At the end of the fust month, the Exchange had cleared--cleared, mind -you--over two hundred dollars; and Jim Henry was crowin' over me like a -Shanghai rooster over a bantam. He'd had another happy thought, and had -added "antiques" to the stock in the loft; and the prices he got for -lame chairs and rheumatic tables was somethin' scandalous. But it wa'n't -all joy. There was two things that troubled him. - -One of the things was that the supply of knittin' and fancywork was -givin' out. Likewise the "antiques." Of course, there was some on hand. -Aunt Susannah Cahoon's yeller and black mittens, ear lappets, and -tippets hadn't sold, and wa'n't likely to; and Abinadab Saint's -alabaster whale-oil lamp with the crack in it, that his Great-uncle -Peleg brought home from sea, hadn't been grabbed to any extent. But -these were the exceptions. 'Most all the good stuff had gone; and, -though Jacobs had raked the county with a fine-tooth comb, as you might -say, the reg'lar dealers from Boston had raked it ahead of him, and -there wa'n't any "antiques" left. - -There was several reasons for the shortage in fancywork. One was that -the knitters and tatters couldn't turn it out fast enough; and, -moreover, the season for church fairs was settin' in, and the heft of -the females, bein' reg'lar members in good standin', _had_ to tack ship -and go to helpin' their meetin'-houses. So our stock was gettin' low, -and Jim Henry was worried. - -The other thing that worried him was that we couldn't get the right kind -of help to sell the stuff. He couldn't tend to it himself, bein' too -busy otherwise. Mary had the post-office department on her hands. The -clerk and the delivery boys wa'n't fitted for the job at all; and, as -for me, I couldn't sell a blue sugar bowl without a cover for seven -dollars and take the money. I knew the one that bought it was perfectly -satisfied, but I couldn't do it; I ain't built that way. - -"It's no use, Jim Henry," says I. "I may be foolish, but I have ideas -about some things; and it's my notion that sartin kinds of folks are -fitted by nature for sartin kinds of things. Now, Cape Codders they're -fitted for seafarin', and such; and New Yorkers and Chicagoers, like -you, are fitted for stock-brokin' and storekeepin'; and Italians for -hand organs, and diggin' streets, and singin' in opera. And when it -comes to sellin' secondhand stuff or keepin' a pawnshop, there's--" - -"Rubbish!" he snaps. "A while ago, you'd have said that the embroidery -trade was cornered by the Armenians. We've proved that's a fairy tale, -ain't we? I've got some ideas myself. I know the kind of person I want -to run that Exchange, and, sooner or later, I'll find him--or her. -Meantime, we'll have to do the best we can; and I'll take it as a favor -if you'll let up on the hammer exercise." - -I wa'n't sure what he meant by the "hammer exercise"; but 'twas plain -enough that them "by-products" was a sore subject, and that he was -worried. - -However, he wa'n't the only worried lace dealer in the neighborhood. The -Old Colony Exchange had made good in one direction, anyhow. It had -knocked the embroidery peddlin' business higher'n a kite. Where there -used to be a dozen suitcase luggers paradin' through the town, now you -scarcely sighted one; and that one looked pretty sick and discouraged. -The home market had smashed foreign competition for the time bein'; that -much was pretty sure. But our stock kept gettin' lower and lower, and -the auto crowds begun to go by now instead of stoppin'. And the few that -did stop hardly ever bought anything unless Jim Henry himself was there -to hypnotize 'em into it. - -One mornin' I came to the store pretty late, and found our clerk talkin' -to a dark-complected chap with curly hair and a suitcase. I didn't shove -my bows into the talk; but, when 'twas over, I asked the clerk what the -critter wanted. He laughed. - -"Oh, he's the last survivor of the peddlin' crew," he says. "He ain't -sold a thing, and he's goin' back to Boston right off. I told him he -might as well. He asked a lot of questions about the Exchange, and I -took him upstairs and showed him around." - -"You did?" says I. "What for?" - -"Oh, just to let him see what he was up against, that's all. He was a -pretty decent feller--some of them Armenians ain't so bad--and I pitied -him. He was awful discouraged. He'd heard Mr. Jacobs had been tryin' to -hire a salesman for up there; and he hinted that he'd kind of like the -job." - -"Did, hey?" says I. "Well, it's a good thing for you and him that Mr. -Jacobs didn't catch you. He'd sooner have a snake on the premises than -one of them peddlers. What else did he say? Anything?" - -Why, yes. It developed that he'd said a good deal. Asked where we got -our stuff, and so on. I judged 'twas a providence that I come in when I -did, or that clerk would have told every last word he knew. I didn't say -anything to Jim Henry. No use frettin' him unnecessary. - -Three days after that the Injun showed up. I don't know as you know it, -but there are a few Injuns left on the Cape--half-breeds, or -three-quarters, they are mostly; and they live up around Cohasset -Narrows, or off in the woods in those latitudes. This one was an old -feller, black-haired, of course, and kind of fleshy, with a hook nose -and skin the color of gingerbread. I heard talk upstairs in the -Exchange; and, when I went aloft, I found him and Jim Henry settin' -among the by-products, and as confidential as a couple of rats in a -schooner's hold. Soon as Jacobs seen me, he sung out for me to heave -alongside. - -"Look at that, Cap'n Zeb," he says. "What do you think of that?" - -I took what he handed me, and looked at it. 'Twas a piece of handmade -lace--a centerpiece, I believe they call it--and 'twas mighty well done. - -"Think of it?" says I. "Well, I ain't much of a judge, but I'd call it a -pretty slick article. Who made it?" - -The old black-haired chap answered. - -"My sister," he says. "She make 'em. Make 'em plenty." - -"Bully for her!" says I. "She's the lady we've been lookin' for. Maybe -she make some more; hey?" - -He grinned; and Jacobs mentioned for me to clear out; so I done it. He -and old Gingerbread Face stayed aloft in that Exchange for upward of an -hour; and, when they came down, Jim Henry went with him as fur as the -door. When the stranger had gone, Jim turns to me and stuck out his -hand. - -"Skipper," says he, grinnin' like a punkin lantern, "shake! I've got -it." - -"What have you got?" I asked. I was a little mite provoked at bein' sent -below so unceremonious. "What have you got--Asiatic cholery? Thought you -wouldn't have nothin' to do with Armenians." - -"Armenians be hanged!" says he. "That's no Armenian. He's an Indian, a -full-blooded Indian, or pretty near it. And his family is about the only -full-bloods left. There's a colony of them up the Cape a ways; and it -seems that they pick berries in the summer, and put in their winters -turnin' out stuff like that centerpiece. He heard about the Exchange, -and he's come way down here to see if we bought such things. I told him -we bought 'em with bells on, and he'll be back here to-morrow with -another load." - -Sure enough, he was, load and all; and 'twould have astonished you to -see what fust-class fancywork his sister and the rest of the squaws -turned out. Jacobs bought the whole lot, and ordered more; said he'd -take all the tribe could scare up; and old Gingerbread--his American -name, so he said, was Rose, Solomon Rose--went away happy. When I found -what Jim Henry had paid him for the plunder, I didn't blame Rose for -bein' joyful. - -But Jacobs didn't care. He was all excitement and hurrah again. He had a -new addition made to the Exchange sign. 'Twas "The Old Colony Women's -Exchange, Curio Room, and Indian Exhibit" now; and inside of two days -the Burke Smythes and their friends was callin' reg'lar, the auto -parties was rollin' up to the door, and the money was rollin' in. Injun -embroidery was somethin' new; and the summer gang snapped at it like -bullfrogs at a red rag. - -Then that partner of mine was seized violent with another rush of ideas -to the head. I'm blessed if he didn't hire old Rose--the "Last of the -Mohicans," he called him, among other ridiculous and outlandish -names--to spend his days in that Injun Exchange loft. Paid him ten -dollars a week, he did, just to set there and look the part. 'Twas a -sinful waste of money, 'cordin' to my notion; but Jim Henry shut me up -like a huntin'-case watch--with a snap. - -"Who said he could sell?" he wanted to know. "I didn't, did I? I don't -know that he can't--he's shrewd enough when it comes to sellin' us the -stuff he brings with him; but if he don't sell a fifty-cent article--" - -"Which he won't," I interrupted; "for there's nothin' less than -two-seventy-five _in_ the robbers' den, and you know it. How you have -the face to charge--" - -"Will you be quiet?" he wanted to know. "As I say, whether he sells or -not, he's wuth his wages twice over. Can't you understand? Just oblige -me by rubbin' your brains with scourin' soap or somethin', and _try_ to -understand. All the auto bunch ain't lambs; some of them--the males -especially--are a fairly cagey collection; and there's been doubts -expressed concernin' the genuineness of our Injun exhibit. But with old -Uncas--with the Last of the Mohicans himself right on deck as a livin' -guarantee, why, we could sell clam-shells as small change from Sittin' -Bull's wampum belt, and never raise a sacrilegious question even from a -Unitarian freethinker. It's a cinch." - -"See here, Jim Henry," says I, "if this thing's a fraud, I won't have -anything to do with it." - -"Neither will I," says he, emphatic. "Frauds don't pay, not in the long -run. But grandmother's genuine antiques and the A-number-one, Simon-pure -embroideries of the noble red man--or woman--pay, and don't you forget -it." - -They did pay; and old Mohican himself was a payin' investment, too, in -spite of my doubts and Jeremiah prophesyin'. He made a ten-strike with -every female that hit that loft. They said he was so "quaint," and -"odd," and "pathetic." Mrs. Burke Smythe vowed there was somethin' "big" -and "great" about him--meanin' his nose or his boots, I presume -likely--and, somehow or other, though he didn't look like a salesman, he -sold. And every week or so he'd take a day off and go back home, to -return with a fresh supply of tidies, and lace, and gimcracks. I changed -my mind about Injuns. I see right off that all the yarns I'd read about -'em was lies. They didn't murder nor scalp their enemies--they smothered -'em with lamp mats. - -And 'twa'n't fancywork alone that the Rose critter fetched back from -these home v'yages of his. He struck an "antique" vein somewheres in the -reservation; and not a week went by that he didn't resurrect an old -bedstead or a table or a spinnin' wheel or somethin', and fetched 'em -down in an old wagon towed by an old white horse. The "children of the -forest"--which was another of Jim Henry's names for the Injuns and -half-breeds--didn't give up these things for nothin'; far from it. We -had to pay as much as if they was made of solid silver; but we sold 'em -at gold prices, so that part was all right. - -And every other day Jacobs would ask me what I thought of "by-products" -now. As for Armenian competition, it was dead. There wa'n't any. - -Well, three more weeks drifted along, and the summer season was 'most -over. Then, one Tuesday mornin', old Rose, the Mohican, didn't show up. -He'd gone away on Friday cal'latin' to be back Monday with a fresh lot -of "antiques" and centerpieces; but he wa'n't. And Tuesday and Wednesday -passed, and he didn't come. Jim Henry was awful worried. We needed more -stock, and we needed our Injun curio; and nothin' would do but I must -turn myself into a relief expedition and hunt him up. - -"Somethin's happened, sure," says Jacobs. "He's never missed his time -afore. Those fellers pride themselves on keepin' their word--you read -Cooper, if you don't believe it--and he's sick or dead; one or the -other." - -"Dead nothin'!" says I. "He's too tough to kill, and nothin' would make -him sick but soap and water, which ain't one of his bad habits by a -consider'ble sight. However, if it'll make you any easier, I'll take the -mornin' train and locate him if I can." - -"Go ahead," says he. "I'd do it myself, but I can't leave just now. Go -ahead, Skipper, and don't come back till you've got him, or found out -why he isn't on hand." - -So I took the mornin' train and set out to locate the noble red man. - - - - -CHAPTER IX--ROSES--BY ANOTHER NAME - - -But locatin' him wa'n't such an easy matter. All we knew was he lived -somewheres in Wampaquoit, and Wampaquoit is ten miles from nowhere, in -the woods up around Cohasset Narrows. I got off the train at the Narrows -depot, and, after considerable cruisin' and bargainin', I hired a horse -and buggy, and started to drive over. I lost my way and got onto a wood -road. Don't ask me about that road. I don't want to talk about it. I'd -been on salt water for a good many years, and I'd seen some rough goin', -but rockin' and bouncin' over that wood road come nigher to makin' me -seasick than any of my Grand Banks trips. Narrow! And grown over! My -land! I had to stoop to keep from bein' scraped off the seat; and, -whenever I'd straighten up to ease my back, a pine branch would fetch me -a slap in the face that you could hear half a mile. - -As for my language, you could hear that _two_ miles. That road ruined my -moral reputation, I'm afraid. They had a revival meetin' in the Narrows -meetin'-house the follerin' week, but whether 'twas on my account or not -I don't know. - -However, I made port after a spell--that is, I run afoul of a house and -lot in a clearin' sort of; and I asked a black-lookin' male critter, who -was asleep under a tree, how to get to Wampaquoit. He riz upon one -elbow, brushed the mosquitoes away from his mouth, and made answer that -'twas Wampaquoit I was in. - -"But the town?" says I. "Where's the town?" - -Well, it appeared that this was the town, or part of it. The rest was -scattered along through the next three or four miles of wilderness. -Where was the center? Oh, there wa'n't any. There was a schoolhouse and -a meetin'-house, and a blacksmith's, and such, on the main road up a -piece, that was all. - -"But where do the Injuns live?" I wanted to know. "The knittin' women, -the Lamp Mat Trust--where does it--she--they, I mean, live?" - -He couldn't seem to make much out of this; and by and by he went into -the house and fetched out his wife. She was about as black as he was; -and I cal'lated they was a Portygee family; but, no, lo and behold you, -it turned out they was Injuns themselves! But they never heard of -anybody named Rose, nor of anybody that knit centerpieces, nor of an -"antique," nor anything. I give it up pretty soon, for my temper was -beginnin' to heat up the surroundin' air, and the mosquitoes seemed to -think I was "Old Home Week," and come for miles around and brought their -relations. I give up and drove away over a fairly decent road this time, -till I found another house. But this was just the same; Injuns in -plenty--'most everybody was part Injun--but nobody had heard of our -special Mohican nor of an "antique." And, which was queerer still, they -never heard of anybody around that done knittin' or crochetin' or lace -makin', or had sold any, if they did do it. And they didn't any of 'em -talk story-book Injun dialect, same as Uncas did. They used pretty fair -United States. - -Well, to bile this yarn of mine down, I rode through those woods and -around the settlement most of that afternoon. Then I was ready to give -up, and so was my old livery-stable horse. He'd gone dead lame, and -'twould have been a sin and a shame to make him walk a step farther. I -took him to the blacksmith's shop, and left him there. I pounded -mosquitoes, and asked the blacksmith some questions, and he pounded iron -and wanted to ask me a million; but neither of us got a heap of -satisfaction out of the duet. - -Two things seemed to be sure and sartin. One was that Solomon Uncas -Rose, the "child of the forest" and chief of the tattin' tribe, was -mistook when he give Wampaquoit as his home town; and t'other that, much -as I wanted to, I couldn't get out of that town until evenin'. My horse -wa'n't fit to travel, and I couldn't hire another, not until after the -blacksmith had had his supper. Then he'd hitch up and drive me back to -the Narrows. - -But luck was with me for once. Up the road came bumpin' a nice-lookin' -mare and runabout wagon, with a pleasant-faced, gray-haired man on the -seat. The mare pulled up at the blacksmith's house, and the man got down -and went inside. - -"Who's that?" says I. "And what's he done to be sentenced to this -place?" - -"Doctor," says the blacksmith, with a grunt--he was one-quarter Injun, -too. "Comes from West Ostable. My wife's sick." - -"I sympathize with her," says I. "I'm sick, too--homesick. Maybe this -doctor'll help me out. What I need is a change of scene; and I need it -bad." - -So, when the doctor come out of the house, I hailed him, and asked him -if he'd do a kindness to a shipwrecked mariner stranded on a lee shore. - -"Why, what's the matter?" says he, laughin'. - -"Matter enough," I told him. "I want to go home. Besides, a merciful man -is merciful to the beasts; and if I stay here much longer these -mosquitoes'll die of rush of my blood to their heads. I understand you -come from West Ostable, Doctor; but if 'twas Jericho 'twould be all the -same. I want you to let me ride there with you. And you can charge -anything you want to." - -That doctor was a fine feller. He laughed some more, and told me to jump -right in. Said he'd got to see one more patient on his way back; but, if -I didn't mind that stop, he'd be glad of my company. So I told the -blacksmith to keep my horse and buggy overnight, and when I got to West -Ostable I'd telephone for the livery folks to send for 'em. Then I got -into the doctor's runabout, and off we drove. - -We did consider'ble talkin' durin' the drive; but 'twas all general, and -nothin' definite on my part. 'Course, he was curious to know what I was -doin' 'way over there; but I said I come on business, and let it go at -that. I was beginnin' to have some suspicions, and I cal'lated not to be -laughed at if I could help it. So we drove and drove; and, by and by, -when I judged we must be pretty nigh to West Ostable, he turned the -horse into a side road, and brought him to anchor alongside of an old -ramshackle house, with a tumble-down barn and out-buildin's astern of -it. - -"Now, Cap'n," he says, "I'll have to ask you to wait a few minutes while -I see that last patient of mine. 'Twon't take long." - -"Patient?" says I. "Good land! Does anybody _live_ in this fag end of -nothin'ness?" - -"Yes," says he. "'Twas empty for years, but now a couple of fellers live -here all by themselves. Foreigners of some kind they are. Been here for -a month or more. One of 'em let a packin' case fall on his foot, and--" - -"I sympathize with him," says I. "The same thing happened to me a spell -ago. But a packin' case! Cranberry crate, you mean, I guess." - -"Maybe so," he says. "I didn't ask. But 'twas somethin' heavy, anyhow. -Nobody seems to know much about these chaps or what they do. Well, be as -comfort'ble as you can. I'll be back soon." - -He took his medicine satchel and went into the house. Soon's he was out -of sight, I climbed out of the buggy and started explorin'. I was -curious. - -I wandered around back of the house. Such a slapjack place you never see -in your life! Windows plugged with papers and old rags, shingles off the -roof, chimneys shy of bricks--'twas a miracle it didn't blow down long -ago. Whoever the tenants was, they was only temporary, I judged, and -willin' to take chances. - -From somewheres out in the barn I heard a scratchin' kind of noise, and -I headed for there. The big door was open a little ways, and I squeezed -through. 'Twas pretty dark, and I couldn't see much for a minute; but -soon as my eyes got used to the gloominess, I saw lots of things. That -barn was half filled with boxes and crates, some empty and some not. -There was a horse in the stall--an old white horse--and standin' in the -middle of the floor was a wagon heaped with things, and covered with a -piece of tarpaulin. I lifted the tarpaulin. Underneath it was a spinnin' -wheel, an old-fashioned table, two chairs, and a basket. There was -embroidery and fancywork in the basket. - -Then I took a few soundin's among the full boxes and crates standin' -round. I didn't do much of this, 'cause the scratchin' noise kept up in -a room at the back of the barn, and I wa'n't anxious to disturb the -scratcher, whoever he was. But I saw a plenty. There was enough bran-new -"antiques" and "genuine" Injun knittin' work in them crates and boxes to -stock the "Colonial Exchange" for six weeks, even with better trade than -we'd had. - -I'd seen all I wanted to in _that_ room, so I tiptoed into the other. A -feller was in there, standin' back to me, and hard at work. He was -sandpaperin' the polish off a mahogany sewin' table; the kind Mrs. Burke -Smythe called a "find," and had in her best front parlor as an example -of what our great-granddads used to make, and we wa'n't capable of in -these cheap and shoddy days. There was another "find" on the floor side -of him, a chair layin' on its side. Pasted on the under side of the seat -was a paper label with "Grand Rivers Furniture Manufacturing Company" -printed on it. I judged that the hand of Time hadn't got to work on that -chair yet, but it would as soon as it had antiqued the table. - -I watched the mellowin' influence gettin' in its licks--much as twenty -year passed over that table in the three minutes I stood there--and then -I spoke. - -"Hello, shipmate!" says I. "You're busy, ain't you?" - -He jumped as if I'd stuck a sail needle in him, the table tipped over -with a bang, and he swung around and faced me. And I'm blessed if he -wa'n't that Armenian critter; the one that the clerk had talked to--the -"last survivor of the peddlin' crew." - -I was expectin' 'most anything to happen, and I was kind of hopin' it -would. My fists sort of shut of themselves. But it didn't happen. I knew -the feller; but, as luck would have it, he didn't recognize me. He -swallered hard a couple of times, and then he says, pretty average ugly: - -"Vat d'ye want?" - -"Oh, nothin'," says I. "I just drove over with the doctor, and I cruised -'round the premises a little, that's all. You must do a good business -here. Make this stuff yourself?" - -"No," he snapped. - -I could see that he was dyin' to chuck me out, and didn't dast to. I -picked up the chair and looked at it. - -"Humph!" I says. "Grand Rivers Company, hey? Buy of them, do you?" - -"Yes," says he. - -"And this?" I took a centerpiece out of one of the boxes. "This come -from Grand Rivers, too?" - -"No," says he. "Boston. Is dere anything else you vant to know?" - -"Guess not. You the sick man?" - -"No; mine brudder." - -"Your brother, hey? Let's see. I wonder if I don't know him. Kind of -tall and thin, ain't he?" - -He sniffed contemptuous. - -"No," says he, "he's short and fat." - -"Beg your pardon," says I, "guess I was mistook. Well, I must be gettin' -back to the buggy; the doctor's prob'ly waitin' for me. Good day, -mister." - -He never said good-by; but I saw him watchin' me all the way to the -gate. I climbed into the buggy, and set there till he went back into the -barn; then I got down and hurried to the front of the house. The door -wa'n't fastened, and I went in. I met the doctor in the hall. He was -some surprised to see me there. - -"Hello, Doc!" says I. "Where's your patient?" - -"In there," says he, pointin' to the door astern of him. "But--" - -"How's he gettin' along?" I wanted to know. - -"Why, he's better," he says. "He's practically all right. I wanted him -to get up and walk, but he wouldn't." - -"Wouldn't, hey?" says I. "Humph! Well, maybe he wouldn't walk for you; -but I'll bet _I_ can make him _fly_." - -Before he could stop me, I flung that door open and walked into that -room. The sufferer from fallin' packin' boxes was settin' in one chair -with his foot in another. I drew off, and slapped him on the shoulder -hard as I could. - -"Hello, Sol Uncas Mohicans!" I sung out. "How's genuine antique lamp -mats these days?" - -For about two seconds he just set there and looked at me, set and -glared, with his mouth open. Then he let out a scream like a scared -woman, jumped out of that chair, and made for the kitchen door, lame -foot and all. I headed him off, and he turned and set sail for the one -I'd come in at. He reached the front hall just ahead of me; but my boot -caught him at the top step and helped him _some_. He never stopped at -the gate, but went head-first into the woods whoopin' anthems. - -The sandpaperin' chap came runnin' out of the barn, and I took after -him; but he didn't wait to see what I had to say. He dove for the woods -on his side. We had the premises to ourselves, and I went back and -picked up the doctor, who'd been upset by the "child of the forest" on -his way to the ancestral tall timber. - -"What--what--what?" gasps the medical man. "For Heaven sakes! Why, he -wouldn't _try_ to walk when I asked him to. _How_ did you do that?" - -"Easy enough," says I. "'Twas an old-fashioned treatment, but it -helps--in some cases. Just layin' on of hands, that's all. Now, Doc, -afore you ask another question, let me ask you one. Ain't that critter's -name Rose?" - -He was consider'ble shook, but he managed to grin a little. - -"No," says he, "but you've guessed pretty near it." - -Then he told me what the name was. - -I rode back to West Ostable with that doctor and took the evenin' train -home. Jim Henry was waitin' for me on the store platform when I got out -of the depot wagon. - -"Well?" he wanted to know. "Did you find him?" - -"Humph!" says I. "I did find the lost tribes, a couple of members of -'em, anyway." - -"What do you mean by that?" says he. - -"Come somewheres where 'tain't so public and I'll tell you." - -So we went back into the back room and I told him my yarn. He listened, -with his mouth open, gettin' madder and madder all the time. - -"Now," says I, endin' up, "the way I look at it is this. I've been -thinkin' it out on the cars and I cal'late we'll have to do this way. We -ain't crooks--that is, we didn't mean to be--and now we know all our -'antiques' are frauds and our 'Injun curios' made up to Boston, we must -either shut up the 'Exchange' or go back to home products. We'll have to -keep mum about those we have sold, because most of 'em have been carted -out of town and we don't know where to locate the buyers. But, for my -part, bein' average honest and meanin' to be square, I feel mighty bad. -What do you say?" - -He said enough. He felt as bad as I did about stickin' our customers, -but what seemed to cut him the most was that somebody had got ahead of -him in business. - -"Think of it!" says he. "Skipper, we're gold-bricked! Cheated! Faked! -Done! Think of it! If I could only get my hands on that--" - -"Hold on a minute," says I. "Better think the whole of it while you're -about it. We set out to drive those peddlers out of what was _their_ -trade. If they was smart enough to turn the tables and make a good -profit out of sellin' us the stuff, I don't know as I blame 'em much. It -was just tit for tat--or so it seems to me now that I've cooled off." - -"Maybe so," says he; "but it hurts my pride just the same. James Henry -Jacobs, doctor of sick businesses, beat by a couple of peddlers from -Armenia!" - -"Hold on again," I says. "I ain't told you their real name yet." - -"Their name?" he says. "I know it already. It's Rose." - -"Not accordin' to that West Ostable doctor, it ain't. The name they give -_him_ was Rosenstein." - -He looked at me for a spell without speakin'. Then he smiled, heaved a -long breath, and reached over and shook my hand. - -"Whew!" says he. "Skipper, I feel better. Richard's himself again. To be -beat in a business deal by Roses is one thing--but by Rosensteins is -another. You can't beat the Rosensteins in business." - -"Not in the secondhand and by-productin' business you can't," says I. -"Them lines belong to 'em. We hadn't any right to butt in." - -And we both laughed, good and hearty. - -"But," says I, after a little, "what'll we do with that curio room, -anyway? Give it up?" - -"Not much!" says he, emphatic. "I guess we'll have to give up the -antiques; but we've got the winter ahead of us, Skipper, and the Ostable -County embroidery crop flourishes best in cold weather. We'll start the -old ladies knittin' again and have a fairly good-sized stock when the -autos commence runnin' once more. Give up the Colonial Pilgrim Mothers? -I should say not!" - -"All right," I says, dubious. "You may be right, Jim; you generally are. -But I'm a little scary of this by-product game. It'll get us into -serious trouble, I'm afraid, some day. It's easier to steer one big -craft, than 'tis to maneuver a fleet of little ones." - -He sniffed, scornful. "As I understand it, Cap'n Zeb," he says, "this -business of yours was in a pretty feeble condition when you called me in -to prescribe." - -"No doubt of that, Jim, but--" - -"Yes. And it's a healthy, growin' child now." - -"Yes. It sartin is." - -"Then, if I was you, I'd take my medicine and be thankful. Time enough -to complain when you commence to go into another decline. Ain't that -so?" - -I didn't answer. - -"Isn't it so?" he asked again. - -"Maybe," I said; "but it may be a fatal disease next time; and it's -better to keep well than to be cured--and a lot cheaper." - -He said I was a reg'lar bullfrog for croakin', and hinted that I was in -the back row of the primer class so fur's business instinct went. I had -a feelin' that he was right, but I had another feelin' that _I_ was -right, too. However, there was nothin' to do but keep quiet and wait the -next development. Afore Christmas the development landed with both feet. - -I'd heard the news twice already that mornin'. Fust at the Poquit House -breakfast table, where 'twas served along with the chopped hay cereal -and warmed over and picked to pieces, as you might say, all through the -b'iled eggs and spider-bread, plumb down to the doughnuts and imitation -coffee. Then I'd no sooner got outdoor than Solon Saunders sighted me, -and he 'bout ship and beat acrost the road like a porgie-boat bearin' -down on a school of fish. He was so excited that he couldn't wait to get -alongside, but commenced heavin' overboard his cargo of information -while he was in mid-channel. - -"Did you hear about the Higgins Place bein' rented, Cap'n Snow?" he sung -out. "It's been took for next summer and--" - -"Yes, yes, I heard it," says I. "Fine seasonable weather we're havin' -these days. Don't see any signs of snow yet, do you?" - -If he'd been skipper of a pleasure boat with a picnic party aboard he -couldn't have paid less attention to my weather signals. - -"It's been hired for an eatin'-house," he says, puffin' and out of -breath. "A man by the name of Fred from Buffalo, has hired it, and--" - -"Fred, hey?" I interrupted. "Humph! 'Cordin' to the proclamations _I_ -heard he cruises under the name of George--Eben George--and he hails -from Bangor." - -"No, no!" he says, emphatic. "His name's Edgar Fred and it's Buffalo he -comes from. Henry Williams told me and he got it from his wife's aunt, -Mrs. Debby Baker, and her cousin by marriage told her. She is a -Knowles--the cousin is--married one of the Denboro Knowleses--and _she_ -got it from Peleg Kendrick's nephew whose stepmother is related to the -woman that used to do old Judge Higgins's cookin' when he was alive. So -it come straight, you see." - -"Yes," I says, "about as straight as the eel went through the snarled -fish net. All right. I don't care. How's your rheumatiz gettin' on, -Solon?" - -I thought that would fetch him, but it didn't. Gen'rally speakin', he'd -talk for an hour about his rheumatiz and never skip an ache; but now he -was too much interested in the Higgins Place even to catalogue his -symptoms. - -"It's some better," he says, "since I tried the Electric Ointment out of -the newspaper. But, Cap'n Zeb, did you know that this Fred man was goin' -to start a swell dinin'-room for automobile folks? He is. He's had all -kinds of experience in them lines. He's goin' to have foreign help and a -chief Frenchman to do the cookin' and--and I don't know what all." - -"I guess that's right," says I. "Well, I don't know what all, either, -and I ain't goin' to worry. We'll see what we shall see, as the blind -feller said. Hello! there's the minister over there and I'll bet he -ain't heard a word about it." - -That done the trick. Away he put, all sail set, to give the minister the -earache, and I went on down to the store. And there was Jacobs talkin' -to a man I'd never seen afore and both of 'em so interested they -scarcely noticed me when I come in. - -He was a kind of ordinary-lookin' feller at fust sight, the stranger -was, sort of a cross between a parson and a circus agent, judgin' by his -get-up. Pretty thin, with black hair and a black beard, and dressed all -in black except his vest, which was thunder-storm plaid. I'd have -cal'lated he was in mournin' if it hadn't been for that vest. As 'twas -he looked like a hearse with a brass band aboard. Both him and Jacobs -was smokin' cigars, the best ten-centers we carried in stock. - -"Mornin'," says I, passin' by 'em. Jim Henry looked up and saw me. - -"Ah, Skipper," says he; "glad to see you. Come here. I want to make you -acquainted with Mr. Edwin Frank, who is intendin' to locate here in -Ostable. Mr. Frank, shake hands with my partner, Cap'n Zebulon Snow." - -We shook, the band wagon hearse and me, and I felt as if I was back -aboard the old _Fair Breeze_, handlin' cold fish. Jim Henry went right -along explainin' matters. - -"Mr. Frank," he says, "has had a long experience in the restaurant and -hotel line and he believes there is an openin' for a first-class -road-house in this town. He has leased the--" - -Then I understood. "Why, yes, yes!" I interrupted. "I know now. You're -Mr. Eben Edgar Fred George from Buffalo and Bangor, ain't you?" - -Then _they_ didn't understand. When I explained about the boardin'-house -talk and Solon Saunders' "straight" news, Jacobs laughed fit to kill and -even Mr. Fred George Frank pumped up a smile. But his pumps was out of -gear, or somethin', for the smile looked more like a crack in an ice -chest than anything human. However, he said he was glad to see me and I -strained the truth enough to say I was glad to meet him. - -"So you've hired the Higgins Place, Mr. Frank," I went on. "Well, well! -And you're goin' to make a hotel of it. If old Judge Higgins don't turn -over in his grave at that, he's fast moored, that's all." - -I meant what I said, almost. Judge Higgins, in his day, had been one of -the big-bugs of the town and his place on the hill was one of the best -on the main road. It set 'way back from the street and the view from -under the two big silver-leaf trees by the front door took in all -creation and part of Ostable Neck, as the sayin' is. The Judge had been -dead most eight year now, and, bein' a three times widower without chick -nor child, the estate was all tied up amongst the heirs of the three -wives and was fast tumblin' to pieces. It couldn't be sold, on account -of the row between the owners, but it had been let once or twice to -summer folks. To turn it into a tavern was pretty nigh the final -come-down, seemed to me. - -But Jim Henry Jacobs wa'n't worryin' about come-downs. He never let dead -dignity interfere with live business. He didn't shed a tear over the old -place, or lay a wreath on Judge Higgins's tomb. No, sir! he got down to -the keelson of things in a jiffy. - -"Skipper," he says, sweet and plausible as a dose of sugared -soothin'-syrup. "Skipper," he says, "Mr. Frank's proposition is to open, -not a hotel exactly, but a first-class, up-to-date road-house and -restaurant. As progressive citizens of Ostable, as business men, -wide-awake to the town's welfare, that ought to interest you and me, on -general principles, hadn't it?" - -I judged that this was only Genesis, and that Revelation would come -later, so I nodded and said I cal'lated that it had--on general -principles. - -"You bet!" he goes on. "It does interest us. Speakin' personally, I've -long felt that there was a place in Ostable for a dinin'-room, run to -bag--to attract, I mean--the wealthy, the well-to-do transient trade. -Why, just think of it!" he says, warmin' up, "it's winter now. By May or -June there'll be a steady string of autos runnin' along this road here, -every one of 'em solid full of city people and all hungry. Now, it's a -shame to let those good things--I mean hungry gents and ladies, go by -without givin' 'em what they want. If I hadn't had so many things on my -mind, if the Ostable Store's large and growin' business hadn't took my -attention exclusive, I should have ventured a flyer in that direction -myself. But never mind that; Mr. Frank here has got ahead of me and the -job's in better hands. Mr. Frank is right up to the minute; he's abreast -of the times and he--by the way, Mr. Frank, perhaps you wouldn't mind -tellin' my partner here somethin' about your plans. Just give him the -line of talk you've been givin' me, say." - -Mr. Frank didn't mind. He had the line over in a minute and if I'd been -cal'latin' that he was a frosty specimen with the water in his -talk-b'iler froze, I got rid of the notion in a hurry. He smiled, -polite, and begun slow and deliberate, but pretty soon he was runnin' -twenty knots an hour. He told about his experience in the eatin'-house -line--he'd been everything from hotel manager to club steward--and about -how successful he'd been and how big the profits was, and what his -customers said about him, and so on. Afore a body had a chance to think -this over--or to digest it, long's we're talkin' about eatin'--he was -under full steam through Ostable with the Higgins Place loaded to the -guards and beatin' all entries two mile to the lap. He'd never seen a -better openin'; his experience backed his judgment in callin' it the -ideal location and opportunity, and the like of that. He talked his -throat dry and wound up, husky but hurrahin', with somethin' like this: - -"Cap'n Snow," he says, "you and Mr. Jacobs must understand that I know -what I'm talkin' about. This enterprise of mine will be the very highest -class. French chef, French waiters, all the delicacies and game in -season. A country Delmonico's, that's the dope--ahem! I mean that is the -reputation this establishment of ours will have; yes." - -I judged that the "dope" had slipped out unexpected and that the miscue -jarred him a little mite, for he colored up and wiped his forehead with -a red and yellow bordered handkerchief. I was jarred, too, but not by -that. - -"Establishment of _ours_?" I says, slow. "You mean yours, of course." - -He was goin' to answer, but Jim Henry got ahead of him. - -"Sure! of course, Skipper," he says. "That's all right. There!" he went -on, gettin' up and takin' me by the arm. "Mr. Frank's got to be trottin' -along and we mustn't detain him. So long, Mr. Frank. My partner and I -will have some conversation and we'll meet again. Drop in any time. Good -day." - -I hadn't noticed any signs of Frank's impatience to trot along, but he -took the hint all right and got up to go. He said good-by and I was -turnin' away, when I see Jim Henry wink at him when they thought I -wa'n't lookin'. I was suspicious afore; that wink made me uneasy as a -spring pullet tied to the choppin'-block. - - - - -CHAPTER X--THE SIGN OF THE WINDMILL - - -Eben George Edgar Edwin Delmonico Frank went out, dabbin' at his -forehead with the red and yellow handkerchief. Jacobs kept his clove -hitch on my arm and led me out to the settee on the front platform. - -"Set down, Skipper," he says, cheerful and more'n extra friendly, seemed -to me. "Set down," he says, "and enjoy the December ozone." - -We come to anchor on the settee and there we set and shivered for much -as five minutes, each of us waitin' for the other to begin. Finally Jim -Henry says, without lookin' at me: - -"Well, Skipper," he says, "that chap's sharp all right, ain't he?" - -"Seems to be," says I, not too enthusiastic. - -"Yes, he is. If I'm any judge of human nature--and I hand myself _that_ -bouquet any day in the week--he knows his business. Don't you think so?" - -"Maybe," I says. "But what business of ours his business is I don't -see--yet. If you do, bein' as you and me are supposed to be partners, -perhaps you wouldn't mind soundin' the fog whistle for my benefit. I -seem to have lost my reckonin' on this v'yage. Why should we be -interested in this Frank man and his eatin'-house?" - -He laughed, louder'n was necessary, I thought, and slapped me on the -shoulder. - -"You don't see where we come in, hey?" he says. "Well, I do. A -dinin'-room like that one of his will need a good many supplies, won't -it? And, if I can mesmerize him into patronizin' the home market, the -Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods Emporium -will gain some, I shouldn't wonder. Hey, pard! How about that?" And he -slapped my shoulder again. - -I turned this over in my mind. "Humph!" I says. "I begin to see." - -"You bet you do!" he says, laughin'. "The amount of stuff I can sell -that restaurant will--" - -But I broke in here. I remembered that wink and I didn't believe I was -clear of the choppin'-block yet. - -"Hold on!" says I. "Heave to! And never mind poundin' my starboard -shoulder to pieces, either. I said I _begun_ to see; I don't see clear -yet. How did you and he come to get together in the fust place? Did you -go and hunt him up? or did he come in here to see you?" - -He kind of hesitated. "Why," he says, "he come into the store, and--" - -"Did he happen in, or did he come to see you a-purpose?" - -"He--I believe he came to see me. Then he and I--" - -"Heave to again! He didn't come to see you to beg the favor of buyin' -goods of you, 'tain't likely. Jim Jacobs, answer me straight. There's -somethin' else. That feller wants somethin' of you--or of us. Now what -is it?" - -He hesitated some more. Then he upset the woodpile and let out the -darky. - -"Well," he says, "I'll tell you. I was goin' to tell you, anyway. -Frank's all right. He's got a good idea and he's got the experience to -put it into practice; but he's somethin' the way old Beanblossom was -afore you took a share in this store--he needs a little more capital." - -I swung round on the settee and looked him square in the eye. - -"I--see," I says, slow. "Now--I see! He's after money and he wants us to -lend it to him. I might have guessed it. Well, did you say no right off? -or was you waitin' to have me say it? You might have said it yourself. -You knew I'd back you up." - -Would you believe it? he got as red as a beet. - -"I didn't say anything," he says. "Don't go off half-cocked like that. -What's the matter with you this mornin'? He don't want to borrer money. -He wants more capital in the proposition--wants to float it right. And -he's been inquirin' around and has found that you and me are the two -leadin' business men in the place and has come to us first. It's more a -favor on his part than anything else. He offers to let us have a third -interest between us; you put in a thousand and I do the same. Why, man, -it's a cinch! It's a chance that don't come every day. As I told you, -I've had the same notion in my head for a long time. A summer -dinin'-room like that in this town is--" - -"Wait!" I interrupted. "What do you know about this Frank critter? -Where'd he come from? Who is he?" - -"He comes from Pittsburg. That's the last place he was in. And he's got -his pockets full of references and testimonials." - -"Humph! Anybody can get testimonials. Write 'em himself, if there wa'n't -any other way. I had a second mate once with more testimonials than -shirts, enough sight, and he--" - -"Oh, cut it out! Besides, I don't care where he comes from. He's sharp -as a steel trap; that much I can tell with one eye shut. And he's run -dinin'-rooms and hotels; that I'll bet my hat on. That's all we need to -know. A road-house in this town is a twenty per cent proposition durin' -the summer months. It's the chance of a lifetime, I tell you." - -"Maybe so. But how do you know the feller's honest?" - -"I don't care whether he's honest or not. It doesn't make any -difference. If I wa'n't here to keep my eye peeled, it might be; but -I'll be here and if he gets ahead of me, he'll be movin' to some extent. -Someone else'll grab the chance if we don't. I'm for it. What do you -say?" - -I shook my head. "Jim," says I, "I can see where you stand. You're so -dead sartin that an eatin'-house of that kind'll pay big, that you're -blind to the rest of it. Now I don't pretend to be a judge of human -nature like you--leavin' out Injun and Rosenstein human nature, of -course--nor a doctor of sick businesses, which is your profession. But -my experience is--" - -He stood up and sniffed impatient. - -"Cut it out, I tell you!" he says, again. "This ain't an experience -meetin'. Will you take a flyer with me in that road-house, or won't -you?" - -"Way I feel now, I won't," says I, prompt. - -He turned on his heel, took a step towards the door and then stopped. - -"Well," he says, "you think it over till to-morrer mornin' and then let -me know. Only, you mark my words, it's a chance. And, with me to keep my -eye on it, there's no risk at all." - -So that's the way it ended that day. And half that night I laid awake, -feelin' meaner'n dirt to say no to as good a partner as I had, and yet -pretty average sure I was right, just the same. - -In the mornin' my mind was still betwixt and between. I went down to the -store and walked back to the post-office department. I looked in through -the little window and saw Mary Blaisdell inside, sortin' the outgoin' -letters. The sunshine, streamin' in from outside, lit up her hair till -it looked like one of them halos in a church picture. Seems to me I -never saw her look prettier; but then, every time I saw her I thought -the same thing. A good-lookin' woman and a good woman--yes, and capable. -That she'd lived so many years without gettin' married, was one of the -things that made a feller lose confidence in the good-sense of humans. -The chap that got her would be lucky. Then I caught a glimpse of myself -in the lookin'-glass where customers tried on hats, and decided I'd -better stop thinkin' foolishness or somebody would catch me at it and -send me to the comic papers. - -"Mornin', Mary," says I. "Has Mr. Jacobs come aboard yet?" - -She turned and came to her side of the window. - -"Yes," she says, "he was here. He's gone out now with that Mr. Frank. I -believe they've gone up to the old Higgins Place." - -"Um-hm," says I. "Well, Mary, just between friends, I'd like to ask you -somethin'. Do you like that Frank man's looks?" - -She wa'n't expectin' that and she didn't know how to answer for a jiffy. -Then she kind of half laughed, and says: "No, Cap'n Zeb, since you ask -me, I--I don't. I don't like him. And I haven't any good reason, -either." - -I nodded. "Much obliged, Mary," says I. "And, since you ain't asked me, -I'll tell you that _I_ don't like him. And my reason's about as good as -yours. Maybe it's his clothes. A man, 'cordin' to my notion, has a right -to look like a horse jockey, if he wants to; and he's got a right to -look like an undertaker. But when he looks like a combination of the -two, I--well, I get skittish and begin to shy, that's all. It's too much -as if he was baited to trap you dead or alive." - -Then Jim Henry come in and when, an hour or so later, he got me one side -and asked me if I'd made up my mind about investin' in Frank's -road-house, I answered prompt that my mind was made up and the answer -was still no. He was disapp'inted, I could see that, and pretty mad. - -"Humph!" says he. "Skipper, you're all right except for one -fault--you're as 'country' as they make 'em, and they make 'em pretty -narrer sometimes. Well, you've had the chance. Don't ever tell me you -haven't." - -"I won't," says I, and we didn't mention the subject for a long time. -Then--but that comes later. However, I judged that Frank had found folks -in Ostable who wa'n't as narrer and "country" as I was, for, inside of a -week, the carpenters was busy on the Higgins Place. They built on great, -wide piazzas; they knocked out partitions between rooms; they made the -house pretty much over. In March loads of fancy furniture came from -Boston. At last a windmill three feet high--made to look like a little -copy of the old Cape windmills our great-granddads used to grind grist -in, with sails that turned--was set up in the front yard, and on a post -by the big gate was swingin' a fancy notice board, with a gilt windmill -painted on that, and the words in big letters: - - THE SIGN OF THE WINDMILL. - - MEALS AT ALL HOURS. - - _Steaks, Chops, Game, Etc._ - _Table D'hote Dinner Each Day at 1.15._ - - _Special Accommodations for Auto Parties._ - -That was it, you see. "The Sign of the Windmill" was the name of the new -road-house. - -But that wa'n't all the advertisin', by a consider'ble sight. There was -signs all up and down the main roads, with hands p'intin' in the -"Windmill" direction. And there was ads in the Cape papers and in the -Boston papers, too. I swan, I didn't believe anybody but Jim Henry -Jacobs could have engineered such advertisin'! And there was a -black-lookin' critter with the ends of his mustache waxed so sharp you -could have sewed canvas with 'em--he was the French chef--and three -foreign waiters, and a dark-complected fleshy woman who seemed to be a -sort of general assistant manager and stewardess, and--and--goodness -knows what there wa'n't. There was so many kinds of hired help that I -couldn't see where Frank himself come in--unless he was the spare -"windmill," which, judgin' by his gift of gab, I cal'late might be the -fact. - -"The Sign of the Windmill" bought all its groceries and general supplies -at the store, which, considerin' that we'd turned down the "chance" to -be part owners, seemed sort of odd to me, 'cause Frank didn't look like -a feller who'd forgive a slight like that. But I judged Jim Henry had -hypnotized him, as he done other difficult customers, and so I said -nothin'. The auto season opened and our weekly bills with that -road-house was big ones, but they was paid every week, and I hadn't any -kick there, either. - -As for the business that dinin'-room done, it was surprisin', -particularly Saturdays and Sundays, when there'd be twenty or more autos -in the front yard and more a-comin'. The table d'hote dinner at 1.15 was -so well patronized that folks had to wait their turns at table and -later, on moonlight nights, the old house was all lighted up and you -could hear the noise of dishes rattlin' and the laughin' and singin' -till after eleven o'clock. And our bills with the "Sign of the Windmill" -kept gettin' bigger and bigger. - -But though the auto parties was thick and the patronage good, still -there was some dissatisfaction, I found out. One big car stopped at the -store on a Saturday afternoon and the boss of it talked with me while -the women folks was inside buyin' postcards and such. - -"Well," says I, to the owner of the car, a big, fleshy, good-natured -chap he was, "well," says I, "I cal'late you've all had a good dinner. -Feed you fust-class up there at the Windmill place, don't they?" - -He sniffed. "Humph!" says he, "the food's all right. It ought to be, at -the price. Is the proprietor of that hotel named Allie Baby?" - -"Allie which?" I says, laughin'. "No, no, his name's Frank. Edwin George -Eben etcetery Frank. What made you think 'twas Allie?" - -"'Cause he's a close connection of the Forty Thieves," he says, sharp. -"He'd take a prize in the hog class at a county fair, that chap would. -What's the matter with him? Does he think he's runnin' a get-rich-quick -shop? Two weeks ago I paid a dollar and a half for a dinner there, and -that was seventy-five cents too much. Now he's jumped to two-fifty and -the feed ain't a bit better." - -"Two dollars and a half for a _dinner_!" says I. "Whew! The cost of -livin' _is_ goin' up, ain't it? What do they give you? Canary birds' -tongues on toast? Any shore dinner ever I see could be cooked for--" - -He interrupted. "Shore dinner nothin'!" he snorts. "I wouldn't kick at -the price if I got a good shore dinner. But what we got here is a poor -imitation of a country Waldorf. Everybody's kickin', but we all go there -because it's the best we can find for twenty miles. However, I hear -another place is to be started in Denboro and if _that_ makes good, your -Forty Thief friend will have to haul in his horns. He'll never get -another cent from me, or a hundred others I know, who have been his best -customers. We're all waitin' to give him the shake and it looks as if we -should be able to do it. We motorin' fellers stick together and, if the -word's passed along the line, the "Sign of the Windmill" will be a dead -one, mark my words." - -I marked 'em, and when, by and by, I heard that the Denboro dinin'-room -was open and doin' a good business, I underscored the mark. - -This was about the middle of June. A week later Jim Henry got the -telegram about his younger brother out in Colorado bein' sick and -wantin' to see him bad. He hated to go, but he felt he had to, so he -went. - -I said good-by to him up at the depot and told him not to worry a mite. -"I'll look out for everything," I says. "Course I'll miss you at the -store, but I'll write you every day or so and keep you posted, and you -can give me business prescriptions by mail." - -"That's all right, Skipper," says he, "I know the store'll be took care -of. But there's one thing that--that--" - -"What's the one thing?" I asked. "Overboard with it. My shoulders are -broad and I won't mind totin' another hogshead or so." - -He hesitated and it seemed to me that he looked troubled. But finally he -said he'd guessed 'twas nothin' that amounted to nothin' anyway and he'd -be back in a couple of weeks sure. So off he went and I had a sort of -Robinson Crusoe desert island feelin' that lasted all that day and -night. - -It lasted longer than that, too. I didn't hear from him for ten days. -Then I got a note sayin' his brother had scarlet fever--which seemed a -fool disease for a grown-up man to have--and was pretty sick. I wrote to -him for the land sakes to be careful he didn't get it himself, and the -next news I heard was from a doctor sayin' he _had_ got it. After that -the bulletins was infrequent and alarmin'. - -I'd have put for Colorado in a minute, but I couldn't; that store was on -my shoulders and I couldn't leave. I telegraphed not to spare no expense -and to write or wire every day. 'Twas all I could do, but I never spent -such a worried time afore nor since. I was worried, not only about my -partner, but about the business he'd put in my charge. There was new -developments in that business and they kept on developin'. - -'Twas the "Sign of the Windmill" that was troublin' me. As I told you, -the weekly bills for that eatin'-house was big ones, but the fust three -or four had been paid on the dot. Now, however, they wa'n't paid and -they was just as big. Frank's account on our books kept gettin' larger -and larger and, not only that, but anybody could see that the Windmill -wa'n't doin' half the trade it begun with. There was more auto parties -than ever, but the heft of 'em went right on by to the new road-house in -Denboro. I remembered what the fleshy man told me and I judged that the -word had been passed to the motorin' crew, just as he prophesied. - -I went up to see Frank and had a talk with him. I found him in his -office, settin' at a fine new roll-top desk, with the dark-complected -stewardess alongside of him. She seemed to be helpin' him with his -letters and accounts, which looked odd to me, and she glowered at me -when I come in like a cat at a stray poodle. She didn't get up and go -out, neither, till he hinted p'raps she'd better, and even then she -whispered to him mighty confidential afore she went. 'Twas a queer way -for hired help to act, but 'twa'n't none of my affairs, of course. - -He was cordial enough till he found out what I was after and then he -chilled up like a freezer full of cream. He was in the habit of payin' -his bills, he give me to understand, and he'd pay this one when 'twas -convenient. If I didn't care to sell the Windmill goods, that was my -affair, of course, but his relations with my partner had been so -pleasant that--and so forth and so on. I sneaked out of that office, -feelin' like a henroost-thief instead of an honest man tryin' to collect -an honest debt. I'd bungled things again. Instead of makin' matters -better, I'd made 'em worse; come nigh losin' a good customer and all -that. What business had an old salt herrin' like me to be in business, -anyhow? That's how I felt when I was talkin' to him, and how I felt when -I shut that office door and come out into the dinin'-room. - -But the sight of that dinin'-room, tables all vacant, and two waiters -where there had been four, fetched all my uneasiness back again. If ever -a place had "Goin' down" marked on it 'twas the "Sign of the Windmill." -I stewed and fretted all the way to the store and when I got there I -found that another big order of groceries and canned goods had been -delivered to the eatin' house while I was gone. - -The next week'll stick in my mind till doomsday, I cal'late. Every -blessed mornin' found me vowin' I'd stop sellin' that Windmill, and -every night found more dollars added to the bill. You see, I didn't know -what to do. If I'd been sole owner and sailin' master, I'd have set my -foot down, I guess; but there was Jim Henry to be considered. I wrote a -note to the Frank man, but he didn't even trouble to answer it. - -Saturday noon came round and, after the mail was sorted, I wandered out -to the front platform and set there, blue as a whetstone. The gang of -summer boarders and natives, that's always around mail times, melted -away fast and I was pretty nigh alone. Not quite alone; Alpheus Perkins, -the fish man, was occupyin' moorin's at t'other end of the platform and -he didn't seem to be in any hurry. By and by over he comes and sets down -alongside of me. - -"Cap'n Zeb," he says, fidgety like, "I s'pose likely you've been -wonderin' why I don't pay your bill here at the store, ain't you?" - -I hadn't, havin' more important things to think about, but now I -remembered that he did owe consider'ble and had owed it for some time. -Alpheus is as straight as they make 'em and usually pays his debts -prompt. - -"I know you must have," he went on, not waitin' for me to answer. "Well, -I intended to pay long afore this, and I will pay pretty soon. But I've -had trouble collectin' my own debts and it's held me back. If I could -only get my hands on one account that's owin' me, I'd be all right. -Say," says he, tryin' hard to act careless and as if 'twa'n't important -one way or t'other: "Say," he says, "you know Mr. Frank, up here at the -hotel, pretty well, don't you?" - -For a minute or so I didn't answer. Then I knocked the ashes out of my -pipe and says I, "Why, yes. I know him. What of it?" - -"Oh, nothin' much," he says. "Only I was told he was a partic'lar friend -of yours and Mr. Jacobs's and--and--" - -"Who told you he was our partic'lar friend?" I asked. - -"Why, he did. I was up there yesterday, just hintin' I could use a check -on account. Not pressin' the matter nor tryin' to be hard on him, you -understand; course he's all right; but I was mighty short of ready cash -and so--" - -"Hold on, Al!" I said, quick. "Wait! Does the 'Sign of the Windmill' owe -you a bill?" - -"Pretty nigh a hundred dollars," says he. "I've supplied 'em with fish -and lobsters and clams and such ever since they started. Fust month they -paid me by the week. After that--" - -"Good heavens and earth!" I sung out. "My soul and body! And--and, when -you asked for it, this--this Frank man told you he'd pay you when 'twas -convenient, same as he paid Jacobs and me, who was his friends and was -quite ready to do business that way." - -He actually jumped, I'd surprised him so. - -"Hey?" he sung out. "Zeb Snow, be you a second-sighter? How did you know -he told me that?" - -I drew a long breath. "It didn't take second sight for that," I says. "I -was up there last Monday and he told me the same thing, only 'twas you -and Ed Cahoon who was his friends then." - -He let that sink in slow. - -"My godfreys domino!" he groaned. "My godfreys! He--he told--Why! why, -he must be workin' the same game on all hands!" - -"Looks like it," says I, and, thinkin' of Jim Henry, poor feller, sick -as he could be, and the business he'd left me to look out for, my heart -went down into my boots. - -Perkins set thinkin' for a jiffy. Then he got up off the settee. - -"The son of a gun!" he says. "I'll fix him! I'll put my bill in a -lawyer's hands to-night." - -"No, you won't," I sung out, grabbin' him by the arm. "You mustn't. He -owes the Ostable Store four times what he owes you, and it's likely he -owes Cahoon and a lot more. The rest of us can't afford to let you upset -the calabash that way. You might get yours, though I'm pretty doubtful, -but where would the rest of us come in. You set down, Alpheus. Set down, -and let me think. Set down, I tell you!" - -When I talk that way--it's an old seafarin' habit--most folks usually -obey orders. Alpheus set. He started to talk, but I hushed him up and, -havin' filled my pipe and got it to goin', I smoked and thought for much -as five minutes. - -"Hum!" says I, after the spell was over, "the way I sense it is like -this: This ain't any fo'mast hand's job; and it ain't a skipper's job -neither. It's a case for all hands and the ship's cat, workin' together -and standin' by each other. We've got to find out who's who and what's -what, make up our minds and then all read the lesson in concert, like -young ones in school. This Frank Windmill critter owes you and he owes -me; we're sartin of that. More'n likely he owes Ed Cahoon for chickens -and fowls and eggs, and Bill Bangs for milk, and Henry Hall for ice, and -land knows how many more. S'pose you skirmish around and find out who he -does owe and fetch all the creditors to the store here to-morrer mornin' -at eleven o'clock. It'll be church time, I know, but even the parson -will excuse us for this once, 'specially as the 'Sign of the Windmill' -is supposed to sell liquor and he's down on it." - -We had consider'ble more talk, but that was the way it ended, finally. I -went to bed that night, but it didn't take; I might as well have set up, -so fur's sleep was concerned. All I could think of was poor, sick Jim -Henry and the trust he put in me. - - - - -CHAPTER XI--COOKS AND CROOKS - - -I was at the store by quarter of eleven, but the gang of creditors was -there to meet me, seven of 'em altogether. Cahoon, the chicken man, and -Bangs, the milk man, and Hall, the ice man, and Alpheus, and Caleb -Bearse, who'd been supplyin' meat to that road-house, and Peleg Doane, -who'd done carpenterin' and repairs on it, and Jeremiah Doane, his -brother, who'd painted the repaired places. Seven was all the creditors -Perkins could scare up on short notice, though he cal'lated there was -more. - -"There's one more, anyway," says Bill Bangs. "That dark-complected -woman--the one you call the stewardess, Cap'n Zeb--was sick a spell ago -and Frank told Doctor Goodspeed he'd be responsible for the bill. I see -the doc this mornin' and he's with us. Says he may be down later." - -They elected me chairman of the meetin' and we started deliberatin'. The -debts amounted to quite a lot, though the Ostable Store's was the -biggest. Some was for doin' one thing and some another, but we all -agreed we must see Colcord, the lawyer, afore we did much of anything. -While we was still pow-wowin', somebody knocked at the door. 'Twas -Doctor Goodspeed, on the way to see a patient. - -"Well," says he, "how's the consultation comin' on? Judgin' by your -faces, I should imagine 'twas a autopsy. Time to take desperate -measures, if you asked _me_. I never did believe that Frank chap was -anything but a crook, so I'm not surprised. I'm with you in spirit, -boys, though I can't stop. However, here's a couple of pieces of -information which may interest you: One is that 'The Sign of the -Windmill's' account was overdrawn yesterday at the bank and the bank -folks sent notice. T'other is that Lawyer Colcord is out of town for a -couple of days, so you can't get him. Otherwise than that, the patient -is normal. By, by. Life's a giddy jag of joy, isn't it?" - -He grinned and shut the door with a bang. The eight of us looked at each -other. Then Alpheus Perkins riz to his feet. - -"Humph!" says he. "Account overdrawn, hey? Well, maybe that Windmill -ain't made enough to pay its bills, but it's been takin' in consider'ble -cash. If it ain't at the bank, where is it? I'm goin' to find out. And -if I can't get a lawyer to help me, I'll do without one. That Frank -critter's store clothes are wuth somethin', and, if I can't get nothin' -more, I'll rip _them_ right off his back. So long, fellers. Keep your -ear to the ground and you'll hear somethin' drop." - -He headed for the door, but he didn't go alone. The rest of us got there -at the same time, and I--well, I wouldn't wonder if 'twas me that opened -it. I was desperate, and I've commanded vessels in my time. - -Anyhow, 'twas me that led the procession up the front steps of the "Sign -of the Windmill" and into the dinin'-room. The two waiters was busy. -They had five of the tables set end to end and covered with cloths, and -they was layin' plates and knives and forks for a big crowd. 'Twas plain -that special customers was expected. - -"Mr. Frank in his office?" says I, headin' for the skipper's cabin. The -waiters looked at each other and jabbered in some sort of foreign lingo. - -"No, sare," says one of 'em. "No, sare. Meester Frank, he is away--out." - -"Away out, hey?" says I. "You're wrong, son. We're the ones that are -out, but we ain't goin' to be out another cent's wuth. Come on, boys, -we'll find him." - -You can see I was mighty mad, or I wouldn't have been so reckless. I -walked acrost that dinin'-room and flung open the office door. Frank -himself wa'n't there, but who should be settin' at his roll-top desk, -but the fleshy, dark-complected stewardess woman. She glowered at me, -ugly as a settin' hen. - -"This is a private room," she snaps. - -"I know, ma'am," says I; "but the business we've come on is sort of -private, too. Come in, boys." - -The seven of 'em come in and they filled that office plumb full. The -stewardess woman's black eyes opened and then shut part way. But there -was fire between the lashes. - -"What do you mean by comin' in here?" says she. "And what do you want?" - -The rest of the fellers looked at me, so I answered. - -"Ma'am," says I, "we don't want nothin' of you and we're sorry to -trouble you. We've come to see Mr. Frank on a matter of business, -important business--that is, it's important to us." - -"Mr. Frank is out," says she. "You must call again. Good day." - -She turned back again to the desk, but none of us moved. - -"Out, is he?" says I. "Well then, I cal'late we'll wait till he comes -in." - -"He is out of town. He won't be in till to-morrer," she snaps. - -I looked 'round at the rest of the crowd. Every one of 'em nodded. - -"Well, then, ma'am," I says, "I cal'late we'll stay here and wait till -to-morrer." - -That shook her. She got up from the desk and turned to face us. If I'm -any judge of a temper she had one, and she was holdin' it in by main -strength. - -"You may tell me your business," she says. "I am Mr. -Frank's--er--secretary." - -So I told her. "We've waited for our money long as we can," says I. -"None of us are well-off and every one of us needs what's owin' him. -We've called and we've wrote. Now we're goin' to stay here till we're -paid. Of course, ma'am, I realize 'tain't none of your affairs, and we -ain't goin' to make you any more trouble than we can help. We'll just -set down on the piazza or in the dinin'-room or somewheres and wait for -your boss, that's all." - -I said that, 'cause I didn't want her to think we had anything against -her personal. I cal'lated 'twould smooth her down, but it didn't. She -looked as if she'd like to murder us, every livin' soul. - -"You get out of here!" she screamed, her hands openin' and shuttin'. -"You get right out of here this minute!" - -"Yes, ma'am," says I, "we'll get out of your office, of course. -Further'n that you'll have to excuse us. We're goin' to stay right in -this house till we see Mr. Frank." - -"I'll put you out!" she sputtered. "I'll have the waiters put you out." - -I thought of them two puny lookin' waiters and, to save me, I couldn't -help smilin'. You'd think she'd have seen the ridic'lous side of it, -too, but apparently she didn't, for she bust right through between -Alpheus and me and rushed into the dinin'-room. - -"Boys," says I, to the crowd, "maybe we'd better step out of here. We -may need more room." - -She was in the dinin'-room talkin' foreign language in a blue streak to -the waiters. They was lookin' scared and spreadin' out their hands and -hunchin' their shoulders. - -"Ma'am," says I, "if I was you I wouldn't do nothin' foolish. We ain't -goin' and we won't be put out, but, on the other hand, we won't make any -fuss. We'll just set down here and wait for the boss, that's all. Set -down, boys." - -So all hands come to anchor on chairs around that dinin'-room and -grinned and looked silly but determined. The stewardess glared at us -some more and then rushed off upstairs. In a minute she was back with -her hat on. - -"You wait!" says she. "You just wait! I'll put you in prison! -I'll--Oh--" The rest of it was French or Italian or somethin', but we -didn't need an interpreter. She shook her fists at us and run down the -front steps and away up the road. - -"Well, gents all," says I, "man born of woman is of few days and full of -trouble. To-day we're here and to-morrer we're in jail, as the sayin' -is. Anybody want to back out? Now's the accepted time." - -Nobody backed. The two waiters went on with their table settin' and we -set and watched 'em. 'Twas the queerest Sunday mornin' ever I put in. By -and by Alpheus got uneasy and wandered away out towards the kitchen. In -a few minutes back he comes, b'ilin' mad. - -"Say, fellers," he sung out. "Do you know what's goin' on here? There's -a party of thirty folks comin' in automobiles for dinner. They're -gettin' the dinner ready now. And if we don't stop 'em, they'll be fed -with our stuff, the grub we've never got a cent for. I don't know how -you feel, but _I've_ got ten dollar's wuth of clams and lobsters in this -eatin'-house that ain't goin' to be used unless I get my pay for 'em. -You can do as you please, but I'm goin' to stay in that kitchen and -watch them lobsters and things." - -And out he put, headed for the kitchen. The rest of us looked at each -other. Then Caleb Bearse rose to his feet. - -"Well," says he, determined, "there's a lot of chops and roastin' beef -and steaks out aft here that belong to me. None of _them_ go to feed -auto folks unless I get my pay fust." - -And _he_ started for the kitchen. Then up gets Ed Cahoon and follers -suit. - -"I've got six or eight fowl and some eggs aboard this craft," he says. -"I cal'late I'll keep 'em company." - -The rest of us never said nothin', but I presume likely we all thought -alike. Anyhow, inside of three minutes we was all out in that kitchen -and facin' as mad a chief cook and bottle washer as ever hailed from -France or anywheres else. You see, 'twas time to put the lobsters and -clams and all the rest of the truck on the fire and we wa'n't willin' to -see 'em put there. - -The chief or "chef," or whatever they called him, fairly hopped up and -down. The madder he got the less English he talked and the less -everybody else understood. Bill Bangs done most of the talkin' for our -side and he had the common idea that to make foreigners understand you -must holler at 'em. Some of the other fellers put in their remarks to -help along, all hollerin' too, and such a riot you never heard outside -of a darky camp-meetin'. While the exercises was at their liveliest the -telephone bell rung. After it had rung five times I went into the other -room to answer it. When I got back to that kitchen I got Alpheus to one -side and says I: - -"Al," I says, "this thing's gettin' more interestin' every minute. That -telephone call was from the man that's ordered the big dinner here -to-day. There's thirty-two in his party and they've got as far as -Cohasset Narrows already. They'll be here in an hour and a half. He -'phoned just to let me know they was on the way." - -"Humph!" says he. "What did he say when you told him there wouldn't be -no dinner?" - -"He didn't say nothin'," says I, "because I didn't tell him. The wire -was a bad one and he couldn't hear plain, so he lost patience and rung -off. Said I could tell him whatever I wanted to say when him and his -party got here. _I_ don't want to tell him anything. You can explain to -thirty-two hungry folks that there's nothin' doin' in the grub line, if -you want to--I don't." - -"Humph!" he says again. "I ain't hankerin' for the job. What had we -better do, Cap'n Zeb, do you think?" - -"Well," says I, "I cal'late we'd better shorten sail and haul out of the -race, for a spell, anyhow. At any rate we'd better clear out of this -kitchen and leave that chef and the rest to get the dinner. I know it's -our stuff that'll go to make that dinner, but I don't see's we can help -it. A few dollars more won't break us more'n we're cracked already." - -But he waved his hand for me to stop. "No question of a few dollars is -in it. It's no use," he says, solemn; "you're too late. The Frenchman's -quit." - -"Quit?" says I. - -"Um-hm," says he. "Bill Bangs told him that we fellers had took charge -of this road-house and he and the rest of the kitchen help quit right -then and there. They're out in the barn now, holdin' counsel of war, I -shouldn't wonder. Bill seems to think he's done a great piece of work, -but I don't." - -I didn't either; and, after I'd hot-footed it to the barn and tried to -pump some reason and sense into that chef and his gang, I was surer of -it than ever. They wouldn't listen to reason, not from us. They wanted -to see the boss, meanin' Mr. Frank. He was the one that had hired 'em -and they wouldn't have anything to say to anybody else. - -I come back to the kitchen and found the boys all settin' round lookin' -pretty solemn. My joke about the jail wa'n't half so funny as it had -been. Bill Bangs, who'd been the most savage outlaw of us all, was the -meekest now. - -"Say, Cap'n," he says to me, nervous like, "hadn't we better clear out -and go home? I don't want to see them auto people when they get here. -And--and I'm scared that that stewardess has gone after the sheriff." - -"I presume likely that's just where she's gone," says I. - -"Wh-what'll we do?" says he. - -"Don't know," says I. "But I do know that the time for backin' out is -past and gone. We started out to be pirates and now it's too late to -haul down the skull and cross-bones. We've got to stand by our guns and -fight to the finish, that's all I see. If the rest of you have got -anything better to offer, I, for one, would be mighty glad to hear it." - -Everybody looked at everybody else, but nobody said anything. 'Twas a -glum creditors' meetin', now I tell you. We set and stood around that -kitchen for ten minutes; then we heard voices in the dinin'-room. - -"Heavens and earth!" sings out Ed Cahoon. "Who's that? It can't be the -automobile gang so soon!" - -It wa'n't. 'Twas a parcel of women. You see, some of the crowd had told -their wives about the counsel at the store and that, more'n likely, we'd -pay a visit to the "Sign of the Windmill." Church bein' over, they'd -come to hunt us up. There was Alpheus's wife, and Cahoon's, and Bangs's, -and Bearse's, and Jerry Doane's daughter, and Mary Blaisdell. They was -mighty excited and wanted to know what was up. We told 'em, but we -didn't hurrah none while we was doin' it. - -"Well," says Matildy Bangs, "I must say you men folks have made a nice -mess of it all. William Bangs, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. -What'll I do when you're in state's prison? How'm I goin' to get along, -I'd like to know! You never think of nobody but yourself." - -Poor Bill was about ready to cry, but this made him mad. "Who would I -think of, for thunder sakes!" he sung out. "I'm the one that's goin' to -be jailed, ain't I?" - -Then Mary Blaisdell took me by the arm. Her eyes were sparklin' and she -looked excited. - -"Cap'n Snow," she whispered, "come here a minute. I want to speak to -you. I have an idea." - -"Lord!" says I, groanin', "I wish _I_ had. What is it?" - -What do you suppose 'twas? Why, that we, ourselves, should get up the -dinner for the auto folks. Every woman there could cook, she said, and -so could some of the men. We'd seized the stuff for the dinner already. -It was ours, or, at any rate, it hadn't been paid for. - -"We can get 'em a good dinner," says she. "I know we can. And, if that -Frank doesn't come back until you have been paid, you can take that much -out of his bills. If he does come no one will be any worse off, not even -he. Let's do it." - -I looked at her. As she said, we wouldn't be any worse off, and we might -as well be hung for old sheep as lamb. The auto folks would be better -off; they'd have some kind of a meal, anyhow. - -We had a grand confab, but, in the end, that's what we done. Every one -of them women could cook plain food, and Mrs. Cahoon was the best cake -and pie maker in the county. We divided up the job. All hands had -somethin' to do, includin' me, who undertook a clam chowder, and Bill -Bangs, who split wood and lugged water and cussed and groaned about -state's prison while he was doin' it. - -The last thing was ready and the last plate set when the autos, six of -'em, purred and chugged up to the front door. We expected Frank, or the -stewardess, or the constable, or all three of 'em, any minute, but they -hadn't showed up. The dinner crowd piled in and set down at the tables -and the head man of 'em, the one who was givin' the party, come over to -see me. And who should he turn out to be but the stout man I'd met at -the store. The one who had told me he'd been waitin' for a chance to get -even with Frank. I don't know which was the most surprised to meet each -other in that place, he or I. - -"Hello!" says he. "What are you doin' here? You joined the Forty -Thieves? Where's the boss robber?" - -I told him the boss was out; that there was some complications that -would take too long to explain. - -"But, at any rate," says I, "you're meal's ready and that's the main -thing, ain't it?" - -"Yes," says he, "it is. I've got a crowd of New York men--business -associates of mine and their wives--down for the week end and I wanted -to give 'em a Cape dinner. I never would have come here, but the Denboro -place is full up and couldn't take us in. I hope the dinner is a better -one than the last I had in this place." - -I told him not to expect too much, but to set and be thankful for -whatever he got. He didn't understand, of course, but he set down and we -commenced servin' the dinner. - -We started in with Little Neck quahaugs and followed them up with my -clam chowder. Then we jogged along with bluefish and hot biscuit and -creamed potatoes. After them come the lobsters and corn and such. Eat! -You never see anybody stow food the way those New Yorkers did. - -In the middle of the lobster doin's I bent over my fleshy friend and -asked him if things was satisfactory. He looked up with his mouth full. - -"Great Scott!" says he. "Cap'n, this is the best feed I've had since I -first struck the Cape, and that was ten years ago. What's happened to -this hotel? Is it under new management?" - -I didn't feel like grinnin', but I couldn't help it. - -"Yes," says I, "it is--for the time bein'." - -The final layer we loaded that crowd up with was blueberry dumplin' and -they washed it down with coffee. Then the fat man--his name was -Johnson--hauled out cigars and the males lit and started puffin'. I went -out to the kitchen to see how things was goin' there. - -Mary Blaisdell, with a big apron tied over her Sunday gown, was washin' -dishes. Her sleeves was rolled up, her hair was rumpled, and she looked -pretty enough to eat--at least, I shouldn't have minded tryin'. - -"How was it?" she asked. "Are they satisfied?" - -"If they ain't they ought to be," says I. "And to-morrer the dyspepsy -doctors'll do business enough to give us a commission. But where's our -old college chum, the chef, and the waiters and all?" - -"They're in the barn," says she. "They tried to come in here and make -trouble, but Mr. Perkins wouldn't let 'em. He drove 'em back to the barn -again. But they're dreadfully cross." - -"I shouldn't wonder," I says. "Well, goodness knows what'll come of -this, Mary, but--" - -Bill Bangs interrupted me. He come tearin' out of the dinin'-room, white -as a new tops'l, and his eyes pretty close to poppin' out of his head. - -"My soul!" he panted. "Oh, my soul, Cap'n Zeb! They're comin'! they're -comin'!" - -"Who's comin'?" I wanted to know. - -"Why, Mr. Frank, and that stewardess! And John Bean, the constable, is -with 'em. What shall I do? I'll have to go to jail!" - -He was all but cryin', like a young one. I left him to his wife, who, -judgin' by her actions, was cal'latin' to soothe him with a pan of hot -water, and headed for the front porch. However, I was too late. I hadn't -any more than reached the dinin'-room, where all the comp'ny was still -settin' at the tables, than in through the front door marches Mr. Edwin -Frank of Pittsburg, and the stewardess, and John Bean, the constable. -The band had begun to play and 'twas time to face the music. - -Frank looked around at the crowd at the tables, at Mrs. Cahoon, and -Alpheus, and the rest who'd done the waitin'; and then at me. His face -was fire red and he was ugly as a shark in a weir net. - -"Humph!" says he. "What does this mean? Snow, what high-handed outrage -have you committed on these premises?" - -I held up my hand. "Shh!" says I, tryin' to think quick and save a -scene; "Shh, Mr. Frank!" I says. "If you'll come into your private cabin -I'll explain best I can. Somebody had to get dinner for this crowd. Your -Frenchmen wouldn't work, so we did. All we've used is our grub, that -which ain't been paid for, and--" - -His teeth snapped together and he was so mad he couldn't speak for a -second. The stewardess was as mad as he was, but it took more'n that to -keep her quiet. - -"Fred," says she--and even then, upset as I was, I noticed she didn't -call him by the name he give Jacobs and me--"Fred, have him arrested. -He's the one that's responsible for it all. Officer, you do your duty. -Arrest that Snow there! Do you hear?" - -She was pointin' to me. Poor old Bean hadn't arrested anybody for so -long that he'd forgot how, I cal'late. All he did was stammer and look -silly. - -"Cap'n Zeb," he says, "I--I'm dreadful sorry, but--but--" - -Then _he_ was interrupted. A big, tall, gray-haired chap, who was -settin' about amidships of the table got to his feet. - -"Just a minute, Officer," says he, quiet, and never lettin' go of his -cigar, "just a minute, please. The--er--lady and gentleman you have with -you are old acquaintances of mine. Hello, Francis! I'm very glad to see -you. We've missed you at the Conquilquit Club. This meetin' is -unexpected, but not the less pleasant." - -He was talkin' to the Frank man. And the Frank man--well, you should -have seen him! The red went out of his face and he almost flopped over -onto the floor. The stewardess went white, too, and she grabbed his arm -with both hands. - -"My Lord!" she says, in a whisper like, "it's Mr. Washburn!" - -"Correct, Hortense," says the gray-haired man. "You haven't forgotten -me, I see. Flattered, I'm sure." - -For just about ten seconds the three of 'em looked at each other. Then -Frank made a jump for the door and the woman with him. They was out and -down the steps afore poor old Bean could get his brains to workin'. - -"Stop 'em!" shouts Washburn. "Officer, don't let 'em get away!" - -But they'd got away already. By the time we'd reached the porch they was -in the buggy they'd come in and flyin' down the road in a cloud of dust. - -I wiped my forehead. - -"Well!" says I, "_well!_" - -Johnson pushed through the excited bunch and took the gray-haired feller -by the arm. - -"Say, Wash," he says, "you're havin' too good a time all by yourself. -Let us in on it, won't you? Your friends are goin' some; no use to run -after them. Who are they?" - -Washburn knocked the ashes from his cigar and smiled. He'd been cool as -a no'thwest breeze right along. - -"Well," he says, "the masculine member used to be called Fred Francis. -He was steward of the Conquilquit Country Club on Long Island for some -time. He cleared out a year ago with a thousand or so of the Club funds, -and we haven't been able to trace him since. He was a first-class -steward and sharp as a steel trap--but he was a crook. The woman--oh, -she went with him. She is his wife." - - - - -CHAPTER XII--JIM HENRY STARTS SCREENIN' - - -A whole month more went by afore Jim Henry Jacobs was well enough to -come home. When he got off the train at the Ostable depot, thin and -white and lookin' as if he'd been hauled through a knothole, I was -waitin' for him. Maybe we wa'n't glad to see each other! We shook hands -for pretty nigh five minutes, I cal'late. I loaded him into my buggy and -drove him down to the Poquit House and took him upstairs to his room, -which had been made as comf'table and cozy as it's possible to make a -room in that kind of a boardin'-house. - -He set down in a big chair and looked around him. - -"By George, Skipper!" he says, fetchin' a long breath, "this is home, -and I'm mighty glad to be here. Where'd all the flowers come from?" - -"Mary is responsible for them," I told him. "She thought they'd sort of -brighten up things." - -"They do, all right," says he, grateful. "And now tell me about -business. How is everything?" - -I told him that everything was fine; trade was tip-top, and so on. He -listened and was pleased, but I could see there was somethin' else on -his mind. - -"There's just one thing more," he said, soon's he got the chance. "I -knew the store must be O. K.; your letters told me that. But--er--but--" -tryin' hard to be casual and not too interested, "how is Frank doin' -with his restaurant? How's the 'Sign of the Windmill' gettin' on?" - -Then I told him the whole yarn, almost as I've told it here. He -listened, breakin' out with exclamations and such every little while. -When I got to where the Washburn man told who Frank and the stewardess -was, he couldn't hold in any longer. - -"A crook!" he sung out. "A crook! And she was his wife!" - -"So it seems," says I. "And that ain't all of it, neither. You remember -the doctor said he'd drawn his account out of the Ostable bank. Yes. -Well, that account didn't amount to much; he'd used it about all, -anyway. But there was another account in his wife's name at the Sandwich -bank, and _that_ was fairly good size." - -"Did you get hold of that?" he asked, excited. - -"No, we didn't. 'Twas in her name and we wouldn't have touched it, if -we'd wanted to; but we didn't get the chance. She drew it all the very -next mornin' and the pair of 'em cleared out. I judge they'd planned to -skip in a few days anyhow, and our creditors' raid only hurried things -up a little mite. The whole thing was a skin game--Frank and his -precious wife had seen ruination comin' on and they'd laid plans to -feather their own nest and let the rest of us whistle. We ain't seen 'em -from that day to this." - -He was shakin' all over. "You ain't?" he shouted, jumpin' from the -chair. "You ain't? Why not? What did you let 'em get away for? Why -didn't you set the police after 'em? What sort of managin' do you call -that? I--I--" - -"Hush!" says I, surprised to see him act so. "Hush, Jim! you ain't heard -the whole of it yet. Our bill--" - -"Bill be hanged!" he broke in. "I don't care a continental about the -bill. I invested fifteen hundred dollars of my own money in that -road-house, and you let that fakir get away with the whole of it. You're -a nice partner!" - -_I_ was surprised now, and a good deal cut up and hurt. 'Twas an -understandin' between us--not a written one, but an understandin' just -the same--that neither should go into any outside deal without tellin' -the other. We'd agreed to that after the row concernin' Taylor and the -"Palace Parlors." So I was surprised and hurt and mad. But I held in -well as I could. - -"That's enough of that, Jim Henry!" says I. "I'll talk about that later. -Now I'll tell you the rest of the yarn I started with. After that -critter who called himself Frank, but whose name, it seemed, was -Francis, had galloped away with the stewardess woman, there was -consider'ble excitement around that dinin'-room, now I tell you. -However, Johnson and Washburn and me managed to get together in the -private office and I told 'em all about how we come to be there, and -about our gettin' their dinner, and all the rest of it. They seemed to -think 'twas funny, laughed liked a pair of loons, but I was a long ways -from laughin'. - -"'Well, well, well!' says Johnson, when I'd finished, 'that's the best -joke I've heard in a month of Sundays. You sartinly have your own ways -of doin' business down here, Cap'n Snow. But the dinner was a good one -and I'll pay you for it now. How much?' - -"'Well,' says I, 'I suppose I ought to get what I can for our crowd to -leave with their wives and relations afore we're carted to jail. Course -the meal we got for you wa'n't what you expected and I can't charge that -Frank thief's price for it; but I've got to charge somethin'. If you -think a dollar a head wouldn't be too much, I--' - -"'A _dollar_!' says both of 'em. 'A dollar!' - -"'Do you mean that's all you'll charge?' says Johnson. 'A dollar for -_that_ dinner! It was the best--' - -"'You bet it was!' says Washburn. - -"'Look here!' goes on Johnson. 'I was to pay Frank, or whatever his real -name is, two-fifty a plate. Yours was wuth three of any meal I ever got -here, but, if you will be satisfied with the contract price I made with -him, I'll give you a check now. And, Cap'n Snow, let me give you a piece -of advice. Now you've got this hotel, keep it; keep it and run it. If -you can furnish dinners like this one every day in the week durin' the -summer and fall you'll have customers enough. Why, I'll engage -twenty-five plates for next Sunday, myself. I've got another week-end -party, haven't I, Wash?' - -"'If you haven't I can get one for you,' says Washburn. 'Johnson's -advice is good, Cap'n. Keep this place and run it yourself. Don't be -afraid of Francis. Confound him! I ought to have him jailed. The Club -would pitch me out if they knew I had the chance and didn't take it. But -I won't, for your sake. So long as he doesn't trouble you I'll keep -quiet. But if he _does_ trouble you, if he ever comes back, just send -for me. However, you won't have to send; he'll never come back.' - -"And," says I, to Jim Henry, "he ain't ever come back. I talked the -matter over with Mary and Alpheus and a few of the others and, after -consider'ble misgivin's on my part, we reached an agreement. I decided -to run the 'Sign of the Windmill' myself. We bounced the chef and his -helpers and the foreign waiters and hired Alpheus's wife and Cahoon's -daughter and four or five more. We fed ten folks that next day and they -all said they was comin' again. They did and they fetched others. The -upshot of it is that all that hotel's outstandin' bills have been paid, -the place is out of debt, and the outlook for next season is somethin' -fine. There, Jim Henry, that's the yarn. I went through Purgatory -because I figgered that you had trusted the store business in my hands -and the Windmill's bill was so large and I thought I was responsible for -it. If I'd known you'd put money into the shebang without tellin' me, -your partner, a word about it, maybe I'd have felt worse. I _should_ -have felt worse--I do now--but in another way. I didn't think you'd do -such a thing, Jim! I honestly didn't." - -He'd set down while I was talkin'. Now he got up again. - -"Skipper," he says, sort of broken, "I--I don't know what to say to you. -I--" - -"It's all right," says I, pretty sharp. "Your fifteen hundred's all -right, I cal'late. The furniture and fixin's are wuth that, I guess. Is -there anything else you want to ask me? If not I'm goin' to the store." - -I was turnin' to go, but he stepped for'ard and stopped me. - -"Zeb," he says, his face workin', "don't go away mad. I've been a chump. -You ought to hate me, but I--I hope you won't. I was a fool. I thought -because you was country that you hadn't any head for business, and when -you wouldn't invest in that Windmill proposition I was sore and went -into it myself. My conscience has plagued me ever since. I'm a low-down -chump. I deserve to lose the fifteen hundred and I'm glad I did. By the -Lord Harry! you've got more real business instinct than I ever dreamed -of." - -He looked so sort of weak and sick and pitiful that I was awful sorry -for him, in spite of everything. - -"Don't talk foolish," says I. "You ain't lost your money. It's yours -now; at least I don't think Brother Fred George Eben Frank Francis'll -ever turn up to claim it." - -He shook his head. "Not much!" he says. "You don't suppose I'll take a -share in that hotel, after you and your smart managin' saved it, do you? -I ain't quite as mean as that, no matter what you think. No, sir, you've -made good and the whole property is yours. All I want you to do is to -give me another chance. If I live I'll show you how thankful I--" - -"There! there!" says I, all upset, "don't say another word. Of course -we'll hang together in this, same as in everything else. Shake, and -let's forget it." - -We shook hands and his was so thin and white I felt worse than ever. - -"Skipper," he says, "I can't thank--" - -"No need to thank me," I cut in. "If you've got to thank anybody, thank -Mary Blaisdell. She's been the brains of that eatin'-house concern ever -since I took hold of it. She's a wonder, that woman. If she'd been my -own sister she couldn't have done more. I wish she was." - -He looked at me, pretty queer. - -"Skipper," says he, smilin', "if you wish that you're a bigger chump -than I've been, and that's sayin' a heap." - -What in the world he meant by that I didn't know--but I didn't ask him. -Not that I didn't think. I'd been thinkin' a lot of foolish things -lately, but you could have cut my head off afore I said 'em out loud, -even to myself. - -He came down to the store the next mornin' and the sight of it seemed to -be the very tonic he needed. He got better day by day and pretty soon -was his own brisk self again. "The Sign of the Windmill"--by the way, -I'd changed the name on my own hook and 'twas the "Sign of the Bluefish" -now--done fust rate all through the fall and when we closed it we was -sure that next summer it would be a little gold mine for us. In fact, -everything in the trade line looked good, by-products and all, and I -ought to have been a happy man. But I wa'n't exactly. Somehow or other I -couldn't feel quite contented. I didn't know what was the matter with me -and when I hinted as much to Jacobs he just looked at me and laughed. - -"You're lonesome, that's what's the matter with you," he says. "You're -too good a man to be boardin' at a one-horse ranch like the Poquit." - -"I'll admit that," says I. "I'll give in that I'm next door to an angel -and ought to wear wings, if it'll please you any to have me say so. And -the Poquit ain't a paradise, by no means. But I've sailed salt water for -the biggest part of my life and it ain't poor grub that ails me." - -"Who said it was?" says he. "I said you were lonesome. You ought to have -a home." - -"Old Mans' Home you mean, I s'pose. Well, I ain't goin' there yet." - -He laughed again and walked off. - -In October he went up to Boston and came back with his head full of new -ideas and his pockets full of notions. He'd been to what the -advertisements called the Industrial Exhibition in Mechanics' Buildin' -up there, and had fetched back every last thing he could get for nothin' -and some few that he bought cheap. He had a sample trap that, accordin' -to the circular, would catch all the able-bodied rats in a township the -fust night and make all the crippled and bedridden ones grieve -themselves to death of disappointment because they couldn't get into it -afore closin' hours. And he had the Gunners' Pocket Companion, which was -a foldin' hatchet and butcher knife, with a corkscrew in the handle; and -samples of "cereal coffee" that didn't taste like either cereal or -coffee; and safety razors that were warranted not to cut--and wouldn't; -and--and I don't know what all. These was side issues, however, as you -might say. What he was really enthusiastic over was the Eureka -Adjustable Aluminum Window Screen. If he'd been a mosquito he couldn't -have been more anxious about them screens. - -"They're the greatest ever, Skipper!" he says to me, enthusiastic. "Fit -any window; can't rust--and a child of twelve can put 'em up." - -"That part don't count," says I. "Nowadays if a child of twelve ain't -halfway through Harvard his folks send for the doctor. I may be a -hayseed, but I read the magazines." - -He went right along, never payin' no attention, and praisin' up them -screens as if he was nominatin' 'em for office. Finally he made -proclamation that he'd applied--in the store name, of course--for the -Ostable County agency for 'em. - -"But why?" says I. "We've got an adjustable screen agency now. And -they're good screens, too. No mosquito can get through them--unless it -takes to usin' a can-opener, which wouldn't surprise me a whole lot." - -"I know they are good screens," says he; "but there's nothin' new or -novel about 'em. And, I tell you, Cap'n Zeb, it's novelty that catches -the coin. We want to get the contract for screenin' that new hotel at -West Ostable. It'll be ready in a couple of months and there's two -hundred rooms in it. Let's say there are two windows to a room; that's -four hundred screens--besides doors and all the rest. That hotel will -need screens, won't it?" - -"Need 'em!" says I. "In West Ostable! In among all them salt meadows and -cedar swamps! It'll need screens and nettin's and insect powder and -'intment--and even then nobody but the hard-of-hearin' bo'rders'll be -able to sleep on account of the hummin'. Need screens! _That_ hotel! My -soul and body!" - -Well, then, we must get the contract--that's all. It was well wuth the -trouble of gettin'. And with the Adjustable Aluminum to start with, and -he, Jim Henry, to do the talkin', we would get it. He'd applied for the -county agency and the Adjustable folks had about decided to give it to -him. They'd write and let us know pretty soon. - -A week went by and we didn't hear a word. Then, on the followin' Monday -but one, come a letter. Jim Henry was openin' the mail and I heard him -rip loose a brisk remark. - -"What's the matter?" says I. - -"Matter!" he snarls. "Why, the miserable four-flushers have turned me -down--that's all. Read that!" - -I took the letter he handed me. It was type-wrote on a big sheet of -paper, with a printed head, readin': "Ormstein & Meyer, Hardware and -Tools. Manufacturers of Eureka Adjustable Aluminum Window Screens." And -this is what it said: - - _Mr. J. H. Jacobs_, - - _Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods - Store, Ostable, Mass._ - - _Dear Sir_: Regarding your application for Ostable County ag'y - Eureka Adjustable Aluminum Window Screens, would say that we - have decided to give ag'y to party named Geo. Lentz, who will - give entire time to it instead making it a side issue as per - your conversation with our Mr. Meyer. Regretting that we cannot - do business together in this regard, but trusting for a - continuance of your valued patronage, we remain - - Yours truly, - - _Ormstein & Meyer._ - - Dic. M--L. G. - -"Now what do you think of that?" snaps Jim, mad as he could stick. "What -do you think of that!" - -"Well," says I, slow, "I think that, speakin' as a man in the -crosstrees, it looks as if you and me wouldn't furnish screens for the -West Ostable Hotel." - -He half shut his eyes and stared at me hard. - -"Oh!" says he. "That's what you think, hey?" - -"Why, yes," I says. "Don't you?" - -"No!" he sings out, so loud that 'Dolph Cahoon, our new clerk, who'd -been half asleep in the lee of the gingham and calico dressgoods -counter, jumped up and stepped on the store cat. The cat beat for port -down the back stairs, whoopin' comments, and 'Dolph begun measurin' -calico as if he was wound up for eight days. - -"No!" says Jacobs again, soon as the cat's opinion of 'Dolph had faded -away into the cellar--"No!" he says. "I don't think it at all. We may -not sell Eureka Adjustables to that hotel, but we'll sell screens to -it--and don't you forget that. I'll make it my business to get that -contract if I don't do anything else. I'm no quitter, if you are!" - -"Nary quit!" says I. "I'll stand by to pull whatever rope I can; but it -does seem to me that this agent, whoever he is, will have an eye on that -hotel. And, accordin' to your accounts, he's got better goods than we -have." - -"Maybe. But if he's a better salesman than I am he'll have to go some to -prove it. I'll beat him, by fair means or foul, just to get even. That's -a promise, Skipper, and I call you to witness it." - -"Wonder who this Geo. Lentz is," says I. "'Tain't a Cape name, that's -sure." - -"I don't care who he is. I only wish he'd have the nerve to come into -this store--that's all. He'd go out on the fly--I tell you that! And -that's another promise." - -Maybe 'twas; but, if so--However, I'm a little mite ahead of myself; -fust come fust served, as the youngest boy said when the father -undertook to thrash the whole family. The fust thing that happened after -our talk and the Eureka folks' letter was Jim Henry's goin' over to West -Ostable to see Parkinson, the hotel man. He went in the new runabout -automobile that he'd bought since he got back from the West, and was -gone pretty nigh all day. When he got back he was hopeful--I could see -that. - -"Well," says he, "I've laid the cornerstone. I've talked the -Nonesuch"--that was the brand of screen we carried--"to beat the cars; -and we'll have a show to get in a bid, at any rate. It'll be six weeks -more afore the contract's given out, and meantime yours truly will be on -the job. If our old college chum, G. Lentz, Esquire, don't hustle he'll -be left at the post." - -"What sort of a chap is this Parkinson man?" I asked. - -"Oh, he's all right; big and fat and good-natured. A good feller, I -should say. Likes automobilin', too, and thinks my car is a winner." - -"Married, is he?" says I. - -"No; he's a widower. That's a good thing, too." - -"Why? What's that got to do with it?" - -"A whole lot. If he was married I'd have to take Mrs. P. along on our -auto rides; and--let alone the fact that there wouldn't be room--she'd -want to talk scenery instead of screens. Women and business don't mix. -That's one reason why I've never married." - -I couldn't help thinkin' of some of the hints he'd been heavin' at -me--the "home" remarks and so on--but I never said nothin'. - -This was a Tuesday. And when, on Thursday afternoon, I walked into the -store, after havin' had dinner at the Poquit, I found 'Dolph Cahoon--our -new clerk I've mentioned already--leanin' graceful and easy over the -candy counter and talkin' with a young woman I'd never seen afore. I -didn't look at her very close, but I got a sort of general observation -as I walked aft to the post-office department; and, sifted down, that -observation left me with remembrances of a blue serge jacket and skirt, -cut clipper fashion and fittin' as if they was built for the craft that -was in 'em; a little blue hat--a real hat; not a velvet tar barrel -upside down--with a little white gull's wing on it; brown eyes and brown -hair, and a white collar and shirtwaist. I didn't stop to hail, you -understand; but I judged that the stranger's home port wa'n't Ostable or -any of the Cape towns. Ostable outfitters don't rig 'em that way. - -I come in the side door, and 'Dolph or his customer didn't notice me. -The young woman was lookin' into the showcase; and, as for 'Dolph, he -wouldn't have noticed the President of the United States just then. He -was twirlin' his red mustache with the hand that had the rock-crystal -ring on the finger of it, and his talk was a sort of sugared purr--at -least, that's the nighest description of it that I can get at. - -I set down in my chair at the postmaster's desk and begun to turn over -some papers. Mary had gone to dinner and Jim Henry was away in his auto; -so I was all alone. I turned over the papers, but I couldn't get my mind -on 'em--the talk outside was too prevailin', so to speak. - -'Dolph was doin' the heft of it. The young woman's answers was short and -not too interested. 'Dolph was remarkin' about the weather and what a -dull winter we'd had, and how glad he'd be when spring really set in and -the summer folks begun to come--and so on. - -"Really," says he, and though I couldn't see him I'd have bet that the -mustache and ring was doin' business--"Really," he says, "there's a -dreadful lack of cultivated society in this town, Miss--er--" - -He held up here, waitin', I judged, for the young woman to give her -name. However, she didn't; so he purred ahead. - -"There's so few folks," he says, "for a young feller like me--used to -the city--to associate with. This is a jay place all right. I'm only -here temporary. I shall go back to Brockton in the fall, I guess." - -_I_ guessed he'd go sooner; but I kept still. - -"Are you goin' to remain here for some time?" he asked. - -"Possibly," says the girl. - -"I'm 'fraid you'll find it pretty dull, won't you?" - -"Perhaps." - -"I should be glad to introduce you to the folks that are worth knowin'. -Are you fond of dancin'? There's a subscription ball at the town hall -to-night." - -This was what a lawyer'd call a leadin' question, seemed to me; but the -answer didn't seem to lead to anything warmer than the North Pole. The -young woman said, "Indeed?" and that was all. - -"I'm perfectly dippy about waltzin'," says 'Dolph. "By the way, won't -you have some confectionery? These chocolates are pretty fair." - -I riz to my feet. I don't mind bein' a philanthropist once in a while, -but I like to do my philanthropin' fust-hand. And them chocolates sold -for sixty cents a pound! - -I had my hand on the doorknob. Just as I turned it I heard the young -woman say, crisp and cold as a fresh cucumber: - -"Pardon me, but will your employer be in soon? If not I'll call -again--when he is in." - -"You won't have to," says I, steppin' out of the post-office room and -walkin' over toward the candy counter. "One of him's in now. 'Dolph, you -can put them chocolates back in the case. Oh, yes--and you might -associate yourself with the broom and waltz out and sweep the front -platform. It's been needin' your cultivated society bad." - -The rest of that clerk's face turned as red as his mustache, and the way -he slammed the chocolate box into the showcase was a caution! Then I -turned to the young woman, who was as sober as a deacon, except for her -eyes, which were snappin' with fun, and says I: - -"You wanted to see me, I believe, miss. My name's Zebulon Snow and I'm -one of the partners in this jay place. What can I do for you?" - -She waited until 'Dolph and the broom had moved out to the platform. -Then she turned to me and she says: - -"Captain Snow," she says, "I understand that your firm here is intendin' -puttin' in a bid for the window screens at the new hotel at West -Ostable. Is that so?" - -I was consider'ble surprised, but I didn't see any reason why I -shouldn't tell the truth. - -"Why, yes, ma'am," says I; "we are figgerin' on the job. Are you -interested in that hotel? If you are I'd be glad to show you samples of -the Nonesuch screen. We cal'late that it's a mighty slick article." - -She smiled, pretty as a picture. - -"I am interested in the hotel," she says; "and in screens, though not -exactly in the way you mean, perhaps. Here is my card." - -She took a little leather wallet out of her jacket-pocket and handed me -a card. I took it. 'Twas printed neat as could be; but it wa'n't the -neatness of the printin' that set me all aback, with my canvas -flappin'--'twas what that printin' said: - - GEORGIANNA LENTZ - - _Ostable County Agent for the_ - _Eureka Adjustable Aluminum Window Screen_ - -"What?--What!--Hey?" says I. - -"Yes," says she. - -"Agent for the Eureka Adjusta--You!" - -"Why, yes; of course. The Eureka people wrote you that they had given me -the agency, didn't they?" - -I rubbed my forehead. - -"They wrote my partner and me," I stammered, "that they'd given it -to--to a feller named George--er--that is--" - -"Not George--Georgianna. Oh, I see! They abbreviated the name and so you -thought--Of course you did. How odd!" - -She laughed. I'd have laughed too, maybe, if I'd had sense enough to -think of it; but I hadn't, just then. - -"You the agent!" says I. "A--a woman!" - -"Yes." - -"But--but a woman!" - -"Well?" pretty crisp. "I admit I am a woman; but is that any reason why -I should not sell window screens?" - -I rubbed my forehead some more. These are progressive days we're livin' -in, and sometimes I have to hustle to keep abreast of 'em. - -"Why, no," says I, slow; "I cal'late 'tain't. I suppose there's no law -against a woman's sellin' 'most any article that is salable, window -screens or anything else if she wants to; but I can't see--" - -"Why she should want to? Perhaps not. However, we needn't go into that -just now. The fact is I do want to and intend to. I have secured a -boardin' place here in Ostable and shall make the town my headquarters. -This is a small community and one naturally prefers to be friendly with -all the people in it. So, after thinkin' the matter over, I decided that -it was best to begin with a clear understandin'. Do you follow me?" - -"I--I guess so. Heave ahead; I'll do my best to keep you in sight. If -the weather gets too thick I'll sound the foghorn. Go on." - -"I am naturally desirous of securin' the hotel screen contract. So, I -understand, are you. I have seen Mr. Parkinson, the hotel man, and he -tells me that your firm and mine will probably be the only bidders. Now -that makes us rivals, but it need not necessarily make us enemies. My -proposition is this: You will submit your bid and I will submit mine. -The party submittin' the lowest bid--quality of product considered--will -win. I propose that we let it go in that way. We might, of course, do a -great many other things--might attempt to bring influence to bear; -might--well, might cultivate Mr. Parkinson's acquaintance, and--and so -on. You might do that--so might I, I suppose; but, for my part, I prefer -to make this a fair, honorable business rivalry, in which the best -man--er--" - -"Or woman," I couldn't help puttin' in. - -"In which the best bid wins. I have already demonstrated the Eureka for -Mr. Parkinson's benefit and left a sample with him. He tells me that you -have done the same with the Nonesuch. I will agree--if you will--to let -the matter rest there, submittin' our respective bids when the time -comes and abidin' by the result. Now what do you say?" - -'Twas pretty hard to say anything. I wanted to laugh; but I couldn't do -that. If there ever was anybody in dead earnest 'twas this partic'lar -young woman. And she wa'n't the kind to laugh at either. She might be in -a queer sort of business for a female--but she was nobody's fool. - -"Well," she asks again, "what do you say?" - -I shook my head. "I can't say anything very definite just this minute," -I told her. "I've got a partner, and naturally I can't do much without -consultin' him; but I will say this, though," noticin' that she looked -pretty disappointed--"I'll say that, fur's I'm concerned, I'm -agreeable." - -She smiled and, as I cal'late I've said afore, her smile was wuth -lookin' at. - -"Thank you so much, Cap'n Snow," she says. "Then we shall be friends, -sha'n't we? Except in business, I mean." - -"I hope so--sartin," says I. "Now it ain't none of my affairs, of -course, but I am curious. How did you ever happen to take the agency -for--for window screens?" - -That made her serious right off. She might smile at other things, but -not at her trade; that was life and death for sure. - -"I took it," she says, "for several reasons. My mother died recently and -I was left alone. My means were not sufficient to support me. I have -done office work, typewritin', and so on, for some years; but I felt -that the opportunities in the positions I held were limited and I -determined to take up sellin'--that is where the larger returns are. -Don't you think so?" - -"Oh, yes--sartin." - -"Yes. I knew Mr. Meyer slightly in a business way. I took the Eureka -screen and sold it on commission about Boston for a time. Then I applied -for the Ostable County agency and got it--that's all." - -"I see," says I. "Yes, yes. Well, I must say that, for a girl, you--" - -She interrupted me quick. - -"I don't see that my bein' a girl has anything to do with it," she says. -"And in this agreement of ours, if it is made, I don't wish the -difference of sex considered at all. This is a business proposition and -sex has nothin' to do with it. Is that plain?" - -"Yes," says I, considerin', "it's plain; but I ain't sure that--" - -"I am sure," she interrupts--"and you must be. I wish to be treated in -this matter exactly as if I were a man. I wish I were one!" - -"I doubt if you'd get most men to agree with you in that wish," I says. -"However, never mind. I'll do my best to get Mr. Jacobs, my partner, to -say 'Yes' to your proposal. And I hope you'll do fust-rate, even if we -are what you call rivals. Drop in any time, Miss Georg--Georgianna, I -mean." - -We shook hands and she went away. I went as fur as the platform with -her. When I turned to go in again I noticed 'Dolph Cahoon starin' after -her, with his eyes and mouth open. - -"Gosh!" says he, grinnin'. "By gosh! She's a peach! Ain't she, Cap'n -Zeb?" - -"Maybe so," says I, pretty short; "but I don't recollect that we hired -you as a judge of fruit. Has that broom took root in the dirt on this -platform? Or what is the matter?" - - - - -CHAPTER XIII--WHAT CAME THROUGH THE SCREEN - - -Jacobs come in late that afternoon. - -"Say," says he, "there was a sample of the Eureka screen in Parkinson's -office when I was there just now. He wouldn't say who left it or -anything about it. When I asked he grinned and winked. That's all. -Confound his fat head! Do you know where it came from?" - -"I can guess," I says; and then I told him the whole yarn. He was as -surprised as I was to find out that Geo. Lentz was a female; but it only -made him madder than ever--if such a thing's possible. - -"Wants to be treated like a man, does she?" he says. "All right; we'll -treat her like one. She may be Georgianna, but she'll get just what was -comin' to George." - -"Then you won't agree to puttin' in the bids and lettin' it go at that?" - -"I'll agree to get that screen contract, all right!" says he, emphatic. - -I was kind of sorry for Miss Lentz; but Jim Henry was my partner, so -there wa'n't nothin' more to be said. We didn't mention the subject -again for two days. However, I did hear from the Eureka agent durin' -that time. 'Twas 'Dolph that I got my news of her from. I was tellin' -Mary Blaisdell about her and Cahoon happened to be standin' by. - -"So she boards here in Ostable," says Mary. "I wonder where." - -Afore I could answer 'Dolph spoke up. "She's stoppin' at Maria Berry's, -down on the Neck Road," he says. - -"How did you know?" I asked. - -He looked sort of silly. "Oh, I found out," says he, and walked off. - -The very next evenin', as I was strollin' along the sidewalk, smokin' my -good-night pipe, I happened to see somebody turn the corner from the -Neck Road and hurry by me. I thought his gait and build were pretty -familiar, so I turned and followed. When he got abreast the lighted -windows of the billiard saloon I recognized him. 'Twas 'Dolph, all -togged out in his Sunday-go-to-meetin' duds, light fall overcoat and -all. - -"Humph!" says I to myself. "So that's how you knew, hey? Been callin' on -her, have you? Well, she may not hanker for my sympathy, but she has it -just the same. I swan, I thought she had better taste! I'm surprised!" - -The followin' mornin', however, I was more surprised still. I had an -errand that made me late at the store. When I came in who should I see -talkin' together but Jacobs and a young woman; the young woman was Miss -Georgianna Lentz. They ought to have been quarrelin', 'cordin' to all -reasonable expectations; but they wa'n't. Fact is, they seemed as -friendly as could be. You'd have thought they was old chums to see 'em. - -Georgianna sighted me fust. - -"Good mornin', Cap'n Snow," says she. "Mr. Jacobs and I have made each -other's acquaintance, you see." - -"Yes," says I, doubtful. "I see you have. I cal'late you think it's kind -of unreasonable, our not--" - -Jim Henry cut in ahead of me quick as a flash. - -"Miss Lentz and I have been goin' over the matter of screens for -Parkinson's hotel," he says. "I tell her that her proposition suits us -down to the ground." - -Over I went on my beam-ends again. All I could think of to say was: -"Hey?"--and I said that pretty feeble. - -"It is very nice of you to do this," says Georgianna. "It makes it so -much easier for me. Of course, when I decided to make business my -life-work, I realized that I might be called upon to do disagreeable -things like--like wire-pullin', and so on, which some business people -do; but honorable rivalry is so much better, isn't it?" - -"Sure!" says Jacobs, prompt. "Yes, indeed." - -"So it is all settled," she went on. "Our bids are to go in on the same -day; and meantime neither of us is to call on Mr. Parkinson or to meet -him--in a business way, I mean." - -I nodded, bein' still too upset to talk; but Jim Henry spoke quick and -prompt. - -"What do you mean," he asks--"in a business way?" - -"Why," says she--and it seemed to me that she reddened a little--"I mean -that--well, if we should meet him by accident we wouldn't talk about -screens or the hotel contract. Of course one can't help meetin' people -sometimes. For instance, I happened to meet Mr. Parkinson yesterday. He -had driven over and happened to be in the vicinity of the house where I -board. I was goin' out for a walk, and he stopped his horse and spoke." - -"Oh," says I, "he did, hey?" Jim Henry didn't say nothin'. - -"Yes," she says; "but I didn't talk about the contract. Though our -agreement wasn't actually made then, I hoped that it would be. Good -mornin'; I must be goin'." - -She started for the door, but she turned to say one more thing. - -"Of course," she says, decided, "it is understood that you haven't -agreed to my proposal simply because I am a girl. If that was the case I -shouldn't permit it. I insist upon bein' treated exactly as if I were a -man. You must promise that--both of you." - -"Sure! Sure! That's understood," says Jacobs. - -I said "Sure!" too, but my tone wa'n't quite so sartin. She went out, -Jim Henry goin' with her as fur as the door. I follered him. - -"Say," says I, "next time you turn a back somerset like this I'd like to -know about it in advance. I've got a weak heart." - -He didn't answer me at all. He was starin' down the road, just as 'Dolph -had stared when the Eureka agent called the fust time. - -"Say, Jim--" says I. He didn't turn or move; didn't seem to hear me. I -touched him on the shoulder and he jumped and come about. - -"Eh--what?" he says. - -"Nothin'," says I, "only I want to know why--that's all." - -"Why?" says he. "Oh!--you mean what made me change my mind? Well, I just -thought it over and decided we might as well agree. Agreein' don't do -any harm, you know. Hey, Skipper? Ha-ha!" - -He slapped me on the shoulder and laughed. The laugh seemed too big for -the joke and sounded a little mite forced, I thought. - -"Yes, yes! Ha-ha!" says I. "But your changin' from lion to lamb so -sudden--" - -"What are you talkin' about? I've got a right to change my mind, ain't -I?" - -"Sartin sure. But you was so set on gettin' that contract." - -"Well, I ain't said I wasn't goin' to get it, have I? We're goin' to put -in a bid, ain't we? What's the matter with you?" - -"Nothin' at all; but _your_ breakfast don't seem to have set extry well! -However, it takes two to make a row, and I'm peaceful, myself. What do -you think of the rival entry? Kind of a nice-appearin' girl--don't you -think so?" - -He whirled round and looked at me as if he thought I was crazy. - -"Nice-appearin'!" he says. "Nice-ap--Why, she's--" - -Then he pulled up short and headed for the back room. - -Nothin' of much importance happened for a while after that. And yet -there was somethin'--two or three somethin's--that had a bearin' on the -case. One was the change in 'Dolph Cahoon. For a few days after that -night I met him on the road he was as gay and chipper as a blackbird in -a pear tree--happy even when I made him work, which was surprisin' -enough. And then, all to once, he turned glum and ugly. Wouldn't speak -and seemed to be broodin' over his troubles all day long. I had my -suspicions; and so, one time when him and me was alone, I hove over a -little mite of bait just to see if he'd rise to it. - -"Seen anything of the Lentz girl lately?" I asked, casual. - -"Naw," says he, "and I don't want to, neither! She's a bird, she is! Too -stuck up to speak to common folks. Everybody's gettin' on to her--you -bet! She won't make many friends in this town." - -I grinned to myself. Thinks I: "I guess, young man, Georgianna's handed -you your walkin' papers. You won't go down the Neck Road any more!" - -And yet, an evenin' or so after that, I see somebody go down that road. -I didn't see him plain, but I'd have almost taken my oath 'twas Jim -Henry Jacobs. It couldn't be, of course--and yet-- - -Well, two days later, I took back the "yet." I happened to be standin' -at the side door of the store, lookin' across the fields, when I saw an -auto with two people in it sailin' along the crossroad from the -east'ard. 'Twas a runabout auto--and I looked and looked! Then I called -to 'Dolph. - -"'Dolph," says I, "come here! Who's automobile's that? If I didn't know -Mr. Jacobs was off takin' orders in Denboro I should say 'twas his." - -'Dolph looked. - -"Humph!" says he--"'tis his. He's drivin' it himself. But who's that -with him? What? Well, by gosh! if it ain't that stuck-up Georgianna -Lentz!" - -"Get out!" says I. "The softness of your heart has struck to your head. -It's likely he'd be takin' her to ride, ain't it!" - -And then Jacobs looked up and sighted us standin' in the doorway. His -machine hadn't been goin' slow afore--now it fairly jumped off the -ground and flew. In a minute there was nothin' but a dust-cloud in the -offin'. - -He came in about noon. I didn't say nothin', but I guess my face was -enough. He looked at me, turned away--and then turned back again. - -"Well," he says, loud and cheerful, "you saw us, didn't you? I was goin' -to tell you, anyway, soon as I got the chance." - -"Oh," says I, "I want to know!" - -"Sure, I was. Of course you see through the game." - -"The game?" - -"Why, yes, yes! The game I'm playin'--the game that's goin' to get us -that screen contract! Oh, I wasn't born yesterday. I knew a thing or -two. This--er--Lentz girl and you and me have agreed not to go near -Parkinson till the contract's given out; but Parkinson ain't promised -not to go near her! He's been over there two or three times lately, and -that won't do. He's a widower, and--" - -"A widower!" I put in. "What's that got to do with it?" - -"Oh, nothin'--nothin'. Just a joke, that's all. But I realized right -away that she and he mustn't be together or he'll make her talk screens -in spite of herself, and that'll be dangerous for us. So, says I to -myself, 'Jim Henry,' says I, 'it's up to you. You must keep her out of -his way.' That's why I've been goin' to see her once in a while and--and -takin' her to ride, and--and so on. See? Oh, I'm wise! You trust your -old doctor of sick businesses." - -He'd been talkin' a blue streak. Seemed almost as if he was afraid I'd -say somethin' afore he could say it all. Now he stopped to get his -breath and I put in a word. - -"So," says I, slow, "that's why you're doin' it, hey? But ain't -that--You know you promised to treat her just as if she was a man!" - -"Well, ain't I?" he snaps--hotter than was needful, I thought. "If she -was a man I'd make it my business to keep her in sight, wouldn't I? -Well, then! I never saw such a chap as you are for lookin' for trouble -when there isn't any." - -He stalked off. I follered him; and as I done so I noticed 'Dolph Cahoon -duck behind the calico counter. I judged he'd heard every word. - -The finishin' work on the hotel hustled along and inside of a month we -got word that 'twas time to put in our bid. Jacobs and I figured and -figured till we got the price down to the last cent we thought it could -stand, and then we sent our proposition over to Parkinson by mail. - -"Wonder if Miss Georgianna's sent hers in," I says, casual. - -"Oh, yes," says Jim, prompt; "she is goin' to mail it this morning'." - -I didn't ask him how he knew. His chasin' round and keepin' watch on a -girl who was as fair-minded and square as she was had always seemed too -much like spyin' to please me, and I cal'lated he knew how I felt--at -any rate he'd scurcely spoke her name since the day when I saw 'em -autoin' together. But now I did say that, so long as the bids was in, it -wouldn't be necessary for him to keep his eye on her any longer. - -He looked at me kind of queer. "Umph!" he says; "maybe not!" And he -walked away to attend to a customer. - -That afternoon he took his car and went off on his reg'lar order trip to -Denboro and Bayport and round. 'Dolph Cahoon and I was alone in the -front part of the store. 'Dolph seemed to be in mighty good spirits--for -him--and kept chucklin' to himself in a way I couldn't understand. At -last he says to me, lookin' back to be sure that Mary Blaisdell, in the -post-office department, couldn't hear-- - -"Cap'n Zeb," he says, "what would you give the feller that got the -screen contract for you?" - -"Give him?" I says. "What feller do you mean--Parkinson? I wouldn't give -him a cent! I ain't a briber and I don't think he's a grafter." - -"I don't mean Parkinson," he says, chucklin'. "But, suppose somebody -else had been workin' for you on the quiet, what would you give him?" - -I looked him over. - -"Look here, 'Dolph," says I; "I never try to guess a riddle till I hear -the whole of it. What are you drivin' at?" - -He grinned. "I know who's goin' to get that contract," he says. - -"You do. Who is it?" - -"The Ostable Store's goin' to get it. Your bid's a little mite the -lowest. Parkinson told me so last night." - -"Parkinson told you!" I sung out. "How did you happen to see Parkinson?" - -He winked. - -"Oh, I saw him!" says he. "I've seen him a good many times lately. I -made it my business to see him. He was pretty stuck on the Eureka till I -got after him and I cal'late he'd have contracted for Eurekas, bid or no -bid. But I put in my licks; I've drove over to West Ostable four nights -and two Sundays in the last fortni't. And didn't I preach Nonesuch to -him! He-he! You bet I did! And last night he said he was goin' to give -us the job. Oh, I fixed that stuck-up Georgianna Lentz! I got even with -her. He-he-he!" - -I never was madder in my life. I took two steps toward him with my fists -doubled up. - -"You whelp!" says I--and then I stopped short. The Lentz girl herself -was walkin' in at the front door. - -"Good mornin', Cap'n Snow," she says, holdin' out her hand. She paid no -more attention to 'Dolph than if he'd been a graven image. "Good -mornin'," says she. "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" - -I was past carin' about the weather. - -"Miss Georgianna," says I, "I'm glad you come in. I've got somethin' to -tell you. I've got to beg your pardon for somethin' that ain't my fault -or Mr. Jacobs', either. You and my partner and me had an agreement not -to go nigh Parkinson or try to influence him in any way. Well, unbeknown -to me, that agreement has been broke." - -She stared at me, too astonished to speak. - -"It's been broke," says I. "That--that critter there," pointin' to -'Dolph, "has been sneakin--" - -'Dolph's face had been gettin' redder and redder, I cal'late he thought -I'd praise him for his doin's; and when he found I wouldn't, but was -goin' to give the whole thing away, he blew up like a leaky b'iler. - -"I ain't been sneakin'!" he yelled. "And I ain't broke no agreement, -neither. You and Mr. Jacobs agreed--but I never. I see Parkinson on my -own hook; and if it hadn't been for me he wouldn't be goin' to give you -the contract." - -[Illustration: _'I ain't been sneakin'!' he yelled._] - -There 'twas, out of the bag. I looked at Georgianna. Her pretty face -went white. That contract meant all creation to her; but she stood up to -the news like a major. She was plucky, that girl! - -"Oh!" she says. "Oh! Then he has given you the contract? I--I -congratulate you, Cap'n Snow." - -"Don't congratulate me," says I. "The contract ain't been given yet, -though this pup says it's goin' to be; but, as for me, if I'd known what -was goin' on I'd have stopped it mighty quick! I'm honorable and decent, -and so's Jacobs; and we don't take underhanded advantages." - -'Dolph bust out from astern of the counter. - -"You don't, hey!" says he. "I want to know! How about Jacobs' takin' her -to ride and callin' on her, and pretendin' to be dead gone on her? What -did he do that for? You know as well as I do. 'Twas so's to keep a watch -on her, and not let Parkinson see her and be influenced into buyin' -Eureka screens. You know it!" - -My own face grew red now, I cal'late. - -"You--you--" I begun. "You miserable liar--" - -"'Tain't a lie," says he. "I heard him tell you with my own ears. He -said all he was beauin' her round for was just that. If that ain't a -underhanded trick then I don't know what is." - -I wanted to say lots more; but, afore I could get my talkin' machinery -to runnin', the Lentz girl herself spoke. - -"Is that true, Cap'n Snow?" says she. - -I was set back forty fathom. - -"Well, miss," says I, "I--I--" - -"Is that true?" says she. - -I got out my handkerchief and swabbed my forehead. - -"Well, Miss Georgianna," says I, "I'll tell you. Jim Henry--Mr. Jacobs, -I mean--did say somethin' like that; but--but--Well, you wanted to be -treated like a salesman, and--er--Mr. Jacobs would have kept his eye on -a man, you know; and so--and so--" - -I stopped again. 'Twas the shoalest water ever I cruised in. All I could -do was mop away with the handkerchief and look at Georgianna. And -she--well, the color, and plenty of it, begun to come back to her -cheeks. And how her brown eyes did flash! - -"I see," she says, slow and so frosty I pretty nigh shivered. "I--see!" - -"Well," says I, "'tain't anything I'm proud of, I will admit; but--" - -"One moment, if you please. You haven't actually got the contract yet?" - -"No. As I told you, all I know is what this consarned fo'mast hand of -mine says. For what he's done, I'm ashamed as I can be. As for Mr. -Jacobs, I know he did keep to the letter of the agreement, anyhow. For -the rest--Well, all's fair in love and war, they say--and there's -precious little love in business." - -She looked at me, with a queer little smile about the corners of her -lips, though her eyes wa'n't smilin', by a consider'ble sight. - -"Isn't there?" she says. "I--I wonder. Good-by, Cap'n Snow. You might -tell Mr. Jacobs not to order those Nonesuch screens just yet." - -Out she went; and for the next five minutes I had a real enjoyable time. -I told 'Dolph Cahoon just what I thought of him--that took four of the -minutes; durin' the other one I fired him and run him out of the office -by the scruff of the neck. - -Then Mary Blaisdell and me held officers' council, and that ended by our -decidin' not to tell Jim Henry that the Lentz girl knew why he'd been so -friendly with her. It wouldn't do any good and might make him feel bad. -Besides, the contract was as good as got, 'cordin' to 'Dolph's yarn; and -'twa'n't likely he'd see Georgianna again, anyway. When he come back I -told him I'd fired Cahoon for bein' no good and sassy, and he agreed I'd -done just right. - -When I said good night to him he was chipper as could be; but next day -he was blue as a whetstone--and the blueness seemed to strike in, so to -speak. He didn't take any interest in anything--moped round, glum and -ugly; and I couldn't get him to talk at all. If I mentioned the screen -contract he shut up like a quahaug, and only once did he give an opinion -about it. That opinion was a surprisin' one, though. - -Alpheus Perkins was in the store, and says he: - -"Say, Mr. Jacobs," he says, "is old Parkinson, the hotel man, cal'latin' -to get married again? I see him out ridin' with a girl yesterday? That -female screen drummer--that Georgianna Lentz, 'twas. She's a daisy, -ain't she! I don't blame him much for takin' a shine to her." - -Jim Henry didn't make any answer; but, knowin' what I did, I was a -little surprised. - -"Jim," says I, "that contract--" - -"D--n the contract!" says he, and cleared out and left us. - -I was astonished, but I guessed 'twas a healthy plan to keep my hatches -closed. - -When I opened the mail a few mornin's later I found a letter with the -West Ostable Hotel's name printed on the envelope. I figgered I knew -what was inside. Thinks I: "Here's the acceptance of our bid!" But my -figgers was on the wrong side of the ledger. Parkinson wrote just a few -words, but they was enough. After considerin' the matter careful, he -wrote, he had decided the Eureka to be a better screen than the -Nonesuch; and, though our bid was a trifle lower, he should give the -Eureka folks the contract. - -"Well!" says I out loud. "Well, I'll--be--blessed!" - -Jim Henry was settin' at his desk--we was all alone in the store--and he -looked up. - -"What are you askin' a blessin' over?" says he. - -I handed him the letter. He read it through and set for a full minute -without speakin'. Then he slammed it into the wastebasket and got up and -started to go away. - -"For thunder sakes!" I sung out. "What ails you? Ain't you goin' to say -nothin' at all?" - -"What is there to say?" he asked, gruff. "We're stung--and that's the -end of it." - -"But--but--don't you realize--Why, our bid was the lowest! And yet the -contract--" - -He whirled on me savage. - -"Didn't I tell you," says he, "that I didn't give a durn about the -contract?" - -"You don't! _You_ don't! Then who on airth does?" - -"I don't know and I don't care!" - -"You don't care! I swan to man! Why, 'twas you that swore you'd put the -screens in that hotel or die tryin'. You said 'twas a matter of -principle with you. And now that the Eureka folks have beat us by some -shenanigan or other--for our bid was lower than theirs--you say you -don't care! Have you gone loony? What _do_ you care about?" - -"Nothin'--much," says he, and flopped down in his chair again. - -I stared at him. All at once I begun to see a light. You'd have thought -anybody that wa'n't stone blind would have seen it afore--but I hadn't. -You see, I cal'lated that I knew him from trunk to keelson, and so it -never once occurred to me. I riz and walked over to him. Just as I done -so, I heard the front door open and shut, but I figgered 'twas Mary -comin' back, and didn't even look. I laid my hand on his shoulder. - -"Jim," says I, "I guess likely I understand. I declare I'm sorry! And -yet I wouldn't wonder if--" - -I didn't go on. He wa'n't payin' any attention, but was lookin' over the -top of his desk--lookin' with all the eyes in his head. I looked, too, -and caught my breath with a jerk. The person who'd come in wa'n't Mary -Blaisdell, but Georgianna Lentz. - -She saw us and walked straight down to where we was. She was kind of -pale and her eyes looked as if she'd been awake all night; but when she -spoke 'twas right to the point--there wa'n't any hesitation about her. - -"Cap'n Snow," says she, "have you heard from Mr. Parkinson?" - -"Yes," says I, wonderin; "we've heard. We don't understand exactly, but -perhaps that ain't necessary. I cal'late all there is left for us to do -is to offer congratulations and 'go 'way back and set down,' as the boys -say. You've got the contract." - -"Yes," she says; "it has been given to me. But--" - -Jim Henry stood up. "You'll excuse me," he says, sharp. "I'm busy." - -He started to go, but she stopped him. - -"No," she says; "I want you both to hear what I've got to say. Mr. -Parkinson gave me the contract yesterday; but I have decided not to take -it." - -We both looked at her. - -"You--you've what?" says I. "Not take it? You want it, don't you?" - -"Yes," she says, quiet but determined, "I want it--or I did want it -very, very much. It meant so much to me--now--and might mean a great -deal more in the future; but I can't take it." - -This was too many for me. I looked at Jacobs. He didn't say a word. - -"I can't take it," says Georgianna, "under the circumstances. I don't -feel that I got it fairly. We agreed, you and I, that no personal -influence should be brought to bear upon Mr. Parkinson; and I"--she -blushed a little, but kept right on--"I have seen Mr. Parkinson several -times durin' the past week." - -I thought of her bein' to ride with the hotel man, but I didn't say -anything. Jim Henry, though, started again to go. And again she stopped -him. - -"Wait, please!" she went on. "I didn't go to him--you must understand -that! But after what you, Cap'n Snow, and that Mr. Cahoon told me the -other day I was hurt and angry. I felt that you had broken your -agreement with me. So when Mr. Parkinson came to see me I didn't avoid -him as I had been doin'. I--I accepted invitations for drives with him, -and--and--Oh, don't you see? I couldn't take the contract. I couldn't! -What would you think of me? What would I think of myself? No, my mind is -made up. I'm afraid"--with a half smile that had more tears than fun in -it--"that my experience in business hasn't been a success. I shall give -it up and go back to stenography--or somethin'. There! Good-by. I'm sure -that the Nonesuch screen will win now. Good-by!" - -And now 'twas she that started to go and Jim Henry that stopped her. - -"Wait!" says he, sharp. "There's somethin' here I don't understand. What -do you mean by what the Cap'n and Cahoon told you the other day? -Skipper, what have you been doin'?" - -I wished there was a crack or a knothole handy for me to crawl into; but -there wa'n't, so I braced up best I could. - -"Why, Jim," says I, "I ain't told you the whole of that business I fired -'Dolph for. Seems he'd been seein' Parkinson on his own hook and pullin' -wires for the Nonesuch. 'Twas a sneakin' mean trick, and I knew 'twould -make you mad same as it done me; so I didn't tell you. 'Twas for that I -bounced him." - -Jim Henry's fists shut. - -"The toad!" says he. "I wish I'd been there. Wait till I get my hands on -him! I'll--" - -"But you mustn't," put in Georgianna. "I hope you don't think I care -what such a creature as he might do. When I first came here he--Oh, why -can't people forget that I'm a girl!" - -I could have answered that, but I didn't. Jacobs asked another question. - -"Then, if it wa'n't 'Dolph, who was it?" says he. "Parkinson?" - -"No!" with a flash of her eyes. "Certainly not. Mr. Parkinson is a -gentleman; but--but I don't like him--that is, I don't dislike him -exactly; but--" - -She was dreadful fussed up. Jim Henry was between her and the door, -though, and he kept right on with his questions. - -"Then what was the trouble?" he said, brisk. - -I answered for her. - -"Well, Jim," says I, "there was somethin' else. You see, 'Dolph got mad -when I sailed into him, and he come back at me by tellin' what you said -about your callin' on Miss Lentz here--and takin' her autoin' and such. -How you said you was doin' it so's to keep a watch on her--that's all. I -couldn't deny that you did say it, you know--because you did!" - -Jim's face was a sight to see--a sort of combination of sheepishness and -shame, mixed with another look, almost of joy--or as if he'd got the -answer to a puzzle that had been troublin' him. - -The Lentz girl spoke up quick. - -"Of course," she says, "I understand now why you did it. Then I -was--was--Well, it did hurt me to think that I hadn't seen through the -scheme, and for a while I felt that you hadn't been true to our -agreement; but, now that I have had time to think, I understand. You -promised to treat me exactly as if I were a man; and, as Cap'n Snow -said, if I were a man you would have kept me in sight. It's all right! -But"--with a sigh--"I realize that I'm not fitted for business--this -kind of business. I don't blame you, though. Good-by. I must go!" - -Lettin' her go, however, was the last thing Jim intended doin' just -then. He stepped for'ard and caught her by the hand. - -"Georgianna," says he, eager, "you know what you're sayin' isn't true. I -did tell the Cap'n that yarn about watchin' you. He'd seen me with you -and I had to tell him somethin'; but it was a lie--every word of it! You -know it was." - -She tried to pull her hand away, but he hung on to it as if 'twas the -last life-preserver on a sinkin' ship. I cal'late he'd forgot I was on -earth. - -"You were keeping your promise," she said. "You were treatin' me as you -would if I were a man! Please let me go, Mr. Jacobs; I have told you -that I didn't blame you." - -"Nonsense!" says he. "If I had done that I ought to be hung! A man! -Treat you like a man! Do you suppose if you were a man I should--" - -That was the last word I heard. I was bound for the front platform, and -makin' some headway for a craft of my age and build. I have got some -sense and I know when three's a crowd! - -I didn't go back until they called me. I give the pair of 'em one look -and then I shook hands with 'em up to the elbows. Georgianna was -blushin', and her eyes were damp, but shinin' like masthead lights on a -rainy night. As for Jim Henry Jacobs, he was one broad grin. - -"Well," says I, after I'd said all the joyful things I could think of, -"one point ain't settled even yet--who's goin' to get that screen -contract? There ain't any love in business, you know." - -"Humph!" says Jim Henry. "I wonder!" - -I laughed out loud. - -"Why," says I, "that's exactly what Georgianna here said t'other -day--she wondered!" - - - - -CHAPTER XIV--THE EPISTLE TO ICHABOD - - -Mary came in a few minutes later and she had to be told the news. She -was as pleased as I was and there was more congratulatin'. Then -Georgianna had to go home and, as she was altogether too precious to be -allowed to walk, Jim Henry went and got his auto and they left in that. - -When he got back--that car must have been sufferin' from a stroke of -creepin' paralysis, for it took him two hours to run that little -distance--he and I had a good confidential talk. He was way up above -this common earth, soarin' around in the clouds, and all he wanted to -talk was Georgianna. The whole of creation had been set to music and was -dancin' to the one tune--"Georgianna." - -It was astonishin' to me who had been in the habit of considerin' him -just a sharp, up-to-date buyer and seller, a man whose whole soul was -wrapped up in business with no room in it for anything else. I found -myself lookin' at him and wonderin': "Is the world comin' to an end, I -wonder? Is this my partner? Is this moon-struck critter Jim Henry -Jacobs, doctor of sick businesses?" - -I couldn't help jokin' him a little. - -"Jim," says I, "for a feller who hadn't any use for females you're doin' -pretty well, I must say. Either you was mistaken in your old opinions or -your new ones are wrong. Which is it? 'Women and business don't mix,' -you know. That ain't an original notion; that is quoted from the Gospel -according to Jacobs, Chapter 1,000; two hundred and eightieth verse." - -He reddened up and laughed. "Well, they _don't_ mix, as a general -thing," he says. "I guess 'twas Georgianna's sand in goin' into business -that got me in the first place. I leave it to you, Skipper--ain't she a -wonder? Now be honest, ain't she?" - -Course I said she was; I have the usual sane man's regard for my head -and I didn't want it knocked off yet awhile. And Georgianna _was_ as -nice a girl as I ever saw--that is, _almost_ as nice. Jim went sailin' -on, about how now he could settle down and live like a white man in a -home of his own, about the house he was goin' to build, and so forth and -etcetery. I declare it made me feel almost jealous to hear him. - -"My! my!" says I, kind of spiteful, I'm afraid, "you have got it bad, -ain't you! Sudden attacks are liable to be the most acute, I suppose." - -He laughed again. You couldn't have made him mad just then. - -"Ha, ha!" says he. "Yes, I guess I'm way past where there's any hope for -me. But I'm glad of it. It did come sudden, but that's the way most good -things come to me. It's my nature. Now if I was like some folks that I -won't name, I'd be mopin' around for months without sense enough to know -what ailed me." - -"Who are you diggin' at?" I wanted to know. He wouldn't tell; said 'twas -a secret, and maybe I'd find out the answer for myself some day. - -The next few weeks was busy times, in the store and out of it. -Georgianna havin' declined the screen contract, Parkinson gave it to us, -after a little arguin'. That kept me hustlin', for Jim was too -interested in other things to care for screens. He was making -arrangements to be married. - -And married he and Georgianna were. She'd have waited a little longer, I -cal'late--that bein' a woman's way--if it had been left to her to name -the time; but Jim Henry never was the waitin' kind. They were married at -the parson's and Mary Blaisdell and I saw the splice made fast. Then we -went to the depot and said good-by to Mr. and Mrs. Jim Henry Jacobs. -They were goin' on a honeymoon cruise to the West Indies that would last -two months. - -Good-byes ain't ever pleasant to say, but I was so glad for Jim, and so -happy because he was, that I tried to be as chipper as I could. - -"If you need me, wire at Havana, Skipper," he says. "I'll come the -minute you say the word." - -"I sha'n't need you," I told him. "Mary and I'll run things as well as -we can. She makes a good fust mate, Mary does." - -"You bet!" says he. "I feel a little conscience-struck to leave you just -now, with that West End crowd tryin' to make trouble for you, but -Congressman Shelton is your friend and he'll look out for you in -Washin'ton." - -"Don't you worry about that," I says. "I ain't scared of Bill Phipps or -Ike Hamilton--much, or any of their West End crew. The decent folks in -town are on my side, and with Shelton to back me up at Washin'ton, I -cal'late I'll keep my job till you come back anyhow." - -The train started and Mary and I waved till 'twas out of sight. Then we -went back to the store. I give in that the old feelin', the feelin' that -I'd had when Jim was sick out West, that of bein' adrift without an -anchor, was hangin' around me a little, but I braced up and vowed to -myself that I'd do the best I could. If this post-office row did get -dangerous, I might telegraph for Jacobs, but I wouldn't till the ship -was founderin'. - -I suppose you can always get up an opposition party. There was one -amongst the Children of Israel in Moses's time, and there's been plenty -ever since. So long as somebody has got somethin' there'll always be -somebody else to want to get it away from him. That's human nature, and -there's as much human nature in Ostable, size considered, as there was -in the Land of Canaan. - -I'd been postmaster at Ostable for quite a spell. I didn't try for the -position, I was mad when 'twas given to me, there wa'n't much of -anything in it but a lot of fuss and trouble, and I'd said forty times -over that I wished I didn't have it. But when the gang up at the West -End of the town set out to take it away from me I r'ared up on my hind -legs and swore I'd fight for my job till the last plank sunk from under -me. Don't sound like sense, does it? It wa'n't--'twas just more human -nature. - -Course the opposition wa'n't large and 'twa'n't very influential. Old -man William Phipps and young Ike Hamilton was at the head of it, and -they had forty or fifty West-Enders to back 'em up. Phipps had been one -of the leading workers for Abubus Payne, the chap I beat for the -app'intment in the fust place; and young Hamilton was junior partner in -the firm of "Ichabod Hamilton & Co., Stoves, Tinware and Fishermen's -Supplies," a mile or so up the main road. Young Ike--everybody called -him "Ike," though his real name was Ichabod, same as his uncle's--was a -pushin' critter, who'd come back from a Boston business college and had -started right in to make the town sit up and take notice. He was goin' -to get rich--he admitted that much--and he cal'lated to show us hayseeds -a few things. Up to now he hadn't showed much but loud clothes and -cheek, but he had enough of them to keep all hands interested for a -spell. - -His uncle, Ichabod, Senior, was a shrewd old rooster, with twenty -thousand or so that, accordin' to his brags--he was always tellin' of -it--he'd put away for a "rainy day." We have consider'ble damp weather -at the Cape, but 'twould have taken a Noah's Ark flood to make Ichabod's -purse strings loosen up. That twenty thousand dollars had growed fast to -his nervous system and when you pulled away a cent he howled. Young Ike -was the only one that could mesmerize this old man into spendin' -anything, and how he did it nobody knew. But he did. Since he got into -that Stoves and Tinware firm the store had been fixed up and -advertisements put in the papers, and I don't know what all. The uncle -had been under the weather with rheumatism for a year; maybe that -explained a little. - -Anyhow 'twas young Ike that picked himself to be postmaster instead of -me and he and Phipps got the West-Enders, fifty or so of 'em, to sign a -petition askin' that a new app'intment be made. I couldn't be removed -except on charges, so a lot of charges was made. Fust, the post-office, -bein' in the Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods -Store, was too far from the center of the town. Second, I was neglectin' -the office and my assistant--Mary, that is--was really doin' the whole -of the government work. There was some truth in this, because Mary knew -a good deal more about mail work than I did, and was as capable a woman -as ever lived; and besides, Jim Henry and I had been so busy with our -store and the "Windmill Restaurant," and our other by-product ventures, -that I _had_ left Mary to run the post-office. But it was run better -than any post-office ever was run afore in Ostable and everybody with -brains knew it. - -Third.... But never mind the rest of the charges, they didn't amount to -anything. In fact, there was so little to 'em that when the West End -petition went in to Washin'ton, I didn't take the trouble to send one of -my own, though Jacobs thought I'd better and a hundred folks asked me to -and said they'd sign. I just wrote to the Post-office Department and -told them that I was ready to submit my case, if there was any need for -it, and if they cared to send a representative to investigate, I'd be -tickled to death to see him. They wrote back that they'd look into the -matter, and that's the way it stood when Jim and Georgianna left and it -stayed so until the lost letter affair run me bows fust onto the rocks -and turned the situation from ridiculousness into something that looked -likely to be mighty serious for me. - -It come about--same as such jolts generally come--when I was least ready -for it. Jim Henry had been gone three weeks or more. 'Twas February and -none of my influential friends amongst the summer folks was on hand to -help. No, Mary and I were all alone and sailin' free with what looked -like a fair wind, when "Bump!"--all at once our craft was half full of -water and sinkin' fast. - -That mornin' the mail was a little mite late and there wa'n't any store -trade to speak of. Mary was in the post-office place writin', the usual -gang of loafers was settin' around the stove, and I was out front -talkin' with Sim Kelley, who lived up to the west end of the town, -amongst the mutineers. 'Twas from Sim that I got most of my news about -the doin's of the Phipps and Hamilton crowd. He was a great, hulkin', -cross-eyed lubber, too lazy to get out of his own way, and as shif'less -as a body could be and take pains enough to live. - -"Sim," says I to him, "I thought you said old man Hamilton was in bed -with his rheumatiz. I saw him up street as I was comin' by. He looked -pretty feeble, but he was toddlin' along on foot just as he always does. -Rheumatic or not, it's all the same. I cal'late the old critter wouldn't -spend enough money to hire a team if he was dyin'." - -Sim was surprised, and not only surprised, but, seemingly, a little mite -worried. Why he should be worried because Ichabod was takin' chances -with his diseases I couldn't see. - -"Old man Hamilton!" says he. "Is he out a cold mornin' like this? Where -was he bound?" - -"Don't know," says I. "He stopped into the drug store when I saw him. -Whether that was his final port of call or not I don't know." - -He seemed to be thinkin' it over. Then he got up and walked to the door. - -"He ain't in sight nowheres," he says. "Guess he wa'n't comin' as far as -here, 'tain't likely." - -"Well," says I, "how's the rest of the family? The hopeful leader of the -forlorn hope--how's he?" - -"Ike?" he says. "Oh, he's all right. He's a mighty smart young feller, -Ike is." - -"Yes," says I, "so I've heard him say. Gettin' ready to stand in with -him when he gets my job, are you, Sim?" - -That shook him up a mite. 'Twas common talk around town that Sim and Ike -was pretty thick. He turned red under his freckles. - -"No, no!" he sputtered. "Course I ain't! I'm standin' by you, Cap'n -Snow, and you know it. But, all the same, Ike's a smart boy. He's -gettin' rich fast, Ike is." - -"Sold another cookstove, has he?" - -"He sells a lot of 'em. Sold two last month. But that ain't it. He's got -foresight and friends in the stock exchange up to Boston. He's buyin' -copper stocks and they--" - -He stopped short; thought his tongue was runnin' away with him, I -presume likely. But I was interested and I kept on. - -"Oh!" says I; "he's buyin' coppers, is he? Well, where does he get the -U. S. coppers to do it with? Is Uncle Ichabod backin' him? Has the old -man's rheumatiz struck to his brains?" - -"Course he ain't backin' him. _He_ don't know nothin' of stocks. He -ain't up-to-date same as Ike. But he'll be glad enough when his nephew -makes fifty thousand. When he finds that out he'll--" - -"He'll never find it out on this earth," I cut in. "If he found out that -Ike made fifty dollars, all on his own hook, he'd drop dead with heart -disease. If he didn't, everybody else in town would. But it takes money -to buy stocks, don't it? I never knew Ike had any cash of his own." - -"He's in the firm, ain't he! And Hamilton and Co. are----Hello! here -comes the depot wagon." - -Sure enough, 'twas the depot wagon with the mail. I took the bags from -the driver and went back to help Mary sort. I'd taken to helpin' her a -good deal lately--more since Jacobs left than ever afore. She said there -wa'n't any need of it, but I didn't agree with her. Of course I realized -that I was an old fool--but, somehow or other, I felt more and more -contented with life when I was alongside of Mary. She and I understood -each other and I'd come to depend upon her same as a man might on his -sister--or his--well, or anybody, you understand, that he thought a good -deal of and knew was square and--and so on. And she seemed to feel the -same way about me. - -We sorted the mail together, puttin' it in the different boxes and such. -And almost the fust thing I run across was that registered letter -addressed to "Ichabod Hamilton, Jr." 'Twas a long envelope and up in one -corner of it was printed the name of a Boston broker's firm. I laid it -out by itself and went on sortin'. - -When the sortin' and distributin' was over and the crowd had gone, I -called to Sim Kelley. We didn't have Rural Free Delivery then and Sim -carried the West End mail box; that is, a lot of the folks up that way -chipped in and paid him so much for deliverin' their mail to 'em. - -"Sim," says I, "there's a registered letter here for young Ike Hamilton. -If I give it to you will you be careful and see that he signs the -receipt and the like of that?" - -He was outside the partition and he come to the little window and took -the letter from me. He acted mighty interested. - -"Gosh!" says he, grinnin', "I wouldn't wonder if this was.... Humph! Oh, -I'll be careful of it! don't you worry about that." - -Just then Mary called to me. I went over to where she was settin' at her -desk. - -"Cap'n Zeb," she whispered, "I wouldn't send that letter by Sim. It is -important, or it would not be registered, and Sim is so irresponsible. -If anything _should_ happen it would give Mr. Hamilton and the rest such -a chance. And they have accused us of bein' careless already." - -They had, that was a fact. One or two letters had gone astray durin' the -past six months and the loss of 'em was described, with trimmin's, in -the West End charges and petition. And Sim _was_ a lunkhead. I thought -it over a jiffy and then I called to Kelley once more. He was just -comin' to the hooks by the door outside the mail-box racks where Mary -and I and the store clerk--the one we'd hired in place of 'Dolph--hung -our overcoats and hats. Sim had hung his coat there that mornin'. - -"Sim," I said, "let me see that registered letter of Ike Hamilton's -again, will you?" He took it out of his pocket and passed it to me. - -"All right," says I; "you needn't bother about this. I'll send a notice -by you that it's here and Ike can call for it himself. I won't take any -chances of your losin' it." - -Well, you'd ought to have seen him! His face blazed up like a Fourth of -July tar-barrel. "Chances!" he sung out. "What are you talkin' about? I -cal'late I'm able to carry a letter without losin' it. I ain't a kid." - -"Maybe not," says I, "but you ain't goin' to lose this one, kid or not. -Here's the notice, all made out." - -"Notice be darned!" he snarled. "You give me that letter. Hamilton and -Co. pay me to carry their mail, don't they? And, besides, Ike told me -particular that he was expectin'--" - -He pulled up short again. - -"Well?" says I. "Heave ahead. What's the rest of it?" - -"Nothin'," he answered, ugly; "but you've got no right to say I can't -carry a letter when I'm paid to do it. As for losin' things, there's -others besides me that lose mail in this town." - -There's no use arguin' when a matter's all settled. I handed him the -notice and walked off, leavin' him standin' outside that partition, sore -as a scalded cat. - -I looked at my watch. 'Twas twelve o'clock, my dinner time. I walked out -to the hook rack, took down my overcoat and put it on. I had the -Hamilton letter in my hand. There wa'n't any reason why I should be more -worried about that registered letter than any other, but I was, just the -same. Maybe 'twas because 'twas Ike's and he was so anxious to make -trouble for me. Somehow or other I couldn't feel safe till he got it and -signed the receipt. I thought for a minute and then I decided I'd walk -up to Hamilton and Co.'s and deliver it myself. That decision was -foolish, maybe, but I felt better when 'twas made. I put the letter in -the inside pocket of the overcoat I had on, and just as I was doin' it -Mary come out of the post-office room with her hat on. - -"Oh!" says she, "are you goin' out, Cap'n Zeb? I thought--" - -Then I remembered. She'd asked to go to dinner fust that day and I'd -told her of course she could. I begged her pardon and said I'd forgot. -I'd wait till she got back. So, after makin' sure that I didn't care, -she took her coat from the hook, put it on and went out. - -I took off my overcoat and, just as I did so, somethin' fell on the -floor. I stooped and picked it up. I swan to man if it wasn't that pesky -Hamilton letter! Thinks I, "That's funny!" I put my hand into the pocket -where it had been and there was a hole right through the linin'. Now if -there's one thing I'm fussy about it is that my pockets are whole. And I -_knew_ this one ought to be whole. So I looked at the coat and I'm -blessed if it was mine at all! 'Twas Sim Kelley's! Both coats had been -hangin' together on the hook-rack and both was blue and about the same -size. I'd been saved by a miracle, as you might say. - -I was comin' to feel more and more as if there was some sort of fate -about that registered letter. I took it back into the post-office room, -handlin' it as careful as if 'twas solid gold, and laid it down on the -sortin' bench behind the letter boxes. And then somebody spoke to me -through the little window. - -"Cap'n Zeb," says Sim Kelley, "there's a man just drove over from -Bayport to see you. Come in Gabe Lumley's buggy, he did. His name's -Peters and Gabe says he's got some sort of government job." - -"Government job?" says I. And then it flashed through my mind who the -feller might be. The Post-office Department had said they might send an -investigator. I didn't care for that, but I did wish Sim hadn't seen -him. - -"Oh," says I; "all right. It's the lighthouse inspector, I shouldn't -wonder. Guess 'tain't me he is after. Probably I ain't the Snow he wants -to see; it's Henry Snow over to the Point. Where is he?" - -"Out on the platform," says Sim. I hurried out of the post-office room, -lockin' the door careful astern of me. The man Peters was just comin' -into the store. I met him at the front door. We shook hands and he -introduced himself. 'Twas the investigator, sure enough. - -"Glad to see you," says I. "I know that may sound like a lie, but, as it -happens, it ain't in this case. I ain't got anything to be ashamed of -and the sooner the government finds that out the better I'll be -pleased." - -He laughed. He was a real good chap, this Peters man, and I took to him -right off the reel. We stood there talkin' and laughin' and says he: - -"Well, Cap'n," he says, "I'll tell you frankly that I'm not very much -worried about the conduct of your office here at Ostable. I've made some -inquiries about you, here and in Washin'ton, and the answers are pretty -satisfactory. Congressman Shelton seems to be a friend of yours." - -I grinned. "Yes," says I, "but Shelton's prejudiced, I'm afraid. He and -old Major Clark ate a chowder once that I cooked and ever since they've -both swore by me." - -He laughed, though I could see Shelton hadn't told him the yarn. - -"Humph!" says he, "that's unusual, isn't it? Judgin' by some chowders -_I've_ eaten, it would be easier to swear _at_ the cook. Speakin' of -eatables, though, reminds me that I'm hungry. Where's a good place to -get a meal around here?" - -"Nowhere," says I, prompt; "not at this season of the year, with the -summer dinin'-room closed. But, if you'll wait until my assistant gets -back, I'll pilot you down to the Poquit House, where I feed, and we'll -face the wust together." - -He was willin' to risk it, he said, and we walked back and set down in -the post-office department. As we left the front door Sim Kelley went -out of it, luggin' his West-End mail box. Peters and I talked. Seems he -hadn't come to the Cape a-purpose to investigate me, but he had a job at -the Bayport office and had took me in on the way home. After a spell -Mary come back and Peters and I headed for the Poquit, where the cold -fish balls and warmed-over beans was waitin'. - -On the way I saw old man Hamilton, Ike's uncle, totterin' along, headin' -to the west'ard this time. I pointed him out to Peters. - -"There goes," I says, "one of the fellers that's trying to knock me out -of my job." - -"Humph!" says he; "he looks pretty near knocked out himself. Why, he's -all bent out of shape." - -"Yes," I told him. "Ichabod's bent, but he's far from broke. And a tough -old limb like him stands a lot of bendin'." - -I was feelin' pretty good. With a square man like this Peters to look -into matters, I cal'lated I'd be postmaster for a spell yet. - -But that afternoon, about three o'clock, as we was inside the mail room, -Mary at her desk, and Peters alongside of her, goin' over the books and -papers, and me smokin' in a chair nigh the delivery window, Ike Hamilton -walked into the store. - -"Afternoon, Snow," says he, pert and important as ever, "I understand -there's a registered letter for me. I s'pose it is part of your business -to refuse to give it to the regular carrier and put me to the trouble of -walkin' way down here." - -"I s'pose 'tis," says I. - -"Yes," he says. "Well, if you were as careful to put your partic'lar -friends to the same inconvenience there might not be as much talk about -you and your handlin' of this office as there is now." - -"Oh, yes, there would," I told him. "There'd always be more talk than -anything else where you lived, Ike. Want your letter, do you?" - -He was mad, but he held in pretty well. - -"I do--if gettin' it won't make you work _too_ hard," he says, -sarcastic. "I should hate to see you really work." - -"Yes," I says, "the sight of work never was a joy to you, 'cordin' to -all accounts. Well, here's your letter." - -I reached down to the sortin' table where I'd laid the letter at noon -time--and it wa'n't there. - -I hunted that table over. "Mary," says I, "did you put that registered -letter of Mr. Hamilton's away somewheres?" - -She looked surprised and, it seemed to me, rather anxious. - -"Why no!" says she; "I haven't touched it." - -Whew!... Well, there was a lively hunt in that mail room for the next -ten minutes, but it ended in nothin'. - -Ike Hamilton's registered letter was _gone_! - - - - -CHAPTER XV--HOW IKE'S LOSS TURNED OUT TO BE MY GAIN - - -There's no use dwelling on unpleasantness. And there's no use tellin' -what Ike Hamilton said. I'd be liable to the law, if I did tell it, and, -besides, I've been away from seafarin' so long that my memory for such -language ain't as good as 'twas. Ike wa'n't only mad now: he was ha'f -crazy, and pale and scared-lookin' besides. The interview ended by my -takin' him by the arm and leadin' him to the door. - -"You get out of here," I told him, "and I'll leave this door open so's -to sweeten the air after you. That letter of yours has turned up missin' -and I'm mighty sorry. I'll find it, though, or die a-tryin'. Meanwhile, -unless you can behave like a decent human bein'--which I doubt--you'll -find it turrible unhealthy for you on these premises. Understand?" - -I cal'late he understood, for he waited till he was out of reach afore -he answered. Then he turned and snarled at me like a kicked dog. - -"By the Almighty, Zeb Snow," he says, "this is the wust day's work _you_ -ever did! That letter's wuth hundreds of dollars to me and I'll sue you -for every cent. And, more'n that," he says, "this is the last straw -that'll break your back as postmaster of this town. _You're_ done! and -don't you forget it!" - -I wa'n't likely to forget it--not to any consider'ble extent. - -Well, all the rest of that day and for the next two days, Mary and -Peters and I hunted high and low for that letter; but we couldn't find -it. I was worried, Peters was worried, and Mary Blaisdell seemed the -most worried of any of us. Ike Hamilton come in every few hours, and, -though he blustered and threatened a whole lot, he kept a civil tongue -in his head, rememberin', I cal'late, what I said to him when I showed -him the door. Apparently he hadn't told any of his cronies about his -loss, for nobody else said a word about it to me. This was queer, for I -expected the news would be all over town by this time. - -Peters asked a lot of questions and I done my best to satisfy him. I -showed him the exact place where I laid the letter down afore I went to -the front of the store to meet him, and he remembered, same as I did, -that the door to the mail room was locked when we come back to it. And -we'd stayed in that room together until Mary came and we went to dinner. -Nobody but Mary and I had keys to the room, either. - -Course I thought of Sim Kelley and how mad he was because I took the -letter away from him, and Peters and I cross-questioned him pretty -sharp. But he told a straight yarn and stuck to it. He hadn't seen the -letter since I took it. He'd delivered the notice to Ike and Ike had -said he'd call and get the letter that afternoon. Well, all that seemed -to be true, and, besides, there was no way Sim could have got hold of -the thing if he'd wanted to. - -"No use," says I, when the questionin' was over and Sim had cleared out, -protestin' injured innocence and almost cryin'. "No use," says I, "I -cal'late he's tellin' the truth for once in his life. I guess his skirts -are clear." - -"Maybe so," says Peters. "His story is straight enough; but he don't -look you in the face; I don't like that." - -"That's nothin'," I said. "He'd have to get 'round the corner to look a -body in the face, as cross-eyed as he is." - -Mary Blaisdell spoke up then. "If this letter shouldn't be found at all, -Mr. Peters," says she, "what effect would it have on Cap'n Zeb's -position as postmaster?" - -Peters was pretty solemn, and he shook his head. - -"Well," he says, "to be perfectly frank with you, Cap'n, it might have -consider'ble effect. From what I've seen of you and this office, -generally speakin', my report to headquarters would be a very favorable -one. Your records and accounts are straight and the place is neat and -well kept. But your opponent's petition charges that several letters -have been lost already. This loss comes at a very bad time and it -_might_ be considered serious." - -I'd realized all this, but it didn't help me much to hear him say it. I -didn't make any answer, but Mary asked another question. - -"But if," she says, slow, "it should turn out that the Cap'n was not to -blame at all? If someone else had lost that letter? He wouldn't be -removed _then_?" - -"No, certainly not. That is, not if my report counted for anything." - -"I see," says she; and she didn't speak to us again that afternoon. -Peters, though, had more questions to ask. What sort of a letter was -this, anyhow? And did I have any idea what was in it? - -I told him that I didn't really know much, but, bein' a Yankee, I was -subject to the guessin' habit. Ike Hamilton had been buyin' stocks up to -Boston and this letter had a broker firm's name printed on the envelope. -My guess was that there was some certificates, or such, inside. - -"I see," he says. "That would explain what he said about its value. So -he's been speculatin', hey?" - -"So Sim Kelley hinted. But where the money comes from I don't see. Old -Ichabod don't furnish it, I'll bet a dollar. The old critter's got -cramps in the pocketbook worse than he has in his back." - -"That was the old feller you pointed out to me the other day," he says. -"I haven't seen him since. Where is he?" - -"Back in bed with the rheumatiz, so I hear. Guess his cruise down town -was too much for him." - -Well, the rest of our talk didn't amount to much and I went home that -night pretty blue and discouraged. I didn't care so much about bein' -postmaster, but it hurt my pride to be bounced for bad seamanship. I'd -never wrecked a craft afore in my life. - -Next mornin' I come to the store at my usual time, but Mary was late, -for a wonder. When she did come she looked so pale and used up that I -was troubled. - -"Mary," says I, "what's the matter? Ain't sick, are you?" - -"Oh, no!" says she. "I--I didn't sleep well, that's all. I'm all right." - -"But, Mary," I says, "I--" - -"Please excuse me, Cap'n Zeb," she cut in. "I'm very busy." - -She'd never used that tone to me afore, and I was set back about forty -mile. Why she should be so frosty I couldn't see. I went out to the -platform and paced the quarter deck, thinkin'. I was down at the heel -anyway, and I thought a whole lot of fool things. I was goin' to lose my -job and so I s'posed that, after all, I'd ought to expect my friends to -shake me. There's a proverb about rats leavin' a leaky vessel. But Mary -Blaisdell!! I cal'late I come as nigh wishin' I was dead as ever I did -in my life. - -'Twas almost eleven afore the Peters man showed up. He was walkin' brisk -and smilin' a little. - -"Well," says I, "you're lookin' a heap more chipper than I feel. What -are you grinnin' about?" - -"Oh, just for instance," he says. "Is Miss Blaisdell in the office?" - -"Guess so. She was awhile ago. Yes, she's there. Why?" - -"I want to see her--and you, too. Come on." - -He led the way to the mail room. Mary was there, workin' at her books. -She looked up when we come in, and her face was whiter than ever. I -forgot all about my "rat" thoughts and the rest of it. - -"Mary," says I, anxious, "you _are_ under the weather. Why don't you go -home?" - -She held up her hand and stopped me. - -"Please don't," she says. - -Then, turnin' to Peters: "Mr. Peters, I want to speak to you. And to -you, too, Cap'n Zeb. I--I've got somethin' that I must tell you." - -'Twa'n't so much what she said as the way she said it. I looked at -Peters and he looked at me. I cal'late we was both wonderin' what sort -of lightnin' was goin' to strike now. - -She didn't leave us to wonder long. She went right on, speakin' quick, -as if she wanted to get it over with. - -"Mr. Peters," she says, "last night you told me that, if it should be -proved that Cap'n Zeb had no part in losin' that letter, if it wasn't -his fault at all, the postmastership wouldn't be taken from him. You -meant that, didn't you?" - -Peters looked queer enough. "Why, yes," he says, "I did. But how--" - -"Mr. Peters," she went on, in the same hurried way, "_I_ lost that -letter." - -I don't know what Peters did then, but I know that my knees give from -under me and I flopped down in the armchair. - -"You? _You_, Mary!" says I. - -Peters seemed to be as much flabbergasted as I was. He rubbed his -forehead. - -"_You_ lost it?" he says, slow. - -"Yes," says she. "That is, I--I destroyed it by accident. It was while -you two were at dinner. I was clearin' up the sortin' table and--and -puttin' the waste paper in the stove. I--I must have taken the letter -with the other things." - -"Nonsense!" I sung out. Peters didn't say nothin'. - -"Nonsense!" I said again. "You don't know that 'twas--" - -"But I do," she interrupted. "I--I saw it burnin' and--and it was too -late to get it out. It was my fault altogether. No one else is to blame -at all." - -If I hadn't been settin' down already you could have knocked me over -with a feather. 'Twas an accident, of course; anybody might have done -such a thing; but what I couldn't understand was why she hadn't told me -of it afore. That didn't seem like her at all. - -"Well!" I says; "_well_!" - -Peters had transferred his rubbin' from his forehead to his chin. - -"Miss Blaisdell," says he, quiet, "why didn't you tell us sooner?" - -"That's all right," I cut in, quick. "I don't blame her for not tellin'. -I cal'late that she felt so bad about it that she couldn't make up her -mind to tell right off. That was it, wa'n't it, Mary?" - -She didn't look up, but sat playin' with a pen-holder. - -"Yes," she says, "that was it." - -"All right then," says I. "It was an accident, and if anybody's to blame -it's me. I shouldn't have left the letter there." - -_Then_ she looked up. "Of course you're not to blame," she says, awful -earnest. "It was my fault entirely. You know it was, Mr. Peters. It was -my fault and I must take the consequences. I will resign my place as -assistant and--" - -"Resign!" I sung out. "Resign! Well, I guess not!" - -"But I shall. Of course I shall. Mr. Peters, you see that it wasn't -Cap'n Snow's fault, don't you? _Don't_ you?" - -"Yes," says Peters, short. - -"Nonsense!" I roared. "He don't see no such thing. Mary, I don't care--" - -She held up her hand. "Please don't talk to me now," she begged. -"Please--not now." - -I looked at Peters. There was a look in his eyes, almost as if he was -smilin' inside. I could have punched his head for it. - -"But, Mary--" I begun. - -"Please don't talk to me," she begged, almost cryin'. "Please go away -and leave me now. Please." - -I cal'late I shouldn't have gone; fact is, I know I shouldn't; but that -government investigator put his hand on my arm. - -"Cap'n," he says, "come with me." - -"With you?" I snapped. "Why?" - -"Because I want you to. It's important. I won't keep you long." - -I went, but he'll never know how much I wanted to kick him. As I shut -the door of the mail room I saw poor Mary's head go down on her arms on -the desk. - -Peters led me out to the front of the store, where he come to anchor on -a shoe-case. - -"Set down," says he, pattin' the case alongside of him. - -"I don't feel like settin'," I says, ugly. "And I tell you, Mr. -Peters--" - -"No," says he, "I'm goin' to tell _you_ this time. Or, if I'm not, the -feller I told to be here at half past eleven will. Yes ... here he comes -now." - -In at the door comes Sim Kelley, and, if ever a chap looked as if he was -marchin' to be hung, he did. His eyes was red and his face was white -under the freckles. - -"Here--here I be, Mr. Peters," he stammered. - -"Yes, I see you 'be,'" says Peters, dry as a chip. "All right. Now you -can tell Cap'n Snow what you told me this mornin'." - -Sim looked at me, and at the government man. He was shakin' all over. - -"Aw, Cap'n Zeb," he bust out, "don't be too hard on me. Don't put me in -jail! I know I hadn't ought to have taken that letter, but you riled me -up when you told me I couldn't be trusted with it. Ike pays me to fetch -the mail. And he told me he was expectin' an important letter from them -stockbrokers. So I--" - -Well, there's no use tryin' to spin the yarn the way he did. 'Twas all -mixed up with prayers about not puttin' him in jail, and what would his -ma say, and "pleases" and "oh, dont's" and such. B'iled down and skimmed -it amounted to this: He'd seen me lay that Hamilton letter on the -sortin' table, saw it when he come back to tell me that Peters had -arrived. After I'd gone out to the platform he was struck with an idea. -He _would_ take that letter to Ike, just to show that he could be -trusted, and, besides Ike had promised him fifty cents for lookin' out -for it and fetchin' it to him direct. He had a key to the Hamilton box -and the letter laid right back of that box. All he had to do was to -reach through the box to the table, take the letter, and lock up again. -So he did it, and put the letter in his overcoat inside pocket. - -"And--and--" he finished up, almost blubberin', "there was a great big -hole in that pocket and I didn't know it." - -"I did," says I, involuntary, so to speak. "Never mind. Heave ahead." - -"And the letter must have dropped out of it. When I got a little ways up -the road I found 'twas gone. I didn't dast tell Ike or you. I--I didn't -_dast_ to. Ike would kill me if I told him, and--and--Oh, please, Cap'n -Zeb, don't put me in jail! I don't know where the letter is. Honest, I -don't! _Please_ ..." and so on. - -Peters cut him short. "There!" says he, "that'll do. Kelley, you go out -on the platform and wait till we need you. Go ahead! Shut up--and go." - -Sim went, but I cal'late if we'd listened we could have heard the -platform boards tremblin' underneath where he was standin'. - -Peters looked at me and grinned. 'Twas my time to rub my forehead. - -"Well!" says I. "Well, I--I.... Is he lyin'?" - -"Didn't act like it, did he?" - -"No-o, he didn't. But--but, if he took that letter, how did it get back -onto that sortin' table?" - -"How do you know it did?" - -"How do I know! Course it got back there! Didn't Mary say--" - -"Wait a minute," he put in. "How do you explain that, Cap'n?" - -He was holdin' out somethin' that he'd took from his pocket. I grabbed -it. 'Twas the regular receipt for that registered letter, and 'twas -signed by Ichabod Hamilton, Junior. - -I looked at that receipt and then at him. The paddin' in my head that, -up to then, I'd complimented by callin' brains was whirlin' as if -somebody was stirrin' it. I couldn't say a word. He laughed out loud. - -"Don't have a fit, Cap'n Snow," he says. "It's simple enough. What you -told me yesterday about the firm of Hamilton and Co. put me wise to the -real answer to the riddle. I remembered that you pointed out Hamilton to -me on the street when you and I were on the way to that hotel where we -dined the noon of my arrival. He was on his way home then and he had -been somewhere in this vicinity. There was a chance that he had been -here at the office. This mornin' I went to his house and found him in -bed. He was full of rheumatism and groans, but fuller still of the Evil -One. I told him I knew he'd got his partner's registered letter--a bluff -of course--and he didn't take the trouble to deny it. Seems Sim Kelley, -with the mail box, passed him right here by the store platform. As they -passed each other the letter fell from Kelley's overcoat pocket. The old -man picked it up, intendin' to call to Kelley and give it back to him. -When he saw the address he didn't." - -He stopped then, waitin' for me to say somethin', I s'pose. But I -couldn't say anything. My head was fuller of stir-about than ever, and I -just stared at him with my mouth open. - -"When he saw the address--and the name of the brokerage firm--he didn't. -He took that letter home and opened it. You see, the old feller is -nobody's fool, even if his rheumatism has kept him from active business -for the last few months. He had suspected his nephew of speculatin' and -here was the proof, a hundred shares of cheap minin' stock, and a letter -sayin' that two hundred more had been bought on a margin. Young Hamilton -had been stockjobbin' with the firm's money." - -"My--soul!" was all I could say. - -"Yes; well, old Ichabod is--ha! ha!--a queer character. His rheumatism -had come back and he was waitin' to get better afore he took the matter -up with his partner. 'What I'll say and do to that young pup is a well -man's job,' he told me. We had a long talk and it ended in his sendin' -for Ike. As soon as the young chap came I cleared out--that is, after I -got this receipt signed. That bedroom was too sulphurous for me. I could -smell brimstone even in the front yard. Cap'n, I guess you needn't worry -about your rival candidate for postmaster. He's got troubles enough of -his own." - -I got up, slow and deliberate, from that shoe-case. - -"But--but--" I stuttered. - -"Yes? Anything that I haven't made clear?" - -"Anything? Why! if all this yarn of yours is so--.... But it _can't_ be -so! Why did Mary burn that letter?" - -"She didn't." - -"But she said she did." - -"I know. Well, Cap'n, if you'll remember when we talked, the three of -us, yesterday, I hinted that unless you were cleared of blame in this -affair you might be removed from office." - -"I know, but.... Hey? You mean that she lied and put the blame on -herself, so as to save _me_? So's I'd keep my job?" - -"Looks that way to a man up a tree, doesn't it?" - -"But why? Why should she sacrifice herself for--for me?" - -Peters bit the end off of a cigar. "That," says he, "don't come under -the head of government business." - - ---- - -Mary was still at her desk when I walked into the mail room. I put my -hand on her shoulder. - -"Mary," says I, "I know all about it." - -She looked at me. Her eyes were wet, and I cal'late mine wa'n't as dry -as a sand bank in July. - -"You know?" she says. - -"Yes," says I. And I told her the yarn. Afore I got through the color -had come back to her cheeks. - -"Then you did leave it on the sortin' table after all," she says, almost -in a whisper. - -"Course I did! Didn't I say so?" - -"Yes; but Cap'n Zeb, I saw you put that letter in your overcoat pocket. -I saw you do it, myself." - -So there 'twas. I'd forgot to tell her about my mistake in the overcoats -and she thought I'd lost the letter and didn't know it. - -"And so," says I, after I'd explained, "you thought I'd lost it and yet -you took the blame all on yourself. You risked your place and told a lie -just to save me, Mary. Why did you do it?" - -"How could I help it?" she says. "You've been so good to me and so -kind." - -"Good and kind be keelhauled!" I sung out. "Mary, my goodness and -kindness wouldn't explain a thing like that. Oh, Mary, don't let's have -another misunderstandin'. I'm crazy maybe to think of such a thing, and -I'm ten years older than you, and you'll be throwin' yourself away, but, -_do_ you care enough for me to--" - -She got up from her desk, all flustered like. - -"It's mail time," she says. "I--I must--" - -But 'twa'n't mail I was interested in just then. I caught her afore she -could get away. - -"Could you, Mary?" I pleaded. She wouldn't look at me, so I put my hand -under her chin and tipped her head back so I could see her face. 'Twas -as red as a spring peony, and her eyes were wetter than ever. But they -were shinin' behind the fog. - -Well, about three that afternoon, we were alone together in the mail -room. Peters, who had as much common sense as anybody ever I see, had -gone for a walk. - -Mary was thinkin' things over and says she, "But it was too bad," she -says, "that all the worry and trouble had to come on you just because of -that foolish Sim Kelley. I'm so sorry." - -"Sorry!" says I. "I'm goin' to give Sim a ten-dollar bill next time I -see him. If I gave him a million 'twould be a cheap price for what I've -got by his buttin' in. Sorry! _I_ ain't sorry, I tell you that!" - -And I've never been sorry since, either. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI--I PAY MY OTHER BET - - -'Twas June, and Mary and I were in New York together, on _our_ -honeymoon. We'd been married, quietly, by the same parson that tied the -knot for Jim and Georgianna, and Georgianna and Jim had been on hand at -the ceremony. We was cal'latin' to stop in New York a few days, then go -to Washington, and from there to Chicago, and from there to California -or the Yellerstone, or anywhere that seemed good to us at the time. I'd -waited fifty years for my weddin' tour and I didn't intend to let -dollars and cents cut much figger, so far as regulatin' the limits of -the cruise was concerned. Jim Henry and the clerk, who'd been swore in -as substitute assistant, believed they could run the store and -post-office while we were gone. - -Mary and I were walkin' down Broadway together. I'd told her I had an -errand to do and asked her if she wanted to come along. She said she did -and we were walkin' down Broadway, as I said, when all at once I pulled -up short. - -"What is it?" asked Mary, lookin' to see what had run across my bows to -bring me up into the wind so sudden. - -"Nothin' serious," says I; "but, unless my eyesight is goin' back on me, -this shop we're in front of is what I've been huntin' for." - -She looked at the shop I was p'intin' at. The window was full of hats, -straw ones mainly. - -"Why!" says she, "it's a hat store, isn't it? You don't need a new hat, -Zebulon, do you?" - -"You bet I do!" says I, chucklin'. "I need just as much hat as there is. -Come in and watch me buy it." - -I could see she was puzzled, but she was more so after I got into the -store. A slick-lookin', but pretty condescendin' young clerk marched up -to us and says he: - -"Somethin' in a hat, sir?" - -"Yes, sir," says I; "_everything_ in a hat." - -He didn't know what to make of that, so he tried again. - -"One of our new straws, perhaps?" he asks. "The fifteenth is almost -here, you know." - -"Maybe so," I told him, "but I don't want any straw, the fifteenth or -the sixteenth either. I want a plug hat, a beaver hat--that's what I -want." - -The clerk was a little set back, I guess, but poor Mary was all at sea. - -"Why, Zebulon!" she whispers, grabbin' me by the arm, "what are you -doin'? You're not goin' to buy a silk hat!" - -"Yes, I am," says I. - -"But you aren't goin' to _wear_ it." - -To save me, when I looked at her face I couldn't help laughin'. - -"Ain't I?" says I. "Why, I think I'd look too cute for anything in a -tall hat. What's your opinion?" turnin' to the clerk. - -He coughed behind his hand and then made proclamation that a silk hat -would become me very well, he was sure. - -"Then you're a whole lot surer than I am," says I. "However, trot one -out, the best article you've got in stock." - -That clerk's back was gettin' limberer every second. "Yes, sir," says -he, bowin'. "Our imported hat at ten dollars is the finest in New York. -If you and the lady will step this way, please." - -We stepped; that is, I did. I pretty nigh had to _drag_ Mary. - -"What size, sir?" asked the clerk. - -"Oh, I don't know," says I. "Any nice genteel size will do, I guess." - -I had consider'ble fun with that clerk, fust and last, and when we came -out of that store I was luggin' a fine leather box with the imported -tall hat inside it. I'd made arrangements that, if the size shouldn't be -right, it could be exchanged. - -"And now, Mary," says I, "I cal'late you're wonderin' where we'll go -next, ain't you?" - -She looked at me and shook her head. - -"Zeb," she says, half laughin', "I--I'm almost afraid we ought to go to -the insane asylum." - -I laughed out loud then. "Not just yet," I told her. "We're goin' on a -cruise down South Street fust." - -So I hired a hack--street cars ain't good enough for a man on his -weddin' trip--and the feller drove us to the number I give him on South -Street. The old place looked mighty familiar. - -"Is Mr. Pike in?" I asked the bookkeeper, who had hollered my name out -as if he was glad to see me. - -"Why, yes, Cap'n Snow, he's in. I'll tell him you're here." - -"Wait a minute," says I. "Is he alone? Good! Then I'll tell him myself. -Come, Mary." - -Pike was in his private office, not lookin' a day older than when I left -him four years and a half ago. He looked up, jumped, and then grabbed me -by both hands. "Why, Cap'n Zeb!" he sung out. "If this isn't good for -sore eyes. How are you? What are you doin' here in New York? By George, -I'm glad to see you! What--" - -"Wait!" I interrupted. "Business fust, and pleasure afterwards. I'm here -to pay my debts." - -"Debts?" says he, wonderin'. - -"Yes," I says. "Did you get a hat from me four year or so ago?" - -He laughed. "Yes, I did," he says. "I wrote you that I did. I knew I -should win that bet. You couldn't stay idle to save your soul." - -"There was another bet, too, if you recollect. A bet with a five-year -limit on it. The limit won't be up till next fall, so here I am--and -here's the other hat." - -I set the leather box on the table. He stared at it and then at me. - -"What do you mean?" he says, slow. "I don't remember.... Why, yes--I do! -You don't mean to tell me that you're--" - -"That's the hat, ain't it?" I cut in. "You're a man of judgment, Mr. -Pike, and any time you want to set up professionally as a prophet I'd -like to take stock in the company." - -He was beginnin' to smile. - -"Then--" says he--"Why, then this must be--" - -I cut in and stopped him. - -"Hold on," says I. "Hold on! I'm prouder to be able to say it than I -ever was of anything else in this world, and I sha'n't let you say it -fust. Mr. Pike, let me introduce you to my wife--Mrs. Zebulon Snow." - -About half an hour afterwards he found time to look at the hat. - -"Whew!" says he. "Cap'n, this is much too good a hat for you to buy for -me. I'm mighty glad, for your sake, that I won the bet, but--" - -"Ssh-h! shh!" says I. "Don't say another word. Think of what _I_ won! -Hey, Mary?" - - - - THE END - - - - - - *** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POSTMASTER *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/37482 - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission -and without paying copyright royalties. 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The replaced older file is renamed. -_Versions_ based on separate sources are treated as new eBooks receiving -new filenames and etext numbers. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: - - http://www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg(tm), -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/2011-09-19-37482.zip b/old/2011-09-19-37482.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 4003dfd..0000000 --- a/old/2011-09-19-37482.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/old-2025-03-20/37482-0.txt b/old/old-2025-03-20/37482-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 09757f6..0000000 --- a/old/old-2025-03-20/37482-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8592 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Postmaster, by Joseph C. Lincoln - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Postmaster - -Author: Joseph C. Lincoln - -Release Date: September 19, 2011 [eBook #37482] -[Most recently updated: December 16, 2022] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Roger Frank, Mary Meehan, and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net. - - - - - THE POSTMASTER - - BY JOSEPH C. LINCOLN - - Author of "The Depot Master," "Cap’n Warrens Wards," - "Cap’n Eri," "Mr. Pratt," etc. - - _With Four Illustrations_ - _By_ HOWARD HEATH - - A. L. BURT COMPANY - _Publishers New York_ - - _Copyright, 1912, by_ - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY - - Copyright, 1911, 1912, by the Curtis Publishing Company - Copyright, 1911, 1912, by the Ainslee Magazine Company - Copyright, 1912, by the Ridgeway Company - - Published, April, 1912 - - Printed in the United States of America - - ———— - -[Illustration: _Seems to me I never saw her look prettier._] - - ———— - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER I—I MAKE TWO BETS—AND LOSE ONE OF ’EM - CHAPTER II—WHAT A "PULLET" DID TO A PEDIGREE - CHAPTER III—I GET INTO POLITICS - CHAPTER IV—HOW I MADE A CLAM CHOWDER; AND WHAT A CLAM CHOWDER MADE - OF ME - CHAPTER V—A TRAP AND WHAT THE "RAT" CAUGHT IN IT - CHAPTER VI—I RUN AFOUL OF COUSIN LEMUEL - CHAPTER VII—THE FORCE AND THE OBJECT - CHAPTER VIII—ARMENIANS AND INJUNS; LIKEWISE BY-PRODUCTS - CHAPTER IX—ROSES—BY ANOTHER NAME - CHAPTER X—THE SIGN OF THE WINDMILL - CHAPTER XI—COOKS AND CROOKS - CHAPTER XII—JIM HENRY STARTS SCREENIN’ - CHAPTER XIII—WHAT CAME THROUGH THE SCREEN - CHAPTER XIV—THE EPISTLE TO ICHABOD - CHAPTER XV—HOW IKE’S LOSS TURNED OUT TO BE MY GAIN - CHAPTER XVI—I PAY MY OTHER BET - - ———— - - THE POSTMASTER - - ———— - - - - -CHAPTER I—I MAKE TWO BETS—AND LOSE ONE OF ’EM - - -"So you’re through with the sea for good, are you, Cap’n Zeb," says Mr. -Pike. - -"You bet!" says I. "Through for good is just _what_ I am." - -"Well, I’m sorry, for the firm’s sake," he says. "It won’t seem natural -for the _Fair Breeze_ to make port without you in command. Cap’n, you’re -goin’ to miss the old schooner." - -"Cal’late I shall—some—along at fust," I told him. "But I’ll get over -it, same as the cat got over missin’ the canary bird’s singin’; and I’ll -have the cat’s consolation—that I done what seemed best for me." - -He laughed. He and I were good friends, even though he was ship-owner -and I was only skipper, just retired. - -"So you’re goin’ back to Ostable?" he says. "What are you goin’ to do -after you get there?" - -"Nothin’; thank you very much," says I, prompt. - -"No work at _all_?" he says, surprised. "Not a hand’s turn? Goin’ to be -a gentleman of leisure, hey?" - -"Nigh as I can, with my trainin’. The ’leisure’ part’ll be all right, -anyway." - -He shook his head and laughed again. - -"I think I see you," says he. "Cap’n, you’ve been too busy all your life -even to get married, and—" - -"Humph!" I cut in. "Most married men I’ve met have been a good deal -busier than ever I was. And a good deal more worried when business was -dull. No, sir-ee! ’twa’n’t that that kept me from gettin’ married. I’ve -been figgerin’ on the day when I could go home and settle down. If I’d -had a wife all these years I’d have been figgerin’ on bein’ able to -settle up. I ain’t goin’ to Ostable to get married." - -"I’ll bet you do, just the same," says he. "And I’ll bet you somethin’ -else: I’ll bet a new hat, the best one I can buy, that inside of a year -you’ll be head over heels in some sort of hard work. It may not be -seafarin’, but it’ll be somethin’ to keep you busy. You’re too good a -man to rust in the scrap heap. Come! I’ll bet the hat. What do you say?" - -"Take you," says I, quick. "And if you want to risk another on my -marryin’, I’ll take that, too." - -"Go you," says he. "You’ll be married inside of three years—or five, -anyway." - -"One year that I’ll be at work—steady work—and five that I’m married. -You’re shipped, both ways. And I wear a seven and a quarter, soft hat, -black preferred." - -"If I don’t win the first bet I will the second, sure," he says, -confident. "’Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands,’ you know. -Well, good-by, and good luck. Come in and see us whenever you get to New -York." - -We shook hands, and I walked out of that office, the office that had -been my home port ever since I graduated from fust mate to skipper. And -on the way to the Fall River boat I vowed my vow over and over again. - -"Zebulon Snow," I says to myself—not out loud, you understand; for, -accordin’ to Scriptur’ or the Old Farmers’ Almanac or somethin’, a -feller who talks to himself is either rich or crazy and, though I was -well enough fixed to keep the wolf from the door, I wa’n’t by no means -so crazy as to leave the door open and take chances—"Zebulon Snow," says -I, "you’re forty-eight year old and blessedly single. All your life -you’ve been haulin’ ropes, or bossin’ fo’mast hands, or tryin’ to make -harbor in a fog. Now that you’ve got an anchor to wind’ard—now that the -one talent you put under the stock exchange napkin has spread out so -that you have to have a tablecloth to tote it home in, don’t you be a -fool. Don’t plant it again, cal’latin’ to fill a mains’l next time, -’cause you won’t do it. Take what you’ve got and be thankful—and -careful. You go ashore at Ostable, where you was born, and settle down -and be somebody." - -That’s about what I said to myself, and that’s what I started to do. I -made Ostable on the next mornin’s train. The town had changed a whole -lot since I left it, mainly on account of so many summer folks buyin’ -and buildin’ everywhere, especially along the water front. The few -reg’lar inhabitants that I knew seemed to be glad to see me, which I -took as a sort of compliment, for it don’t always foller by a -consider’ble sight. I got into the depot wagon—the same horse was -drawin’ it, I judged, that Eben Hendricks had bought when I was a -boy—and asked to be carted to the Travelers’ Inn. It appeared that there -wa’n’t any Travelers’ Inn now, that is to say, the name of it had been -changed to the Poquit House; "Poquit" bein’ Injun or Portygee or -somethin’ foreign. - -But the name was the only thing about that hotel that was changed. The -grub was the same and the wallpaper on the rooms they showed to me -looked about the same age as I was, and wa’n’t enough handsomer to -count, either. I hired a couple of them rooms, one to sleep in and smoke -in, and t’other to entertain the parson in, if he should call, -which—unless the profession had changed, too—I judged he would do pretty -quick. I had the rooms cleaned and papered, bought some dyspepsy -medicine to offset the meals I was likely to have, and settled down to -be what Mr. Pike had called a "gentleman of leisure." - -Fust three months ’twas fine. At the end of the second three it -commenced to get a little mite dull. In about two more I found my mind -was shrinkin’ so that the little mean cat-talks at the breakfast table -was beginnin’ to seem interestin’ and important. Then I knew ’twas time -to doctor up with somethin’ besides dyspepsy pills. Ossification was -settin’ in and I’d got to do somethin’ to keep me interested, even if I -paid for Pike’s hats for the next generation. - -You see, there was such a sameness to the programme. Turn out in the -mornin’, eat and listen to gossip, go out and take a walk, smoke, talk -with folks I met—more gossip—come back and eat again, go over and watch -the carpenters on the latest summer cottage, smoke some more, eat some -more, and then go down to the Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and -Shoes and Fancy Goods Store, or to the post-office, and set around with -the gang till bedtime. That may be an excitin’ life for a jellyfish, or -a reg’lar Ostable loafer—but it didn’t suit me. - -I was feelin’ that way, and pretty desperate, the night when Winthrop -Adams Beanblossom—which wa’n’t the critter’s name but is nigh enough to -the real one for him to cruise under in this yarn—told me the story of -his life and started me on the v’yage that come to mean so much to me. I -didn’t know 'twas goin’ to mean much of anything when I started in. But -that night Winthrop got me to paddlin’, so’s to speak, and, later on, -come Jim Henry Jacobs to coax me into deeper water; and, after that, the -combination of them two and Miss Letitia Lee Pendlebury shoved me in all -under, so ’twas a case of stickin’ to it or swimmin’ or drownin’. - -I was in the Ostable Store that evenin’, as usual. 'Twas almost nine -o’clock and the rest of the bunch around the stove had gone home. I was -fillin’ my pipe and cal’latin’ to go, too—if you can call a tavern like -the Poquit House a home. Beanblossom was in behind the desk, his funny -little grizzly-gray head down over a pile of account books and papers, -his specs roostin’ on the end of his thin nose, and his pen scratchin’ -away like a stray hen in a flower bed. - -"Well, Beanblossom," says I, gettin’ up and stretchin’, "I cal’late it’s -time to shed the partin’ tear. I’ll leave you to figger out whether to -spend this week’s profits in government bonds or trips to Europe and go -and lay my weary bones in the tomb, meanin’ my private vault on the -second floor of the Poquit. Adieu, Beanblossom," I says; "remember me at -my best, won’t you?" - -He didn’t seem to sense what I was drivin’ at. He lifted his head out of -the books and papers, heaved a sigh that must have started somewheres -down along his keelson, and says, sorrowful but polite—he was always -polite—"Er—yes? You were addressin’ me, Cap’n Snow?" - -"Nothin’ in particular," I says. "I was just askin’ if you intended -spendin’ your profits on a trip to Europe this summer." - -Would you believe it, that little storekeepin’ man looked at me through -his specs, his pale face twitchin’ and workin’ like a youngster’s when -he’s tryin’ not to cry, and then, all to once, he broke right down, -leaned his head on his hands and sobbed out loud. - -I looked at him. "For the dear land sakes," I sung out, soon’s I could -collect sense enough to say anything, "what is the matter? Is anybody -dead or—" - -He groaned. "Dead?" he interrupted. "I wish to heaven, I was dead." - -"Well!" I gasps. "_Well!_" - -"Oh, why," says he, "was I ever born?" - -That bein’ a question that I didn’t feel competent to answer, I didn’t -try. My remark about goin’ to Europe was intended for a joke, but if my -jokes made grown-up folks cry I cal’lated ’twas time I turned serious. - -"What _is_ the matter, Beanblossom?" I says. "Are you in trouble?" - -For a spell he wouldn’t answer, just kept on sobbin’ and wringin’ his -thin hands, but, after consider’ble of such, and a good many -unsatisfyin’ remarks, he give in and told me the whole yarn, told me all -his troubles. They were complicated and various. - -Picked over and b’iled down they amounted to this: He used to have an -income and he lived on it—in bachelor quarters up to Boston. Nigh as I -could gather he never did any real work except to putter in libraries -and collect books and such. Then, somehow or other, the bank the heft of -his money was in broke up and his health broke down. The doctors said he -must go away into the country. He couldn’t afford to go and do nothin’, -so he has a wonderful inspiration—he’ll buy a little store in what he -called a "rural community" and go into business. He advertises, "Country -Store Wanted Cheap," or words to that effect. Abial Beasley’s widow had -the "Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods Store" -on her hands. She answers the ad and they make a dicker. Said dicker -took about all the cash Beanblossom had left. For a year he had been -fightin’ along tryin’ to make both ends meet, but now they was so fur -apart they was likely to meet on the back stretch. He owed 'most a -thousand dollars, his trade was fallin’ off, he hadn’t a cent and nobody -to turn to. What should he do? _What_ should he do? - -That was another question I couldn’t answer off hand. It was plain -enough why he was in the hole he was, but how to get him out was -different. I set down on the edge of the counter, swung my legs and -tried to think. - -"Hum," says I, "you don’t know much about keepin’ store, do you, -Beanblossom? Didn’t know nothin’ about it when you started in?" - -He shook his head. "I’m afraid not, Cap’n Snow," he says. "Why should I? -I never was obliged to labor. I was not interested in trade. I never -supposed I should be brought to this. I am a man of family, Cap’n Snow." - -"Yes," I says, "so’m I. Number eight in a family of thirteen. But that -never helped me none. My experience is that you can’t count much on your -relations." - -Would I pardon him, but that was not the sense in which he had used the -word "family." He meant that he came of the best blood in New England. -His ancestors had made their marks and— - -"Made their marks!" I put in. "Why? Couldn’t they write their names?" - -He was dreadful shocked, but he explained. The Beanblossoms and their -gang were big-bugs, fine folks. He was terrible proud of his family. -During the latter part of his life in Boston he had become interested in -genealogy. He had begun a "family tree"—whatever that was—but he never -finished it. The smash came and shook him out of the branches; that -wa’n’t what he said, but ’twas the way I sensed it. And now he had come -to this. His money was gone; he couldn’t pay his debts; he couldn’t have -any more credit. He must fail; he was bankrupt. Oh, the disgrace! and -likewise oh, the poorhouse! - -"But," says I, considerin’, "it can’t be so turrible bad. You don’t owe -but a thousand dollars, this store’s the only one in town and Abial used -to do pretty well with it. If your debts was paid, and you had a little -cash to stock up with, seems to me you might make a decent v’yage yet. -Couldn’t you?" - -He didn’t know. Perhaps he could. But what was the use of talkin’ that -way? For him to pick up a thousand would be about as easy as for a -paralyzed man with boxin’ gloves on to pick up a flea, or words to that -effect. No, no, ’twas no use! he must go to the poorhouse! and so forth -and so on. - -"You hold on," I says. "Don’t you engage your poorhouse berth yet. You -keep mum and say nothin’ to nobody and let me think this over a spell. I -need somethin’ to keep me interested and ... I’ll see you to-morrow -sometime. Good night." - -I went home thinkin’ and I thought till pretty nigh one o’clock. Then I -decided I was a fool even to think for five minutes. Hadn’t I sworn to -be careful and never take another risk? I was sorry for poor old -Winthrop, but I couldn’t afford to mix pity and good legal tender; that -was the sort of blue and yeller drink that filled the poor-debtors’ -courts. And, besides, wasn’t I pridin’ myself on bein’ a gentleman of -leisure. If I got mixed up in this, no tellin’ what I might be led into. -Hadn’t I bragged to Pike about—Oh, I _was_ a fool! - -Which was all right, only, after listenin’ to the breakfast conversation -at the Poquit House, down I goes to the store and afore the forenoon was -over I was Winthrop Adams Beanblossom’s silent partner to the extent of -twenty-five hundred dollars. I was busy once more and glad of it, even -though Pike _was_ goin’ to get a hat free. - -This was in January. By early March I was twice as busy and not half as -glad. You see I’d cal’lated that the store was all right, all it needed -was financin’. Trade was just asleep, taking a nap, and I could wake it -up. I was wrong. Trade was dead, and, barrin’ the comin’ of a prophet or -some miracle worker to fetch it to life, what that shop was really -sufferin’ for was an undertaker. My twenty-five hundred was funeral -expenses, that’s all. - -But the prophet came. Yes, sir, he came and fetched his miracle with -him. One evenin’, after all the reg’lar customers, who set around in -chairs borrowin’ our genuine tobacco and payin’ for it with counterfeit -funny stories, had gone—after everybody, as we cal’lated, had cleared -out—Beanblossom and I set down to hold our usual autopsy over the -remains of the fortni’t’s trade. ’Twas a small corpse and didn’t take -long to dissect. We’d lost twenty-one dollars and sixty-eight cents, and -the only comfort in that was that ’twas seventy-six cents less than the -two weeks previous. The weather had been some cooler and less stuff had -sp’iled on our hands; that accounted for the savin’. - -Beanblossom—I’d got into the habit of callin’ him "Pullet" ’cause his -general build was so similar to a moultin’ chicken—he vowed he couldn’t -understand it. - -"I think I shall give up buyin’ so liberally, Cap’n Snow," says he. "If -we didn’t keep on buyin’ we shouldn’t lose half so much," he says. - -"Yes," says I, "that’s logic. And if we give up sellin’ we shouldn’t -lose the other half. You and me are all right as fur as we go, Pullet, -and I guess we’ve gone about as fur as we can." - -"Please don’t call me ’Pullet,’" he says, dignified. "When I think of -what I once was, it—" - -"S-sh-h!" I broke in. "It’s what I am that troubles me. I don’t dare -think of that when the minister’s around—he might be a mind-reader. No, -Pul—Beanblossom, I mean—it’s no use. I imagined because I could run a -three-masted schooner I could navigate this craft. I can’t. I know twice -as much as you do about keepin’ store, but the trouble with that example -is the answer, which is that you don’t know nothin’. We might just -exactly as well shut up shop now, while there’s enough left to square -the outstandin’ debts." - -He turned white and began the hand-wringin’ exercise. - -"Think of the disgrace!" he says. - -"Think of my twenty-five hundred," says I. - -"Excuse me, gentlemen," says a voice astern of us; "excuse me for -buttin’ in; but I judge that what you need is a butter." - -Pullet and I jumped and turned round. We’d supposed we was alone and to -say we was surprised is puttin’ it mild. For a second I couldn’t make -out what had happened, or where the voice came from, or who ’twas that -had spoke—then, as he come across into the lamplight I recognized him. -’Twas Jim Henry Jacobs, the livin’ mystery. - -[Illustration: _As he come across into the lamplight I recognized him._] - -Jim Henry was middlin’-sized, sharp-faced, dressed like a ready-tailored -advertisement, and as smooth and slick as an eel in a barrel of sweet -ile. Accordin’ to his entry on the books of the Poquit House he hailed -from Chicago. He’d been in Ostable for pretty nigh a month and nobody -had been able to find out any more about him than just that, which is a -some miracle of itself—if you know Ostable. He was always ready to -talk—talkin’ was one of his main holts—but when you got through talkin’ -with him all you had to remember was a smile and a flow of words. He was -at the seashore for his health, that he always give you to understand. -You could believe it if you wanted to. - -He’d got into the habit of spendin’ his evenin’s at Pullet’s store, -settin’ around listenin’ and smilin’ and agreein’ with folks. He was the -only feller I ever met who could say no and agree with you at the same -time. Solon Saunders tried to borrow fifty cents of him once and when -the pair of ’em parted, Saunders was scratchin’ his head and lookin’ -puzzled. "I can’t understand it," says Solon. "I would have swore he’d -lent it to me. ’Twas just as if I had the fifty in my hand. I—I thanked -him for it and all that, but—but now he’s gone I don’t seem to be no -richer than when I started. I can’t understand it." - -Pullet and I had seen him settin’ abaft the stove early in the evenin’, -but, somehow or other, we got the notion that he’d cleared out with the -other loafers. However, he hadn’t, and he’d heard all we’d been sayin’. - -He walked across to where we was, pulled a shoe box from under the -counter, come to anchor on it and crossed his legs. - -"Gentlemen," he says again, "you need a butter." - -Poor old Pullet was so set back his brains was sort of scrambled, like a -pan of eggs. - -"Er-er, Mr. Jacobs," he says, "I am very sorry, extremely sorry, but we -are all out just at this minute. I fully intended to order some to-day, -but I—I guess I must have forgotten it." - -Jacobs couldn’t seem to make any more out of this than I did. - -"Out?" he says, wonderin’. "Out? Who’s out? What’s out? I guess I’ve -dropped the key or lost the combination. What’s the answer?" - -"Why, butter," says Pullet, apologizin’. "You asked for butter, didn’t -you? As I was sayin’, I should have ordered some to-day, but—" - -Jim Henry waved his hands. "Sh-h," he says, "don’t mention it. Forget -it. If I’d wanted butter in this emporium I should have asked for -somethin’ else. I’ve been givin’ this mart of trade some attention for -the past three weeks and I judge that its specialty is bein’ able to -supply what ain’t wanted. I hinted that you two needed a butter-in. All -right. I’m the goat. Now if you’ll kindly give me your attention, I’ll -elucidate." - -We give the attention. After he’d "elucidated" for five minutes we’d -have given him our clothes. You never heard such a mess of language as -that Chicago man turned loose. He talked and talked and talked. He knew -all about the store and the business, and what he didn’t know he guessed -and guessed right. He knew about Pullet and his buyin’ the place, about -my goin’ in as silent partner—though _that_ nobody was supposed to know. -He knew the shebang wa’n’t payin’ and, also and moreover, he knew why. -And he had the remedy buttoned up in his jacket—the name of it was James -Henry Jacobs. - -"Gentlemen," he says, "I’m a specialist. I’m a doctor of sick business. -Ever since my medicine man ordered me to quit the giddy metropolis and -the Grand Central Department Store, where I was third assistant manager, -I’ve been driftin’ about seekin’ a nice, quiet hamlet and an -opportunity. Here’s the ham and, if you say the word, here’s the -opportunity. This shop is in a decline; it’s got creepin’ paralysis and -locomotive hang-back-tia. There’s only one thing that can change the -funeral to a silver weddin’—that’s to call in Old Doctor Jacobs. Here he -is, with his pocket full of testimonials. Now you listen." - -We’d been listenin’—’twas by long odds the easiest thing to do—and we -kept right on. He had testimonials—he showed ’em to us—and they took -oath to his bein’ honest and the eighth business wonder of the world. He -went on to elaborate. He had a thousand to invest and he’d invest it -provided we’d take him in as manager and give him full swing. He’d -guarantee—etcetery and so on, unlimited and eternal. - -"But," says I, when he stopped to eat a throat lozenge, "sellin’ goods -is one thing; gettin’ the right goods to sell is another. Me and -Pullet—Mr. Beanblossom here—have tried to keep a pretty fair-sized -stock, but it’s the kind of stock that keeps better’n it sells." - -"Sell!" he puts in. "You can sell anything, if you know how. See here, -let me prove it to you. You think this over to-night and to-morrow -forenoon I’ll be on hand and demonstrate. Just put on your smoked -glasses and watch me. _I’ll_ show you." - -He did. Next mornin’ old Aunt Sarah Oliver came in to buy a hank of -black yarn to darn stockin’s with. With diplomacy and patience the -average feller could conclude that dicker in an hour and a quarter—if he -had the yarn. Pullet was just out of black, of course, but that Jim -Henry Jacobs stepped alongside and within twenty minutes he sold Aunt -Sarah two packages of needles, a brass thimble and a half dozen pair of -blue and yellow striped stockin’s that had been on the shelves since -Abial Beasley’s time, and was so loud that a sane person wouldn’t dare -wear ’em except when it thundered. She went out of the store with her -bundles in one hand and holdin’ her head with the other. Then that Jim -Henry man turned to Pullet and me. - -"Well?" he says, serene and smilin’. - -It was well, all right. At just quarter to twelve that night the -arrangements was made. Jacobs was partner in and manager of the "Ostable -Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods Store." - - - - -CHAPTER II—WHAT A "PULLET" DID TO A PEDIGREE - - -In less than two months that store of ours was a payin’ proposition. Jim -Henry Jacobs was responsible, that is all I can tell you. Don’t ask me -how he did it. ’Twas advertisin’, mainly. Advertisin’ in the papers, -advertisin’ on the fences, things set out in the windows, a new gaudy -delivery cart, special bargain days for special stuff—they all helped. -Of course if we’d limited ourselves to Ostable the cargo wouldn’t have -been so heavy that we’d get stoop-shouldered, but that Jim Henry was -unlimited. He advertised in the county weekly and sent a special cart to -take orders for twenty mile around. The early summer cottages was -beginnin’ to open and ’twas summer trade, rich city folks’ trade, that -the Jacobs man said we must have. And we got it, one way or another we -got it all. Most of the swell big-bugs had been in the habit of orderin’ -wholesale from Boston, but he soon stopped that. One after another Jim -Henry landed ’em. When I asked him how, he just winked. - -"Skipper," says he—he most generally called me "Skipper" same as I -called Beanblossom "Pullet"—"Skipper," he says, "you can always hook a -cod if there’s any around and you keepin’ changin’ bait; ain’t that so? -Um-hm; well, I change bait, that’s all. Every man, woman and suffragette -has got a weak p’int somewheres. I just cast around till I find that -particular weak p’int; then they swaller hook, line and sinker." - -"Humph!" I says, "Miss Letitia ain’t swallowed nothin’ yet, that I’ve -noticed. Her weak p’ints all strong ones? or what is the matter?" - -He made a face. "Sister Pendlebury," says he, "is the frostiest -proposition I ever tackled outside of an ice chest. But I’ll get her -yet. You wait and see. Why, man, we’ve _got_ to get her." - -Well, I could find more truth in them statements than I could -satisfaction. We’d got to get her—yes. But she wouldn’t be got. She was -the richest old maid on the North Shore; lived in a stone and plaster -house bigger’n the Ostable County jail, which she’d labeled "Pendlebury -Villa"; had six servants, three cats and a poll parrot; and was so -tipped back with dignity and importance that a plumb-line dropped from -her after-hair comb would have missed her heels by three inches. Her -winter port was Brookline; summers she condescended to shed glory over -Ostable. - -To get the trade of Pendlebury Villa had been Jim Henry’s dream from the -start. And up to date he was still dreamin’. The other big-bugs he had -caged, but Letitia was still flyin’ free and importin’ her honey from -Boston, so to speak. Jacobs had tried everything he could think of, -bribin’ the servants, sendin’ samples of fancy breakfast food and -pickles free gratis, writin’ letters, callin’ with his Sunday clothes -on, everything—but ’twas "Keep Off the Grass" at Pendlebury Villa so far -as we was concerned. ’Twas the biggest chunk of trade under one head on -the Cape and it hurt Jim Henry’s pride not to get it. However, he kept -on tryin’. - -One mornin’ he comes back to the store after a cruise to the Villa and -it seemed to me that he looked happier than was usual after one of these -trips. - -"Skipper," says he, "I think—I wouldn’t bet any more’n my small change, -but I _think_ I’ve laid a corner stone." - -"With Miss Pendlebury?" says I, excited. - -"With Letitia," he says, noddin’. "I haven’t got an order, but I have -got a promise. She’s agreed to drop in one of these days and look us -over." - -"Well!" says I, "I should say that _was_ a corner stone." - -"We’ll hope ’tis," he says. "Ho, ho! Skipper, I wish you might have been -present at the exercises. They were funny." - -Seems he’d managed—bribery and corruption of the hired help again—to see -Letitia alone in what she called her "mornin’ room." He said that, if -he’d paid any attention to the temperature of that room when he and she -first met in it, he’d have figgered he’d struck the morgue; but he -warmed it up a little afore he left. Miss Pendlebury just set and glared -frosty while he talked and talked and talked. She said about three words -to his two hundred thousand, but every one of hers was a "no." She -didn’t care to patronize the local merchants. The city ones were bad -enough—she had all the trouble she wanted with _them_. She was not -interested; and would he please be careful when he went out and not step -on the flower beds. - -He was about ready to give it up when he happened to notice an ile -portrait in a gorgeous gold frame hangin’ on the wall. ’Twas the picture -of a man, and Jim Henry said there was a kind of great-I-am look to it, -a combination of fatness and importance and wisdom, same as you see in a -stuffed owl, that give him an idea. He started to go, stopped in front -of the picture and began to look it over, admirin’ but reverent, same as -a garter snake might look at a boa-constrictor, as proof of what the -race was capable of. - -"Excuse me, Miss Pendlebury," he says, "but that is a wonderful -portrait. I have had some experience in judgin’ paintin’s—" he was clerk -in the Grand Central Store framed picture department once—"and I think I -know what I’m talkin’ about." - -Would you believe it, she commenced to unbend right off. - -"It is a Sargent," says she. - -Now I should have asked: "Sergeant of militia, or what?" and upset the -whole calabash; but Jim Henry knew better. He bows, solemn and wise, and -says he’d been sure of it right along. - -"But any painter," he says, "would have made a success with a subject -like that gentleman before him. There is somethin’ about him, the height -of his brow, and his wonderful eyes, etcetery, which reminds me—You’ll -excuse me, Miss Pendlebury, but isn’t that a portrait of one of your -near relatives?" - -She unbent some more and almost smiled. The painted critter was her pa -and he was considered a wonderful likeness. - -Well, that was enough for your uncle Jim Henry. He settled down to his -job then and the way he poured gush over that painted Pendlebury man was -close to sacreligion. But Letitia never pumped up a blush; worship was -what she expected for her and her pa. He’d been a member of the -Governor’s staff and a bank president and a church warden and an -alderman and land knows what. His daughter and Jacobs had a real -sociable interview and it ended by her promisin’ to drop in at the store -and look our stock over. ’Course ’twa’n’t likely ’twould suit her—she -was very exacting, she said—but she’d look it over. - -We looked it over fust. We put in the rest of that day changin’ -everything around on the counters and shelves, puttin’ the canned stuff -in piles where they’d do the most good, and settin’ advertisin’ signs -and such in front of the empty places where they’d been afore. Even -Pullet worked, though he couldn’t understand it, and growled because he -had to leave the musty old book he was readin’ and the "genealogical -tree" he’d begun to cultivate once more. Jacobs was pretty well -disgusted with Pullet. Said he was an incumbrance on the concern and -hadn’t any business instinct. - -All the next day and the next we hung around, dressed up to kill—that -is, Jim Henry’s togs would have killed anything with weak eyes—waitin’ -for Letitia Pendlebury to come aboard and inspect. But she didn’t come -that day, or the next either. Jacobs was disapp’inted, but he wouldn’t -give in that he was discouraged. The fourth forenoon, when there was -still nothin’ doin’, he and I went on a cruise with a hired horse and -buggy over to Bayport, where we had some business. We left Pullet in -charge of the store and when we came back he was lookin’ pretty joyful. - -"Who do you think has been here?" he says, in his thin, polite little -voice. "Miss Letitia Pendlebury called this afternoon." - -"She did!" shouts Jacobs. - -"Did she buy anythin’?" I wanted to know. - -No, it appeared that she hadn’t bought anythin’. Fact is, Pullet had -forgot he was supposed to be a storekeeper. When Letitia came in he was -roostin’ in his family tree, had the chart spread out on the counter and -was fillin’ in some of the twigs with the names of dead and gone -Beanblossoms. He couldn’t climb down to common things like crackers and -salt pork. - -"But she was very much interested," he says, his specs shinin’ with joy. -"When she found out what I was busy with she was _very_ much interested, -really. She is a lady of family, too." - -"She _is_?" I sings out. "What are you talkin’ about? She’s an old maid -and an only child besides, and—" - -"Hush up, Skipper," orders Jacobs. "Go on, Pullet—Mr. Beanblossom, I -mean—go on." - -So on went Pullet, both wings flappin’. Letitia and he had talked -"family" to beat the cars. She had ’most everything in the Villa except -a family tree. She must have one right away. She simply must. - -"And I am to help her in preparin’ it," says Pullet, puffed up and -vainglorious. "The Pendlebury family tree will be an honor to prepare. -Of course it will require much labor and research, but I shall enjoy -doing it. I told her so. Her father would have prepared one himself, had -often spoken of it, but he was a very busy man of affairs and lacked the -time." - -My, but I was mad! I cal’late if I had a marlinspike handy our coop -would have been a Pullet short. But Jim Henry Jacobs was so full of -tickle he couldn’t keep still. He fairly dragged me into the back room. - -"Skipper," he says, "here it is at last! We’ve got it!" - -"Yes," I sputters, thinkin’ he was referrin’ to Beanblossom, "we’ve got -it; and, if you ask me, I’d tell you we’d ought to chloroform it afore -it does any more harm." - -"No, no," he says, "you don’t understand. We’ve got the old girl’s weak -p’int at last. It’s genealogy. Pullet shall grow her a family tree if I -have to buy a carload of fertilizer to-morrer. Think of it! think of it! -Why, she won’t give him a minute’s rest from now on. She’ll be after him -the whole time." - -"But I can’t see where the trade comes in," says I. - -"You _can’t_! With our senior pardner head forester? My boy, if any -other shop sells Pendlebury Villa a dollar’s worth after this, I’ll -Fletcherize my hat, that’s all!" - -He knew what he was talkin’ about, as usual. The very next forenoon -Letitia was in to consult with Pullet about huntin’ up her family -records. Afore she left Jacobs took orders for thirty-two dollars’ worth -and I’d have bet she didn’t know a thing she bought. After dinner, Jim -Henry sent Pullet up to see her. He stayed until supper time. Next day -he had supper at the Villa. A week later he made his first trip to -Boston, to the Genealogical Society, to hunt for records. And Jacobs -stayed in Ostable and kept the Villa supplied with the luxuries of life. -If the Pendlebury servants didn’t die of gout and overeatin’, it wasn’t -our fault. - -By August the whole town was talkin’. They had it all settled. ’Cordin’ -to the gossip-spreaders there could be only one reason for Pullet and -Miss Letitia bein’ together so much—they was cal’latin’ to marry. The -weddin’ day was prophesied and set anywheres from to-morrer to next -Christmas. I thought such talk ought to be stopped. Jim Henry didn’t. - -"Why?" says he. - -"_Why!_" I says. "Because it’s foolishness, that’s why. ’Cause there’s -no truth in it and you know it." - -"No, I don’t know," says he. "Stranger things than that have happened." - -"_She_ marry that old fossilized pauper!" - -"Why not? He’s a gentleman and a scholar, if he _is_ poor. She’s rich, -but if there’s one thing she isn’t, it’s a scholar." - -"Humph! fur’s that goes," says I, "she ain’t a gentleman, either—though -she’s next door to it." - -"That’s all right. Skipper, there’s some things money can’t buy. -Pullet’s got book learnin’ and treed ancestors and she ain’t. She’s got -money and he ain’t. Both want what t’other’s best fixed in. If old -Beanblossom had any sand, I should believe 'twas a sure thing. I guess -I’ll drop him a hint." - -"My land!" I sang out; "don’t you do it. The fat’ll all be in the fire -then." - -"Skipper," says he, "you’re a cagey old bird, but you don’t know it all. -There’s some things you can leave to me. And, anyhow, whether the -weddin’ bells chime or not, all this talk is good free advertisin’ for -the store." - -'Twa’n’t long after this that the genealogical man begun to seem less -gay-like. He and Letitia was together as much as ever, the Pendlebury -tree and the Beanblossom tree—he worked on both at the same time—was -flourishin’, after the topsy-turvy way of such vegetables—from the upper -branches down towards the trunks; but there was a look on Pullet’s face -as he pawed through his books and papers that I couldn’t understand. He -looked worried and troubled about somethin’. - -"What’s the matter?" I asked him, once. "Ain’t your ancestors turnin’ up -satisfactory?" - -"Yes," he says, polite as ever, but sort of condescendin’ and proud, -"the Beanblossom history is, if you will permit me to say so, a very -satisfactory record indeed." - -"And the Pendleburys?" says I. "George Washin’ton was first cousin on -their ma’s side, I s’pose." - -He didn’t answer for a minute. Then he wiped his specs with his -handkerchief. "The Pendlebury records are," he says, slow, "a trifle -more confused and difficult. But I am progressin’—yes, Cap’n Snow, I -think I may say that I am progressin’." - -The thunderbolt hit us, out of a clear sky, the fust week in September. -Yet I s’pose we’d ought to have seen it comin’ at least a day ahead. -That day the Pendlebury gasoline carryall come buzzin’ up to the front -platform and Letitia steps out, grand as the Queen of Sheba, of course. - -"Cap’n Snow," says she, and it seemed to me that she hesitated just a -minute, "is Mr. Beanblossom about?" - -"No," says I, "he ain’t. I don’t know where he is exactly. He was in the -store this mornin’ askin’ about a letter he’s expectin’ from the -Genealogical Society folks, but he went out right afterwards and I ain’t -seen him since. I s’posed, of course, he was up to your house." - -"No," she says, and I thought she colored up a little mite; "he has not -been there since day before yesterday. Perhaps that is natural, under -the circumstances," speakin’ more to herself than to me, "but ... -however, will you kindly tell him I called before leavin’ for the city. -I am goin’ to Boston on a shoppin’ excursion," she adds, condescendin’. -"I shall return on Wednesday." - -She went away. Pullet didn’t show up until night and then the first -thing he asked for was the mail. When I told him about the Pendlebury -woman he turned round and went out again. - -Next day was Saturday and we was pretty busy, that is, Jim Henry and the -clerk was busy. I was about as much use as usual, and, as for Pullet, he -was no use at all. A big green envelope from the Genealogical Society -come for him in the morning mail—he was always gettin’ letters from that -Society—and he grabbed at it and went out on the platform. A little -while afterwards I saw him roostin’ on a box out there, with his hair, -what there was of it, all rumpled up, and an expression of such -everlastin’, world-without-end misery on his face that I stopped stock -still and looked at him. - -"For the mercy sakes," says I, "what’s happened?" - -He turned his head, stared at me fishy-eyed, and got up off the box. - -"What’s wrong?" I asked. "Is the world comin’ to an end?" - -He put one hand to his head and waved the other up and down like a pump -handle. - -"Yes," he sings out, frantic like. "It is ended already. It is all over. -I—I—" - -And with that he jumps off the platform and goes staggerin’ up the road. -I’d have follered him, but just then Jim Henry calls to me from inside -the store and in a little while I’d forgot Beanblossom altogether. I -thought of him once or twice durin’ the day, but ’twa’n’t till about -shuttin’-up time that I thought enough to mention him to Jacobs. Then he -mentioned him fust. - -"Whew!" says he, settin’ down for the fust time in two hours. "Whew! I’m -tired. This has been the best day this concern has had since I took hold -of it, and I’ve worked like a perpetual motion machine. We’ll need -another boy pretty soon, Skipper. Pullet’s no good as a salesman. By the -way, where _is_ Pullet? I ain’t seen him since noon." - -Neither had I, now that I come to think of it. - -"I wonder if the poor critter’s sick," I says. Then I started to tell -how queer he’d acted out on the platform. I’d just begun when Amos -Hallett’s boy come into the store with a note. - -"It’s for you, Cap’n Zeb," he says, all out of breath. "I meant to give -it to you afore, but I just this minute remembered it. Mr. Beanblossom, -he give it to me at the depot when he took the up train." - -"Took the up train?" says I. "Who did? Not Pul—Mr. Beanblossom?" - -"Yes," says the boy. "He’s gone to Boston, leastways the depot-master -said he bought a ticket for there. Why? Didn’t you know it? He—" - -I was too astonished to speak at all, but Jim Henry was cool as usual. - -"Yes, yes, son," he says. "It’s all right. You trot right along home -afore you catch cold in your freckles." Then, after the youngster’d -gone, he turns to me quick. "Open it, Skipper," he orders. "Somethin’s -happened. Open it." - -I opened the envelope. Inside was a sheet of foolscap covered from top -to bottom with mighty shaky handwritin’. I read it out loud. - - "_Captain Zebulon Snow_, - - "_Dear Sir_: - -"Polite as ever, ain’t he?" I says. "He’d been genteel if he was writin’ -his will." - -"Go on!" snaps Jacobs. "Hurry up." - - "_Dear Sir_: When you receive this I shall have left Ostable, it - may be forever. I have made a horrible discovery, which has - wrecked all my hopes and my life. In accordance with Mr. Jacob’s - kindly counsel, I recently summoned courage to ask Miss - Pendlebury to become my wife. - -"Good heavens to Betsy!" I sang out, almost droppin’ the letter. - -"Go on!" shouts Jacobs. "Don’t stop now." - -"But he asked her to _marry_ him!" I gasps. "In accordance with your -advice—_yours_! Did _you_ have the cheek to—" - -"_Will_ you go on? Of course I advised him. We’d got the Pendlebury -trade, hadn’t we? Can you think of any surer way to cinch it than to -have those two idiots marry each other? Go on—or give me the letter." - -I went on, as well as I could, everything considered. - - "She did not refuse. She was kinder than I had a right to - expect. I realized my presumption, but—" - -"Skip that," orders Jim Henry. "Get down to brass tacks." - -I skipped some. - - "She told me she must have a few days’ time to consider. I - waited. To-day I received a communication from the Genealogical - Society which has dashed my hopes to the ground. It was in - connection with my work on the Pendlebury family tree. For some - time I have been very much troubled concerning developments in - that work. The later Pendleburys have been ladies and gentlemen - of repute and worth, but as I delved deeper into the past and - approached the early generations in this country, I—" - -"Skip again," says Jacobs. - -I skipped. - - "And now, to my horror, I find the fact proven beyond doubt. - Ezekiel Jonas Pendlebury—whose name should be inscribed upon the - trunk of the tree, he being the original settler in America—was - hanged in the Massachusetts Bay Colony for stealing a hog upon - the Sabbath Day." - -Then I _did_ drop the letter. "My land of love!" was all I could say. -And what Jacobs said was just as emphatic. We stared at each other; and -then, all at once, he began to laugh, laugh till I thought he’d never -stop. His laughin’ made me mad until I commenced to see the funny side -of the thing; then I laughed, too, and the pair of us rocked back and -forth and haw-hawed like loons. - -"Oh, dear me!" says Jim Henry, wipin’ his eyes. "The original Pendlebury -hung for hog stealin’!" - -"Stealin’ it on Sunday," says I. "Don’t forget that. Sabbath-breakin’ -was worse than thievin’ in them days." - -"Well, go on, go on," says he. "There’s more of it, ain’t they?" - -There was. The writing got finer and finer as it got close to the bottom -of the page. Poor Pullet had caved in when that revelation struck him. -Honor compelled him to tell Letitia the truth and how could he tell her -such a truth as that? She, so proud and all. He had led her into this -dreadful research work and she would blame him, of course, and dismiss -him with scorn and contempt. Her contempt he could not bear. No, he must -go away. He could never face her again. He was goin’ to Boston, to his -cousin’s house in Newton, and stay there for a spell. Perhaps some day, -after she had shut up her summer villa and gone, too, he might return; -he didn’t know. But would we forgive him, etcetery and so forth, -and—good-by. - -His name was squeezed in the very corner. I looked at Jacobs. - -"Well," I says, some disgusted, "it looks to me, as a man up a tree—not -a family tree, neither, thank the Lord—as if instead of cinchin’ the -Pendlebury trade your ’advice’ had queered it forever." - -He didn’t say nothin’. Just scowled and kicked his heels together. Then -he grabbed the letter out of my hand and begun to read it again. I -scowled, too, and set starin’ at the floor and thinkin’. All at once I -heard him swear, a sort of joyful swear-word, seemed to me. I looked up. -As I did he swung off the counter, crumpled up the letter, jammed it in -his pocket and grabbed up his hat. - -"Skipper," he says, his eyes shinin’, "there’s a night freight to -Boston, ain’t there?" - -"Yes, there is, but—" - -"So long, then. I’ll be back soon’s I can. You and Bill"—that was the -clerk—"must do as well as you can for a day or so. So long. But you just -remember this: Old Doctor James Henry Jacobs, specialist in sick -businesses, ain’t given up hopes of this patient yet, not by any manner -of means. By, by." - -He was gone afore I could say another word, and for the rest of that -night and all day Sunday and until Monday evenin’s train come in, I was -like a feller walkin’ in his sleep. All creation looked crazy and I was -the only sane critter in it. - -On Monday evenin’ he came sailin’ into the store, all smiles. ’Twas some -time afore I could get him alone, but, when I could, I nailed him. - -"Now," says I, "perhaps you’ll tell me why you run off and left me, and -where you’ve been, and what you mean by it, and a few other things." - -He grinned. "Been?" he says. "Well, I’ve been to see the last of Miss -Letitia Pendlebury of Pendlebury Villa, Ostable, Mass. Miss Pendlebury -is no more." - -"No more!" I hollered. "No _more_! Don’t tell me she’s dead!" - -"I sha’n’t," says he, "because she isn’t. She’s alive, all right, but -she’s no more Miss Pendlebury. She’s Mrs. Winthrop Adams Beanblossom -now," he says. "They were married this forenoon." - -"_Married?_" - -"Married." - -"But—but—after the hangin’ news—and the hog-stealin’—and—Does she know -it? She wouldn’t marry him after _that_?" - -"She knows and she was tickled to death to marry him. Skipper, there was -a P.S. on the back of that letter of Pullet’s. You didn’t turn the page -over; I did and I recognized the life-saver right off. Here it is." - -He passed me Beanblossom’s letter, back side up. There was a P.S., but -it looked to me more like the finishin’ knock on the head than it did -like a life-saver. This was it: - - "P.S. I have neglected to state another fact which my researches - have brought to light and which makes the affair even more - hopeless. My own ancestor, at that time Governor of the Colony, - was the person who sentenced Ezekiel Pendlebury and caused him - to be hanged." - -"And that," says I, "is what you call a life-saver! My nine-times -great-granddad has your nine-times great-granddad hung and that removes -all my objections to marryin’ you. Oh, sure and sartin! Yes, indeed!" - -He smiled superior. "Listen, you doubtin’ Thomas," says he. "You can’t -see it, but Sister Letitia saw it right off when I put Pullet’s case -afore her at the Hotel Somerset, where she was stoppin’. _Her_ ancestor -was a hog-stealer and a hobo; but Beanblossom’s ancestor was a Governor -and a nabob from way back. If by just sayin’ yes you could swap a -pig-thief for a governor, you’d do it, wouldn’t you? You would if you’d -been braggin’ ’family’ as Letitia has for the past three months. I saw -her, turned on some of my convincin’ conversation, saw Pullet at his -cousin’s and convinced him. They were married at Trinity parsonage this -very forenoon." - -"My! my! my!" I says, after this had really sunk in. "And the Pendlebury -tree is—" - -"There ain’t any Pendlebury tree," he interrupts. "It’s the kindlin’-bin -for that shrub. But the _Beanblossom_ tree, with governors and judges -and generals proppin’ up every main limb, is goin’ to hang right next to -Pa Pendlebury’s picture in the mornin’ room of Pendlebury Villa. And the -head of Pendlebury Villa is the senior partner in the Ostable Grocery, -Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods Store." - -He was wrong there. Letitia Pendlebury Beanblossom had another surprise -under her bonnet and she sprung it when she got back. She sent for -Jacobs and me and made proclamation that her husband would withdraw from -the firm. - -"I trust that Mr. Beanblossom and I are democratic," she says. "Of -course we shall continue to purchase our supplies from you gentlemen. -But, really," she says, "you _must_ see that a man whose ancestor by -direct descent was Governor of Massachusetts Bay Colony could scarcely -humiliate himself by engaging in _trade_." - -So, instead of gettin’ out of storekeepin’, I was left deeper in it than -ever. But Jim Henry cheered me up by sayin’ I hadn’t really been in it -at all yet. - -"This foundlin’ is only beginnin’ to set up and take notice," he says. -"Skipper, you put your faith in old Doctor Jacobs’ Teethin’ Syrup and -Tonic for Business Infants." - -"I guess that’s where it’s put," says I, drawin’ a long breath. - -"It couldn’t be in a better place, could it? No, we’ve got a good start, -but that’s all it is. Before I get through you’ll see. We’ve got to make -this store prominent and keep it prominent, and the best way to do that -is to be prominent ourselves. Skipper, I wish you’d go into politics." - -"Politics!" says I, soon as I could catch my breath. "Well, when I do, I -give you leave to order my room at the Taunton Asylum. What do you -cal’late I’d better try to get elected to—President or pound-keeper?" - -He laughed. - -"Both of them jobs are filled at the present time," I went on, -sarcastic. "So is every other I can think of off-hand." - -"That’s all right," says he. "Some of these days you’ll hold office -right in this town. We need political prestige in our business and you, -Cap’n Snow, bein’ the solid citizen of this close corporation, will have -to sacrifice yourself on the altar of public duty." - -"Nary sacrifice," says I. Which shows how little the average man knows -what’s in store for him. - - - - -CHAPTER III—I GET INTO POLITICS - - -When I shook hands with Mary Blaisdell and left her standin’ under the -wistaria vine at the front door of the little old house that had -belonged to Henry, all I said was for her to keep a stiff upper lip and -not to be any bluer than was necessary. "Ostable’s lost a good -postmaster," says I, "and you’ve lost a kind, thoughtful, providin’ -brother. I know it looks pretty foggy ahead to you just now and you -can’t see how you’re goin’ to get along; but you keep up your pluck and -a way’ll be provided. Meantime I’m goin’ to think hard and perhaps I can -see a light somewheres. My owners used to tell me I was consider’ble of -a navigator, so between us we’d ought to fetch you into port." - -Her eyes were wet, but she smiled, rainbow fashion, through the shower, -and said I was awful good and she’d never forget how kind I’d been -through it all. - -"Whatever becomes of me, Cap’n Snow," she says, "I shall never forget -that." - -What I’d done wa’n’t worth talkin’ about, so I said good-by and hurried -away. At the top of the hill I turned and looked back. She was still -standin’ in the door and, in spite of the wistaria and the hollyhocks -and the green summer stuff everywheres, the whole picture was pretty -forlorn. The little white buildin’ by the road, with the sign, -"Post-office" over the window, looked more lonesome still. And yet the -sight of it and the sight of that sign give me an inspiration. I stood -stock still and thumped my fists together. - -"Why not?" says I to myself. "By mighty, yes! Why not?" - -You see, Henry Blaisdell was one of the few Ostable folks that I’d known -as a boy and who was livin’ there yet when I came back. He was younger -than I, and Mary, his sister, was younger still. I liked Henry and his -death was a sort of personal loss to me, as you might say. I liked Mary, -too. She was always so quiet and common-sense and comfortable. _She_ -didn’t gossip, and the way she helped her brother in the post-office was -a treat to see. She wa’n’t exactly what you’d call young, and the world -hadn’t been all fair winds and smooth water for her, by a whole lot; -but, in spite of it, she’d managed to keep sweet and fresh. She and -Henry and I had got to be good friends and I gen’rally took a walk up -towards their house of a Sunday or managed to run in at the post-office -buildin’ at least once every week-day and have a chat with ’em. - -When I heard of Henry’s dyin’ so sudden my fust thought was about Mary -and what would she do. How was she goin’ to get along? I thought of that -even durin’ the funeral, and now, the day after it, when I went up to -see her, I was thinkin’ of it still. And, at last, I believed I had got -the answer to the puzzle. - -Half the way back to the "Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes -and Fancy Goods Store," I was thinkin’ of my new notion and makin’ up my -mind. The other half I was layin’ plans to put it through. When I walked -into the store, Jim Henry met me. - -"Hello, Skipper," says he, brisk and fresh as a no’theast breeze in dog -days, "did you ever hear the story about the office-seekin’ feller in -Washin’ton, back in President Harrison’s time? He wanted a gov’ment job -and he happened to notice a crowd down by the Potomac and asked what was -up. They told him one of the Treasury clerks had been found drowned. He -run full speed to the White House, saw the President, and asked for the -drowned chap’s place. ’You’re too late,’ says Harrison, 'I’ve just -app’inted the man that saw him fall in.’" - -I’d heard it afore, but I laughed, out of politeness, and wanted to know -what made him think of the yarn. - -"Why," says he, "because that’s the way it’s workin’ here in Ostable. -Poor old Blaisdell’s funeral was only yesterday and it’s already settled -who’s to be the new postmaster." - -Considerin’ what I’d been goin’ over in my mind all the way home from -Mary’s, this statement, just at this time, knocked me pretty nigh out of -water. - -"What?" I gasped. "How did you know?" - -"Why wouldn’t I know?" says he. "I got the advance information right -from the oracle. I was told not ten minutes since that the app’intment -was to go to Abubus Payne." - -I stared at him. "Abubus Payne!" says I. "Abubus—Are you dreamin’?" - -He laughed. "I’d never dream a name like 'Abubus,’ he says, ’even after -one of our Poquit House dinners. No, it’s no dream. The Major was just -in and he says his mind is made up. That settles it, don’t it? You -wouldn’t contradict the all-wise mouthpiece of Providence, would you, -Cap’n Zeb?" - -I never said anything—not then. I was realizin’ that, if I wanted Mary -Blaisdell to be postmistress at Ostable—which was the inspiration I was -took with when I looked back at her from the hill—I’d got to do -somethin’ besides say. I’d got to work and work hard. And even at that -my work was cut out from the small end of the goods. To beat Major -Cobden Clark in a political fight was no boy’s job. But Abubus Payne! -Abubus Payne postmaster at Ostable!! Think of it! Maybe you can; _I_ -couldn’t without stimulants. - -You see, this critter Abubus—did you ever hear such a name in your -life?—had lived around ’most every town on the Cape at one time or -another. He and his wife wa’n’t what you’d call permanent settlers -anywhere, but had a habit of breakin’ out in new and unexpected places, -like a p’ison-ivy rash. He worked some at carpenterin’, when he couldn’t -help it, but his main business, as you might say, had always been -lookin’ for an easier job. In Ostable he’d got one. He was caretaker and -general nurse of Major Cobden Clark. His wife, who was about as -shiftless as he was, was the Major’s housekeeper. - -And the Major? Well, the Major was a star, a planet—yes, in his own -opinion, the whole solar system. He was big and fleshy and straight and -gray-haired and red-faced. He belonged to land knows how many clubs and -societies and milishys, includin’ the Ancient and Honorable Artillery -Company of Boston and the Old Guard of New York. He had political -influence and a long pocketbook and a short temper. Likewise he suffered -from pig-headedness and chronic indigestion. ’Twas the indigestion that -brought him to Ostable and Abubus; or rather ’twas his doctor, Dr. -Conquest Payne, the celebrated food and diet specializer—see -advertisements in ’most any newspaper—who sent him there. Abubus was -Doctor Conquest’s cousin and I judge the two of ’em figgered the Clark -stomach and income as things too good to be treated outside of the -family. - -Anyway, the spring afore I landed in Ostable, down comes the Major, buys -a good-sized house on the lower road nigh the water front, hires Abubus -and his wife to look out for the place and him, and settles down to the -simple life, which wa’n’t the kind he’d been livin’, by a consider’ble -sight. But he lived it now; yes, sir, he did! He lived by the clock and -he ate and slept by the clock, and that clock was wound up and set -accordin’ to the rules prescribed by Dr. Conquest Payne, "World Famous -Dietitian and Food Specialist"—see more advertisin’, with a tintype of -the Doctor in the corner. - -Nigh as I could find out the diet was a queer one. It give me dyspepsy -just to think of it. Breakfast at seven sharp, consistin’ of a dozen nut -meats, two raw prunes, some "whole wheat bread"—whatever that is—and a -pint of hot water. Luncheon at quarter to eleven, with another -assortment of similar truck. Afternoon snack at three and dinner at -half-past seven. He had two soft b’iled eggs for dinner, or else a -two-inch slice of rare steak, and, with them exceptions, the whole bill -of fare was, accordin’ to my notion, more fittin’ for a goat than a -human bein’. He mustn’t smoke and he mustn’t drink: Considerin’ what -he’d been used to afore the "World Famous" one hooked him it ain’t much -wonder that he was as crabbed and cranky as a liveoak windlass. - -However, it—or somethin’ else—had made him feel better since he landed -in Ostable and he swore by that Conquest Payne man and everybody -connected with him. And if he once took a notion into his tough old -head, nothin’ short of a surgeon’s operation could get it out. He’d -decided to make Abubus postmaster and he’d move heaven and earth to do -it. All right, then, it was up to me to do some movin’ likewise. I can -be a little mite pig-headed myself, if I set out to be. - -And I set out right then. It may seem funny to say so, but I was about -as good a friend as the Major had in Ostable. Course he had a tremendous -influence with the selectmen and the like of that, owin’ to his soldier -record and his pompousness and the amount of taxes he paid. And he and I -never agreed on one single p’int. But just the same he spent the heft of -his evenin’s at the store and I was always glad to see him. I respected -the cantankerous old critter, and liked him, in a way. And I’m inclined -to think he respected and liked me. I cal’late both of us enjoyed -fightin’ with somebody that never tried for an under-holt or quit even -when he was licked. - -So that night, when he comes puffin’ in and sets down, as usual, in the -most comfortable chair, I went over and come to anchor alongside of him. - -"Hello," he grunts, "you old salt hayseed. Any closer to bankruptcy than -you was yesterday?" - -"Your bill’s a little bigger and more overdue, that’s all," says I. "See -here, I want to talk politics with you. Mary Blaisdell, Henry’s sister, -is goin’ to have the post-office now he’s gone, and I want you to put -your name on her petition. Not that she needs it, or anybody else’s, but -just to help fill up the paper." - -Well, sir, you ought to have seen him! His red face fairly puffed out, -like a young-one’s rubber balloon. He whirled round on the edge of his -chair—he was too big to move in any other part of it—and glared at me. -What did I mean by that? Hey? Was my punkin head sp’ilin’ now that warm -weather had come, or what? Had I heard what he told my partner that very -mornin’? - -"Yes," says I, "I heard it. But I judged you must have broke your rule -about drinkin’ liquor, or else your dyspepsy has struck to your brains. -No sane person would set out to make Abubus Payne anythin’ more -responsible than keeper of a pig pen. You didn’t mean it, of course." - -He didn’t! He’d show me what he meant! Abubus was the most honest, able -man on the whole blessed sand-heap, and he was goin’ to be postmaster. -Mary Blaisdell was an old maid, good enough of her kind, maybe, but the -place for her was some kind of an asylum or home for incompetent -females. He’d sign a petition to put her in one of them places, but -nothin’ else. Abubus was just as good as app’inted already. - -We had it back and forth. There was consider’ble chair thumpin’ and -hollerin’, I shouldn’t wonder. Anyhow, afore ’twas over every loafer on -the main road was crowdin’ ’round us and Jim Henry Jacobs was pacin’ up -and down back of the counter with the most worried look on his face ever -I see there. It ended by the Major’s jumpin’ to his feet and headin’ for -the door. - -"You—you—you tarry old imbecile," he hollers, shakin’ a fat forefinger -at me, "I’ll show you a few things. I’ll never set foot in this rathole -of yours again." - -"You better not," I sung out. "If you dare to, I’ll—" - -"What?" he interrupts. "You’ll what? I’ll be back here to-morrow night. -Then what’ll you do?" - -"I’ll show you Mary Blaisdell’s petition," I says. "And the names on -it’ll make you curl up and quit like a sick caterpillar." - -"Humph! I’ll show _you_ a petition for Abubus Payne, next postmaster of -Ostable, with a string of names on it so long you’ll die of old age -afore you can finish readin’ ’em. Bah!" - -With that he went out and I went into the back room to wash my face in -cold water. - -I wrote the headin’ to the Blaisdell petition afore I turned in that -very night. Next mornin’ I hurried over and, after consider’ble arguin’, -I got Mary to say she’d try for the place. All the rest of that day I -put in drivin’ from Dan to Beersheby gettin’ signatures. And I got ’em, -too, a schooner load of ’em. I had the petition ready to show the Major -that evenin’; but, when he come into the store, he had a petition, too, -just as long as mine. And the worst of it was, in a lot of cases the -same names was signed to both papers. Accordin’ to those petitions the -heft of Ostable folks wanted somebody to keep post-office and they -didn’t much care who. They wanted to please me and they didn’t like to -say no to the Major. - -He was mad and I was mad and we had another session. But he wouldn’t -cross the names off and neither would I and so, after another week, both -petitions went in as they was. All the good they seemed to do was that -we each got a letter from the Post-office Department and Mary Blaisdell -was allowed to hold over her brother’s place until somebody was picked -out permanent. And every evenin’ Major Clark came into the store to tell -me Abubus was sure to win and get my prediction that Mary was as good as -elected. One week dragged along and then another, and ’twas still a -draw, fur’s a body could tell. The Washin’ton folks wa’n’t makin’ a -peep. - -But old Ancient and Honorable Clark was workin’ his wires on the quiet -and I must give in that he pulled one on me that I wa’n’t expectin’. The -whole town had got sort of tired of guessin’ and talkin’ about the -post-office squabble and had drifted back into the reg’lar rut of -pickin’ their neighbors to pieces. The Major had set ’em talkin’ on a -new line durin’ the last fortni’t. He’d been fixin’ up his house and -havin’ the grounds seen to, and so forth. Likewise he’d bought an -automobile, one of the nobbiest kind. This was somethin’ of a surprise, -'cause afore that he’d been pretty much down on autos and did his -drivin’ around in a high-seated sort of buggy—"dog cart" he called -it—though 'twas hauled by a horse and he hated dogs so that he kept a -shotgun loaded with rock salt on his porch to drive stray ones off his -premises. - -"Who’s goin’ to run that smell-wagon of yours?" I asked him, sarcastic. -He kept comin’ to the store just the same as ever and we had our reg’lar -rows constant. I cal’late we’d both have missed ’em if they’d stopped. I -know I should. - -"Humph!" he snorts; "smell-wagon, hey? If it smells any worse than that -old fish dory of yours, I’ll have it buried, for the sake of the public -health." - -By "fish dory" he meant a catboat I’d bought. She was named the _Glide_ -and she could glide away from anything of her inches in the bay. - -"But who’s goin’ to run that auto?" I asked again. "’Tain’t possible -you’re goin’ to do it yourself. If she went by alcohol power, I could -understand, but—" - -"Hush up!" he says, forgettin’ to be mad for once and speakin’ actually -plaintive. "Don’t talk that way, Snow," says he. "If you knew how much I -wanted a drink you wouldn’t speak lightly of alcohol." - -"Why don’t you take one, then?" I wanted to know. "I believe ’twould do -you good. That and a square meal. If you’d forget your prunes and your -nutmeats and your quack doctorin’—" - -He was mad then, all right. To slur at the "World Famous" was a good -deal worse than murder, in his mind. He expressed his opinion of me, -free and loud. He said I’d ought to try Doctor Conquest, myself, for -developin’ my brains. The Doctor was pretty nigh a vegetarian, he said, -and my head was mainly cabbage—and so on. Incidentally he announced that -Abubus was to run the new auto. - -"Abubus!" says I. "Why, he don’t know a gas engine from a coffee mill! -He wouldn’t know what the craft’s for." - -"That’s all right," he says. "He’s been takin’ lessons at the garage in -Hyannis and he can run it like a bird. He knows what it’s for. He! he! -so do I. By the way, Snow, are you ready to give up the post-office to -my candidate yet?" - -"Give up?" says I. "Tut! tut! tut! I hate to hear a supposed sane man -talk so. Mary Blaisdell handles the mail in the Ostable post-office for -the next three years—longer, if she wants to." - -"Bet you five she don’t," he says. - -"Take the bet," says I. - -He went out chucklin’. I wondered what he had up his sleeve. A week -later I found out. Congressman Shelton, our district Representative at -Washin’ton, came to Ostable to look the post-office situation over and, -lo and behold you, he comes as Major Cobden Clark’s guest, to stay at -his house. - -When Jim Henry Jacobs learned that, he took me to one side to give me -some brotherly advice. - -"It’s all up for Mary now," he says. "She can’t win. Clark and Shelton -are old chums in politics. There’s only one chance to beat Payne and -that’s to bring forward a compromise candidate—a dark horse." - -"Rubbish!" I sung out. "Dark horse be hanged! Shelton’s square as a -brick. Nobody can bribe him." - -"It ain’t a question of bribin’," he says. "If it was, you could bribe, -too. Shelton is square, and that’s why he’d welcome a compromise -candidate. But if it comes to a fight between Mary Blaisdell and Abubus -Payne, Abubus’ll win because he’s the Major’s pet. Shelton knows the -Major better than he knows you. Take my advice now and look out for the -dark horse." - -But I wouldn’t listen. All the next hour I was ugly as a bear with a -sore head and long afore dinner time I told Jacobs I was goin’ for a -sail in the _Glide_. "Goin’ somewheres on salt water where the air’s -clean and not p’isoned by politics and automobiles and congressmen and -Paynes," I told him. - -I headed out of the harbor and then run, afore a wind that was fair but -gettin’ lighter all the time, up the bay. I sailed and sailed until some -of my bad temper wore off and my appetite begun to come back. All the -time I was settin’ at the tiller I was thinkin’ over the post-office -situation and, try as hard as I could to see the bright side for Mary -Blaisdell, it looked pretty dark. The Major would give that Shelton man -the time of his life and he’d talk Abubus to him to beat the cars. I -couldn’t get at the Congressman to put in an oar for Mary and—well, I’d -have discounted my five-dollar bet for about seventy-five cents, at that -time. - -I thought and thought and sailed and sailed. When I came to myself and -realized I was hungry the _Glide_ was miles away from Ostable. I came -about and started to beat back; then I saw I was in for a long job. Let -alone that the wind was ahead, ’twas dyin’ fast, and if I knew the signs -of a flat calm, there was one due in half an hour. I took as long tacks -as I could, but I made mighty little progress. - -On the second tack inshore I came up abreast of Jonathan Crowell’s house -at Heron P’int. Jonathan’s just a no-account longshoreman or he wouldn’t -live in that place, which is the fag-end of creation. There’s a -twenty-mile stretch of beach and pines and such close to the shore -there, with a road along it. The first eight mile of that road is pretty -good macadam and hard dirt. A land company tried to develop that section -of beach once and they put in the road; but the land didn’t sell and the -company busted and after that eight mile the road is just beach sand, -soft and coarse. The strip of solid ground, with its pines and -scrub-oaks, is, as I said afore, twenty mile long, but it’s only a half -mile or so wide. Between it and the main cape is a tremendous salt -marsh, all cut up with cricks that nobody can get over without a boat. -Jonathan’s is the only house for the whole twenty mile, except the -lighthouse buildin’s down at the end. The land company put up a few -summer shacks on speculation, but they’re all rickety and fallin’ to -pieces. - -I knew Jonathan had gone to Bayport, quahaug rakin’, and that his wife -was visitin’ over to Wellmouth, so when the _Glide_ crept in towards the -beach and I saw a couple of folk by the Crowell house, I was surprised. -I didn’t pay much attention to 'em, however, until I was just about -ready to put the helm over and stand out into the bay again. Then they -come runnin’ down to the beach, yellin’ and wavin’ their arms. I thought -one of ’em had a familiar look and, as I come closer, I got more and -more sure of it. It didn’t seem possible, but it was—one of those -fellers on the beach was Major Cobden Clark. - -"Hi-i!" yells the Major, hoppin’ up and down and wavin’ both arms as if -he was practicin’ flyin’; "Hi-i-i! you man in the boat! Come here! I -want you!" - -That was him, all over. He wanted me, so of course I must come. My -feelin’s in the matter didn’t count at all. I run the _Glide_ in as nigh -the beach as I dared and then fetched her up into what little wind there -was left. - -"Ahoy there, Major," I sung out. "Is that you?" - -"Hey?" he shouts. "Do you know—Why, I believe it’s Snow! Is that you, -Snow?" - -"Yes, it’s me," I hollers. "What in time are you doin’ way over here?" - -"Never mind what I’m doin’," he roared. "You come ashore here. I want -you." - -If I hadn’t been so curious to know what he was doin’, I’d have seen him -in glory afore I ever thought of obeyin’ an order from him; but I was -curious. While I was considerin’ the breeze give a final puff and died -out altogether. That settled it. I might as well go ashore as stay -aboard. I couldn’t get anywhere without wind. So I hove anchor and -dropped the mains’l. - -"Come on!" he kept yellin’. "What are you waitin’ for? Don’t you hear me -say I want you?" - -I had on my long-legged rubber boots and the water wa’n’t more’n up to -my knees. When I got good and ready, I swung over the side and waded to -the beach. - -"Hello, Maje," I says, brisk and easy, "you ought not to holler like -that. You’ll bust a b’iler. Your face looks like a red-hot stove -already." - -He mopped his forehead. "Shut up, you old fool," says he. "Think I’m -here to listen to a lecture about my face? You carry Mr. Shelton and me -out to that boat of yours. We want you to sail us home." - -So the other chap was the Congressman. I’d guessed as much. I went up to -him and held out my hand. - -"Pleased to know you, Mr. Shelton," says I. "Had the pleasure of votin’ -for you last fall." - -Shelton shook and smiled. "This is Cap’n Snow, isn’t it?" he says, his -eyes twinklin’. "Glad to meet you, I’m sure. I’ve heard of you often." - -"I shouldn’t wonder," says I. "Major Clark and me are old chums and I -cal’late he’s mentioned my name at least once. Hey, Maje?" - -The Major grinned. I grinned, too; and Shelton laughed out loud. - -"I never saw such a talkin’ machine in my life," snaps Clark. "Don’t -stop to tell us the story of your life. Take us aboard that boat of -yours. You’ve got to get us back to Ostable, d’you understand?" - -"Have, hey?" says I. "I appreciate the honor, but.... However, maybe you -won’t mind tellin’ me what you’re doin’ here, twelve miles from -nowhere?" - -The Major was too mad to answer, so Shelton did it for him. - -"Well," he says, smilin’ and with a wink at his partner, "we _came_ in -the Major’s auto, but—" - -He stopped without finishin’ the sentence. - -"The auto?" says I. "You came in the auto? Well, why don’t you go back -in it? What’s the matter? Has it broke down? Humph! I ain’t surprised; -them things are always breakin’ down, 'specially the cheap ones." - -_That_ stirred up the kettle. The Major give me to understand that his -auto cost six thousand dollars and was the best blessedty-blank car on -earth. It wa’n’t the auto’s fault. It hadn’t broke down. It had stuck in -the eternal and everlastin’ sand and they couldn’t get it out, that was -the trouble. - -"But Abubus can get it out, can’t he?" says I. "Abubus runs it like a -bird, you told me so yourself. Now a bird can fly, and if you want to -get from here to Ostable in anything like a straight line, you’ve _got_ -to fly. By the way, where is Abubus?" - -Three or four more questions, and a hogshead of profanity on the Major’s -part, and I had the whole story. He and Shelton had started for a ride -way up the Cape. They was cal’latin’ to get home by eleven o’clock, but -the machine went so fast that they got where they was goin’ early and -had time to spare. Shelton happened to remember that he’d sunk some -money in the land company I mentioned and he thought he’d like to see -the place where 'twas sunk. He asked Abubus if they couldn’t run along -the beach road a ways. Abubus hemmed and hawed and didn’t know for -sure—he never was sure about anything. But the Major said course they -could; that car could go anywhere. So they turned in way up by Sandwich -and come b’ilin’ down alongshore. Long’s the old land company road -lasted they was all right, but when, runnin’ thirty-five miles an hour, -they whizzed off the end of that road, ’twas different. The automobile -lit in the soft sand like a snow-plow and stopped—and stayed. They tried -to dig it out with boards from Jonathan Crowell’s pig pen, but the more -they dug the deeper it sunk. At last they give it up; nothin’ but a team -of horses could haul that machine out of that sand. So Abubus starts to -walk the ten or eleven miles back to civilization and livery stables and -the Major and Shelton waited for him. And the more they waited the -hungrier and madder Clark got. ’Twas all Abubus’s fault, of course. He -ought to have had more sense than to run that way on that road, anyhow. -He ought to have known better than to get into that sand, a feller that -had lived in sand all his life. He was an incompetent jackass. Well, I -knew that afore, but it certainly did me good to hear the Major confirm -my judgment. - -I went over and looked at the automobile. It had always acted like a -mighty lively contraption, but now it looked dead enough. And not only -dead, but two-thirds buried. - -"Well?" fumes Clark, "how much longer have we got to stay in this hole?" - -"It’s consider’ble of a hole," says I, "and it looks to me as if she’d -stay there till Abubus gets back with a pair of horses. Considerin’ how -far he’s got to tramp and how long it’ll be afore he can get a pair, I -cal’late the hole’ll be occupied until some time in the night." - -That wa’n’t what he meant and I knew it. Did I suppose he and Shelton -was goin’ to wait and starve until the middle of the night? No, sir; the -auto could stay where it was; he and the Congressman would sail home -with me in the _Glide_. - -"I hope you ain’t in any partic’lar hurry," says I, lookin’ out over the -bay. There wa’n’t a breath of air stirrin’ and the water was slick and -shiny as a starched shirt. "The _Glide_ runs by wind power and there’s -no wind. This calm may last one hour or it may last two. As long as it -lasts I stay where I am." - -What! Did I think they would stay there just because I was too lazy to -get my whoopety-bang fish-dory under way? Stay there in that -sand-heap—sand-heap was the politest of the names he called Crowell’s -plantation—and starve? - -"Oh," says I. "I won’t starve. I’m goin’ to get dinner." - -Dinner! The very name of it was like a life-preserver to a feller who’d -gone under for the second time. - -"Can you get us dinner?" roars the Major. "By George, if you can I’ll—" - -"Not for you I can’t," I says. "You live accordin’ to the Payne -schedule, on prunes and pecans and such. The prune crop ’round here is a -failure and I don’t see a pecan tree in Jonathan’s back yard. No, any -dinner I’d get would give you compound, gallopin’ dyspepsy, and I can’t -be responsible for your death—I love you too much. But I cal’late I can -scratch up a meal that’ll keep folks with common insides from perishin’ -of hunger. Anyhow, I’m goin’ to try." - - - - -CHAPTER IV—HOW I MADE A CLAM CHOWDER; AND WHAT A CLAM CHOWDER MADE OF ME - - -Well, sir, even the Major’s guns was spiked for a minute. I cal’late -that, for once, he’d forgot all about his dietizin’ and only remembered -his appetite. He gurgled and choked and glared. Afore he could get his -artillery ready for a broadside I walked off and left him. He’d riled me -up a little and I saw a chance to rile him back. - -I went around to the back part of the Crowell house and tried the -kitchen door. ’Twas locked, for a wonder, but the window side of it -wasn’t. I pushed up the sash and reached in fur enough to unhook the -door. Then I went into the house and begun to overhaul the supplies in -the galley. I found flour and sugar and salt and pepper and coffee and -butter and canned milk and salt pork—about everything I wanted. Jonathan -and I was friendly enough so’s I knew he wouldn’t care what I used so -long as I paid for it. If he had I’d have taken the risk, just then. - -The wood-box was full and I got a fire goin’ in the cookstove, and put -on a couple of kettles of water to heat. Then I went out to the shed and -located a clam hoe and a bucket. There’s clams a-plenty ’most anywheres -along that beach and the tide was out fur enough for me to get a -bucket-full of small ones in no time. I fetched ’em up to the house and -set down on the back step to open 'em. - -The Major and Shelton was watchin’ me all this time and they looked -interested—that is, the Congressman did, and Clark was doin’ his best -not to. Pretty soon Shelton walks over and asks a question. "What are -you doin’ with those things, Cap’n Snow?" says he, referrin’ to the -clams. - -"Oh," says I, cheerful, "I’m figgerin’ on makin’ a chowder, if nothin’ -busts." - -"A chowder," he says, sort of eager. "A clam chowder? Can you?" - -"I can. That is, I have made a good many and I cal’late to make this -one, unless I’m struck with paralysis." - -"A clam chowder!" he says again, sort of eager but reverent. "By George! -that’s good—er—for you, I mean." - -"I hope ’twill be good for you, too," says I. "I’m sorry that Major -Clark’s dyspepsy’s such that 'twon’t be good for him, but that’s his -misfortune, not my fault." - -Shelton looked sort of queer and went away to jine his chum. The two of -’em did consider’ble talkin’ and the Major appeared to be deliverin’ a -sermon, at least I heard a good many orthodox words in the course of it. -I finished my clam openin’, went in and got my cookin’ started. The -flour and the butter made me think that some hot spider-bread would go -good with the chowder and I started to mix a batch. Then I got another -idea. - -'Twas too late for huckleberries and such, but out back of the shed, -beyond the pines, was a little swampy place. I took a tin pail, went out -there and filled the pail with early wild cranberries in five minutes. -As I was comin’ back I noticed an onion patch in the garden. A chowder -without onions is like a camp-meetin’ Sunday without your best -girl—pretty flat and impersonal. Most of those left in the patch had -gone to seed, but I got a half dozen. - -After a short spell that kitchen begun to get fragrant and folksy, as -you might say. The coffee was b’ilin’, the chowder was about ready, -there was a pan of red-hot spider-bread on the back of the stove and a -cranberry shortcake—’twould have been better with cream, but to skim -condensed milk is more exercise than profit—in the oven. I’d opened all -the windows and the door, so the smell drifted out and livened up the -surroundin’ scenery. Clark and Shelton were settin’ on a sand hummock a -little ways off and I could see ’em wrinklin’ their noses. - -When the table was set and everything was ready I put my head out of the -window and hollered: - -"Dinner!" I sung out. - -There wa’n’t any answer. The pair on the hummock stirred and acted -uneasy, but they didn’t move. I ladled out some of the chowder and the -perfume of it got more pervadin’ and extensive. Then I rattled the -dishes and tried again. - -"Dinner!" I hollered. "Come on; chowder’s gettin’ cold." - -Still they didn’t move and I begun to think my fun had been all for -myself. I was disappointed, but I set down to the table and commenced to -eat. Then I heard a noise. The pair of ’em had drifted over to the -doorway and was lookin’ in. - -"Hello!" says I, blowin’ a spoonful of chowder to cool it. "Am I givin’ -a good imitation of a hungry man? If I ain’t, appearances are -deceitful." - -"_Hog!_" snarls Clark, with enthusiasm. - -"Not at all," says I. "There’s plenty of everything and Mr. Shelton’s -welcome. So would you be, Major, if there was anything aboard you could -eat. I’m awful sorry about them prunes and nutmeats. I only wish Crowell -had laid in a supply—I do so." - -The Major’s mouth was waterin’ so he had to swallow afore he could -answer. When he did I realized what he was at his best. Shelton didn’t -say a word, but the looks of him was enough. - -"My, my!" says I, "I’m glad I made a whole kettleful of this stuff; I -can use a grown man’s share of it." - -Shelton looked at Clark and Clark looked at him. Then the Major yelps at -him like a sore pup. - -"Go ahead!" he shouts. "Go ahead in! Don’t stand starin’ at me like a -cannibal. Go in and eat, why don’t you?" - -You could see the Congressman was divided in his feelin’s. He wanted -dinner worse than the Old Harry wanted the backslidin’ deacon, but he -hated to desert his friend. - -"You’re sure—" he stammered. "It seems mean to leave you, but.... Sure -you wouldn’t mind? If it wasn’t that you are on a diet and _can’t_ eat I -shouldn’t think of it, but—" - -"Shut up!" The Major fairly whooped it to Jericho. "If you talk diet to -me again I’ll kill you. Go in and eat. Eat, you idiot! I’d just as soon -watch two pigs as one. Go in!" - -So Shelton came in and I had a plate of chowder waitin’ for him. He -grabbed up his spoon and didn’t speak until he’d finished the whole of -it. Then he fetched a long breath, passed the plate for more, and says -he: - -"By George, Cap’n, that is the best stuff I ever tasted. You’re a -wonderful cook." - -"Much obliged," says I. "But you ain’t competent to judge until after -the third helpin’. And now you try a slab of that spider-bread and a cup -of coffee. And don’t forget to leave room for the shortcake because.... -Well, I swan to man! Why, Major Clark, are you crazy?" - -For, as sure as I’m settin’ here, old Clark had come bustin’ into that -kitchen, yanked a chair up to that table, grabbed a plate and the ladle -and was helpin’ himself to chowder. - -"Major!" says I. - -"Why, _Cobden_!" says Shelton. - -"Shut up!" roars the Major. "If either of you say a word I won’t be -responsible for the consequences." - -We didn’t say anything and neither did he. Judgin’ by the silence ’twas -a mighty solemn occasion. Everybody ate chowder and just thought, I -guess. - -"Pass me that bread," snaps Clark. - -"But Cobden," says Shelton again. - -"It’s hot," says I, "and it’s fried, and—" - -"Give it to me! If you don’t I shall know it’s because you’re too -rip-slap stingy to part with it." - -After that, there was nothin’ to be done but the one thing. He got the -bread and he ate it—not one slice, but two. And he drank coffee and ate -a three-inch slab of shortcake. When the meal was over there wa’n’t -enough left to feed a healthy canary. - -"Now," growls the Major, turnin’ to Shelton, "have you a cigar in your -pocket? If you have, hand it over." - -The Congressman fairly gasped. "A cigar!" he sings out. "You—goin’ to -_smoke_? _You?_" - -"Yes—me. I’m goin’ to die anyway. This murderer here," p’intin’ to me, -"laid his plans to kill me and he’s succeeded. But I’ll die happy. Give -me that cigar! If you had a drink about you I’d take that." - -He bit the end off his cigar, lit it, and slammed out of that kitchen, -puffin’ like a soft-coal tug. Shelton shook his head at me and I shook -mine back. - -"Do you s’pose he _will_ die?" he asked. "He’s eaten enough to kill -anybody. And with his stomach! And to smoke!" - -"The dear land knows," says I. To tell you the truth I was a little -conscience-struck and worried. My idea had been to play a joke on -Clark—tantalize him by eatin’ a square meal that he couldn’t touch—and -get even for some of the names he’d called me. But now I wa’n’t sure -that my fun wouldn’t turn out serious. When a man with a lame digestion -eats enough to satisfy an elephant nobody can be sure what’ll come of -it. - -The Congressman and I washed the dishes and 'twas a pretty average -sorrowful job. Only once, when I happened to glance at him and caught a -queer look in his eyes, was the ceremony any more joyful than a funeral. -Then the funny side of it struck me and I commenced to laugh. He joined -in and the pair of us haw-hawed like loons. Then we was sorry for it. - -Shelton went out when the dish-washin’ was over. I cleaned up -everything, left a note and some money on Jonathan’s table and locked up -the house. When I got outside there was a fair to middlin’ breeze -springin’ up. Shelton was settin’ on the hummock waitin’ for me. - -"Where—where’s the Major?" I asked, pretty fearful. - -"He’s over there in the shade—asleep," he whispered. - -"Asleep!" says I. "Sure he ain’t dead?" - -"Listen," says he. - -I listened. If the Major was dead he was a mighty noisy remains. - -He woke up, after an hour or so, and come trampin’ over to where we was. - -"Well," he snaps, "it’s blowin’ hard enough now, ain’t it? Why don’t you -take us home?" - -"How about the auto?" I asked. - -The auto could stay where it was until the horses came to pull it out. -As for him he wanted to be took home. - -"But—but are you able to go?" asked Shelton, anxious. - -What in the sulphur blazes did we mean by that? Course he was able to -go! And had Shelton got another cigar in his clothes? - -All of the sail home I was expectin’ to see that military man keel over -and begin his digestion torments. But he didn’t keel. He smoked and -talked and was better-natured than ever I’d seen him. He didn’t mention -his stomach once and you can be sure and sartin that I didn’t. As we was -comin’ up to the moorin’s in Ostable I’m blessed if he didn’t begin to -sing, a kind of a fool tune about "Down where the somethin’-or-other -runs." Then I _was_ scared, because I judged that his attack had started -and delirium was settin’ in. - -Shelton shook hands with me at the landin’. - -"You’re all right, Cap’n Snow," he says. "That was the best meal I ever -tasted and nobody but you could have conjured it up in the middle of a -howlin’ wilderness. If there’s anything I can do for you at any time -just let me know." - -There was one thing he could do, of course, but I wouldn’t be mean -enough to mention it then. The Major and I had, generally speakin’, -fought fair, and I wouldn’t take advantage of a delirious invalid. And -just then up comes the invalid himself. - -"See here, Snow," says he, pretty gruff; "I’ll probably be dead afore -mornin’, but afore I die I want to tell you that I’m much obliged to you -for bringin’ us home. Yes, and—and, by the great and mighty, I’m obliged -to you for that chowder and the rest of it! It’ll be my death, but -nothin’ ever tasted so good to me afore. There!" - -"That’s all right," says I. - -"No, it ain’t all right. I’m much obliged, I tell you. You’re a -stubborn, obstinate, unreasonable old hayseed, but you’re the most -competent person in this town just the same. Of course though," he adds, -sharp, "you understand that this don’t affect our post-office fight in -the least. That Blaisdell woman don’t get it." - -"Who said it did affect it?" I asked, just as snappy as he was. That’s -the way we parted and I wondered if I’d ever see him alive again. - -I didn’t see him for quite a spell, but I heard about him. I woke up -nights expectin’ to be jailed for murder, but I wa’n’t; and when, three -days later, Shelton started for Washin’ton, the Major went away on the -train with him. Abubus and his wife shut up the house and went off, too, -and nobody seemed to know where they’d gone. All’s could be found out -was that Abubus acted pretty ugly and wouldn’t talk to anybody. This was -comfortin’ in a way, though, most likely, it didn’t mean anything at -all. - -But at the end of two weeks a thing happened that meant somethin’. I got -two letters in the mail, one in a big, long envelope postmarked from the -Post-Office Department at Washington and the other a letter from Shelton -himself. I don’t suppose I’ll ever forget that letter to my dyin’ day. - - "Dear Captain Snow," it begun. "You may be interested to know - that our mutual friend, Major Clark, has suffered no ill effects - from our picnic at the beach. In fact, he is better than he ever - was and has been enjoying the comforts of city life to an extent - which I should not dare attempt. Whether his long respite from - such comforts helped, or whether the celebrated Doctor Conquest - was responsible, I know not. The Major, however, declares Doctor - Payne to be a fraud and to have been, as he says, ’working him - for a sucker.’ Therefore he has discharged the doctor and - discharged the cousin with the odd name—your fellow townsman, - Abubus Payne. The mishap with the auto was the beginning of - Abubus’s finish and the fact that no indigestion followed our - chowder party completed it. And also—which may interest you - still more—Major Clark has withdrawn his support of Payne’s - candidacy for the post-office and urged the appointment of - another person, one whom he declares to be the only able, - common-sense, honest _man_ in the village. As I have long felt - the appointment of a compromise candidate to be the sole - solution of the problem, I was very happy to agree with him, - particularly as I thoroughly approve of his choice. When you - learn the new postmaster’s name I trust you may agree with us - both. I know the citizens of Ostable will do so. - - "Yours sincerely, - - "_William A. Shelton._ - - "P.S. I am coming down next summer and shall expect another one - of your chowders." - -My hands shook as I ripped open the other envelope. I knew what was -comin’—somethin’ inside me warned me what to expect. And there it was. -Me—_me_—Zebulon Snow, was app’inted postmaster of Ostable! - -Was I mad? I was crazy! I fairly hopped up and down. What in thunder did -I want of the postmastership? And if I wanted it ever so much did they -think I was a traitor? Was it likely that I’d take it, after workin’ -tooth and nail for Mary Blaisdell? What would Mary say to me? By time, -_I’d_ show ’em! It should go back that minute and my free and frank -opinion with it. I’d kicked one chair to pieces already, and was -beginnin’ on another, when Jim Henry Jacobs come runnin’ in and stopped -me. - -No use to goin’ into particulars of the argument we had. It lasted till -after one o’clock next mornin’. Jim Henry argued and coaxed and proved -and I ripped and vowed I wouldn’t. He was tickled to death. The -post-office was the greatest thing to bring trade that the store could -have, and so on. I _must_ take the job. If I didn’t somebody else would, -somebody that, more’n likely, we wouldn’t like any better than we did -Abubus. - -"No," says I. "_No!_ Mary Blaisdell shall have—" - -"She won’t get it anyway," says he. "She’s out of it—Shelton as much as -says so—whatever happens. And she don’t want the title anyway. All she -needs or cares for is the pay and I’ve thought of a way to fix that. You -listen." - -I listened—under protest, and the upshot of it was that the next day I -went up to see Mary. She’d heard that I was likely to get the -appointment—old Clark had been doin’ some hintin’ afore he left town, I -cal’late—and she congratulated me as hearty as if ’twas what she’d -wanted all along. But I wa’n’t huntin’ congratulations. I felt as mean -as if I’d been took up by the constable for bein’ a chicken thief, and I -told her so. - -"Mary," says I, "I wa’n’t after the postmastership. I swear by all that -is good and great I wa’n’t. I don’t know what you must think of me." - -"What I’ve always thought," says she, "and what poor Henry thought -before he died. My opinion is like Major Clark’s," with a kind of half -smile, "that the appointment has gone to the best man in Ostable." - -"My, my!" says I. "_Your_ digestion ain’t given you delirium, has it? No -sir-ee! I’m no more fit to be postmaster than a ship’s goat is to teach -school." - -"You mustn’t talk so," she says, earnest. "You will take the position, -won’t you?" - -"I’ll take it," says I, "under one condition." Then I told her what the -condition was. She argued against it at fust, but after I’d said -flat-footed that ’twas either that or the government could take its -appointment and make paper boats of it, and she’d seen that I meant it, -she give in. - -"But," says she, chokin’ up a little, "I know you’re doin’ this just to -help me. How I can ever repay your kindness I don’t—" - -I cut in quick. My deadlights was more misty than I like to have ’em. -"Rubbish!" says I, "I’m doin’ it to win my bet with old Clark. I’d do -anything to beat out that old critter." - -So it happened that when, along in November, the Major came back to -Ostable to look over his place, afore leavin’ for Florida, and come into -the store, I was ready for him. He grinned and asked me if he had any -mail. - -"While you’re about it," he says, chucklin’, "you can pay me that bet." - -Now the very sound of the word "bet" hit me on a sore place. I’d lost -one hat to Mr. Pike and the letter I’d got from him rubbed me across the -grain every time I thought of it. - -"What bet?" says I. - -"Why, the bet you made that the Blaisdell woman would be postmistress -here." - -"I didn’t bet that," I says. - -"You didn’t?" he roared. "You did, too! You bet—" - -"I bet that Mary would handle the mail, that’s all. So she will; fact -is, she’s handlin’ it now. She’s my assistant in the post-office here. -If you don’t believe it, go back to the mail window and look in. No, -Major, _I_ win the bet." - -Maybe I did, but he wouldn’t pay it. He vowed I was a low down swindler -and a "welsher," whatever that is. He blew out of that store like a toy -typhoon and I didn’t see him again until the next summer. However, I had -a feelin’ that Major Cobden Clark wa’n’t the wust friend I had, by a -consider’ble sight. - -You see, that was Jim Henry’s great scheme—to hire Mary to run the -office as my assistant. He didn’t say what salary I was to pay her, and, -if I chose to hand over three-quarters of the postmaster’s pay to her, -what business was it of his? I told him that plain, and, to do him -justice, he didn’t seem to care. - -But he did rub it in about my declarin’ I’d never go into politics. - -In a little while the mail department was as much a part of the "Ostable -Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods Store" as the calico -and dress goods counter. We bought the Blaisdell letter-box rack and -fixin’s and set ’em up and they done fust-rate for the time bein’. I was -postmaster, so fur as name goes, but ’twas Mary that really run that end -of the ship. It seemed as natural to have her come in mornin’s, as it -did for the sun to rise; and, if she was late, which didn’t happen -often, it seemed almost as if the sun hadn’t rose. The old store needed -somethin’ like her to keep it clean and sweet and even Jim Henry give in -that she was the best investment the business had made yet. - -As for business it kept on good, even though the summer folks had gone -and winter had set in. Our order carts kept runnin’ and they _took_ -orders, too. The store was doin’ well by us both and I certainly owed -old Pullet a debt of thanks for workin’ on my sympathies until I put my -cash into it. There was consider’ble buildin’ goin’ on in town and, when -spring begun to show symptoms of makin’ Ostable harbor, Jim Henry got -possessed of a new idea. I didn’t pay much attention at fust. He was -always as full of notions as a peddler’s cart and if I took every one of -’em serious we’d either been Rockefellers or star boarders at the -poorhouse, one or t’other. ’Twa’n’t till that day in April when old -Ebenezer Taylor came in after his mail and went out after the constable -that I realized somethin’ had to be done. - -You see, Ebenezer’s eyes was failin’ on him and, to make things worse, -he’d forgot his nigh-to specs and had on his far-off pair. Consequently, -when he headed for the after end of the store, he wa’n’t in no condition -to keep clear of the rocks and shoals in the channel. Fust thing he run -into was a couple of dress-forms with some bargain calico gowns on 'em. -While he was beggin’ pardon of them forms, under the impression that -they was women customers, he backed into a roll of barbed wire fencin’ -that was leanin’ against the candy and cigar counter. His clothes was -sort of thin and if that barbed wire had been somebody tryin’ to borrer -a quarter of him he couldn’t have jumped higher or been more emphatic in -his remarks. The third jump landed him against the gunwale of a bushel -basket of eggs that Jacobs was makin’ a special run on and had set out -prominent in the aisle. Maybe Ebenezer was tired from the jumpin’ or -maybe the excitement had gone to his head and he thought he was a hen. -Anyhow he set on them eggs, and in two shakes of a heifer’s tail he was -the messiest lookin’ omelet ever I see. Jacobs and me and the clerk -scraped him off best we could with pieces of barrel hoop and the cheese -knife, and Mary come out from behind the letter boxes and helped along -with the floor mop, but when we’d finished with him he was consider’ble -more like somethin’ for breakfast than he was human. - -And mad! An April fool chocolate cream couldn’t have been more peppery -than he was. He distributed his commentaries around pretty general—Mary -got some and so did Jacobs—but the heft was fired at me. He hated me -anyhow, ’count of my bein’ made postmaster and for some other reasons. - -"You—you thunderin’ murderer!" he hollered, shakin’ his old fist in my -face. "’Twas all your fault. You done it a-purpose. Look at me! Look! my -legs punched full of holes like a skimmer, and—and my clothes! Just look -at my clothes! A whole suit ruined! A suit I paid ten dollars and a half -for—" - -"Ten year and a half ago," I put in, involuntary, as you might say. - -"It’s a lie. ’Twon’t be nine year till next September. You think you’re -funny, don’t you? Ever since this consarned, robbin’ Black Republican -administration made you postmaster! Postmaster! You’re a healthy -postmaster! I’ll have you arrested! I’ll march straight out and have you -took up. I will!" - -He headed for the door. I didn’t say nothin’. I was sorry about the -clothes and I’d have paid for 'em willin’ly, but arguin’ just then was a -waste of time, as the feller said when the deef and dumb man caught him -stealin’ apples. Ebenezer stamped as fur as the door and then turned -around. - -"I may not have you took up," he says; "but I’ll get even with you, Zeb -Snow, yet. You wait." - -After he’d gone and we’d made the place look a little less like an -egg-nog, I took Jim Henry by the sleeve and led him into the back room -where we could be alone. Even there the surroundin’s was so cluttered up -with goods and bales and boxes that we had to stand edgeways and talk -out of the sides of our mouths. - -"Jim," says I, "this place of ours ain’t big enough. We’ve got to have -more room." - -He pretended to be dreadful surprised. - -"Why, why, Skipper!" he says. "You shock me. This is so sudden. What put -such an idea as that in your head? Seems to me I have a vague -remembrance of handin’ you that suggestion no less than twenty-five -times since the last change of the moon, but I hope _that_ didn’t -influence you." - -"Aw, dry up," says I. "You was right. Let it go at that. Afore I got the -postmastership this buildin’ was big enough. Now it ain’t. We’ve got to -build on or move or somethin’. Have you got any definite plan?" - -He smiled, superior and top-lofty, and reached over to pat me on the -back; but reachin’ in that crowded junk-shop was bad judgment, ’cause -his elbow hit against the corner of a tea chest and his next set of -remarks was as explosive and fiery as a box of ship rockets. - -"Never mind the blessin’," I says. "Go ahead with the fust course. Have -you got anything up your sleeve? anything besides that bump, I mean." - -Well, it seems he had. Seems he’d thought it all out. We’d ought to buy -Philander Foster’s buildin’, which was on the next lot to ours, move it -close up, cut doors through, and use it for the post-office department. - -"Humph!" says I, after I’d turned the notion over in my mind. "That -ain’t so bad, considerin’ where it come from. I can only sight one -possible objection in the offin’." - -"What’s that, you confounded Jezebel?" he says. - -"Jezebel?" says I. "What on airth do you call me that for?" - -"’Cause you’re him all over," he says. "He was the feller I used to hear -about in Sunday School, the prophet chap that was always croakin’ and -believed everything was goin’ to the dogs. That was Jezebel, wasn’t it?" - -"No," says I, "that was Jeremiah; Jezebel was the one the dogs _went_ -to. And she was a woman, at that." - -"Well, all right," he says. "Whatever he or she was they didn’t have -anything on you when it comes to croaks. What’s the objection?" - -"Nothin’ much. Only I don’t know’s you’ve happened to think that -Philander might not care to sell his buildin’, to us or to anybody -else." - -That was all right. We could go and see, couldn’t we? Well, we could of -course—and we did. - - - - -CHAPTER V—A TRAP AND WHAT THE "RAT" CAUGHT IN IT - - -Foster run a shebang that was labeled "The Palace Billiard, Pool and -Sipio Parlors. Cigars and Tobacco. Tonics, all Flavors. Ice Cream in -Season." The "Palace" part was some exaggeration and so was the -"Parlors," but the place was the favorite hang-out of all the loafers -and young sports in town and the church folks was tumble down on it, -callin’ it a "gilded hell" and such pious profanity. The gilt had wore -off years afore and if the hot place ain’t more interestin’ than that -billiard saloon it must be dull for some of the permanent boarders. - -We found Philander asleep back of the soft drink counter and young -Erastus Taylor—"Ratty," everybody called him—practicin’ pin pool, as -usual, at one of the tables. "Ratty" was Ebenezer Taylor’s only son and -the combination trial and idol of the old man’s soul. Ebenezer thought -most as much of him as he did of his money, and when you’ve said that -you couldn’t make it any stronger. He’d done a heap to make a man of -"Rat"—his idea of a man—even separatin’ from enough cash to send him to -a business college up to Middleboro; but all the boy got from that -college was a thunder and lightnin’ taste in clothes and a post-graduate -course in pool playin’. Pool playin’ was the only thing he cared about -and he could spot any one of the Ostable sharps four balls and beat ’em -hands down. He’d sampled two or three jobs up to Boston, but they always -undermined his health and he drifted back home to live on dad and look -for another "openin’." I cal’late the pair lived a cat and dog life, for -Ratty always wanted money to spend and Ebenezer wanted it to keep. The -old man was the wust down on the billiard room of anybody and his son -put in most of his time there. - -Me and Jim Henry woke up Philander and told him we wanted to talk with -him private. He said go ahead and talk; there wa’n’t anybody to hear but -Ratty, and Rat was just like one of the family. So, as we couldn’t do it -any different, we went ahead. Jacobs explained that we felt that maybe -we might some time or other need a little extry room for our business -and, bein’ as he—Philander—was handy by and we was always prejudiced in -favor of a neighbor and so on, perhaps he’d consider sellin’ us his -buildin’ and lot. Course it didn’t make so much difference to him; he -could easy move his "Parlors" somewheres else—and similar sweet ile. -Philander listened till Jim Henry had poured on the last soothin’ drop, -and then he laughed. - -"Um ... ya-as," he says. "I could move a heap, _I_ could! I’m so durned -popular amongst the good landholders in this town that any one of ’em -would turn their best settin’-rooms over to me the minute I mentioned -it. Yes, indeed! Just where ’bouts would I move?—if ’tain’t too much to -ask." - -Well, that was some of a sticker, ’cause _I_ couldn’t think of anybody -that would have that billiard room within a thousand fathoms of their -premises, if they could help it. But Jim Henry he pretended not to be -shook up a cent’s wuth. That was easy; ’twas just a matter of -Philander’s pickin’ out the right place, that was all there was to it. - -Philander heard him through and then he laughed again. - -"You’re wastin’ good business breath," he says. "I wouldn’t sell if I -could, unless I had a fust-class place to move into, and there ain’t no -such place on the main road and you know it. I’m doin’ trade enough to -keep me alive and I’m satisfied, though I can’t lay up a cent. But, so -fur as movin’ out is concerned, I expect to do that on the fust of next -November. I’ll be fired out, I judge, and prob’ly’ll have to leave town. -Hey, Rat?" - -Ratty Taylor, who’d been listenin’, twisted his mouth and grunted. - -"Yes," he says, "I guess that’s right, worse luck!" - -"You bet it’s right!" says Philander. "As I said, Mr. Jacobs, if I could -sell out to you and Cap’n Zeb I wouldn’t, without a good handy place to -move into. And I can’t sell any way. There’s a thousand dollar mortgage -on this shop and lot; it’s due June fust; and, unless I pay it off—which -I can’t, havin’ not more’n five hundred to my name—the mortgage’ll be -foreclosed and out I go." - -This was news all right. Then me and Jim Henry asked the same question, -both speakin’ together. - -"Who owns the mortgage?" we asked. - -Foster looked at Ratty and grinned. Rat grinned back, sort of sickly. - -"Shall I tell ’em?" says Philander. - -"I don’t care," says Ratty. "Tell ’em, if you want to." - -"Well," says Foster, "old Ebenezer Taylor, Ratty’s dad, owns it, drat -him! and he’s tryin’ to drive me out of town ’count of Rat’s spendin’ so -much time in here. Ratty’s a fine feller, but his pa’s the meanest old -skinflint that ever drawed the breath of life. Not meanin’ no -reflections on your family, Rat—but ain’t it so?" - -"_I_ shan’t contradict you, Phi," says Ratty. - -Jacobs and I looked at each other. Then I got up from my chair. - -"Jim Henry," says I, "I don’t see as we’ve got much to gain by stayin’ -here. Let’s go home." - -We went back to the store, neither of us speakin’, but both thinkin’ -hard. It was all off now, of course. If old Taylor owned that mortgage, -he’d foreclose on the nail, if only to get rid of his son’s loafin’ -place. And he wouldn’t sell to us—hatin’ us as he did—unless we covered -the place with cash an inch deep. No, buyin’ the "Palace" was a dead -proposition. And there wa’n’t another available buildin’ or lot big -enough for us to move to within a mile of Ostable Center. - -"Humph!" says I, some sarcastic. "It looks to me—speakin’ as a man in -the crosstrees—as if that wonderful business brain of yours had sprung a -leak somewheres, Jim. Better get your pumps to workin’, hadn’t you?" - -He snorted. "I’d rather have a leaky head than a solid wood one like -some I know," he says. "Quiet your Jezebellerin’ and let me think.... -There’s one thing we might do, of course: We might advance the other -five hundred to Foster, let him pay off his mortagage, and then—" - -"And then trust to luck to get the money back," I put in. "There’s more -charity than profit in that, if you ask me. Once that mortgage is paid, -you couldn’t get Philander out of that buildin’ with a derrick. He don’t -want to go." - -"But we might make some sort of a deal to pay him a hundred dollars or -so to boot and then—" - -"And then you’d have another hundred to collect, that’s all. I wouldn’t -trust that billiard and sipio man as fur as old Ebenezer could see -through his nigh-to specs. No sir-ee! Nothin’ doin’, as the boys say." - -Next forenoon I met old Ebenezer Taylor on the sidewalk in front of the -Methodist meetin’-house and, when he saw me, he stopped and commenced -chucklin’ and gigglin’ as if he was wound up. - -"He, he, he!" says he. "He, he! I hear you and that partner of yours, -Zebulon, want to buy my property next door to you. Well, I’ll sell it to -you—at a price. He, he, he! at a price." - -[Illustration: _'Well, I’ll sell it to you—at a price.’_] - -"So your hopeful and promisin’ son’s been tellin’ tales, has he?" says -I. "I wa’n’t aware that it was your property—yet." - -He stopped gigglin’ and glared at me, sour and bitter as a green -crab-apple. - -"It’s goin’ to be," he says. "Don’t you forget that, it’s goin’ to be. -And if you want it, you’ll pay my price. You owe me for them clothes you -ruined, Zeb Snow—for them and for other things. And I cal’late I’ve got -you fellers about where I want you." - -"Oh, I don’t know," says I. "You may be glad enough to sell to us later -on. What good is an empty buildin’ on your hands? Unless of course you -intend rentin’ it for another billiard saloon." - -That made him so mad he fairly gurgled. - -"There’ll be no billiard saloon in this town," he declared. "No more -gilded ha’nts of sin, temptin’ young men whose parents have spent good -money on their education. No, you bet there won’t! And that buildin’ may -not be empty, nuther. I know somethin’. He, he, he!" - -"Sho!" says I. "Do you? I wouldn’t have believed it of you, Ebenezer." - -I left him tryin’ to think of a fittin’ answer, and walked on to the -store. Mary called to me from behind the letter-boxes. - -"Mr. Jacobs is in the back room," she says, "and he wants to see you -right away. Erastus Taylor is with him." - -"’Rastus Taylor?" I sung out. "Ratty? What in the world—?" - -I hurried into the back room. Sure enough, there was Jim Henry and Ratty -caged behind a pile of boxes and barrels. - -"Ah, Skipper!" says Jacobs; "is that you? I was hopin’ you’d come. Young -Taylor here has been suggestin’ an idea that looks good to me. Tell the -Cap’n what you’ve been tellin’ me, Ratty." - -Rat twisted uneasy on the box where he was settin’ and give me a side -look out of his little eyes. I never saw him look more like his -nickname. - -"Well, Cap’n Zeb," he says, "it’s like this: I’ve been thinkin’ and I -believe I’ve thought of a way so you and Mr. Jacobs can get Philander’s -lot and buildin’." - -"You have, hey?" says I. "That’s interestin’, if true. What’s the way?" - -"Why," says he, twistin’ some more, "that mortgage is due on the first -of June. If it ain’t paid, Philander’ll be foreclosed and he’ll move out -of town. It’s only a thousand dollars and Phi’s got half of it. If -somebody—you and Mr. Jacobs, say—was to lend him t’other half, why then -he could pay it off and—and—" - -"And stay where he is," I finished disgusted. "That would be real lovely -for Philander, but I don’t see where we come in. This ain’t a billiard -and loan society Mr. Jacobs and I are runnin’, thankin’ you and Foster -for the suggestion." - -"Wait a minute, Skipper," says Jim Henry. "Your engine is runnin’ wild. -That ain’t Ratty’s scheme at all. Go on, Rat; spring it on him." - -"Philander wouldn’t be so set on stayin’ where he is, Cap’n Zeb," says -Rat, quick as a flash, "if he had another place to move into; another -place here on the main road, convenient and handy by. And I think I know -a place that could be got for him." - -I didn’t answer for a minute. I was runnin’ over in my mind every -possible place that might be sold or let to Philander Foster for a -"Palace." And to save my life I couldn’t think of one. - -"Well," says I, at last, "where is it?" - -Ratty leaned forward. "What’s the matter with Aunt Hannah Watson’s -buildin’ up the street?" he says. "She’s been crazy to sell it for a -long spell. And the lower floor would make a pretty fair billiard room, -wouldn’t it?" - -I was disgusted. I knew the buildin’ he meant, of course. Jacobs and I -had talked it over that very mornin’ as a possible place to move the -"Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods Store" to, -but we’d both decided it wa’n’t nigh big enough. - -"Humph!" says I, "that scheme’s so brilliant you need smoked glass to -look at it. Do you cal’late as good a church woman as Aunt Hannah Watson -would sell or let her place for a billiard room? She needs the money bad -enough, land knows; but she’s as down on those ha’nts of sin as your dad -is, Rat Taylor. She’d never sell to Phi Foster in this world." - -"_She_ mightn’t, I give in," answered Rat. "But her nephew up to Wareham -is a diff’rent breed of cats. And since she moved over there to live -along with him, he’s got the handlin’ of her property. I found that out -to-day. From what I hear of this nephew man he ain’t as particular as -his aunt. And, anyway, ’tain’t necessary for Philander to make the deal. -You and Mr. Jacobs might make it for him." - -I thought this over for a minute. I begun to catch the idea that the -young scamp had in his noddle—or I thought I did. - -"H’m," I says. "Yes, yes. You mean that if we’d lend Philander enough to -pay the balance of his mortgage on the buildin’ he’s in now and would -fix it so’s Aunt Hannah’d sell us her place, under the notion that _we_ -was goin’ to use it—you mean that then, after June fust, Foster’d swap. -He’d move in there and turn over the old ’Palace’ to us." - -He and Jim Henry both bobbed their heads emphatic. - -"That’s what he means," says Jim. - -"That’s the idea exactly, Cap’n," says Rat. "I think Philander might be -willin’ to do that." - -"Is that so!" says I, sarcastic. "Well, well! I want to know! But, say, -Ratty, ain’t you takin’ an awful lot of trouble on Foster’s account? -You’re turrible unselfish and disinterested all to once; or else there’s -a nigger in the woodpile somewheres. Where do you come in on this?" - -He looked pretty average cheap. He fussed and fumed for a minute and -then he blurts out his reason. "Well, I’ll tell you, Cap’n," he says. -"Philander’s about the best friend I’ve got in this bum town and I get -more solid comfort in his saloon than anywheres else. If he’s drove out -of Ostable, I’ll be lonesomer than the grave. I don’t want him to go. -And besides—well, you see, the old man—dad, I mean—has got a notion -about settin’ me up in business here. And I don’t want to be set up—not -in his kind of business. I know the kind of business I want to go into, -and ... but never mind that part," he adds, in a hurry. - -I smiled. I remembered what old Ebenezer had said about the "Palace" -buildin’ not bein’ empty on his hands very long and about somethin’ he -knew. It was all plain enough now. He intended openin’ some sort of a -store there with his son as boss. I almost wished he would. ’Twould be -as good as a three-ring circus, that store would, if I knew Ratty. But I -was mad, just the same, and when Jim Henry spoke, I was ready for him. - -"Well, Skipper," says Jacobs, "what do you think of the plan?" - -"Think it’s a good one, if you’re willin’ to heave morals and common -honesty overboard—otherwise no. To put up a trick like that on an old -widow woman like Aunt Hannah Watson—to land a billiard room on her -property, when she’d rather die than have it there, is too close to -robbin’ the Old Ladies’ Home to suit me. I wouldn’t touch it with a -ten-foot pole. So good day to you, Rat Taylor," says I, and walked out. - -But Jim Henry Jacobs didn’t walk out. No, sir! him and that young Taylor -scamp stayed in that back room for another half hour and left it -whisperin’ in each other’s ears and actin’ thicker than thieves. I -wondered what was up, but I was too put-out and mad to ask. - -"I’ll look it over right after dinner to-morrer," says Jacobs, as they -shook hands at the front door. - -"Sure you will, now?" asks Ratty, anxious. "Don’t put it off, ’cause it -may be too late." - -"At one o’clock to-morrer I’ll be there," says Jim Henry, and Rat went -away lookin’ pretty average happy. - -Jacobs scarcely spoke to me all the rest of that day nor the next -mornin’. As we got up from the boardin’ house table the follerin’ noon -he says, without lookin’ me in the face, "I ain’t goin’ back to the -store now. I’ve got an errand somewheres else." - -"Yes," says I, "I imagined you had. You’re goin’ down to look at that -buildin’ of poor old Aunt Hannah’s. That’s where you’re goin’. Ain’t you -ashamed of yourself, Jim Jacobs?" - -"Oh, cut it out!" he snaps, savage. "You make me tired, Skipper. You and -your backwoods scruples give me a pain. I’ve lived where people aren’t -so narrow and bigoted and I don’t consider a billiard room an annex to -the hot place. If, by a business deal, I can get that buildin’ next door -to add to our establishment, I’m goin’ to do it, if I have to use my own -money and not a cent of yours. Yes, I _am_ goin’ to look at that Watson -property. Now, what have you got to say about it?" - -"Why, just this," says I; "I cal’late I’ll go with you." - -"You will?" he sings out. "_You?_" - -"Yes," says I, "me. Not that I feel any different about skinnin’ Aunt -Hannah than I ever did, but because there’s a bare chance that her place -may be big enough for us to move the store and post-office to, after -all. With that idea and no other, I’ll go with you, Jim." - -So we went together, though we never spoke more than two words on the -way down. We got the key at the jewelry and hardware shop next door and -went in. The Watson place was an old-fashioned tumble-down buildin’ with -a big open lower floor and two or three rooms overhead. I saw right off -'twouldn’t do for us to move into, but likewise I saw that the lower -floor _might_ do for Foster, though 'twa’n’t as good as where he was, by -consider’ble. - -Jim Henry looked the place over. - -"No good for us," he snapped. - -"None at all," says I. - -"Humph!" says he, and we locked up and came down the steps together. As -we did so I noticed someone watchin’ us from acrost the road. - -"There’s our friend, Jim Henry," says I. "And, judgin’ by the way he’s -starin’, he’s got on his fur-off glasses and knows who we are." - -He looked across. "Old Taylor, by thunder!" says he. "Well, if my deal -goes through we’ll jolt the old tight-wad yet." - -"Do you mean you’re goin’ on with that low-down billiard-room game?" I -asked. - -"Of course I do," he snapped. - -"Then you’ll do it on your own hook. _I_ won’t be part or parcel of it." - -"Who asked you to?" he wanted to know. And we didn’t speak again for the -rest of that day. It made me feel bad, because he and I had been mighty -friendly, as well as partners together. The only comfort I got out of it -was that, judgin’ by the way he kept from lookin’ at me or speakin’, he -didn’t feel any too good himself. - -But that evenin’ Ratty drifted in and the pair of 'em had another -confab. And next day, after the mail had gone, Jacobs got me alone and -says he: - -"Well," he says, "I think I ought to tell you that I’ve written that -nephew in Wareham and made an offer on the Watson property. I did it on -my own responsibility and I’ll pay the freight. But I thought perhaps I -ought to tell you." - -"What did you offer?" I asked. He told me. - -"I’ll take half," says I, "because I consider it a good investment at -that figger. But only with the agreement that the billiard saloon -sha’n’t go there." - -"Then you can keep your money," he says, short. And there was another -long spell of not speakin’ between the two of us. - -Mary noticed that there was somethin’ wrong, and it worried her. She -spoke to me about it. - -"Cap’n Zeb," she says, "what’s the trouble between you and Mr. Jacobs? -Of course it isn’t my business, and you mustn’t tell me unless you wish -to." - -I thought it over. "Well," says I, "I can’t tell you just now, Mary. -It’s a business matter we don’t agree on and it’s kind of private. I’ll -tell you some day, but just now I can’t. It ain’t all my secret, you -see." - -"I see," says she. "I shouldn’t have asked. I beg your pardon. I wasn’t -curious, but I do hate to see any trouble between you two. I like you -both." - -I nodded. I was feelin’ pretty blue. "Jim’s a mighty good chap at -heart," I says. "I owe him a lot and he’s consider’ble more than just a -partner to me." - -"He thinks the world of you, too," says she. "He’s told me so a great -many times. That is why I can’t bear to see you disagree." - -I couldn’t bear it none too well, either, but Jim Henry showed no signs -of givin’ in and I wouldn’t. So we moped around, keepin’ out of each -other’s way, and actin’ for all the world like a couple of young-ones in -bad need of a switch. - -A couple more days went by afore the answer came from Wareham. When I -saw the envelope on the desk, with the Watson man’s name in the corner, -I knew what it meant and I was on hand when Jim Henry opened it. He was -ugly and scowlin’ when he ripped off the envelope. Then I heard him -swear. I was dyin’ to know what the letter said, but I wouldn’t have -asked him for no money. I walked out to the front of the store. Five -minutes later I felt his hand on my shoulder. He had a curious -expression on his face, sort of a mixture of mad and glad. - -"Skipper," he says, "we’re buncoed again. We don’t get the Watson -place." - -"Don’t, hey?" says I. "All right, I sha’n’t shed any tears. I wa’n’t -after it, and you know it. But I’m surprised that your offer wa’n’t -accepted. Why wa’n’t it?" - -"Because somebody got ahead of me. Here’s the letter. Listen to this: -’Your offer for my aunt’s property in Ostable came a day too late. -Yesterday I gave a year’s option on that property, for five hundred -dollars cash, to—’" - -"Land of love!" I interrupted. "Only yesterday! That was close haulin’, -I must say." - -"Wait," says he, "you haven’t heard the whole of it. ’A year’s option -... for five hundred dollars cash, to Mr. Taylor of your town.’" - -"Taylor!" says I. "_Taylor!_ My soul and body! The old skinflint beat us -again! Well, I swan!" - -"Um-hm," says he. "I size it up like this. He saw us come out of there -the other day and guessed that we thought of buyin’ and movin’. So, as -he owed us a grudge, and because the Watson property is, as you said, a -good investment anyhow, he makes his option offer on the jump, and beat -me to it." - -I whistled. "I cal’late you’ve hit the nailhead, Jim," says I. "Well, to -be free and frank, I’m glad of it." - -"So am I," says he. - -_That_ was a staggerer. I whirled round and looked at him. - -"You _are_?" I sung out. - -"Yes," says he, "I am. Of course I had my heart set on gettin’ that -’Palace’ for an addition that would give more room and extry space to -our place here; and the only way I could see to get it was to take up -with that Rat’s proposition. I haven’t any prejudice against billiards—" - -"Neither have I, but—" - -"I know. And you’re right. Old lady Watson has, and to run Foster’s -establishment in on her would have been a low-down mean trick. I’ve felt -like a thief, but I was so pig-headed I wouldn’t back down. Now that -I’ve got it where the chicken got his, I’m glad of it, I really am. -Partner, will you forget my meanness and shake hands?" - -Would I? I was as tickled as a youngster with a new tin whistle. And so -was he. - -"There’s only one thing that keeps me mad," he says, "and that is that -old Ebenezer’s got the laugh on us again. As for more room for the -store—well, we’ll have to think that out." - -We thought, but it wa’n’t us that got the answer. 'Twas Mary Blaisdell. -I told her what our fuss had been about, and she agreed that I was right -and that Jim Henry’s sharp business sense had sort of run away with him -for the time bein’. - -"But," says she, "we certainly do need more room, both in the mail -department and the store. I’ve had an idea for some time. Let _me_ think -a while." - -Next day she told Jacobs and me what her idea was. ’Twas that we should -build an addition on to our own buildin’. Run it two stories high and -right out into the back yard. ’Twas just the thing and the wonder is -that we hadn’t thought of it ourselves. - -"She’s a wonder, Jim, ain’t she?" says I, when we was alone together. - -"_You_ think so, don’t you, Skipper," says he, smilin’. - -I flared up. "Sartin I do," I says. "Don’t you?" - -"Indeed I do." - -"Then what do you mean?" - -"Oh, nothin’, nothin’. Say, have you seen old Taylor lately? I suppose -he’s crowin’ like a Shanghai rooster. I do hate for that old skinflint -to have the joke always on his side." - -"I know," says I. "So do I. But some day, if we wait long enough, we may -have a chance to laugh at him. I’ve lived a good many year and I’ve seen -it work that way pretty often. We’ll wait—and when we do laugh, we’ll -laugh hard." - -And we didn’t have to wait so turrible long neither. We got a carpenter -in, told him to keep it a secret, but to plan how we could build the -backyard extension. The plannin’ and estimatin’ kept us busy and we -forgot about everything else. Fust along I expected young Taylor would -pester us with more schemes, but he didn’t. He never came nigh us once, -fact is he seemed mighty anxious to keep out of our way, and so long as -he did we didn’t complain. His dad come crowin’ and chucklin’ around a -couple of times and finally Jacobs lost his temper and told him if he -ever showed his face on our premises again he was liable to be put to -the expense of havin’ it repaired by the doctor. Ebenezer vowed -vengeance and law suits, but he went, and after that he sent a boy for -his mail instead of comin’ to fetch it himself. - -One forenoon, about eleven o’clock ’twas, I was standin’ on the store -platform, when I heard the Old Harry’s own row in the "Palace Billiard, -Pool and Sipio Parlors." Loud voices, all goin’ at once, and two or -three different assortments of language. Jim Henry heard it, too, and -come out to listen. - -"Skipper," he says, sudden; "what day is this?" - -"Why, Thursday," says I, "ain’t it? Oh, you mean what day of the month. -Hey? By the everlastin’! I declare if it ain’t the fust of June!" - -"The day Foster’s mortgage falls due," he says, excited. "I wonder.... -You don’t suppose—" - -He didn’t have to suppose, for inside of the next two minutes we both -knew. Three men came bustin’ out of the billiard room door. One was -Philander himself, the other was Ezra Colcord, the lawyer, and the third -was our old shipmate and bosom friend, Ebenezer Taylor. The old man was -fairly frothin’ at the mouth. - -"You—you—" he sputtered, "you’ve deceived me. You’ve lied to me. You led -me to think—" - -"I don’t see as you’ve got any kick, Mr. Taylor," purrs Philander, -smilin’. "You’ve got your money. What more can you ask?" - -"But—but I don’t want the money. I want this property, and I’ll have -it." - -"Oh, no, you won’t, Mr. Taylor," says Colcord, the lawyer. "This -property belongs to Foster now. He’s paid your mortgage in full. You -have no rights here whatever and I advise you to go before you are -arrested for trespassin’." - -Well, the old man went, but he was still talkin’ and threatenin’ when he -turned the corner. Colcord laughed and shook hands with Philander. - -"Don’t mind him, Foster," he says. "He’s sore, that’s all, but he has no -claim whatever. You’ve paid off your mortgage and the property is yours -absolutely. As for the other matter, the papers will be ready for -signature this afternoon. Ha, ha! I imagine they won’t add to our -friend’s joy." - -"Cal’late not," says Philander, grinnin’. "This’ll be his day for -surprises, hey?" - -They shook hands again and Colcord left. Soon’s he’d gone, Jim Henry -grabbed me by the arm. He didn’t even wait for the lawyer to get out of -sight. - -"Come on," he says. "This is too good to be true. We must find out about -this, Skipper." - -So over to the "Parlors" we hurried. Philander looked sort of queer when -he saw us comin’, but he didn’t run away. We commenced to ask questions, -both of us together. After we’d asked a dozen or so, he held up his -hand. - -"Come inside," he says, "and I’ll tell you about it. The secret’ll be -out in a little while, anyhow, and maybe we do owe you fellers a little -mite of explanation." - -We went in, wonderin’. Philander set up the cigars, ten-centers at that, -and then he says: "Yes, I’ve paid off my mortgage and I cal’late you -wonder where the money came from. Five hundred of it I had myself. You -knew that." - -"Yes," says Jacobs, and I nodded. - -"Um-hm," says he. "Well, I loaned the five hundred to Ratty and he -bought the option on Aunt Hannah’s buildin’ with it." - -We fairly jumped off our pins. - -"What?" says I. - -"_Rat_ bought that option?" gasped Jim Henry. "Nonsense! his dad bought -it." - -"No-o," says Philander, solemn, "’twas Rat that bought it at fust. The -whole scheme was his and I give him credit for it. After Mr. Jacobs here -had agreed to look at the Watson place, Ratty got Ed. Holmes to take him -over to Wareham in his auto. There he see this nephew of Aunt Hannah’s, -paid down his five hundred and got the option." - -"But that letter I got said—" began Jim Henry, and then he pulled up -short. "No," says he, "it said ’Mr. Taylor’ had secured the option; I -remember now. But, of course, we supposed it was Ebenezer." - -"And Ebenezer did have it," I put in. "He told me so himself. I met him -on the road and he—" - -"Hold on, Cap’n," cuts in Philander, "no use goin’ through all that. -Ebenezer _has_ got it now. Ratty decoyed his dad down abreast the Watson -place while you and Mr. Jacobs was inside lookin’ it over, and the old -man see you two come out." - -"I know he did," says I. "I saw him peekin’ at us from behind a tree." - -"Yes," goes on Foster, "he was there. And, naturally, he jedged you was -cal’latin’ to buy that buildin’ and move into it. Fact is, he’d been -intendin’ to buy it himself as an investment, and, now that there was a -chance to spite you fellers hove in for good measure, he was more -anxious to get it than ever. Then Rat broke the news that he had the -option and was willin’ to sell it to the highest bidder. Ha! ha! I guess -there was a lively session, but the upshot of it was that Ebenezer -bought that option off his boy for a thousand dollars. That’s how _he_ -got it." - -"Well, I’ll be hanged!" says Jim Henry. I was way past sayin’ anything. - -"And so," continues Philander, "the five hundred dollars’ profit on the -option and the five hundred dollars I lent Rat to start with made just -the amount needful to pay off my mortgage. And, Squire Colcord and me -paid it off this mornin’. You fellers heard the concludin’ section of -the ceremonies. Ebenezer’s benediction was some spicy, hey!" - -"But—but—why, look here, Philander," says I. "I don’t understand this at -all. Five hundred of that thousand was Rat’s. He ain’t no -philanthropist; he wouldn’t _give_ it to you, unless miracles are comin’ -into fashion again. What—" - -Foster laughed. "There is a little somethin’ underneath," he says. "It’s -been kept pretty close, but the cat’ll be out of the bag afore the day’s -over and, considerin’ how much you two helped without meanin’ to, I’d -just as soon tell you. Ratty told you that his pa was cal’latin’ to set -him up in business, didn’t he? Yes. Well, Rat’s had a notion for a long -spell about the business he meant to get into. There’s a new sign been -ordered for this shebang of mine. Here’s the copy for it." - -He reached under the cigar counter and held up a long piece of -pasteboard. ’Twas lettered like this: - - PALACE BILLIARD, POOL AND SIPIO PARLORS. - - _Philander Foster & Erastus Taylor,_ - - _Proprietors._ - -"I cal’late the old man’ll disown his son when he knows it," goes on -Foster, "but Rat had rather run a pool room than be rich, any day in the -week. And say," he adds, "if I was you fellers I’d try to be on hand -when Ebenezer fust sees the new sign. I should think you’d get -consider’ble satisfaction from watchin’ his face. I’m cal’latin’ to, -myself," says Philander Foster. - - - - -CHAPTER VI—I RUN AFOUL OF COUSIN LEMUEL - - -Well, to be honest, I felt pretty bad about that billiard room business. -I was real sorry for old Ebenezer. Of course Taylor was a skinflint and -a thorough-goin’ mean man, but Ratty was his son and his pride, and to -have a son play a dog’s trick like that on the father that had, at -least, tried to make somethin’ out of him, seemed tough enough. And my -conscience plagued me. I felt almost as if I was to blame somehow. I -wa’n’t, of course, but I felt that way. A feller’s conscience is the -most unreasonable part of his works; I’ve noticed it often. - -But I needn’t have wasted any sympathy on Ebenezer. For the fust little -while after his boy went into the pool and sipio business, he was a sore -chap. Then, all at once, I noticed that he took to hangin’ around the -"Parlors" consider’ble and one evenin’ I saw him comin’ out of there, -all smiles. I was standin’ on the store platform and as he passed me I -hailed him. We hadn’t spoken for a consider’ble spell, but I hadn’t any -grudge, for my part. - -"Hello!" says I, "what are you so tickled about?" - -I didn’t know as he wouldn’t throw somethin’ at me for darin’ to hail -him, but no, he was ready to talk to anybody, even me. - -"No use," says he, "that boy of mine’s a mighty smart feller. He just -beat Tom Baker three games runnin’, and spotted him two balls on the -last one. He’s a wonder, if I do say it." - -I looked at him. This didn’t sound much like disinheritin’. - -"Three games of what?" says I. - -"Why, pool," says he, "of course. And Baker’s been countin’ himself the -best player in the county. 'Rastus was playin’ for the house. Him and -Philander cleared over a hundred dollars in the last month. That ain’t -so bad for a young feller just startin’ in, is it? I always knew that -boy had the business instinct, if he’d only wake up to it. I’ve told -folks so time and again." - -He went along, chucklin’ to himself, and I stood still and whistled. And -when I heard that the old man had taken to callin’ the -anti-billiard-room crowd bigoted and narrer it didn’t surprise me much. -I judged that Ebenezer’s opinions was like those of others of his -tribe—dependent on the profit and loss account in the ledger. You can -forgive your own kith and kin a lot easier than you can outsiders, -especially if your moral scruples are the Taylor kind, to be reckoned in -dollars and cents. - -The carpenters were ready to begin work on our store addition at last, -and we started right in to build on. ’Twas an awful job, enough sight -worse than movin’, but it had to be got through with some way and we -wanted to have it finished when the summer season opened for good. If -the store had been cluttered up and crowded afore, it was ten times -worse now. The amount of energy and healthy remarks that Jacobs and I -wasted in fallin’ over and runnin’ into things would have kept a -steamer’s engines goin’ from Boston to Liverpool, I cal’late. I expected -one of us would break our neck sartin sure, but we didn’t and, by the -fust of July we thought we could see the end. - -"There!" says I, "in another week we’ll be clear of sawdust, I do -believe. The painters won’t be so bad. And we’ve got on without any -accidents, too, which is a miracle." - -"You ought to knock wood when you say that, Skipper," says Jim Henry. - -"I’ve knocked enough of it already—with my head," I told him. But I -hadn’t. At any rate the accident come, and not by reason of the buildin’ -on, either. It come right in the way of everyday trade, from where we -wa’n’t expectin’ it. That’s the way such things generally happen. A -feller runs under a tree, so’s to keep from gettin’ rained on and -catchin’ cold, and then the tree’s struck by lightnin’. - -If I’d remembered what old Sylvanus Baxter said when they asked him to -prove one of his fish statements, I’d have been a wiser man. Sylvanus -was tellin’ how many mack’rel him and his brother caught off Setucket -P’int with a hand line, back when Methusalum was a child, or about then. -Forty-eight barrels they caught, and it nigh filled the dory. One of the -young city fellers who was listenin’ undertook to doubt the yarn. He got -a piece of paper and a pencil and proved that a dory wouldn’t hold that -many fish. Sylvanus shut him up in a hurry. - -"Young man," he says, scornful, "where a human bein’ is blessed with a -memory same as I’ve got, proof’s too unsartin to compare with it." - -If I’d borne in mind what Sylvanus said and abided by it I might not -have dropped the barrel of sugar on my starboard foot. I’d have been -satisfied to remember my strength and not try to prove it by liftin’ the -said barrel off the tailboard of our delivery wagon. - -However, I did try, and the result was that the barrel slipped when I’d -got it ’most to the ground, and my foot went out of commission with a -hurrah, so to speak. - -Jim Henry come runnin’ and him and the clerk loaded me into the wagon -and carted me off to my rooms at the Poquit House. And there I stayed in -dry dock for three weeks, while the doctor done his best to patch up my -busted trotter and get me off the ways and into active service again. - -He done his part all right. I was mendin’ so far as the lower end of me -was concerned, but my upper works and temper was gettin’ more tangled -and snarled every day. Too much company was the trouble. I had too many -folks runnin’ in to ask how I was gettin’ on and to talk and talk and -talk. Jim Henry he come, of course, to talk about the store; and Mary -Blaisdell, to tell me how the post-office was doin’. I could stand them; -fact is, Mary was a sort of soothin’ sirup, with her pleasant face and -calm, cheery voice. But the parson he come, to keep the spiritual part -of me ready for whatever might happen; and the undertaker, to be sure he -got the other part, if it _did_ happen; and twenty-odd old maids and -widows from sewin’-circle to talk about each other and church squabbles -and the dreadful sufferin’s and agonizin’ deaths of their relations, -who’d had accidents similar to mine. - -They made me so fidgety and mad that the doctor noticed it. "What’s -troublin’ you, Cap’n Snow?" he asked. "No new pains, I hope?" - -"Humph!" says I. "Your hope’s blasted. I’ve got the meanest pain I’ve -had yet." - -"Where?" says he, anxious. - -"All over," I says. "Tabitha Nickerson’s responsible for it. She’s been -here for the last hour and a half, tellin’ about how her second cousin, -by her uncle’s marriage, stuck a nail in his hand and was amputated -twice and finally died of lingerin’ lockjaw. She never missed a groan. -Consarn her! _She_ gives me a pain just to look at." - -He laughed. "That’s the trouble with you old bachelors," he says. -"You’re too popular with the fair sex." - -"Fair!" I sung out. "Doc, if you mean to say Tabby Nickerson’s fair, -then I’m goin’ to switch to the homeopaths. _Your_ judgment ain’t -dependable." - -He laughed again and then he went on. Seems he’d been thinkin’ for quite -a spell that the Poquit House wasn’t the place for me. - -"What you need, Cap’n," he says, "is a nice quiet spot where nobody can -get at you—that is, nobody but the disagreeable necessities, like me. -I’ve found the place for you to board durin’ your convalescence. Do you -know the Deacon house over at South Ostable on the lower road?" - -"If you mean Lot Deacon’s, I do—yes," says I. - -"That’s it," says he. "Lot’s all alone there, and he’d be mighty glad of -a boarder. The house is as neat as wax, and Lot used to go as cook on a -Banks’ boat, so you’ll be fed well. It’s right on the shore, with the -woods back of it. There’s a splendid view, the air’s fine, and—and—" - -"Don’t strain yourself, Doc," I put in. "You couldn’t think of anything -else if you thought for a week. Air and view is all there is in that -neighborhood. What on earth have I done to be sentenced to serve a term -at Lot Deacon’s?" - -Well, it was quiet, and I needed quiet. It was restful, and I needed -rest. It was too far from civilization for the undertaker or the -sewin’-circle to get at me. It was—but there! never mind the rest. The -upshot was that I agreed to board at Lot’s till my foot got well enough -to navigate and they carted me down in the delivery wagon, next day. - -The Deacon place lived up to specifications all right. Nighest neighbor -half a mile off, woods all round on three sides, and the bay on t’other. -Good grub and plenty of it. And no company except the doctor every other -day, and Jim Henry the days between, and Lot—oh, land, yes! Lot, always -and forever. - -He was a meek little critter, Lot was, accommodatin’ and willin’ to -please, as good a cook as ever fried a clam, and a great talker on some -subjects. He was a widower, with no relations except an aunt-in-law over -to Denboro, and a third cousin up to Boston; and his principal hobby was -spirits and mediums and such. He was as sot on Spiritu’lism as anybody -ever you see, and hadn’t missed a Spirit’list camp-meetin’ in Harniss -durin’ the memory of man. - -However, Lot and I got along first-rate and he’d set and talk by the -hour about the camp-meetin’, which was a couple of weeks off, and how he -was goin’, and so on. Said I needn’t worry about bein’ left alone, -’cause his wife’s Aunt Lucindy from Denboro was comin’ to keep house for -me durin’ the two days he was away. - -"Is your Aunt Lucindy given to spirits, too?" I wanted to know. - -No, she wasn’t. Seems her particular bug was "mind cure." She was a -widow whose husband had died of creepin’ paralysis. She’d tried every -kind of doctorin’ and patent medicines on him and, in spite of it, the -last specimen of "Swamp Bitters" or "Thistle Tea" finished him. But, -anyhow, Aunt Lucindy had no faith in medicines or doctors after that. -She’d tried ’em all and they’d gone back on her. Now she was a -"mind-curer." - -"She’ll prob’bly try to cure your foot with mind, Cap’n Zeb," says Lot, -apologetic as usual. "But you mustn’t worry about that. She means well." - -"I sha’n’t worry," I says. "She can put her mind on my foot, if she -wants to; unless it’s as hefty as that sugar barrel I cal’late ’twon’t -hurt me much. But say, Lot," I says, "are all your folks taken with -something special in the line of religion or cures? How about this -cousin—this Lemuel one? What’s possessin’ _him_?" - -Oh, Cousin Lemuel was different. He’d had money left him and was an -aristocrat. He never married, but lived in "chambers" up to Boston. He -didn’t have to work, but was a "collector" for the fun of it; collected -postage stamps and folks’ hand-writin’s and insects and such. He wasn’t -very well, his nerves was kind of twittery, so Lot said. - -"Um-hm," says I. "Well, collectin’ insects would make most anybody’s -nerves twitter, I cal’late. But if Cousin Lemuel likes ’em, I s’pose we -hadn’t ought to fret. He could pick up a healthy collection of -wood-ticks back here in the pines, if he’d only come after ’em, though -it ain’t likely he will." - -But he did, just the same. Not after the ticks, exactly, but, as sure as -I’m settin’ here, this Cousin Lemuel landed in the house at South -Ostable, bag and baggage. ’Twas three days afore the beginnin’ of -camp-meetin’ and two afore Aunt Lucindy was expected over. Lot and me -was settin’ in rockin’ chairs by the front windows in my room lookin’ -out over the bay, when all to once we heard the rattle of a wagon from -the woods abaft the kitchen. - -"It’s the doctor, I cal’late," says Lot, wakin’ up and stretchin’. "Ah, -hum, I s’pose I’ll have to go down and let him in." - -"’Tain’t the doctor," says I. "He come yesterday. More likely it’s Mr. -Jacobs, though I thought he’d gone to Boston and wouldn’t be back for -three or four days." - -But a minute later we see we was mistaken. Around the house come -rattlin’ Simeon Wixon’s old depot wagon, with the curtains all drawed -down—though 'twas hot summer—and the rack astern and the seat in front -piled up high with trunks and bags and satchels and goodness knows what -all. Sim was drivin’ and he had a grin on him like a Chessy cat. - -"Whoa!" says he, haulin’ in the horses. "Ahoy, Lot! Turn out there! Got -a passenger for you." - -Lot was so surprised he could hardly believe his ears, though they was -big enough to be believed. He h’isted up the window screen and looked -out. - -"Hey?" he says, bewildered-like. "Did you say a _passenger_?" - -"That’s what I said. A passenger for you. Come on down." - -"A passenger? For _me_?" - -"Yes! yes! yes!" Simeon’s patience was givin’ out, and no wonder. "Don’t -stay up there," he snaps, "with your head stuck out of that window like -a poll-parrot’s out of a cage. And don’t keep sayin’ things over and -over or I’ll believe you _are_ a poll-parrot. Come down!" Then, leaning -back and hollerin’ in behind the carriage curtains, he sung out, "Hi, -mister! here we be. You can get out now." - -The curtains shook a little mite and then, from behind ’em, sounded a -voice, a man’s voice, but kind of shrill and high, and with a quiver in -the middle of it. - -"Are you sure this is the right place, driver?" it says. - -"Sartin sure. This is it." - -"But are you certain those animals are perfectly safe? They won’t run -away?" - -The horses was takin’ a nap, the two of ’em. Sim grinned, wider’n ever, -and winks up at the window. - -"I’ll do my best to hold ’em," he says. "If I’d known you was comin’ I’d -have fetched an anchor." - -The curtains shook some more, as if the feller inside was fidgetin’ with -’em. Then the voice says again and more excited than ever, "Well, why in -Heaven’s name don’t you unfasten this dreadful door? How am I to get -out?" - -Simeon stood grinnin’, ripped a remark loose under his breath, jumped -from the seat, and yanked the door open. There was a full half minute -afore anything happened. Then out from that wagon door popped a black -felt hat with a brim like a small-sized umbrella. Under the hat was a -pair of thin, grayish side-whiskers, a long nose, and a pair of specs -like full moons. The hat and the rest of it turned towards the horses -and the voice says: - -"You’re _perfectly_ sure of those creatures you are drivin’? Very good. -Where is the step? Oh, dear! where is the _step_?" - -Sim reached in, grabbed a little foot with one of them things they call -a "gaiter" on it, hauled it down and planted it on the step of the -carriage. - -"There!" he snaps. "There ’tis, underneath you. Come on! Here! I’ll -unload you." - -Maybe the passenger would have said somethin’ else, but he didn’t have a -chance. Afore he could even think he was jerked out of that depot wagon -and stood up on the ground. - -"There!" says Simeon. "Now you’re safe and no bones broken. Where do you -want your dunnage; in the house?" - -I don’t know what answer he got. Afore I could hear it there was a gasp -and a gurgle from Lot. I turned to him. He was leaning out of the window -starin’ down at the little man under the big hat. - -"I believe—" he says, "I—I—_why_, it’s Cousin Lemuel!" - -Cousin Lemuel looked around him, at the house, at the woods, at the bay, -at everything. - -"Good heavens!" says he, in a sort of groan.—"Good heavens! what an -awful place!" - -That’s how he made port and that was his first observation after -landin’. He made consider’ble many more durin’ the next few days, but -the drift of ’em was all similar. He was a bird, Cousin Lemuel was. His -twittery nerves had twittered so much durin’ the past month or so that -his doctors—he had seven or eight of ’em—had got tired of the chirrup, I -cal’late, had held officers’ counsel, and decided he must be got rid of -somehow. They couldn’t kill him, ’cause that was against the law, so -they done the next best and ordered him to the seashore for a complete -rest; at least, he said the rest was to be for him, but I judge ’twas -the doctors that needed it most. He wouldn’t go to a hotel—hotels were -horrible,—but he happened to think of relation Lot down in South Ostable -and headed for there. Whether or not Lot could take him in, or wanted -to, didn’t trouble him a mite! _He_ wanted to come and that was -sufficient! He never even took the trouble to write that he was comin’. -When he once made up his mind to do a thing, and got sot on it, he was -like the laws of the Medes and Possums—or whatever they was—in -Scripture; you couldn’t upset him in two thousand years. It got to be a -"matter of principle" with him—he was always tellin’ about his matters -of principle—and when the "principle" complication struck, that settled -it. Oh, Cousin Lemuel was a bird, just as I said. - -And Lot, of course, didn’t have gumption enough to say he wasn’t -welcome. No, indeed; fact is, Lot seemed to consider his comin’ a sort -of honor, as you might say. If that retired bug-collector had been the -Queen of Sheba, he couldn’t have had more fuss made over him. The -schooner-load of trunks and satchels was carted aloft to the big room -next to mine,—Lot’s room ’twas, but Lot soared to the attic,—and Cousin -Lemuel was carted there likewise. He was introduced to me, and about the -first thing he said was, would I mind wearin’ a dressin’-robe, or a -bath-sack, or somethin’ to cover up my game foot? the sight of the -dreadful bandage affected his nerves. I was sort of shy on sacks and -dolmans and such, but I done my best to please him with a patchwork -comforter. - -I can’t begin to tell you the things he did, or had Lot do for him. -Changin’ the feather bed for a pumped-up air mattress he’d fetched -along—air mattresses was a matter of principle with him—and firin’ the -rag mats off the floor of his room, ’cause the round-and-round braids -made whirligigs in his head—and so on. But I sha’n’t forget that first -night in a hurry. - -He was in and out of my room no less than fifteen times, rigged out in -some sort of blanket dress, fastened with a rope amidships. He wore that -over his nightgown, and a shawl like an old woman’s on top of the -blanket. His head was tied up in a silk handkerchief; and his feet was -shoved into slippers that flapped up and down when he walked and sounded -like a slack jib in a light breeze. First off he couldn’t sleep ’cause -the frogs hollered. Next, 'twas the surf that troubled him. Then the -window blinds creaked. And, at last, I’m blessed if he didn’t come -flappin’ and rustlin’ in at half-past one to ask what made it so quiet. -I was desp’rate, and I told him I was subject to nightmare, and had been -known to cripple folks that come in and woke me sudden that way. He -cleared out and I heard him pilin’ chairs and furniture against his door -on the inside. After that I managed to sleep till six o’clock. Then he -knocked and asked if I was thoroughly awake, 'cause if I was would I -tell him what sort of weather 'twas likely to be, so’s he could dress -accordin’. His risin’ hour was nine,—more principle, of course,—but he -liked to know what to wear when he did get up. - -And he was just as bad all that day and the next. I’d have quit and had -the doctor take me back to the Poquit House, but I didn’t like to on -Lot’s account. Poor Lot was all upset and needed some sane person to -turn to for comfort. And besides, although he made me mad, I got -consider’ble fun out of this Lemuel man’s doin’s. He was such a specimen -that I liked to study him, same as he used to study a new species of -insect, when he had that particular craze. - -He seemed to like me, too, in a way. Anyhow he used to come in and talk -to me pretty frequent. He had three words that he used all the -time—"awful" and "dreadful" and "horrible." Everything in the -neighborhood fitted to them words, 'cordin’ to his notion. And he had -one question that he kept askin’ over and over: What should he do? What -was there to do in the dreadful place? - -"Why don’t you keep on collectin’?" I asked him. "We’re kind of scurce -on postage stamps, and the handwritin’ supply is limited; though you -never collected anything like Lot’s signature, I’ll bet a cooky. But -there’s bugs enough, land knows! Why don’t you go bug-huntin’?" - -Oh, he was tired of insects. Never wanted to see one again! - -"Then you’ll have to wear blinders when you go past the salt-marsh," -says I. "The moskeeters are so thick there they get in your eyes. Why -not take a swim?" - -Horrible! he loathed salt-water. He never bathed in it, as a matter of— - -I interrupted quick—"Then take a walk," says I. - -Walking was a "bore." - -"Well then," I says, "just do what the doctor ordered—set and rest." - -But settin’ made his nerves worse than ever! "I don’t know what is the -matter with me, Cap’n Snow," he says. "My physicians seemed to think I -should find what I needed here, but I don’t!—I don’t! I am more -depressed and enervated than ever." - -"I know what you need," I said emphatic. - -"Do you indeed? What, pray?" - -"Somethin’ to keep you interested," I told him. "Your life’s like a -wharf timber that the worms have been at—there’s too many ’bores’ in it. -If you could find somethin’ bran-new to interest you, you’d be lively -enough. I’d risk the depression then—and the enervation, too, whatever -that is." - -Oh, horrible! How could I joke about a matter of life and death? - -Well, so it went for the two days and in the evenin’ of the second day, -Lot come tiptoein’ into my room. He was all nerved up. The next mornin’ -was the time he’d planned to go to camp-meetin’; and how could he go -now? - -"Why not?" says I. "I’ll be all right. Your Aunt Lucindy’s comin’ to -keep house, ain’t she?" - -"Yes—yes, she’s comin’. But how can I leave Cousin Lemuel? He won’t want -me to go, I’m sure." - -"So’m I," I says; "he’ll kick as a matter of principle. But if you’re -gone afore he knows it, he’ll _have_ to like it—or lump it, one or -t’other. See here, Lot Deacon; you take my advice and clear out -to-morrow early, afore the bug-hunter’s nerves twitter loud enough to -wake him. You can get our breakfast and leave it on the table out here -in the hall. I can manage to hobble that far. Afore dinner Aunt -Lucindy’ll be on deck." - -He brightened up consider’ble. "I might do that," he says. "And anyway -Aunt Lucindy’s likely to be here afore breakfast. She’s always terrible -prompt. But will Cousin Lemuel forgive me, do you think?" - -"I don’t know," says I. "But I will, provided you don’t say ’terrible’ -again. Now clear out and don’t let me see you till camp-meetin’s over. -And say," I called after him, "just ask one of your spirit chums what’s -good for nerve twitters." - -Next mornin’ was sort of dark and cloudy, so probably that accounts for -my oversleepin’. Anyhow 'twas after seven o’clock when Cousin Lemuel, -blanket and shawl and slippers, full undress uniform, comes flappin’ -into my room. I woke up and stared at him. He was pale, and tremblin’ -all over. - -"What’s the matter now?" says I. - -"Hush!" he whispers, fearful. "Hush! somethin’ awful has happened. My -cousin Lot is insane." - -"_What?_" I sung out, settin’ up in bed. - -"Hush! hush!" says he. "It is horrible. Insanity is hereditary in our -family. What shall we do?" - -"Insane—rubbish!" says I, havin’ waked up a little more by this time. -"What makes you think he’s insane?" - -He held up a shakin’ hand. "Listen!" he whispers. "He has been makin’ -dreadful noises for the past half-hour, and singin’—actually singin’—in -the strangest voice. Listen!" - -I listened. Down below in the kitchen there was a racket of pans and -dishes and a stompin’ as if a menagerie elephant had broke loose from -its moorin’s. Then somebody busts out singin’, loud and high: - - "There’s a land that is fairer than day, - And by faith we can see it afar." - -"There, there!" says Lemuel. "Don’t you hear it? Would a sane man sing -like that?" - -I rocked back and forth in bed and roared and laughed. "A sane man -wouldn’t," I says, "but a sane _woman_ might, if she had strong enough -lungs. That ain’t Lot. Lot’s gone to camp-meetin’, to be gone till -to-morrow night. That’s his wife’s aunt, Lucindy Hammond, from Denboro. -She’s goin’ to keep house for us till he gets back." - - - - -CHAPTER VII—THE FORCE AND THE OBJECT - - -Well, it took all of fifteen minutes for me to drive the idea out of -that critter’s head that his relative had gone loony. I was hoppin’ -around on my sound foot tryin’ to dress, while I explained things. I had -enough clothes on to be presentable in white folks’ society, when there -come a whoop up the back stairs. - -"Good morn-in’!" whoops Aunt Lucindy. "Breakfast is ready! Shall I fetch -it up?" - -"My soul!" squeals Cousin Lemuel, and bolts for his own room. I buttoned -my collar by main strength and answered the hail. - -"All hands on deck!" I sung out. "Fetch her along." - -There was a mighty stompin’ on the stairs, and then through the door -marches as big a woman as ever I see in my born days. ’Twa’n’t only that -she was fleshy,—she must have weighed all of two hundred and thirty,—but -she was big, big as a small mountain, seemed so, and was dressed in some -sort of curtain-calico gown that made her look bigger yet. She was -luggin’ a tray heaped up with vittles enough for a small ship’s company. - -"Good mornin’," says she, in a voice as big as the rest of her, and as -cheery as the fust sunshine on a foggy day. She was smilin’ all over, -but there was a square look to her chin—the upper one, for she had no -less than two and a half—that made me think she could be the other thing -if occasion called for. "Good mornin’," says she. "Is this Lemuel?" - -"It ain’t," says I. "Cousin Lemuel is in disability just at present. My -name’s Snow." - -"Oh, yes!" she hollers—every time she spoke she hollered—"Oh, yes! Cap’n -Zebulon Snow, of course. I’m Mrs. Hammond. Here’s your breakfast." - -"Mine!" says I, lookin’ at the heap of rations. "You mean mine and -Cousin Lemuel’s." - -"Oh, no, I don’t," says she, still smilin’, and puttin’ the tray down on -the table, in the way she did everything, with a bang; "I mean yours, -Cap’n Snow. Lemuel’s is all ready, though, and I’ll fetch it right up. I -know what men’s appetites are; I’ve had experience." - -Afore I could think of an answer to this she swept out of the door like -a toy typhoon, the breeze from her skirts settin’ papers and light stuff -flyin’, and was stompin’ down the stairs, singin’ "Sweet By and By" at -the top of her lungs. I looked at the tray and scratched my head. My -appetite ain’t a hummin’-bird’s, by a considerable sight, but that -breakfast would have lasted me all day. As for Lemuel, about all he did -with food was find fault with it. And just then in he comes. - -"What’s that?" says he, pointin’ to the tray. - -"That?" says I. "That’s my breakfast. Yours is just like it and it’ll be -right up." - -He fidgeted with his specs and bent over to look. His nose was anything -but a pug, but I give you my word you could almost see it turn up. - -"Fried potatoes!" he says; "and fried fish! and fried eggs! and -griddle-cakes! Why—why it’s _all_ fried! Horrible!" - -"Ain’t there enough?" I asks, sarcastic. "If not, I presume likely -there’s more in the kitchen." - -"Enough!" he fairly screamed it. "I never take anything but a slice of -very dry toast and a cup of tea in the mornin’. It’s a principle of -mine. And I never eat anything fried! I—I—" - -"All right," says I, "you tell her so. Here she is." And afore he could -get out of the door she sailed through it, luggin’ another tray loaded -like the fust one. She slammed it down and turned to the invalid, who -was tryin’ to hide his blanket dressin’-sack behind a chair. - -"Here is Lemuel!" she hollers. "It _is_ Lemuel, isn’t it? I’m _so_ glad -to see you! I’m Lucindy, Lot’s auntie. In a way we’re related, so we -must shake hands." - -She reached over and took his little thin hand in her big one and gave -it a squeeze that made him curl up like a fishin’ worm. - -"There!" says she, "now we’re all acquainted and sociable. Ain’t that -nice! You two set right down and eat. I’ll trot up again in a few -minutes to see how you’re gettin’ on. Sure you’ve got all you want? All -right, then." Out she went, singin’ away, and Cousin Lemuel flopped down -in a chair. - -"Good heavens!" he gasps, working the fingers Aunt Lucindy had shook, to -make sure they was all there. "Good heavens!" says he. - -"Yes," says I, "I agree with you." - -"She calls me by my Christian name!" he says, pantin’, "and I never saw -her before in my life! And it—it didn’t seem to occur to her that I was -not fully dressed. What shall I do?" - -"Well," says I, "if you asked me I should say you better make believe -eat somethin’. What _I_ can’t eat I’m goin’ to heave out of the back -window. I’d ruther satisfy that woman than explain to her, enough -sight." - -But he wouldn’t eat, seemed to be in a sort of daze, as you might say, -and went flappin’ back to his own room. I tackled the breakfast. - -It would take a week to tell you all that happened that forenoon. My -time’s limited, so I’ll only tell a little of it. When Aunt Lucindy come -upstairs again and see his tray, not a thing on it touched, she wanted -to know why. I done my best to explain, tellin’ her Cousin Lemuel was -afflicted in the nerves, and about his tea and toast, and his diff’rent -kinds of medicines, and his doctors, and so on, but she wouldn’t listen -to more’n half of it. - -"The poor thing!" she says, "Lot told me some about him. He’s in error, -ain’t he. Horatio, my husband that was, was in error, too, but he died -of it. That was afore I got enlightened. And you’re in error with your -foot, Cap’n Snow, so Lot says. Well, it’s a mercy I’m here. The first -thing I’ll do for you is to give you a cheerful thought. ’All’s right in -the world.’ You keep thinkin’ that this forenoon and I’ll give you -another after dinner. I must get a thought for poor Lemuel, but he needs -a stronger one. I’ll have one ready for him pretty soon. Now I must do -my dishes." - -Soon’s she cleared out this time I locked my door. An hour or so later -there was a snappish kind of knock on it. - -"Cap’n Snow! I say, Cap’n Snow," whispers Lemuel, pretty average testy, -"where is my tea and toast? Did you tell that woman about my tea and -toast? I’m hungry." - -"I told her," says I. "If you ain’t got it, you better tell her -yourself." - -"But I don’t want to see the creature," he says. - -"Neither do I; that is, I ain’t partic’lar about it. And I couldn’t hop -down-stairs if I was. You’ll have to do your own tellin’. I’m goin’ to -read a spell." - -My readin’ didn’t amount to much. He went grumblin’ back to his room, -but I judge his longin’ for tea and toast got the better of his dread -for the "creature," ’cause pretty soon I heard him go down-stairs. Aunt -Lucindy’s singin’ and dish-clatterin’ stopped, and I heard consider’ble -pow-wow goin’ on. Cousin Lemuel’s voice kept gettin’ higher and -shriller, but Aunt Lucindy’s was just the same even cheerfulness all the -time. Then the ex-insect man comes up the stairs again. I was curious, -so I unlocked the door. - -"How was the toast?" I asked. His usual pale face was bright red and he -was a heap more energetic than I’d ever seen him. - -"She—she—that woman’s crazy!" he sputters. "She’s insane; I told her so. -I—" - -"Hold on!" I interrupted. "Did you get the toast?" - -"I did not. She refused to give it to me. Actually refused! She—she had -that dreadful fried breakfast on the back of the stove and told me to -sit right down and eat it—like a good fellow. A good fellow—to me!—as if -I was a dog! A dog, by Jove! I explained—in spite of my just resentment -I endeavored to reason with her. I told her the doctor had forbidden my -eatin’ a heavy breakfast. I said that my nerves were shattered and so -on. And what do you suppose she said to me? She had the brazen -effrontery to tell me that I had no nerves. Nerves were ’errors,’ -whatever that means. All I had to do was to think that—that those fried -outrages were all right and they would be. And when I—you’ll admit I had -a good reason—when I lost my temper and expressed my opinion of her she -began to sing. And she kept on singin’. _Such_ singin’! Good heavens! -Horrible!" - -"Then you ain’t had any breakfast?" - -"I have not. But I will have it! I will! You mark my words, I—" - -He stopped. "The Sweet By and By" had swung into the lower entry and was -movin’ up the stairs. I expected to see Cousin Lemuel beat for snug -harbor, but no sir-ee! he stayed right where he was, settin’ up in his -chair as straight as a ramrod. Aunt Lucindy’s treatment might not be -workin’ exactly as she intended, the patient’s nerves might not be any -better, but his _nerve_ was improvin’ fast. - -In she swept, smilin’ like clockwork, as smooth and as serene as a flat -calm in Ostable cove. She paid no attention to the way the little man -glared at her, but turned to me and says: "Well, Cap’n," she says, "have -you cherished the thought I gave you?" - -"Um-hm," says I, "I’ve put it on ice. I cal’late 'twill keep over -Sunday." - -"I’ve thought up one for you, Lemuel, you poor thing," she says, turnin’ -to the insect chaser. "It is—" - -"Woman," broke in Cousin Lemuel, "I’ll trouble you not to call me a poor -thing. Where is my tea and toast?" - -She smiled at him, condescendin’ but pitiful, same as a cow might smile -at a kitten that tried to scratch it—if a cow could smile. - -"Your breakfast is on the stove, all nice and warm," she says. "You -don’t really want tea and toast; you only think so. Cap’n Snow will tell -you how nice those fried potatoes are, and the codfish and—" - -"Confound your codfish, madam! I shall have that tea and toast. I—I -_must_ have it. My system demands it." - -She shook her head. "Oh, no, it doesn’t," says she. "It will demand all -the nice things I’ve cooked for you if you only think so. Thought is -all. Now let me give you your cheerful thought for the day. It is—" - -"Confound your thoughts!" yells the nerve sufferer, jumpin’ out of his -chair and makin’ for the door. "I always have tea and toast for -breakfast, and I intend to have it now." - -I hate a fuss, so I tried to pour a little ile on the troubled waters. -"Now, Lemuel," says I, "don’t let’s be stubborn. You—" - -He whirled on me like a teetotum. "Stubborn!" he snaps, "I was never -stubborn in my life. This is a matter of principle with me. That woman -shall give me my tea and toast." - -Aunt Lucindy smiled, same as ever. "Oh, no, I sha’n’t," says she, "it -would only encourage you in your error and that I shall not permit. -Please listen to the thought I have for you. It is _such_ a nice one. -’Be true to your higher self and’—" - -"Madam," shrieks Lemuel, "my thought about you is that you’re an old fat -fool! There!" And he rushed into the hall and the next second his door -slammed so it shook the house. - -For just one minute I thought Aunt Lucindy was goin’ after him. Her -smile stopped, her teeth snapped together, she took one step towards the -door, and her big hands opened and shut. But that one step was all she -took. When she turned back to me her face was red, but the smile had got -busy once more. She set down in the cane rocker—it cracked, but it -held—and says she: - -"He’s a little mite antagonistic, don’t you think so, Cap’n Snow?" - -"Well," says I, "I should think you might call it that without -exaggeratin’ much." - -"Yes," says she, "but I don’t mind. There was a time when if anybody’d -called me an old fat fool I’d have—well, never mind. I’m above such -things now. Nothin’ can make me cross any more. Not even a sassy little, -long-nosed shrimp like.... Ahem. Cap’n Snow, have you read ’The Soarin’ -of Self’? It’s a lovely book, an upliftin’ book." - -I said I hadn’t read it and she commenced to tell me about it, repeatin’ -it by chapters, so to speak. I couldn’t make much out of it but a -whirligig of words, and when she was just beginnin’ I thought I heard -Lemuel’s door creak. However, I didn’t hear anything more, and she -strung along and strung along, about "soul" and "mental uplift" and -"high altitude of spirit" and a lot more. By and by I commenced to -sniff. - -"Excuse me, marm," I says, "but seems to me I smell somethin’ burnin’. -Have you got anything on cookin’?" - -_She_ sniffed then. "No," says she, wonderin’. "I can’t remember -anything." Then, with another sniff, "But seems as if I smelt it, too. -Like—like bread burnin’. Hey? You don’t s’pose—" - -She put for down-stairs. Next thing I knew there was the greatest -hullabaloo below decks that you ever heard. Then up the stairs comes -Cousin Lemuel, two steps at a jump, which, considerin’ that his usual -gait had been a crawl, was surprisin’ enough of itself. He had a -scorched slice of bread in each hand and he stopped on the upper landin’ -and waved 'em. - -"I’ve got the toast," he yells, triumphant, "and I’m goin’ to have the -tea." Then he bolts into his room and locked the door. - -Up the stairs comes Aunt Lucindy. Her face was so red that it looked as -if somebody’d lit a fire inside it, and her big hands was shut tight. -She marched straight to that locked door and hollers through the -keyhole. - -"You—you little, dried-up critter!" she pants. "Humph! I s’pose you’ve -been sent to try my faith, but you sha’n’t shake it. No, sir! you nor -nobody else can shake it or make me lose my temper. I’m perfectly calm -and cheerful this minute. I am! Ha, ha! Ha, ha!" - -"I got my toast," hollers Cousin Lemuel from inside. "And I’ll have my -tea, in spite of all the New Thought cranks in this horrible hole!" - -"Indeed you won’t. I was prepared for a difficult case when I came here. -Cousin Lot told me about your foolish ’nerves’ and all the other errors -your selfishness has brought onto you. I made up my mind to set you in -the right path and I’m goin’ to do it." - -"I’ll have that tea." - -"No, you sha’n’t. When folks are in error I never give in to ’em. That’s -my principle and I stick to it." - -When she said "principle" I pretty nigh fell over. If _she’d_ got the -"principle" disease the case was desperate. Anyhow, I thought ’twas -about time for somebody with a teaspoonful of common sense to take a -hand. - -"See here," says I, "for grown-up folks this is the most ridiculous -doin’s I ever heard of. Mrs. Hammond, for the land sakes let him have -his tea and maybe we’ll have peace along with it." - -She turned to me. "Cap’n Snow," she says, "speakin’ as one who has -learned to rise above their baser self, and perfectly calm and -good-tempered, I advise you to mind your own business. I don’t care -nothin’ about the tea itself; it’s the principle I’m strivin’ for, I -tell you. Do you s’pose I’ll let that little withered-up, sassy, -benighted scoffer—" - -"There! there!" says I. Then I bent down to the keyhole. "Lemuel," I -says, "be a man and not prize inmate in a feeble-minded home. You’re not -an idiot. Apologize to this lady and, if you can’t get tea, take hot -water." - -The answer I got was hotter than any water he was likely to get, enough -sight. And there was some "principle" in it, too. - -"Well," says I, disgusted, "I’m durn glad that I’m unprincipled. Fight -it out amongst yourselves, but don’t you either of you dare come nigh -me. I mean that." And I went into my room and locked _that_ door. - -For two hours I stayed there, readin’ some and thinkin’ a whole lot -more. Down-stairs Aunt Lucindy was singin’ at the top of her lungs—to -show how good her temper was, I presume likely—and out in the upper hall -Cousin Lemuel was tiptoein’ back and forth and yellin’ at her that he’d -have his tea in spite of her, and passin’ comments on her music. I never -knew two such stubborn critters in my life, and I couldn’t see any signs -of either of ’em givin’ in, long as their principles held out. - -I remembered a conundrum that, when I was a young one in school, the -teacher used to spring on the big boys in the first class in arithmetic. -’Twas somethin’ like this: - -"If an irresistible force runs afoul of an immovable object, what’s the -result?" - -The boys used to grin and say they didn’t know. Neither did I—then; but -I was learnin’ the answer that very minute. When an irresistible force -meets an immovable object it’s a matter of principle, and the result is -liable to be ’most anything. That was the answer, and I was learnin’ it -by observation and experience, same as the barefooted boy learned where -the snappin’-turtle’s mouth was. - -Now the force and the object was in the same house with me, and the -minute the doctor, or Jim Henry Jacobs, or anybody else with a horse and -team, come to that house, they could take me away with ’em. I’d -contracted for quiet and rest, not for a session in Bedlam. - -Twelve o’clock struck and I begun to think of dinner. I hobbled over to -my door, unlocked it and looked out. Cousin Lemuel’s door was open, too, -but he wasn’t in his room or in the hall either. I wondered where on -earth he could be. Next minute I found out. - -There was a whoop from the kitchen—Lemuel’s voice and brimmin’ with pure -joy. Then, somewhere in the same neighborhood, began a most tremendous -thumpin’ and bangin’. A "cast" horse in a narrow stall was the only -sounds I ever heard that compared with it. It kept on and kept on, and -Lemuel was whoopin’ and hurrahin’ accompaniments. Such a racket you -never heard in your born days. - -Thinks I, "The critter’s nerves have gone back on him for good. He’s -really crazy and he’s killin’ that poor mind-curer out of principle." - -Somehow or other I hopped down them stairs on my sound foot, draggin’ -t’other after me. Through the dinin’-room I hobbled and into the -kitchen. There was a roarin’ fire in the cookstove and in front of that -stove was Cousin Lemuel dancin’ round with a teapot in his hand. The -cellar door opened out of the kitchen. It was shut tight, and somebody -behind it was bangin’ the panels till I expected every second to see ’em -go by the board. If they hadn’t been built in the days when they made -things solid they would have. - -"What in the world—" I commenced. "You—Lemuel—whatever your name is—what -are you doin’?" - -He turned and saw me. His bald head was all shinin’ with the heat, his -big round specs was almost droppin’ off the end of his long nose, and he -sartin did look like somethin’ the cat brought in. - -"What am I doin’?" he says. "Can’t you see? I’m gettin’ my tea, same as -I said I would. Ho! ho!" - -"Where’s Aunt Lucinda?" I sung out. "You loon, have you killed her?" - -He laughed. "No, no!" he says. "She deserves to be killed, but she’s -alive. She refused to give me my tea; she refused to stop her horrible -singin’. She was utterly impossible and I got rid of her. I crept down -and watched until she went into the cellar. Then I closed the door and -locked it. Cap’n Snow, I have never been treated as that woman treated -me in my life! It was a matter of principle with me and I was obliged—" - -He couldn’t say any more because the poundin’ on the door broke out -again louder than ever. I headed for it and he got in front of me. - -"She is absolutely unharmed, I assure you," he says. - -She sounded healthy, that was a fact. The names she called that -insect-hunter was a caution! - -"Let me out!" she kept hollerin’. "You let me out of this cellar, you -miserable little good-for-nothin’! If I ever get my hands on you I’ll—" - -"Ha! ha!" laughs Lemuel. "I couldn’t make her lose her temper, could I? -Oh, no, she’s perfectly calm now! You’re not in the cellar, madam," he -calls to her, "you’re in error. Thought can do anything; think yourself -out." - -I looked at him. "Well," says I, "for a person with twitterin’ nerves, -you—" - -"D—n my nerves!" says he, which was the most human remark he’d ever made -in my hearin’ and proved that he wasn’t beyond hopes. "You told me that -all I needed was somethin’ to keep me interested. Well, I’ve got it." - -"You let me out!" whoops Aunt Lucindy. "Cap’n Snow, if you’re there, you -let me out!" - -I think maybe I would have let her out, but when I heard what she -intended doin’ to Lemuel I thought 'twas too big a risk. I turned and -hobbled through the dinin’-room to the front outside door. And there, -just turnin’ into the yard, was Jim Henry Jacobs, with his horse and -buggy. When he saw me he almost fell off the seat. And maybe I wa’n’t -glad to see him! - -"You!" he says. "You! _walkin’!_" - -"Yes," says I, "and in five minutes I’d have been flyin’, I cal’late. -Don’t stop to talk. Help me into that buggy.... There! drive home as -fast as you can!" - -"But what under the canopy is the row?" he says. - -"Row enough," says I. "I’ve been shut up along with an irresistible -force and an immovable object, and I want to get away from ’em. Git -dap." - -We turned the horse’s head. We had just left the yard when he looked -back. I looked, too. The cellar had an outside entrance, a bulkhead -door. This door was bendin’ and heavin’ as if an earthquake was under -it. Next minute the staple flew, the door slammed back, and Aunt Lucindy -popped out like a jack-in-the-box. She never paid no attention to us, -but made for the kitchen. - -"Who—what is that?" gasps Jacobs. - -"That," says I, "is the irresistible force." - -There was a yell from the kitchen and then out of the door flew Cousin -Lemuel. _He_ didn’t stop for us, either, but ran like a lamplighter to -the fence, fell over it, and dove head-fust into the woods. After he was -away out of sight we could hear the bushes crackin’. - -"And—and _what_," gasps Jim Henry, "was _that_?" - -"That," says I, "was the immovable object. Drive on, for mercy sakes!" - - ———— - -Next day Lot came to see me at the Poquit House. He was dreadful upset. -Seems he hadn’t stayed his time out at camp-meetin’. One of the mediums -or spooks or somethin’ over there told him there was a destructive -influence hoverin’ over his house and he’d hurried back to find out -about it. - -"Humph!" says I. "I should have said it had quit hoverin’ and had lit. -How’s Cousin Lemuel?" - -Seems Cousin Lemuel was at the hotel over to Bayport. He’d telephoned -for his trunks. - -"And he told me," says Lot, wonderin’ like, "to tell Aunt Lucindy that -he intended havin’ tea and toast three times a day now, as a matter of -principle. That’s strange, isn’t it?" - -"Not to me ’tain’t," says I. "And how’s Aunt Lucindy?" - -"Aunt Lucindy’s gone back to Denboro," he says. "And she left word for -Cousin Lemuel that she should send him a ’thought’—whatever that -is—every day by mail from now on. And you’d ought to have seen her face -when she said it! But, Cap’n Zeb, when are you comin’ back to board with -me?" - -I shook my head. "Lot," says I, "I like you fust-rate, but your -relations are too irresistibly immovable. I’m goin’ to keep clear of ’em -for the rest of my life—as a matter of principle," I says, chucklin’. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII—ARMENIANS AND INJUNS; LIKEWISE BY-PRODUCTS - - -You can imagine that Jim Henry and Mary had a good deal of fun over my -experience with Lot and his tribe. They joked me about it consider’ble. -But I didn’t mind. My foot was all right again, or nearly so, and the -extension to the store had been finished and was workin’ out fine. We -moved the mail room way back and that give us lots of room on the main -floor, and Mary had a nice clean place, with plenty of air and light, -new sortin’ table, new desks, and all that. As for business, we done -more that summer than we had previous and it kept up surprisin’ well -through the winter. I was happy and satisfied and Jacobs seemed to be. - -But he wa’n’t. It took a whole lot to satisfy him and, by the time -another spring reached us and the cottages begun to open I could see -that he was gettin’ fidgety. One mornin’ he come back from a cruise -amongst the cottagers—he always handled their trade himself—and I could -see that he was about ready to bile over. - -"Well," says I, "what’s weighin’ on your mind now? Or is it your -stomach? I’m willin’ to bet that I’m two pound heftier than I was afore -I ate them hot biscuits at our boardin’ house this mornin’; and you got -away with three more’n I did. Has your ballast shifted, or what?" - -He shook his head. - -"Skipper," says he, "we’re ruined by foreign cheap labor." - -"You’re right," says I. "I heard that that Dutch cook used to work in a -cement factory, and them biscuits prove it." - -"Nothin’ doin’," he says. "My noon lunch for two years was ’Draw one -with a plate of sinkers’; and when it comes to warm dough, I’m an -immune. That Poquit House cook could practice on me for a week and never -dent my nickel-steel digestion. No. What I’m full of just now is -embroidery." - -I looked at him. - -"See here, Jim Henry," says I, "you’ve got me a mile offshore in a fog. -Unless you’ve swallowed your napkin, I don’t see—" - -"There! There!" he interrupted. "It’s nothin’ I’ve swallowed, I tell -you! It’s somethin’ I’ve seen that I _can’t_ swallow. I can’t swallow -those tan-faced, hook-nosed lace peddlers. It’s only spring, yet they -are thicker round here already than lumps of saleratus in those biscuit -we’ve been talkin’ about. They’re separatin’ perfectly good easy marks -from money that belongs to us, and I’m gettin’ mad. My Turkish blood’s -risin’, and there’s likely to be another Armenian massacre in this -neighborhood pretty soon." - -I understood what he meant then. Every summer for the last year or two -the Cape has been sufferin’ from a plague of fellers peddlin’ handmade -lace, and embroidery, and such. They’re all shades of color except -white, and they talk all sorts of languages except plain United States; -but, no matter what they look like or how they jabber, every last one of -them claims to be an Armenian, and to have his hand satchel solid full -of native-made tidies, and tablecloths, and the like of that. I never -run across the Armenian flag on any of my v’yages, but if it ain’t a -doily, then it ought to be. - -And the prices they charge! Whew! A white man would blush every time he -named one; but these fellers, bein’ all complexions, from light tan -Oxford to dark rubber boot, are born to blush unseen, and can charge -four dollars for a crocheted necktie and never crack, spot, nor fade. - -Jim Henry was some on high prices himself; likewise, he considered the -summer cottagers and the hotel folks as more or less our special -property. Therefore, you can understand how this Armenian competition -riled and disturbed him. And, as it turned out, that very mornin’ he’d -gone to call on Mrs. Burke Smythe, who was one of the Ostable Store’s -best and most well-off customers, and found her ankle-deep in lamp mats -and centerpieces which an Armenian specimen was diggin’ out of a couple -of suit cases. And she’d told him that she couldn’t pay our bill for -another month ’count of havin’ spent all her "household allowance" on -the "loveliest set of embroidered dress and waist patterns" and such -that ever was. There was the dress pattern. Didn’t he think it was a -"dear"? - -Well, Jim Henry give in to the "dear" part—she’d paid sixty-four dollars -for it—and come away disgusted. These peddlers was takin’ the coin right -out of our mouths, he vowed. What was we goin’ to do about it? - -"Keep our mouths shut, I guess," says I. "I can’t see anything else." - -But that wouldn’t do for him. He went away growlin’, and for the next -couple of days he hardly said a word. I knew he was hatchin’ some scheme -or other, and I took care not to scare him off the nest. The third -mornin’, he came off himself, fetchin’ his brood with him. - -"Skipper," says he, joyful, "I believe I’ve got it. I believe I’ve got -the idea that’ll put those Armenians in the discard. You listen to me." - -I listened, and what he’d hatched was somethin’ like this: We—that is, -the "Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes, and Fancy Goods -Store"—would sell embroidery and crocheted plunder, and run the peddlers -out of business. We’d open a tidy department on our own hook. What did I -think of that? - -Well, I didn’t think much of it, and I told him so. - -"Don’t believe we can do it," says I. - -"Why not?" says he. "We can charge as much as they can, and that seems -to be the main thing." - -"That ain’t it," I told him. "We can’t get the stuff to sell. Plenty of -machine made, but the summer folks won’t have that, cheap or high. What -they wake up nights and cry for is the genuine, hand-manufactured -article; and, unless you buy it off the peddlers themselves—which would -be unprofitable, to say the least—_I_ don’t see where you’re goin’ to -get it. Besides, if you could get it, sellin’ it in a store wouldn’t do. -’Tain’t romantic and foolish enough. Take this Burke Smythe woman," says -I; "she’s a fair sample. She could have got just as nice, pretty dress -patterns out of a fashion magazine, or—" - -"Great snakes!" he broke in. "You don’t think ’twas a _paper_ pattern -she paid sixty-four dollars for, do you?" - -"Never mind what ’twas," I says, dignified; "’twould be all the same, -paper or sheet iron. She wouldn’t care for it at all if she’d bought it -in a store. There’s nothin’ mysterious or romantic in that. But here -comes one of these liver-complected, black-haired fellers, lookin’ for -all the world like a pirate, and whispers in her ear he’s got somethin’ -in that carpetbag of his that nobody else has got, and that’ll make Mrs. -General Jupiter Jones, or some other of the Smythe bosom friends, look -like a last summer’s scarecrow. And, as a favor to her, he ain’t showed -it to Mrs. Jupiter—which is most likely a lie, but never mind—and he’ll -sell it to her at a sixty-four-dollar sacrifice, because—" - -"Hold on!" he interrupts. "Cut it out! Break away! Don’t you s’pose I’ve -thought of that? Your old Uncle James Henry Jacobs, doctor of sick -businesses, wa’n’t born yesterday by about thirty-eight years. I ain’t -figgerin’ to handle Armenian stuff. See here, Skipper. What makes the -summer bunch so crazy to get hold of old clocks, and old chains, and -antique junk generally?" - -"Well," says I, "for one thing, ’cause they _are_ antiques. For another, -because they come from right here on the Cape, and—" - -"That’s it," he sings out. "And that’s enough. Well, there’s plenty of -handmade embroideries and laces, not to mention lamp mats and bed -quilts, made right here on the Cape, too. Last fall, the county fair had -a buildin’ solid full of ’em. This is my plan. Do stop your Doubtin’ -Thomas act, and listen." - -The plan was sort of simple but complicated. Fust off, him and me was to -see all the old ladies and young girls in Ostable and the surroundin’ -country, and get ’em to agree to sell their handmade knittin’ to us. If -they wouldn’t sell to us direct, then we’d sell it for them on -commission. We’d fit up a room in the loft over the store, advertise it -as the "Colonial Curio Shop" or the "Pilgrim Mothers’ Exchange," or some -such ridiculous or mysterious name, stock it full of the truck the -widows and orphans had been knittin’ or tattin’ all winter, drop a hint -to the summer folks—and then set back and take the money. - -"It’ll go, I tell you," he says, enthusiastic. "It’s a sure winner. Just -say the word, Skipper, and we’ll start fittin’ up the loft to-morrow -mornin’." - -"Well," says I, pretty doubtful, "if you’re so sure, Jim, I—" - -"Sure!" he broke in. "Why wouldn’t I be sure? There’s only one kind of -people that can get ahead of me in a business deal—and they don’t hail -from Armenia. Skipper, here’s where we hand our peddlin’ friends theirs, -and then some." - -Next mornin’ he took the spare horse and started out. When he got back -that night, he had the bottom of the wagon covered with bundles of -knittin’ and handmade contraptions, and he made proclamations that he -hadn’t begun to cover the available territory. He’d seen I don’t know -how many single females and widows who had the fancywork and crochetin’ -habit; and they sold him everything they had in stock, and promised -more. - -"They take to it like a duck to water," says he, joyful. "They’re all -down on the peddlers, and they’re goin’ to pitch in and supply the home -market. In another week you can’t pass two houses in this town without -hearin’ the merry click of the needle. To-morrow I canvass Denboro and -Bayport, and the next day I tackle Harniss. By Monday we’ll be ready to -fit up the loft." - -And, sure enough, he was right. The amount of stuff he fetched back in -that wagon was surprisin’. How the female population of Ostable County -could have turned out all that embroidery and found time to cook meals -and sweep, let alone make calls and talk about their neighbors, beat me -a mile. But when he told me what he paid for the collection I begun to -understand. However, I didn’t say nothin’. 'Twa’n’t until he commenced -to rig up the room over the store that I spoke my thoughts. - -"Why, Jim Henry!" I says. "What are you thinkin’ of? Puttin’ panelin’ on -those walls! And paperin’ with that expensive paper! It must have cost -land knows how much a roll. And, for the dear land sakes, what are those -carpenters cuttin’ that hole in the upper deck for?" - -"For stairs, of course," says he. "Think the customers are goin’ to fly -up there? Don’t bother me, Skipper, I’m busy." - -"Stairs!" I sings out. "Why, there’s stairs already. What’s the matter -with the steps leadin’ aloft from the back room? _We’ve_ used them ever -since we’ve been here, and—" - -"S-shh! S-shh!" says he, resigned but impatient. "Cap’n, your business -instinct is all right in some things, like—like—well, I can’t think what -just now, but never mind. You’re a good feller, but you’re too apt to -cal’late by last year’s almanac. You ain’t as up to date as you might -be. Do you suppose Her Majesty Burke Smythe, and the rest of the Royal -Family we’re settin’ this trap for, will take the trouble to hunt up -that back room, and fall over egg cases and kerosene barrels to find the -ladder to that loft? And climb the ladder after they find it? No, no! -We’ll have a flight of stairs right from the main part of this store, -where they can’t help seein’ ’em. And there’ll be old-fashioned rag mats -on the landin’s, and brass candlesticks with candles in ’em at night, -and—" - -"Candles!" says I. "Well; that is the final piece of lunacy! Why, I -could light those stairs like a glory with kerosene lamps while a body -was tryin’ to get _sight_ of ’em with a candle! I never heard such -nonsense." - -But ’twas no use. What we must do was make that loft "quaint," and -old-fashioned, and the like of that. I didn’t understand—and so on. - -"All right," says I, "maybe I don’t; but I do understand this: Judgin’ -by the amount of hard cash you’ve spent for lace tuckers and doilies, -and the bill them stairs and panelin’s and candlesticks’ll come to, I -don’t see a profit on the Pilgrim Curio Mothers’ Exchange in ten year -big enough to cover a five-cent piece." - -He’d risk the profit. Besides, there was another reason for the stairs, -and such. To get to ’em all, the rich folks would have to go right -through the store; and if they didn’t buy anything upstairs they would -down, sure and sartin. He was figgerin’ on catchin’ the transient trade, -the automobile trade; and all around the foot of the stairs we’d have -temptin’ lunches put up and set out, and bottles of ginger ale and boxes -of cigars, and so forth, and so on. He preached for half an hour, -windin’ up with: - -"Anyhow, Skipper, if the curio shop should lose money—which it won’t—it -will bring customers to the Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes, -and Fancy Goods Store, which is the main thing; that and keepin’ the -coin in the United States instead of shippin’ it to Armenia. The -embroideries and laces are by-products, as you might say; and if a plant -comes out even on its by-products, it’s a payin’ proposition." - -He had me there. I didn’t know a by-product from a salt herrin’; so I -shut up. - -The "Old Colony Women’s Exchange and Curio Room," which was the name he -finally picked out, opened at the end of a fortni’t. Jacobs had -advertised it in the papers, and put signs for miles up and down the -main roads, let alone tellin’ every well-off summer woman within -reachin’ distance. And, almost from the very start, it done well. The -loft was crowded ’most every afternoon; and sometimes there’d be as many -as three automobiles anchored alongside our main platform. - -At the end of the fust month, the Exchange had cleared—cleared, mind -you—over two hundred dollars; and Jim Henry was crowin’ over me like a -Shanghai rooster over a bantam. He’d had another happy thought, and had -added "antiques" to the stock in the loft; and the prices he got for -lame chairs and rheumatic tables was somethin’ scandalous. But it wa’n’t -all joy. There was two things that troubled him. - -One of the things was that the supply of knittin’ and fancywork was -givin’ out. Likewise the "antiques." Of course, there was some on hand. -Aunt Susannah Cahoon’s yeller and black mittens, ear lappets, and -tippets hadn’t sold, and wa’n’t likely to; and Abinadab Saint’s -alabaster whale-oil lamp with the crack in it, that his Great-uncle -Peleg brought home from sea, hadn’t been grabbed to any extent. But -these were the exceptions. ’Most all the good stuff had gone; and, -though Jacobs had raked the county with a fine-tooth comb, as you might -say, the reg’lar dealers from Boston had raked it ahead of him, and -there wa’n’t any "antiques" left. - -There was several reasons for the shortage in fancywork. One was that -the knitters and tatters couldn’t turn it out fast enough; and, -moreover, the season for church fairs was settin’ in, and the heft of -the females, bein’ reg’lar members in good standin’, _had_ to tack ship -and go to helpin’ their meetin’-houses. So our stock was gettin’ low, -and Jim Henry was worried. - -The other thing that worried him was that we couldn’t get the right kind -of help to sell the stuff. He couldn’t tend to it himself, bein’ too -busy otherwise. Mary had the post-office department on her hands. The -clerk and the delivery boys wa’n’t fitted for the job at all; and, as -for me, I couldn’t sell a blue sugar bowl without a cover for seven -dollars and take the money. I knew the one that bought it was perfectly -satisfied, but I couldn’t do it; I ain’t built that way. - -"It’s no use, Jim Henry," says I. "I may be foolish, but I have ideas -about some things; and it’s my notion that sartin kinds of folks are -fitted by nature for sartin kinds of things. Now, Cape Codders they’re -fitted for seafarin’, and such; and New Yorkers and Chicagoers, like -you, are fitted for stock-brokin’ and storekeepin’; and Italians for -hand organs, and diggin’ streets, and singin’ in opera. And when it -comes to sellin’ secondhand stuff or keepin’ a pawnshop, there’s—" - -"Rubbish!" he snaps. "A while ago, you’d have said that the embroidery -trade was cornered by the Armenians. We’ve proved that’s a fairy tale, -ain’t we? I’ve got some ideas myself. I know the kind of person I want -to run that Exchange, and, sooner or later, I’ll find him—or her. -Meantime, we’ll have to do the best we can; and I’ll take it as a favor -if you’ll let up on the hammer exercise." - -I wa’n’t sure what he meant by the "hammer exercise"; but ’twas plain -enough that them "by-products" was a sore subject, and that he was -worried. - -However, he wa’n’t the only worried lace dealer in the neighborhood. The -Old Colony Exchange had made good in one direction, anyhow. It had -knocked the embroidery peddlin’ business higher’n a kite. Where there -used to be a dozen suitcase luggers paradin’ through the town, now you -scarcely sighted one; and that one looked pretty sick and discouraged. -The home market had smashed foreign competition for the time bein’; that -much was pretty sure. But our stock kept gettin’ lower and lower, and -the auto crowds begun to go by now instead of stoppin’. And the few that -did stop hardly ever bought anything unless Jim Henry himself was there -to hypnotize ’em into it. - -One mornin’ I came to the store pretty late, and found our clerk talkin’ -to a dark-complected chap with curly hair and a suitcase. I didn’t shove -my bows into the talk; but, when ’twas over, I asked the clerk what the -critter wanted. He laughed. - -"Oh, he’s the last survivor of the peddlin’ crew," he says. "He ain’t -sold a thing, and he’s goin’ back to Boston right off. I told him he -might as well. He asked a lot of questions about the Exchange, and I -took him upstairs and showed him around." - -"You did?" says I. "What for?" - -"Oh, just to let him see what he was up against, that’s all. He was a -pretty decent feller—some of them Armenians ain’t so bad—and I pitied -him. He was awful discouraged. He’d heard Mr. Jacobs had been tryin’ to -hire a salesman for up there; and he hinted that he’d kind of like the -job." - -"Did, hey?" says I. "Well, it’s a good thing for you and him that Mr. -Jacobs didn’t catch you. He’d sooner have a snake on the premises than -one of them peddlers. What else did he say? Anything?" - -Why, yes. It developed that he’d said a good deal. Asked where we got -our stuff, and so on. I judged ’twas a providence that I come in when I -did, or that clerk would have told every last word he knew. I didn’t say -anything to Jim Henry. No use frettin’ him unnecessary. - -Three days after that the Injun showed up. I don’t know as you know it, -but there are a few Injuns left on the Cape—half-breeds, or -three-quarters, they are mostly; and they live up around Cohasset -Narrows, or off in the woods in those latitudes. This one was an old -feller, black-haired, of course, and kind of fleshy, with a hook nose -and skin the color of gingerbread. I heard talk upstairs in the -Exchange; and, when I went aloft, I found him and Jim Henry settin’ -among the by-products, and as confidential as a couple of rats in a -schooner’s hold. Soon as Jacobs seen me, he sung out for me to heave -alongside. - -"Look at that, Cap’n Zeb," he says. "What do you think of that?" - -I took what he handed me, and looked at it. 'Twas a piece of handmade -lace—a centerpiece, I believe they call it—and ’twas mighty well done. - -"Think of it?" says I. "Well, I ain’t much of a judge, but I’d call it a -pretty slick article. Who made it?" - -The old black-haired chap answered. - -"My sister," he says. "She make ’em. Make 'em plenty." - -"Bully for her!" says I. "She’s the lady we’ve been lookin’ for. Maybe -she make some more; hey?" - -He grinned; and Jacobs mentioned for me to clear out; so I done it. He -and old Gingerbread Face stayed aloft in that Exchange for upward of an -hour; and, when they came down, Jim Henry went with him as fur as the -door. When the stranger had gone, Jim turns to me and stuck out his -hand. - -"Skipper," says he, grinnin’ like a punkin lantern, "shake! I’ve got -it." - -"What have you got?" I asked. I was a little mite provoked at bein’ sent -below so unceremonious. "What have you got—Asiatic cholery? Thought you -wouldn’t have nothin’ to do with Armenians." - -"Armenians be hanged!" says he. "That’s no Armenian. He’s an Indian, a -full-blooded Indian, or pretty near it. And his family is about the only -full-bloods left. There’s a colony of them up the Cape a ways; and it -seems that they pick berries in the summer, and put in their winters -turnin’ out stuff like that centerpiece. He heard about the Exchange, -and he’s come way down here to see if we bought such things. I told him -we bought ’em with bells on, and he’ll be back here to-morrow with -another load." - -Sure enough, he was, load and all; and ’twould have astonished you to -see what fust-class fancywork his sister and the rest of the squaws -turned out. Jacobs bought the whole lot, and ordered more; said he’d -take all the tribe could scare up; and old Gingerbread—his American -name, so he said, was Rose, Solomon Rose—went away happy. When I found -what Jim Henry had paid him for the plunder, I didn’t blame Rose for -bein’ joyful. - -But Jacobs didn’t care. He was all excitement and hurrah again. He had a -new addition made to the Exchange sign. ’Twas "The Old Colony Women’s -Exchange, Curio Room, and Indian Exhibit" now; and inside of two days -the Burke Smythes and their friends was callin’ reg’lar, the auto -parties was rollin’ up to the door, and the money was rollin’ in. Injun -embroidery was somethin’ new; and the summer gang snapped at it like -bullfrogs at a red rag. - -Then that partner of mine was seized violent with another rush of ideas -to the head. I’m blessed if he didn’t hire old Rose—the "Last of the -Mohicans," he called him, among other ridiculous and outlandish names—to -spend his days in that Injun Exchange loft. Paid him ten dollars a week, -he did, just to set there and look the part. ’Twas a sinful waste of -money, ’cordin’ to my notion; but Jim Henry shut me up like a -huntin’-case watch—with a snap. - -"Who said he could sell?" he wanted to know. "I didn’t, did I? I don’t -know that he can’t—he’s shrewd enough when it comes to sellin’ us the -stuff he brings with him; but if he don’t sell a fifty-cent article—" - -"Which he won’t," I interrupted; "for there’s nothin’ less than -two-seventy-five _in_ the robbers’ den, and you know it. How you have -the face to charge—" - -"Will you be quiet?" he wanted to know. "As I say, whether he sells or -not, he’s wuth his wages twice over. Can’t you understand? Just oblige -me by rubbin’ your brains with scourin’ soap or somethin’, and _try_ to -understand. All the auto bunch ain’t lambs; some of them—the males -especially—are a fairly cagey collection; and there’s been doubts -expressed concernin’ the genuineness of our Injun exhibit. But with old -Uncas—with the Last of the Mohicans himself right on deck as a livin’ -guarantee, why, we could sell clam-shells as small change from Sittin’ -Bull’s wampum belt, and never raise a sacrilegious question even from a -Unitarian freethinker. It’s a cinch." - -"See here, Jim Henry," says I, "if this thing’s a fraud, I won’t have -anything to do with it." - -"Neither will I," says he, emphatic. "Frauds don’t pay, not in the long -run. But grandmother’s genuine antiques and the A-number-one, Simon-pure -embroideries of the noble red man—or woman—pay, and don’t you forget -it." - -They did pay; and old Mohican himself was a payin’ investment, too, in -spite of my doubts and Jeremiah prophesyin’. He made a ten-strike with -every female that hit that loft. They said he was so "quaint," and -"odd," and "pathetic." Mrs. Burke Smythe vowed there was somethin’ "big" -and "great" about him—meanin’ his nose or his boots, I presume -likely—and, somehow or other, though he didn’t look like a salesman, he -sold. And every week or so he’d take a day off and go back home, to -return with a fresh supply of tidies, and lace, and gimcracks. I changed -my mind about Injuns. I see right off that all the yarns I’d read about -’em was lies. They didn’t murder nor scalp their enemies—they smothered -’em with lamp mats. - -And ’twa’n’t fancywork alone that the Rose critter fetched back from -these home v’yages of his. He struck an "antique" vein somewheres in the -reservation; and not a week went by that he didn’t resurrect an old -bedstead or a table or a spinnin’ wheel or somethin’, and fetched ’em -down in an old wagon towed by an old white horse. The "children of the -forest"—which was another of Jim Henry’s names for the Injuns and -half-breeds—didn’t give up these things for nothin’; far from it. We had -to pay as much as if they was made of solid silver; but we sold ’em at -gold prices, so that part was all right. - -And every other day Jacobs would ask me what I thought of "by-products" -now. As for Armenian competition, it was dead. There wa’n’t any. - -Well, three more weeks drifted along, and the summer season was ’most -over. Then, one Tuesday mornin’, old Rose, the Mohican, didn’t show up. -He’d gone away on Friday cal’latin’ to be back Monday with a fresh lot -of "antiques" and centerpieces; but he wa’n’t. And Tuesday and Wednesday -passed, and he didn’t come. Jim Henry was awful worried. We needed more -stock, and we needed our Injun curio; and nothin’ would do but I must -turn myself into a relief expedition and hunt him up. - -"Somethin’s happened, sure," says Jacobs. "He’s never missed his time -afore. Those fellers pride themselves on keepin’ their word—you read -Cooper, if you don’t believe it—and he’s sick or dead; one or the -other." - -"Dead nothin’!" says I. "He’s too tough to kill, and nothin’ would make -him sick but soap and water, which ain’t one of his bad habits by a -consider’ble sight. However, if it’ll make you any easier, I’ll take the -mornin’ train and locate him if I can." - -"Go ahead," says he. "I’d do it myself, but I can’t leave just now. Go -ahead, Skipper, and don’t come back till you’ve got him, or found out -why he isn’t on hand." - -So I took the mornin’ train and set out to locate the noble red man. - - - - -CHAPTER IX—ROSES—BY ANOTHER NAME - - -But locatin’ him wa’n’t such an easy matter. All we knew was he lived -somewheres in Wampaquoit, and Wampaquoit is ten miles from nowhere, in -the woods up around Cohasset Narrows. I got off the train at the Narrows -depot, and, after considerable cruisin’ and bargainin’, I hired a horse -and buggy, and started to drive over. I lost my way and got onto a wood -road. Don’t ask me about that road. I don’t want to talk about it. I’d -been on salt water for a good many years, and I’d seen some rough goin’, -but rockin’ and bouncin’ over that wood road come nigher to makin’ me -seasick than any of my Grand Banks trips. Narrow! And grown over! My -land! I had to stoop to keep from bein’ scraped off the seat; and, -whenever I’d straighten up to ease my back, a pine branch would fetch me -a slap in the face that you could hear half a mile. - -As for my language, you could hear that _two_ miles. That road ruined my -moral reputation, I’m afraid. They had a revival meetin’ in the Narrows -meetin’-house the follerin’ week, but whether ’twas on my account or not -I don’t know. - -However, I made port after a spell—that is, I run afoul of a house and -lot in a clearin’ sort of; and I asked a black-lookin’ male critter, who -was asleep under a tree, how to get to Wampaquoit. He riz upon one -elbow, brushed the mosquitoes away from his mouth, and made answer that -’twas Wampaquoit I was in. - -"But the town?" says I. "Where’s the town?" - -Well, it appeared that this was the town, or part of it. The rest was -scattered along through the next three or four miles of wilderness. -Where was the center? Oh, there wa’n’t any. There was a schoolhouse and -a meetin’-house, and a blacksmith’s, and such, on the main road up a -piece, that was all. - -"But where do the Injuns live?" I wanted to know. "The knittin’ women, -the Lamp Mat Trust—where does it—she—they, I mean, live?" - -He couldn’t seem to make much out of this; and by and by he went into -the house and fetched out his wife. She was about as black as he was; -and I cal’lated they was a Portygee family; but, no, lo and behold you, -it turned out they was Injuns themselves! But they never heard of -anybody named Rose, nor of anybody that knit centerpieces, nor of an -"antique," nor anything. I give it up pretty soon, for my temper was -beginnin’ to heat up the surroundin’ air, and the mosquitoes seemed to -think I was "Old Home Week," and come for miles around and brought their -relations. I give up and drove away over a fairly decent road this time, -till I found another house. But this was just the same; Injuns in -plenty—’most everybody was part Injun—but nobody had heard of our -special Mohican nor of an "antique." And, which was queerer still, they -never heard of anybody around that done knittin’ or crochetin’ or lace -makin’, or had sold any, if they did do it. And they didn’t any of ’em -talk story-book Injun dialect, same as Uncas did. They used pretty fair -United States. - -Well, to bile this yarn of mine down, I rode through those woods and -around the settlement most of that afternoon. Then I was ready to give -up, and so was my old livery-stable horse. He’d gone dead lame, and -’twould have been a sin and a shame to make him walk a step farther. I -took him to the blacksmith’s shop, and left him there. I pounded -mosquitoes, and asked the blacksmith some questions, and he pounded iron -and wanted to ask me a million; but neither of us got a heap of -satisfaction out of the duet. - -Two things seemed to be sure and sartin. One was that Solomon Uncas -Rose, the "child of the forest" and chief of the tattin’ tribe, was -mistook when he give Wampaquoit as his home town; and t’other that, much -as I wanted to, I couldn’t get out of that town until evenin’. My horse -wa’n’t fit to travel, and I couldn’t hire another, not until after the -blacksmith had had his supper. Then he’d hitch up and drive me back to -the Narrows. - -But luck was with me for once. Up the road came bumpin’ a nice-lookin’ -mare and runabout wagon, with a pleasant-faced, gray-haired man on the -seat. The mare pulled up at the blacksmith’s house, and the man got down -and went inside. - -"Who’s that?" says I. "And what’s he done to be sentenced to this -place?" - -"Doctor," says the blacksmith, with a grunt—he was one-quarter Injun, -too. "Comes from West Ostable. My wife’s sick." - -"I sympathize with her," says I. "I’m sick, too—homesick. Maybe this -doctor’ll help me out. What I need is a change of scene; and I need it -bad." - -So, when the doctor come out of the house, I hailed him, and asked him -if he’d do a kindness to a shipwrecked mariner stranded on a lee shore. - -"Why, what’s the matter?" says he, laughin’. - -"Matter enough," I told him. "I want to go home. Besides, a merciful man -is merciful to the beasts; and if I stay here much longer these -mosquitoes’ll die of rush of my blood to their heads. I understand you -come from West Ostable, Doctor; but if ’twas Jericho ’twould be all the -same. I want you to let me ride there with you. And you can charge -anything you want to." - -That doctor was a fine feller. He laughed some more, and told me to jump -right in. Said he’d got to see one more patient on his way back; but, if -I didn’t mind that stop, he’d be glad of my company. So I told the -blacksmith to keep my horse and buggy overnight, and when I got to West -Ostable I’d telephone for the livery folks to send for ’em. Then I got -into the doctor’s runabout, and off we drove. - -We did consider’ble talkin’ durin’ the drive; but 'twas all general, and -nothin’ definite on my part. 'Course, he was curious to know what I was -doin’ 'way over there; but I said I come on business, and let it go at -that. I was beginnin’ to have some suspicions, and I cal’lated not to be -laughed at if I could help it. So we drove and drove; and, by and by, -when I judged we must be pretty nigh to West Ostable, he turned the -horse into a side road, and brought him to anchor alongside of an old -ramshackle house, with a tumble-down barn and out-buildin’s astern of -it. - -"Now, Cap’n," he says, "I’ll have to ask you to wait a few minutes while -I see that last patient of mine. ’Twon’t take long." - -"Patient?" says I. "Good land! Does anybody _live_ in this fag end of -nothin’ness?" - -"Yes," says he. "’Twas empty for years, but now a couple of fellers live -here all by themselves. Foreigners of some kind they are. Been here for -a month or more. One of ’em let a packin’ case fall on his foot, and—" - -"I sympathize with him," says I. "The same thing happened to me a spell -ago. But a packin’ case! Cranberry crate, you mean, I guess." - -"Maybe so," he says. "I didn’t ask. But 'twas somethin’ heavy, anyhow. -Nobody seems to know much about these chaps or what they do. Well, be as -comfort’ble as you can. I’ll be back soon." - -He took his medicine satchel and went into the house. Soon’s he was out -of sight, I climbed out of the buggy and started explorin’. I was -curious. - -I wandered around back of the house. Such a slapjack place you never see -in your life! Windows plugged with papers and old rags, shingles off the -roof, chimneys shy of bricks—’twas a miracle it didn’t blow down long -ago. Whoever the tenants was, they was only temporary, I judged, and -willin’ to take chances. - -From somewheres out in the barn I heard a scratchin’ kind of noise, and -I headed for there. The big door was open a little ways, and I squeezed -through. ’Twas pretty dark, and I couldn’t see much for a minute; but -soon as my eyes got used to the gloominess, I saw lots of things. That -barn was half filled with boxes and crates, some empty and some not. -There was a horse in the stall—an old white horse—and standin’ in the -middle of the floor was a wagon heaped with things, and covered with a -piece of tarpaulin. I lifted the tarpaulin. Underneath it was a spinnin’ -wheel, an old-fashioned table, two chairs, and a basket. There was -embroidery and fancywork in the basket. - -Then I took a few soundin’s among the full boxes and crates standin’ -round. I didn’t do much of this, ’cause the scratchin’ noise kept up in -a room at the back of the barn, and I wa’n’t anxious to disturb the -scratcher, whoever he was. But I saw a plenty. There was enough bran-new -"antiques" and "genuine" Injun knittin’ work in them crates and boxes to -stock the "Colonial Exchange" for six weeks, even with better trade than -we’d had. - -I’d seen all I wanted to in _that_ room, so I tiptoed into the other. A -feller was in there, standin’ back to me, and hard at work. He was -sandpaperin’ the polish off a mahogany sewin’ table; the kind Mrs. Burke -Smythe called a "find," and had in her best front parlor as an example -of what our great-granddads used to make, and we wa’n’t capable of in -these cheap and shoddy days. There was another "find" on the floor side -of him, a chair layin’ on its side. Pasted on the under side of the seat -was a paper label with "Grand Rivers Furniture Manufacturing Company" -printed on it. I judged that the hand of Time hadn’t got to work on that -chair yet, but it would as soon as it had antiqued the table. - -I watched the mellowin’ influence gettin’ in its licks—much as twenty -year passed over that table in the three minutes I stood there—and then -I spoke. - -"Hello, shipmate!" says I. "You’re busy, ain’t you?" - -He jumped as if I’d stuck a sail needle in him, the table tipped over -with a bang, and he swung around and faced me. And I’m blessed if he -wa’n’t that Armenian critter; the one that the clerk had talked to—the -"last survivor of the peddlin’ crew." - -I was expectin’ ’most anything to happen, and I was kind of hopin’ it -would. My fists sort of shut of themselves. But it didn’t happen. I knew -the feller; but, as luck would have it, he didn’t recognize me. He -swallered hard a couple of times, and then he says, pretty average ugly: - -"Vat d’ye want?" - -"Oh, nothin’," says I. "I just drove over with the doctor, and I cruised -’round the premises a little, that’s all. You must do a good business -here. Make this stuff yourself?" - -"No," he snapped. - -I could see that he was dyin’ to chuck me out, and didn’t dast to. I -picked up the chair and looked at it. - -"Humph!" I says. "Grand Rivers Company, hey? Buy of them, do you?" - -"Yes," says he. - -"And this?" I took a centerpiece out of one of the boxes. "This come -from Grand Rivers, too?" - -"No," says he. "Boston. Is dere anything else you vant to know?" - -"Guess not. You the sick man?" - -"No; mine brudder." - -"Your brother, hey? Let’s see. I wonder if I don’t know him. Kind of -tall and thin, ain’t he?" - -He sniffed contemptuous. - -"No," says he, "he’s short and fat." - -"Beg your pardon," says I, "guess I was mistook. Well, I must be gettin’ -back to the buggy; the doctor’s prob’ly waitin’ for me. Good day, -mister." - -He never said good-by; but I saw him watchin’ me all the way to the -gate. I climbed into the buggy, and set there till he went back into the -barn; then I got down and hurried to the front of the house. The door -wa’n’t fastened, and I went in. I met the doctor in the hall. He was -some surprised to see me there. - -"Hello, Doc!" says I. "Where’s your patient?" - -"In there," says he, pointin’ to the door astern of him. "But—" - -"How’s he gettin’ along?" I wanted to know. - -"Why, he’s better," he says. "He’s practically all right. I wanted him -to get up and walk, but he wouldn’t." - -"Wouldn’t, hey?" says I. "Humph! Well, maybe he wouldn’t walk for you; -but I’ll bet _I_ can make him _fly_." - -Before he could stop me, I flung that door open and walked into that -room. The sufferer from fallin’ packin’ boxes was settin’ in one chair -with his foot in another. I drew off, and slapped him on the shoulder -hard as I could. - -"Hello, Sol Uncas Mohicans!" I sung out. "How’s genuine antique lamp -mats these days?" - -For about two seconds he just set there and looked at me, set and -glared, with his mouth open. Then he let out a scream like a scared -woman, jumped out of that chair, and made for the kitchen door, lame -foot and all. I headed him off, and he turned and set sail for the one -I’d come in at. He reached the front hall just ahead of me; but my boot -caught him at the top step and helped him _some_. He never stopped at -the gate, but went head-first into the woods whoopin’ anthems. - -The sandpaperin’ chap came runnin’ out of the barn, and I took after -him; but he didn’t wait to see what I had to say. He dove for the woods -on his side. We had the premises to ourselves, and I went back and -picked up the doctor, who’d been upset by the "child of the forest" on -his way to the ancestral tall timber. - -"What—what—what?" gasps the medical man. "For Heaven sakes! Why, he -wouldn’t _try_ to walk when I asked him to. _How_ did you do that?" - -"Easy enough," says I. "’Twas an old-fashioned treatment, but it -helps—in some cases. Just layin’ on of hands, that’s all. Now, Doc, -afore you ask another question, let me ask you one. Ain’t that critter’s -name Rose?" - -He was consider’ble shook, but he managed to grin a little. - -"No," says he, "but you’ve guessed pretty near it." - -Then he told me what the name was. - -I rode back to West Ostable with that doctor and took the evenin’ train -home. Jim Henry was waitin’ for me on the store platform when I got out -of the depot wagon. - -"Well?" he wanted to know. "Did you find him?" - -"Humph!" says I. "I did find the lost tribes, a couple of members of -’em, anyway." - -"What do you mean by that?" says he. - -"Come somewheres where ’tain’t so public and I’ll tell you." - -So we went back into the back room and I told him my yarn. He listened, -with his mouth open, gettin’ madder and madder all the time. - -"Now," says I, endin’ up, "the way I look at it is this. I’ve been -thinkin’ it out on the cars and I cal’late we’ll have to do this way. We -ain’t crooks—that is, we didn’t mean to be—and now we know all our -’antiques’ are frauds and our ’Injun curios’ made up to Boston, we must -either shut up the ’Exchange’ or go back to home products. We’ll have to -keep mum about those we have sold, because most of ’em have been carted -out of town and we don’t know where to locate the buyers. But, for my -part, bein’ average honest and meanin’ to be square, I feel mighty bad. -What do you say?" - -He said enough. He felt as bad as I did about stickin’ our customers, -but what seemed to cut him the most was that somebody had got ahead of -him in business. - -"Think of it!" says he. "Skipper, we’re gold-bricked! Cheated! Faked! -Done! Think of it! If I could only get my hands on that—" - -"Hold on a minute," says I. "Better think the whole of it while you’re -about it. We set out to drive those peddlers out of what was _their_ -trade. If they was smart enough to turn the tables and make a good -profit out of sellin’ us the stuff, I don’t know as I blame ’em much. It -was just tit for tat—or so it seems to me now that I’ve cooled off." - -"Maybe so," says he; "but it hurts my pride just the same. James Henry -Jacobs, doctor of sick businesses, beat by a couple of peddlers from -Armenia!" - -"Hold on again," I says. "I ain’t told you their real name yet." - -"Their name?" he says. "I know it already. It’s Rose." - -"Not accordin’ to that West Ostable doctor, it ain’t. The name they give -_him_ was Rosenstein." - -He looked at me for a spell without speakin’. Then he smiled, heaved a -long breath, and reached over and shook my hand. - -"Whew!" says he. "Skipper, I feel better. Richard’s himself again. To be -beat in a business deal by Roses is one thing—but by Rosensteins is -another. You can’t beat the Rosensteins in business." - -"Not in the secondhand and by-productin’ business you can’t," says I. -"Them lines belong to 'em. We hadn’t any right to butt in." - -And we both laughed, good and hearty. - -"But," says I, after a little, "what’ll we do with that curio room, -anyway? Give it up?" - -"Not much!" says he, emphatic. "I guess we’ll have to give up the -antiques; but we’ve got the winter ahead of us, Skipper, and the Ostable -County embroidery crop flourishes best in cold weather. We’ll start the -old ladies knittin’ again and have a fairly good-sized stock when the -autos commence runnin’ once more. Give up the Colonial Pilgrim Mothers? -I should say not!" - -"All right," I says, dubious. "You may be right, Jim; you generally are. -But I’m a little scary of this by-product game. It’ll get us into -serious trouble, I’m afraid, some day. It’s easier to steer one big -craft, than ’tis to maneuver a fleet of little ones." - -He sniffed, scornful. "As I understand it, Cap’n Zeb," he says, "this -business of yours was in a pretty feeble condition when you called me in -to prescribe." - -"No doubt of that, Jim, but—" - -"Yes. And it’s a healthy, growin’ child now." - -"Yes. It sartin is." - -"Then, if I was you, I’d take my medicine and be thankful. Time enough -to complain when you commence to go into another decline. Ain’t that -so?" - -I didn’t answer. - -"Isn’t it so?" he asked again. - -"Maybe," I said; "but it may be a fatal disease next time; and it’s -better to keep well than to be cured—and a lot cheaper." - -He said I was a reg’lar bullfrog for croakin’, and hinted that I was in -the back row of the primer class so fur’s business instinct went. I had -a feelin’ that he was right, but I had another feelin’ that _I_ was -right, too. However, there was nothin’ to do but keep quiet and wait the -next development. Afore Christmas the development landed with both feet. - -I’d heard the news twice already that mornin’. Fust at the Poquit House -breakfast table, where 'twas served along with the chopped hay cereal -and warmed over and picked to pieces, as you might say, all through the -b’iled eggs and spider-bread, plumb down to the doughnuts and imitation -coffee. Then I’d no sooner got outdoor than Solon Saunders sighted me, -and he ’bout ship and beat acrost the road like a porgie-boat bearin’ -down on a school of fish. He was so excited that he couldn’t wait to get -alongside, but commenced heavin’ overboard his cargo of information -while he was in mid-channel. - -"Did you hear about the Higgins Place bein’ rented, Cap’n Snow?" he sung -out. "It’s been took for next summer and—" - -"Yes, yes, I heard it," says I. "Fine seasonable weather we’re havin’ -these days. Don’t see any signs of snow yet, do you?" - -If he’d been skipper of a pleasure boat with a picnic party aboard he -couldn’t have paid less attention to my weather signals. - -"It’s been hired for an eatin’-house," he says, puffin’ and out of -breath. "A man by the name of Fred from Buffalo, has hired it, and—" - -"Fred, hey?" I interrupted. "Humph! ’Cordin’ to the proclamations _I_ -heard he cruises under the name of George—Eben George—and he hails from -Bangor." - -"No, no!" he says, emphatic. "His name’s Edgar Fred and it’s Buffalo he -comes from. Henry Williams told me and he got it from his wife’s aunt, -Mrs. Debby Baker, and her cousin by marriage told her. She is a -Knowles—the cousin is—married one of the Denboro Knowleses—and _she_ got -it from Peleg Kendrick’s nephew whose stepmother is related to the woman -that used to do old Judge Higgins’s cookin’ when he was alive. So it -come straight, you see." - -"Yes," I says, "about as straight as the eel went through the snarled -fish net. All right. I don’t care. How’s your rheumatiz gettin’ on, -Solon?" - -I thought that would fetch him, but it didn’t. Gen’rally speakin’, he’d -talk for an hour about his rheumatiz and never skip an ache; but now he -was too much interested in the Higgins Place even to catalogue his -symptoms. - -"It’s some better," he says, "since I tried the Electric Ointment out of -the newspaper. But, Cap’n Zeb, did you know that this Fred man was goin’ -to start a swell dinin’-room for automobile folks? He is. He’s had all -kinds of experience in them lines. He’s goin’ to have foreign help and a -chief Frenchman to do the cookin’ and—and I don’t know what all." - -"I guess that’s right," says I. "Well, I don’t know what all, either, -and I ain’t goin’ to worry. We’ll see what we shall see, as the blind -feller said. Hello! there’s the minister over there and I’ll bet he -ain’t heard a word about it." - -That done the trick. Away he put, all sail set, to give the minister the -earache, and I went on down to the store. And there was Jacobs talkin’ -to a man I’d never seen afore and both of ’em so interested they -scarcely noticed me when I come in. - -He was a kind of ordinary-lookin’ feller at fust sight, the stranger -was, sort of a cross between a parson and a circus agent, judgin’ by his -get-up. Pretty thin, with black hair and a black beard, and dressed all -in black except his vest, which was thunder-storm plaid. I’d have -cal’lated he was in mournin’ if it hadn’t been for that vest. As ’twas -he looked like a hearse with a brass band aboard. Both him and Jacobs -was smokin’ cigars, the best ten-centers we carried in stock. - -"Mornin’," says I, passin’ by ’em. Jim Henry looked up and saw me. - -"Ah, Skipper," says he; "glad to see you. Come here. I want to make you -acquainted with Mr. Edwin Frank, who is intendin’ to locate here in -Ostable. Mr. Frank, shake hands with my partner, Cap’n Zebulon Snow." - -We shook, the band wagon hearse and me, and I felt as if I was back -aboard the old _Fair Breeze_, handlin’ cold fish. Jim Henry went right -along explainin’ matters. - -"Mr. Frank," he says, "has had a long experience in the restaurant and -hotel line and he believes there is an openin’ for a first-class -road-house in this town. He has leased the—" - -Then I understood. "Why, yes, yes!" I interrupted. "I know now. You’re -Mr. Eben Edgar Fred George from Buffalo and Bangor, ain’t you?" - -Then _they_ didn’t understand. When I explained about the boardin’-house -talk and Solon Saunders’ "straight" news, Jacobs laughed fit to kill and -even Mr. Fred George Frank pumped up a smile. But his pumps was out of -gear, or somethin’, for the smile looked more like a crack in an ice -chest than anything human. However, he said he was glad to see me and I -strained the truth enough to say I was glad to meet him. - -"So you’ve hired the Higgins Place, Mr. Frank," I went on. "Well, well! -And you’re goin’ to make a hotel of it. If old Judge Higgins don’t turn -over in his grave at that, he’s fast moored, that’s all." - -I meant what I said, almost. Judge Higgins, in his day, had been one of -the big-bugs of the town and his place on the hill was one of the best -on the main road. It set ’way back from the street and the view from -under the two big silver-leaf trees by the front door took in all -creation and part of Ostable Neck, as the sayin’ is. The Judge had been -dead most eight year now, and, bein’ a three times widower without chick -nor child, the estate was all tied up amongst the heirs of the three -wives and was fast tumblin’ to pieces. It couldn’t be sold, on account -of the row between the owners, but it had been let once or twice to -summer folks. To turn it into a tavern was pretty nigh the final -come-down, seemed to me. - -But Jim Henry Jacobs wa’n’t worryin’ about come-downs. He never let dead -dignity interfere with live business. He didn’t shed a tear over the old -place, or lay a wreath on Judge Higgins’s tomb. No, sir! he got down to -the keelson of things in a jiffy. - -"Skipper," he says, sweet and plausible as a dose of sugared -soothin’-syrup. "Skipper," he says, "Mr. Frank’s proposition is to open, -not a hotel exactly, but a first-class, up-to-date road-house and -restaurant. As progressive citizens of Ostable, as business men, -wide-awake to the town’s welfare, that ought to interest you and me, on -general principles, hadn’t it?" - -I judged that this was only Genesis, and that Revelation would come -later, so I nodded and said I cal’lated that it had—on general -principles. - -"You bet!" he goes on. "It does interest us. Speakin’ personally, I’ve -long felt that there was a place in Ostable for a dinin’-room, run to -bag—to attract, I mean—the wealthy, the well-to-do transient trade. Why, -just think of it!" he says, warmin’ up, "it’s winter now. By May or June -there’ll be a steady string of autos runnin’ along this road here, every -one of ’em solid full of city people and all hungry. Now, it’s a shame -to let those good things—I mean hungry gents and ladies, go by without -givin’ ’em what they want. If I hadn’t had so many things on my mind, if -the Ostable Store’s large and growin’ business hadn’t took my attention -exclusive, I should have ventured a flyer in that direction myself. But -never mind that; Mr. Frank here has got ahead of me and the job’s in -better hands. Mr. Frank is right up to the minute; he’s abreast of the -times and he—by the way, Mr. Frank, perhaps you wouldn’t mind tellin’ my -partner here somethin’ about your plans. Just give him the line of talk -you’ve been givin’ me, say." - -Mr. Frank didn’t mind. He had the line over in a minute and if I’d been -cal’latin’ that he was a frosty specimen with the water in his -talk-b’iler froze, I got rid of the notion in a hurry. He smiled, -polite, and begun slow and deliberate, but pretty soon he was runnin’ -twenty knots an hour. He told about his experience in the eatin’-house -line—he’d been everything from hotel manager to club steward—and about -how successful he’d been and how big the profits was, and what his -customers said about him, and so on. Afore a body had a chance to think -this over—or to digest it, long’s we’re talkin’ about eatin’—he was -under full steam through Ostable with the Higgins Place loaded to the -guards and beatin’ all entries two mile to the lap. He’d never seen a -better openin’; his experience backed his judgment in callin’ it the -ideal location and opportunity, and the like of that. He talked his -throat dry and wound up, husky but hurrahin’, with somethin’ like this: - -"Cap’n Snow," he says, "you and Mr. Jacobs must understand that I know -what I’m talkin’ about. This enterprise of mine will be the very highest -class. French chef, French waiters, all the delicacies and game in -season. A country Delmonico’s, that’s the dope—ahem! I mean that is the -reputation this establishment of ours will have; yes." - -I judged that the "dope" had slipped out unexpected and that the miscue -jarred him a little mite, for he colored up and wiped his forehead with -a red and yellow bordered handkerchief. I was jarred, too, but not by -that. - -"Establishment of _ours_?" I says, slow. "You mean yours, of course." - -He was goin’ to answer, but Jim Henry got ahead of him. - -"Sure! of course, Skipper," he says. "That’s all right. There!" he went -on, gettin’ up and takin’ me by the arm. "Mr. Frank’s got to be trottin’ -along and we mustn’t detain him. So long, Mr. Frank. My partner and I -will have some conversation and we’ll meet again. Drop in any time. Good -day." - -I hadn’t noticed any signs of Frank’s impatience to trot along, but he -took the hint all right and got up to go. He said good-by and I was -turnin’ away, when I see Jim Henry wink at him when they thought I -wa’n’t lookin’. I was suspicious afore; that wink made me uneasy as a -spring pullet tied to the choppin’-block. - - - - -CHAPTER X—THE SIGN OF THE WINDMILL - - -Eben George Edgar Edwin Delmonico Frank went out, dabbin’ at his -forehead with the red and yellow handkerchief. Jacobs kept his clove -hitch on my arm and led me out to the settee on the front platform. - -"Set down, Skipper," he says, cheerful and more’n extra friendly, seemed -to me. "Set down," he says, "and enjoy the December ozone." - -We come to anchor on the settee and there we set and shivered for much -as five minutes, each of us waitin’ for the other to begin. Finally Jim -Henry says, without lookin’ at me: - -"Well, Skipper," he says, "that chap’s sharp all right, ain’t he?" - -"Seems to be," says I, not too enthusiastic. - -"Yes, he is. If I’m any judge of human nature—and I hand myself _that_ -bouquet any day in the week—he knows his business. Don’t you think so?" - -"Maybe," I says. "But what business of ours his business is I don’t -see—yet. If you do, bein’ as you and me are supposed to be partners, -perhaps you wouldn’t mind soundin’ the fog whistle for my benefit. I -seem to have lost my reckonin’ on this v’yage. Why should we be -interested in this Frank man and his eatin’-house?" - -He laughed, louder’n was necessary, I thought, and slapped me on the -shoulder. - -"You don’t see where we come in, hey?" he says. "Well, I do. A -dinin’-room like that one of his will need a good many supplies, won’t -it? And, if I can mesmerize him into patronizin’ the home market, the -Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods Emporium -will gain some, I shouldn’t wonder. Hey, pard! How about that?" And he -slapped my shoulder again. - -I turned this over in my mind. "Humph!" I says. "I begin to see." - -"You bet you do!" he says, laughin’. "The amount of stuff I can sell -that restaurant will—" - -But I broke in here. I remembered that wink and I didn’t believe I was -clear of the choppin’-block yet. - -"Hold on!" says I. "Heave to! And never mind poundin’ my starboard -shoulder to pieces, either. I said I _begun_ to see; I don’t see clear -yet. How did you and he come to get together in the fust place? Did you -go and hunt him up? or did he come in here to see you?" - -He kind of hesitated. "Why," he says, "he come into the store, and—" - -"Did he happen in, or did he come to see you a-purpose?" - -"He—I believe he came to see me. Then he and I—" - -"Heave to again! He didn’t come to see you to beg the favor of buyin’ -goods of you, ’tain’t likely. Jim Jacobs, answer me straight. There’s -somethin’ else. That feller wants somethin’ of you—or of us. Now what is -it?" - -He hesitated some more. Then he upset the woodpile and let out the -darky. - -"Well," he says, "I’ll tell you. I was goin’ to tell you, anyway. -Frank’s all right. He’s got a good idea and he’s got the experience to -put it into practice; but he’s somethin’ the way old Beanblossom was -afore you took a share in this store—he needs a little more capital." - -I swung round on the settee and looked him square in the eye. - -"I—see," I says, slow. "Now—I see! He’s after money and he wants us to -lend it to him. I might have guessed it. Well, did you say no right off? -or was you waitin’ to have me say it? You might have said it yourself. -You knew I’d back you up." - -Would you believe it? he got as red as a beet. - -"I didn’t say anything," he says. "Don’t go off half-cocked like that. -What’s the matter with you this mornin’? He don’t want to borrer money. -He wants more capital in the proposition—wants to float it right. And -he’s been inquirin’ around and has found that you and me are the two -leadin’ business men in the place and has come to us first. It’s more a -favor on his part than anything else. He offers to let us have a third -interest between us; you put in a thousand and I do the same. Why, man, -it’s a cinch! It’s a chance that don’t come every day. As I told you, -I’ve had the same notion in my head for a long time. A summer -dinin’-room like that in this town is—" - -"Wait!" I interrupted. "What do you know about this Frank critter? -Where’d he come from? Who is he?" - -"He comes from Pittsburg. That’s the last place he was in. And he’s got -his pockets full of references and testimonials." - -"Humph! Anybody can get testimonials. Write ’em himself, if there wa’n’t -any other way. I had a second mate once with more testimonials than -shirts, enough sight, and he—" - -"Oh, cut it out! Besides, I don’t care where he comes from. He’s sharp -as a steel trap; that much I can tell with one eye shut. And he’s run -dinin’-rooms and hotels; that I’ll bet my hat on. That’s all we need to -know. A road-house in this town is a twenty per cent proposition durin’ -the summer months. It’s the chance of a lifetime, I tell you." - -"Maybe so. But how do you know the feller’s honest?" - -"I don’t care whether he’s honest or not. It doesn’t make any -difference. If I wa’n’t here to keep my eye peeled, it might be; but -I’ll be here and if he gets ahead of me, he’ll be movin’ to some extent. -Someone else’ll grab the chance if we don’t. I’m for it. What do you -say?" - -I shook my head. "Jim," says I, "I can see where you stand. You’re so -dead sartin that an eatin’-house of that kind’ll pay big, that you’re -blind to the rest of it. Now I don’t pretend to be a judge of human -nature like you—leavin’ out Injun and Rosenstein human nature, of -course—nor a doctor of sick businesses, which is your profession. But my -experience is—" - -He stood up and sniffed impatient. - -"Cut it out, I tell you!" he says, again. "This ain’t an experience -meetin’. Will you take a flyer with me in that road-house, or won’t -you?" - -"Way I feel now, I won’t," says I, prompt. - -He turned on his heel, took a step towards the door and then stopped. - -"Well," he says, "you think it over till to-morrer mornin’ and then let -me know. Only, you mark my words, it’s a chance. And, with me to keep my -eye on it, there’s no risk at all." - -So that’s the way it ended that day. And half that night I laid awake, -feelin’ meaner’n dirt to say no to as good a partner as I had, and yet -pretty average sure I was right, just the same. - -In the mornin’ my mind was still betwixt and between. I went down to the -store and walked back to the post-office department. I looked in through -the little window and saw Mary Blaisdell inside, sortin’ the outgoin’ -letters. The sunshine, streamin’ in from outside, lit up her hair till -it looked like one of them halos in a church picture. Seems to me I -never saw her look prettier; but then, every time I saw her I thought -the same thing. A good-lookin’ woman and a good woman—yes, and capable. -That she’d lived so many years without gettin’ married, was one of the -things that made a feller lose confidence in the good-sense of humans. -The chap that got her would be lucky. Then I caught a glimpse of myself -in the lookin’-glass where customers tried on hats, and decided I’d -better stop thinkin’ foolishness or somebody would catch me at it and -send me to the comic papers. - -"Mornin’, Mary," says I. "Has Mr. Jacobs come aboard yet?" - -She turned and came to her side of the window. - -"Yes," she says, "he was here. He’s gone out now with that Mr. Frank. I -believe they’ve gone up to the old Higgins Place." - -"Um-hm," says I. "Well, Mary, just between friends, I’d like to ask you -somethin’. Do you like that Frank man’s looks?" - -She wa’n’t expectin’ that and she didn’t know how to answer for a jiffy. -Then she kind of half laughed, and says: "No, Cap’n Zeb, since you ask -me, I—I don’t. I don’t like him. And I haven’t any good reason, either." - -I nodded. "Much obliged, Mary," says I. "And, since you ain’t asked me, -I’ll tell you that _I_ don’t like him. And my reason’s about as good as -yours. Maybe it’s his clothes. A man, ’cordin’ to my notion, has a right -to look like a horse jockey, if he wants to; and he’s got a right to -look like an undertaker. But when he looks like a combination of the -two, I—well, I get skittish and begin to shy, that’s all. It’s too much -as if he was baited to trap you dead or alive." - -Then Jim Henry come in and when, an hour or so later, he got me one side -and asked me if I’d made up my mind about investin’ in Frank’s -road-house, I answered prompt that my mind was made up and the answer -was still no. He was disapp’inted, I could see that, and pretty mad. - -"Humph!" says he. "Skipper, you’re all right except for one fault—you’re -as ’country’ as they make ’em, and they make ’em pretty narrer -sometimes. Well, you’ve had the chance. Don’t ever tell me you haven’t." - -"I won’t," says I, and we didn’t mention the subject for a long time. -Then—but that comes later. However, I judged that Frank had found folks -in Ostable who wa’n’t as narrer and "country" as I was, for, inside of a -week, the carpenters was busy on the Higgins Place. They built on great, -wide piazzas; they knocked out partitions between rooms; they made the -house pretty much over. In March loads of fancy furniture came from -Boston. At last a windmill three feet high—made to look like a little -copy of the old Cape windmills our great-granddads used to grind grist -in, with sails that turned—was set up in the front yard, and on a post -by the big gate was swingin’ a fancy notice board, with a gilt windmill -painted on that, and the words in big letters: - - THE SIGN OF THE WINDMILL. - - MEALS AT ALL HOURS. - - _Steaks, Chops, Game, Etc._ - _Table D’hote Dinner Each Day at 1.15._ - - _Special Accommodations for Auto Parties._ - -That was it, you see. "The Sign of the Windmill" was the name of the new -road-house. - -But that wa’n’t all the advertisin’, by a consider’ble sight. There was -signs all up and down the main roads, with hands p’intin’ in the -"Windmill" direction. And there was ads in the Cape papers and in the -Boston papers, too. I swan, I didn’t believe anybody but Jim Henry -Jacobs could have engineered such advertisin’! And there was a -black-lookin’ critter with the ends of his mustache waxed so sharp you -could have sewed canvas with 'em—he was the French chef—and three -foreign waiters, and a dark-complected fleshy woman who seemed to be a -sort of general assistant manager and stewardess, and—and—goodness knows -what there wa’n’t. There was so many kinds of hired help that I couldn’t -see where Frank himself come in—unless he was the spare "windmill," -which, judgin’ by his gift of gab, I cal’late might be the fact. - -"The Sign of the Windmill" bought all its groceries and general supplies -at the store, which, considerin’ that we’d turned down the "chance" to -be part owners, seemed sort of odd to me, ’cause Frank didn’t look like -a feller who’d forgive a slight like that. But I judged Jim Henry had -hypnotized him, as he done other difficult customers, and so I said -nothin’. The auto season opened and our weekly bills with that -road-house was big ones, but they was paid every week, and I hadn’t any -kick there, either. - -As for the business that dinin’-room done, it was surprisin’, -particularly Saturdays and Sundays, when there’d be twenty or more autos -in the front yard and more a-comin’. The table d’hote dinner at 1.15 was -so well patronized that folks had to wait their turns at table and -later, on moonlight nights, the old house was all lighted up and you -could hear the noise of dishes rattlin’ and the laughin’ and singin’ -till after eleven o’clock. And our bills with the "Sign of the Windmill" -kept gettin’ bigger and bigger. - -But though the auto parties was thick and the patronage good, still -there was some dissatisfaction, I found out. One big car stopped at the -store on a Saturday afternoon and the boss of it talked with me while -the women folks was inside buyin’ postcards and such. - -"Well," says I, to the owner of the car, a big, fleshy, good-natured -chap he was, "well," says I, "I cal’late you’ve all had a good dinner. -Feed you fust-class up there at the Windmill place, don’t they?" - -He sniffed. "Humph!" says he, "the food’s all right. It ought to be, at -the price. Is the proprietor of that hotel named Allie Baby?" - -"Allie which?" I says, laughin’. "No, no, his name’s Frank. Edwin George -Eben etcetery Frank. What made you think ’twas Allie?" - -"’Cause he’s a close connection of the Forty Thieves," he says, sharp. -"He’d take a prize in the hog class at a county fair, that chap would. -What’s the matter with him? Does he think he’s runnin’ a get-rich-quick -shop? Two weeks ago I paid a dollar and a half for a dinner there, and -that was seventy-five cents too much. Now he’s jumped to two-fifty and -the feed ain’t a bit better." - -"Two dollars and a half for a _dinner_!" says I. "Whew! The cost of -livin’ _is_ goin’ up, ain’t it? What do they give you? Canary birds’ -tongues on toast? Any shore dinner ever I see could be cooked for—" - -He interrupted. "Shore dinner nothin’!" he snorts. "I wouldn’t kick at -the price if I got a good shore dinner. But what we got here is a poor -imitation of a country Waldorf. Everybody’s kickin’, but we all go there -because it’s the best we can find for twenty miles. However, I hear -another place is to be started in Denboro and if _that_ makes good, your -Forty Thief friend will have to haul in his horns. He’ll never get -another cent from me, or a hundred others I know, who have been his best -customers. We’re all waitin’ to give him the shake and it looks as if we -should be able to do it. We motorin’ fellers stick together and, if the -word’s passed along the line, the "Sign of the Windmill" will be a dead -one, mark my words." - -I marked ’em, and when, by and by, I heard that the Denboro dinin’-room -was open and doin’ a good business, I underscored the mark. - -This was about the middle of June. A week later Jim Henry got the -telegram about his younger brother out in Colorado bein’ sick and -wantin’ to see him bad. He hated to go, but he felt he had to, so he -went. - -I said good-by to him up at the depot and told him not to worry a mite. -"I’ll look out for everything," I says. "Course I’ll miss you at the -store, but I’ll write you every day or so and keep you posted, and you -can give me business prescriptions by mail." - -"That’s all right, Skipper," says he, "I know the store’ll be took care -of. But there’s one thing that—that—" - -"What’s the one thing?" I asked. "Overboard with it. My shoulders are -broad and I won’t mind totin’ another hogshead or so." - -He hesitated and it seemed to me that he looked troubled. But finally he -said he’d guessed ’twas nothin’ that amounted to nothin’ anyway and he’d -be back in a couple of weeks sure. So off he went and I had a sort of -Robinson Crusoe desert island feelin’ that lasted all that day and -night. - -It lasted longer than that, too. I didn’t hear from him for ten days. -Then I got a note sayin’ his brother had scarlet fever—which seemed a -fool disease for a grown-up man to have—and was pretty sick. I wrote to -him for the land sakes to be careful he didn’t get it himself, and the -next news I heard was from a doctor sayin’ he _had_ got it. After that -the bulletins was infrequent and alarmin’. - -I’d have put for Colorado in a minute, but I couldn’t; that store was on -my shoulders and I couldn’t leave. I telegraphed not to spare no expense -and to write or wire every day. ’Twas all I could do, but I never spent -such a worried time afore nor since. I was worried, not only about my -partner, but about the business he’d put in my charge. There was new -developments in that business and they kept on developin’. - -'Twas the "Sign of the Windmill" that was troublin’ me. As I told you, -the weekly bills for that eatin’-house was big ones, but the fust three -or four had been paid on the dot. Now, however, they wa’n’t paid and -they was just as big. Frank’s account on our books kept gettin’ larger -and larger and, not only that, but anybody could see that the Windmill -wa’n’t doin’ half the trade it begun with. There was more auto parties -than ever, but the heft of ’em went right on by to the new road-house in -Denboro. I remembered what the fleshy man told me and I judged that the -word had been passed to the motorin’ crew, just as he prophesied. - -I went up to see Frank and had a talk with him. I found him in his -office, settin’ at a fine new roll-top desk, with the dark-complected -stewardess alongside of him. She seemed to be helpin’ him with his -letters and accounts, which looked odd to me, and she glowered at me -when I come in like a cat at a stray poodle. She didn’t get up and go -out, neither, till he hinted p’raps she’d better, and even then she -whispered to him mighty confidential afore she went. 'Twas a queer way -for hired help to act, but ’twa’n’t none of my affairs, of course. - -He was cordial enough till he found out what I was after and then he -chilled up like a freezer full of cream. He was in the habit of payin’ -his bills, he give me to understand, and he’d pay this one when 'twas -convenient. If I didn’t care to sell the Windmill goods, that was my -affair, of course, but his relations with my partner had been so -pleasant that—and so forth and so on. I sneaked out of that office, -feelin’ like a henroost-thief instead of an honest man tryin’ to collect -an honest debt. I’d bungled things again. Instead of makin’ matters -better, I’d made ’em worse; come nigh losin’ a good customer and all -that. What business had an old salt herrin’ like me to be in business, -anyhow? That’s how I felt when I was talkin’ to him, and how I felt when -I shut that office door and come out into the dinin’-room. - -But the sight of that dinin’-room, tables all vacant, and two waiters -where there had been four, fetched all my uneasiness back again. If ever -a place had "Goin’ down" marked on it ’twas the "Sign of the Windmill." -I stewed and fretted all the way to the store and when I got there I -found that another big order of groceries and canned goods had been -delivered to the eatin’ house while I was gone. - -The next week’ll stick in my mind till doomsday, I cal’late. Every -blessed mornin’ found me vowin’ I’d stop sellin’ that Windmill, and -every night found more dollars added to the bill. You see, I didn’t know -what to do. If I’d been sole owner and sailin’ master, I’d have set my -foot down, I guess; but there was Jim Henry to be considered. I wrote a -note to the Frank man, but he didn’t even trouble to answer it. - -Saturday noon came round and, after the mail was sorted, I wandered out -to the front platform and set there, blue as a whetstone. The gang of -summer boarders and natives, that’s always around mail times, melted -away fast and I was pretty nigh alone. Not quite alone; Alpheus Perkins, -the fish man, was occupyin’ moorin’s at t’other end of the platform and -he didn’t seem to be in any hurry. By and by over he comes and sets down -alongside of me. - -"Cap’n Zeb," he says, fidgety like, "I s’pose likely you’ve been -wonderin’ why I don’t pay your bill here at the store, ain’t you?" - -I hadn’t, havin’ more important things to think about, but now I -remembered that he did owe consider’ble and had owed it for some time. -Alpheus is as straight as they make ’em and usually pays his debts -prompt. - -"I know you must have," he went on, not waitin’ for me to answer. "Well, -I intended to pay long afore this, and I will pay pretty soon. But I’ve -had trouble collectin’ my own debts and it’s held me back. If I could -only get my hands on one account that’s owin’ me, I’d be all right. -Say," says he, tryin’ hard to act careless and as if ’twa’n’t important -one way or t’other: "Say," he says, "you know Mr. Frank, up here at the -hotel, pretty well, don’t you?" - -For a minute or so I didn’t answer. Then I knocked the ashes out of my -pipe and says I, "Why, yes. I know him. What of it?" - -"Oh, nothin’ much," he says. "Only I was told he was a partic’lar friend -of yours and Mr. Jacobs’s and—and—" - -"Who told you he was our partic’lar friend?" I asked. - -"Why, he did. I was up there yesterday, just hintin’ I could use a check -on account. Not pressin’ the matter nor tryin’ to be hard on him, you -understand; course he’s all right; but I was mighty short of ready cash -and so—" - -"Hold on, Al!" I said, quick. "Wait! Does the ’Sign of the Windmill’ owe -you a bill?" - -"Pretty nigh a hundred dollars," says he. "I’ve supplied ’em with fish -and lobsters and clams and such ever since they started. Fust month they -paid me by the week. After that—" - -"Good heavens and earth!" I sung out. "My soul and body! And—and, when -you asked for it, this—this Frank man told you he’d pay you when 'twas -convenient, same as he paid Jacobs and me, who was his friends and was -quite ready to do business that way." - -He actually jumped, I’d surprised him so. - -"Hey?" he sung out. "Zeb Snow, be you a second-sighter? How did you know -he told me that?" - -I drew a long breath. "It didn’t take second sight for that," I says. "I -was up there last Monday and he told me the same thing, only ’twas you -and Ed Cahoon who was his friends then." - -He let that sink in slow. - -"My godfreys domino!" he groaned. "My godfreys! He—he told—Why! why, he -must be workin’ the same game on all hands!" - -"Looks like it," says I, and, thinkin’ of Jim Henry, poor feller, sick -as he could be, and the business he’d left me to look out for, my heart -went down into my boots. - -Perkins set thinkin’ for a jiffy. Then he got up off the settee. - -"The son of a gun!" he says. "I’ll fix him! I’ll put my bill in a -lawyer’s hands to-night." - -"No, you won’t," I sung out, grabbin’ him by the arm. "You mustn’t. He -owes the Ostable Store four times what he owes you, and it’s likely he -owes Cahoon and a lot more. The rest of us can’t afford to let you upset -the calabash that way. You might get yours, though I’m pretty doubtful, -but where would the rest of us come in. You set down, Alpheus. Set down, -and let me think. Set down, I tell you!" - -When I talk that way—it’s an old seafarin’ habit—most folks usually obey -orders. Alpheus set. He started to talk, but I hushed him up and, havin’ -filled my pipe and got it to goin’, I smoked and thought for much as -five minutes. - -"Hum!" says I, after the spell was over, "the way I sense it is like -this: This ain’t any fo’mast hand’s job; and it ain’t a skipper’s job -neither. It’s a case for all hands and the ship’s cat, workin’ together -and standin’ by each other. We’ve got to find out who’s who and what’s -what, make up our minds and then all read the lesson in concert, like -young ones in school. This Frank Windmill critter owes you and he owes -me; we’re sartin of that. More’n likely he owes Ed Cahoon for chickens -and fowls and eggs, and Bill Bangs for milk, and Henry Hall for ice, and -land knows how many more. S’pose you skirmish around and find out who he -does owe and fetch all the creditors to the store here to-morrer mornin’ -at eleven o’clock. It’ll be church time, I know, but even the parson -will excuse us for this once, ’specially as the ’Sign of the Windmill’ -is supposed to sell liquor and he’s down on it." - -We had consider’ble more talk, but that was the way it ended, finally. I -went to bed that night, but it didn’t take; I might as well have set up, -so fur’s sleep was concerned. All I could think of was poor, sick Jim -Henry and the trust he put in me. - - - - -CHAPTER XI—COOKS AND CROOKS - - -I was at the store by quarter of eleven, but the gang of creditors was -there to meet me, seven of ’em altogether. Cahoon, the chicken man, and -Bangs, the milk man, and Hall, the ice man, and Alpheus, and Caleb -Bearse, who’d been supplyin’ meat to that road-house, and Peleg Doane, -who’d done carpenterin’ and repairs on it, and Jeremiah Doane, his -brother, who’d painted the repaired places. Seven was all the creditors -Perkins could scare up on short notice, though he cal’lated there was -more. - -"There’s one more, anyway," says Bill Bangs. "That dark-complected -woman—the one you call the stewardess, Cap’n Zeb—was sick a spell ago -and Frank told Doctor Goodspeed he’d be responsible for the bill. I see -the doc this mornin’ and he’s with us. Says he may be down later." - -They elected me chairman of the meetin’ and we started deliberatin’. The -debts amounted to quite a lot, though the Ostable Store’s was the -biggest. Some was for doin’ one thing and some another, but we all -agreed we must see Colcord, the lawyer, afore we did much of anything. -While we was still pow-wowin’, somebody knocked at the door. ’Twas -Doctor Goodspeed, on the way to see a patient. - -"Well," says he, "how’s the consultation comin’ on? Judgin’ by your -faces, I should imagine ’twas a autopsy. Time to take desperate -measures, if you asked _me_. I never did believe that Frank chap was -anything but a crook, so I’m not surprised. I’m with you in spirit, -boys, though I can’t stop. However, here’s a couple of pieces of -information which may interest you: One is that ’The Sign of the -Windmill’s’ account was overdrawn yesterday at the bank and the bank -folks sent notice. T’other is that Lawyer Colcord is out of town for a -couple of days, so you can’t get him. Otherwise than that, the patient -is normal. By, by. Life’s a giddy jag of joy, isn’t it?" - -He grinned and shut the door with a bang. The eight of us looked at each -other. Then Alpheus Perkins riz to his feet. - -"Humph!" says he. "Account overdrawn, hey? Well, maybe that Windmill -ain’t made enough to pay its bills, but it’s been takin’ in consider’ble -cash. If it ain’t at the bank, where is it? I’m goin’ to find out. And -if I can’t get a lawyer to help me, I’ll do without one. That Frank -critter’s store clothes are wuth somethin’, and, if I can’t get nothin’ -more, I’ll rip _them_ right off his back. So long, fellers. Keep your -ear to the ground and you’ll hear somethin’ drop." - -He headed for the door, but he didn’t go alone. The rest of us got there -at the same time, and I—well, I wouldn’t wonder if ’twas me that opened -it. I was desperate, and I’ve commanded vessels in my time. - -Anyhow, ’twas me that led the procession up the front steps of the "Sign -of the Windmill" and into the dinin’-room. The two waiters was busy. -They had five of the tables set end to end and covered with cloths, and -they was layin’ plates and knives and forks for a big crowd. ’Twas plain -that special customers was expected. - -"Mr. Frank in his office?" says I, headin’ for the skipper’s cabin. The -waiters looked at each other and jabbered in some sort of foreign lingo. - -"No, sare," says one of ’em. "No, sare. Meester Frank, he is away—out." - -"Away out, hey?" says I. "You’re wrong, son. We’re the ones that are -out, but we ain’t goin’ to be out another cent’s wuth. Come on, boys, -we’ll find him." - -You can see I was mighty mad, or I wouldn’t have been so reckless. I -walked acrost that dinin’-room and flung open the office door. Frank -himself wa’n’t there, but who should be settin’ at his roll-top desk, -but the fleshy, dark-complected stewardess woman. She glowered at me, -ugly as a settin’ hen. - -"This is a private room," she snaps. - -"I know, ma’am," says I; "but the business we’ve come on is sort of -private, too. Come in, boys." - -The seven of ’em come in and they filled that office plumb full. The -stewardess woman’s black eyes opened and then shut part way. But there -was fire between the lashes. - -"What do you mean by comin’ in here?" says she. "And what do you want?" - -The rest of the fellers looked at me, so I answered. - -"Ma’am," says I, "we don’t want nothin’ of you and we’re sorry to -trouble you. We’ve come to see Mr. Frank on a matter of business, -important business—that is, it’s important to us." - -"Mr. Frank is out," says she. "You must call again. Good day." - -She turned back again to the desk, but none of us moved. - -"Out, is he?" says I. "Well then, I cal’late we’ll wait till he comes -in." - -"He is out of town. He won’t be in till to-morrer," she snaps. - -I looked ’round at the rest of the crowd. Every one of ’em nodded. - -"Well, then, ma’am," I says, "I cal’late we’ll stay here and wait till -to-morrer." - -That shook her. She got up from the desk and turned to face us. If I’m -any judge of a temper she had one, and she was holdin’ it in by main -strength. - -"You may tell me your business," she says. "I am Mr. -Frank’s—er—secretary." - -So I told her. "We’ve waited for our money long as we can," says I. -"None of us are well-off and every one of us needs what’s owin’ him. -We’ve called and we’ve wrote. Now we’re goin’ to stay here till we’re -paid. Of course, ma’am, I realize 'tain’t none of your affairs, and we -ain’t goin’ to make you any more trouble than we can help. We’ll just -set down on the piazza or in the dinin’-room or somewheres and wait for -your boss, that’s all." - -I said that, ’cause I didn’t want her to think we had anything against -her personal. I cal’lated 'twould smooth her down, but it didn’t. She -looked as if she’d like to murder us, every livin’ soul. - -"You get out of here!" she screamed, her hands openin’ and shuttin’. -"You get right out of here this minute!" - -"Yes, ma’am," says I, "we’ll get out of your office, of course. -Further’n that you’ll have to excuse us. We’re goin’ to stay right in -this house till we see Mr. Frank." - -"I’ll put you out!" she sputtered. "I’ll have the waiters put you out." - -I thought of them two puny lookin’ waiters and, to save me, I couldn’t -help smilin’. You’d think she’d have seen the ridic’lous side of it, -too, but apparently she didn’t, for she bust right through between -Alpheus and me and rushed into the dinin’-room. - -"Boys," says I, to the crowd, "maybe we’d better step out of here. We -may need more room." - -She was in the dinin’-room talkin’ foreign language in a blue streak to -the waiters. They was lookin’ scared and spreadin’ out their hands and -hunchin’ their shoulders. - -"Ma’am," says I, "if I was you I wouldn’t do nothin’ foolish. We ain’t -goin’ and we won’t be put out, but, on the other hand, we won’t make any -fuss. We’ll just set down here and wait for the boss, that’s all. Set -down, boys." - -So all hands come to anchor on chairs around that dinin’-room and -grinned and looked silly but determined. The stewardess glared at us -some more and then rushed off upstairs. In a minute she was back with -her hat on. - -"You wait!" says she. "You just wait! I’ll put you in prison! I’ll—Oh—" -The rest of it was French or Italian or somethin’, but we didn’t need an -interpreter. She shook her fists at us and run down the front steps and -away up the road. - -"Well, gents all," says I, "man born of woman is of few days and full of -trouble. To-day we’re here and to-morrer we’re in jail, as the sayin’ -is. Anybody want to back out? Now’s the accepted time." - -Nobody backed. The two waiters went on with their table settin’ and we -set and watched ’em. 'Twas the queerest Sunday mornin’ ever I put in. By -and by Alpheus got uneasy and wandered away out towards the kitchen. In -a few minutes back he comes, b’ilin’ mad. - -"Say, fellers," he sung out. "Do you know what’s goin’ on here? There’s -a party of thirty folks comin’ in automobiles for dinner. They’re -gettin’ the dinner ready now. And if we don’t stop 'em, they’ll be fed -with our stuff, the grub we’ve never got a cent for. I don’t know how -you feel, but _I’ve_ got ten dollar’s wuth of clams and lobsters in this -eatin’-house that ain’t goin’ to be used unless I get my pay for ’em. -You can do as you please, but I’m goin’ to stay in that kitchen and -watch them lobsters and things." - -And out he put, headed for the kitchen. The rest of us looked at each -other. Then Caleb Bearse rose to his feet. - -"Well," says he, determined, "there’s a lot of chops and roastin’ beef -and steaks out aft here that belong to me. None of _them_ go to feed -auto folks unless I get my pay fust." - -And _he_ started for the kitchen. Then up gets Ed Cahoon and follers -suit. - -"I’ve got six or eight fowl and some eggs aboard this craft," he says. -"I cal’late I’ll keep ’em company." - -The rest of us never said nothin’, but I presume likely we all thought -alike. Anyhow, inside of three minutes we was all out in that kitchen -and facin’ as mad a chief cook and bottle washer as ever hailed from -France or anywheres else. You see, ’twas time to put the lobsters and -clams and all the rest of the truck on the fire and we wa’n’t willin’ to -see 'em put there. - -The chief or "chef," or whatever they called him, fairly hopped up and -down. The madder he got the less English he talked and the less -everybody else understood. Bill Bangs done most of the talkin’ for our -side and he had the common idea that to make foreigners understand you -must holler at 'em. Some of the other fellers put in their remarks to -help along, all hollerin’ too, and such a riot you never heard outside -of a darky camp-meetin’. While the exercises was at their liveliest the -telephone bell rung. After it had rung five times I went into the other -room to answer it. When I got back to that kitchen I got Alpheus to one -side and says I: - -"Al," I says, "this thing’s gettin’ more interestin’ every minute. That -telephone call was from the man that’s ordered the big dinner here -to-day. There’s thirty-two in his party and they’ve got as far as -Cohasset Narrows already. They’ll be here in an hour and a half. He -’phoned just to let me know they was on the way." - -"Humph!" says he. "What did he say when you told him there wouldn’t be -no dinner?" - -"He didn’t say nothin’," says I, "because I didn’t tell him. The wire -was a bad one and he couldn’t hear plain, so he lost patience and rung -off. Said I could tell him whatever I wanted to say when him and his -party got here. _I_ don’t want to tell him anything. You can explain to -thirty-two hungry folks that there’s nothin’ doin’ in the grub line, if -you want to—I don’t." - -"Humph!" he says again. "I ain’t hankerin’ for the job. What had we -better do, Cap’n Zeb, do you think?" - -"Well," says I, "I cal’late we’d better shorten sail and haul out of the -race, for a spell, anyhow. At any rate we’d better clear out of this -kitchen and leave that chef and the rest to get the dinner. I know it’s -our stuff that’ll go to make that dinner, but I don’t see’s we can help -it. A few dollars more won’t break us more’n we’re cracked already." - -But he waved his hand for me to stop. "No question of a few dollars is -in it. It’s no use," he says, solemn; "you’re too late. The Frenchman’s -quit." - -"Quit?" says I. - -"Um-hm," says he. "Bill Bangs told him that we fellers had took charge -of this road-house and he and the rest of the kitchen help quit right -then and there. They’re out in the barn now, holdin’ counsel of war, I -shouldn’t wonder. Bill seems to think he’s done a great piece of work, -but I don’t." - -I didn’t either; and, after I’d hot-footed it to the barn and tried to -pump some reason and sense into that chef and his gang, I was surer of -it than ever. They wouldn’t listen to reason, not from us. They wanted -to see the boss, meanin’ Mr. Frank. He was the one that had hired ’em -and they wouldn’t have anything to say to anybody else. - -I come back to the kitchen and found the boys all settin’ round lookin’ -pretty solemn. My joke about the jail wa’n’t half so funny as it had -been. Bill Bangs, who’d been the most savage outlaw of us all, was the -meekest now. - -"Say, Cap’n," he says to me, nervous like, "hadn’t we better clear out -and go home? I don’t want to see them auto people when they get here. -And—and I’m scared that that stewardess has gone after the sheriff." - -"I presume likely that’s just where she’s gone," says I. - -"Wh-what’ll we do?" says he. - -"Don’t know," says I. "But I do know that the time for backin’ out is -past and gone. We started out to be pirates and now it’s too late to -haul down the skull and cross-bones. We’ve got to stand by our guns and -fight to the finish, that’s all I see. If the rest of you have got -anything better to offer, I, for one, would be mighty glad to hear it." - -Everybody looked at everybody else, but nobody said anything. ’Twas a -glum creditors’ meetin’, now I tell you. We set and stood around that -kitchen for ten minutes; then we heard voices in the dinin’-room. - -"Heavens and earth!" sings out Ed Cahoon. "Who’s that? It can’t be the -automobile gang so soon!" - -It wa’n’t. ’Twas a parcel of women. You see, some of the crowd had told -their wives about the counsel at the store and that, more’n likely, we’d -pay a visit to the "Sign of the Windmill." Church bein’ over, they’d -come to hunt us up. There was Alpheus’s wife, and Cahoon’s, and Bangs’s, -and Bearse’s, and Jerry Doane’s daughter, and Mary Blaisdell. They was -mighty excited and wanted to know what was up. We told ’em, but we -didn’t hurrah none while we was doin’ it. - -"Well," says Matildy Bangs, "I must say you men folks have made a nice -mess of it all. William Bangs, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. -What’ll I do when you’re in state’s prison? How’m I goin’ to get along, -I’d like to know! You never think of nobody but yourself." - -Poor Bill was about ready to cry, but this made him mad. "Who would I -think of, for thunder sakes!" he sung out. "I’m the one that’s goin’ to -be jailed, ain’t I?" - -Then Mary Blaisdell took me by the arm. Her eyes were sparklin’ and she -looked excited. - -"Cap’n Snow," she whispered, "come here a minute. I want to speak to -you. I have an idea." - -"Lord!" says I, groanin’, "I wish _I_ had. What is it?" - -What do you suppose ’twas? Why, that we, ourselves, should get up the -dinner for the auto folks. Every woman there could cook, she said, and -so could some of the men. We’d seized the stuff for the dinner already. -It was ours, or, at any rate, it hadn’t been paid for. - -"We can get ’em a good dinner," says she. "I know we can. And, if that -Frank doesn’t come back until you have been paid, you can take that much -out of his bills. If he does come no one will be any worse off, not even -he. Let’s do it." - -I looked at her. As she said, we wouldn’t be any worse off, and we might -as well be hung for old sheep as lamb. The auto folks would be better -off; they’d have some kind of a meal, anyhow. - -We had a grand confab, but, in the end, that’s what we done. Every one -of them women could cook plain food, and Mrs. Cahoon was the best cake -and pie maker in the county. We divided up the job. All hands had -somethin’ to do, includin’ me, who undertook a clam chowder, and Bill -Bangs, who split wood and lugged water and cussed and groaned about -state’s prison while he was doin’ it. - -The last thing was ready and the last plate set when the autos, six of -’em, purred and chugged up to the front door. We expected Frank, or the -stewardess, or the constable, or all three of ’em, any minute, but they -hadn’t showed up. The dinner crowd piled in and set down at the tables -and the head man of ’em, the one who was givin’ the party, come over to -see me. And who should he turn out to be but the stout man I’d met at -the store. The one who had told me he’d been waitin’ for a chance to get -even with Frank. I don’t know which was the most surprised to meet each -other in that place, he or I. - -"Hello!" says he. "What are you doin’ here? You joined the Forty -Thieves? Where’s the boss robber?" - -I told him the boss was out; that there was some complications that -would take too long to explain. - -"But, at any rate," says I, "you’re meal’s ready and that’s the main -thing, ain’t it?" - -"Yes," says he, "it is. I’ve got a crowd of New York men—business -associates of mine and their wives—down for the week end and I wanted to -give ’em a Cape dinner. I never would have come here, but the Denboro -place is full up and couldn’t take us in. I hope the dinner is a better -one than the last I had in this place." - -I told him not to expect too much, but to set and be thankful for -whatever he got. He didn’t understand, of course, but he set down and we -commenced servin’ the dinner. - -We started in with Little Neck quahaugs and followed them up with my -clam chowder. Then we jogged along with bluefish and hot biscuit and -creamed potatoes. After them come the lobsters and corn and such. Eat! -You never see anybody stow food the way those New Yorkers did. - -In the middle of the lobster doin’s I bent over my fleshy friend and -asked him if things was satisfactory. He looked up with his mouth full. - -"Great Scott!" says he. "Cap’n, this is the best feed I’ve had since I -first struck the Cape, and that was ten years ago. What’s happened to -this hotel? Is it under new management?" - -I didn’t feel like grinnin’, but I couldn’t help it. - -"Yes," says I, "it is—for the time bein’." - -The final layer we loaded that crowd up with was blueberry dumplin’ and -they washed it down with coffee. Then the fat man—his name was -Johnson—hauled out cigars and the males lit and started puffin’. I went -out to the kitchen to see how things was goin’ there. - -Mary Blaisdell, with a big apron tied over her Sunday gown, was washin’ -dishes. Her sleeves was rolled up, her hair was rumpled, and she looked -pretty enough to eat—at least, I shouldn’t have minded tryin’. - -"How was it?" she asked. "Are they satisfied?" - -"If they ain’t they ought to be," says I. "And to-morrer the dyspepsy -doctors’ll do business enough to give us a commission. But where’s our -old college chum, the chef, and the waiters and all?" - -"They’re in the barn," says she. "They tried to come in here and make -trouble, but Mr. Perkins wouldn’t let ’em. He drove ’em back to the barn -again. But they’re dreadfully cross." - -"I shouldn’t wonder," I says. "Well, goodness knows what’ll come of -this, Mary, but—" - -Bill Bangs interrupted me. He come tearin’ out of the dinin’-room, white -as a new tops’l, and his eyes pretty close to poppin’ out of his head. - -"My soul!" he panted. "Oh, my soul, Cap’n Zeb! They’re comin’! they’re -comin’!" - -"Who’s comin’?" I wanted to know. - -"Why, Mr. Frank, and that stewardess! And John Bean, the constable, is -with ’em. What shall I do? I’ll have to go to jail!" - -He was all but cryin’, like a young one. I left him to his wife, who, -judgin’ by her actions, was cal’latin’ to soothe him with a pan of hot -water, and headed for the front porch. However, I was too late. I hadn’t -any more than reached the dinin’-room, where all the comp’ny was still -settin’ at the tables, than in through the front door marches Mr. Edwin -Frank of Pittsburg, and the stewardess, and John Bean, the constable. -The band had begun to play and ’twas time to face the music. - -Frank looked around at the crowd at the tables, at Mrs. Cahoon, and -Alpheus, and the rest who’d done the waitin’; and then at me. His face -was fire red and he was ugly as a shark in a weir net. - -"Humph!" says he. "What does this mean? Snow, what high-handed outrage -have you committed on these premises?" - -I held up my hand. "Shh!" says I, tryin’ to think quick and save a -scene; "Shh, Mr. Frank!" I says. "If you’ll come into your private cabin -I’ll explain best I can. Somebody had to get dinner for this crowd. Your -Frenchmen wouldn’t work, so we did. All we’ve used is our grub, that -which ain’t been paid for, and—" - -His teeth snapped together and he was so mad he couldn’t speak for a -second. The stewardess was as mad as he was, but it took more’n that to -keep her quiet. - -"Fred," says she—and even then, upset as I was, I noticed she didn’t -call him by the name he give Jacobs and me—"Fred, have him arrested. -He’s the one that’s responsible for it all. Officer, you do your duty. -Arrest that Snow there! Do you hear?" - -She was pointin’ to me. Poor old Bean hadn’t arrested anybody for so -long that he’d forgot how, I cal’late. All he did was stammer and look -silly. - -"Cap’n Zeb," he says, "I—I’m dreadful sorry, but—but—" - -Then _he_ was interrupted. A big, tall, gray-haired chap, who was -settin’ about amidships of the table got to his feet. - -"Just a minute, Officer," says he, quiet, and never lettin’ go of his -cigar, "just a minute, please. The—er—lady and gentleman you have with -you are old acquaintances of mine. Hello, Francis! I’m very glad to see -you. We’ve missed you at the Conquilquit Club. This meetin’ is -unexpected, but not the less pleasant." - -He was talkin’ to the Frank man. And the Frank man—well, you should have -seen him! The red went out of his face and he almost flopped over onto -the floor. The stewardess went white, too, and she grabbed his arm with -both hands. - -"My Lord!" she says, in a whisper like, "it’s Mr. Washburn!" - -"Correct, Hortense," says the gray-haired man. "You haven’t forgotten -me, I see. Flattered, I’m sure." - -For just about ten seconds the three of ’em looked at each other. Then -Frank made a jump for the door and the woman with him. They was out and -down the steps afore poor old Bean could get his brains to workin’. - -"Stop ’em!" shouts Washburn. "Officer, don’t let ’em get away!" - -But they’d got away already. By the time we’d reached the porch they was -in the buggy they’d come in and flyin’ down the road in a cloud of dust. - -I wiped my forehead. - -"Well!" says I, "_well!_" - -Johnson pushed through the excited bunch and took the gray-haired feller -by the arm. - -"Say, Wash," he says, "you’re havin’ too good a time all by yourself. -Let us in on it, won’t you? Your friends are goin’ some; no use to run -after them. Who are they?" - -Washburn knocked the ashes from his cigar and smiled. He’d been cool as -a no’thwest breeze right along. - -"Well," he says, "the masculine member used to be called Fred Francis. -He was steward of the Conquilquit Country Club on Long Island for some -time. He cleared out a year ago with a thousand or so of the Club funds, -and we haven’t been able to trace him since. He was a first-class -steward and sharp as a steel trap—but he was a crook. The woman—oh, she -went with him. She is his wife." - - - - -CHAPTER XII—JIM HENRY STARTS SCREENIN’ - - -A whole month more went by afore Jim Henry Jacobs was well enough to -come home. When he got off the train at the Ostable depot, thin and -white and lookin’ as if he’d been hauled through a knothole, I was -waitin’ for him. Maybe we wa’n’t glad to see each other! We shook hands -for pretty nigh five minutes, I cal’late. I loaded him into my buggy and -drove him down to the Poquit House and took him upstairs to his room, -which had been made as comf’table and cozy as it’s possible to make a -room in that kind of a boardin’-house. - -He set down in a big chair and looked around him. - -"By George, Skipper!" he says, fetchin’ a long breath, "this is home, -and I’m mighty glad to be here. Where’d all the flowers come from?" - -"Mary is responsible for them," I told him. "She thought they’d sort of -brighten up things." - -"They do, all right," says he, grateful. "And now tell me about -business. How is everything?" - -I told him that everything was fine; trade was tip-top, and so on. He -listened and was pleased, but I could see there was somethin’ else on -his mind. - -"There’s just one thing more," he said, soon’s he got the chance. "I -knew the store must be O. K.; your letters told me that. But—er—but—" -tryin’ hard to be casual and not too interested, "how is Frank doin’ -with his restaurant? How’s the 'Sign of the Windmill’ gettin’ on?" - -Then I told him the whole yarn, almost as I’ve told it here. He -listened, breakin’ out with exclamations and such every little while. -When I got to where the Washburn man told who Frank and the stewardess -was, he couldn’t hold in any longer. - -"A crook!" he sung out. "A crook! And she was his wife!" - -"So it seems," says I. "And that ain’t all of it, neither. You remember -the doctor said he’d drawn his account out of the Ostable bank. Yes. -Well, that account didn’t amount to much; he’d used it about all, -anyway. But there was another account in his wife’s name at the Sandwich -bank, and _that_ was fairly good size." - -"Did you get hold of that?" he asked, excited. - -"No, we didn’t. ’Twas in her name and we wouldn’t have touched it, if -we’d wanted to; but we didn’t get the chance. She drew it all the very -next mornin’ and the pair of ’em cleared out. I judge they’d planned to -skip in a few days anyhow, and our creditors’ raid only hurried things -up a little mite. The whole thing was a skin game—Frank and his precious -wife had seen ruination comin’ on and they’d laid plans to feather their -own nest and let the rest of us whistle. We ain’t seen ’em from that day -to this." - -He was shakin’ all over. "You ain’t?" he shouted, jumpin’ from the -chair. "You ain’t? Why not? What did you let ’em get away for? Why -didn’t you set the police after ’em? What sort of managin’ do you call -that? I—I—" - -"Hush!" says I, surprised to see him act so. "Hush, Jim! you ain’t heard -the whole of it yet. Our bill—" - -"Bill be hanged!" he broke in. "I don’t care a continental about the -bill. I invested fifteen hundred dollars of my own money in that -road-house, and you let that fakir get away with the whole of it. You’re -a nice partner!" - -_I_ was surprised now, and a good deal cut up and hurt. ’Twas an -understandin’ between us—not a written one, but an understandin’ just -the same—that neither should go into any outside deal without tellin’ -the other. We’d agreed to that after the row concernin’ Taylor and the -"Palace Parlors." So I was surprised and hurt and mad. But I held in -well as I could. - -"That’s enough of that, Jim Henry!" says I. "I’ll talk about that later. -Now I’ll tell you the rest of the yarn I started with. After that -critter who called himself Frank, but whose name, it seemed, was -Francis, had galloped away with the stewardess woman, there was -consider’ble excitement around that dinin’-room, now I tell you. -However, Johnson and Washburn and me managed to get together in the -private office and I told ’em all about how we come to be there, and -about our gettin’ their dinner, and all the rest of it. They seemed to -think 'twas funny, laughed liked a pair of loons, but I was a long ways -from laughin’. - -"’Well, well, well!’ says Johnson, when I’d finished, 'that’s the best -joke I’ve heard in a month of Sundays. You sartinly have your own ways -of doin’ business down here, Cap’n Snow. But the dinner was a good one -and I’ll pay you for it now. How much?’ - -"’Well,’ says I, ’I suppose I ought to get what I can for our crowd to -leave with their wives and relations afore we’re carted to jail. Course -the meal we got for you wa’n’t what you expected and I can’t charge that -Frank thief’s price for it; but I’ve got to charge somethin’. If you -think a dollar a head wouldn’t be too much, I—’ - -"’A _dollar_!’ says both of ’em. ’A dollar!’ - -"’Do you mean that’s all you’ll charge?’ says Johnson. ’A dollar for -_that_ dinner! It was the best—’ - -"’You bet it was!’ says Washburn. - -"’Look here!’ goes on Johnson. ’I was to pay Frank, or whatever his real -name is, two-fifty a plate. Yours was wuth three of any meal I ever got -here, but, if you will be satisfied with the contract price I made with -him, I’ll give you a check now. And, Cap’n Snow, let me give you a piece -of advice. Now you’ve got this hotel, keep it; keep it and run it. If -you can furnish dinners like this one every day in the week durin’ the -summer and fall you’ll have customers enough. Why, I’ll engage -twenty-five plates for next Sunday, myself. I’ve got another week-end -party, haven’t I, Wash?’ - -"’If you haven’t I can get one for you,’ says Washburn. ’Johnson’s -advice is good, Cap’n. Keep this place and run it yourself. Don’t be -afraid of Francis. Confound him! I ought to have him jailed. The Club -would pitch me out if they knew I had the chance and didn’t take it. But -I won’t, for your sake. So long as he doesn’t trouble you I’ll keep -quiet. But if he _does_ trouble you, if he ever comes back, just send -for me. However, you won’t have to send; he’ll never come back.’ - -"And," says I, to Jim Henry, "he ain’t ever come back. I talked the -matter over with Mary and Alpheus and a few of the others and, after -consider’ble misgivin’s on my part, we reached an agreement. I decided -to run the ’Sign of the Windmill’ myself. We bounced the chef and his -helpers and the foreign waiters and hired Alpheus’s wife and Cahoon’s -daughter and four or five more. We fed ten folks that next day and they -all said they was comin’ again. They did and they fetched others. The -upshot of it is that all that hotel’s outstandin’ bills have been paid, -the place is out of debt, and the outlook for next season is somethin’ -fine. There, Jim Henry, that’s the yarn. I went through Purgatory -because I figgered that you had trusted the store business in my hands -and the Windmill’s bill was so large and I thought I was responsible for -it. If I’d known you’d put money into the shebang without tellin’ me, -your partner, a word about it, maybe I’d have felt worse. I _should_ -have felt worse—I do now—but in another way. I didn’t think you’d do -such a thing, Jim! I honestly didn’t." - -He’d set down while I was talkin’. Now he got up again. - -"Skipper," he says, sort of broken, "I—I don’t know what to say to you. -I—" - -"It’s all right," says I, pretty sharp. "Your fifteen hundred’s all -right, I cal’late. The furniture and fixin’s are wuth that, I guess. Is -there anything else you want to ask me? If not I’m goin’ to the store." - -I was turnin’ to go, but he stepped for’ard and stopped me. - -"Zeb," he says, his face workin’, "don’t go away mad. I’ve been a chump. -You ought to hate me, but I—I hope you won’t. I was a fool. I thought -because you was country that you hadn’t any head for business, and when -you wouldn’t invest in that Windmill proposition I was sore and went -into it myself. My conscience has plagued me ever since. I’m a low-down -chump. I deserve to lose the fifteen hundred and I’m glad I did. By the -Lord Harry! you’ve got more real business instinct than I ever dreamed -of." - -He looked so sort of weak and sick and pitiful that I was awful sorry -for him, in spite of everything. - -"Don’t talk foolish," says I. "You ain’t lost your money. It’s yours -now; at least I don’t think Brother Fred George Eben Frank Francis’ll -ever turn up to claim it." - -He shook his head. "Not much!" he says. "You don’t suppose I’ll take a -share in that hotel, after you and your smart managin’ saved it, do you? -I ain’t quite as mean as that, no matter what you think. No, sir, you’ve -made good and the whole property is yours. All I want you to do is to -give me another chance. If I live I’ll show you how thankful I—" - -"There! there!" says I, all upset, "don’t say another word. Of course -we’ll hang together in this, same as in everything else. Shake, and -let’s forget it." - -We shook hands and his was so thin and white I felt worse than ever. - -"Skipper," he says, "I can’t thank—" - -"No need to thank me," I cut in. "If you’ve got to thank anybody, thank -Mary Blaisdell. She’s been the brains of that eatin’-house concern ever -since I took hold of it. She’s a wonder, that woman. If she’d been my -own sister she couldn’t have done more. I wish she was." - -He looked at me, pretty queer. - -"Skipper," says he, smilin’, "if you wish that you’re a bigger chump -than I’ve been, and that’s sayin’ a heap." - -What in the world he meant by that I didn’t know—but I didn’t ask him. -Not that I didn’t think. I’d been thinkin’ a lot of foolish things -lately, but you could have cut my head off afore I said ’em out loud, -even to myself. - -He came down to the store the next mornin’ and the sight of it seemed to -be the very tonic he needed. He got better day by day and pretty soon -was his own brisk self again. "The Sign of the Windmill"—by the way, I’d -changed the name on my own hook and ’twas the "Sign of the Bluefish" -now—done fust rate all through the fall and when we closed it we was -sure that next summer it would be a little gold mine for us. In fact, -everything in the trade line looked good, by-products and all, and I -ought to have been a happy man. But I wa’n’t exactly. Somehow or other I -couldn’t feel quite contented. I didn’t know what was the matter with me -and when I hinted as much to Jacobs he just looked at me and laughed. - -"You’re lonesome, that’s what’s the matter with you," he says. "You’re -too good a man to be boardin’ at a one-horse ranch like the Poquit." - -"I’ll admit that," says I. "I’ll give in that I’m next door to an angel -and ought to wear wings, if it’ll please you any to have me say so. And -the Poquit ain’t a paradise, by no means. But I’ve sailed salt water for -the biggest part of my life and it ain’t poor grub that ails me." - -"Who said it was?" says he. "I said you were lonesome. You ought to have -a home." - -"Old Mans’ Home you mean, I s’pose. Well, I ain’t goin’ there yet." - -He laughed again and walked off. - -In October he went up to Boston and came back with his head full of new -ideas and his pockets full of notions. He’d been to what the -advertisements called the Industrial Exhibition in Mechanics’ Buildin’ -up there, and had fetched back every last thing he could get for nothin’ -and some few that he bought cheap. He had a sample trap that, accordin’ -to the circular, would catch all the able-bodied rats in a township the -fust night and make all the crippled and bedridden ones grieve -themselves to death of disappointment because they couldn’t get into it -afore closin’ hours. And he had the Gunners’ Pocket Companion, which was -a foldin’ hatchet and butcher knife, with a corkscrew in the handle; and -samples of "cereal coffee" that didn’t taste like either cereal or -coffee; and safety razors that were warranted not to cut—and wouldn’t; -and—and I don’t know what all. These was side issues, however, as you -might say. What he was really enthusiastic over was the Eureka -Adjustable Aluminum Window Screen. If he’d been a mosquito he couldn’t -have been more anxious about them screens. - -"They’re the greatest ever, Skipper!" he says to me, enthusiastic. "Fit -any window; can’t rust—and a child of twelve can put ’em up." - -"That part don’t count," says I. "Nowadays if a child of twelve ain’t -halfway through Harvard his folks send for the doctor. I may be a -hayseed, but I read the magazines." - -He went right along, never payin’ no attention, and praisin’ up them -screens as if he was nominatin’ 'em for office. Finally he made -proclamation that he’d applied—in the store name, of course—for the -Ostable County agency for ’em. - -"But why?" says I. "We’ve got an adjustable screen agency now. And -they’re good screens, too. No mosquito can get through them—unless it -takes to usin’ a can-opener, which wouldn’t surprise me a whole lot." - -"I know they are good screens," says he; "but there’s nothin’ new or -novel about ’em. And, I tell you, Cap’n Zeb, it’s novelty that catches -the coin. We want to get the contract for screenin’ that new hotel at -West Ostable. It’ll be ready in a couple of months and there’s two -hundred rooms in it. Let’s say there are two windows to a room; that’s -four hundred screens—besides doors and all the rest. That hotel will -need screens, won’t it?" - -"Need ’em!" says I. "In West Ostable! In among all them salt meadows and -cedar swamps! It’ll need screens and nettin’s and insect powder and -'intment—and even then nobody but the hard-of-hearin’ bo’rders’ll be -able to sleep on account of the hummin’. Need screens! _That_ hotel! My -soul and body!" - -Well, then, we must get the contract—that’s all. It was well wuth the -trouble of gettin’. And with the Adjustable Aluminum to start with, and -he, Jim Henry, to do the talkin’, we would get it. He’d applied for the -county agency and the Adjustable folks had about decided to give it to -him. They’d write and let us know pretty soon. - -A week went by and we didn’t hear a word. Then, on the followin’ Monday -but one, come a letter. Jim Henry was openin’ the mail and I heard him -rip loose a brisk remark. - -"What’s the matter?" says I. - -"Matter!" he snarls. "Why, the miserable four-flushers have turned me -down—that’s all. Read that!" - -I took the letter he handed me. It was type-wrote on a big sheet of -paper, with a printed head, readin’: "Ormstein & Meyer, Hardware and -Tools. Manufacturers of Eureka Adjustable Aluminum Window Screens." And -this is what it said: - - _Mr. J. H. Jacobs_, - - _Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods - Store, Ostable, Mass._ - - _Dear Sir_: Regarding your application for Ostable County ag’y - Eureka Adjustable Aluminum Window Screens, would say that we - have decided to give ag’y to party named Geo. Lentz, who will - give entire time to it instead making it a side issue as per - your conversation with our Mr. Meyer. Regretting that we cannot - do business together in this regard, but trusting for a - continuance of your valued patronage, we remain - - Yours truly, - - _Ormstein & Meyer._ - - Dic. M—L. G. - -"Now what do you think of that?" snaps Jim, mad as he could stick. "What -do you think of that!" - -"Well," says I, slow, "I think that, speakin’ as a man in the -crosstrees, it looks as if you and me wouldn’t furnish screens for the -West Ostable Hotel." - -He half shut his eyes and stared at me hard. - -"Oh!" says he. "That’s what you think, hey?" - -"Why, yes," I says. "Don’t you?" - -"No!" he sings out, so loud that ’Dolph Cahoon, our new clerk, who’d -been half asleep in the lee of the gingham and calico dressgoods -counter, jumped up and stepped on the store cat. The cat beat for port -down the back stairs, whoopin’ comments, and ’Dolph begun measurin’ -calico as if he was wound up for eight days. - -"No!" says Jacobs again, soon as the cat’s opinion of ’Dolph had faded -away into the cellar—"No!" he says. "I don’t think it at all. We may not -sell Eureka Adjustables to that hotel, but we’ll sell screens to it—and -don’t you forget that. I’ll make it my business to get that contract if -I don’t do anything else. I’m no quitter, if you are!" - -"Nary quit!" says I. "I’ll stand by to pull whatever rope I can; but it -does seem to me that this agent, whoever he is, will have an eye on that -hotel. And, accordin’ to your accounts, he’s got better goods than we -have." - -"Maybe. But if he’s a better salesman than I am he’ll have to go some to -prove it. I’ll beat him, by fair means or foul, just to get even. That’s -a promise, Skipper, and I call you to witness it." - -"Wonder who this Geo. Lentz is," says I. "’Tain’t a Cape name, that’s -sure." - -"I don’t care who he is. I only wish he’d have the nerve to come into -this store—that’s all. He’d go out on the fly—I tell you that! And -that’s another promise." - -Maybe ’twas; but, if so—However, I’m a little mite ahead of myself; fust -come fust served, as the youngest boy said when the father undertook to -thrash the whole family. The fust thing that happened after our talk and -the Eureka folks’ letter was Jim Henry’s goin’ over to West Ostable to -see Parkinson, the hotel man. He went in the new runabout automobile -that he’d bought since he got back from the West, and was gone pretty -nigh all day. When he got back he was hopeful—I could see that. - -"Well," says he, "I’ve laid the cornerstone. I’ve talked the -Nonesuch"—that was the brand of screen we carried—"to beat the cars; and -we’ll have a show to get in a bid, at any rate. It’ll be six weeks more -afore the contract’s given out, and meantime yours truly will be on the -job. If our old college chum, G. Lentz, Esquire, don’t hustle he’ll be -left at the post." - -"What sort of a chap is this Parkinson man?" I asked. - -"Oh, he’s all right; big and fat and good-natured. A good feller, I -should say. Likes automobilin’, too, and thinks my car is a winner." - -"Married, is he?" says I. - -"No; he’s a widower. That’s a good thing, too." - -"Why? What’s that got to do with it?" - -"A whole lot. If he was married I’d have to take Mrs. P. along on our -auto rides; and—let alone the fact that there wouldn’t be room—she’d -want to talk scenery instead of screens. Women and business don’t mix. -That’s one reason why I’ve never married." - -I couldn’t help thinkin’ of some of the hints he’d been heavin’ at -me—the "home" remarks and so on—but I never said nothin’. - -This was a Tuesday. And when, on Thursday afternoon, I walked into the -store, after havin’ had dinner at the Poquit, I found ’Dolph Cahoon—our -new clerk I’ve mentioned already—leanin’ graceful and easy over the -candy counter and talkin’ with a young woman I’d never seen afore. I -didn’t look at her very close, but I got a sort of general observation -as I walked aft to the post-office department; and, sifted down, that -observation left me with remembrances of a blue serge jacket and skirt, -cut clipper fashion and fittin’ as if they was built for the craft that -was in ’em; a little blue hat—a real hat; not a velvet tar barrel upside -down—with a little white gull’s wing on it; brown eyes and brown hair, -and a white collar and shirtwaist. I didn’t stop to hail, you -understand; but I judged that the stranger’s home port wa’n’t Ostable or -any of the Cape towns. Ostable outfitters don’t rig ’em that way. - -I come in the side door, and ’Dolph or his customer didn’t notice me. -The young woman was lookin’ into the showcase; and, as for ’Dolph, he -wouldn’t have noticed the President of the United States just then. He -was twirlin’ his red mustache with the hand that had the rock-crystal -ring on the finger of it, and his talk was a sort of sugared purr—at -least, that’s the nighest description of it that I can get at. - -I set down in my chair at the postmaster’s desk and begun to turn over -some papers. Mary had gone to dinner and Jim Henry was away in his auto; -so I was all alone. I turned over the papers, but I couldn’t get my mind -on ’em—the talk outside was too prevailin’, so to speak. - -'Dolph was doin’ the heft of it. The young woman’s answers was short and -not too interested. 'Dolph was remarkin’ about the weather and what a -dull winter we’d had, and how glad he’d be when spring really set in and -the summer folks begun to come—and so on. - -"Really," says he, and though I couldn’t see him I’d have bet that the -mustache and ring was doin’ business—"Really," he says, "there’s a -dreadful lack of cultivated society in this town, Miss—er—" - -He held up here, waitin’, I judged, for the young woman to give her -name. However, she didn’t; so he purred ahead. - -"There’s so few folks," he says, "for a young feller like me—used to the -city—to associate with. This is a jay place all right. I’m only here -temporary. I shall go back to Brockton in the fall, I guess." - -_I_ guessed he’d go sooner; but I kept still. - -"Are you goin’ to remain here for some time?" he asked. - -"Possibly," says the girl. - -"I’m ’fraid you’ll find it pretty dull, won’t you?" - -"Perhaps." - -"I should be glad to introduce you to the folks that are worth knowin’. -Are you fond of dancin’? There’s a subscription ball at the town hall -to-night." - -This was what a lawyer’d call a leadin’ question, seemed to me; but the -answer didn’t seem to lead to anything warmer than the North Pole. The -young woman said, "Indeed?" and that was all. - -"I’m perfectly dippy about waltzin’," says ’Dolph. "By the way, won’t -you have some confectionery? These chocolates are pretty fair." - -I riz to my feet. I don’t mind bein’ a philanthropist once in a while, -but I like to do my philanthropin’ fust-hand. And them chocolates sold -for sixty cents a pound! - -I had my hand on the doorknob. Just as I turned it I heard the young -woman say, crisp and cold as a fresh cucumber: - -"Pardon me, but will your employer be in soon? If not I’ll call -again—when he is in." - -"You won’t have to," says I, steppin’ out of the post-office room and -walkin’ over toward the candy counter. "One of him’s in now. ’Dolph, you -can put them chocolates back in the case. Oh, yes—and you might -associate yourself with the broom and waltz out and sweep the front -platform. It’s been needin’ your cultivated society bad." - -The rest of that clerk’s face turned as red as his mustache, and the way -he slammed the chocolate box into the showcase was a caution! Then I -turned to the young woman, who was as sober as a deacon, except for her -eyes, which were snappin’ with fun, and says I: - -"You wanted to see me, I believe, miss. My name’s Zebulon Snow and I’m -one of the partners in this jay place. What can I do for you?" - -She waited until ’Dolph and the broom had moved out to the platform. -Then she turned to me and she says: - -"Captain Snow," she says, "I understand that your firm here is intendin’ -puttin’ in a bid for the window screens at the new hotel at West -Ostable. Is that so?" - -I was consider’ble surprised, but I didn’t see any reason why I -shouldn’t tell the truth. - -"Why, yes, ma’am," says I; "we are figgerin’ on the job. Are you -interested in that hotel? If you are I’d be glad to show you samples of -the Nonesuch screen. We cal’late that it’s a mighty slick article." - -She smiled, pretty as a picture. - -"I am interested in the hotel," she says; "and in screens, though not -exactly in the way you mean, perhaps. Here is my card." - -She took a little leather wallet out of her jacket-pocket and handed me -a card. I took it. ’Twas printed neat as could be; but it wa’n’t the -neatness of the printin’ that set me all aback, with my canvas -flappin’—’twas what that printin’ said: - - GEORGIANNA LENTZ - - _Ostable County Agent for the_ - _Eureka Adjustable Aluminum Window Screen_ - -"What?—What!—Hey?" says I. - -"Yes," says she. - -"Agent for the Eureka Adjusta—You!" - -"Why, yes; of course. The Eureka people wrote you that they had given me -the agency, didn’t they?" - -I rubbed my forehead. - -"They wrote my partner and me," I stammered, "that they’d given it to—to -a feller named George—er—that is—" - -"Not George—Georgianna. Oh, I see! They abbreviated the name and so you -thought—Of course you did. How odd!" - -She laughed. I’d have laughed too, maybe, if I’d had sense enough to -think of it; but I hadn’t, just then. - -"You the agent!" says I. "A—a woman!" - -"Yes." - -"But—but a woman!" - -"Well?" pretty crisp. "I admit I am a woman; but is that any reason why -I should not sell window screens?" - -I rubbed my forehead some more. These are progressive days we’re livin’ -in, and sometimes I have to hustle to keep abreast of ’em. - -"Why, no," says I, slow; "I cal’late ’tain’t. I suppose there’s no law -against a woman’s sellin’ 'most any article that is salable, window -screens or anything else if she wants to; but I can’t see—" - -"Why she should want to? Perhaps not. However, we needn’t go into that -just now. The fact is I do want to and intend to. I have secured a -boardin’ place here in Ostable and shall make the town my headquarters. -This is a small community and one naturally prefers to be friendly with -all the people in it. So, after thinkin’ the matter over, I decided that -it was best to begin with a clear understandin’. Do you follow me?" - -"I—I guess so. Heave ahead; I’ll do my best to keep you in sight. If the -weather gets too thick I’ll sound the foghorn. Go on." - -"I am naturally desirous of securin’ the hotel screen contract. So, I -understand, are you. I have seen Mr. Parkinson, the hotel man, and he -tells me that your firm and mine will probably be the only bidders. Now -that makes us rivals, but it need not necessarily make us enemies. My -proposition is this: You will submit your bid and I will submit mine. -The party submittin’ the lowest bid—quality of product considered—will -win. I propose that we let it go in that way. We might, of course, do a -great many other things—might attempt to bring influence to bear; -might—well, might cultivate Mr. Parkinson’s acquaintance, and—and so on. -You might do that—so might I, I suppose; but, for my part, I prefer to -make this a fair, honorable business rivalry, in which the best man—er—" - -"Or woman," I couldn’t help puttin’ in. - -"In which the best bid wins. I have already demonstrated the Eureka for -Mr. Parkinson’s benefit and left a sample with him. He tells me that you -have done the same with the Nonesuch. I will agree—if you will—to let -the matter rest there, submittin’ our respective bids when the time -comes and abidin’ by the result. Now what do you say?" - -'Twas pretty hard to say anything. I wanted to laugh; but I couldn’t do -that. If there ever was anybody in dead earnest ’twas this partic’lar -young woman. And she wa’n’t the kind to laugh at either. She might be in -a queer sort of business for a female—but she was nobody’s fool. - -"Well," she asks again, "what do you say?" - -I shook my head. "I can’t say anything very definite just this minute," -I told her. "I’ve got a partner, and naturally I can’t do much without -consultin’ him; but I will say this, though," noticin’ that she looked -pretty disappointed—"I’ll say that, fur’s I’m concerned, I’m agreeable." - -She smiled and, as I cal’late I’ve said afore, her smile was wuth -lookin’ at. - -"Thank you so much, Cap’n Snow," she says. "Then we shall be friends, -sha’n’t we? Except in business, I mean." - -"I hope so—sartin," says I. "Now it ain’t none of my affairs, of course, -but I am curious. How did you ever happen to take the agency for—for -window screens?" - -That made her serious right off. She might smile at other things, but -not at her trade; that was life and death for sure. - -"I took it," she says, "for several reasons. My mother died recently and -I was left alone. My means were not sufficient to support me. I have -done office work, typewritin’, and so on, for some years; but I felt -that the opportunities in the positions I held were limited and I -determined to take up sellin’—that is where the larger returns are. -Don’t you think so?" - -"Oh, yes—sartin." - -"Yes. I knew Mr. Meyer slightly in a business way. I took the Eureka -screen and sold it on commission about Boston for a time. Then I applied -for the Ostable County agency and got it—that’s all." - -"I see," says I. "Yes, yes. Well, I must say that, for a girl, you—" - -She interrupted me quick. - -"I don’t see that my bein’ a girl has anything to do with it," she says. -"And in this agreement of ours, if it is made, I don’t wish the -difference of sex considered at all. This is a business proposition and -sex has nothin’ to do with it. Is that plain?" - -"Yes," says I, considerin’, "it’s plain; but I ain’t sure that—" - -"I am sure," she interrupts—"and you must be. I wish to be treated in -this matter exactly as if I were a man. I wish I were one!" - -"I doubt if you’d get most men to agree with you in that wish," I says. -"However, never mind. I’ll do my best to get Mr. Jacobs, my partner, to -say ’Yes’ to your proposal. And I hope you’ll do fust-rate, even if we -are what you call rivals. Drop in any time, Miss Georg—Georgianna, I -mean." - -We shook hands and she went away. I went as fur as the platform with -her. When I turned to go in again I noticed ’Dolph Cahoon starin’ after -her, with his eyes and mouth open. - -"Gosh!" says he, grinnin’. "By gosh! She’s a peach! Ain’t she, Cap’n -Zeb?" - -"Maybe so," says I, pretty short; "but I don’t recollect that we hired -you as a judge of fruit. Has that broom took root in the dirt on this -platform? Or what is the matter?" - - - - -CHAPTER XIII—WHAT CAME THROUGH THE SCREEN - - -Jacobs come in late that afternoon. - -"Say," says he, "there was a sample of the Eureka screen in Parkinson’s -office when I was there just now. He wouldn’t say who left it or -anything about it. When I asked he grinned and winked. That’s all. -Confound his fat head! Do you know where it came from?" - -"I can guess," I says; and then I told him the whole yarn. He was as -surprised as I was to find out that Geo. Lentz was a female; but it only -made him madder than ever—if such a thing’s possible. - -"Wants to be treated like a man, does she?" he says. "All right; we’ll -treat her like one. She may be Georgianna, but she’ll get just what was -comin’ to George." - -"Then you won’t agree to puttin’ in the bids and lettin’ it go at that?" - -"I’ll agree to get that screen contract, all right!" says he, emphatic. - -I was kind of sorry for Miss Lentz; but Jim Henry was my partner, so -there wa’n’t nothin’ more to be said. We didn’t mention the subject -again for two days. However, I did hear from the Eureka agent durin’ -that time. ’Twas ’Dolph that I got my news of her from. I was tellin’ -Mary Blaisdell about her and Cahoon happened to be standin’ by. - -"So she boards here in Ostable," says Mary. "I wonder where." - -Afore I could answer ’Dolph spoke up. "She’s stoppin’ at Maria Berry’s, -down on the Neck Road," he says. - -"How did you know?" I asked. - -He looked sort of silly. "Oh, I found out," says he, and walked off. - -The very next evenin’, as I was strollin’ along the sidewalk, smokin’ my -good-night pipe, I happened to see somebody turn the corner from the -Neck Road and hurry by me. I thought his gait and build were pretty -familiar, so I turned and followed. When he got abreast the lighted -windows of the billiard saloon I recognized him. ’Twas ’Dolph, all -togged out in his Sunday-go-to-meetin’ duds, light fall overcoat and -all. - -"Humph!" says I to myself. "So that’s how you knew, hey? Been callin’ on -her, have you? Well, she may not hanker for my sympathy, but she has it -just the same. I swan, I thought she had better taste! I’m surprised!" - -The followin’ mornin’, however, I was more surprised still. I had an -errand that made me late at the store. When I came in who should I see -talkin’ together but Jacobs and a young woman; the young woman was Miss -Georgianna Lentz. They ought to have been quarrelin’, ’cordin’ to all -reasonable expectations; but they wa’n’t. Fact is, they seemed as -friendly as could be. You’d have thought they was old chums to see ’em. - -Georgianna sighted me fust. - -"Good mornin’, Cap’n Snow," says she. "Mr. Jacobs and I have made each -other’s acquaintance, you see." - -"Yes," says I, doubtful. "I see you have. I cal’late you think it’s kind -of unreasonable, our not—" - -Jim Henry cut in ahead of me quick as a flash. - -"Miss Lentz and I have been goin’ over the matter of screens for -Parkinson’s hotel," he says. "I tell her that her proposition suits us -down to the ground." - -Over I went on my beam-ends again. All I could think of to say was: -"Hey?"—and I said that pretty feeble. - -"It is very nice of you to do this," says Georgianna. "It makes it so -much easier for me. Of course, when I decided to make business my -life-work, I realized that I might be called upon to do disagreeable -things like—like wire-pullin’, and so on, which some business people do; -but honorable rivalry is so much better, isn’t it?" - -"Sure!" says Jacobs, prompt. "Yes, indeed." - -"So it is all settled," she went on. "Our bids are to go in on the same -day; and meantime neither of us is to call on Mr. Parkinson or to meet -him—in a business way, I mean." - -I nodded, bein’ still too upset to talk; but Jim Henry spoke quick and -prompt. - -"What do you mean," he asks—"in a business way?" - -"Why," says she—and it seemed to me that she reddened a little—"I mean -that—well, if we should meet him by accident we wouldn’t talk about -screens or the hotel contract. Of course one can’t help meetin’ people -sometimes. For instance, I happened to meet Mr. Parkinson yesterday. He -had driven over and happened to be in the vicinity of the house where I -board. I was goin’ out for a walk, and he stopped his horse and spoke." - -"Oh," says I, "he did, hey?" Jim Henry didn’t say nothin’. - -"Yes," she says; "but I didn’t talk about the contract. Though our -agreement wasn’t actually made then, I hoped that it would be. Good -mornin’; I must be goin’." - -She started for the door, but she turned to say one more thing. - -"Of course," she says, decided, "it is understood that you haven’t -agreed to my proposal simply because I am a girl. If that was the case I -shouldn’t permit it. I insist upon bein’ treated exactly as if I were a -man. You must promise that—both of you." - -"Sure! Sure! That’s understood," says Jacobs. - -I said "Sure!" too, but my tone wa’n’t quite so sartin. She went out, -Jim Henry goin’ with her as fur as the door. I follered him. - -"Say," says I, "next time you turn a back somerset like this I’d like to -know about it in advance. I’ve got a weak heart." - -He didn’t answer me at all. He was starin’ down the road, just as ’Dolph -had stared when the Eureka agent called the fust time. - -"Say, Jim—" says I. He didn’t turn or move; didn’t seem to hear me. I -touched him on the shoulder and he jumped and come about. - -"Eh—what?" he says. - -"Nothin’," says I, "only I want to know why—that’s all." - -"Why?" says he. "Oh!—you mean what made me change my mind? Well, I just -thought it over and decided we might as well agree. Agreein’ don’t do -any harm, you know. Hey, Skipper? Ha-ha!" - -He slapped me on the shoulder and laughed. The laugh seemed too big for -the joke and sounded a little mite forced, I thought. - -"Yes, yes! Ha-ha!" says I. "But your changin’ from lion to lamb so -sudden—" - -"What are you talkin’ about? I’ve got a right to change my mind, ain’t -I?" - -"Sartin sure. But you was so set on gettin’ that contract." - -"Well, I ain’t said I wasn’t goin’ to get it, have I? We’re goin’ to put -in a bid, ain’t we? What’s the matter with you?" - -"Nothin’ at all; but _your_ breakfast don’t seem to have set extry well! -However, it takes two to make a row, and I’m peaceful, myself. What do -you think of the rival entry? Kind of a nice-appearin’ girl—don’t you -think so?" - -He whirled round and looked at me as if he thought I was crazy. - -"Nice-appearin’!" he says. "Nice-ap—Why, she’s—" - -Then he pulled up short and headed for the back room. - -Nothin’ of much importance happened for a while after that. And yet -there was somethin’—two or three somethin’s—that had a bearin’ on the -case. One was the change in ’Dolph Cahoon. For a few days after that -night I met him on the road he was as gay and chipper as a blackbird in -a pear tree—happy even when I made him work, which was surprisin’ -enough. And then, all to once, he turned glum and ugly. Wouldn’t speak -and seemed to be broodin’ over his troubles all day long. I had my -suspicions; and so, one time when him and me was alone, I hove over a -little mite of bait just to see if he’d rise to it. - -"Seen anything of the Lentz girl lately?" I asked, casual. - -"Naw," says he, "and I don’t want to, neither! She’s a bird, she is! Too -stuck up to speak to common folks. Everybody’s gettin’ on to her—you -bet! She won’t make many friends in this town." - -I grinned to myself. Thinks I: "I guess, young man, Georgianna’s handed -you your walkin’ papers. You won’t go down the Neck Road any more!" - -And yet, an evenin’ or so after that, I see somebody go down that road. -I didn’t see him plain, but I’d have almost taken my oath ’twas Jim -Henry Jacobs. It couldn’t be, of course—and yet— - -Well, two days later, I took back the "yet." I happened to be standin’ -at the side door of the store, lookin’ across the fields, when I saw an -auto with two people in it sailin’ along the crossroad from the -east’ard. ’Twas a runabout auto—and I looked and looked! Then I called -to ’Dolph. - -"’Dolph," says I, "come here! Who’s automobile’s that? If I didn’t know -Mr. Jacobs was off takin’ orders in Denboro I should say ’twas his." - -'Dolph looked. - -"Humph!" says he—"’tis his. He’s drivin’ it himself. But who’s that with -him? What? Well, by gosh! if it ain’t that stuck-up Georgianna Lentz!" - -"Get out!" says I. "The softness of your heart has struck to your head. -It’s likely he’d be takin’ her to ride, ain’t it!" - -And then Jacobs looked up and sighted us standin’ in the doorway. His -machine hadn’t been goin’ slow afore—now it fairly jumped off the ground -and flew. In a minute there was nothin’ but a dust-cloud in the offin’. - -He came in about noon. I didn’t say nothin’, but I guess my face was -enough. He looked at me, turned away—and then turned back again. - -"Well," he says, loud and cheerful, "you saw us, didn’t you? I was goin’ -to tell you, anyway, soon as I got the chance." - -"Oh," says I, "I want to know!" - -"Sure, I was. Of course you see through the game." - -"The game?" - -"Why, yes, yes! The game I’m playin’—the game that’s goin’ to get us -that screen contract! Oh, I wasn’t born yesterday. I knew a thing or -two. This—er—Lentz girl and you and me have agreed not to go near -Parkinson till the contract’s given out; but Parkinson ain’t promised -not to go near her! He’s been over there two or three times lately, and -that won’t do. He’s a widower, and—" - -"A widower!" I put in. "What’s that got to do with it?" - -"Oh, nothin’—nothin’. Just a joke, that’s all. But I realized right away -that she and he mustn’t be together or he’ll make her talk screens in -spite of herself, and that’ll be dangerous for us. So, says I to myself, -’Jim Henry,’ says I, ’it’s up to you. You must keep her out of his way.’ -That’s why I’ve been goin’ to see her once in a while and—and takin’ her -to ride, and—and so on. See? Oh, I’m wise! You trust your old doctor of -sick businesses." - -He’d been talkin’ a blue streak. Seemed almost as if he was afraid I’d -say somethin’ afore he could say it all. Now he stopped to get his -breath and I put in a word. - -"So," says I, slow, "that’s why you’re doin’ it, hey? But ain’t that—You -know you promised to treat her just as if she was a man!" - -"Well, ain’t I?" he snaps—hotter than was needful, I thought. "If she -was a man I’d make it my business to keep her in sight, wouldn’t I? -Well, then! I never saw such a chap as you are for lookin’ for trouble -when there isn’t any." - -He stalked off. I follered him; and as I done so I noticed ’Dolph Cahoon -duck behind the calico counter. I judged he’d heard every word. - -The finishin’ work on the hotel hustled along and inside of a month we -got word that ’twas time to put in our bid. Jacobs and I figured and -figured till we got the price down to the last cent we thought it could -stand, and then we sent our proposition over to Parkinson by mail. - -"Wonder if Miss Georgianna’s sent hers in," I says, casual. - -"Oh, yes," says Jim, prompt; "she is goin’ to mail it this morning’." - -I didn’t ask him how he knew. His chasin’ round and keepin’ watch on a -girl who was as fair-minded and square as she was had always seemed too -much like spyin’ to please me, and I cal’lated he knew how I felt—at any -rate he’d scurcely spoke her name since the day when I saw ’em autoin’ -together. But now I did say that, so long as the bids was in, it -wouldn’t be necessary for him to keep his eye on her any longer. - -He looked at me kind of queer. "Umph!" he says; "maybe not!" And he -walked away to attend to a customer. - -That afternoon he took his car and went off on his reg’lar order trip to -Denboro and Bayport and round. ’Dolph Cahoon and I was alone in the -front part of the store. ’Dolph seemed to be in mighty good spirits—for -him—and kept chucklin’ to himself in a way I couldn’t understand. At -last he says to me, lookin’ back to be sure that Mary Blaisdell, in the -post-office department, couldn’t hear— - -"Cap’n Zeb," he says, "what would you give the feller that got the -screen contract for you?" - -"Give him?" I says. "What feller do you mean—Parkinson? I wouldn’t give -him a cent! I ain’t a briber and I don’t think he’s a grafter." - -"I don’t mean Parkinson," he says, chucklin’. "But, suppose somebody -else had been workin’ for you on the quiet, what would you give him?" - -I looked him over. - -"Look here, ’Dolph," says I; "I never try to guess a riddle till I hear -the whole of it. What are you drivin’ at?" - -He grinned. "I know who’s goin’ to get that contract," he says. - -"You do. Who is it?" - -"The Ostable Store’s goin’ to get it. Your bid’s a little mite the -lowest. Parkinson told me so last night." - -"Parkinson told you!" I sung out. "How did you happen to see Parkinson?" - -He winked. - -"Oh, I saw him!" says he. "I’ve seen him a good many times lately. I -made it my business to see him. He was pretty stuck on the Eureka till I -got after him and I cal’late he’d have contracted for Eurekas, bid or no -bid. But I put in my licks; I’ve drove over to West Ostable four nights -and two Sundays in the last fortni’t. And didn’t I preach Nonesuch to -him! He-he! You bet I did! And last night he said he was goin’ to give -us the job. Oh, I fixed that stuck-up Georgianna Lentz! I got even with -her. He-he-he!" - -I never was madder in my life. I took two steps toward him with my fists -doubled up. - -"You whelp!" says I—and then I stopped short. The Lentz girl herself was -walkin’ in at the front door. - -"Good mornin’, Cap’n Snow," she says, holdin’ out her hand. She paid no -more attention to ’Dolph than if he’d been a graven image. "Good -mornin’," says she. "It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?" - -I was past carin’ about the weather. - -"Miss Georgianna," says I, "I’m glad you come in. I’ve got somethin’ to -tell you. I’ve got to beg your pardon for somethin’ that ain’t my fault -or Mr. Jacobs’, either. You and my partner and me had an agreement not -to go nigh Parkinson or try to influence him in any way. Well, unbeknown -to me, that agreement has been broke." - -She stared at me, too astonished to speak. - -"It’s been broke," says I. "That—that critter there," pointin’ to -’Dolph, "has been sneakin—" - -'Dolph’s face had been gettin’ redder and redder, I cal’late he thought -I’d praise him for his doin’s; and when he found I wouldn’t, but was -goin’ to give the whole thing away, he blew up like a leaky b’iler. - -"I ain’t been sneakin’!" he yelled. "And I ain’t broke no agreement, -neither. You and Mr. Jacobs agreed—but I never. I see Parkinson on my -own hook; and if it hadn’t been for me he wouldn’t be goin’ to give you -the contract." - -[Illustration: _'I ain’t been sneakin’!’ he yelled._] - -There ’twas, out of the bag. I looked at Georgianna. Her pretty face -went white. That contract meant all creation to her; but she stood up to -the news like a major. She was plucky, that girl! - -"Oh!" she says. "Oh! Then he has given you the contract? I—I -congratulate you, Cap’n Snow." - -"Don’t congratulate me," says I. "The contract ain’t been given yet, -though this pup says it’s goin’ to be; but, as for me, if I’d known what -was goin’ on I’d have stopped it mighty quick! I’m honorable and decent, -and so’s Jacobs; and we don’t take underhanded advantages." - -'Dolph bust out from astern of the counter. - -"You don’t, hey!" says he. "I want to know! How about Jacobs’ takin’ her -to ride and callin’ on her, and pretendin’ to be dead gone on her? What -did he do that for? You know as well as I do. 'Twas so’s to keep a watch -on her, and not let Parkinson see her and be influenced into buyin’ -Eureka screens. You know it!" - -My own face grew red now, I cal’late. - -"You—you—" I begun. "You miserable liar—" - -"’Tain’t a lie," says he. "I heard him tell you with my own ears. He -said all he was beauin’ her round for was just that. If that ain’t a -underhanded trick then I don’t know what is." - -I wanted to say lots more; but, afore I could get my talkin’ machinery -to runnin’, the Lentz girl herself spoke. - -"Is that true, Cap’n Snow?" says she. - -I was set back forty fathom. - -"Well, miss," says I, "I—I—" - -"Is that true?" says she. - -I got out my handkerchief and swabbed my forehead. - -"Well, Miss Georgianna," says I, "I’ll tell you. Jim Henry—Mr. Jacobs, I -mean—did say somethin’ like that; but—but—Well, you wanted to be treated -like a salesman, and—er—Mr. Jacobs would have kept his eye on a man, you -know; and so—and so—" - -I stopped again. ’Twas the shoalest water ever I cruised in. All I could -do was mop away with the handkerchief and look at Georgianna. And -she—well, the color, and plenty of it, begun to come back to her cheeks. -And how her brown eyes did flash! - -"I see," she says, slow and so frosty I pretty nigh shivered. "I—see!" - -"Well," says I, "’tain’t anything I’m proud of, I will admit; but—" - -"One moment, if you please. You haven’t actually got the contract yet?" - -"No. As I told you, all I know is what this consarned fo’mast hand of -mine says. For what he’s done, I’m ashamed as I can be. As for Mr. -Jacobs, I know he did keep to the letter of the agreement, anyhow. For -the rest—Well, all’s fair in love and war, they say—and there’s precious -little love in business." - -She looked at me, with a queer little smile about the corners of her -lips, though her eyes wa’n’t smilin’, by a consider’ble sight. - -"Isn’t there?" she says. "I—I wonder. Good-by, Cap’n Snow. You might -tell Mr. Jacobs not to order those Nonesuch screens just yet." - -Out she went; and for the next five minutes I had a real enjoyable time. -I told ’Dolph Cahoon just what I thought of him—that took four of the -minutes; durin’ the other one I fired him and run him out of the office -by the scruff of the neck. - -Then Mary Blaisdell and me held officers’ council, and that ended by our -decidin’ not to tell Jim Henry that the Lentz girl knew why he’d been so -friendly with her. It wouldn’t do any good and might make him feel bad. -Besides, the contract was as good as got, ’cordin’ to ’Dolph’s yarn; and -’twa’n’t likely he’d see Georgianna again, anyway. When he come back I -told him I’d fired Cahoon for bein’ no good and sassy, and he agreed I’d -done just right. - -When I said good night to him he was chipper as could be; but next day -he was blue as a whetstone—and the blueness seemed to strike in, so to -speak. He didn’t take any interest in anything—moped round, glum and -ugly; and I couldn’t get him to talk at all. If I mentioned the screen -contract he shut up like a quahaug, and only once did he give an opinion -about it. That opinion was a surprisin’ one, though. - -Alpheus Perkins was in the store, and says he: - -"Say, Mr. Jacobs," he says, "is old Parkinson, the hotel man, cal’latin’ -to get married again? I see him out ridin’ with a girl yesterday? That -female screen drummer—that Georgianna Lentz, 'twas. She’s a daisy, ain’t -she! I don’t blame him much for takin’ a shine to her." - -Jim Henry didn’t make any answer; but, knowin’ what I did, I was a -little surprised. - -"Jim," says I, "that contract—" - -"D—n the contract!" says he, and cleared out and left us. - -I was astonished, but I guessed ’twas a healthy plan to keep my hatches -closed. - -When I opened the mail a few mornin’s later I found a letter with the -West Ostable Hotel’s name printed on the envelope. I figgered I knew -what was inside. Thinks I: "Here’s the acceptance of our bid!" But my -figgers was on the wrong side of the ledger. Parkinson wrote just a few -words, but they was enough. After considerin’ the matter careful, he -wrote, he had decided the Eureka to be a better screen than the -Nonesuch; and, though our bid was a trifle lower, he should give the -Eureka folks the contract. - -"Well!" says I out loud. "Well, I’ll—be—blessed!" - -Jim Henry was settin’ at his desk—we was all alone in the store—and he -looked up. - -"What are you askin’ a blessin’ over?" says he. - -I handed him the letter. He read it through and set for a full minute -without speakin’. Then he slammed it into the wastebasket and got up and -started to go away. - -"For thunder sakes!" I sung out. "What ails you? Ain’t you goin’ to say -nothin’ at all?" - -"What is there to say?" he asked, gruff. "We’re stung—and that’s the end -of it." - -"But—but—don’t you realize—Why, our bid was the lowest! And yet the -contract—" - -He whirled on me savage. - -"Didn’t I tell you," says he, "that I didn’t give a durn about the -contract?" - -"You don’t! _You_ don’t! Then who on airth does?" - -"I don’t know and I don’t care!" - -"You don’t care! I swan to man! Why, ’twas you that swore you’d put the -screens in that hotel or die tryin’. You said ’twas a matter of -principle with you. And now that the Eureka folks have beat us by some -shenanigan or other—for our bid was lower than theirs—you say you don’t -care! Have you gone loony? What _do_ you care about?" - -"Nothin’—much," says he, and flopped down in his chair again. - -I stared at him. All at once I begun to see a light. You’d have thought -anybody that wa’n’t stone blind would have seen it afore—but I hadn’t. -You see, I cal’lated that I knew him from trunk to keelson, and so it -never once occurred to me. I riz and walked over to him. Just as I done -so, I heard the front door open and shut, but I figgered ’twas Mary -comin’ back, and didn’t even look. I laid my hand on his shoulder. - -"Jim," says I, "I guess likely I understand. I declare I’m sorry! And -yet I wouldn’t wonder if—" - -I didn’t go on. He wa’n’t payin’ any attention, but was lookin’ over the -top of his desk—lookin’ with all the eyes in his head. I looked, too, -and caught my breath with a jerk. The person who’d come in wa’n’t Mary -Blaisdell, but Georgianna Lentz. - -She saw us and walked straight down to where we was. She was kind of -pale and her eyes looked as if she’d been awake all night; but when she -spoke 'twas right to the point—there wa’n’t any hesitation about her. - -"Cap’n Snow," says she, "have you heard from Mr. Parkinson?" - -"Yes," says I, wonderin; "we’ve heard. We don’t understand exactly, but -perhaps that ain’t necessary. I cal’late all there is left for us to do -is to offer congratulations and ’go ’way back and set down,’ as the boys -say. You’ve got the contract." - -"Yes," she says; "it has been given to me. But—" - -Jim Henry stood up. "You’ll excuse me," he says, sharp. "I’m busy." - -He started to go, but she stopped him. - -"No," she says; "I want you both to hear what I’ve got to say. Mr. -Parkinson gave me the contract yesterday; but I have decided not to take -it." - -We both looked at her. - -"You—you’ve what?" says I. "Not take it? You want it, don’t you?" - -"Yes," she says, quiet but determined, "I want it—or I did want it very, -very much. It meant so much to me—now—and might mean a great deal more -in the future; but I can’t take it." - -This was too many for me. I looked at Jacobs. He didn’t say a word. - -"I can’t take it," says Georgianna, "under the circumstances. I don’t -feel that I got it fairly. We agreed, you and I, that no personal -influence should be brought to bear upon Mr. Parkinson; and I"—she -blushed a little, but kept right on—"I have seen Mr. Parkinson several -times durin’ the past week." - -I thought of her bein’ to ride with the hotel man, but I didn’t say -anything. Jim Henry, though, started again to go. And again she stopped -him. - -"Wait, please!" she went on. "I didn’t go to him—you must understand -that! But after what you, Cap’n Snow, and that Mr. Cahoon told me the -other day I was hurt and angry. I felt that you had broken your -agreement with me. So when Mr. Parkinson came to see me I didn’t avoid -him as I had been doin’. I—I accepted invitations for drives with him, -and—and—Oh, don’t you see? I couldn’t take the contract. I couldn’t! -What would you think of me? What would I think of myself? No, my mind is -made up. I’m afraid"—with a half smile that had more tears than fun in -it—"that my experience in business hasn’t been a success. I shall give -it up and go back to stenography—or somethin’. There! Good-by. I’m sure -that the Nonesuch screen will win now. Good-by!" - -And now ’twas she that started to go and Jim Henry that stopped her. - -"Wait!" says he, sharp. "There’s somethin’ here I don’t understand. What -do you mean by what the Cap’n and Cahoon told you the other day? -Skipper, what have you been doin’?" - -I wished there was a crack or a knothole handy for me to crawl into; but -there wa’n’t, so I braced up best I could. - -"Why, Jim," says I, "I ain’t told you the whole of that business I fired -’Dolph for. Seems he’d been seein’ Parkinson on his own hook and pullin’ -wires for the Nonesuch. ’Twas a sneakin’ mean trick, and I knew ’twould -make you mad same as it done me; so I didn’t tell you. ’Twas for that I -bounced him." - -Jim Henry’s fists shut. - -"The toad!" says he. "I wish I’d been there. Wait till I get my hands on -him! I’ll—" - -"But you mustn’t," put in Georgianna. "I hope you don’t think I care -what such a creature as he might do. When I first came here he—Oh, why -can’t people forget that I’m a girl!" - -I could have answered that, but I didn’t. Jacobs asked another question. - -"Then, if it wa’n’t ’Dolph, who was it?" says he. "Parkinson?" - -"No!" with a flash of her eyes. "Certainly not. Mr. Parkinson is a -gentleman; but—but I don’t like him—that is, I don’t dislike him -exactly; but—" - -She was dreadful fussed up. Jim Henry was between her and the door, -though, and he kept right on with his questions. - -"Then what was the trouble?" he said, brisk. - -I answered for her. - -"Well, Jim," says I, "there was somethin’ else. You see, ’Dolph got mad -when I sailed into him, and he come back at me by tellin’ what you said -about your callin’ on Miss Lentz here—and takin’ her autoin’ and such. -How you said you was doin’ it so’s to keep a watch on her—that’s all. I -couldn’t deny that you did say it, you know—because you did!" - -Jim’s face was a sight to see—a sort of combination of sheepishness and -shame, mixed with another look, almost of joy—or as if he’d got the -answer to a puzzle that had been troublin’ him. - -The Lentz girl spoke up quick. - -"Of course," she says, "I understand now why you did it. Then I -was—was—Well, it did hurt me to think that I hadn’t seen through the -scheme, and for a while I felt that you hadn’t been true to our -agreement; but, now that I have had time to think, I understand. You -promised to treat me exactly as if I were a man; and, as Cap’n Snow -said, if I were a man you would have kept me in sight. It’s all right! -But"—with a sigh—"I realize that I’m not fitted for business—this kind -of business. I don’t blame you, though. Good-by. I must go!" - -Lettin’ her go, however, was the last thing Jim intended doin’ just -then. He stepped for’ard and caught her by the hand. - -"Georgianna," says he, eager, "you know what you’re sayin’ isn’t true. I -did tell the Cap’n that yarn about watchin’ you. He’d seen me with you -and I had to tell him somethin’; but it was a lie—every word of it! You -know it was." - -She tried to pull her hand away, but he hung on to it as if ’twas the -last life-preserver on a sinkin’ ship. I cal’late he’d forgot I was on -earth. - -"You were keeping your promise," she said. "You were treatin’ me as you -would if I were a man! Please let me go, Mr. Jacobs; I have told you -that I didn’t blame you." - -"Nonsense!" says he. "If I had done that I ought to be hung! A man! -Treat you like a man! Do you suppose if you were a man I should—" - -That was the last word I heard. I was bound for the front platform, and -makin’ some headway for a craft of my age and build. I have got some -sense and I know when three’s a crowd! - -I didn’t go back until they called me. I give the pair of ’em one look -and then I shook hands with ’em up to the elbows. Georgianna was -blushin’, and her eyes were damp, but shinin’ like masthead lights on a -rainy night. As for Jim Henry Jacobs, he was one broad grin. - -"Well," says I, after I’d said all the joyful things I could think of, -"one point ain’t settled even yet—who’s goin’ to get that screen -contract? There ain’t any love in business, you know." - -"Humph!" says Jim Henry. "I wonder!" - -I laughed out loud. - -"Why," says I, "that’s exactly what Georgianna here said t’other day—she -wondered!" - - - - -CHAPTER XIV—THE EPISTLE TO ICHABOD - - -Mary came in a few minutes later and she had to be told the news. She -was as pleased as I was and there was more congratulatin’. Then -Georgianna had to go home and, as she was altogether too precious to be -allowed to walk, Jim Henry went and got his auto and they left in that. - -When he got back—that car must have been sufferin’ from a stroke of -creepin’ paralysis, for it took him two hours to run that little -distance—he and I had a good confidential talk. He was way up above this -common earth, soarin’ around in the clouds, and all he wanted to talk -was Georgianna. The whole of creation had been set to music and was -dancin’ to the one tune—"Georgianna." - -It was astonishin’ to me who had been in the habit of considerin’ him -just a sharp, up-to-date buyer and seller, a man whose whole soul was -wrapped up in business with no room in it for anything else. I found -myself lookin’ at him and wonderin’: "Is the world comin’ to an end, I -wonder? Is this my partner? Is this moon-struck critter Jim Henry -Jacobs, doctor of sick businesses?" - -I couldn’t help jokin’ him a little. - -"Jim," says I, "for a feller who hadn’t any use for females you’re doin’ -pretty well, I must say. Either you was mistaken in your old opinions or -your new ones are wrong. Which is it? ’Women and business don’t mix,’ -you know. That ain’t an original notion; that is quoted from the Gospel -according to Jacobs, Chapter 1,000; two hundred and eightieth verse." - -He reddened up and laughed. "Well, they _don’t_ mix, as a general -thing," he says. "I guess ’twas Georgianna’s sand in goin’ into business -that got me in the first place. I leave it to you, Skipper—ain’t she a -wonder? Now be honest, ain’t she?" - -Course I said she was; I have the usual sane man’s regard for my head -and I didn’t want it knocked off yet awhile. And Georgianna _was_ as -nice a girl as I ever saw—that is, _almost_ as nice. Jim went sailin’ -on, about how now he could settle down and live like a white man in a -home of his own, about the house he was goin’ to build, and so forth and -etcetery. I declare it made me feel almost jealous to hear him. - -"My! my!" says I, kind of spiteful, I’m afraid, "you have got it bad, -ain’t you! Sudden attacks are liable to be the most acute, I suppose." - -He laughed again. You couldn’t have made him mad just then. - -"Ha, ha!" says he. "Yes, I guess I’m way past where there’s any hope for -me. But I’m glad of it. It did come sudden, but that’s the way most good -things come to me. It’s my nature. Now if I was like some folks that I -won’t name, I’d be mopin’ around for months without sense enough to know -what ailed me." - -"Who are you diggin’ at?" I wanted to know. He wouldn’t tell; said ’twas -a secret, and maybe I’d find out the answer for myself some day. - -The next few weeks was busy times, in the store and out of it. -Georgianna havin’ declined the screen contract, Parkinson gave it to us, -after a little arguin’. That kept me hustlin’, for Jim was too -interested in other things to care for screens. He was making -arrangements to be married. - -And married he and Georgianna were. She’d have waited a little longer, I -cal’late—that bein’ a woman’s way—if it had been left to her to name the -time; but Jim Henry never was the waitin’ kind. They were married at the -parson’s and Mary Blaisdell and I saw the splice made fast. Then we went -to the depot and said good-by to Mr. and Mrs. Jim Henry Jacobs. They -were goin’ on a honeymoon cruise to the West Indies that would last two -months. - -Good-byes ain’t ever pleasant to say, but I was so glad for Jim, and so -happy because he was, that I tried to be as chipper as I could. - -"If you need me, wire at Havana, Skipper," he says. "I’ll come the -minute you say the word." - -"I sha’n’t need you," I told him. "Mary and I’ll run things as well as -we can. She makes a good fust mate, Mary does." - -"You bet!" says he. "I feel a little conscience-struck to leave you just -now, with that West End crowd tryin’ to make trouble for you, but -Congressman Shelton is your friend and he’ll look out for you in -Washin’ton." - -"Don’t you worry about that," I says. "I ain’t scared of Bill Phipps or -Ike Hamilton—much, or any of their West End crew. The decent folks in -town are on my side, and with Shelton to back me up at Washin’ton, I -cal’late I’ll keep my job till you come back anyhow." - -The train started and Mary and I waved till 'twas out of sight. Then we -went back to the store. I give in that the old feelin’, the feelin’ that -I’d had when Jim was sick out West, that of bein’ adrift without an -anchor, was hangin’ around me a little, but I braced up and vowed to -myself that I’d do the best I could. If this post-office row did get -dangerous, I might telegraph for Jacobs, but I wouldn’t till the ship -was founderin’. - -I suppose you can always get up an opposition party. There was one -amongst the Children of Israel in Moses’s time, and there’s been plenty -ever since. So long as somebody has got somethin’ there’ll always be -somebody else to want to get it away from him. That’s human nature, and -there’s as much human nature in Ostable, size considered, as there was -in the Land of Canaan. - -I’d been postmaster at Ostable for quite a spell. I didn’t try for the -position, I was mad when ’twas given to me, there wa’n’t much of -anything in it but a lot of fuss and trouble, and I’d said forty times -over that I wished I didn’t have it. But when the gang up at the West -End of the town set out to take it away from me I r’ared up on my hind -legs and swore I’d fight for my job till the last plank sunk from under -me. Don’t sound like sense, does it? It wa’n’t—’twas just more human -nature. - -Course the opposition wa’n’t large and ’twa’n’t very influential. Old -man William Phipps and young Ike Hamilton was at the head of it, and -they had forty or fifty West-Enders to back ’em up. Phipps had been one -of the leading workers for Abubus Payne, the chap I beat for the -app’intment in the fust place; and young Hamilton was junior partner in -the firm of "Ichabod Hamilton & Co., Stoves, Tinware and Fishermen’s -Supplies," a mile or so up the main road. Young Ike—everybody called him -"Ike," though his real name was Ichabod, same as his uncle’s—was a -pushin’ critter, who’d come back from a Boston business college and had -started right in to make the town sit up and take notice. He was goin’ -to get rich—he admitted that much—and he cal’lated to show us hayseeds a -few things. Up to now he hadn’t showed much but loud clothes and cheek, -but he had enough of them to keep all hands interested for a spell. - -His uncle, Ichabod, Senior, was a shrewd old rooster, with twenty -thousand or so that, accordin’ to his brags—he was always tellin’ of -it—he’d put away for a "rainy day." We have consider’ble damp weather at -the Cape, but ’twould have taken a Noah’s Ark flood to make Ichabod’s -purse strings loosen up. That twenty thousand dollars had growed fast to -his nervous system and when you pulled away a cent he howled. Young Ike -was the only one that could mesmerize this old man into spendin’ -anything, and how he did it nobody knew. But he did. Since he got into -that Stoves and Tinware firm the store had been fixed up and -advertisements put in the papers, and I don’t know what all. The uncle -had been under the weather with rheumatism for a year; maybe that -explained a little. - -Anyhow ’twas young Ike that picked himself to be postmaster instead of -me and he and Phipps got the West-Enders, fifty or so of ’em, to sign a -petition askin’ that a new app’intment be made. I couldn’t be removed -except on charges, so a lot of charges was made. Fust, the post-office, -bein’ in the Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods -Store, was too far from the center of the town. Second, I was neglectin’ -the office and my assistant—Mary, that is—was really doin’ the whole of -the government work. There was some truth in this, because Mary knew a -good deal more about mail work than I did, and was as capable a woman as -ever lived; and besides, Jim Henry and I had been so busy with our store -and the "Windmill Restaurant," and our other by-product ventures, that I -_had_ left Mary to run the post-office. But it was run better than any -post-office ever was run afore in Ostable and everybody with brains knew -it. - -Third.... But never mind the rest of the charges, they didn’t amount to -anything. In fact, there was so little to ’em that when the West End -petition went in to Washin’ton, I didn’t take the trouble to send one of -my own, though Jacobs thought I’d better and a hundred folks asked me to -and said they’d sign. I just wrote to the Post-office Department and -told them that I was ready to submit my case, if there was any need for -it, and if they cared to send a representative to investigate, I’d be -tickled to death to see him. They wrote back that they’d look into the -matter, and that’s the way it stood when Jim and Georgianna left and it -stayed so until the lost letter affair run me bows fust onto the rocks -and turned the situation from ridiculousness into something that looked -likely to be mighty serious for me. - -It come about—same as such jolts generally come—when I was least ready -for it. Jim Henry had been gone three weeks or more. ’Twas February and -none of my influential friends amongst the summer folks was on hand to -help. No, Mary and I were all alone and sailin’ free with what looked -like a fair wind, when "Bump!"—all at once our craft was half full of -water and sinkin’ fast. - -That mornin’ the mail was a little mite late and there wa’n’t any store -trade to speak of. Mary was in the post-office place writin’, the usual -gang of loafers was settin’ around the stove, and I was out front -talkin’ with Sim Kelley, who lived up to the west end of the town, -amongst the mutineers. 'Twas from Sim that I got most of my news about -the doin’s of the Phipps and Hamilton crowd. He was a great, hulkin’, -cross-eyed lubber, too lazy to get out of his own way, and as shif’less -as a body could be and take pains enough to live. - -"Sim," says I to him, "I thought you said old man Hamilton was in bed -with his rheumatiz. I saw him up street as I was comin’ by. He looked -pretty feeble, but he was toddlin’ along on foot just as he always does. -Rheumatic or not, it’s all the same. I cal’late the old critter wouldn’t -spend enough money to hire a team if he was dyin’." - -Sim was surprised, and not only surprised, but, seemingly, a little mite -worried. Why he should be worried because Ichabod was takin’ chances -with his diseases I couldn’t see. - -"Old man Hamilton!" says he. "Is he out a cold mornin’ like this? Where -was he bound?" - -"Don’t know," says I. "He stopped into the drug store when I saw him. -Whether that was his final port of call or not I don’t know." - -He seemed to be thinkin’ it over. Then he got up and walked to the door. - -"He ain’t in sight nowheres," he says. "Guess he wa’n’t comin’ as far as -here, ’tain’t likely." - -"Well," says I, "how’s the rest of the family? The hopeful leader of the -forlorn hope—how’s he?" - -"Ike?" he says. "Oh, he’s all right. He’s a mighty smart young feller, -Ike is." - -"Yes," says I, "so I’ve heard him say. Gettin’ ready to stand in with -him when he gets my job, are you, Sim?" - -That shook him up a mite. ’Twas common talk around town that Sim and Ike -was pretty thick. He turned red under his freckles. - -"No, no!" he sputtered. "Course I ain’t! I’m standin’ by you, Cap’n -Snow, and you know it. But, all the same, Ike’s a smart boy. He’s -gettin’ rich fast, Ike is." - -"Sold another cookstove, has he?" - -"He sells a lot of ’em. Sold two last month. But that ain’t it. He’s got -foresight and friends in the stock exchange up to Boston. He’s buyin’ -copper stocks and they—" - -He stopped short; thought his tongue was runnin’ away with him, I -presume likely. But I was interested and I kept on. - -"Oh!" says I; "he’s buyin’ coppers, is he? Well, where does he get the -U. S. coppers to do it with? Is Uncle Ichabod backin’ him? Has the old -man’s rheumatiz struck to his brains?" - -"Course he ain’t backin’ him. _He_ don’t know nothin’ of stocks. He -ain’t up-to-date same as Ike. But he’ll be glad enough when his nephew -makes fifty thousand. When he finds that out he’ll—" - -"He’ll never find it out on this earth," I cut in. "If he found out that -Ike made fifty dollars, all on his own hook, he’d drop dead with heart -disease. If he didn’t, everybody else in town would. But it takes money -to buy stocks, don’t it? I never knew Ike had any cash of his own." - -"He’s in the firm, ain’t he! And Hamilton and Co. are——Hello! here comes -the depot wagon." - -Sure enough, ’twas the depot wagon with the mail. I took the bags from -the driver and went back to help Mary sort. I’d taken to helpin’ her a -good deal lately—more since Jacobs left than ever afore. She said there -wa’n’t any need of it, but I didn’t agree with her. Of course I realized -that I was an old fool—but, somehow or other, I felt more and more -contented with life when I was alongside of Mary. She and I understood -each other and I’d come to depend upon her same as a man might on his -sister—or his—well, or anybody, you understand, that he thought a good -deal of and knew was square and—and so on. And she seemed to feel the -same way about me. - -We sorted the mail together, puttin’ it in the different boxes and such. -And almost the fust thing I run across was that registered letter -addressed to "Ichabod Hamilton, Jr." ’Twas a long envelope and up in one -corner of it was printed the name of a Boston broker’s firm. I laid it -out by itself and went on sortin’. - -When the sortin’ and distributin’ was over and the crowd had gone, I -called to Sim Kelley. We didn’t have Rural Free Delivery then and Sim -carried the West End mail box; that is, a lot of the folks up that way -chipped in and paid him so much for deliverin’ their mail to ’em. - -"Sim," says I, "there’s a registered letter here for young Ike Hamilton. -If I give it to you will you be careful and see that he signs the -receipt and the like of that?" - -He was outside the partition and he come to the little window and took -the letter from me. He acted mighty interested. - -"Gosh!" says he, grinnin’, "I wouldn’t wonder if this was.... Humph! Oh, -I’ll be careful of it! don’t you worry about that." - -Just then Mary called to me. I went over to where she was settin’ at her -desk. - -"Cap’n Zeb," she whispered, "I wouldn’t send that letter by Sim. It is -important, or it would not be registered, and Sim is so irresponsible. -If anything _should_ happen it would give Mr. Hamilton and the rest such -a chance. And they have accused us of bein’ careless already." - -They had, that was a fact. One or two letters had gone astray durin’ the -past six months and the loss of ’em was described, with trimmin’s, in -the West End charges and petition. And Sim _was_ a lunkhead. I thought -it over a jiffy and then I called to Kelley once more. He was just -comin’ to the hooks by the door outside the mail-box racks where Mary -and I and the store clerk—the one we’d hired in place of ’Dolph—hung our -overcoats and hats. Sim had hung his coat there that mornin’. - -"Sim," I said, "let me see that registered letter of Ike Hamilton’s -again, will you?" He took it out of his pocket and passed it to me. - -"All right," says I; "you needn’t bother about this. I’ll send a notice -by you that it’s here and Ike can call for it himself. I won’t take any -chances of your losin’ it." - -Well, you’d ought to have seen him! His face blazed up like a Fourth of -July tar-barrel. "Chances!" he sung out. "What are you talkin’ about? I -cal’late I’m able to carry a letter without losin’ it. I ain’t a kid." - -"Maybe not," says I, "but you ain’t goin’ to lose this one, kid or not. -Here’s the notice, all made out." - -"Notice be darned!" he snarled. "You give me that letter. Hamilton and -Co. pay me to carry their mail, don’t they? And, besides, Ike told me -particular that he was expectin’—" - -He pulled up short again. - -"Well?" says I. "Heave ahead. What’s the rest of it?" - -"Nothin’," he answered, ugly; "but you’ve got no right to say I can’t -carry a letter when I’m paid to do it. As for losin’ things, there’s -others besides me that lose mail in this town." - -There’s no use arguin’ when a matter’s all settled. I handed him the -notice and walked off, leavin’ him standin’ outside that partition, sore -as a scalded cat. - -I looked at my watch. ’Twas twelve o’clock, my dinner time. I walked out -to the hook rack, took down my overcoat and put it on. I had the -Hamilton letter in my hand. There wa’n’t any reason why I should be more -worried about that registered letter than any other, but I was, just the -same. Maybe 'twas because ’twas Ike’s and he was so anxious to make -trouble for me. Somehow or other I couldn’t feel safe till he got it and -signed the receipt. I thought for a minute and then I decided I’d walk -up to Hamilton and Co.’s and deliver it myself. That decision was -foolish, maybe, but I felt better when ’twas made. I put the letter in -the inside pocket of the overcoat I had on, and just as I was doin’ it -Mary come out of the post-office room with her hat on. - -"Oh!" says she, "are you goin’ out, Cap’n Zeb? I thought—" - -Then I remembered. She’d asked to go to dinner fust that day and I’d -told her of course she could. I begged her pardon and said I’d forgot. -I’d wait till she got back. So, after makin’ sure that I didn’t care, -she took her coat from the hook, put it on and went out. - -I took off my overcoat and, just as I did so, somethin’ fell on the -floor. I stooped and picked it up. I swan to man if it wasn’t that pesky -Hamilton letter! Thinks I, "That’s funny!" I put my hand into the pocket -where it had been and there was a hole right through the linin’. Now if -there’s one thing I’m fussy about it is that my pockets are whole. And I -_knew_ this one ought to be whole. So I looked at the coat and I’m -blessed if it was mine at all! 'Twas Sim Kelley’s! Both coats had been -hangin’ together on the hook-rack and both was blue and about the same -size. I’d been saved by a miracle, as you might say. - -I was comin’ to feel more and more as if there was some sort of fate -about that registered letter. I took it back into the post-office room, -handlin’ it as careful as if ’twas solid gold, and laid it down on the -sortin’ bench behind the letter boxes. And then somebody spoke to me -through the little window. - -"Cap’n Zeb," says Sim Kelley, "there’s a man just drove over from -Bayport to see you. Come in Gabe Lumley’s buggy, he did. His name’s -Peters and Gabe says he’s got some sort of government job." - -"Government job?" says I. And then it flashed through my mind who the -feller might be. The Post-office Department had said they might send an -investigator. I didn’t care for that, but I did wish Sim hadn’t seen -him. - -"Oh," says I; "all right. It’s the lighthouse inspector, I shouldn’t -wonder. Guess ’tain’t me he is after. Probably I ain’t the Snow he wants -to see; it’s Henry Snow over to the Point. Where is he?" - -"Out on the platform," says Sim. I hurried out of the post-office room, -lockin’ the door careful astern of me. The man Peters was just comin’ -into the store. I met him at the front door. We shook hands and he -introduced himself. ’Twas the investigator, sure enough. - -"Glad to see you," says I. "I know that may sound like a lie, but, as it -happens, it ain’t in this case. I ain’t got anything to be ashamed of -and the sooner the government finds that out the better I’ll be -pleased." - -He laughed. He was a real good chap, this Peters man, and I took to him -right off the reel. We stood there talkin’ and laughin’ and says he: - -"Well, Cap’n," he says, "I’ll tell you frankly that I’m not very much -worried about the conduct of your office here at Ostable. I’ve made some -inquiries about you, here and in Washin’ton, and the answers are pretty -satisfactory. Congressman Shelton seems to be a friend of yours." - -I grinned. "Yes," says I, "but Shelton’s prejudiced, I’m afraid. He and -old Major Clark ate a chowder once that I cooked and ever since they’ve -both swore by me." - -He laughed, though I could see Shelton hadn’t told him the yarn. - -"Humph!" says he, "that’s unusual, isn’t it? Judgin’ by some chowders -_I’ve_ eaten, it would be easier to swear _at_ the cook. Speakin’ of -eatables, though, reminds me that I’m hungry. Where’s a good place to -get a meal around here?" - -"Nowhere," says I, prompt; "not at this season of the year, with the -summer dinin’-room closed. But, if you’ll wait until my assistant gets -back, I’ll pilot you down to the Poquit House, where I feed, and we’ll -face the wust together." - -He was willin’ to risk it, he said, and we walked back and set down in -the post-office department. As we left the front door Sim Kelley went -out of it, luggin’ his West-End mail box. Peters and I talked. Seems he -hadn’t come to the Cape a-purpose to investigate me, but he had a job at -the Bayport office and had took me in on the way home. After a spell -Mary come back and Peters and I headed for the Poquit, where the cold -fish balls and warmed-over beans was waitin’. - -On the way I saw old man Hamilton, Ike’s uncle, totterin’ along, headin’ -to the west’ard this time. I pointed him out to Peters. - -"There goes," I says, "one of the fellers that’s trying to knock me out -of my job." - -"Humph!" says he; "he looks pretty near knocked out himself. Why, he’s -all bent out of shape." - -"Yes," I told him. "Ichabod’s bent, but he’s far from broke. And a tough -old limb like him stands a lot of bendin’." - -I was feelin’ pretty good. With a square man like this Peters to look -into matters, I cal’lated I’d be postmaster for a spell yet. - -But that afternoon, about three o’clock, as we was inside the mail room, -Mary at her desk, and Peters alongside of her, goin’ over the books and -papers, and me smokin’ in a chair nigh the delivery window, Ike Hamilton -walked into the store. - -"Afternoon, Snow," says he, pert and important as ever, "I understand -there’s a registered letter for me. I s’pose it is part of your business -to refuse to give it to the regular carrier and put me to the trouble of -walkin’ way down here." - -"I s’pose ’tis," says I. - -"Yes," he says. "Well, if you were as careful to put your partic’lar -friends to the same inconvenience there might not be as much talk about -you and your handlin’ of this office as there is now." - -"Oh, yes, there would," I told him. "There’d always be more talk than -anything else where you lived, Ike. Want your letter, do you?" - -He was mad, but he held in pretty well. - -"I do—if gettin’ it won’t make you work _too_ hard," he says, sarcastic. -"I should hate to see you really work." - -"Yes," I says, "the sight of work never was a joy to you, ’cordin’ to -all accounts. Well, here’s your letter." - -I reached down to the sortin’ table where I’d laid the letter at noon -time—and it wa’n’t there. - -I hunted that table over. "Mary," says I, "did you put that registered -letter of Mr. Hamilton’s away somewheres?" - -She looked surprised and, it seemed to me, rather anxious. - -"Why no!" says she; "I haven’t touched it." - -Whew!... Well, there was a lively hunt in that mail room for the next -ten minutes, but it ended in nothin’. - -Ike Hamilton’s registered letter was _gone_! - - - - -CHAPTER XV—HOW IKE’S LOSS TURNED OUT TO BE MY GAIN - - -There’s no use dwelling on unpleasantness. And there’s no use tellin’ -what Ike Hamilton said. I’d be liable to the law, if I did tell it, and, -besides, I’ve been away from seafarin’ so long that my memory for such -language ain’t as good as ’twas. Ike wa’n’t only mad now: he was ha’f -crazy, and pale and scared-lookin’ besides. The interview ended by my -takin’ him by the arm and leadin’ him to the door. - -"You get out of here," I told him, "and I’ll leave this door open so’s -to sweeten the air after you. That letter of yours has turned up missin’ -and I’m mighty sorry. I’ll find it, though, or die a-tryin’. Meanwhile, -unless you can behave like a decent human bein’—which I doubt—you’ll -find it turrible unhealthy for you on these premises. Understand?" - -I cal’late he understood, for he waited till he was out of reach afore -he answered. Then he turned and snarled at me like a kicked dog. - -"By the Almighty, Zeb Snow," he says, "this is the wust day’s work _you_ -ever did! That letter’s wuth hundreds of dollars to me and I’ll sue you -for every cent. And, more’n that," he says, "this is the last straw -that’ll break your back as postmaster of this town. _You’re_ done! and -don’t you forget it!" - -I wa’n’t likely to forget it—not to any consider’ble extent. - -Well, all the rest of that day and for the next two days, Mary and -Peters and I hunted high and low for that letter; but we couldn’t find -it. I was worried, Peters was worried, and Mary Blaisdell seemed the -most worried of any of us. Ike Hamilton come in every few hours, and, -though he blustered and threatened a whole lot, he kept a civil tongue -in his head, rememberin’, I cal’late, what I said to him when I showed -him the door. Apparently he hadn’t told any of his cronies about his -loss, for nobody else said a word about it to me. This was queer, for I -expected the news would be all over town by this time. - -Peters asked a lot of questions and I done my best to satisfy him. I -showed him the exact place where I laid the letter down afore I went to -the front of the store to meet him, and he remembered, same as I did, -that the door to the mail room was locked when we come back to it. And -we’d stayed in that room together until Mary came and we went to dinner. -Nobody but Mary and I had keys to the room, either. - -Course I thought of Sim Kelley and how mad he was because I took the -letter away from him, and Peters and I cross-questioned him pretty -sharp. But he told a straight yarn and stuck to it. He hadn’t seen the -letter since I took it. He’d delivered the notice to Ike and Ike had -said he’d call and get the letter that afternoon. Well, all that seemed -to be true, and, besides, there was no way Sim could have got hold of -the thing if he’d wanted to. - -"No use," says I, when the questionin’ was over and Sim had cleared out, -protestin’ injured innocence and almost cryin’. "No use," says I, "I -cal’late he’s tellin’ the truth for once in his life. I guess his skirts -are clear." - -"Maybe so," says Peters. "His story is straight enough; but he don’t -look you in the face; I don’t like that." - -"That’s nothin’," I said. "He’d have to get 'round the corner to look a -body in the face, as cross-eyed as he is." - -Mary Blaisdell spoke up then. "If this letter shouldn’t be found at all, -Mr. Peters," says she, "what effect would it have on Cap’n Zeb’s -position as postmaster?" - -Peters was pretty solemn, and he shook his head. - -"Well," he says, "to be perfectly frank with you, Cap’n, it might have -consider’ble effect. From what I’ve seen of you and this office, -generally speakin’, my report to headquarters would be a very favorable -one. Your records and accounts are straight and the place is neat and -well kept. But your opponent’s petition charges that several letters -have been lost already. This loss comes at a very bad time and it -_might_ be considered serious." - -I’d realized all this, but it didn’t help me much to hear him say it. I -didn’t make any answer, but Mary asked another question. - -"But if," she says, slow, "it should turn out that the Cap’n was not to -blame at all? If someone else had lost that letter? He wouldn’t be -removed _then_?" - -"No, certainly not. That is, not if my report counted for anything." - -"I see," says she; and she didn’t speak to us again that afternoon. -Peters, though, had more questions to ask. What sort of a letter was -this, anyhow? And did I have any idea what was in it? - -I told him that I didn’t really know much, but, bein’ a Yankee, I was -subject to the guessin’ habit. Ike Hamilton had been buyin’ stocks up to -Boston and this letter had a broker firm’s name printed on the envelope. -My guess was that there was some certificates, or such, inside. - -"I see," he says. "That would explain what he said about its value. So -he’s been speculatin’, hey?" - -"So Sim Kelley hinted. But where the money comes from I don’t see. Old -Ichabod don’t furnish it, I’ll bet a dollar. The old critter’s got -cramps in the pocketbook worse than he has in his back." - -"That was the old feller you pointed out to me the other day," he says. -"I haven’t seen him since. Where is he?" - -"Back in bed with the rheumatiz, so I hear. Guess his cruise down town -was too much for him." - -Well, the rest of our talk didn’t amount to much and I went home that -night pretty blue and discouraged. I didn’t care so much about bein’ -postmaster, but it hurt my pride to be bounced for bad seamanship. I’d -never wrecked a craft afore in my life. - -Next mornin’ I come to the store at my usual time, but Mary was late, -for a wonder. When she did come she looked so pale and used up that I -was troubled. - -"Mary," says I, "what’s the matter? Ain’t sick, are you?" - -"Oh, no!" says she. "I—I didn’t sleep well, that’s all. I’m all right." - -"But, Mary," I says, "I—" - -"Please excuse me, Cap’n Zeb," she cut in. "I’m very busy." - -She’d never used that tone to me afore, and I was set back about forty -mile. Why she should be so frosty I couldn’t see. I went out to the -platform and paced the quarter deck, thinkin’. I was down at the heel -anyway, and I thought a whole lot of fool things. I was goin’ to lose my -job and so I s’posed that, after all, I’d ought to expect my friends to -shake me. There’s a proverb about rats leavin’ a leaky vessel. But Mary -Blaisdell!! I cal’late I come as nigh wishin’ I was dead as ever I did -in my life. - -'Twas almost eleven afore the Peters man showed up. He was walkin’ brisk -and smilin’ a little. - -"Well," says I, "you’re lookin’ a heap more chipper than I feel. What -are you grinnin’ about?" - -"Oh, just for instance," he says. "Is Miss Blaisdell in the office?" - -"Guess so. She was awhile ago. Yes, she’s there. Why?" - -"I want to see her—and you, too. Come on." - -He led the way to the mail room. Mary was there, workin’ at her books. -She looked up when we come in, and her face was whiter than ever. I -forgot all about my "rat" thoughts and the rest of it. - -"Mary," says I, anxious, "you _are_ under the weather. Why don’t you go -home?" - -She held up her hand and stopped me. - -"Please don’t," she says. - -Then, turnin’ to Peters: "Mr. Peters, I want to speak to you. And to -you, too, Cap’n Zeb. I—I’ve got somethin’ that I must tell you." - -'Twa’n’t so much what she said as the way she said it. I looked at -Peters and he looked at me. I cal’late we was both wonderin’ what sort -of lightnin’ was goin’ to strike now. - -She didn’t leave us to wonder long. She went right on, speakin’ quick, -as if she wanted to get it over with. - -"Mr. Peters," she says, "last night you told me that, if it should be -proved that Cap’n Zeb had no part in losin’ that letter, if it wasn’t -his fault at all, the postmastership wouldn’t be taken from him. You -meant that, didn’t you?" - -Peters looked queer enough. "Why, yes," he says, "I did. But how—" - -"Mr. Peters," she went on, in the same hurried way, "_I_ lost that -letter." - -I don’t know what Peters did then, but I know that my knees give from -under me and I flopped down in the armchair. - -"You? _You_, Mary!" says I. - -Peters seemed to be as much flabbergasted as I was. He rubbed his -forehead. - -"_You_ lost it?" he says, slow. - -"Yes," says she. "That is, I—I destroyed it by accident. It was while -you two were at dinner. I was clearin’ up the sortin’ table and—and -puttin’ the waste paper in the stove. I—I must have taken the letter -with the other things." - -"Nonsense!" I sung out. Peters didn’t say nothin’. - -"Nonsense!" I said again. "You don’t know that ’twas—" - -"But I do," she interrupted. "I—I saw it burnin’ and—and it was too late -to get it out. It was my fault altogether. No one else is to blame at -all." - -If I hadn’t been settin’ down already you could have knocked me over -with a feather. ’Twas an accident, of course; anybody might have done -such a thing; but what I couldn’t understand was why she hadn’t told me -of it afore. That didn’t seem like her at all. - -"Well!" I says; "_well_!" - -Peters had transferred his rubbin’ from his forehead to his chin. - -"Miss Blaisdell," says he, quiet, "why didn’t you tell us sooner?" - -"That’s all right," I cut in, quick. "I don’t blame her for not tellin’. -I cal’late that she felt so bad about it that she couldn’t make up her -mind to tell right off. That was it, wa’n’t it, Mary?" - -She didn’t look up, but sat playin’ with a pen-holder. - -"Yes," she says, "that was it." - -"All right then," says I. "It was an accident, and if anybody’s to blame -it’s me. I shouldn’t have left the letter there." - -_Then_ she looked up. "Of course you’re not to blame," she says, awful -earnest. "It was my fault entirely. You know it was, Mr. Peters. It was -my fault and I must take the consequences. I will resign my place as -assistant and—" - -"Resign!" I sung out. "Resign! Well, I guess not!" - -"But I shall. Of course I shall. Mr. Peters, you see that it wasn’t -Cap’n Snow’s fault, don’t you? _Don’t_ you?" - -"Yes," says Peters, short. - -"Nonsense!" I roared. "He don’t see no such thing. Mary, I don’t care—" - -She held up her hand. "Please don’t talk to me now," she begged. -"Please—not now." - -I looked at Peters. There was a look in his eyes, almost as if he was -smilin’ inside. I could have punched his head for it. - -"But, Mary—" I begun. - -"Please don’t talk to me," she begged, almost cryin’. "Please go away -and leave me now. Please." - -I cal’late I shouldn’t have gone; fact is, I know I shouldn’t; but that -government investigator put his hand on my arm. - -"Cap’n," he says, "come with me." - -"With you?" I snapped. "Why?" - -"Because I want you to. It’s important. I won’t keep you long." - -I went, but he’ll never know how much I wanted to kick him. As I shut -the door of the mail room I saw poor Mary’s head go down on her arms on -the desk. - -Peters led me out to the front of the store, where he come to anchor on -a shoe-case. - -"Set down," says he, pattin’ the case alongside of him. - -"I don’t feel like settin’," I says, ugly. "And I tell you, Mr. Peters—" - -"No," says he, "I’m goin’ to tell _you_ this time. Or, if I’m not, the -feller I told to be here at half past eleven will. Yes ... here he comes -now." - -In at the door comes Sim Kelley, and, if ever a chap looked as if he was -marchin’ to be hung, he did. His eyes was red and his face was white -under the freckles. - -"Here—here I be, Mr. Peters," he stammered. - -"Yes, I see you ’be,’" says Peters, dry as a chip. "All right. Now you -can tell Cap’n Snow what you told me this mornin’." - -Sim looked at me, and at the government man. He was shakin’ all over. - -"Aw, Cap’n Zeb," he bust out, "don’t be too hard on me. Don’t put me in -jail! I know I hadn’t ought to have taken that letter, but you riled me -up when you told me I couldn’t be trusted with it. Ike pays me to fetch -the mail. And he told me he was expectin’ an important letter from them -stockbrokers. So I—" - -Well, there’s no use tryin’ to spin the yarn the way he did. ’Twas all -mixed up with prayers about not puttin’ him in jail, and what would his -ma say, and "pleases" and "oh, dont’s" and such. B’iled down and skimmed -it amounted to this: He’d seen me lay that Hamilton letter on the -sortin’ table, saw it when he come back to tell me that Peters had -arrived. After I’d gone out to the platform he was struck with an idea. -He _would_ take that letter to Ike, just to show that he could be -trusted, and, besides Ike had promised him fifty cents for lookin’ out -for it and fetchin’ it to him direct. He had a key to the Hamilton box -and the letter laid right back of that box. All he had to do was to -reach through the box to the table, take the letter, and lock up again. -So he did it, and put the letter in his overcoat inside pocket. - -"And—and—" he finished up, almost blubberin’, "there was a great big -hole in that pocket and I didn’t know it." - -"I did," says I, involuntary, so to speak. "Never mind. Heave ahead." - -"And the letter must have dropped out of it. When I got a little ways up -the road I found ’twas gone. I didn’t dast tell Ike or you. I—I didn’t -_dast_ to. Ike would kill me if I told him, and—and—Oh, please, Cap’n -Zeb, don’t put me in jail! I don’t know where the letter is. Honest, I -don’t! _Please_ ..." and so on. - -Peters cut him short. "There!" says he, "that’ll do. Kelley, you go out -on the platform and wait till we need you. Go ahead! Shut up—and go." - -Sim went, but I cal’late if we’d listened we could have heard the -platform boards tremblin’ underneath where he was standin’. - -Peters looked at me and grinned. ’Twas my time to rub my forehead. - -"Well!" says I. "Well, I—I.... Is he lyin’?" - -"Didn’t act like it, did he?" - -"No-o, he didn’t. But—but, if he took that letter, how did it get back -onto that sortin’ table?" - -"How do you know it did?" - -"How do I know! Course it got back there! Didn’t Mary say—" - -"Wait a minute," he put in. "How do you explain that, Cap’n?" - -He was holdin’ out somethin’ that he’d took from his pocket. I grabbed -it. ’Twas the regular receipt for that registered letter, and ’twas -signed by Ichabod Hamilton, Junior. - -I looked at that receipt and then at him. The paddin’ in my head that, -up to then, I’d complimented by callin’ brains was whirlin’ as if -somebody was stirrin’ it. I couldn’t say a word. He laughed out loud. - -"Don’t have a fit, Cap’n Snow," he says. "It’s simple enough. What you -told me yesterday about the firm of Hamilton and Co. put me wise to the -real answer to the riddle. I remembered that you pointed out Hamilton to -me on the street when you and I were on the way to that hotel where we -dined the noon of my arrival. He was on his way home then and he had -been somewhere in this vicinity. There was a chance that he had been -here at the office. This mornin’ I went to his house and found him in -bed. He was full of rheumatism and groans, but fuller still of the Evil -One. I told him I knew he’d got his partner’s registered letter—a bluff -of course—and he didn’t take the trouble to deny it. Seems Sim Kelley, -with the mail box, passed him right here by the store platform. As they -passed each other the letter fell from Kelley’s overcoat pocket. The old -man picked it up, intendin’ to call to Kelley and give it back to him. -When he saw the address he didn’t." - -He stopped then, waitin’ for me to say somethin’, I s’pose. But I -couldn’t say anything. My head was fuller of stir-about than ever, and I -just stared at him with my mouth open. - -"When he saw the address—and the name of the brokerage firm—he didn’t. -He took that letter home and opened it. You see, the old feller is -nobody’s fool, even if his rheumatism has kept him from active business -for the last few months. He had suspected his nephew of speculatin’ and -here was the proof, a hundred shares of cheap minin’ stock, and a letter -sayin’ that two hundred more had been bought on a margin. Young Hamilton -had been stockjobbin’ with the firm’s money." - -"My—soul!" was all I could say. - -"Yes; well, old Ichabod is—ha! ha!—a queer character. His rheumatism had -come back and he was waitin’ to get better afore he took the matter up -with his partner. ’What I’ll say and do to that young pup is a well -man’s job,’ he told me. We had a long talk and it ended in his sendin’ -for Ike. As soon as the young chap came I cleared out—that is, after I -got this receipt signed. That bedroom was too sulphurous for me. I could -smell brimstone even in the front yard. Cap’n, I guess you needn’t worry -about your rival candidate for postmaster. He’s got troubles enough of -his own." - -I got up, slow and deliberate, from that shoe-case. - -"But—but—" I stuttered. - -"Yes? Anything that I haven’t made clear?" - -"Anything? Why! if all this yarn of yours is so—.... But it _can’t_ be -so! Why did Mary burn that letter?" - -"She didn’t." - -"But she said she did." - -"I know. Well, Cap’n, if you’ll remember when we talked, the three of -us, yesterday, I hinted that unless you were cleared of blame in this -affair you might be removed from office." - -"I know, but.... Hey? You mean that she lied and put the blame on -herself, so as to save _me_? So’s I’d keep my job?" - -"Looks that way to a man up a tree, doesn’t it?" - -"But why? Why should she sacrifice herself for—for me?" - -Peters bit the end off of a cigar. "That," says he, "don’t come under -the head of government business." - - ———— - -Mary was still at her desk when I walked into the mail room. I put my -hand on her shoulder. - -"Mary," says I, "I know all about it." - -She looked at me. Her eyes were wet, and I cal’late mine wa’n’t as dry -as a sand bank in July. - -"You know?" she says. - -"Yes," says I. And I told her the yarn. Afore I got through the color -had come back to her cheeks. - -"Then you did leave it on the sortin’ table after all," she says, almost -in a whisper. - -"Course I did! Didn’t I say so?" - -"Yes; but Cap’n Zeb, I saw you put that letter in your overcoat pocket. -I saw you do it, myself." - -So there ’twas. I’d forgot to tell her about my mistake in the overcoats -and she thought I’d lost the letter and didn’t know it. - -"And so," says I, after I’d explained, "you thought I’d lost it and yet -you took the blame all on yourself. You risked your place and told a lie -just to save me, Mary. Why did you do it?" - -"How could I help it?" she says. "You’ve been so good to me and so -kind." - -"Good and kind be keelhauled!" I sung out. "Mary, my goodness and -kindness wouldn’t explain a thing like that. Oh, Mary, don’t let’s have -another misunderstandin’. I’m crazy maybe to think of such a thing, and -I’m ten years older than you, and you’ll be throwin’ yourself away, but, -_do_ you care enough for me to—" - -She got up from her desk, all flustered like. - -"It’s mail time," she says. "I—I must—" - -But ’twa’n’t mail I was interested in just then. I caught her afore she -could get away. - -"Could you, Mary?" I pleaded. She wouldn’t look at me, so I put my hand -under her chin and tipped her head back so I could see her face. ’Twas -as red as a spring peony, and her eyes were wetter than ever. But they -were shinin’ behind the fog. - -Well, about three that afternoon, we were alone together in the mail -room. Peters, who had as much common sense as anybody ever I see, had -gone for a walk. - -Mary was thinkin’ things over and says she, "But it was too bad," she -says, "that all the worry and trouble had to come on you just because of -that foolish Sim Kelley. I’m so sorry." - -"Sorry!" says I. "I’m goin’ to give Sim a ten-dollar bill next time I -see him. If I gave him a million ’twould be a cheap price for what I’ve -got by his buttin’ in. Sorry! _I_ ain’t sorry, I tell you that!" - -And I’ve never been sorry since, either. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI—I PAY MY OTHER BET - - -'Twas June, and Mary and I were in New York together, on _our_ -honeymoon. We’d been married, quietly, by the same parson that tied the -knot for Jim and Georgianna, and Georgianna and Jim had been on hand at -the ceremony. We was cal’latin’ to stop in New York a few days, then go -to Washington, and from there to Chicago, and from there to California -or the Yellerstone, or anywhere that seemed good to us at the time. I’d -waited fifty years for my weddin’ tour and I didn’t intend to let -dollars and cents cut much figger, so far as regulatin’ the limits of -the cruise was concerned. Jim Henry and the clerk, who’d been swore in -as substitute assistant, believed they could run the store and -post-office while we were gone. - -Mary and I were walkin’ down Broadway together. I’d told her I had an -errand to do and asked her if she wanted to come along. She said she did -and we were walkin’ down Broadway, as I said, when all at once I pulled -up short. - -"What is it?" asked Mary, lookin’ to see what had run across my bows to -bring me up into the wind so sudden. - -"Nothin’ serious," says I; "but, unless my eyesight is goin’ back on me, -this shop we’re in front of is what I’ve been huntin’ for." - -She looked at the shop I was p’intin’ at. The window was full of hats, -straw ones mainly. - -"Why!" says she, "it’s a hat store, isn’t it? You don’t need a new hat, -Zebulon, do you?" - -"You bet I do!" says I, chucklin’. "I need just as much hat as there is. -Come in and watch me buy it." - -I could see she was puzzled, but she was more so after I got into the -store. A slick-lookin’, but pretty condescendin’ young clerk marched up -to us and says he: - -"Somethin’ in a hat, sir?" - -"Yes, sir," says I; "_everything_ in a hat." - -He didn’t know what to make of that, so he tried again. - -"One of our new straws, perhaps?" he asks. "The fifteenth is almost -here, you know." - -"Maybe so," I told him, "but I don’t want any straw, the fifteenth or -the sixteenth either. I want a plug hat, a beaver hat—that’s what I -want." - -The clerk was a little set back, I guess, but poor Mary was all at sea. - -"Why, Zebulon!" she whispers, grabbin’ me by the arm, "what are you -doin’? You’re not goin’ to buy a silk hat!" - -"Yes, I am," says I. - -"But you aren’t goin’ to _wear_ it." - -To save me, when I looked at her face I couldn’t help laughin’. - -"Ain’t I?" says I. "Why, I think I’d look too cute for anything in a -tall hat. What’s your opinion?" turnin’ to the clerk. - -He coughed behind his hand and then made proclamation that a silk hat -would become me very well, he was sure. - -"Then you’re a whole lot surer than I am," says I. "However, trot one -out, the best article you’ve got in stock." - -That clerk’s back was gettin’ limberer every second. "Yes, sir," says -he, bowin’. "Our imported hat at ten dollars is the finest in New York. -If you and the lady will step this way, please." - -We stepped; that is, I did. I pretty nigh had to _drag_ Mary. - -"What size, sir?" asked the clerk. - -"Oh, I don’t know," says I. "Any nice genteel size will do, I guess." - -I had consider’ble fun with that clerk, fust and last, and when we came -out of that store I was luggin’ a fine leather box with the imported -tall hat inside it. I’d made arrangements that, if the size shouldn’t be -right, it could be exchanged. - -"And now, Mary," says I, "I cal’late you’re wonderin’ where we’ll go -next, ain’t you?" - -She looked at me and shook her head. - -"Zeb," she says, half laughin’, "I—I’m almost afraid we ought to go to -the insane asylum." - -I laughed out loud then. "Not just yet," I told her. "We’re goin’ on a -cruise down South Street fust." - -So I hired a hack—street cars ain’t good enough for a man on his weddin’ -trip—and the feller drove us to the number I give him on South Street. -The old place looked mighty familiar. - -"Is Mr. Pike in?" I asked the bookkeeper, who had hollered my name out -as if he was glad to see me. - -"Why, yes, Cap’n Snow, he’s in. I’ll tell him you’re here." - -"Wait a minute," says I. "Is he alone? Good! Then I’ll tell him myself. -Come, Mary." - -Pike was in his private office, not lookin’ a day older than when I left -him four years and a half ago. He looked up, jumped, and then grabbed me -by both hands. "Why, Cap’n Zeb!" he sung out. "If this isn’t good for -sore eyes. How are you? What are you doin’ here in New York? By George, -I’m glad to see you! What—" - -"Wait!" I interrupted. "Business fust, and pleasure afterwards. I’m here -to pay my debts." - -"Debts?" says he, wonderin’. - -"Yes," I says. "Did you get a hat from me four year or so ago?" - -He laughed. "Yes, I did," he says. "I wrote you that I did. I knew I -should win that bet. You couldn’t stay idle to save your soul." - -"There was another bet, too, if you recollect. A bet with a five-year -limit on it. The limit won’t be up till next fall, so here I am—and -here’s the other hat." - -I set the leather box on the table. He stared at it and then at me. - -"What do you mean?" he says, slow. "I don’t remember.... Why, yes—I do! -You don’t mean to tell me that you’re—" - -"That’s the hat, ain’t it?" I cut in. "You’re a man of judgment, Mr. -Pike, and any time you want to set up professionally as a prophet I’d -like to take stock in the company." - -He was beginnin’ to smile. - -"Then—" says he—"Why, then this must be—" - -I cut in and stopped him. - -"Hold on," says I. "Hold on! I’m prouder to be able to say it than I -ever was of anything else in this world, and I sha’n’t let you say it -fust. Mr. Pike, let me introduce you to my wife—Mrs. Zebulon Snow." - -About half an hour afterwards he found time to look at the hat. - -"Whew!" says he. "Cap’n, this is much too good a hat for you to buy for -me. I’m mighty glad, for your sake, that I won the bet, but—" - -"Ssh-h! shh!" says I. "Don’t say another word. Think of what _I_ won! -Hey, Mary?" - - - - THE END - - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POSTMASTER *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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- float: left; - margin-right: 1em } - -.align-right { clear: right; - float: right; - margin-left: 1em } - -.align-center { margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto } - -div.shrinkwrap { display: table; } - -/* SECTIONS */ - -body { margin: 5% 10% 5% 10% } - -/* compact list items containing just one p */ -li p.pfirst { margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0 } - -.first { margin-top: 0 !important } -.last { margin-bottom: 0 !important } - -.dropcap { float: left; } -span.dropcap { margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 1 } -img.dropcap { margin: 0 0.5em 0 0; } - -/* PAGINATION */ - -@media screen { - .coverpage, .frontispiece, .titlepage, .verso, - .contents, .foreword, .preface, .introduction, .dedication, .prologue, - .epilogue, .appendix, .glossary, .bibliography, .index, .colophon, - .footnotes, .plainpage - { margin: 10% 0 } - .clearpage { margin: 10% } - .cleardoublepage { margin: 10% } - .vfill { margin: 5% 10% } -} - -@media print { - /* margin-top disappears after a page-break, thus padding */ - .frontispiece, .verso, .plainpage, .section.level-2, - .clearpage { page-break-before: always; padding-top: 1px } - - .coverpage, .titlepage, - .contents, .foreword, .preface, .introduction, .dedication, .prologue, - .epilogue, .appendix, .glossary, .bibliography, .index, .colophon, - .footnotes, - .cleardoublepage { page-break-before: right; padding-top: 1px } - - .vfill { margin-top: 20% } - h2.title { margin-top: 20% } -} -</style> -<style type="text/css"> -.pageno { position: absolute; right: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; } -.pageno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.toc-pageref { float: right } -pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.9em; white-space: pre-wrap } -</style> -</head> -<body> - -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Postmaster, by Joseph C. Lincoln</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Postmaster</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Joseph C. Lincoln</div> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: September 19, 2011 [eBook #37482]<br /> -[Most recently updated: December 16, 2022]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: - Roger Frank, Mary Meehan, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at <a class="reference external" href="http://www.pgdp.net">http://www.pgdp.net</a>.</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POSTMASTER ***</div> - -<h1 class="document-title level-1 pfirst title">THE POSTMASTER</h1> -<div class="center line-block noindent outermost x-large"> -<div class="line">BY JOSEPH C. LINCOLN</div> -</div> -<div class="center large line-block noindent outermost"> -<div class="line">Author of "The Depot Master," "Cap'n Warrens Wards,"</div> -<div class="line">"Cap'n Eri," "Mr. Pratt," etc.</div> -</div> -<div class="center large line-block noindent outermost"> -<div class="line"><span class="small-caps">With Four Illustrations</span></div> -<div class="line"><span class="small-caps">By</span> HOWARD HEATH</div> -</div> -<div class="center large line-block noindent outermost"> -<div class="line">A. L. BURT COMPANY</div> -<div class="line"><span class="small-caps">Publishers New York</span></div> -</div> -<div class="center large line-block noindent outermost"> -<div class="line"><span class="small-caps">Copyright, 1912, by</span></div> -<div class="line">D. APPLETON AND COMPANY</div> -</div> -<div class="center large line-block noindent outermost"> -<div class="line">Copyright, 1911, 1912, by the Curtis Publishing Company</div> -<div class="line">Copyright, 1911, 1912, by the Ainslee Magazine Company</div> -<div class="line">Copyright, 1912, by the Ridgeway Company</div> -</div> -<div class="center large line-block noindent outermost"> -<div class="line">Published, April, 1912</div> -</div> -<div class="center large line-block noindent outermost"> -<div class="line">Printed in the United States of America</div> -</div> -<hr class="docutils"/> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure" style="margin-left: 29%; width: 42%" id="figure-5"> -<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Seems to me I never saw her look prettier." src="images/illus1.jpg" width="100%"/> -<div class="caption italics"> -Seems to me I never saw her look prettier.</div> -</div> -<hr class="docutils"/> -<div class="contents level-2 section" id="id1"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title">CONTENTS</h2> -<ul class="compact simple toc-list"> -<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-ii-make-two-betsand-lose-one-of-em" id="id2">CHAPTER I—I MAKE TWO BETS—AND LOSE ONE OF 'EM</a></span></li> -<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-iiwhat-a-pullet-did-to-a-pedigree" id="id3">CHAPTER II—WHAT A "PULLET" DID TO A PEDIGREE</a></span></li> -<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-iiii-get-into-politics" id="id4">CHAPTER III—I GET INTO POLITICS</a></span></li> -<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-ivhow-i-made-a-clam-chowder-and-what-a-clam-chowder-made-of-me" id="id5">CHAPTER IV—HOW I MADE A CLAM CHOWDER; AND WHAT A CLAM CHOWDER MADE OF ME</a></span></li> -<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-va-trap-and-what-the-rat-caught-in-it" id="id6">CHAPTER V—A TRAP AND WHAT THE "RAT" CAUGHT IN IT</a></span></li> -<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-vii-run-afoul-of-cousin-lemuel" id="id7">CHAPTER VI—I RUN AFOUL OF COUSIN LEMUEL</a></span></li> -<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-viithe-force-and-the-object" id="id8">CHAPTER VII—THE FORCE AND THE OBJECT</a></span></li> -<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-viiiarmenians-and-injuns-likewise-by-products" id="id9">CHAPTER VIII—ARMENIANS AND INJUNS; LIKEWISE BY-PRODUCTS</a></span></li> -<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-ixrosesby-another-name" id="id10">CHAPTER IX—ROSES—BY ANOTHER NAME</a></span></li> -<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-xthe-sign-of-the-windmill" id="id11">CHAPTER X—THE SIGN OF THE WINDMILL</a></span></li> -<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-xicooks-and-crooks" id="id12">CHAPTER XI—COOKS AND CROOKS</a></span></li> -<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-xiijim-henry-starts-screenin" id="id13">CHAPTER XII—JIM HENRY STARTS SCREENIN'</a></span></li> -<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-xiiiwhat-came-through-the-screen" id="id14">CHAPTER XIII—WHAT CAME THROUGH THE SCREEN</a></span></li> -<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-xivthe-epistle-to-ichabod" id="id15">CHAPTER XIV—THE EPISTLE TO ICHABOD</a></span></li> -<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-xvhow-ike-s-loss-turned-out-to-be-my-gain" id="id16">CHAPTER XV—HOW IKE'S LOSS TURNED OUT TO BE MY GAIN</a></span></li> -<li class="level-2 toc-entry"><span class="first"><a class="reference internal pginternal" href="#chapter-xvii-pay-my-other-bet" id="id17">CHAPTER XVI—I PAY MY OTHER BET</a></span></li> -</ul> -</div> -<hr class="docutils"/> -<p class="center larger pfirst">THE POSTMASTER</p> -<hr class="docutils"/> -<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-ii-make-two-betsand-lose-one-of-em"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id2">CHAPTER I—I MAKE TWO BETS—AND LOSE ONE OF 'EM</a></h2> -<p class="pfirst">"So you're through with the sea for good, are you, -Cap'n Zeb," says Mr. Pike.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You bet!" says I. "Through for good -is just <em class="italics">what</em> I am."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well, I'm sorry, for the firm's sake," he says. -"It won't seem natural for the <em class="italics">Fair Breeze</em> to make -port without you in command. Cap'n, you're goin' -to miss the old schooner."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Cal'late I shall—some—along at fust," I told -him. "But I'll get over it, same as the cat got -over missin' the canary bird's singin'; and I'll have -the cat's consolation—that I done what seemed -best for me."</p> -<p class="pnext">He laughed. He and I were good friends, even -though he was ship-owner and I was only skipper, -just retired.</p> -<p class="pnext">"So you're goin' back to Ostable?" he says. -"What are you goin' to do after you get there?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nothin'; thank you very much," says I, prompt.</p> -<p class="pnext">"No work at <em class="italics">all</em>?" he says, surprised. "Not a -hand's turn? Goin' to be a gentleman of leisure, -hey?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nigh as I can, with my trainin'. The 'leisure' -part'll be all right, anyway."</p> -<p class="pnext">He shook his head and laughed again.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I think I see you," says he. "Cap'n, you've -been too busy all your life even to get married, -and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" I cut in. "Most married men I've -met have been a good deal busier than ever I was. -And a good deal more worried when business was -dull. No, sir-ee! 'twa'n't that that kept me from -gettin' married. I've been figgerin' on the day -when I could go home and settle down. If I'd -had a wife all these years I'd have been figgerin' -on bein' able to settle up. I ain't goin' to Ostable -to get married."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I'll bet you do, just the same," says he. -"And I'll bet you somethin' else: I'll bet a new -hat, the best one I can buy, that inside of a year -you'll be head over heels in some sort of hard -work. It may not be seafarin', but it'll be somethin' -to keep you busy. You're too good a man -to rust in the scrap heap. Come! I'll bet the hat. -What do you say?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Take you," says I, quick. "And if you want -to risk another on my marryin', I'll take that, too."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Go you," says he. "You'll be married inside -of three years—or five, anyway."</p> -<p class="pnext">"One year that I'll be at work—steady work—and -five that I'm married. You're shipped, -both ways. And I wear a seven and a quarter, -soft hat, black preferred."</p> -<p class="pnext">"If I don't win the first bet I will the second, -sure," he says, confident. "'Satan finds some mischief -still for idle hands,' you know. Well, good-by, -and good luck. Come in and see us whenever -you get to New York."</p> -<p class="pnext">We shook hands, and I walked out of that office, -the office that had been my home port ever -since I graduated from fust mate to skipper. And -on the way to the Fall River boat I vowed my vow -over and over again.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Zebulon Snow," I says to myself—not out -loud, you understand; for, accordin' to Scriptur' or -the Old Farmers' Almanac or somethin', a feller -who talks to himself is either rich or crazy and, -though I was well enough fixed to keep the wolf -from the door, I wa'n't by no means so crazy as to -leave the door open and take chances—"Zebulon -Snow," says I, "you're forty-eight year old and -blessedly single. All your life you've been haulin' -ropes, or bossin' fo'mast hands, or tryin' to make -harbor in a fog. Now that you've got an anchor -to wind'ard—now that the one talent you put under -the stock exchange napkin has spread out so -that you have to have a tablecloth to tote it home -in, don't you be a fool. Don't plant it again, cal'latin' -to fill a mains'l next time, 'cause you won't -do it. Take what you've got and be thankful—and -careful. You go ashore at Ostable, where you -was born, and settle down and be somebody."</p> -<p class="pnext">That's about what I said to myself, and that's -what I started to do. I made Ostable on the next -mornin's train. The town had changed a whole -lot since I left it, mainly on account of so many -summer folks buyin' and buildin' everywhere, especially -along the water front. The few reg'lar inhabitants -that I knew seemed to be glad to see me, -which I took as a sort of compliment, for it don't -always foller by a consider'ble sight. I got into -the depot wagon—the same horse was drawin' it, -I judged, that Eben Hendricks had bought when -I was a boy—and asked to be carted to the Travelers' -Inn. It appeared that there wa'n't any -Travelers' Inn now, that is to say, the name of it -had been changed to the Poquit House; "Poquit" -bein' Injun or Portygee or somethin' foreign.</p> -<p class="pnext">But the name was the only thing about that hotel -that was changed. The grub was the same and the -wallpaper on the rooms they showed to me looked -about the same age as I was, and wa'n't enough -handsomer to count, either. I hired a couple of -them rooms, one to sleep in and smoke in, and -t'other to entertain the parson in, if he should call, -which—unless the profession had changed, too—I -judged he would do pretty quick. I had the -rooms cleaned and papered, bought some dyspepsy -medicine to offset the meals I was likely to have, -and settled down to be what Mr. Pike had called a -"gentleman of leisure."</p> -<p class="pnext">Fust three months 'twas fine. At the end of the -second three it commenced to get a little mite dull. -In about two more I found my mind was shrinkin' -so that the little mean cat-talks at the breakfast -table was beginnin' to seem interestin' and important. -Then I knew 'twas time to doctor up with somethin' -besides dyspepsy pills. Ossification was settin' -in and I'd got to do somethin' to keep me interested, -even if I paid for Pike's hats for the next -generation.</p> -<p class="pnext">You see, there was such a sameness to the programme. -Turn out in the mornin', eat and listen -to gossip, go out and take a walk, smoke, talk with -folks I met—more gossip—come back and eat -again, go over and watch the carpenters on the -latest summer cottage, smoke some more, eat some -more, and then go down to the Ostable Grocery, -Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods -Store, or to the post-office, and set around with the -gang till bedtime. That may be an excitin' life for -a jellyfish, or a reg'lar Ostable loafer—but it -didn't suit me.</p> -<p class="pnext">I was feelin' that way, and pretty desperate, the -night when Winthrop Adams Beanblossom—which -wa'n't the critter's name but is nigh enough to the -real one for him to cruise under in this yarn—told -me the story of his life and started me on the v'yage -that come to mean so much to me. I didn't know -'twas goin' to mean much of anything when I -started in. But that night Winthrop got me to paddlin', -so's to speak, and, later on, come Jim Henry -Jacobs to coax me into deeper water; and, after -that, the combination of them two and Miss Letitia -Lee Pendlebury shoved me in all under, so 'twas a -case of stickin' to it or swimmin' or drownin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">I was in the Ostable Store that evenin', as usual. -'Twas almost nine o'clock and the rest of the -bunch around the stove had gone home. I was -fillin' my pipe and cal'latin' to go, too—if you can -call a tavern like the Poquit House a home. Beanblossom -was in behind the desk, his funny little grizzly-gray -head down over a pile of account books -and papers, his specs roostin' on the end of his thin -nose, and his pen scratchin' away like a stray hen in -a flower bed.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well, Beanblossom," says I, gettin' up and -stretchin', "I cal'late it's time to shed the partin' -tear. I'll leave you to figger out whether to spend -this week's profits in government bonds or trips to -Europe and go and lay my weary bones in the tomb, -meanin' my private vault on the second floor of the -Poquit. Adieu, Beanblossom," I says; "remember -me at my best, won't you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He didn't seem to sense what I was drivin' at. -He lifted his head out of the books and papers, -heaved a sigh that must have started somewheres -down along his keelson, and says, sorrowful but polite—he -was always polite—"Er—yes? You -were addressin' me, Cap'n Snow?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nothin' in particular," I says. "I was just -askin' if you intended spendin' your profits on a trip -to Europe this summer."</p> -<p class="pnext">Would you believe it, that little storekeepin' man -looked at me through his specs, his pale face twitchin' -and workin' like a youngster's when he's tryin' -not to cry, and then, all to once, he broke right -down, leaned his head on his hands and sobbed out -loud.</p> -<p class="pnext">I looked at him. "For the dear land sakes," -I sung out, soon's I could collect sense enough to say -anything, "what is the matter? Is anybody dead -or—"</p> -<p class="pnext">He groaned. "Dead?" he interrupted. "I -wish to heaven, I was dead."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well!" I gasps. "<em class="italics">Well!</em>"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, why," says he, "was I ever born?"</p> -<p class="pnext">That bein' a question that I didn't feel competent -to answer, I didn't try. My remark about -goin' to Europe was intended for a joke, but if my -jokes made grown-up folks cry I cal'lated 'twas time -I turned serious.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What <em class="italics">is</em> the matter, Beanblossom?" I says. -"Are you in trouble?"</p> -<p class="pnext">For a spell he wouldn't answer, just kept on sobbin' -and wringin' his thin hands, but, after consider'ble -of such, and a good many unsatisfyin' remarks, -he give in and told me the whole yarn, told -me all his troubles. They were complicated and -various.</p> -<p class="pnext">Picked over and b'iled down they amounted to -this: He used to have an income and he lived on -it—in bachelor quarters up to Boston. Nigh as I -could gather he never did any real work except to -putter in libraries and collect books and such. -Then, somehow or other, the bank the heft of his -money was in broke up and his health broke down. -The doctors said he must go away into the country. -He couldn't afford to go and do nothin', so he -has a wonderful inspiration—he'll buy a little store -in what he called a "rural community" and go into -business. He advertises, "Country Store Wanted -Cheap," or words to that effect. Abial Beasley's -widow had the "Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots -and Shoes and Fancy Goods Store" on her hands. -She answers the ad and they make a dicker. Said -dicker took about all the cash Beanblossom had left. -For a year he had been fightin' along tryin' to make -both ends meet, but now they was so fur apart they -was likely to meet on the back stretch. He owed -'most a thousand dollars, his trade was fallin' off, -he hadn't a cent and nobody to turn to. What -should he do? <em class="italics">What</em> should he do?</p> -<p class="pnext">That was another question I couldn't answer off -hand. It was plain enough why he was in the hole -he was, but how to get him out was different. I set -down on the edge of the counter, swung my legs -and tried to think.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hum," says I, "you don't know much about -keepin' store, do you, Beanblossom? Didn't know -nothin' about it when you started in?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Cap'n -Snow," he says. "Why should I? I never was -obliged to labor. I was not interested in trade. I -never supposed I should be brought to this. I am -a man of family, Cap'n Snow."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," I says, "so'm I. Number eight in a family -of thirteen. But that never helped me none. -My experience is that you can't count much on your -relations."</p> -<p class="pnext">Would I pardon him, but that was not the sense -in which he had used the word "family." He -meant that he came of the best blood in New -England. His ancestors had made their marks and—</p> -<p class="pnext">"Made their marks!" I put in. "Why? -Couldn't they write their names?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He was dreadful shocked, but he explained. The -Beanblossoms and their gang were big-bugs, fine -folks. He was terrible proud of his family. During -the latter part of his life in Boston he had become -interested in genealogy. He had begun a -"family tree"—whatever that was—but he never -finished it. The smash came and shook him out of -the branches; that wa'n't what he said, but 'twas the -way I sensed it. And now he had come to this. -His money was gone; he couldn't pay his debts; he -couldn't have any more credit. He must fail; he -was bankrupt. Oh, the disgrace! and likewise oh, -the poorhouse!</p> -<p class="pnext">"But," says I, considerin', "it can't be so turrible -bad. You don't owe but a thousand dollars, -this store's the only one in town and Abial used to -do pretty well with it. If your debts was paid, and -you had a little cash to stock up with, seems to me -you might make a decent v'yage yet. Couldn't -you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He didn't know. Perhaps he could. But what -was the use of talkin' that way? For him to pick -up a thousand would be about as easy as for a paralyzed -man with boxin' gloves on to pick up a flea, -or words to that effect. No, no, 'twas no use! he -must go to the poorhouse! and so forth and so on.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You hold on," I says. "Don't you engage -your poorhouse berth yet. You keep mum and say -nothin' to nobody and let me think this over a -spell. I need somethin' to keep me interested and ... I'll -see you to-morrow sometime. Good -night."</p> -<p class="pnext">I went home thinkin' and I thought till pretty -nigh one o'clock. Then I decided I was a fool even -to think for five minutes. Hadn't I sworn to be -careful and never take another risk? I was sorry -for poor old Winthrop, but I couldn't afford to mix -pity and good legal tender; that was the sort of -blue and yeller drink that filled the poor-debtors' -courts. And, besides, wasn't I pridin' myself on -bein' a gentleman of leisure. If I got mixed up in -this, no tellin' what I might be led into. Hadn't I -bragged to Pike about—Oh, I <em class="italics">was</em> a fool!</p> -<p class="pnext">Which was all right, only, after listenin' to the -breakfast conversation at the Poquit House, down -I goes to the store and afore the forenoon was over -I was Winthrop Adams Beanblossom's silent partner -to the extent of twenty-five hundred dollars. I -was busy once more and glad of it, even though -Pike <em class="italics">was</em> goin' to get a hat free.</p> -<p class="pnext">This was in January. By early March I was -twice as busy and not half as glad. You see I'd -cal'lated that the store was all right, all it needed -was financin'. Trade was just asleep, taking a nap, -and I could wake it up. I was wrong. Trade was -dead, and, barrin' the comin' of a prophet or some -miracle worker to fetch it to life, what that shop -was really sufferin' for was an undertaker. My -twenty-five hundred was funeral expenses, that's all.</p> -<p class="pnext">But the prophet came. Yes, sir, he came and -fetched his miracle with him. One evenin', after -all the reg'lar customers, who set around in chairs -borrowin' our genuine tobacco and payin' for it -with counterfeit funny stories, had gone—after -everybody, as we cal'lated, had cleared out—Beanblossom -and I set down to hold our usual autopsy -over the remains of the fortni't's trade. 'Twas a -small corpse and didn't take long to dissect. We'd -lost twenty-one dollars and sixty-eight cents, and -the only comfort in that was that 'twas seventy-six -cents less than the two weeks previous. The -weather had been some cooler and less stuff had -sp'iled on our hands; that accounted for the savin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">Beanblossom—I'd got into the habit of callin' -him "Pullet" 'cause his general build was so similar -to a moultin' chicken—he vowed he couldn't -understand it.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I think I shall give up buyin' so liberally, Cap'n -Snow," says he. "If we didn't keep on buyin' we -shouldn't lose half so much," he says.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says I, "that's logic. And if we give up -sellin' we shouldn't lose the other half. You and -me are all right as fur as we go, Pullet, and I guess -we've gone about as fur as we can."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Please don't call me 'Pullet,'" he says, dignified. -"When I think of what I once was, it—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"S-sh-h!" I broke in. "It's what I am that troubles -me. I don't dare think of that when the minister's -around—he might be a mind-reader. No, -Pul—Beanblossom, I mean—it's no use. I imagined -because I could run a three-masted -schooner I could navigate this craft. I can't. I -know twice as much as you do about keepin' store, -but the trouble with that example is the answer, -which is that you don't know nothin'. We might -just exactly as well shut up shop now, while there's -enough left to square the outstandin' debts."</p> -<p class="pnext">He turned white and began the hand-wringin' -exercise.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Think of the disgrace!" he says.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Think of my twenty-five hundred," says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Excuse me, gentlemen," says a voice astern of -us; "excuse me for buttin' in; but I judge that what -you need is a butter."</p> -<p class="pnext">Pullet and I jumped and turned round. We'd -supposed we was alone and to say we was surprised -is puttin' it mild. For a second I couldn't make out -what had happened, or where the voice came from, -or who 'twas that had spoke—then, as he come -across into the lamplight I recognized him. 'Twas -Jim Henry Jacobs, the livin' mystery.</p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure" style="margin-left: 29%; width: 42%" id="figure-6"> -<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="As he come across into the lamplight I recognized him." src="images/illus2.jpg" width="100%"/> -<div class="caption italics"> -As he come across into the lamplight I recognized him.</div> -</div> -<p class="pfirst">Jim Henry was middlin'-sized, sharp-faced, -dressed like a ready-tailored advertisement, and as -smooth and slick as an eel in a barrel of sweet ile. -Accordin' to his entry on the books of the Poquit -House he hailed from Chicago. He'd been in Ostable -for pretty nigh a month and nobody had been -able to find out any more about him than just that, -which is a some miracle of itself—if you know -Ostable. He was always ready to talk—talkin' -was one of his main holts—but when you got -through talkin' with him all you had to remember -was a smile and a flow of words. He was at the -seashore for his health, that he always give you to -understand. You could believe it if you wanted -to.</p> -<p class="pnext">He'd got into the habit of spendin' his evenin's -at Pullet's store, settin' around listenin' and smilin' -and agreein' with folks. He was the only feller -I ever met who could say no and agree with you -at the same time. Solon Saunders tried to borrow -fifty cents of him once and when the pair of 'em -parted, Saunders was scratchin' his head and lookin' -puzzled. "I can't understand it," says Solon. "I -would have swore he'd lent it to me. 'Twas just -as if I had the fifty in my hand. I—I thanked -him for it and all that, but—but now he's gone I -don't seem to be no richer than when I started. I -can't understand it."</p> -<p class="pnext">Pullet and I had seen him settin' abaft the stove -early in the evenin', but, somehow or other, we got -the notion that he'd cleared out with the other -loafers. However, he hadn't, and he'd heard all -we'd been sayin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">He walked across to where we was, pulled a shoe -box from under the counter, come to anchor on it -and crossed his legs.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Gentlemen," he says again, "you need a butter."</p> -<p class="pnext">Poor old Pullet was so set back his brains was -sort of scrambled, like a pan of eggs.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Er-er, Mr. Jacobs," he says, "I am very -sorry, extremely sorry, but we are all out just at -this minute. I fully intended to order some to-day, -but I—I guess I must have forgotten it."</p> -<p class="pnext">Jacobs couldn't seem to make any more out of -this than I did.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Out?" he says, wonderin'. "Out? Who's -out? What's out? I guess I've dropped the key -or lost the combination. What's the answer?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, butter," says Pullet, apologizin'. "You -asked for butter, didn't you? As I was sayin', I -should have ordered some to-day, but—"</p> -<p class="pnext">Jim Henry waved his hands. "Sh-h," he says, -"don't mention it. Forget it. If I'd wanted butter -in this emporium I should have asked for somethin' -else. I've been givin' this mart of trade some -attention for the past three weeks and I judge that -its specialty is bein' able to supply what ain't wanted. -I hinted that you two needed a butter-in. All -right. I'm the goat. Now if you'll kindly give -me your attention, I'll elucidate."</p> -<p class="pnext">We give the attention. After he'd "elucidated" -for five minutes we'd have given him our clothes. -You never heard such a mess of language as that -Chicago man turned loose. He talked and talked -and talked. He knew all about the store and the -business, and what he didn't know he guessed and -guessed right. He knew about Pullet and his buyin' -the place, about my goin' in as silent partner—though -<em class="italics">that</em> nobody was supposed to know. He -knew the shebang wa'n't payin' and, also and moreover, -he knew why. And he had the remedy buttoned -up in his jacket—the name of it was James -Henry Jacobs.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Gentlemen," he says, "I'm a specialist. I'm a -doctor of sick business. Ever since my medicine -man ordered me to quit the giddy metropolis and -the Grand Central Department Store, where I was -third assistant manager, I've been driftin' about -seekin' a nice, quiet hamlet and an opportunity. -Here's the ham and, if you say the word, here's -the opportunity. This shop is in a decline; it's got -creepin' paralysis and locomotive hang-back-tia. -There's only one thing that can change the funeral -to a silver weddin'—that's to call in Old Doctor -Jacobs. Here he is, with his pocket full of testimonials. -Now you listen."</p> -<p class="pnext">We'd been listenin'—'twas by long odds the -easiest thing to do—and we kept right on. He -had testimonials—he showed 'em to us—and they -took oath to his bein' honest and the eighth business -wonder of the world. He went on to elaborate. -He had a thousand to invest and he'd invest it provided -we'd take him in as manager and give him -full swing. He'd guarantee—etcetery and so on, -unlimited and eternal.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But," says I, when he stopped to eat a throat -lozenge, "sellin' goods is one thing; gettin' the -right goods to sell is another. Me and Pullet—Mr. -Beanblossom here—have tried to keep a pretty -fair-sized stock, but it's the kind of stock that keeps -better'n it sells."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Sell!" he puts in. "You can sell anything, if -you know how. See here, let me prove it to you. -You think this over to-night and to-morrow forenoon -I'll be on hand and demonstrate. Just put on -your smoked glasses and watch me. <em class="italics">I'll</em> show you."</p> -<p class="pnext">He did. Next mornin' old Aunt Sarah Oliver -came in to buy a hank of black yarn to darn stockin's -with. With diplomacy and patience the average -feller could conclude that dicker in an hour and -a quarter—if he had the yarn. Pullet was just -out of black, of course, but that Jim Henry Jacobs -stepped alongside and within twenty minutes he sold -Aunt Sarah two packages of needles, a brass thimble -and a half dozen pair of blue and yellow striped -stockin's that had been on the shelves since Abial -Beasley's time, and was so loud that a sane person -wouldn't dare wear 'em except when it thundered. -She went out of the store with her bundles in one -hand and holdin' her head with the other. Then -that Jim Henry man turned to Pullet and me.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well?" he says, serene and smilin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">It was well, all right. At just quarter to twelve -that night the arrangements was made. Jacobs was -partner in and manager of the "Ostable Grocery, -Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods -Store."</p> -</div> -<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-iiwhat-a-pullet-did-to-a-pedigree"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id3">CHAPTER II—WHAT A "PULLET" DID TO A PEDIGREE</a></h2> -<p class="pfirst">In less than two months that store of ours was -a payin' proposition. Jim Henry Jacobs was -responsible, that is all I can tell you. Don't -ask me how he did it. 'Twas advertisin', mainly. -Advertisin' in the papers, advertisin' on the fences, -things set out in the windows, a new gaudy delivery -cart, special bargain days for special stuff—they all -helped. Of course if we'd limited ourselves to -Ostable the cargo wouldn't have been so heavy that -we'd get stoop-shouldered, but that Jim Henry was -unlimited. He advertised in the county weekly and -sent a special cart to take orders for twenty mile -around. The early summer cottages was beginnin' -to open and 'twas summer trade, rich city -folks' trade, that the Jacobs man said we must have. -And we got it, one way or another we got it all. -Most of the swell big-bugs had been in the habit -of orderin' wholesale from Boston, but he soon -stopped that. One after another Jim Henry -landed 'em. When I asked him how, he just -winked.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Skipper," says he—he most generally called -me "Skipper" same as I called Beanblossom "Pullet"—"Skipper," -he says, "you can always hook -a cod if there's any around and you keepin' changin' -bait; ain't that so? Um-hm; well, I change bait, -that's all. Every man, woman and suffragette has -got a weak p'int somewheres. I just cast around -till I find that particular weak p'int; then they swaller -hook, line and sinker."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" I says, "Miss Letitia ain't swallowed -nothin' yet, that I've noticed. Her weak -p'ints all strong ones? or what is the matter?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He made a face. "Sister Pendlebury," says he, -"is the frostiest proposition I ever tackled outside -of an ice chest. But I'll get her yet. You wait and -see. Why, man, we've <em class="italics">got</em> to get her."</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, I could find more truth in them statements -than I could satisfaction. We'd got to get her—yes. -But she wouldn't be got. She was the richest -old maid on the North Shore; lived in a stone -and plaster house bigger'n the Ostable County jail, -which she'd labeled "Pendlebury Villa"; had six -servants, three cats and a poll parrot; and was so -tipped back with dignity and importance that a -plumb-line dropped from her after-hair comb would -have missed her heels by three inches. Her winter -port was Brookline; summers she condescended to -shed glory over Ostable.</p> -<p class="pnext">To get the trade of Pendlebury Villa had been -Jim Henry's dream from the start. And up to date -he was still dreamin'. The other big-bugs he had -caged, but Letitia was still flyin' free and importin' -her honey from Boston, so to speak. Jacobs had -tried everything he could think of, bribin' the servants, -sendin' samples of fancy breakfast food and -pickles free gratis, writin' letters, callin' with his -Sunday clothes on, everything—but 'twas "Keep -Off the Grass" at Pendlebury Villa so far as we -was concerned. 'Twas the biggest chunk of trade -under one head on the Cape and it hurt Jim Henry's -pride not to get it. However, he kept on tryin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">One mornin' he comes back to the store after a -cruise to the Villa and it seemed to me that he -looked happier than was usual after one of these -trips.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Skipper," says he, "I think—I wouldn't bet -any more'n my small change, but I <em class="italics">think</em> I've laid -a corner stone."</p> -<p class="pnext">"With Miss Pendlebury?" says I, excited.</p> -<p class="pnext">"With Letitia," he says, noddin'. "I haven't -got an order, but I have got a promise. She's -agreed to drop in one of these days and look us -over."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well!" says I, "I should say that <em class="italics">was</em> a corner -stone."</p> -<p class="pnext">"We'll hope 'tis," he says. "Ho, ho! Skipper, -I wish you might have been present at the exercises. -They were funny."</p> -<p class="pnext">Seems he'd managed—bribery and corruption of -the hired help again—to see Letitia alone in what -she called her "mornin' room." He said that, if -he'd paid any attention to the temperature of that -room when he and she first met in it, he'd have figgered -he'd struck the morgue; but he warmed it up a -little afore he left. Miss Pendlebury just set and -glared frosty while he talked and talked and talked. -She said about three words to his two hundred -thousand, but every one of hers was a "no." She -didn't care to patronize the local merchants. The -city ones were bad enough—she had all the trouble -she wanted with <em class="italics">them</em>. She was not interested; -and would he please be careful when he went out -and not step on the flower beds.</p> -<p class="pnext">He was about ready to give it up when he -happened to notice an ile portrait in a gorgeous gold -frame hangin' on the wall. 'Twas the picture of -a man, and Jim Henry said there was a kind of great-I-am -look to it, a combination of fatness and importance -and wisdom, same as you see in a stuffed -owl, that give him an idea. He started to go, -stopped in front of the picture and began to look -it over, admirin' but reverent, same as a garter -snake might look at a boa-constrictor, as proof of -what the race was capable of.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Excuse me, Miss Pendlebury," he says, "but -that is a wonderful portrait. I have had some experience -in judgin' paintin's—" he was clerk in the -Grand Central Store framed picture department once—"and -I think I know what I'm talkin' about."</p> -<p class="pnext">Would you believe it, she commenced to unbend -right off.</p> -<p class="pnext">"It is a Sargent," says she.</p> -<p class="pnext">Now I should have asked: "Sergeant of militia, -or what?" and upset the whole calabash; but -Jim Henry knew better. He bows, solemn and wise, -and says he'd been sure of it right along.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But any painter," he says, "would have made -a success with a subject like that gentleman before -him. There is somethin' about him, the height of -his brow, and his wonderful eyes, etcetery, which -reminds me—You'll excuse me, Miss Pendlebury, -but isn't that a portrait of one of your near relatives?"</p> -<p class="pnext">She unbent some more and almost smiled. The -painted critter was her pa and he was considered -a wonderful likeness.</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, that was enough for your uncle Jim Henry. -He settled down to his job then and the way he -poured gush over that painted Pendlebury man was -close to sacreligion. But Letitia never pumped up -a blush; worship was what she expected for her -and her pa. He'd been a member of the -Governor's staff and a bank president and a church -warden and an alderman and land knows what. -His daughter and Jacobs had a real sociable interview -and it ended by her promisin' to drop in at the -store and look our stock over. 'Course 'twa'n't -likely 'twould suit her—she was very exacting, she -said—but she'd look it over.</p> -<p class="pnext">We looked it over fust. We put in the rest of -that day changin' everything around on the counters -and shelves, puttin' the canned stuff in piles -where they'd do the most good, and settin' advertisin' -signs and such in front of the empty places -where they'd been afore. Even Pullet worked, -though he couldn't understand it, and growled because -he had to leave the musty old book he was -readin' and the "genealogical tree" he'd begun to -cultivate once more. Jacobs was pretty well disgusted -with Pullet. Said he was an incumbrance -on the concern and hadn't any business instinct.</p> -<p class="pnext">All the next day and the next we hung around, -dressed up to kill—that is, Jim Henry's togs would -have killed anything with weak eyes—waitin' for -Letitia Pendlebury to come aboard and inspect. -But she didn't come that day, or the next either. -Jacobs was disapp'inted, but he wouldn't give in -that he was discouraged. The fourth forenoon, -when there was still nothin' doin', he and I went -on a cruise with a hired horse and buggy over to -Bayport, where we had some business. We left -Pullet in charge of the store and when we came back -he was lookin' pretty joyful.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Who do you think has been here?" he says, -in his thin, polite little voice. "Miss Letitia Pendlebury -called this afternoon."</p> -<p class="pnext">"She did!" shouts Jacobs.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Did she buy anythin'?" I wanted to know.</p> -<p class="pnext">No, it appeared that she hadn't bought anythin'. -Fact is, Pullet had forgot he was supposed to be -a storekeeper. When Letitia came in he was -roostin' in his family tree, had the chart spread out -on the counter and was fillin' in some of the twigs -with the names of dead and gone Beanblossoms. -He couldn't climb down to common things like -crackers and salt pork.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But she was very much interested," he says, his -specs shinin' with joy. "When she found out what -I was busy with she was <em class="italics">very</em> much interested, really. -She is a lady of family, too."</p> -<p class="pnext">"She <em class="italics">is</em>?" I sings out. "What are you talkin' -about? She's an old maid and an only child besides, -and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hush up, Skipper," orders Jacobs. "Go on, -Pullet—Mr. Beanblossom, I mean—go on."</p> -<p class="pnext">So on went Pullet, both wings flappin'. Letitia -and he had talked "family" to beat the cars. She -had 'most everything in the Villa except a family -tree. She must have one right away. She simply -must.</p> -<p class="pnext">"And I am to help her in preparin' it," says Pullet, -puffed up and vainglorious. "The Pendlebury -family tree will be an honor to prepare. Of course -it will require much labor and research, but I shall -enjoy doing it. I told her so. Her father would -have prepared one himself, had often spoken of it, -but he was a very busy man of affairs and lacked the -time."</p> -<p class="pnext">My, but I was mad! I cal'late if I had a marlinspike -handy our coop would have been a Pullet -short. But Jim Henry Jacobs was so full of tickle -he couldn't keep still. He fairly dragged me into -the back room.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Skipper," he says, "here it is at last! We've -got it!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," I sputters, thinkin' he was referrin' to -Beanblossom, "we've got it; and, if you ask me, -I'd tell you we'd ought to chloroform it afore it -does any more harm."</p> -<p class="pnext">"No, no," he says, "you don't understand. -We've got the old girl's weak p'int at last. It's -genealogy. Pullet shall grow her a family tree if -I have to buy a carload of fertilizer to-morrer. -Think of it! think of it! Why, she won't give him -a minute's rest from now on. She'll be after him -the whole time."</p> -<p class="pnext">"But I can't see where the trade comes in," -says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You <em class="italics">can't</em>! With our senior pardner head forester? -My boy, if any other shop sells Pendlebury -Villa a dollar's worth after this, I'll Fletcherize my -hat, that's all!"</p> -<p class="pnext">He knew what he was talkin' about, as usual. -The very next forenoon Letitia was in to consult -with Pullet about huntin' up her family records. -Afore she left Jacobs took orders for thirty-two dollars' -worth and I'd have bet she didn't know a thing -she bought. After dinner, Jim Henry sent Pullet -up to see her. He stayed until supper time. Next -day he had supper at the Villa. A week later he -made his first trip to Boston, to the Genealogical -Society, to hunt for records. And Jacobs stayed -in Ostable and kept the Villa supplied with the luxuries -of life. If the Pendlebury servants didn't die -of gout and overeatin', it wasn't our fault.</p> -<p class="pnext">By August the whole town was talkin'. They -had it all settled. 'Cordin' to the gossip-spreaders -there could be only one reason for Pullet and Miss -Letitia bein' together so much—they was cal'latin' -to marry. The weddin' day was prophesied and set -anywheres from to-morrer to next Christmas. I -thought such talk ought to be stopped. Jim Henry -didn't.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why?" says he.</p> -<p class="pnext">"<em class="italics">Why!</em>" I says. "Because it's foolishness, -that's why. 'Cause there's no truth in it and you -know it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"No, I don't know," says he. "Stranger things -than that have happened."</p> -<p class="pnext">"<em class="italics">She</em> marry that old fossilized pauper!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why not? He's a gentleman and a scholar, if -he <em class="italics">is</em> poor. She's rich, but if there's one thing she -isn't, it's a scholar."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph! fur's that goes," says I, "she ain't a -gentleman, either—though she's next door to -it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"That's all right. Skipper, there's some things -money can't buy. Pullet's got book learnin' and -treed ancestors and she ain't. She's got money -and he ain't. Both want what t'other's best fixed -in. If old Beanblossom had any sand, I should believe -'twas a sure thing. I guess I'll drop him a -hint."</p> -<p class="pnext">"My land!" I sang out; "don't you do it. The -fat'll all be in the fire then."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Skipper," says he, "you're a cagey old bird, -but you don't know it all. There's some things you -can leave to me. And, anyhow, whether the weddin' -bells chime or not, all this talk is good free -advertisin' for the store."</p> -<p class="pnext">'Twa'n't long after this that the genealogical man -begun to seem less gay-like. He and Letitia was -together as much as ever, the Pendlebury tree and -the Beanblossom tree—he worked on both at the -same time—was flourishin', after the topsy-turvy -way of such vegetables—from the upper branches -down towards the trunks; but there was a look on -Pullet's face as he pawed through his books and -papers that I couldn't understand. He looked worried -and troubled about somethin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What's the matter?" I asked him, once. -"Ain't your ancestors turnin' up satisfactory?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," he says, polite as ever, but sort of condescendin' -and proud, "the Beanblossom history -is, if you will permit me to say so, a very satisfactory -record indeed."</p> -<p class="pnext">"And the Pendleburys?" says I. "George -Washin'ton was first cousin on their ma's side, I -s'pose."</p> -<p class="pnext">He didn't answer for a minute. Then he wiped -his specs with his handkerchief. "The Pendlebury -records are," he says, slow, "a trifle more confused -and difficult. But I am progressin'—yes, Cap'n -Snow, I think I may say that I am progressin'."</p> -<p class="pnext">The thunderbolt hit us, out of a clear sky, the -fust week in September. Yet I s'pose we'd ought -to have seen it comin' at least a day ahead. That -day the Pendlebury gasoline carryall come buzzin' -up to the front platform and Letitia steps out, grand -as the Queen of Sheba, of course.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Cap'n Snow," says she, and it seemed to me -that she hesitated just a minute, "is Mr. Beanblossom -about?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"No," says I, "he ain't. I don't know where -he is exactly. He was in the store this mornin' -askin' about a letter he's expectin' from the Genealogical -Society folks, but he went out right afterwards -and I ain't seen him since. I s'posed, of -course, he was up to your house."</p> -<p class="pnext">"No," she says, and I thought she colored up a -little mite; "he has not been there since day before -yesterday. Perhaps that is natural, under the circumstances," -speakin' more to herself than to me, -"but ... however, will you kindly tell him -I called before leavin' for the city. I am goin' to -Boston on a shoppin' excursion," she adds, condescendin'. -"I shall return on Wednesday."</p> -<p class="pnext">She went away. Pullet didn't show up until night -and then the first thing he asked for was the mail. -When I told him about the Pendlebury woman he -turned round and went out again.</p> -<p class="pnext">Next day was Saturday and we was pretty busy, -that is, Jim Henry and the clerk was busy. I was -about as much use as usual, and, as for Pullet, he -was no use at all. A big green envelope from the -Genealogical Society come for him in the morning -mail—he was always gettin' letters from that Society—and -he grabbed at it and went out on the platform. -A little while afterwards I saw him roostin' -on a box out there, with his hair, what there was -of it, all rumpled up, and an expression of such -everlastin', world-without-end misery on his face -that I stopped stock still and looked at him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"For the mercy sakes," says I, "what's happened?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He turned his head, stared at me fishy-eyed, and -got up off the box.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What's wrong?" I asked. "Is the world comin' -to an end?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He put one hand to his head and waved the other -up and down like a pump handle.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," he sings out, frantic like. "It is ended -already. It is all over. I—I—"</p> -<p class="pnext">And with that he jumps off the platform and -goes staggerin' up the road. I'd have follered him, -but just then Jim Henry calls to me from inside the -store and in a little while I'd forgot Beanblossom -altogether. I thought of him once or twice durin' -the day, but 'twa'n't till about shuttin'-up time that -I thought enough to mention him to Jacobs. Then -he mentioned him fust.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Whew!" says he, settin' down for the fust time -in two hours. "Whew! I'm tired. This has been -the best day this concern has had since I took hold -of it, and I've worked like a perpetual motion -machine. We'll need another boy pretty soon, -Skipper. Pullet's no good as a salesman. By the -way, where <em class="italics">is</em> Pullet? I ain't seen him since -noon."</p> -<p class="pnext">Neither had I, now that I come to think of it.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I wonder if the poor critter's sick," I says. Then -I started to tell how queer he'd acted out on the platform. -I'd just begun when Amos Hallett's boy -come into the store with a note.</p> -<p class="pnext">"It's for you, Cap'n Zeb," he says, all out of -breath. "I meant to give it to you afore, but I -just this minute remembered it. Mr. Beanblossom, -he give it to me at the depot when he took the -up train."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Took the up train?" says I. "Who did? -Not Pul—Mr. Beanblossom?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says the boy. "He's gone to Boston, -leastways the depot-master said he bought a ticket -for there. Why? Didn't you know it? He—"</p> -<p class="pnext">I was too astonished to speak at all, but Jim -Henry was cool as usual.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes, yes, son," he says. "It's all right. You -trot right along home afore you catch cold in your -freckles." Then, after the youngster'd gone, he -turns to me quick. "Open it, Skipper," he orders. -"Somethin's happened. Open it."</p> -<p class="pnext">I opened the envelope. Inside was a sheet of -foolscap covered from top to bottom with mighty -shaky handwritin'. I read it out loud.</p> -<blockquote><div> -<p class="pfirst">"<em class="italics">Captain Zebulon Snow</em>,</p> -<p class="pnext">"<span class="small-caps">Dear Sir</span>:</p> -</div></blockquote> -<p class="pfirst">"Polite as ever, ain't he?" I says. "He'd been -genteel if he was writin' his will."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Go on!" snaps Jacobs. "Hurry up."</p> -<blockquote><div> -<p class="pfirst">"<span class="small-caps">Dear Sir</span>: When you receive this I shall have -left Ostable, it may be forever. I have made a -horrible discovery, which has wrecked all my hopes -and my life. In accordance with Mr. Jacob's kindly -counsel, I recently summoned courage to ask Miss -Pendlebury to become my wife.</p> -</div></blockquote> -<p class="pfirst">"Good heavens to Betsy!" I sang out, almost -droppin' the letter.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Go on!" shouts Jacobs. "Don't stop now."</p> -<p class="pnext">"But he asked her to <em class="italics">marry</em> him!" I gasps. -"In accordance with your advice—<em class="italics">yours</em>! Did -<em class="italics">you</em> have the cheek to—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"<em class="italics">Will</em> you go on? Of course I advised him. -We'd got the Pendlebury trade, hadn't we? Can -you think of any surer way to cinch it than to have -those two idiots marry each other? Go on—or -give me the letter."</p> -<p class="pnext">I went on, as well as I could, everything considered.</p> -<blockquote><div> -<p class="pfirst">"She did not refuse. She was kinder than I had -a right to expect. I realized my presumption, -but—"</p> -</div></blockquote> -<p class="pfirst">"Skip that," orders Jim Henry. "Get down to -brass tacks."</p> -<p class="pnext">I skipped some.</p> -<blockquote><div> -<p class="pfirst">"She told me she must have a few days' time to -consider. I waited. To-day I received a communication -from the Genealogical Society which has -dashed my hopes to the ground. It was in connection -with my work on the Pendlebury family tree. -For some time I have been very much troubled concerning -developments in that work. The later Pendleburys -have been ladies and gentlemen of repute -and worth, but as I delved deeper into the past and -approached the early generations in this country, -I—"</p> -</div></blockquote> -<p class="pfirst">"Skip again," says Jacobs.</p> -<p class="pnext">I skipped.</p> -<blockquote><div> -<p class="pfirst">"And now, to my horror, I find the fact proven -beyond doubt. Ezekiel Jonas Pendlebury—whose -name should be inscribed upon the trunk of the tree, -he being the original settler in America—was -hanged in the Massachusetts Bay Colony for stealing -a hog upon the Sabbath Day."</p> -</div></blockquote> -<p class="pfirst">Then I <em class="italics">did</em> drop the letter. "My land of love!" -was all I could say. And what Jacobs said was -just as emphatic. We stared at each other; and -then, all at once, he began to laugh, laugh till I -thought he'd never stop. His laughin' made me -mad until I commenced to see the funny side of the -thing; then I laughed, too, and the pair of us rocked -back and forth and haw-hawed like loons.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, dear me!" says Jim Henry, wipin' his -eyes. "The original Pendlebury hung for hog -stealin'!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Stealin' it on Sunday," says I. "Don't forget -that. Sabbath-breakin' was worse than thievin' in -them days."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well, go on, go on," says he. "There's more -of it, ain't they?"</p> -<p class="pnext">There was. The writing got finer and finer as -it got close to the bottom of the page. Poor Pullet -had caved in when that revelation struck him. -Honor compelled him to tell Letitia the truth and -how could he tell her such a truth as that? She, -so proud and all. He had led her into this dreadful -research work and she would blame him, of course, -and dismiss him with scorn and contempt. Her -contempt he could not bear. No, he must go away. -He could never face her again. He was goin' to -Boston, to his cousin's house in Newton, and stay -there for a spell. Perhaps some day, after she had -shut up her summer villa and gone, too, he might -return; he didn't know. But would we forgive -him, etcetery and so forth, and—good-by.</p> -<p class="pnext">His name was squeezed in the very corner. I -looked at Jacobs.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," I says, some disgusted, "it looks to me, -as a man up a tree—not a family tree, neither, -thank the Lord—as if instead of cinchin' the Pendlebury -trade your 'advice' had queered it forever."</p> -<p class="pnext">He didn't say nothin'. Just scowled and kicked -his heels together. Then he grabbed the letter out -of my hand and begun to read it again. I scowled, -too, and set starin' at the floor and thinkin'. All -at once I heard him swear, a sort of joyful swear-word, -seemed to me. I looked up. As I did he -swung off the counter, crumpled up the letter, -jammed it in his pocket and grabbed up his hat.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Skipper," he says, his eyes shinin', "there's a -night freight to Boston, ain't there?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes, there is, but—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"So long, then. I'll be back soon's I can. You -and Bill"—that was the clerk—"must do as well -as you can for a day or so. So long. But you just -remember this: Old Doctor James Henry Jacobs, -specialist in sick businesses, ain't given up hopes of -this patient yet, not by any manner of means. By, -by."</p> -<p class="pnext">He was gone afore I could say another word, -and for the rest of that night and all day Sunday -and until Monday evenin's train come in, I was like -a feller walkin' in his sleep. All creation looked -crazy and I was the only sane critter in it.</p> -<p class="pnext">On Monday evenin' he came sailin' into the store, -all smiles. 'Twas some time afore I could get him -alone, but, when I could, I nailed him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Now," says I, "perhaps you'll tell me why you -run off and left me, and where you've been, and -what you mean by it, and a few other things."</p> -<p class="pnext">He grinned. "Been?" he says. "Well, I've -been to see the last of Miss Letitia Pendlebury of -Pendlebury Villa, Ostable, Mass. Miss Pendlebury -is no more."</p> -<p class="pnext">"No more!" I hollered. "No <em class="italics">more</em>! Don't -tell me she's dead!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I sha'n't," says he, "because she isn't. She's -alive, all right, but she's no more Miss Pendlebury. -She's Mrs. Winthrop Adams Beanblossom -now," he says. "They were married this forenoon."</p> -<p class="pnext">"<em class="italics">Married?</em>"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Married."</p> -<p class="pnext">"But—but—after the hangin' news—and -the hog-stealin'—and—Does she know it? She -wouldn't marry him after <em class="italics">that</em>?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"She knows and she was tickled to death to -marry him. Skipper, there was a P.S. on the back -of that letter of Pullet's. You didn't turn the page -over; I did and I recognized the life-saver right off. -Here it is."</p> -<p class="pnext">He passed me Beanblossom's letter, back side up. -There was a P.S., but it looked to me more like -the finishin' knock on the head than it did like a -life-saver. This was it:</p> -<blockquote><div> -<p class="pfirst">"P.S. I have neglected to state another fact -which my researches have brought to light and -which makes the affair even more hopeless. My -own ancestor, at that time Governor of the Colony, -was the person who sentenced Ezekiel Pendlebury -and caused him to be hanged."</p> -</div></blockquote> -<p class="pfirst">"And that," says I, "is what you call a life-saver! -My nine-times great-granddad has your -nine-times great-granddad hung and that removes -all my objections to marryin' you. Oh, sure and sartin! -Yes, indeed!"</p> -<p class="pnext">He smiled superior. "Listen, you doubtin' -Thomas," says he. "You can't see it, but Sister -Letitia saw it right off when I put Pullet's case -afore her at the Hotel Somerset, where she was -stoppin'. <em class="italics">Her</em> ancestor was a hog-stealer and a -hobo; but Beanblossom's ancestor was a Governor -and a nabob from way back. If by just sayin' yes -you could swap a pig-thief for a governor, you'd -do it, wouldn't you? You would if you'd been -braggin' 'family' as Letitia has for the past three -months. I saw her, turned on some of my convincin' -conversation, saw Pullet at his cousin's and -convinced him. They were married at Trinity -parsonage this very forenoon."</p> -<p class="pnext">"My! my! my!" I says, after this had really -sunk in. "And the Pendlebury tree is—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"There ain't any Pendlebury tree," he interrupts. -"It's the kindlin'-bin for that shrub. But -the <em class="italics">Beanblossom</em> tree, with governors and judges -and generals proppin' up every main limb, is goin' -to hang right next to Pa Pendlebury's picture in the -mornin' room of Pendlebury Villa. And the head -of Pendlebury Villa is the senior partner in the -Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and -Fancy Goods Store."</p> -<p class="pnext">He was wrong there. Letitia Pendlebury Beanblossom -had another surprise under her bonnet and -she sprung it when she got back. She sent for -Jacobs and me and made proclamation that her husband -would withdraw from the firm.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I trust that Mr. Beanblossom and I are democratic," -she says. "Of course we shall continue -to purchase our supplies from you gentlemen. But, -really," she says, "you <em class="italics">must</em> see that a man whose -ancestor by direct descent was Governor of Massachusetts -Bay Colony could scarcely humiliate himself -by engaging in <em class="italics">trade</em>."</p> -<p class="pnext">So, instead of gettin' out of storekeepin', I was -left deeper in it than ever. But Jim Henry cheered -me up by sayin' I hadn't really been in it at all yet.</p> -<p class="pnext">"This foundlin' is only beginnin' to set up and -take notice," he says. "Skipper, you put your faith -in old Doctor Jacobs' Teethin' Syrup and Tonic for -Business Infants."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I guess that's where it's put," says I, drawin' a -long breath.</p> -<p class="pnext">"It couldn't be in a better place, could it? No, -we've got a good start, but that's all it is. Before -I get through you'll see. We've got to make this -store prominent and keep it prominent, and the best -way to do that is to be prominent ourselves. Skipper, -I wish you'd go into politics."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Politics!" says I, soon as I could catch my -breath. "Well, when I do, I give you leave to -order my room at the Taunton Asylum. What do -you cal'late I'd better try to get elected to—President -or pound-keeper?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He laughed.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Both of them jobs are filled at the present time," -I went on, sarcastic. "So is every other I can think -of off-hand."</p> -<p class="pnext">"That's all right," says he. "Some of these -days you'll hold office right in this town. We need -political prestige in our business and you, Cap'n Snow, -bein' the solid citizen of this close corporation, will -have to sacrifice yourself on the altar of public duty."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nary sacrifice," says I. Which shows how little -the average man knows what's in store for him.</p> -</div> -<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-iiii-get-into-politics"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id4">CHAPTER III—I GET INTO POLITICS</a></h2> -<p class="pfirst">When I shook hands with Mary Blaisdell -and left her standin' under the wistaria -vine at the front door of the little old -house that had belonged to Henry, all I said was -for her to keep a stiff upper lip and not to be any -bluer than was necessary. "Ostable's lost a good -postmaster," says I, "and you've lost a kind, -thoughtful, providin' brother. I know it looks -pretty foggy ahead to you just now and you can't -see how you're goin' to get along; but you keep up -your pluck and a way'll be provided. Meantime -I'm goin' to think hard and perhaps I can see a light -somewheres. My owners used to tell me I was consider'ble -of a navigator, so between us we'd ought -to fetch you into port."</p> -<p class="pnext">Her eyes were wet, but she smiled, rainbow -fashion, through the shower, and said I was awful -good and she'd never forget how kind I'd been -through it all.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Whatever becomes of me, Cap'n Snow," she -says, "I shall never forget that."</p> -<p class="pnext">What I'd done wa'n't worth talkin' about, so I -said good-by and hurried away. At the top of the -hill I turned and looked back. She was still standin' -in the door and, in spite of the wistaria and the -hollyhocks and the green summer stuff everywheres, -the whole picture was pretty forlorn. The little -white buildin' by the road, with the sign, "Post-office" -over the window, looked more lonesome still. -And yet the sight of it and the sight of that sign -give me an inspiration. I stood stock still and -thumped my fists together.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why not?" says I to myself. "By mighty, -yes! Why not?"</p> -<p class="pnext">You see, Henry Blaisdell was one of the few -Ostable folks that I'd known as a boy and who was -livin' there yet when I came back. He was younger -than I, and Mary, his sister, was younger still. I -liked Henry and his death was a sort of personal -loss to me, as you might say. I liked Mary, too. -She was always so quiet and common-sense and comfortable. -<em class="italics">She</em> didn't gossip, and the way she helped -her brother in the post-office was a treat to see. -She wa'n't exactly what you'd call young, and the -world hadn't been all fair winds and smooth water -for her, by a whole lot; but, in spite of it, she'd -managed to keep sweet and fresh. She and Henry -and I had got to be good friends and I gen'rally -took a walk up towards their house of a Sunday or -managed to run in at the post-office buildin' at least -once every week-day and have a chat with 'em.</p> -<p class="pnext">When I heard of Henry's dyin' so sudden my -fust thought was about Mary and what would she -do. How was she goin' to get along? I thought -of that even durin' the funeral, and now, the day -after it, when I went up to see her, I was thinkin' -of it still. And, at last, I believed I had got the -answer to the puzzle.</p> -<p class="pnext">Half the way back to the "Ostable Grocery, Dry -Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy Goods Store," -I was thinkin' of my new notion and makin' up my -mind. The other half I was layin' plans to put it -through. When I walked into the store, Jim Henry -met me.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hello, Skipper," says he, brisk and fresh as a -no'theast breeze in dog days, "did you ever hear -the story about the office-seekin' feller in Washin'ton, -back in President Harrison's time? He -wanted a gov'ment job and he happened to notice -a crowd down by the Potomac and asked what was -up. They told him one of the Treasury clerks had -been found drowned. He run full speed to the -White House, saw the President, and asked for the -drowned chap's place. 'You're too late,' says Harrison, -'I've just app'inted the man that saw him -fall in.'"</p> -<p class="pnext">I'd heard it afore, but I laughed, out of politeness, -and wanted to know what made him think of -the yarn.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why," says he, "because that's the way it's -workin' here in Ostable. Poor old Blaisdell's -funeral was only yesterday and it's already settled -who's to be the new postmaster."</p> -<p class="pnext">Considerin' what I'd been goin' over in my mind -all the way home from Mary's, this statement, just -at this time, knocked me pretty nigh out of water.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What?" I gasped. "How did you know?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why wouldn't I know?" says he. "I got the -advance information right from the oracle. I was -told not ten minutes since that the app'intment was -to go to Abubus Payne."</p> -<p class="pnext">I stared at him. "Abubus Payne!" says I. -"Abubus—Are you dreamin'?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He laughed. "I'd never dream a name like -'Abubus,' he says, 'even after one of our Poquit -House dinners. No, it's no dream. The Major -was just in and he says his mind is made up. That -settles it, don't it? You wouldn't contradict the all-wise -mouthpiece of Providence, would you, Cap'n -Zeb?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I never said anything—not then. I was realizin' -that, if I wanted Mary Blaisdell to be postmistress -at Ostable—which was the inspiration I was took -with when I looked back at her from the hill—I'd -got to do somethin' besides say. I'd got to work -and work hard. And even at that my work was -cut out from the small end of the goods. To beat -Major Cobden Clark in a political fight was no boy's -job. But Abubus Payne! Abubus Payne postmaster -at Ostable!! Think of it! Maybe you can; -<em class="italics">I</em> couldn't without stimulants.</p> -<p class="pnext">You see, this critter Abubus—did you ever hear -such a name in your life?—had lived around 'most -every town on the Cape at one time or another. -He and his wife wa'n't what you'd call permanent -settlers anywhere, but had a habit of breakin' out -in new and unexpected places, like a p'ison-ivy rash. -He worked some at carpenterin', when he couldn't -help it, but his main business, as you might say, had -always been lookin' for an easier job. In Ostable -he'd got one. He was caretaker and general nurse -of Major Cobden Clark. His wife, who was about -as shiftless as he was, was the Major's housekeeper.</p> -<p class="pnext">And the Major? Well, the Major was a star, a -planet—yes, in his own opinion, the whole solar -system. He was big and fleshy and straight and -gray-haired and red-faced. He belonged to land -knows how many clubs and societies and milishys, -includin' the Ancient and Honorable Artillery Company -of Boston and the Old Guard of New York. -He had political influence and a long pocketbook -and a short temper. Likewise he suffered from pig-headedness -and chronic indigestion. 'Twas the -indigestion that brought him to Ostable and Abubus; -or rather 'twas his doctor, Dr. Conquest Payne, the -celebrated food and diet specializer—see advertisements -in 'most any newspaper—who sent him there. -Abubus was Doctor Conquest's cousin and I judge -the two of 'em figgered the Clark stomach and -income as things too good to be treated outside of -the family.</p> -<p class="pnext">Anyway, the spring afore I landed in Ostable, -down comes the Major, buys a good-sized house on -the lower road nigh the water front, hires Abubus -and his wife to look out for the place and him, and -settles down to the simple life, which wa'n't the -kind he'd been livin', by a consider'ble sight. But -he lived it now; yes, sir, he did! He lived by the -clock and he ate and slept by the clock, and that -clock was wound up and set accordin' to the rules -prescribed by Dr. Conquest Payne, "World Famous -Dietitian and Food Specialist"—see more advertisin', -with a tintype of the Doctor in the corner.</p> -<p class="pnext">Nigh as I could find out the diet was a queer one. -It give me dyspepsy just to think of it. Breakfast -at seven sharp, consistin' of a dozen nut meats, two -raw prunes, some "whole wheat bread"—whatever -that is—and a pint of hot water. Luncheon -at quarter to eleven, with another assortment of -similar truck. Afternoon snack at three and dinner -at half-past seven. He had two soft b'iled eggs -for dinner, or else a two-inch slice of rare steak, -and, with them exceptions, the whole bill of fare -was, accordin' to my notion, more fittin' for a goat -than a human bein'. He mustn't smoke and he -mustn't drink: Considerin' what he'd been used -to afore the "World Famous" one hooked him it -ain't much wonder that he was as crabbed and -cranky as a liveoak windlass.</p> -<p class="pnext">However, it—or somethin' else—had made -him feel better since he landed in Ostable and he -swore by that Conquest Payne man and everybody -connected with him. And if he once took a notion -into his tough old head, nothin' short of a surgeon's -operation could get it out. He'd decided to make -Abubus postmaster and he'd move heaven and earth -to do it. All right, then, it was up to me to do some -movin' likewise. I can be a little mite pig-headed -myself, if I set out to be.</p> -<p class="pnext">And I set out right then. It may seem funny to -say so, but I was about as good a friend as the -Major had in Ostable. Course he had a tremendous -influence with the selectmen and the like of -that, owin' to his soldier record and his pompousness -and the amount of taxes he paid. And he and -I never agreed on one single p'int. But just the -same he spent the heft of his evenin's at the store -and I was always glad to see him. I respected the -cantankerous old critter, and liked him, in a way. -And I'm inclined to think he respected and liked -me. I cal'late both of us enjoyed fightin' with -somebody that never tried for an under-holt or quit -even when he was licked.</p> -<p class="pnext">So that night, when he comes puffin' in and sets -down, as usual, in the most comfortable chair, I -went over and come to anchor alongside of him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hello," he grunts, "you old salt hayseed. Any -closer to bankruptcy than you was yesterday?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Your bill's a little bigger and more overdue, -that's all," says I. "See here, I want to talk politics -with you. Mary Blaisdell, Henry's sister, is -goin' to have the post-office now he's gone, and I -want you to put your name on her petition. Not -that she needs it, or anybody else's, but just to help -fill up the paper."</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, sir, you ought to have seen him! His red -face fairly puffed out, like a young-one's rubber balloon. -He whirled round on the edge of his chair—he -was too big to move in any other part of it—and -glared at me. What did I mean by that? -Hey? Was my punkin head sp'ilin' now that warm -weather had come, or what? Had I heard what -he told my partner that very mornin'?</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says I, "I heard it. But I judged you -must have broke your rule about drinkin' liquor, -or else your dyspepsy has struck to your brains. -No sane person would set out to make Abubus -Payne anythin' more responsible than keeper of a -pig pen. You didn't mean it, of course."</p> -<p class="pnext">He didn't! He'd show me what he meant! -Abubus was the most honest, able man on the whole -blessed sand-heap, and he was goin' to be postmaster. -Mary Blaisdell was an old maid, good enough -of her kind, maybe, but the place for her was some -kind of an asylum or home for incompetent females. -He'd sign a petition to put her in one of them places, -but nothin' else. Abubus was just as good as app'inted -already.</p> -<p class="pnext">We had it back and forth. There was consider'ble -chair thumpin' and hollerin', I shouldn't wonder. -Anyhow, afore 'twas over every loafer on -the main road was crowdin' 'round us and Jim Henry -Jacobs was pacin' up and down back of the counter -with the most worried look on his face ever I see -there. It ended by the Major's jumpin' to his feet -and headin' for the door.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You—you—you tarry old imbecile," he hollers, -shakin' a fat forefinger at me, "I'll show you -a few things. I'll never set foot in this rathole of -yours again."</p> -<p class="pnext">"You better not," I sung out. "If you dare to, -I'll—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"What?" he interrupts. "You'll what? I'll -be back here to-morrow night. Then what'll you -do?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I'll show you Mary Blaisdell's petition," I says. -"And the names on it'll make you curl up and quit -like a sick caterpillar."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph! I'll show <em class="italics">you</em> a petition for Abubus -Payne, next postmaster of Ostable, with a string of -names on it so long you'll die of old age afore you can -finish readin' 'em. Bah!"</p> -<p class="pnext">With that he went out and I went into the back -room to wash my face in cold water.</p> -<p class="pnext">I wrote the headin' to the Blaisdell petition afore -I turned in that very night. Next mornin' I hurried -over and, after consider'ble arguin', I got Mary -to say she'd try for the place. All the rest of that -day I put in drivin' from Dan to Beersheby gettin' -signatures. And I got 'em, too, a schooner load -of 'em. I had the petition ready to show the Major -that evenin'; but, when he come into the store, he -had a petition, too, just as long as mine. And the -worst of it was, in a lot of cases the same names -was signed to both papers. Accordin' to those petitions -the heft of Ostable folks wanted somebody to -keep post-office and they didn't much care who. -They wanted to please me and they didn't like to -say no to the Major.</p> -<p class="pnext">He was mad and I was mad and we had another -session. But he wouldn't cross the names off and -neither would I and so, after another week, both -petitions went in as they was. All the good they -seemed to do was that we each got a letter from -the Post-office Department and Mary Blaisdell was -allowed to hold over her brother's place until somebody -was picked out permanent. And every evenin' -Major Clark came into the store to tell me Abubus -was sure to win and get my prediction that Mary -was as good as elected. One week dragged along -and then another, and 'twas still a draw, fur's a -body could tell. The Washin'ton folks wa'n't makin' -a peep.</p> -<p class="pnext">But old Ancient and Honorable Clark was workin' -his wires on the quiet and I must give in that he -pulled one on me that I wa'n't expectin'. The -whole town had got sort of tired of guessin' and -talkin' about the post-office squabble and had drifted -back into the reg'lar rut of pickin' their neighbors to -pieces. The Major had set 'em talkin' on a new -line durin' the last fortni't. He'd been fixin' up -his house and havin' the grounds seen to, and so -forth. Likewise he'd bought an automobile, one -of the nobbiest kind. This was somethin' of a surprise, -'cause afore that he'd been pretty much down -on autos and did his drivin' around in a high-seated -sort of buggy—"dog cart" he called it—though -'twas hauled by a horse and he hated dogs so that -he kept a shotgun loaded with rock salt on his porch -to drive stray ones off his premises.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Who's goin' to run that smell-wagon of yours?" -I asked him, sarcastic. He kept comin' to the store -just the same as ever and we had our reg'lar rows -constant. I cal'late we'd both have missed 'em if -they'd stopped. I know I should.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" he snorts; "smell-wagon, hey? If -it smells any worse than that old fish dory of yours, -I'll have it buried, for the sake of the public health."</p> -<p class="pnext">By "fish dory" he meant a catboat I'd bought. -She was named the <em class="italics">Glide</em> and she could glide away -from anything of her inches in the bay.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But who's goin' to run that auto?" I asked -again. "'Tain't possible you're goin' to do it yourself. -If she went by alcohol power, I could understand, -but—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hush up!" he says, forgettin' to be mad for -once and speakin' actually plaintive. "Don't talk -that way, Snow," says he. "If you knew how much -I wanted a drink you wouldn't speak lightly of -alcohol."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why don't you take one, then?" I wanted to -know. "I believe 'twould do you good. That and -a square meal. If you'd forget your prunes and -your nutmeats and your quack doctorin'—"</p> -<p class="pnext">He was mad then, all right. To slur at the -"World Famous" was a good deal worse than -murder, in his mind. He expressed his opinion of -me, free and loud. He said I'd ought to try Doctor -Conquest, myself, for developin' my brains. The -Doctor was pretty nigh a vegetarian, he said, and -my head was mainly cabbage—and so on. Incidentally -he announced that Abubus was to run the -new auto.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Abubus!" says I. "Why, he don't know a -gas engine from a coffee mill! He wouldn't know -what the craft's for."</p> -<p class="pnext">"That's all right," he says. "He's been takin' -lessons at the garage in Hyannis and he can run -it like a bird. He knows what it's for. He! he! -so do I. By the way, Snow, are you ready to give -up the post-office to my candidate yet?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Give up?" says I. "Tut! tut! tut! I hate -to hear a supposed sane man talk so. Mary Blaisdell -handles the mail in the Ostable post-office for -the next three years—longer, if she wants to."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Bet you five she don't," he says.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Take the bet," says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">He went out chucklin'. I wondered what he had -up his sleeve. A week later I found out. Congressman -Shelton, our district Representative at -Washin'ton, came to Ostable to look the post-office -situation over and, lo and behold you, he comes as -Major Cobden Clark's guest, to stay at his house.</p> -<p class="pnext">When Jim Henry Jacobs learned that, he took -me to one side to give me some brotherly advice.</p> -<p class="pnext">"It's all up for Mary now," he says. "She -can't win. Clark and Shelton are old chums in politics. -There's only one chance to beat Payne and -that's to bring forward a compromise candidate—a -dark horse."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Rubbish!" I sung out. "Dark horse be hanged! -Shelton's square as a brick. Nobody can bribe him."</p> -<p class="pnext">"It ain't a question of bribin'," he says. "If it -was, you could bribe, too. Shelton is square, and -that's why he'd welcome a compromise candidate. -But if it comes to a fight between Mary Blaisdell -and Abubus Payne, Abubus'll win because he's the -Major's pet. Shelton knows the Major better than -he knows you. Take my advice now and look out -for the dark horse."</p> -<p class="pnext">But I wouldn't listen. All the next hour I was -ugly as a bear with a sore head and long afore dinner -time I told Jacobs I was goin' for a sail in the -<em class="italics">Glide</em>. "Goin' somewheres on salt water where the -air's clean and not p'isoned by politics and automobiles -and congressmen and Paynes," I told him.</p> -<p class="pnext">I headed out of the harbor and then run, afore -a wind that was fair but gettin' lighter all the time, -up the bay. I sailed and sailed until some of my -bad temper wore off and my appetite begun to come -back. All the time I was settin' at the tiller I was -thinkin' over the post-office situation and, try as hard -as I could to see the bright side for Mary Blaisdell, -it looked pretty dark. The Major would give that -Shelton man the time of his life and he'd talk -Abubus to him to beat the cars. I couldn't get at -the Congressman to put in an oar for Mary and—well, -I'd have discounted my five-dollar bet for about -seventy-five cents, at that time.</p> -<p class="pnext">I thought and thought and sailed and sailed. -When I came to myself and realized I was hungry -the <em class="italics">Glide</em> was miles away from Ostable. I came -about and started to beat back; then I saw I was -in for a long job. Let alone that the wind was -ahead, 'twas dyin' fast, and if I knew the signs of -a flat calm, there was one due in half an hour. I -took as long tacks as I could, but I made mighty -little progress.</p> -<p class="pnext">On the second tack inshore I came up abreast of -Jonathan Crowell's house at Heron P'int. Jonathan's -just a no-account longshoreman or he wouldn't -live in that place, which is the fag-end of creation. -There's a twenty-mile stretch of beach and pines and -such close to the shore there, with a road along it. -The first eight mile of that road is pretty good -macadam and hard dirt. A land company tried to -develop that section of beach once and they put in -the road; but the land didn't sell and the company -busted and after that eight mile the road is just -beach sand, soft and coarse. The strip of solid -ground, with its pines and scrub-oaks, is, as I said -afore, twenty mile long, but it's only a half mile or -so wide. Between it and the main cape is a -tremendous salt marsh, all cut up with cricks that -nobody can get over without a boat. Jonathan's -is the only house for the whole twenty mile, except -the lighthouse buildin's down at the end. The land -company put up a few summer shacks on speculation, -but they're all rickety and fallin' to pieces.</p> -<p class="pnext">I knew Jonathan had gone to Bayport, quahaug -rakin', and that his wife was visitin' over to Wellmouth, -so when the <em class="italics">Glide</em> crept in towards the beach -and I saw a couple of folk by the Crowell house, -I was surprised. I didn't pay much attention to -'em, however, until I was just about ready to put -the helm over and stand out into the bay again. -Then they come runnin' down to the beach, yellin' -and wavin' their arms. I thought one of 'em had -a familiar look and, as I come closer, I got more -and more sure of it. It didn't seem possible, but -it was—one of those fellers on the beach was Major -Cobden Clark.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hi-i!" yells the Major, hoppin' up and down -and wavin' both arms as if he was practicin' flyin'; -"Hi-i-i! you man in the boat! Come here! I -want you!"</p> -<p class="pnext">That was him, all over. He wanted me, so of -course I must come. My feelin's in the matter -didn't count at all. I run the <em class="italics">Glide</em> in as nigh the -beach as I dared and then fetched her up into what -little wind there was left.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Ahoy there, Major," I sung out. "Is that -you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hey?" he shouts. "Do you know—Why, -I believe it's Snow! Is that you, Snow?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes, it's me," I hollers. "What in time are -you doin' way over here?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Never mind what I'm doin'," he roared. "You -come ashore here. I want you."</p> -<p class="pnext">If I hadn't been so curious to know what he was -doin', I'd have seen him in glory afore I ever -thought of obeyin' an order from him; but I was -curious. While I was considerin' the breeze give -a final puff and died out altogether. That settled -it. I might as well go ashore as stay aboard. I -couldn't get anywhere without wind. So I hove -anchor and dropped the mains'l.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Come on!" he kept yellin'. "What are you -waitin' for? Don't you hear me say I want you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I had on my long-legged rubber boots and the -water wa'n't more'n up to my knees. When I got -good and ready, I swung over the side and waded -to the beach.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hello, Maje," I says, brisk and easy, "you -ought not to holler like that. You'll bust a b'iler. -Your face looks like a red-hot stove already."</p> -<p class="pnext">He mopped his forehead. "Shut up, you old -fool," says he. "Think I'm here to listen to -a lecture about my face? You carry Mr. Shelton -and me out to that boat of yours. We want you -to sail us home."</p> -<p class="pnext">So the other chap was the Congressman. I'd -guessed as much. I went up to him and held out -my hand.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Pleased to know you, Mr. Shelton," says I. -"Had the pleasure of votin' for you last fall."</p> -<p class="pnext">Shelton shook and smiled. "This is Cap'n -Snow, isn't it?" he says, his eyes twinklin'. "Glad -to meet you, I'm sure. I've heard of you often."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I shouldn't wonder," says I. "Major Clark -and me are old chums and I cal'late he's mentioned -my name at least once. Hey, Maje?"</p> -<p class="pnext">The Major grinned. I grinned, too; and Shelton -laughed out loud.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I never saw such a talkin' machine in my life," -snaps Clark. "Don't stop to tell us the story of -your life. Take us aboard that boat of yours. -You've got to get us back to Ostable, d'you understand?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Have, hey?" says I. "I appreciate the honor, -but.... However, maybe you won't mind -tellin' me what you're doin' here, twelve miles from -nowhere?"</p> -<p class="pnext">The Major was too mad to answer, so Shelton -did it for him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," he says, smilin' and with a wink at his -partner, "we <em class="italics">came</em> in the Major's auto, but—"</p> -<p class="pnext">He stopped without finishin' the sentence.</p> -<p class="pnext">"The auto?" says I. "You came in the auto? -Well, why don't you go back in it? What's the -matter? Has it broke down? Humph! I ain't -surprised; them things are always breakin' down, -'specially the cheap ones."</p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">That</em> stirred up the kettle. The Major give me -to understand that his auto cost six thousand dollars -and was the best blessedty-blank car on earth. It -wa'n't the auto's fault. It hadn't broke down. It -had stuck in the eternal and everlastin' sand and -they couldn't get it out, that was the trouble.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But Abubus can get it out, can't he?" says I. -"Abubus runs it like a bird, you told me so yourself. -Now a bird can fly, and if you want to get from -here to Ostable in anything like a straight line, -you've <em class="italics">got</em> to fly. By the way, where is Abubus?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Three or four more questions, and a hogshead -of profanity on the Major's part, and I had the -whole story. He and Shelton had started for a ride -way up the Cape. They was cal'latin' to get home -by eleven o'clock, but the machine went so fast that -they got where they was goin' early and had time -to spare. Shelton happened to remember that he'd -sunk some money in the land company I mentioned -and he thought he'd like to see the place where -'twas sunk. He asked Abubus if they couldn't run -along the beach road a ways. Abubus hemmed and -hawed and didn't know for sure—he never was -sure about anything. But the Major said course -they could; that car could go anywhere. So they -turned in way up by Sandwich and come b'ilin' down -alongshore. Long's the old land company road -lasted they was all right, but when, runnin' thirty-five -miles an hour, they whizzed off the end of that -road, 'twas different. The automobile lit in the -soft sand like a snow-plow and stopped—and -stayed. They tried to dig it out with boards from -Jonathan Crowell's pig pen, but the more they dug -the deeper it sunk. At last they give it up; nothin' -but a team of horses could haul that machine out of -that sand. So Abubus starts to walk the ten or -eleven miles back to civilization and livery stables -and the Major and Shelton waited for him. And -the more they waited the hungrier and madder -Clark got. 'Twas all Abubus's fault, of course. He -ought to have had more sense than to run that way -on that road, anyhow. He ought to have known -better than to get into that sand, a feller that had -lived in sand all his life. He was an incompetent -jackass. Well, I knew that afore, but it certainly -did me good to hear the Major confirm my judgment.</p> -<p class="pnext">I went over and looked at the automobile. It -had always acted like a mighty lively contraption, -but now it looked dead enough. And not only dead, -but two-thirds buried.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well?" fumes Clark, "how much longer have -we got to stay in this hole?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"It's consider'ble of a hole," says I, "and it -looks to me as if she'd stay there till Abubus gets -back with a pair of horses. Considerin' how far -he's got to tramp and how long it'll be afore he can -get a pair, I cal'late the hole'll be occupied until -some time in the night."</p> -<p class="pnext">That wa'n't what he meant and I knew it. Did -I suppose he and Shelton was goin' to wait and -starve until the middle of the night? No, sir; the -auto could stay where it was; he and the Congressman -would sail home with me in the <em class="italics">Glide</em>.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I hope you ain't in any partic'lar hurry," says -I, lookin' out over the bay. There wa'n't a breath -of air stirrin' and the water was slick and shiny as -a starched shirt. "The <em class="italics">Glide</em> runs by wind power -and there's no wind. This calm may last one hour -or it may last two. As long as it lasts I stay where -I am."</p> -<p class="pnext">What! Did I think they would stay there just -because I was too lazy to get my whoopety-bang -fish-dory under way? Stay there in that sand-heap—sand-heap -was the politest of the names he called -Crowell's plantation—and starve?</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh," says I. "I won't starve. I'm goin' to -get dinner."</p> -<p class="pnext">Dinner! The very name of it was like a -life-preserver to a feller who'd gone under for the second -time.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Can you get us dinner?" roars the Major. -"By George, if you can I'll—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Not for you I can't," I says. "You live accordin' -to the Payne schedule, on prunes and pecans -and such. The prune crop 'round here is a failure -and I don't see a pecan tree in Jonathan's back yard. -No, any dinner I'd get would give you compound, -gallopin' dyspepsy, and I can't be responsible for -your death—I love you too much. But I cal'late -I can scratch up a meal that'll keep folks with common -insides from perishin' of hunger. Anyhow, -I'm goin' to try."</p> -</div> -<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-ivhow-i-made-a-clam-chowder-and-what-a-clam-chowder-made-of-me"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id5">CHAPTER IV—HOW I MADE A CLAM CHOWDER; AND WHAT A CLAM CHOWDER MADE OF ME</a></h2> -<p class="pfirst">Well, sir, even the Major's guns was spiked -for a minute. I cal'late that, for once, -he'd forgot all about his dietizin' and -only remembered his appetite. He gurgled and -choked and glared. Afore he could get his artillery -ready for a broadside I walked off and left him. -He'd riled me up a little and I saw a chance to rile -him back.</p> -<p class="pnext">I went around to the back part of the Crowell -house and tried the kitchen door. 'Twas locked, -for a wonder, but the window side of it wasn't. I -pushed up the sash and reached in fur enough to -unhook the door. Then I went into the house and -begun to overhaul the supplies in the galley. I -found flour and sugar and salt and pepper and -coffee and butter and canned milk and salt pork—about -everything I wanted. Jonathan and I was -friendly enough so's I knew he wouldn't care what -I used so long as I paid for it. If he had I'd have -taken the risk, just then.</p> -<p class="pnext">The wood-box was full and I got a fire goin' in -the cookstove, and put on a couple of kettles of -water to heat. Then I went out to the shed and -located a clam hoe and a bucket. There's clams -a-plenty 'most anywheres along that beach and the -tide was out fur enough for me to get a bucket-full -of small ones in no time. I fetched 'em up to -the house and set down on the back step to open -'em.</p> -<p class="pnext">The Major and Shelton was watchin' me all this -time and they looked interested—that is, the Congressman -did, and Clark was doin' his best not to. -Pretty soon Shelton walks over and asks a question. -"What are you doin' with those things, Cap'n -Snow?" says he, referrin' to the clams.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh," says I, cheerful, "I'm figgerin' on makin' -a chowder, if nothin' busts."</p> -<p class="pnext">"A chowder," he says, sort of eager. "A clam -chowder? Can you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I can. That is, I have made a good many and -I cal'late to make this one, unless I'm struck with -paralysis."</p> -<p class="pnext">"A clam chowder!" he says again, sort of eager -but reverent. "By George! that's good—er—for -you, I mean."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I hope 'twill be good for you, too," says I. -"I'm sorry that Major Clark's dyspepsy's such that -'twon't be good for him, but that's his misfortune, -not my fault."</p> -<p class="pnext">Shelton looked sort of queer and went away to -jine his chum. The two of 'em did consider'ble -talkin' and the Major appeared to be deliverin' a -sermon, at least I heard a good many orthodox -words in the course of it. I finished my clam -openin', went in and got my cookin' started. The -flour and the butter made me think that some hot -spider-bread would go good with the chowder -and I started to mix a batch. Then I got another -idea.</p> -<p class="pnext">'Twas too late for huckleberries and such, but out -back of the shed, beyond the pines, was a little -swampy place. I took a tin pail, went out there and -filled the pail with early wild cranberries in five -minutes. As I was comin' back I noticed an onion -patch in the garden. A chowder without onions is -like a camp-meetin' Sunday without your best girl—pretty -flat and impersonal. Most of those left -in the patch had gone to seed, but I got a half -dozen.</p> -<p class="pnext">After a short spell that kitchen begun to get -fragrant and folksy, as you might say. The coffee -was b'ilin', the chowder was about ready, there was -a pan of red-hot spider-bread on the back of the -stove and a cranberry shortcake—'twould have -been better with cream, but to skim condensed milk -is more exercise than profit—in the oven. I'd -opened all the windows and the door, so the smell -drifted out and livened up the surroundin' scenery. -Clark and Shelton were settin' on a sand hummock -a little ways off and I could see 'em wrinklin' their -noses.</p> -<p class="pnext">When the table was set and everything was ready -I put my head out of the window and hollered:</p> -<p class="pnext">"Dinner!" I sung out.</p> -<p class="pnext">There wa'n't any answer. The pair on the hummock -stirred and acted uneasy, but they didn't move. -I ladled out some of the chowder and the perfume -of it got more pervadin' and extensive. Then I -rattled the dishes and tried again.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Dinner!" I hollered. "Come on; chowder's -gettin' cold."</p> -<p class="pnext">Still they didn't move and I begun to think my -fun had been all for myself. I was disappointed, -but I set down to the table and commenced to eat. -Then I heard a noise. The pair of 'em had drifted -over to the doorway and was lookin' in.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hello!" says I, blowin' a spoonful of chowder -to cool it. "Am I givin' a good imitation of a -hungry man? If I ain't, appearances are deceitful."</p> -<p class="pnext">"<em class="italics">Hog!</em>" snarls Clark, with enthusiasm.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Not at all," says I. "There's plenty of everything -and Mr. Shelton's welcome. So would you -be, Major, if there was anything aboard you could -eat. I'm awful sorry about them prunes and -nutmeats. I only wish Crowell had laid in a supply—I -do so."</p> -<p class="pnext">The Major's mouth was waterin' so he had to -swallow afore he could answer. When he did I -realized what he was at his best. Shelton didn't -say a word, but the looks of him was enough.</p> -<p class="pnext">"My, my!" says I, "I'm glad I made a whole -kettleful of this stuff; I can use a grown man's share -of it."</p> -<p class="pnext">Shelton looked at Clark and Clark looked at him. -Then the Major yelps at him like a sore pup.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Go ahead!" he shouts. "Go ahead in! -Don't stand starin' at me like a cannibal. Go in -and eat, why don't you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">You could see the Congressman was divided in -his feelin's. He wanted dinner worse than the Old -Harry wanted the backslidin' deacon, but he hated -to desert his friend.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You're sure—" he stammered. "It seems -mean to leave you, but.... Sure you wouldn't -mind? If it wasn't that you are on a diet and <em class="italics">can't</em> -eat I shouldn't think of it, but—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Shut up!" The Major fairly whooped it to -Jericho. "If you talk diet to me again I'll kill -you. Go in and eat. Eat, you idiot! I'd just as -soon watch two pigs as one. Go in!"</p> -<p class="pnext">So Shelton came in and I had a plate of chowder -waitin' for him. He grabbed up his spoon and -didn't speak until he'd finished the whole of it. -Then he fetched a long breath, passed the plate for -more, and says he:</p> -<p class="pnext">"By George, Cap'n, that is the best stuff I ever -tasted. You're a wonderful cook."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Much obliged," says I. "But you ain't competent -to judge until after the third helpin'. And -now you try a slab of that spider-bread and a cup -of coffee. And don't forget to leave room for the -shortcake because.... Well, I swan to man! -Why, Major Clark, are you crazy?"</p> -<p class="pnext">For, as sure as I'm settin' here, old Clark had -come bustin' into that kitchen, yanked a chair up to -that table, grabbed a plate and the ladle and was -helpin' himself to chowder.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Major!" says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, <em class="italics">Cobden</em>!" says Shelton.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Shut up!" roars the Major. "If either of you -say a word I won't be responsible for the consequences."</p> -<p class="pnext">We didn't say anything and neither did he. -Judgin' by the silence 'twas a mighty solemn occasion. -Everybody ate chowder and just thought, I -guess.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Pass me that bread," snaps Clark.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But Cobden," says Shelton again.</p> -<p class="pnext">"It's hot," says I, "and it's fried, and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Give it to me! If you don't I shall know it's -because you're too rip-slap stingy to part with it."</p> -<p class="pnext">After that, there was nothin' to be done but the -one thing. He got the bread and he ate it—not -one slice, but two. And he drank coffee and ate a -three-inch slab of shortcake. When the meal was -over there wa'n't enough left to feed a healthy -canary.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Now," growls the Major, turnin' to Shelton, -"have you a cigar in your pocket? If you have, -hand it over."</p> -<p class="pnext">The Congressman fairly gasped. "A cigar!" he -sings out. "You—goin' to <em class="italics">smoke</em>? <em class="italics">You?</em>"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes—me. I'm goin' to die anyway. This -murderer here," p'intin' to me, "laid his plans to -kill me and he's succeeded. But I'll die happy. -Give me that cigar! If you had a drink about you -I'd take that."</p> -<p class="pnext">He bit the end off his cigar, lit it, and slammed -out of that kitchen, puffin' like a soft-coal tug. Shelton -shook his head at me and I shook mine back.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Do you s'pose he <em class="italics">will</em> die?" he asked. "He's -eaten enough to kill anybody. And with his stomach! -And to smoke!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"The dear land knows," says I. To tell you -the truth I was a little conscience-struck and worried. -My idea had been to play a joke on Clark—tantalize -him by eatin' a square meal that he couldn't -touch—and get even for some of the names he'd -called me. But now I wa'n't sure that my fun -wouldn't turn out serious. When a man with a lame -digestion eats enough to satisfy an elephant nobody -can be sure what'll come of it.</p> -<p class="pnext">The Congressman and I washed the dishes and -'twas a pretty average sorrowful job. Only once, -when I happened to glance at him and caught a -queer look in his eyes, was the ceremony any more -joyful than a funeral. Then the funny side of it -struck me and I commenced to laugh. He joined -in and the pair of us haw-hawed like loons. Then -we was sorry for it.</p> -<p class="pnext">Shelton went out when the dish-washin' was over. -I cleaned up everything, left a note and some money -on Jonathan's table and locked up the house. -When I got outside there was a fair to middlin' -breeze springin' up. Shelton was settin' on the hummock -waitin' for me.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Where—where's the Major?" I asked, pretty -fearful.</p> -<p class="pnext">"He's over there in the shade—asleep," he -whispered.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Asleep!" says I. "Sure he ain't dead?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Listen," says he.</p> -<p class="pnext">I listened. If the Major was dead he was a -mighty noisy remains.</p> -<p class="pnext">He woke up, after an hour or so, and come -trampin' over to where we was.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," he snaps, "it's blowin' hard enough now, -ain't it? Why don't you take us home?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"How about the auto?" I asked.</p> -<p class="pnext">The auto could stay where it was until the horses -came to pull it out. As for him he wanted to be -took home.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But—but are you able to go?" asked Shelton, -anxious.</p> -<p class="pnext">What in the sulphur blazes did we mean by that? -Course he was able to go! And had Shelton got -another cigar in his clothes?</p> -<p class="pnext">All of the sail home I was expectin' to see that -military man keel over and begin his digestion torments. -But he didn't keel. He smoked and -talked and was better-natured than ever I'd seen -him. He didn't mention his stomach once and you -can be sure and sartin that I didn't. As we was -comin' up to the moorin's in Ostable I'm blessed if -he didn't begin to sing, a kind of a fool tune about -"Down where the somethin'-or-other runs." -Then I <em class="italics">was</em> scared, because I judged that his attack -had started and delirium was settin' in.</p> -<p class="pnext">Shelton shook hands with me at the landin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You're all right, Cap'n Snow," he says. "That -was the best meal I ever tasted and nobody but you -could have conjured it up in the middle of a howlin' -wilderness. If there's anything I can do for you -at any time just let me know."</p> -<p class="pnext">There was one thing he could do, of course, but -I wouldn't be mean enough to mention it then. The -Major and I had, generally speakin', fought fair, -and I wouldn't take advantage of a delirious invalid. -And just then up comes the invalid himself.</p> -<p class="pnext">"See here, Snow," says he, pretty gruff; "I'll -probably be dead afore mornin', but afore I die I -want to tell you that I'm much obliged to you for -bringin' us home. Yes, and—and, by the great -and mighty, I'm obliged to you for that chowder -and the rest of it! It'll be my death, but nothin' -ever tasted so good to me afore. There!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"That's all right," says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"No, it ain't all right. I'm much obliged, I tell -you. You're a stubborn, obstinate, unreasonable -old hayseed, but you're the most competent person -in this town just the same. Of course though," he -adds, sharp, "you understand that this don't affect -our post-office fight in the least. That Blaisdell -woman don't get it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Who said it did affect it?" I asked, just as -snappy as he was. That's the way we parted and -I wondered if I'd ever see him alive again.</p> -<p class="pnext">I didn't see him for quite a spell, but I heard -about him. I woke up nights expectin' to be jailed -for murder, but I wa'n't; and when, three days -later, Shelton started for Washin'ton, the Major -went away on the train with him. Abubus and his -wife shut up the house and went off, too, and nobody -seemed to know where they'd gone. All's could be -found out was that Abubus acted pretty ugly and -wouldn't talk to anybody. This was comfortin' in -a way, though, most likely, it didn't mean anything -at all.</p> -<p class="pnext">But at the end of two weeks a thing happened -that meant somethin'. I got two letters in the mail, -one in a big, long envelope postmarked from the -Post-Office Department at Washington and the -other a letter from Shelton himself. I don't suppose -I'll ever forget that letter to my dyin' day.</p> -<blockquote><div> -<p class="pfirst">"Dear Captain Snow," it begun. "You may be -interested to know that our mutual friend, Major -Clark, has suffered no ill effects from our picnic at -the beach. In fact, he is better than he ever was -and has been enjoying the comforts of city life -to an extent which I should not dare attempt. -Whether his long respite from such comforts -helped, or whether the celebrated Doctor Conquest -was responsible, I know not. The Major, however, -declares Doctor Payne to be a fraud and to have -been, as he says, 'working him for a sucker.' -Therefore he has discharged the doctor and discharged -the cousin with the odd name—your fellow -townsman, Abubus Payne. The mishap with -the auto was the beginning of Abubus's finish and the -fact that no indigestion followed our chowder party -completed it. And also—which may interest you -still more—Major Clark has withdrawn his support -of Payne's candidacy for the post-office and -urged the appointment of another person, one whom -he declares to be the only able, common-sense, honest -<em class="italics">man</em> in the village. As I have long felt the -appointment of a compromise candidate to be the -sole solution of the problem, I was very happy to -agree with him, particularly as I thoroughly approve -of his choice. When you learn the new postmaster's -name I trust you may agree with us both. I -know the citizens of Ostable will do so.</p> -<blockquote><div> -<p class="pfirst">"Yours sincerely,</p> -<blockquote><div> -<p class="pfirst">"<span class="small-caps">William A. Shelton.</span></p> -</div></blockquote> -</div></blockquote> -<p class="pfirst">"P.S. I am coming down next summer and shall -expect another one of your chowders."</p> -</div></blockquote> -<p class="pfirst">My hands shook as I ripped open the other envelope. -I knew what was comin'—somethin' inside -me warned me what to expect. And there it -was. Me—<em class="italics">me</em>—Zebulon Snow, was app'inted -postmaster of Ostable!</p> -<p class="pnext">Was I mad? I was crazy! I fairly hopped up -and down. What in thunder did I want of the -postmastership? And if I wanted it ever so much -did they think I was a traitor? Was it likely that -I'd take it, after workin' tooth and nail for Mary -Blaisdell? What would Mary say to me? By -time, <em class="italics">I'd</em> show 'em! It should go back that minute -and my free and frank opinion with it. I'd -kicked one chair to pieces already, and was beginnin' -on another, when Jim Henry Jacobs come runnin' -in and stopped me.</p> -<p class="pnext">No use to goin' into particulars of the argument -we had. It lasted till after one o'clock next -mornin'. Jim Henry argued and coaxed and proved -and I ripped and vowed I wouldn't. He was -tickled to death. The post-office was the greatest -thing to bring trade that the store could have, and -so on. I <em class="italics">must</em> take the job. If I didn't somebody -else would, somebody that, more'n likely, we -wouldn't like any better than we did Abubus.</p> -<p class="pnext">"No," says I. "<em class="italics">No!</em> Mary Blaisdell shall -have—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"She won't get it anyway," says he. "She's out -of it—Shelton as much as says so—whatever happens. -And she don't want the title anyway. All -she needs or cares for is the pay and I've thought of -a way to fix that. You listen."</p> -<p class="pnext">I listened—under protest, and the upshot of it -was that the next day I went up to see Mary. She'd -heard that I was likely to get the appointment—old -Clark had been doin' some hintin' afore he left -town, I cal'late—and she congratulated me as -hearty as if 'twas what she'd wanted all along. But -I wa'n't huntin' congratulations. I felt as mean as -if I'd been took up by the constable for bein' a -chicken thief, and I told her so.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Mary," says I, "I wa'n't after the postmastership. -I swear by all that is good and great I wa'n't. -I don't know what you must think of me."</p> -<p class="pnext">"What I've always thought," says she, "and -what poor Henry thought before he died. My -opinion is like Major Clark's," with a kind of half -smile, "that the appointment has gone to the best -man in Ostable."</p> -<p class="pnext">"My, my!" says I. "<em class="italics">Your</em> digestion ain't given -you delirium, has it? No sir-ee! I'm no more fit -to be postmaster than a ship's goat is to teach -school."</p> -<p class="pnext">"You mustn't talk so," she says, earnest. "You -will take the position, won't you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I'll take it," says I, "under one condition." -Then I told her what the condition was. She argued -against it at fust, but after I'd said flat-footed -that 'twas either that or the government could take -its appointment and make paper boats of it, and -she'd seen that I meant it, she give in.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But," says she, chokin' up a little, "I know -you're doin' this just to help me. How I can ever -repay your kindness I don't—"</p> -<p class="pnext">I cut in quick. My deadlights was more misty -than I like to have 'em. "Rubbish!" says I, -"I'm doin' it to win my bet with old Clark. I'd do -anything to beat out that old critter."</p> -<p class="pnext">So it happened that when, along in November, -the Major came back to Ostable to look over his -place, afore leavin' for Florida, and come into the -store, I was ready for him. He grinned and asked -me if he had any mail.</p> -<p class="pnext">"While you're about it," he says, chucklin', "you -can pay me that bet."</p> -<p class="pnext">Now the very sound of the word "bet" hit me on -a sore place. I'd lost one hat to Mr. Pike and the -letter I'd got from him rubbed me across the grain -every time I thought of it.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What bet?" says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, the bet you made that the Blaisdell -woman would be postmistress here."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I didn't bet that," I says.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You didn't?" he roared. "You did, too! -You bet—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I bet that Mary would handle the mail, that's -all. So she will; fact is, she's handlin' it now. -She's my assistant in the post-office here. If you -don't believe it, go back to the mail window and -look in. No, Major, <em class="italics">I</em> win the bet."</p> -<p class="pnext">Maybe I did, but he wouldn't pay it. He -vowed I was a low down swindler and a "welsher," -whatever that is. He blew out of that store like -a toy typhoon and I didn't see him again until the -next summer. However, I had a feelin' that Major -Cobden Clark wa'n't the wust friend I had, by -a consider'ble sight.</p> -<p class="pnext">You see, that was Jim Henry's great scheme—to -hire Mary to run the office as my assistant. He -didn't say what salary I was to pay her, and, if I -chose to hand over three-quarters of the postmaster's -pay to her, what business was it of his? I told -him that plain, and, to do him justice, he didn't seem -to care.</p> -<p class="pnext">But he did rub it in about my declarin' I'd never -go into politics.</p> -<p class="pnext">In a little while the mail department was as much -a part of the "Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots -and Shoes and Fancy Goods Store" as the calico -and dress goods counter. We bought the Blaisdell -letter-box rack and fixin's and set 'em up and they -done fust-rate for the time bein'. I was postmaster, -so fur as name goes, but 'twas Mary that really run -that end of the ship. It seemed as natural to have -her come in mornin's, as it did for the sun to rise; -and, if she was late, which didn't happen often, it -seemed almost as if the sun hadn't rose. The old -store needed somethin' like her to keep it clean and -sweet and even Jim Henry give in that she was the -best investment the business had made yet.</p> -<p class="pnext">As for business it kept on good, even though the -summer folks had gone and winter had set in. Our -order carts kept runnin' and they <em class="italics">took</em> orders, too. -The store was doin' well by us both and I certainly -owed old Pullet a debt of thanks for workin' on -my sympathies until I put my cash into it. There -was consider'ble buildin' goin' on in town and, -when spring begun to show symptoms of makin' -Ostable harbor, Jim Henry got possessed of a new -idea. I didn't pay much attention at fust. He -was always as full of notions as a peddler's cart -and if I took every one of 'em serious we'd either -been Rockefellers or star boarders at the poorhouse, -one or t'other. 'Twa'n't till that day in April when -old Ebenezer Taylor came in after his mail and -went out after the constable that I realized somethin' -had to be done.</p> -<p class="pnext">You see, Ebenezer's eyes was failin' on him and, -to make things worse, he'd forgot his nigh-to specs -and had on his far-off pair. Consequently, when he -headed for the after end of the store, he wa'n't in -no condition to keep clear of the rocks and shoals -in the channel. Fust thing he run into was a couple -of dress-forms with some bargain calico gowns on -'em. While he was beggin' pardon of them forms, -under the impression that they was women customers, -he backed into a roll of barbed wire fencin' -that was leanin' against the candy and cigar counter. -His clothes was sort of thin and if that barbed wire -had been somebody tryin' to borrer a quarter of -him he couldn't have jumped higher or been more -emphatic in his remarks. The third jump landed -him against the gunwale of a bushel basket of eggs -that Jacobs was makin' a special run on and had -set out prominent in the aisle. Maybe Ebenezer -was tired from the jumpin' or maybe the excitement -had gone to his head and he thought he was a hen. -Anyhow he set on them eggs, and in two shakes of -a heifer's tail he was the messiest lookin' omelet -ever I see. Jacobs and me and the clerk scraped -him off best we could with pieces of barrel hoop -and the cheese knife, and Mary come out from behind -the letter boxes and helped along with the -floor mop, but when we'd finished with him he was -consider'ble more like somethin' for breakfast than -he was human.</p> -<p class="pnext">And mad! An April fool chocolate cream -couldn't have been more peppery than he was. He -distributed his commentaries around pretty general—Mary -got some and so did Jacobs—but the heft -was fired at me. He hated me anyhow, 'count of -my bein' made postmaster and for some other reasons.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You—you thunderin' murderer!" he hollered, -shakin' his old fist in my face. "'Twas all -your fault. You done it a-purpose. Look at me! -Look! my legs punched full of holes like a skimmer, -and—and my clothes! Just look at my -clothes! A whole suit ruined! A suit I paid ten -dollars and a half for—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Ten year and a half ago," I put in, involuntary, -as you might say.</p> -<p class="pnext">"It's a lie. 'Twon't be nine year till next -September. You think you're funny, don't you? -Ever since this consarned, robbin' Black Republican -administration made you postmaster! Postmaster! -You're a healthy postmaster! I'll have you arrested! -I'll march straight out and have you took -up. I will!"</p> -<p class="pnext">He headed for the door. I didn't say nothin'. -I was sorry about the clothes and I'd have paid for -'em willin'ly, but arguin' just then was a waste of -time, as the feller said when the deef and dumb -man caught him stealin' apples. Ebenezer stamped -as fur as the door and then turned around.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I may not have you took up," he says; "but -I'll get even with you, Zeb Snow, yet. You wait."</p> -<p class="pnext">After he'd gone and we'd made the place look -a little less like an egg-nog, I took Jim Henry by -the sleeve and led him into the back room where -we could be alone. Even there the surroundin's -was so cluttered up with goods and bales and boxes -that we had to stand edgeways and talk out of the -sides of our mouths.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Jim," says I, "this place of ours ain't big -enough. We've got to have more room."</p> -<p class="pnext">He pretended to be dreadful surprised.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, why, Skipper!" he says. "You shock -me. This is so sudden. What put such an idea as -that in your head? Seems to me I have a vague -remembrance of handin' you that suggestion no less -than twenty-five times since the last change of the -moon, but I hope <em class="italics">that</em> didn't influence you."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Aw, dry up," says I. "You was right. Let it -go at that. Afore I got the postmastership this -buildin' was big enough. Now it ain't. We've got -to build on or move or somethin'. Have you got -any definite plan?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He smiled, superior and top-lofty, and reached -over to pat me on the back; but reachin' in that -crowded junk-shop was bad judgment, 'cause his -elbow hit against the corner of a tea chest and his -next set of remarks was as explosive and fiery as a -box of ship rockets.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Never mind the blessin'," I says. "Go ahead -with the fust course. Have you got anything up -your sleeve? anything besides that bump, I mean."</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, it seems he had. Seems he'd thought it -all out. We'd ought to buy Philander Foster's -buildin', which was on the next lot to ours, move it -close up, cut doors through, and use it for the post-office -department.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" says I, after I'd turned the notion -over in my mind. "That ain't so bad, considerin' -where it come from. I can only sight one possible -objection in the offin'."</p> -<p class="pnext">"What's that, you confounded Jezebel?" he -says.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Jezebel?" says I. "What on airth do you call -me that for?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"'Cause you're him all over," he says. "He -was the feller I used to hear about in Sunday School, -the prophet chap that was always croakin' and believed -everything was goin' to the dogs. That was -Jezebel, wasn't it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"No," says I, "that was Jeremiah; Jezebel was -the one the dogs <em class="italics">went</em> to. And she was a woman, -at that."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well, all right," he says. "Whatever he or -she was they didn't have anything on you when it -comes to croaks. What's the objection?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nothin' much. Only I don't know's you've -happened to think that Philander might not care to -sell his buildin', to us or to anybody else."</p> -<p class="pnext">That was all right. We could go and see, -couldn't we? Well, we could of course—and we -did.</p> -</div> -<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-va-trap-and-what-the-rat-caught-in-it"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id6">CHAPTER V—A TRAP AND WHAT THE "RAT" CAUGHT IN IT</a></h2> -<p class="pfirst">Foster run a shebang that was labeled -"The Palace Billiard, Pool and Sipio Parlors. -Cigars and Tobacco. Tonics, all -Flavors. Ice Cream in Season." The "Palace" -part was some exaggeration and so was the "Parlors," -but the place was the favorite hang-out of -all the loafers and young sports in town and the -church folks was tumble down on it, callin' it a -"gilded hell" and such pious profanity. The gilt -had wore off years afore and if the hot place ain't -more interestin' than that billiard saloon it must be -dull for some of the permanent boarders.</p> -<p class="pnext">We found Philander asleep back of the soft -drink counter and young Erastus Taylor—"Ratty," -everybody called him—practicin' pin pool, as -usual, at one of the tables. "Ratty" was Ebenezer -Taylor's only son and the combination trial -and idol of the old man's soul. Ebenezer thought -most as much of him as he did of his money, and when -you've said that you couldn't make it any stronger. -He'd done a heap to make a man of "Rat"—his -idea of a man—even separatin' from enough cash -to send him to a business college up to Middleboro; -but all the boy got from that college was a thunder -and lightnin' taste in clothes and a post-graduate -course in pool playin'. Pool playin' was the only -thing he cared about and he could spot any one of -the Ostable sharps four balls and beat 'em hands -down. He'd sampled two or three jobs up to Boston, -but they always undermined his health and he -drifted back home to live on dad and look for another -"openin'." I cal'late the pair lived a cat and -dog life, for Ratty always wanted money to spend -and Ebenezer wanted it to keep. The old man -was the wust down on the billiard room of anybody -and his son put in most of his time there.</p> -<p class="pnext">Me and Jim Henry woke up Philander and told -him we wanted to talk with him private. He said -go ahead and talk; there wa'n't anybody to hear -but Ratty, and Rat was just like one of the family. -So, as we couldn't do it any different, we went -ahead. Jacobs explained that we felt that maybe -we might some time or other need a little extry -room for our business and, bein' as he—Philander—was -handy by and we was always prejudiced in -favor of a neighbor and so on, perhaps he'd consider -sellin' us his buildin' and lot. Course it didn't make -so much difference to him; he could easy move his -"Parlors" somewheres else—and similar sweet -ile. Philander listened till Jim Henry had poured -on the last soothin' drop, and then he laughed.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Um ... ya-as," he says. "I could -move a heap, <em class="italics">I</em> could! I'm so durned popular -amongst the good landholders in this town that any -one of 'em would turn their best settin'-rooms over -to me the minute I mentioned it. Yes, indeed! -Just where 'bouts would I move?—if 'tain't too -much to ask."</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, that was some of a sticker, 'cause <em class="italics">I</em> -couldn't think of anybody that would have that -billiard room within a thousand fathoms of their -premises, if they could help it. But Jim Henry he -pretended not to be shook up a cent's wuth. That -was easy; 'twas just a matter of Philander's -pickin' out the right place, that was all there was -to it.</p> -<p class="pnext">Philander heard him through and then he -laughed again.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You're wastin' good business breath," he says. -"I wouldn't sell if I could, unless I had a fust-class -place to move into, and there ain't no such -place on the main road and you know it. I'm doin' -trade enough to keep me alive and I'm satisfied, -though I can't lay up a cent. But, so fur as movin' -out is concerned, I expect to do that on the fust of -next November. I'll be fired out, I judge, and -prob'ly'll have to leave town. Hey, Rat?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Ratty Taylor, who'd been listenin', twisted his -mouth and grunted.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," he says, "I guess that's right, worse -luck!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"You bet it's right!" says Philander. "As I -said, Mr. Jacobs, if I could sell out to you and -Cap'n Zeb I wouldn't, without a good handy place -to move into. And I can't sell any way. There's -a thousand dollar mortgage on this shop and lot; -it's due June fust; and, unless I pay it off—which -I can't, havin' not more'n five hundred to my name—the -mortgage'll be foreclosed and out I go."</p> -<p class="pnext">This was news all right. Then me and Jim -Henry asked the same question, both speakin' together.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Who owns the mortgage?" we asked.</p> -<p class="pnext">Foster looked at Ratty and grinned. Rat grinned -back, sort of sickly.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Shall I tell 'em?" says Philander.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I don't care," says Ratty. "Tell 'em, if you -want to."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says Foster, "old Ebenezer Taylor, -Ratty's dad, owns it, drat him! and he's tryin' to -drive me out of town 'count of Rat's spendin' so -much time in here. Ratty's a fine feller, but his -pa's the meanest old skinflint that ever drawed the -breath of life. Not meanin' no reflections on your -family, Rat—but ain't it so?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"<em class="italics">I</em> shan't contradict you, Phi," says Ratty.</p> -<p class="pnext">Jacobs and I looked at each other. Then I got -up from my chair.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Jim Henry," says I, "I don't see as we've got -much to gain by stayin' here. Let's go home."</p> -<p class="pnext">We went back to the store, neither of us speakin', -but both thinkin' hard. It was all off now, of course. -If old Taylor owned that mortgage, he'd foreclose -on the nail, if only to get rid of his son's loafin' place. -And he wouldn't sell to us—hatin' us as he did—unless -we covered the place with cash an inch deep. -No, buyin' the "Palace" was a dead proposition. -And there wa'n't another available buildin' or lot big -enough for us to move to within a mile of Ostable -Center.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" says I, some sarcastic. "It looks to -me—speakin' as a man in the crosstrees—as if that -wonderful business brain of yours had sprung a leak -somewheres, Jim. Better get your pumps to workin', -hadn't you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He snorted. "I'd rather have a leaky head than -a solid wood one like some I know," he says. -"Quiet your Jezebellerin' and let me think.... -There's one thing we might do, of course: We -might advance the other five hundred to Foster, let -him pay off his mortagage, and then—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"And then trust to luck to get the money back," -I put in. "There's more charity than profit in that, -if you ask me. Once that mortgage is paid, you -couldn't get Philander out of that buildin' with a -derrick. He don't want to go."</p> -<p class="pnext">"But we might make some sort of a deal to -pay him a hundred dollars or so to boot and -then—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"And then you'd have another hundred to collect, -that's all. I wouldn't trust that billiard and sipio -man as fur as old Ebenezer could see through his -nigh-to specs. No sir-ee! Nothin' doin', as the -boys say."</p> -<p class="pnext">Next forenoon I met old Ebenezer Taylor on the -sidewalk in front of the Methodist meetin'-house -and, when he saw me, he stopped and commenced -chucklin' and gigglin' as if he was wound up.</p> -<p class="pnext">"He, he, he!" says he. "He, he! I hear you -and that partner of yours, Zebulon, want to buy my -property next door to you. Well, I'll sell it to you—at -a price. He, he, he! at a price."</p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure" style="margin-left: 28%; width: 43%" id="figure-7"> -<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="'Well, I'll sell it to you—at a price.'" src="images/illus3.jpg" width="100%"/> -<div class="caption italics"> -'Well, I'll sell it to you—at a price.'</div> -</div> -<p class="pfirst">"So your hopeful and promisin' son's been tellin' -tales, has he?" says I. "I wa'n't aware that it was -your property—yet."</p> -<p class="pnext">He stopped gigglin' and glared at me, sour and -bitter as a green crab-apple.</p> -<p class="pnext">"It's goin' to be," he says. "Don't you forget -that, it's goin' to be. And if you want it, you'll pay -my price. You owe me for them clothes you -ruined, Zeb Snow—for them and for other things. -And I cal'late I've got you fellers about where I -want you."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, I don't know," says I. "You may be glad -enough to sell to us later on. What good is an -empty buildin' on your hands? Unless of course you -intend rentin' it for another billiard saloon."</p> -<p class="pnext">That made him so mad he fairly gurgled.</p> -<p class="pnext">"There'll be no billiard saloon in this town," he -declared. "No more gilded ha'nts of sin, temptin' -young men whose parents have spent good money on -their education. No, you bet there won't! And -that buildin' may not be empty, nuther. I know -somethin'. He, he, he!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Sho!" says I. "Do you? I wouldn't have -believed it of you, Ebenezer."</p> -<p class="pnext">I left him tryin' to think of a fittin' answer, and -walked on to the store. Mary called to me from -behind the letter-boxes.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Mr. Jacobs is in the back room," she says, "and -he wants to see you right away. Erastus Taylor is -with him."</p> -<p class="pnext">"'Rastus Taylor?" I sung out. "Ratty? What -in the world—?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I hurried into the back room. Sure enough, there -was Jim Henry and Ratty caged behind a pile of -boxes and barrels.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Ah, Skipper!" says Jacobs; "is that you? I -was hopin' you'd come. Young Taylor here has -been suggestin' an idea that looks good to me. Tell -the Cap'n what you've been tellin' me, Ratty."</p> -<p class="pnext">Rat twisted uneasy on the box where he was settin' -and give me a side look out of his little eyes. I never -saw him look more like his nickname.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well, Cap'n Zeb," he says, "it's like this: I've -been thinkin' and I believe I've thought of a way -so you and Mr. Jacobs can get Philander's lot and -buildin'."</p> -<p class="pnext">"You have, hey?" says I. "That's interestin', -if true. What's the way?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why," says he, twistin' some more, "that mortgage -is due on the first of June. If it ain't paid, -Philander'll be foreclosed and he'll move out of -town. It's only a thousand dollars and Phi's got -half of it. If somebody—you and Mr. Jacobs, -say—was to lend him t'other half, why then he -could pay it off and—and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"And stay where he is," I finished disgusted. -"That would be real lovely for Philander, but I -don't see where we come in. This ain't a billiard -and loan society Mr. Jacobs and I are runnin', -thankin' you and Foster for the suggestion."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Wait a minute, Skipper," says Jim Henry. -"Your engine is runnin' wild. That ain't Ratty's -scheme at all. Go on, Rat; spring it on him."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Philander wouldn't be so set on stayin' where -he is, Cap'n Zeb," says Rat, quick as a flash, "if he -had another place to move into; another place here -on the main road, convenient and handy by. And -I think I know a place that could be got for him."</p> -<p class="pnext">I didn't answer for a minute. I was runnin' over -in my mind every possible place that might be sold -or let to Philander Foster for a "Palace." And to -save my life I couldn't think of one.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says I, at last, "where is it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Ratty leaned forward. "What's the matter with -Aunt Hannah Watson's buildin' up the street?" he -says. "She's been crazy to sell it for a long spell. -And the lower floor would make a pretty fair billiard -room, wouldn't it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I was disgusted. I knew the buildin' he meant, -of course. Jacobs and I had talked it over that very -mornin' as a possible place to move the "Ostable -Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and Fancy -Goods Store" to, but we'd both decided it wa'n't -nigh big enough.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" says I, "that scheme's so brilliant -you need smoked glass to look at it. Do you cal'late -as good a church woman as Aunt Hannah Watson -would sell or let her place for a billiard room? She -needs the money bad enough, land knows; but she's -as down on those ha'nts of sin as your dad is, Rat -Taylor. She'd never sell to Phi Foster in this -world."</p> -<p class="pnext">"<em class="italics">She</em> mightn't, I give in," answered Rat. "But -her nephew up to Wareham is a diff'rent breed of -cats. And since she moved over there to live along -with him, he's got the handlin' of her property. I -found that out to-day. From what I hear of this -nephew man he ain't as particular as his aunt. And, -anyway, 'tain't necessary for Philander to make the -deal. You and Mr. Jacobs might make it for him."</p> -<p class="pnext">I thought this over for a minute. I begun to -catch the idea that the young scamp had in his noddle—or -I thought I did.</p> -<p class="pnext">"H'm," I says. "Yes, yes. You mean that if -we'd lend Philander enough to pay the balance of -his mortgage on the buildin' he's in now and would -fix it so's Aunt Hannah'd sell us her place, under the -notion that <em class="italics">we</em> was goin' to use it—you mean that -then, after June fust, Foster'd swap. He'd move -in there and turn over the old 'Palace' to us."</p> -<p class="pnext">He and Jim Henry both bobbed their heads emphatic.</p> -<p class="pnext">"That's what he means," says Jim.</p> -<p class="pnext">"That's the idea exactly, Cap'n," says Rat. "I -think Philander might be willin' to do that."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Is that so!" says I, sarcastic. "Well, well! -I want to know! But, say, Ratty, ain't you takin' -an awful lot of trouble on Foster's account? You're -turrible unselfish and disinterested all to once; or -else there's a nigger in the woodpile somewheres. -Where do you come in on this?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He looked pretty average cheap. He fussed and -fumed for a minute and then he blurts out his reason. -"Well, I'll tell you, Cap'n," he says. "Philander's -about the best friend I've got in this bum town and -I get more solid comfort in his saloon than anywheres -else. If he's drove out of Ostable, I'll be lonesomer -than the grave. I don't want him to go. And -besides—well, you see, the old man—dad, I mean—has -got a notion about settin' me up in business -here. And I don't want to be set up—not in his -kind of business. I know the kind of business I -want to go into, and ... but never mind that -part," he adds, in a hurry.</p> -<p class="pnext">I smiled. I remembered what old Ebenezer had -said about the "Palace" buildin' not bein' empty on -his hands very long and about somethin' he knew. -It was all plain enough now. He intended openin' -some sort of a store there with his son as boss. I -almost wished he would. 'Twould be as good as -a three-ring circus, that store would, if I knew Ratty. -But I was mad, just the same, and when Jim Henry -spoke, I was ready for him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well, Skipper," says Jacobs, "what do you think -of the plan?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Think it's a good one, if you're willin' to heave -morals and common honesty overboard—otherwise -no. To put up a trick like that on an old widow -woman like Aunt Hannah Watson—to land a -billiard room on her property, when she'd rather die -than have it there, is too close to robbin' the Old -Ladies' Home to suit me. I wouldn't touch it with -a ten-foot pole. So good day to you, Rat Taylor," -says I, and walked out.</p> -<p class="pnext">But Jim Henry Jacobs didn't walk out. No, sir! -him and that young Taylor scamp stayed in that -back room for another half hour and left it whisperin' -in each other's ears and actin' thicker than -thieves. I wondered what was up, but I was too -put-out and mad to ask.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I'll look it over right after dinner to-morrer," -says Jacobs, as they shook hands at the front door.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Sure you will, now?" asks Ratty, anxious. -"Don't put it off, 'cause it may be too late."</p> -<p class="pnext">"At one o'clock to-morrer I'll be there," says Jim -Henry, and Rat went away lookin' pretty average -happy.</p> -<p class="pnext">Jacobs scarcely spoke to me all the rest of that -day nor the next mornin'. As we got up from the -boardin' house table the follerin' noon he says, without -lookin' me in the face, "I ain't goin' back to the -store now. I've got an errand somewheres else."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says I, "I imagined you had. You're -goin' down to look at that buildin' of poor old Aunt -Hannah's. That's where you're goin'. Ain't you -ashamed of yourself, Jim Jacobs?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, cut it out!" he snaps, savage. "You make -me tired, Skipper. You and your backwoods scruples -give me a pain. I've lived where people aren't -so narrow and bigoted and I don't consider a billiard -room an annex to the hot place. If, by a -business deal, I can get that buildin' next door to -add to our establishment, I'm goin' to do it, if I -have to use my own money and not a cent of yours. -Yes, I <em class="italics">am</em> goin' to look at that Watson property. -Now, what have you got to say about it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, just this," says I; "I cal'late I'll go with -you."</p> -<p class="pnext">"You will?" he sings out. "<em class="italics">You?</em>"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says I, "me. Not that I feel any different -about skinnin' Aunt Hannah than I ever did, -but because there's a bare chance that her place may -be big enough for us to move the store and post-office -to, after all. With that idea and no other, -I'll go with you, Jim."</p> -<p class="pnext">So we went together, though we never spoke more -than two words on the way down. We got the key -at the jewelry and hardware shop next door and -went in. The Watson place was an old-fashioned -tumble-down buildin' with a big open lower floor -and two or three rooms overhead. I saw right off -'twouldn't do for us to move into, but likewise I -saw that the lower floor <em class="italics">might</em> do for Foster, though -'twa'n't as good as where he was, by consider'ble.</p> -<p class="pnext">Jim Henry looked the place over.</p> -<p class="pnext">"No good for us," he snapped.</p> -<p class="pnext">"None at all," says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" says he, and we locked up and came -down the steps together. As we did so I noticed -someone watchin' us from acrost the road.</p> -<p class="pnext">"There's our friend, Jim Henry," says I. "And, -judgin' by the way he's starin', he's got on his fur-off -glasses and knows who we are."</p> -<p class="pnext">He looked across. "Old Taylor, by thunder!" -says he. "Well, if my deal goes through we'll jolt -the old tight-wad yet."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Do you mean you're goin' on with that low-down -billiard-room game?" I asked.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Of course I do," he snapped.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Then you'll do it on your own hook. <em class="italics">I</em> won't -be part or parcel of it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Who asked you to?" he wanted to know. And -we didn't speak again for the rest of that day. It -made me feel bad, because he and I had been mighty -friendly, as well as partners together. The only -comfort I got out of it was that, judgin' by the way -he kept from lookin' at me or speakin', he didn't -feel any too good himself.</p> -<p class="pnext">But that evenin' Ratty drifted in and the pair of -'em had another confab. And next day, after the -mail had gone, Jacobs got me alone and says he:</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," he says, "I think I ought to tell you that -I've written that nephew in Wareham and made -an offer on the Watson property. I did it on my -own responsibility and I'll pay the freight. But I -thought perhaps I ought to tell you."</p> -<p class="pnext">"What did you offer?" I asked. He told me.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I'll take half," says I, "because I consider it a -good investment at that figger. But only with the -agreement that the billiard saloon sha'n't go there."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Then you can keep your money," he says, short. -And there was another long spell of not speakin' -between the two of us.</p> -<p class="pnext">Mary noticed that there was somethin' wrong, -and it worried her. She spoke to me about it.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Cap'n Zeb," she says, "what's the trouble between -you and Mr. Jacobs? Of course it isn't my -business, and you mustn't tell me unless you wish to."</p> -<p class="pnext">I thought it over. "Well," says I, "I can't tell -you just now, Mary. It's a business matter we don't -agree on and it's kind of private. I'll tell you some -day, but just now I can't. It ain't all my secret, you -see."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I see," says she. "I shouldn't have asked. I -beg your pardon. I wasn't curious, but I do hate to -see any trouble between you two. I like you both."</p> -<p class="pnext">I nodded. I was feelin' pretty blue. "Jim's a -mighty good chap at heart," I says. "I owe him -a lot and he's consider'ble more than just a partner -to me."</p> -<p class="pnext">"He thinks the world of you, too," says she. -"He's told me so a great many times. That is why -I can't bear to see you disagree."</p> -<p class="pnext">I couldn't bear it none too well, either, but Jim -Henry showed no signs of givin' in and I wouldn't. -So we moped around, keepin' out of each other's -way, and actin' for all the world like a couple of -young-ones in bad need of a switch.</p> -<p class="pnext">A couple more days went by afore the answer -came from Wareham. When I saw the envelope -on the desk, with the Watson man's name in the -corner, I knew what it meant and I was on hand -when Jim Henry opened it. He was ugly and -scowlin' when he ripped off the envelope. Then I -heard him swear. I was dyin' to know what the -letter said, but I wouldn't have asked him for no -money. I walked out to the front of the store. -Five minutes later I felt his hand on my shoulder. -He had a curious expression on his face, sort of a -mixture of mad and glad.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Skipper," he says, "we're buncoed again. We -don't get the Watson place."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Don't, hey?" says I. "All right, I sha'n't shed -any tears. I wa'n't after it, and you know it. But -I'm surprised that your offer wa'n't accepted. Why -wa'n't it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Because somebody got ahead of me. Here's -the letter. Listen to this: 'Your offer for my -aunt's property in Ostable came a day too late. -Yesterday I gave a year's option on that property, -for five hundred dollars cash, to—'"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Land of love!" I interrupted. "Only yesterday! -That was close haulin', I must say."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Wait," says he, "you haven't heard the whole -of it. 'A year's option ... for five hundred -dollars cash, to Mr. Taylor of your town.'"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Taylor!" says I. "<em class="italics">Taylor!</em> My soul and -body! The old skinflint beat us again! Well, I -swan!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Um-hm," says he. "I size it up like this. -He saw us come out of there the other day and -guessed that we thought of buyin' and movin'. So, -as he owed us a grudge, and because the Watson -property is, as you said, a good investment anyhow, -he makes his option offer on the jump, and beat me -to it."</p> -<p class="pnext">I whistled. "I cal'late you've hit the nailhead, -Jim," says I. "Well, to be free and frank, I'm glad -of it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"So am I," says he.</p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">That</em> was a staggerer. I whirled round and -looked at him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You <em class="italics">are</em>?" I sung out.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says he, "I am. Of course I had my -heart set on gettin' that 'Palace' for an addition -that would give more room and extry space to our -place here; and the only way I could see to get it -was to take up with that Rat's proposition. I -haven't any prejudice against billiards—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Neither have I, but—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I know. And you're right. Old lady Watson -has, and to run Foster's establishment in on her -would have been a low-down mean trick. I've felt -like a thief, but I was so pig-headed I wouldn't back -down. Now that I've got it where the chicken got -his, I'm glad of it, I really am. Partner, will you -forget my meanness and shake hands?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Would I? I was as tickled as a youngster with -a new tin whistle. And so was he.</p> -<p class="pnext">"There's only one thing that keeps me mad," he -says, "and that is that old Ebenezer's got the laugh -on us again. As for more room for the store—well, -we'll have to think that out."</p> -<p class="pnext">We thought, but it wa'n't us that got the answer. -'Twas Mary Blaisdell. I told her what our fuss had -been about, and she agreed that I was right and that -Jim Henry's sharp business sense had sort of run -away with him for the time bein'.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But," says she, "we certainly do need more -room, both in the mail department and the store. -I've had an idea for some time. Let <em class="italics">me</em> think a -while."</p> -<p class="pnext">Next day she told Jacobs and me what her idea -was. 'Twas that we should build an addition on -to our own buildin'. Run it two stories high and -right out into the back yard. 'Twas just the thing -and the wonder is that we hadn't thought of it ourselves.</p> -<p class="pnext">"She's a wonder, Jim, ain't she?" says I, when -we was alone together.</p> -<p class="pnext">"<em class="italics">You</em> think so, don't you, Skipper," says he, -smilin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">I flared up. "Sartin I do," I says. "Don't -you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Indeed I do."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Then what do you mean?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, nothin', nothin'. Say, have you seen old -Taylor lately? I suppose he's crowin' like a Shanghai -rooster. I do hate for that old skinflint to have -the joke always on his side."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I know," says I. "So do I. But some day, -if we wait long enough, we may have a chance to -laugh at him. I've lived a good many year and -I've seen it work that way pretty often. We'll -wait—and when we do laugh, we'll laugh hard."</p> -<p class="pnext">And we didn't have to wait so turrible long -neither. We got a carpenter in, told him to keep -it a secret, but to plan how we could build the backyard -extension. The plannin' and estimatin' kept -us busy and we forgot about everything else. Fust -along I expected young Taylor would pester us with -more schemes, but he didn't. He never came nigh -us once, fact is he seemed mighty anxious to keep -out of our way, and so long as he did we didn't -complain. His dad come crowin' and chucklin' -around a couple of times and finally Jacobs lost his -temper and told him if he ever showed his face on -our premises again he was liable to be put to the -expense of havin' it repaired by the doctor. -Ebenezer vowed vengeance and law suits, but he -went, and after that he sent a boy for his mail instead -of comin' to fetch it himself.</p> -<p class="pnext">One forenoon, about eleven o'clock 'twas, I was -standin' on the store platform, when I heard the -Old Harry's own row in the "Palace Billiard, Pool -and Sipio Parlors." Loud voices, all goin' at once, -and two or three different assortments of language. -Jim Henry heard it, too, and come out to listen.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Skipper," he says, sudden; "what day is -this?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, Thursday," says I, "ain't it? Oh, you -mean what day of the month. Hey? By the everlastin'! -I declare if it ain't the fust of June!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"The day Foster's mortgage falls due," he says, -excited. "I wonder.... You don't suppose—"</p> -<p class="pnext">He didn't have to suppose, for inside of the next -two minutes we both knew. Three men came bustin' -out of the billiard room door. One was Philander -himself, the other was Ezra Colcord, the lawyer, -and the third was our old shipmate and bosom friend, -Ebenezer Taylor. The old man was fairly frothin' -at the mouth.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You—you—" he sputtered, "you've deceived -me. You've lied to me. You led me to think—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I don't see as you've got any kick, Mr. Taylor," -purrs Philander, smilin'. "You've got your money. -What more can you ask?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"But—but I don't want the money. I want -this property, and I'll have it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, no, you won't, Mr. Taylor," says Colcord, -the lawyer. "This property belongs to Foster now. -He's paid your mortgage in full. You have no -rights here whatever and I advise you to go before -you are arrested for trespassin'."</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, the old man went, but he was still talkin' -and threatenin' when he turned the corner. Colcord -laughed and shook hands with Philander.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Don't mind him, Foster," he says. "He's sore, -that's all, but he has no claim whatever. You've -paid off your mortgage and the property is yours -absolutely. As for the other matter, the papers will -be ready for signature this afternoon. Ha, ha! -I imagine they won't add to our friend's joy."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Cal'late not," says Philander, grinnin'. "This'll -be his day for surprises, hey?"</p> -<p class="pnext">They shook hands again and Colcord left. Soon's -he'd gone, Jim Henry grabbed me by the arm. He -didn't even wait for the lawyer to get out of sight.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Come on," he says. "This is too good to be -true. We must find out about this, Skipper."</p> -<p class="pnext">So over to the "Parlors" we hurried. Philander -looked sort of queer when he saw us comin', but he -didn't run away. We commenced to ask questions, -both of us together. After we'd asked a dozen or -so, he held up his hand.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Come inside," he says, "and I'll tell you about -it. The secret'll be out in a little while, anyhow, -and maybe we do owe you fellers a little mite of -explanation."</p> -<p class="pnext">We went in, wonderin'. Philander set up the -cigars, ten-centers at that, and then he says: -"Yes, I've paid off my mortgage and I cal'late -you wonder where the money came from. Five -hundred of it I had myself. You knew that."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says Jacobs, and I nodded.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Um-hm," says he. "Well, I loaned the five -hundred to Ratty and he bought the option on Aunt -Hannah's buildin' with it."</p> -<p class="pnext">We fairly jumped off our pins.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What?" says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"<em class="italics">Rat</em> bought that option?" gasped Jim Henry. -"Nonsense! his dad bought it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"No-o," says Philander, solemn, "'twas Rat that -bought it at fust. The whole scheme was his and -I give him credit for it. After Mr. Jacobs here -had agreed to look at the Watson place, Ratty got -Ed. Holmes to take him over to Wareham in his -auto. There he see this nephew of Aunt Hannah's, -paid down his five hundred and got the option."</p> -<p class="pnext">"But that letter I got said—" began Jim Henry, -and then he pulled up short. "No," says he, "it -said 'Mr. Taylor' had secured the option; I remember -now. But, of course, we supposed it was -Ebenezer."</p> -<p class="pnext">"And Ebenezer did have it," I put in. "He -told me so himself. I met him on the road and -he—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hold on, Cap'n," cuts in Philander, "no use -goin' through all that. Ebenezer <em class="italics">has</em> got it now. -Ratty decoyed his dad down abreast the Watson -place while you and Mr. Jacobs was inside lookin' -it over, and the old man see you two come out."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I know he did," says I. "I saw him peekin' -at us from behind a tree."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," goes on Foster, "he was there. And, -naturally, he jedged you was cal'latin' to buy that -buildin' and move into it. Fact is, he'd been intendin' -to buy it himself as an investment, and, now -that there was a chance to spite you fellers hove -in for good measure, he was more anxious to get -it than ever. Then Rat broke the news that he -had the option and was willin' to sell it to the highest -bidder. Ha! ha! I guess there was a lively session, -but the upshot of it was that Ebenezer bought -that option off his boy for a thousand dollars. -That's how <em class="italics">he</em> got it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well, I'll be hanged!" says Jim Henry. I was -way past sayin' anything.</p> -<p class="pnext">"And so," continues Philander, "the five hundred -dollars' profit on the option and the five hundred -dollars I lent Rat to start with made just the amount -needful to pay off my mortgage. And, Squire Colcord -and me paid it off this mornin'. You fellers -heard the concludin' section of the ceremonies. -Ebenezer's benediction was some spicy, hey!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"But—but—why, look here, Philander," says -I. "I don't understand this at all. Five hundred -of that thousand was Rat's. He ain't no philanthropist; -he wouldn't <em class="italics">give</em> it to you, unless miracles -are comin' into fashion again. What—"</p> -<p class="pnext">Foster laughed. "There is a little somethin' -underneath," he says. "It's been kept pretty close, -but the cat'll be out of the bag afore the day's over -and, considerin' how much you two helped without -meanin' to, I'd just as soon tell you. Ratty told you -that his pa was cal'latin' to set him up in business, -didn't he? Yes. Well, Rat's had a notion for a -long spell about the business he meant to get into. -There's a new sign been ordered for this shebang -of mine. Here's the copy for it."</p> -<p class="pnext">He reached under the cigar counter and held up -a long piece of pasteboard. 'Twas lettered like this:</p> -<p class="center pnext">PALACE BILLIARD, POOL AND SIPIO PARLORS.</p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="small-caps">Philander Foster & Erastus Taylor,</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics">Proprietors.</em></p> -<p class="pnext">"I cal'late the old man'll disown his son when he -knows it," goes on Foster, "but Rat had rather run -a pool room than be rich, any day in the week. And -say," he adds, "if I was you fellers I'd try to be on -hand when Ebenezer fust sees the new sign. I -should think you'd get consider'ble satisfaction from -watchin' his face. I'm cal'latin' to, myself," says -Philander Foster.</p> -</div> -<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-vii-run-afoul-of-cousin-lemuel"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id7">CHAPTER VI—I RUN AFOUL OF COUSIN LEMUEL</a></h2> -<p class="pfirst">Well, to be honest, I felt pretty bad about -that billiard room business. I was real -sorry for old Ebenezer. Of course -Taylor was a skinflint and a thorough-goin' mean -man, but Ratty was his son and his pride, and to -have a son play a dog's trick like that on the father -that had, at least, tried to make somethin' out of -him, seemed tough enough. And my conscience -plagued me. I felt almost as if I was to blame -somehow. I wa'n't, of course, but I felt that way. -A feller's conscience is the most unreasonable part -of his works; I've noticed it often.</p> -<p class="pnext">But I needn't have wasted any sympathy on -Ebenezer. For the fust little while after his boy -went into the pool and sipio business, he was a sore -chap. Then, all at once, I noticed that he took to -hangin' around the "Parlors" consider'ble and one -evenin' I saw him comin' out of there, all smiles. I -was standin' on the store platform and as he passed -me I hailed him. We hadn't spoken for a consider'ble -spell, but I hadn't any grudge, for my part.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hello!" says I, "what are you so tickled -about?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I didn't know as he wouldn't throw somethin' at -me for darin' to hail him, but no, he was ready to -talk to anybody, even me.</p> -<p class="pnext">"No use," says he, "that boy of mine's a mighty -smart feller. He just beat Tom Baker three games -runnin', and spotted him two balls on the last one. -He's a wonder, if I do say it."</p> -<p class="pnext">I looked at him. This didn't sound much like -disinheritin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Three games of what?" says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, pool," says he, "of course. And Baker's -been countin' himself the best player in the county. -'Rastus was playin' for the house. Him and Philander -cleared over a hundred dollars in the last -month. That ain't so bad for a young feller just -startin' in, is it? I always knew that boy had the -business instinct, if he'd only wake up to it. I've -told folks so time and again."</p> -<p class="pnext">He went along, chucklin' to himself, and I stood -still and whistled. And when I heard that the old -man had taken to callin' the anti-billiard-room crowd -bigoted and narrer it didn't surprise me much. I -judged that Ebenezer's opinions was like those of -others of his tribe—dependent on the profit and -loss account in the ledger. You can forgive your -own kith and kin a lot easier than you can outsiders, -especially if your moral scruples are the Taylor -kind, to be reckoned in dollars and cents.</p> -<p class="pnext">The carpenters were ready to begin work on our -store addition at last, and we started right in to -build on. 'Twas an awful job, enough sight worse -than movin', but it had to be got through with some -way and we wanted to have it finished when the -summer season opened for good. If the store had -been cluttered up and crowded afore, it was ten -times worse now. The amount of energy and -healthy remarks that Jacobs and I wasted in fallin' -over and runnin' into things would have kept a -steamer's engines goin' from Boston to Liverpool, -I cal'late. I expected one of us would break our -neck sartin sure, but we didn't and, by the fust of -July we thought we could see the end.</p> -<p class="pnext">"There!" says I, "in another week we'll be -clear of sawdust, I do believe. The painters won't -be so bad. And we've got on without any accidents, -too, which is a miracle."</p> -<p class="pnext">"You ought to knock wood when you say that, -Skipper," says Jim Henry.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I've knocked enough of it already—with my -head," I told him. But I hadn't. At any rate the -accident come, and not by reason of the buildin' on, -either. It come right in the way of everyday trade, -from where we wa'n't expectin' it. That's the way -such things generally happen. A feller runs under -a tree, so's to keep from gettin' rained on and catchin' -cold, and then the tree's struck by lightnin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">If I'd remembered what old Sylvanus Baxter said -when they asked him to prove one of his fish statements, -I'd have been a wiser man. Sylvanus was -tellin' how many mack'rel him and his brother caught -off Setucket P'int with a hand line, back when Methusalum -was a child, or about then. Forty-eight barrels -they caught, and it nigh filled the dory. One -of the young city fellers who was listenin' undertook -to doubt the yarn. He got a piece of paper and a -pencil and proved that a dory wouldn't hold that -many fish. Sylvanus shut him up in a hurry.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Young man," he says, scornful, "where a human -bein' is blessed with a memory same as I've got, -proof's too unsartin to compare with it."</p> -<p class="pnext">If I'd borne in mind what Sylvanus said and abided -by it I might not have dropped the barrel of sugar -on my starboard foot. I'd have been satisfied to -remember my strength and not try to prove it by -liftin' the said barrel off the tailboard of our delivery -wagon.</p> -<p class="pnext">However, I did try, and the result was that the -barrel slipped when I'd got it 'most to the ground, -and my foot went out of commission with a hurrah, -so to speak.</p> -<p class="pnext">Jim Henry come runnin' and him and the clerk -loaded me into the wagon and carted me off to my -rooms at the Poquit House. And there I stayed -in dry dock for three weeks, while the doctor done -his best to patch up my busted trotter and get me -off the ways and into active service again.</p> -<p class="pnext">He done his part all right. I was mendin' so -far as the lower end of me was concerned, but my -upper works and temper was gettin' more tangled -and snarled every day. Too much company was -the trouble. I had too many folks runnin' in to -ask how I was gettin' on and to talk and talk and -talk. Jim Henry he come, of course, to talk about -the store; and Mary Blaisdell, to tell me how the -post-office was doin'. I could stand them; fact is, -Mary was a sort of soothin' sirup, with her pleasant -face and calm, cheery voice. But the parson he -come, to keep the spiritual part of me ready for -whatever might happen; and the undertaker, to be -sure he got the other part, if it <em class="italics">did</em> happen; and -twenty-odd old maids and widows from sewin'-circle -to talk about each other and church squabbles and -the dreadful sufferin's and agonizin' deaths of their -relations, who'd had accidents similar to mine.</p> -<p class="pnext">They made me so fidgety and mad that the doctor -noticed it. "What's troublin' you, Cap'n Snow?" -he asked. "No new pains, I hope?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" says I. "Your hope's blasted. -I've got the meanest pain I've had yet."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Where?" says he, anxious.</p> -<p class="pnext">"All over," I says. "Tabitha Nickerson's responsible -for it. She's been here for the last hour -and a half, tellin' about how her second cousin, by -her uncle's marriage, stuck a nail in his hand and -was amputated twice and finally died of lingerin' -lockjaw. She never missed a groan. Consarn her! -<em class="italics">She</em> gives me a pain just to look at."</p> -<p class="pnext">He laughed. "That's the trouble with you old -bachelors," he says. "You're too popular with the -fair sex."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Fair!" I sung out. "Doc, if you mean to say -Tabby Nickerson's fair, then I'm goin' to switch to -the homeopaths. <em class="italics">Your</em> judgment ain't dependable."</p> -<p class="pnext">He laughed again and then he went on. Seems -he'd been thinkin' for quite a spell that the Poquit -House wasn't the place for me.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What you need, Cap'n," he says, "is a nice quiet -spot where nobody can get at you—that is, nobody -but the disagreeable necessities, like me. I've found -the place for you to board durin' your convalescence. -Do you know the Deacon house over at South -Ostable on the lower road?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"If you mean Lot Deacon's, I do—yes," says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"That's it," says he. "Lot's all alone there, and -he'd be mighty glad of a boarder. The house is as -neat as wax, and Lot used to go as cook on a Banks' -boat, so you'll be fed well. It's right on the shore, -with the woods back of it. There's a splendid view, -the air's fine, and—and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Don't strain yourself, Doc," I put in. "You -couldn't think of anything else if you thought for a -week. Air and view is all there is in that neighborhood. -What on earth have I done to be sentenced -to serve a term at Lot Deacon's?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, it was quiet, and I needed quiet. It was -restful, and I needed rest. It was too far from -civilization for the undertaker or the sewin'-circle -to get at me. It was—but there! never mind the -rest. The upshot was that I agreed to board at -Lot's till my foot got well enough to navigate and -they carted me down in the delivery wagon, next day.</p> -<p class="pnext">The Deacon place lived up to specifications all -right. Nighest neighbor half a mile off, woods all -round on three sides, and the bay on t'other. Good -grub and plenty of it. And no company except the -doctor every other day, and Jim Henry the days -between, and Lot—oh, land, yes! Lot, always and -forever.</p> -<p class="pnext">He was a meek little critter, Lot was, accommodatin' -and willin' to please, as good a cook as ever -fried a clam, and a great talker on some subjects. -He was a widower, with no relations except an aunt-in-law -over to Denboro, and a third cousin up to -Boston; and his principal hobby was spirits and -mediums and such. He was as sot on Spiritu'lism -as anybody ever you see, and hadn't missed a Spirit'list -camp-meetin' in Harniss durin' the memory of -man.</p> -<p class="pnext">However, Lot and I got along first-rate and he'd -set and talk by the hour about the camp-meetin', -which was a couple of weeks off, and how he was -goin', and so on. Said I needn't worry about bein' -left alone, 'cause his wife's Aunt Lucindy from Denboro -was comin' to keep house for me durin' the -two days he was away.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Is your Aunt Lucindy given to spirits, too?" -I wanted to know.</p> -<p class="pnext">No, she wasn't. Seems her particular bug was -"mind cure." She was a widow whose husband -had died of creepin' paralysis. She'd tried every -kind of doctorin' and patent medicines on him and, -in spite of it, the last specimen of "Swamp Bitters" -or "Thistle Tea" finished him. But, anyhow, -Aunt Lucindy had no faith in medicines or doctors -after that. She'd tried 'em all and they'd gone back -on her. Now she was a "mind-curer."</p> -<p class="pnext">"She'll prob'bly try to cure your foot with mind, -Cap'n Zeb," says Lot, apologetic as usual. "But you -mustn't worry about that. She means well."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I sha'n't worry," I says. "She can put her -mind on my foot, if she wants to; unless it's as hefty -as that sugar barrel I cal'late 'twon't hurt me much. -But say, Lot," I says, "are all your folks taken with -something special in the line of religion or cures? -How about this cousin—this Lemuel one? What's -possessin' <em class="italics">him</em>?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Oh, Cousin Lemuel was different. He'd had -money left him and was an aristocrat. He never -married, but lived in "chambers" up to Boston. -He didn't have to work, but was a "collector" for -the fun of it; collected postage stamps and folks' -hand-writin's and insects and such. He wasn't very -well, his nerves was kind of twittery, so Lot said.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Um-hm," says I. "Well, collectin' insects -would make most anybody's nerves twitter, I cal'late. -But if Cousin Lemuel likes 'em, I s'pose we hadn't -ought to fret. He could pick up a healthy collection -of wood-ticks back here in the pines, if he'd only -come after 'em, though it ain't likely he will."</p> -<p class="pnext">But he did, just the same. Not after the ticks, -exactly, but, as sure as I'm settin' here, this Cousin -Lemuel landed in the house at South Ostable, bag -and baggage. 'Twas three days afore the beginnin' -of camp-meetin' and two afore Aunt Lucindy -was expected over. Lot and me was settin' in rockin' -chairs by the front windows in my room lookin' out -over the bay, when all to once we heard the rattle -of a wagon from the woods abaft the kitchen.</p> -<p class="pnext">"It's the doctor, I cal'late," says Lot, wakin' up -and stretchin'. "Ah, hum, I s'pose I'll have to go -down and let him in."</p> -<p class="pnext">"'Tain't the doctor," says I. "He come yesterday. -More likely it's Mr. Jacobs, though I thought -he'd gone to Boston and wouldn't be back for three -or four days."</p> -<p class="pnext">But a minute later we see we was mistaken. -Around the house come rattlin' Simeon Wixon's old -depot wagon, with the curtains all drawed down—though -'twas hot summer—and the rack astern and -the seat in front piled up high with trunks and bags -and satchels and goodness knows what all. Sim was -drivin' and he had a grin on him like a Chessy cat.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Whoa!" says he, haulin' in the horses. "Ahoy, -Lot! Turn out there! Got a passenger for you."</p> -<p class="pnext">Lot was so surprised he could hardly believe his -ears, though they was big enough to be believed. -He h'isted up the window screen and looked out.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hey?" he says, bewildered-like. "Did you -say a <em class="italics">passenger</em>?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"That's what I said. A passenger for you. -Come on down."</p> -<p class="pnext">"A passenger? For <em class="italics">me</em>?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes! yes! yes!" Simeon's patience was givin' -out, and no wonder. "Don't stay up there," he -snaps, "with your head stuck out of that window -like a poll-parrot's out of a cage. And don't keep -sayin' things over and over or I'll believe you <em class="italics">are</em> a -poll-parrot. Come down!" Then, leaning back -and hollerin' in behind the carriage curtains, he sung -out, "Hi, mister! here we be. You can get out -now."</p> -<p class="pnext">The curtains shook a little mite and then, from -behind 'em, sounded a voice, a man's voice, but kind -of shrill and high, and with a quiver in the middle -of it.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Are you sure this is the right place, driver?" -it says.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Sartin sure. This is it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"But are you certain those animals are perfectly -safe? They won't run away?"</p> -<p class="pnext">The horses was takin' a nap, the two of 'em. Sim -grinned, wider'n ever, and winks up at the window.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I'll do my best to hold 'em," he says. "If -I'd known you was comin' I'd have fetched an -anchor."</p> -<p class="pnext">The curtains shook some more, as if the feller -inside was fidgetin' with 'em. Then the voice says -again and more excited than ever, "Well, why in -Heaven's name don't you unfasten this dreadful -door? How am I to get out?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Simeon stood grinnin', ripped a remark loose under -his breath, jumped from the seat, and yanked -the door open. There was a full half minute afore -anything happened. Then out from that wagon -door popped a black felt hat with a brim like a small-sized -umbrella. Under the hat was a pair of thin, -grayish side-whiskers, a long nose, and a pair of specs -like full moons. The hat and the rest of it turned -towards the horses and the voice says:</p> -<p class="pnext">"You're <em class="italics">perfectly</em> sure of those creatures you are -drivin'? Very good. Where is the step? Oh, -dear! where is the <em class="italics">step</em>?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Sim reached in, grabbed a little foot with one of -them things they call a "gaiter" on it, hauled it -down and planted it on the step of the carriage.</p> -<p class="pnext">"There!" he snaps. "There 'tis, underneath -you. Come on! Here! I'll unload you."</p> -<p class="pnext">Maybe the passenger would have said somethin' -else, but he didn't have a chance. Afore he could -even think he was jerked out of that depot wagon -and stood up on the ground.</p> -<p class="pnext">"There!" says Simeon. "Now you're safe and -no bones broken. Where do you want your dunnage; -in the house?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I don't know what answer he got. Afore I could -hear it there was a gasp and a gurgle from Lot. -I turned to him. He was leaning out of the window -starin' down at the little man under the big hat.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I believe—" he says, "I—I—<em class="italics">why</em>, it's -Cousin Lemuel!"</p> -<p class="pnext">Cousin Lemuel looked around him, at the house, -at the woods, at the bay, at everything.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Good heavens!" says he, in a sort of groan.—"Good -heavens! what an awful place!"</p> -<p class="pnext">That's how he made port and that was his first -observation after landin'. He made consider'ble -many more durin' the next few days, but the drift -of 'em was all similar. He was a bird, Cousin -Lemuel was. His twittery nerves had twittered so -much durin' the past month or so that his doctors—he -had seven or eight of 'em—had got tired of the -chirrup, I cal'late, had held officers' counsel, and -decided he must be got rid of somehow. They -couldn't kill him, 'cause that was against the law, so -they done the next best and ordered him to the seashore -for a complete rest; at least, he said the rest -was to be for him, but I judge 'twas the doctors that -needed it most. He wouldn't go to a hotel—hotels -were horrible,—but he happened to think of relation -Lot down in South Ostable and headed for there. -Whether or not Lot could take him in, or wanted -to, didn't trouble him a mite! <em class="italics">He</em> wanted to come -and that was sufficient! He never even took the -trouble to write that he was comin'. When he once -made up his mind to do a thing, and got sot on it, -he was like the laws of the Medes and Possums—or -whatever they was—in Scripture; you couldn't -upset him in two thousand years. It got to be a -"matter of principle" with him—he was always -tellin' about his matters of principle—and when the -"principle" complication struck, that settled it. Oh, -Cousin Lemuel was a bird, just as I said.</p> -<p class="pnext">And Lot, of course, didn't have gumption enough -to say he wasn't welcome. No, indeed; fact is, Lot -seemed to consider his comin' a sort of honor, as -you might say. If that retired bug-collector had been -the Queen of Sheba, he couldn't have had more fuss -made over him. The schooner-load of trunks and -satchels was carted aloft to the big room next to -mine,—Lot's room 'twas, but Lot soared to the -attic,—and Cousin Lemuel was carted there likewise. -He was introduced to me, and about the first -thing he said was, would I mind wearin' a dressin'-robe, -or a bath-sack, or somethin' to cover up my -game foot? the sight of the dreadful bandage affected -his nerves. I was sort of shy on sacks and dolmans -and such, but I done my best to please him with -a patchwork comforter.</p> -<p class="pnext">I can't begin to tell you the things he did, or had -Lot do for him. Changin' the feather bed for a -pumped-up air mattress he'd fetched along—air -mattresses was a matter of principle with him—and -firin' the rag mats off the floor of his room, 'cause -the round-and-round braids made whirligigs in his -head—and so on. But I sha'n't forget that first -night in a hurry.</p> -<p class="pnext">He was in and out of my room no less than fifteen -times, rigged out in some sort of blanket dress, fastened -with a rope amidships. He wore that over -his nightgown, and a shawl like an old woman's on -top of the blanket. His head was tied up in a silk -handkerchief; and his feet was shoved into slippers -that flapped up and down when he walked and -sounded like a slack jib in a light breeze. First off -he couldn't sleep 'cause the frogs hollered. Next, -'twas the surf that troubled him. Then the window -blinds creaked. And, at last, I'm blessed if he didn't -come flappin' and rustlin' in at half-past one to ask -what made it so quiet. I was desp'rate, and I told -him I was subject to nightmare, and had been known -to cripple folks that come in and woke me sudden -that way. He cleared out and I heard him pilin' -chairs and furniture against his door on the inside. -After that I managed to sleep till six o'clock. Then -he knocked and asked if I was thoroughly awake, -'cause if I was would I tell him what sort of weather -'twas likely to be, so's he could dress accordin'. His -risin' hour was nine,—more principle, of course,—but -he liked to know what to wear when he did -get up.</p> -<p class="pnext">And he was just as bad all that day and the next. -I'd have quit and had the doctor take me back to the -Poquit House, but I didn't like to on Lot's account. -Poor Lot was all upset and needed some sane person -to turn to for comfort. And besides, although -he made me mad, I got consider'ble fun out of this -Lemuel man's doin's. He was such a specimen that -I liked to study him, same as he used to study a new -species of insect, when he had that particular craze.</p> -<p class="pnext">He seemed to like me, too, in a way. Anyhow -he used to come in and talk to me pretty frequent. -He had three words that he used all the time—"awful" -and "dreadful" and "horrible." Everything -in the neighborhood fitted to them words, -'cordin' to his notion. And he had one question that -he kept askin' over and over: What should he do? -What was there to do in the dreadful place?</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why don't you keep on collectin'?" I asked him. -"We're kind of scurce on postage stamps, and the -handwritin' supply is limited; though you never collected -anything like Lot's signature, I'll bet a cooky. -But there's bugs enough, land knows! Why don't -you go bug-huntin'?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Oh, he was tired of insects. Never wanted to see -one again!</p> -<p class="pnext">"Then you'll have to wear blinders when you go -past the salt-marsh," says I. "The moskeeters are -so thick there they get in your eyes. Why not take -a swim?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Horrible! he loathed salt-water. He never -bathed in it, as a matter of—</p> -<p class="pnext">I interrupted quick—"Then take a walk," says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">Walking was a "bore."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well then," I says, "just do what the doctor -ordered—set and rest."</p> -<p class="pnext">But settin' made his nerves worse than ever! "I -don't know what is the matter with me, Cap'n Snow," -he says. "My physicians seemed to think I should -find what I needed here, but I don't!—I don't! -I am more depressed and enervated than ever."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I know what you need," I said emphatic.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Do you indeed? What, pray?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Somethin' to keep you interested," I told him. -"Your life's like a wharf timber that the worms -have been at—there's too many 'bores' in it. If -you could find somethin' bran-new to interest you, -you'd be lively enough. I'd risk the depression then—and -the enervation, too, whatever that is."</p> -<p class="pnext">Oh, horrible! How could I joke about a matter -of life and death?</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, so it went for the two days and in the -evenin' of the second day, Lot come tiptoein' into -my room. He was all nerved up. The next -mornin' was the time he'd planned to go to camp-meetin'; -and how could he go now?</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why not?" says I. "I'll be all right. Your -Aunt Lucindy's comin' to keep house, ain't she?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes—yes, she's comin'. But how can I leave -Cousin Lemuel? He won't want me to go, I'm -sure."</p> -<p class="pnext">"So'm I," I says; "he'll kick as a matter of principle. -But if you're gone afore he knows it, he'll -<em class="italics">have</em> to like it—or lump it, one or t'other. See -here, Lot Deacon; you take my advice and clear out -to-morrow early, afore the bug-hunter's nerves twitter -loud enough to wake him. You can get our -breakfast and leave it on the table out here in the -hall. I can manage to hobble that far. Afore dinner -Aunt Lucindy'll be on deck."</p> -<p class="pnext">He brightened up consider'ble. "I might do -that," he says. "And anyway Aunt Lucindy's likely -to be here afore breakfast. She's always terrible -prompt. But will Cousin Lemuel forgive me, do -you think?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I don't know," says I. "But I will, provided -you don't say 'terrible' again. Now clear out and -don't let me see you till camp-meetin's over. And -say," I called after him, "just ask one of your spirit -chums what's good for nerve twitters."</p> -<p class="pnext">Next mornin' was sort of dark and cloudy, so -probably that accounts for my oversleepin'. Anyhow -'twas after seven o'clock when Cousin Lemuel, -blanket and shawl and slippers, full undress uniform, -comes flappin' into my room. I woke up and -stared at him. He was pale, and tremblin' all over.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What's the matter now?" says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hush!" he whispers, fearful. "Hush! somethin' -awful has happened. My cousin Lot is insane."</p> -<p class="pnext">"<em class="italics">What?</em>" I sung out, settin' up in bed.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hush! hush!" says he. "It is horrible. Insanity -is hereditary in our family. What shall we -do?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Insane—rubbish!" says I, havin' waked up a -little more by this time. "What makes you think -he's insane?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He held up a shakin' hand. "Listen!" he whispers. -"He has been makin' dreadful noises for -the past half-hour, and singin'—actually singin'—in -the strangest voice. Listen!"</p> -<p class="pnext">I listened. Down below in the kitchen there was -a racket of pans and dishes and a stompin' as if a -menagerie elephant had broke loose from its moorin's. -Then somebody busts out singin', loud and -high:</p> -<blockquote><div> -<div class="line-block outermost"> -<div class="line">"There's a land that is fairer than day,</div> -<div class="line">And by faith we can see it afar."</div> -</div> -</div></blockquote> -<p class="pfirst">"There, there!" says Lemuel. "Don't you -hear it? Would a sane man sing like that?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I rocked back and forth in bed and roared and -laughed. "A sane man wouldn't," I says, "but a -sane <em class="italics">woman</em> might, if she had strong enough lungs. -That ain't Lot. Lot's gone to camp-meetin', to be -gone till to-morrow night. That's his wife's aunt, -Lucindy Hammond, from Denboro. She's goin' to -keep house for us till he gets back."</p> -</div> -<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-viithe-force-and-the-object"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id8">CHAPTER VII—THE FORCE AND THE OBJECT</a></h2> -<p class="pfirst">Well, it took all of fifteen minutes for me -to drive the idea out of that critter's head -that his relative had gone loony. I was -hoppin' around on my sound foot tryin' to dress, -while I explained things. I had enough clothes on -to be presentable in white folks' society, when there -come a whoop up the back stairs.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Good morn-in'!" whoops Aunt Lucindy. -"Breakfast is ready! Shall I fetch it up?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"My soul!" squeals Cousin Lemuel, and bolts -for his own room. I buttoned my collar by main -strength and answered the hail.</p> -<p class="pnext">"All hands on deck!" I sung out. "Fetch her -along."</p> -<p class="pnext">There was a mighty stompin' on the stairs, and -then through the door marches as big a woman as -ever I see in my born days. 'Twa'n't only that she -was fleshy,—she must have weighed all of two hundred -and thirty,—but she was big, big as a small -mountain, seemed so, and was dressed in some sort -of curtain-calico gown that made her look bigger -yet. She was luggin' a tray heaped up with vittles -enough for a small ship's company.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Good mornin'," says she, in a voice as big as -the rest of her, and as cheery as the fust sunshine -on a foggy day. She was smilin' all over, but there -was a square look to her chin—the upper one, for -she had no less than two and a half—that made -me think she could be the other thing if occasion -called for. "Good mornin'," says she. "Is this -Lemuel?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"It ain't," says I. "Cousin Lemuel is in disability -just at present. My name's Snow."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, yes!" she hollers—every time she spoke -she hollered—"Oh, yes! Cap'n Zebulon Snow, of -course. I'm Mrs. Hammond. Here's your breakfast."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Mine!" says I, lookin' at the heap of rations. -"You mean mine and Cousin Lemuel's."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, no, I don't," says she, still smilin', and -puttin' the tray down on the table, in the way she -did everything, with a bang; "I mean yours, Cap'n -Snow. Lemuel's is all ready, though, and I'll fetch -it right up. I know what men's appetites are; I've -had experience."</p> -<p class="pnext">Afore I could think of an answer to this she swept -out of the door like a toy typhoon, the breeze from -her skirts settin' papers and light stuff flyin', and -was stompin' down the stairs, singin' "Sweet By and -By" at the top of her lungs. I looked at the tray -and scratched my head. My appetite ain't a hummin'-bird's, -by a considerable sight, but that breakfast -would have lasted me all day. As for Lemuel, -about all he did with food was find fault with it. -And just then in he comes.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What's that?" says he, pointin' to the tray.</p> -<p class="pnext">"That?" says I. "That's my breakfast. -Yours is just like it and it'll be right up."</p> -<p class="pnext">He fidgeted with his specs and bent over to look. -His nose was anything but a pug, but I give you -my word you could almost see it turn up.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Fried potatoes!" he says; "and fried fish! -and fried eggs! and griddle-cakes! Why—why -it's <em class="italics">all</em> fried! Horrible!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Ain't there enough?" I asks, sarcastic. "If -not, I presume likely there's more in the kitchen."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Enough!" he fairly screamed it. "I never take -anything but a slice of very dry toast and a cup of -tea in the mornin'. It's a principle of mine. And -I never eat anything fried! I—I—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"All right," says I, "you tell her so. Here she -is." And afore he could get out of the door she -sailed through it, luggin' another tray loaded like -the fust one. She slammed it down and turned to -the invalid, who was tryin' to hide his blanket dressin'-sack -behind a chair.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Here is Lemuel!" she hollers. "It <em class="italics">is</em> Lemuel, -isn't it? I'm <em class="italics">so</em> glad to see you! I'm Lucindy, -Lot's auntie. In a way we're related, so we must -shake hands."</p> -<p class="pnext">She reached over and took his little thin hand -in her big one and gave it a squeeze that made him -curl up like a fishin' worm.</p> -<p class="pnext">"There!" says she, "now we're all acquainted -and sociable. Ain't that nice! You two set right -down and eat. I'll trot up again in a few minutes -to see how you're gettin' on. Sure you've got all -you want? All right, then." Out she went, singin' -away, and Cousin Lemuel flopped down in a chair.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Good heavens!" he gasps, working the fingers -Aunt Lucindy had shook, to make sure they was all -there. "Good heavens!" says he.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says I, "I agree with you."</p> -<p class="pnext">"She calls me by my Christian name!" he says, -pantin', "and I never saw her before in my life! -And it—it didn't seem to occur to her that I was -not fully dressed. What shall I do?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says I, "if you asked me I should say -you better make believe eat somethin'. What <em class="italics">I</em> -can't eat I'm goin' to heave out of the back window. -I'd ruther satisfy that woman than explain to her, -enough sight."</p> -<p class="pnext">But he wouldn't eat, seemed to be in a sort of -daze, as you might say, and went flappin' back to -his own room. I tackled the breakfast.</p> -<p class="pnext">It would take a week to tell you all that happened -that forenoon. My time's limited, so I'll -only tell a little of it. When Aunt Lucindy come -upstairs again and see his tray, not a thing on it -touched, she wanted to know why. I done my best -to explain, tellin' her Cousin Lemuel was afflicted -in the nerves, and about his tea and toast, and his -diff'rent kinds of medicines, and his doctors, and so -on, but she wouldn't listen to more'n half of it.</p> -<p class="pnext">"The poor thing!" she says, "Lot told me some -about him. He's in error, ain't he. Horatio, my -husband that was, was in error, too, but he died of -it. That was afore I got enlightened. And you're -in error with your foot, Cap'n Snow, so Lot says. -Well, it's a mercy I'm here. The first thing I'll -do for you is to give you a cheerful thought. 'All's -right in the world.' You keep thinkin' that this -forenoon and I'll give you another after dinner. I -must get a thought for poor Lemuel, but he needs -a stronger one. I'll have one ready for him pretty -soon. Now I must do my dishes."</p> -<p class="pnext">Soon's she cleared out this time I locked my door. -An hour or so later there was a snappish kind of -knock on it.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Cap'n Snow! I say, Cap'n Snow," whispers -Lemuel, pretty average testy, "where is my tea and -toast? Did you tell that woman about my tea and -toast? I'm hungry."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I told her," says I. "If you ain't got it, you -better tell her yourself."</p> -<p class="pnext">"But I don't want to see the creature," he says.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Neither do I; that is, I ain't partic'lar about -it. And I couldn't hop down-stairs if I was. -You'll have to do your own tellin'. I'm goin' to -read a spell."</p> -<p class="pnext">My readin' didn't amount to much. He went -grumblin' back to his room, but I judge his longin' -for tea and toast got the better of his dread for the -"creature," 'cause pretty soon I heard him go down-stairs. -Aunt Lucindy's singin' and dish-clatterin' -stopped, and I heard consider'ble pow-wow goin' -on. Cousin Lemuel's voice kept gettin' higher and -shriller, but Aunt Lucindy's was just the same even -cheerfulness all the time. Then the ex-insect man -comes up the stairs again. I was curious, so I unlocked -the door.</p> -<p class="pnext">"How was the toast?" I asked. His usual pale -face was bright red and he was a heap more energetic -than I'd ever seen him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"She—she—that woman's crazy!" he sputters. -"She's insane; I told her so. I—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hold on!" I interrupted. "Did you get the -toast?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I did not. She refused to give it to me. Actually -refused! She—she had that dreadful fried -breakfast on the back of the stove and told me to -sit right down and eat it—like a good fellow. A -good fellow—to me!—as if I was a dog! A dog, -by Jove! I explained—in spite of my just resentment -I endeavored to reason with her. I told her -the doctor had forbidden my eatin' a heavy breakfast. -I said that my nerves were shattered and -so on. And what do you suppose she said to me? -She had the brazen effrontery to tell me that I had -no nerves. Nerves were 'errors,' whatever that -means. All I had to do was to think that—that -those fried outrages were all right and they would -be. And when I—you'll admit I had a good reason—when -I lost my temper and expressed my -opinion of her she began to sing. And she kept on -singin'. <em class="italics">Such</em> singin'! Good heavens! Horrible!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Then you ain't had any breakfast?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I have not. But I will have it! I will! You -mark my words, I—"</p> -<p class="pnext">He stopped. "The Sweet By and By" had -swung into the lower entry and was movin' up the -stairs. I expected to see Cousin Lemuel beat for -snug harbor, but no sir-ee! he stayed right where -he was, settin' up in his chair as straight as a ramrod. -Aunt Lucindy's treatment might not be -workin' exactly as she intended, the patient's nerves -might not be any better, but his <em class="italics">nerve</em> was improvin' -fast.</p> -<p class="pnext">In she swept, smilin' like clockwork, as smooth -and as serene as a flat calm in Ostable cove. She -paid no attention to the way the little man glared -at her, but turned to me and says: "Well, Cap'n," -she says, "have you cherished the thought I gave -you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Um-hm," says I, "I've put it on ice. I cal'late -'twill keep over Sunday."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I've thought up one for you, Lemuel, you poor -thing," she says, turnin' to the insect chaser. "It -is—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Woman," broke in Cousin Lemuel, "I'll trouble -you not to call me a poor thing. Where is my tea -and toast?"</p> -<p class="pnext">She smiled at him, condescendin' but pitiful, same -as a cow might smile at a kitten that tried to scratch -it—if a cow could smile.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Your breakfast is on the stove, all nice and -warm," she says. "You don't really want tea and -toast; you only think so. Cap'n Snow will tell you -how nice those fried potatoes are, and the codfish -and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Confound your codfish, madam! I shall have -that tea and toast. I—I <em class="italics">must</em> have it. My system -demands it."</p> -<p class="pnext">She shook her head. "Oh, no, it doesn't," says -she. "It will demand all the nice things I've cooked -for you if you only think so. Thought is all. Now -let me give you your cheerful thought for the day. -It is—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Confound your thoughts!" yells the nerve -sufferer, jumpin' out of his chair and makin' for the -door. "I always have tea and toast for breakfast, -and I intend to have it now."</p> -<p class="pnext">I hate a fuss, so I tried to pour a little ile on the -troubled waters. "Now, Lemuel," says I, "don't -let's be stubborn. You—"</p> -<p class="pnext">He whirled on me like a teetotum. "Stubborn!" -he snaps, "I was never stubborn in my life. This -is a matter of principle with me. That woman shall -give me my tea and toast."</p> -<p class="pnext">Aunt Lucindy smiled, same as ever. "Oh, no, I -sha'n't," says she, "it would only encourage you in -your error and that I shall not permit. Please listen -to the thought I have for you. It is <em class="italics">such</em> a nice -one. 'Be true to your higher self and'—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Madam," shrieks Lemuel, "my thought about -you is that you're an old fat fool! There!" And -he rushed into the hall and the next second his door -slammed so it shook the house.</p> -<p class="pnext">For just one minute I thought Aunt Lucindy was -goin' after him. Her smile stopped, her teeth -snapped together, she took one step towards the -door, and her big hands opened and shut. But that -one step was all she took. When she turned back -to me her face was red, but the smile had got busy -once more. She set down in the cane rocker—it -cracked, but it held—and says she:</p> -<p class="pnext">"He's a little mite antagonistic, don't you think -so, Cap'n Snow?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says I, "I should think you might call -it that without exaggeratin' much."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says she, "but I don't mind. There was -a time when if anybody'd called me an old fat fool -I'd have—well, never mind. I'm above such -things now. Nothin' can make me cross any more. -Not even a sassy little, long-nosed shrimp like.... -Ahem. Cap'n Snow, have you read 'The -Soarin' of Self'? It's a lovely book, an upliftin' -book."</p> -<p class="pnext">I said I hadn't read it and she commenced to tell -me about it, repeatin' it by chapters, so to speak. I -couldn't make much out of it but a whirligig of -words, and when she was just beginnin' I thought -I heard Lemuel's door creak. However, I didn't -hear anything more, and she strung along and strung -along, about "soul" and "mental uplift" and -"high altitude of spirit" and a lot more. By and -by I commenced to sniff.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Excuse me, marm," I says, "but seems to me -I smell somethin' burnin'. Have you got anything -on cookin'?"</p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">She</em> sniffed then. "No," says she, wonderin'. -"I can't remember anything." Then, with another -sniff, "But seems as if I smelt it, too. Like—like -bread burnin'. Hey? You don't s'pose—"</p> -<p class="pnext">She put for down-stairs. Next thing I knew there -was the greatest hullabaloo below decks that you -ever heard. Then up the stairs comes Cousin Lemuel, -two steps at a jump, which, considerin' that his -usual gait had been a crawl, was surprisin' enough -of itself. He had a scorched slice of bread in each -hand and he stopped on the upper landin' and waved -'em.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I've got the toast," he yells, triumphant, "and -I'm goin' to have the tea." Then he bolts into his -room and locked the door.</p> -<p class="pnext">Up the stairs comes Aunt Lucindy. Her face -was so red that it looked as if somebody'd lit a fire -inside it, and her big hands was shut tight. She -marched straight to that locked door and hollers -through the keyhole.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You—you little, dried-up critter!" she pants. -"Humph! I s'pose you've been sent to try my -faith, but you sha'n't shake it. No, sir! you nor -nobody else can shake it or make me lose my temper. -I'm perfectly calm and cheerful this minute. -I am! Ha, ha! Ha, ha!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I got my toast," hollers Cousin Lemuel from -inside. "And I'll have my tea, in spite of all the -New Thought cranks in this horrible hole!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Indeed you won't. I was prepared for a difficult -case when I came here. Cousin Lot told me -about your foolish 'nerves' and all the other errors -your selfishness has brought onto you. I made up -my mind to set you in the right path and I'm goin' -to do it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I'll have that tea."</p> -<p class="pnext">"No, you sha'n't. When folks are in error I -never give in to 'em. That's my principle and I -stick to it."</p> -<p class="pnext">When she said "principle" I pretty nigh fell -over. If <em class="italics">she'd</em> got the "principle" disease the case -was desperate. Anyhow, I thought 'twas about -time for somebody with a teaspoonful of common -sense to take a hand.</p> -<p class="pnext">"See here," says I, "for grown-up folks this is -the most ridiculous doin's I ever heard of. Mrs. -Hammond, for the land sakes let him have his tea -and maybe we'll have peace along with it."</p> -<p class="pnext">She turned to me. "Cap'n Snow," she says, -"speakin' as one who has learned to rise above their -baser self, and perfectly calm and good-tempered, -I advise you to mind your own business. I don't -care nothin' about the tea itself; it's the principle -I'm strivin' for, I tell you. Do you s'pose I'll let -that little withered-up, sassy, benighted scoffer—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"There! there!" says I. Then I bent down to -the keyhole. "Lemuel," I says, "be a man and not -prize inmate in a feeble-minded home. You're not -an idiot. Apologize to this lady and, if you can't -get tea, take hot water."</p> -<p class="pnext">The answer I got was hotter than any water he -was likely to get, enough sight. And there was -some "principle" in it, too.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says I, disgusted, "I'm durn glad that -I'm unprincipled. Fight it out amongst yourselves, -but don't you either of you dare come nigh me. I -mean that." And I went into my room and locked -<em class="italics">that</em> door.</p> -<p class="pnext">For two hours I stayed there, readin' some and -thinkin' a whole lot more. Down-stairs Aunt Lucindy -was singin' at the top of her lungs—to show -how good her temper was, I presume likely—and -out in the upper hall Cousin Lemuel was tiptoein' -back and forth and yellin' at her that he'd have -his tea in spite of her, and passin' comments on her -music. I never knew two such stubborn critters in -my life, and I couldn't see any signs of either of 'em -givin' in, long as their principles held out.</p> -<p class="pnext">I remembered a conundrum that, when I was a -young one in school, the teacher used to spring on -the big boys in the first class in arithmetic. 'Twas -somethin' like this:</p> -<p class="pnext">"If an irresistible force runs afoul of an immovable -object, what's the result?"</p> -<p class="pnext">The boys used to grin and say they didn't know. -Neither did I—then; but I was learnin' the answer -that very minute. When an irresistible force meets -an immovable object it's a matter of principle, and -the result is liable to be 'most anything. That was -the answer, and I was learnin' it by observation and -experience, same as the barefooted boy learned -where the snappin'-turtle's mouth was.</p> -<p class="pnext">Now the force and the object was in the same -house with me, and the minute the doctor, or Jim -Henry Jacobs, or anybody else with a horse and -team, come to that house, they could take me away -with 'em. I'd contracted for quiet and rest, not -for a session in Bedlam.</p> -<p class="pnext">Twelve o'clock struck and I begun to think of -dinner. I hobbled over to my door, unlocked it -and looked out. Cousin Lemuel's door was open, -too, but he wasn't in his room or in the hall either. -I wondered where on earth he could be. Next minute -I found out.</p> -<p class="pnext">There was a whoop from the kitchen—Lemuel's -voice and brimmin' with pure joy. Then, somewhere -in the same neighborhood, began a most tremendous -thumpin' and bangin'. A "cast" horse in -a narrow stall was the only sounds I ever heard that -compared with it. It kept on and kept on, and -Lemuel was whoopin' and hurrahin' accompaniments. -Such a racket you never heard in your born -days.</p> -<p class="pnext">Thinks I, "The critter's nerves have gone back -on him for good. He's really crazy and he's killin' -that poor mind-curer out of principle."</p> -<p class="pnext">Somehow or other I hopped down them stairs on -my sound foot, draggin' t'other after me. Through -the dinin'-room I hobbled and into the kitchen. -There was a roarin' fire in the cookstove and in -front of that stove was Cousin Lemuel dancin' round -with a teapot in his hand. The cellar door opened -out of the kitchen. It was shut tight, and somebody -behind it was bangin' the panels till I expected -every second to see 'em go by the board. If they -hadn't been built in the days when they made things -solid they would have.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What in the world—" I commenced. "You—Lemuel—whatever -your name is—what are -you doin'?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He turned and saw me. His bald head was all -shinin' with the heat, his big round specs was almost -droppin' off the end of his long nose, and he sartin -did look like somethin' the cat brought in.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What am I doin'?" he says. "Can't you see? -I'm gettin' my tea, same as I said I would. Ho! -ho!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Where's Aunt Lucinda?" I sung out. "You -loon, have you killed her?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He laughed. "No, no!" he says. "She deserves -to be killed, but she's alive. She refused to -give me my tea; she refused to stop her horrible -singin'. She was utterly impossible and I got rid -of her. I crept down and watched until she went -into the cellar. Then I closed the door and locked -it. Cap'n Snow, I have never been treated as that -woman treated me in my life! It was a matter of -principle with me and I was obliged—"</p> -<p class="pnext">He couldn't say any more because the poundin' -on the door broke out again louder than ever. I -headed for it and he got in front of me.</p> -<p class="pnext">"She is absolutely unharmed, I assure you," he -says.</p> -<p class="pnext">She sounded healthy, that was a fact. The names -she called that insect-hunter was a caution!</p> -<p class="pnext">"Let me out!" she kept hollerin'. "You let -me out of this cellar, you miserable little good-for-nothin'! -If I ever get my hands on you I'll—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Ha! ha!" laughs Lemuel. "I couldn't make -her lose her temper, could I? Oh, no, she's perfectly -calm now! You're not in the cellar, madam," -he calls to her, "you're in error. Thought can do -anything; think yourself out."</p> -<p class="pnext">I looked at him. "Well," says I, "for a person -with twitterin' nerves, you—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"D—n my nerves!" says he, which was the most -human remark he'd ever made in my hearin' and -proved that he wasn't beyond hopes. "You told -me that all I needed was somethin' to keep me interested. -Well, I've got it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"You let me out!" whoops Aunt Lucindy. -"Cap'n Snow, if you're there, you let me out!"</p> -<p class="pnext">I think maybe I would have let her out, but when -I heard what she intended doin' to Lemuel I thought -'twas too big a risk. I turned and hobbled through -the dinin'-room to the front outside door. And -there, just turnin' into the yard, was Jim Henry -Jacobs, with his horse and buggy. When he saw -me he almost fell off the seat. And maybe I wa'n't -glad to see him!</p> -<p class="pnext">"You!" he says. "You! <em class="italics">walkin'!</em>"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says I, "and in five minutes I'd have -been flyin', I cal'late. Don't stop to talk. Help -me into that buggy.... There! drive home -as fast as you can!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"But what under the canopy is the row?" he -says.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Row enough," says I. "I've been shut up -along with an irresistible force and an immovable -object, and I want to get away from 'em. Git dap."</p> -<p class="pnext">We turned the horse's head. We had just left -the yard when he looked back. I looked, too. The -cellar had an outside entrance, a bulkhead door. -This door was bendin' and heavin' as if an earthquake -was under it. Next minute the staple flew, -the door slammed back, and Aunt Lucindy popped -out like a jack-in-the-box. She never paid no attention -to us, but made for the kitchen.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Who—what is that?" gasps Jacobs.</p> -<p class="pnext">"That," says I, "is the irresistible force."</p> -<p class="pnext">There was a yell from the kitchen and then out -of the door flew Cousin Lemuel. <em class="italics">He</em> didn't stop -for us, either, but ran like a lamplighter to the fence, -fell over it, and dove head-fust into the woods. -After he was away out of sight we could hear the -bushes crackin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">"And—and <em class="italics">what</em>," gasps Jim Henry, "was -<em class="italics">that</em>?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"That," says I, "was the immovable object. -Drive on, for mercy sakes!"</p> -<hr class="docutils"/> -<p class="pfirst">Next day Lot came to see me at the Poquit House. -He was dreadful upset. Seems he hadn't stayed -his time out at camp-meetin'. One of the mediums -or spooks or somethin' over there told him there -was a destructive influence hoverin' over his house -and he'd hurried back to find out about it.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" says I. "I should have said it -had quit hoverin' and had lit. How's Cousin -Lemuel?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Seems Cousin Lemuel was at the hotel over to -Bayport. He'd telephoned for his trunks.</p> -<p class="pnext">"And he told me," says Lot, wonderin' like, "to -tell Aunt Lucindy that he intended havin' tea and -toast three times a day now, as a matter of principle. -That's strange, isn't it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Not to me 'tain't," says I. "And how's Aunt -Lucindy?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Aunt Lucindy's gone back to Denboro," he says. -"And she left word for Cousin Lemuel that she -should send him a 'thought'—whatever that is—every -day by mail from now on. And you'd ought -to have seen her face when she said it! But, Cap'n -Zeb, when are you comin' back to board with me?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I shook my head. "Lot," says I, "I like you -fust-rate, but your relations are too irresistibly immovable. -I'm goin' to keep clear of 'em for the -rest of my life—as a matter of principle," I says, -chucklin'.</p> -</div> -<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-viiiarmenians-and-injuns-likewise-by-products"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id9">CHAPTER VIII—ARMENIANS AND INJUNS; LIKEWISE BY-PRODUCTS</a></h2> -<p class="pfirst">You can imagine that Jim Henry and Mary -had a good deal of fun over my experience -with Lot and his tribe. They joked me -about it consider'ble. But I didn't mind. My foot -was all right again, or nearly so, and the extension -to the store had been finished and was workin' out -fine. We moved the mail room way back and that -give us lots of room on the main floor, and Mary -had a nice clean place, with plenty of air and light, -new sortin' table, new desks, and all that. As for -business, we done more that summer than we had -previous and it kept up surprisin' well through the -winter. I was happy and satisfied and Jacobs -seemed to be.</p> -<p class="pnext">But he wa'n't. It took a whole lot to satisfy him -and, by the time another spring reached us and the -cottages begun to open I could see that he was gettin' -fidgety. One mornin' he come back from a -cruise amongst the cottagers—he always handled -their trade himself—and I could see that he was -about ready to bile over.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says I, "what's weighin' on your mind -now? Or is it your stomach? I'm willin' to bet -that I'm two pound heftier than I was afore I ate -them hot biscuits at our boardin' house this mornin'; -and you got away with three more'n I did. Has -your ballast shifted, or what?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He shook his head.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Skipper," says he, "we're ruined by foreign -cheap labor."</p> -<p class="pnext">"You're right," says I. "I heard that that -Dutch cook used to work in a cement factory, and -them biscuits prove it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nothin' doin'," he says. "My noon lunch for -two years was 'Draw one with a plate of sinkers'; -and when it comes to warm dough, I'm an immune. -That Poquit House cook could practice on me for -a week and never dent my nickel-steel digestion. -No. What I'm full of just now is embroidery."</p> -<p class="pnext">I looked at him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"See here, Jim Henry," says I, "you've got me -a mile offshore in a fog. Unless you've swallowed -your napkin, I don't see—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"There! There!" he interrupted. "It's nothin' -I've swallowed, I tell you! It's somethin' I've -seen that I <em class="italics">can't</em> swallow. I can't swallow those tan-faced, -hook-nosed lace peddlers. It's only spring, -yet they are thicker round here already than lumps -of saleratus in those biscuit we've been talkin' about. -They're separatin' perfectly good easy marks from -money that belongs to us, and I'm gettin' mad. My -Turkish blood's risin', and there's likely to be another -Armenian massacre in this neighborhood pretty -soon."</p> -<p class="pnext">I understood what he meant then. Every summer -for the last year or two the Cape has been -sufferin' from a plague of fellers peddlin' handmade -lace, and embroidery, and such. They're all shades -of color except white, and they talk all sorts of languages -except plain United States; but, no matter -what they look like or how they jabber, every last -one of them claims to be an Armenian, and to have -his hand satchel solid full of native-made tidies, and -tablecloths, and the like of that. I never run across -the Armenian flag on any of my v'yages, but if it -ain't a doily, then it ought to be.</p> -<p class="pnext">And the prices they charge! Whew! A white -man would blush every time he named one; but these -fellers, bein' all complexions, from light tan Oxford -to dark rubber boot, are born to blush unseen, and -can charge four dollars for a crocheted necktie and -never crack, spot, nor fade.</p> -<p class="pnext">Jim Henry was some on high prices himself; likewise, -he considered the summer cottagers and the -hotel folks as more or less our special property. -Therefore, you can understand how this Armenian -competition riled and disturbed him. And, as it -turned out, that very mornin' he'd gone to call on -Mrs. Burke Smythe, who was one of the Ostable -Store's best and most well-off customers, and found -her ankle-deep in lamp mats and centerpieces which -an Armenian specimen was diggin' out of a couple -of suit cases. And she'd told him that she couldn't -pay our bill for another month 'count of havin' spent -all her "household allowance" on the "loveliest set -of embroidered dress and waist patterns" and such -that ever was. There was the dress pattern. -Didn't he think it was a "dear"?</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, Jim Henry give in to the "dear" part—she'd -paid sixty-four dollars for it—and come away -disgusted. These peddlers was takin' the coin right -out of our mouths, he vowed. What was we goin' -to do about it?</p> -<p class="pnext">"Keep our mouths shut, I guess," says I. "I -can't see anything else."</p> -<p class="pnext">But that wouldn't do for him. He went away -growlin', and for the next couple of days he hardly -said a word. I knew he was hatchin' some scheme -or other, and I took care not to scare him off the -nest. The third mornin', he came off himself, -fetchin' his brood with him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Skipper," says he, joyful, "I believe I've got it. -I believe I've got the idea that'll put those Armenians -in the discard. You listen to me."</p> -<p class="pnext">I listened, and what he'd hatched was somethin' -like this: We—that is, the "Ostable Grocery, -Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes, and Fancy Goods -Store"—would sell embroidery and crocheted plunder, -and run the peddlers out of business. We'd -open a tidy department on our own hook. What -did I think of that?</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, I didn't think much of it, and I told him so.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Don't believe we can do it," says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why not?" says he. "We can charge as much -as they can, and that seems to be the main thing."</p> -<p class="pnext">"That ain't it," I told him. "We can't get the -stuff to sell. Plenty of machine made, but the summer -folks won't have that, cheap or high. What -they wake up nights and cry for is the genuine, hand-manufactured -article; and, unless you buy it off the -peddlers themselves—which would be unprofitable, -to say the least—<em class="italics">I</em> don't see where you're goin' to -get it. Besides, if you could get it, sellin' it in a -store wouldn't do. 'Tain't romantic and foolish -enough. Take this Burke Smythe woman," says I; -"she's a fair sample. She could have got just as -nice, pretty dress patterns out of a fashion magazine, -or—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Great snakes!" he broke in. "You don't -think 'twas a <em class="italics">paper</em> pattern she paid sixty-four dollars -for, do you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Never mind what 'twas," I says, dignified; -"'twould be all the same, paper or sheet iron. She -wouldn't care for it at all if she'd bought it in a -store. There's nothin' mysterious or romantic in -that. But here comes one of these liver-complected, -black-haired fellers, lookin' for all the world like a -pirate, and whispers in her ear he's got somethin' -in that carpetbag of his that nobody else has got, -and that'll make Mrs. General Jupiter Jones, or -some other of the Smythe bosom friends, look like -a last summer's scarecrow. And, as a favor to her, -he ain't showed it to Mrs. Jupiter—which is most -likely a lie, but never mind—and he'll sell it to -her at a sixty-four-dollar sacrifice, because—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hold on!" he interrupts. "Cut it out! Break -away! Don't you s'pose I've thought of that? -Your old Uncle James Henry Jacobs, doctor of sick -businesses, wa'n't born yesterday by about thirty-eight -years. I ain't figgerin' to handle Armenian -stuff. See here, Skipper. What makes the summer -bunch so crazy to get hold of old clocks, and old -chains, and antique junk generally?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says I, "for one thing, 'cause they <em class="italics">are</em> -antiques. For another, because they come from -right here on the Cape, and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"That's it," he sings out. "And that's enough. -Well, there's plenty of handmade embroideries and -laces, not to mention lamp mats and bed quilts, made -right here on the Cape, too. Last fall, the county -fair had a buildin' solid full of 'em. This is my -plan. Do stop your Doubtin' Thomas act, and -listen."</p> -<p class="pnext">The plan was sort of simple but complicated. -Fust off, him and me was to see all the old ladies -and young girls in Ostable and the surroundin' country, -and get 'em to agree to sell their handmade -knittin' to us. If they wouldn't sell to us direct, -then we'd sell it for them on commission. We'd fit -up a room in the loft over the store, advertise it as -the "Colonial Curio Shop" or the "Pilgrim Mothers' -Exchange," or some such ridiculous or mysterious -name, stock it full of the truck the widows -and orphans had been knittin' or tattin' all winter, -drop a hint to the summer folks—and then set back -and take the money.</p> -<p class="pnext">"It'll go, I tell you," he says, enthusiastic. "It's -a sure winner. Just say the word, Skipper, and we'll -start fittin' up the loft to-morrow mornin'."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says I, pretty doubtful, "if you're so -sure, Jim, I—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Sure!" he broke in. "Why wouldn't I be -sure? There's only one kind of people that can get -ahead of me in a business deal—and they don't -hail from Armenia. Skipper, here's where we hand -our peddlin' friends theirs, and then some."</p> -<p class="pnext">Next mornin' he took the spare horse and started -out. When he got back that night, he had the bottom -of the wagon covered with bundles of knittin' -and handmade contraptions, and he made proclamations -that he hadn't begun to cover the available -territory. He'd seen I don't know how many single -females and widows who had the fancywork and -crochetin' habit; and they sold him everything they -had in stock, and promised more.</p> -<p class="pnext">"They take to it like a duck to water," says he, -joyful. "They're all down on the peddlers, and -they're goin' to pitch in and supply the home market. -In another week you can't pass two houses in this -town without hearin' the merry click of the needle. -To-morrow I canvass Denboro and Bayport, and the -next day I tackle Harniss. By Monday we'll be -ready to fit up the loft."</p> -<p class="pnext">And, sure enough, he was right. The amount -of stuff he fetched back in that wagon was surprisin'. -How the female population of Ostable County could -have turned out all that embroidery and found time -to cook meals and sweep, let alone make calls and -talk about their neighbors, beat me a mile. But -when he told me what he paid for the collection I -begun to understand. However, I didn't say nothin'. -'Twa'n't until he commenced to rig up the room over -the store that I spoke my thoughts.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, Jim Henry!" I says. "What are you -thinkin' of? Puttin' panelin' on those walls! And -paperin' with that expensive paper! It must have -cost land knows how much a roll. And, for the -dear land sakes, what are those carpenters cuttin' -that hole in the upper deck for?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"For stairs, of course," says he. "Think the -customers are goin' to fly up there? Don't bother -me, Skipper, I'm busy."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Stairs!" I sings out. "Why, there's stairs already. -What's the matter with the steps leadin' -aloft from the back room? <em class="italics">We've</em> used them ever -since we've been here, and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"S-shh! S-shh!" says he, resigned but impatient. -"Cap'n, your business instinct is all right in some -things, like—like—well, I can't think what just -now, but never mind. You're a good feller, but -you're too apt to cal'late by last year's almanac. -You ain't as up to date as you might be. Do you -suppose Her Majesty Burke Smythe, and the rest -of the Royal Family we're settin' this trap for, will -take the trouble to hunt up that back room, and -fall over egg cases and kerosene barrels to find the -ladder to that loft? And climb the ladder after they -find it? No, no! We'll have a flight of stairs right -from the main part of this store, where they can't -help seein' 'em. And there'll be old-fashioned rag -mats on the landin's, and brass candlesticks with candles -in 'em at night, and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Candles!" says I. "Well; that is the final -piece of lunacy! Why, I could light those stairs like -a glory with kerosene lamps while a body was tryin' -to get <em class="italics">sight</em> of 'em with a candle! I never heard -such nonsense."</p> -<p class="pnext">But 'twas no use. What we must do was make -that loft "quaint," and old-fashioned, and the like -of that. I didn't understand—and so on.</p> -<p class="pnext">"All right," says I, "maybe I don't; but I do -understand this: Judgin' by the amount of hard -cash you've spent for lace tuckers and doilies, and -the bill them stairs and panelin's and candlesticks'll -come to, I don't see a profit on the Pilgrim Curio -Mothers' Exchange in ten year big enough to cover -a five-cent piece."</p> -<p class="pnext">He'd risk the profit. Besides, there was another -reason for the stairs, and such. To get to 'em all, -the rich folks would have to go right through the -store; and if they didn't buy anything upstairs they -would down, sure and sartin. He was figgerin' on -catchin' the transient trade, the automobile trade; -and all around the foot of the stairs we'd have -temptin' lunches put up and set out, and bottles of -ginger ale and boxes of cigars, and so forth, and so -on. He preached for half an hour, windin' up with:</p> -<p class="pnext">"Anyhow, Skipper, if the curio shop should lose -money—which it won't—it will bring customers -to the Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes, -and Fancy Goods Store, which is the main thing; -that and keepin' the coin in the United States instead -of shippin' it to Armenia. The embroideries and -laces are by-products, as you might say; and if a -plant comes out even on its by-products, it's a payin' -proposition."</p> -<p class="pnext">He had me there. I didn't know a by-product -from a salt herrin'; so I shut up.</p> -<p class="pnext">The "Old Colony Women's Exchange and Curio -Room," which was the name he finally picked out, -opened at the end of a fortni't. Jacobs had advertised -it in the papers, and put signs for miles up and -down the main roads, let alone tellin' every well-off -summer woman within reachin' distance. And, almost -from the very start, it done well. The loft -was crowded 'most every afternoon; and sometimes -there'd be as many as three automobiles anchored -alongside our main platform.</p> -<p class="pnext">At the end of the fust month, the Exchange had -cleared—cleared, mind you—over two hundred -dollars; and Jim Henry was crowin' over me like a -Shanghai rooster over a bantam. He'd had another -happy thought, and had added "antiques" to the -stock in the loft; and the prices he got for lame -chairs and rheumatic tables was somethin' scandalous. -But it wa'n't all joy. There was two things that -troubled him.</p> -<p class="pnext">One of the things was that the supply of knittin' -and fancywork was givin' out. Likewise the "antiques." -Of course, there was some on hand. Aunt -Susannah Cahoon's yeller and black mittens, ear -lappets, and tippets hadn't sold, and wa'n't likely to; -and Abinadab Saint's alabaster whale-oil lamp with -the crack in it, that his Great-uncle Peleg brought -home from sea, hadn't been grabbed to any extent. -But these were the exceptions. 'Most all the good -stuff had gone; and, though Jacobs had raked the -county with a fine-tooth comb, as you might say, the -reg'lar dealers from Boston had raked it ahead of -him, and there wa'n't any "antiques" left.</p> -<p class="pnext">There was several reasons for the shortage in -fancywork. One was that the knitters and tatters -couldn't turn it out fast enough; and, moreover, -the season for church fairs was settin' in, and the -heft of the females, bein' reg'lar members in good -standin', <em class="italics">had</em> to tack ship and go to helpin' their -meetin'-houses. So our stock was gettin' low, and -Jim Henry was worried.</p> -<p class="pnext">The other thing that worried him was that we -couldn't get the right kind of help to sell the stuff. -He couldn't tend to it himself, bein' too busy otherwise. -Mary had the post-office department on her -hands. The clerk and the delivery boys wa'n't fitted -for the job at all; and, as for me, I couldn't sell a -blue sugar bowl without a cover for seven dollars -and take the money. I knew the one that bought -it was perfectly satisfied, but I couldn't do it; I ain't -built that way.</p> -<p class="pnext">"It's no use, Jim Henry," says I. "I may be -foolish, but I have ideas about some things; and it's -my notion that sartin kinds of folks are fitted by -nature for sartin kinds of things. Now, Cape Codders -they're fitted for seafarin', and such; and New -Yorkers and Chicagoers, like you, are fitted for stock-brokin' -and storekeepin'; and Italians for hand organs, -and diggin' streets, and singin' in opera. And -when it comes to sellin' secondhand stuff or keepin' -a pawnshop, there's—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Rubbish!" he snaps. "A while ago, you'd -have said that the embroidery trade was cornered -by the Armenians. We've proved that's a fairy tale, -ain't we? I've got some ideas myself. I know the -kind of person I want to run that Exchange, and, -sooner or later, I'll find him—or her. Meantime, -we'll have to do the best we can; and I'll take it as -a favor if you'll let up on the hammer exercise."</p> -<p class="pnext">I wa'n't sure what he meant by the "hammer -exercise"; but 'twas plain enough that them "by-products" -was a sore subject, and that he was worried.</p> -<p class="pnext">However, he wa'n't the only worried lace dealer -in the neighborhood. The Old Colony Exchange -had made good in one direction, anyhow. It had -knocked the embroidery peddlin' business higher'n a -kite. Where there used to be a dozen suitcase -luggers paradin' through the town, now you scarcely -sighted one; and that one looked pretty sick and -discouraged. The home market had smashed foreign -competition for the time bein'; that much was pretty -sure. But our stock kept gettin' lower and lower, -and the auto crowds begun to go by now instead of -stoppin'. And the few that did stop hardly ever -bought anything unless Jim Henry himself was there -to hypnotize 'em into it.</p> -<p class="pnext">One mornin' I came to the store pretty late, and -found our clerk talkin' to a dark-complected chap -with curly hair and a suitcase. I didn't shove my -bows into the talk; but, when 'twas over, I asked -the clerk what the critter wanted. He laughed.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, he's the last survivor of the peddlin' crew," -he says. "He ain't sold a thing, and he's goin' -back to Boston right off. I told him he might as -well. He asked a lot of questions about the Exchange, -and I took him upstairs and showed him -around."</p> -<p class="pnext">"You did?" says I. "What for?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, just to let him see what he was up against, -that's all. He was a pretty decent feller—some -of them Armenians ain't so bad—and I pitied him. -He was awful discouraged. He'd heard Mr. -Jacobs had been tryin' to hire a salesman for up -there; and he hinted that he'd kind of like the -job."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Did, hey?" says I. "Well, it's a good thing -for you and him that Mr. Jacobs didn't catch you. -He'd sooner have a snake on the premises than one -of them peddlers. What else did he say? Anything?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Why, yes. It developed that he'd said a good -deal. Asked where we got our stuff, and so on. I -judged 'twas a providence that I come in when I -did, or that clerk would have told every last word -he knew. I didn't say anything to Jim Henry. No -use frettin' him unnecessary.</p> -<p class="pnext">Three days after that the Injun showed up. I -don't know as you know it, but there are a few -Injuns left on the Cape—half-breeds, or three-quarters, -they are mostly; and they live up around -Cohasset Narrows, or off in the woods in those latitudes. -This one was an old feller, black-haired, of -course, and kind of fleshy, with a hook nose and skin -the color of gingerbread. I heard talk upstairs in -the Exchange; and, when I went aloft, I found him -and Jim Henry settin' among the by-products, and -as confidential as a couple of rats in a schooner's -hold. Soon as Jacobs seen me, he sung out for me -to heave alongside.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Look at that, Cap'n Zeb," he says. "What do -you think of that?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I took what he handed me, and looked at it. -'Twas a piece of handmade lace—a centerpiece, I -believe they call it—and 'twas mighty well done.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Think of it?" says I. "Well, I ain't much of -a judge, but I'd call it a pretty slick article. Who -made it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">The old black-haired chap answered.</p> -<p class="pnext">"My sister," he says. "She make 'em. Make -'em plenty."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Bully for her!" says I. "She's the lady we've -been lookin' for. Maybe she make some more; -hey?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He grinned; and Jacobs mentioned for me to -clear out; so I done it. He and old Gingerbread -Face stayed aloft in that Exchange for upward of -an hour; and, when they came down, Jim Henry -went with him as fur as the door. When the -stranger had gone, Jim turns to me and stuck out -his hand.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Skipper," says he, grinnin' like a punkin lantern, -"shake! I've got it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"What have you got?" I asked. I was a little -mite provoked at bein' sent below so unceremonious. -"What have you got—Asiatic cholery? Thought -you wouldn't have nothin' to do with Armenians."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Armenians be hanged!" says he. "That's no -Armenian. He's an Indian, a full-blooded Indian, -or pretty near it. And his family is about the only -full-bloods left. There's a colony of them up the -Cape a ways; and it seems that they pick berries in -the summer, and put in their winters turnin' out -stuff like that centerpiece. He heard about the -Exchange, and he's come way down here to see if we -bought such things. I told him we bought 'em with -bells on, and he'll be back here to-morrow with another -load."</p> -<p class="pnext">Sure enough, he was, load and all; and 'twould -have astonished you to see what fust-class fancywork -his sister and the rest of the squaws turned out. -Jacobs bought the whole lot, and ordered more; said -he'd take all the tribe could scare up; and old Gingerbread—his -American name, so he said, was -Rose, Solomon Rose—went away happy. When -I found what Jim Henry had paid him for the -plunder, I didn't blame Rose for bein' joyful.</p> -<p class="pnext">But Jacobs didn't care. He was all excitement -and hurrah again. He had a new addition made -to the Exchange sign. 'Twas "The Old Colony -Women's Exchange, Curio Room, and Indian Exhibit" -now; and inside of two days the Burke -Smythes and their friends was callin' reg'lar, the -auto parties was rollin' up to the door, and the money -was rollin' in. Injun embroidery was somethin' -new; and the summer gang snapped at it like bullfrogs -at a red rag.</p> -<p class="pnext">Then that partner of mine was seized violent with -another rush of ideas to the head. I'm blessed if -he didn't hire old Rose—the "Last of the Mohicans," -he called him, among other ridiculous and -outlandish names—to spend his days in that Injun -Exchange loft. Paid him ten dollars a week, he -did, just to set there and look the part. 'Twas -a sinful waste of money, 'cordin' to my notion; but -Jim Henry shut me up like a huntin'-case watch—with -a snap.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Who said he could sell?" he wanted to know. -"I didn't, did I? I don't know that he can't—he's -shrewd enough when it comes to sellin' us the stuff -he brings with him; but if he don't sell a fifty-cent -article—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Which he won't," I interrupted; "for there's -nothin' less than two-seventy-five <em class="italics">in</em> the robbers' den, -and you know it. How you have the face to -charge—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Will you be quiet?" he wanted to know. "As -I say, whether he sells or not, he's wuth his wages -twice over. Can't you understand? Just oblige me -by rubbin' your brains with scourin' soap or somethin', -and <em class="italics">try</em> to understand. All the auto bunch -ain't lambs; some of them—the males especially—are -a fairly cagey collection; and there's been doubts -expressed concernin' the genuineness of our Injun -exhibit. But with old Uncas—with the Last of the -Mohicans himself right on deck as a livin' guarantee, -why, we could sell clam-shells as small change from -Sittin' Bull's wampum belt, and never raise a sacrilegious -question even from a Unitarian freethinker. -It's a cinch."</p> -<p class="pnext">"See here, Jim Henry," says I, "if this thing's -a fraud, I won't have anything to do with it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Neither will I," says he, emphatic. "Frauds -don't pay, not in the long run. But grandmother's -genuine antiques and the A-number-one, Simon-pure -embroideries of the noble red man—or woman—pay, -and don't you forget it."</p> -<p class="pnext">They did pay; and old Mohican himself was a -payin' investment, too, in spite of my doubts and -Jeremiah prophesyin'. He made a ten-strike with -every female that hit that loft. They said he was -so "quaint," and "odd," and "pathetic." Mrs. -Burke Smythe vowed there was somethin' "big" and -"great" about him—meanin' his nose or his boots, -I presume likely—and, somehow or other, though -he didn't look like a salesman, he sold. And every -week or so he'd take a day off and go back home, -to return with a fresh supply of tidies, and lace, and -gimcracks. I changed my mind about Injuns. I -see right off that all the yarns I'd read about 'em -was lies. They didn't murder nor scalp their enemies—they -smothered 'em with lamp mats.</p> -<p class="pnext">And 'twa'n't fancywork alone that the Rose critter -fetched back from these home v'yages of his. He -struck an "antique" vein somewheres in the reservation; -and not a week went by that he didn't resurrect -an old bedstead or a table or a spinnin' wheel or -somethin', and fetched 'em down in an old wagon -towed by an old white horse. The "children of the -forest"—which was another of Jim Henry's names -for the Injuns and half-breeds—didn't give up -these things for nothin'; far from it. We had to -pay as much as if they was made of solid silver; -but we sold 'em at gold prices, so that part was all -right.</p> -<p class="pnext">And every other day Jacobs would ask me what -I thought of "by-products" now. As for Armenian -competition, it was dead. There wa'n't any.</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, three more weeks drifted along, and the -summer season was 'most over. Then, one Tuesday -mornin', old Rose, the Mohican, didn't show -up. He'd gone away on Friday cal'latin' to be back -Monday with a fresh lot of "antiques" and centerpieces; -but he wa'n't. And Tuesday and Wednesday -passed, and he didn't come. Jim Henry was -awful worried. We needed more stock, and we -needed our Injun curio; and nothin' would do but I -must turn myself into a relief expedition and hunt -him up.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Somethin's happened, sure," says Jacobs. -"He's never missed his time afore. Those fellers -pride themselves on keepin' their word—you read -Cooper, if you don't believe it—and he's sick or -dead; one or the other."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Dead nothin'!" says I. "He's too tough to -kill, and nothin' would make him sick but soap and -water, which ain't one of his bad habits by a consider'ble -sight. However, if it'll make you any -easier, I'll take the mornin' train and locate him if -I can."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Go ahead," says he. "I'd do it myself, but I -can't leave just now. Go ahead, Skipper, and don't -come back till you've got him, or found out why he -isn't on hand."</p> -<p class="pnext">So I took the mornin' train and set out to locate -the noble red man.</p> -</div> -<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-ixrosesby-another-name"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id10">CHAPTER IX—ROSES—BY ANOTHER NAME</a></h2> -<p class="pfirst">But locatin' him wa'n't such an easy matter. -All we knew was he lived somewheres in -Wampaquoit, and Wampaquoit is ten miles -from nowhere, in the woods up around Cohasset -Narrows. I got off the train at the Narrows depot, -and, after considerable cruisin' and bargainin', -I hired a horse and buggy, and started to drive over. -I lost my way and got onto a wood road. Don't -ask me about that road. I don't want to talk about -it. I'd been on salt water for a good many years, -and I'd seen some rough goin', but rockin' and -bouncin' over that wood road come nigher to makin' -me seasick than any of my Grand Banks trips. Narrow! -And grown over! My land! I had to -stoop to keep from bein' scraped off the seat; and, -whenever I'd straighten up to ease my back, a pine -branch would fetch me a slap in the face that you -could hear half a mile.</p> -<p class="pnext">As for my language, you could hear that <em class="italics">two</em> -miles. That road ruined my moral reputation, I'm -afraid. They had a revival meetin' in the Narrows -meetin'-house the follerin' week, but whether 'twas -on my account or not I don't know.</p> -<p class="pnext">However, I made port after a spell—that is, I -run afoul of a house and lot in a clearin' sort of; -and I asked a black-lookin' male critter, who was -asleep under a tree, how to get to Wampaquoit. He -riz upon one elbow, brushed the mosquitoes away -from his mouth, and made answer that 'twas Wampaquoit -I was in.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But the town?" says I. "Where's the town?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, it appeared that this was the town, or part of -it. The rest was scattered along through the next -three or four miles of wilderness. Where was the -center? Oh, there wa'n't any. There was a schoolhouse -and a meetin'-house, and a blacksmith's, and -such, on the main road up a piece, that was all.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But where do the Injuns live?" I wanted to -know. "The knittin' women, the Lamp Mat -Trust—where does it—she—they, I mean, -live?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He couldn't seem to make much out of this; and -by and by he went into the house and fetched out his -wife. She was about as black as he was; and I -cal'lated they was a Portygee family; but, no, lo and -behold you, it turned out they was Injuns themselves! -But they never heard of anybody named Rose, nor -of anybody that knit centerpieces, nor of an "antique," -nor anything. I give it up pretty soon, for -my temper was beginnin' to heat up the surroundin' -air, and the mosquitoes seemed to think I was "Old -Home Week," and come for miles around and -brought their relations. I give up and drove away -over a fairly decent road this time, till I found another -house. But this was just the same; Injuns in -plenty—'most everybody was part Injun—but nobody -had heard of our special Mohican nor of an -"antique." And, which was queerer still, they -never heard of anybody around that done knittin' -or crochetin' or lace makin', or had sold any, if they -did do it. And they didn't any of 'em talk story-book -Injun dialect, same as Uncas did. They used -pretty fair United States.</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, to bile this yarn of mine down, I rode -through those woods and around the settlement -most of that afternoon. Then I was ready to give -up, and so was my old livery-stable horse. He'd -gone dead lame, and 'twould have been a sin and a -shame to make him walk a step farther. I took -him to the blacksmith's shop, and left him there. I -pounded mosquitoes, and asked the blacksmith some -questions, and he pounded iron and wanted to ask -me a million; but neither of us got a heap of satisfaction -out of the duet.</p> -<p class="pnext">Two things seemed to be sure and sartin. One -was that Solomon Uncas Rose, the "child of the -forest" and chief of the tattin' tribe, was mistook -when he give Wampaquoit as his home town; and -t'other that, much as I wanted to, I couldn't get -out of that town until evenin'. My horse wa'n't fit -to travel, and I couldn't hire another, not until after -the blacksmith had had his supper. Then he'd -hitch up and drive me back to the Narrows.</p> -<p class="pnext">But luck was with me for once. Up the road -came bumpin' a nice-lookin' mare and runabout -wagon, with a pleasant-faced, gray-haired man on -the seat. The mare pulled up at the blacksmith's -house, and the man got down and went inside.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Who's that?" says I. "And what's he done -to be sentenced to this place?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Doctor," says the blacksmith, with a grunt—he -was one-quarter Injun, too. "Comes from West -Ostable. My wife's sick."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I sympathize with her," says I. "I'm sick, -too—homesick. Maybe this doctor'll help me -out. What I need is a change of scene; and I need -it bad."</p> -<p class="pnext">So, when the doctor come out of the house, I -hailed him, and asked him if he'd do a kindness to a -shipwrecked mariner stranded on a lee shore.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, what's the matter?" says he, laughin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Matter enough," I told him. "I want to go -home. Besides, a merciful man is merciful to the -beasts; and if I stay here much longer these mosquitoes'll -die of rush of my blood to their heads. -I understand you come from West Ostable, Doctor; -but if 'twas Jericho 'twould be all the same. I -want you to let me ride there with you. And you -can charge anything you want to."</p> -<p class="pnext">That doctor was a fine feller. He laughed some -more, and told me to jump right in. Said he'd got -to see one more patient on his way back; but, if I -didn't mind that stop, he'd be glad of my company. -So I told the blacksmith to keep my horse and buggy -overnight, and when I got to West Ostable I'd -telephone for the livery folks to send for 'em. -Then I got into the doctor's runabout, and off we -drove.</p> -<p class="pnext">We did consider'ble talkin' durin' the drive; but -'twas all general, and nothin' definite on my part. -'Course, he was curious to know what I was doin' -'way over there; but I said I come on business, and -let it go at that. I was beginnin' to have some -suspicions, and I cal'lated not to be laughed at if I -could help it. So we drove and drove; and, by and -by, when I judged we must be pretty nigh to West -Ostable, he turned the horse into a side road, and -brought him to anchor alongside of an old ramshackle -house, with a tumble-down barn and out-buildin's -astern of it.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Now, Cap'n," he says, "I'll have to ask you to -wait a few minutes while I see that last patient of -mine. 'Twon't take long."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Patient?" says I. "Good land! Does anybody -<em class="italics">live</em> in this fag end of nothin'ness?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says he. "'Twas empty for years, but -now a couple of fellers live here all by themselves. -Foreigners of some kind they are. Been here for -a month or more. One of 'em let a packin' case -fall on his foot, and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I sympathize with him," says I. "The same -thing happened to me a spell ago. But a packin' -case! Cranberry crate, you mean, I guess."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Maybe so," he says. "I didn't ask. But -'twas somethin' heavy, anyhow. Nobody seems to -know much about these chaps or what they do. -Well, be as comfort'ble as you can. I'll be back -soon."</p> -<p class="pnext">He took his medicine satchel and went into the -house. Soon's he was out of sight, I climbed out -of the buggy and started explorin'. I was curious.</p> -<p class="pnext">I wandered around back of the house. Such a -slapjack place you never see in your life! Windows -plugged with papers and old rags, shingles off the -roof, chimneys shy of bricks—'twas a miracle it -didn't blow down long ago. Whoever the tenants -was, they was only temporary, I judged, and willin' -to take chances.</p> -<p class="pnext">From somewheres out in the barn I heard a -scratchin' kind of noise, and I headed for there. -The big door was open a little ways, and I squeezed -through. 'Twas pretty dark, and I couldn't see -much for a minute; but soon as my eyes got used to -the gloominess, I saw lots of things. That barn -was half filled with boxes and crates, some empty -and some not. There was a horse in the stall—an -old white horse—and standin' in the middle of -the floor was a wagon heaped with things, and covered -with a piece of tarpaulin. I lifted the tarpaulin. -Underneath it was a spinnin' wheel, an old-fashioned -table, two chairs, and a basket. There -was embroidery and fancywork in the basket.</p> -<p class="pnext">Then I took a few soundin's among the full -boxes and crates standin' round. I didn't do much -of this, 'cause the scratchin' noise kept up in a room -at the back of the barn, and I wa'n't anxious to disturb -the scratcher, whoever he was. But I saw a -plenty. There was enough bran-new "antiques" -and "genuine" Injun knittin' work in them crates -and boxes to stock the "Colonial Exchange" for -six weeks, even with better trade than we'd had.</p> -<p class="pnext">I'd seen all I wanted to in <em class="italics">that</em> room, so I tiptoed -into the other. A feller was in there, standin' -back to me, and hard at work. He was sandpaperin' -the polish off a mahogany sewin' table; the -kind Mrs. Burke Smythe called a "find," and had -in her best front parlor as an example of what our -great-granddads used to make, and we wa'n't capable -of in these cheap and shoddy days. There was -another "find" on the floor side of him, a chair -layin' on its side. Pasted on the under side of the -seat was a paper label with "Grand Rivers Furniture -Manufacturing Company" printed on it. I -judged that the hand of Time hadn't got to work -on that chair yet, but it would as soon as it had antiqued -the table.</p> -<p class="pnext">I watched the mellowin' influence gettin' in its -licks—much as twenty year passed over that table -in the three minutes I stood there—and then I -spoke.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hello, shipmate!" says I. "You're busy, -ain't you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He jumped as if I'd stuck a sail needle in him, -the table tipped over with a bang, and he swung -around and faced me. And I'm blessed if he wa'n't -that Armenian critter; the one that the clerk had -talked to—the "last survivor of the peddlin' -crew."</p> -<p class="pnext">I was expectin' 'most anything to happen, and I -was kind of hopin' it would. My fists sort of shut -of themselves. But it didn't happen. I knew the -feller; but, as luck would have it, he didn't recognize -me. He swallered hard a couple of times, and -then he says, pretty average ugly:</p> -<p class="pnext">"Vat d'ye want?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, nothin'," says I. "I just drove over with -the doctor, and I cruised 'round the premises a little, -that's all. You must do a good business here. -Make this stuff yourself?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"No," he snapped.</p> -<p class="pnext">I could see that he was dyin' to chuck me out, and -didn't dast to. I picked up the chair and looked at -it.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" I says. "Grand Rivers Company, -hey? Buy of them, do you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says he.</p> -<p class="pnext">"And this?" I took a centerpiece out of one -of the boxes. "This come from Grand Rivers, -too?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"No," says he. "Boston. Is dere anything -else you vant to know?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Guess not. You the sick man?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"No; mine brudder."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Your brother, hey? Let's see. I wonder if I -don't know him. Kind of tall and thin, ain't he?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He sniffed contemptuous.</p> -<p class="pnext">"No," says he, "he's short and fat."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Beg your pardon," says I, "guess I was mistook. -Well, I must be gettin' back to the buggy; -the doctor's prob'ly waitin' for me. Good day, mister."</p> -<p class="pnext">He never said good-by; but I saw him watchin' -me all the way to the gate. I climbed into the -buggy, and set there till he went back into the barn; -then I got down and hurried to the front of the -house. The door wa'n't fastened, and I went in. -I met the doctor in the hall. He was some surprised -to see me there.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hello, Doc!" says I. "Where's your patient?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"In there," says he, pointin' to the door astern -of him. "But—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"How's he gettin' along?" I wanted to know.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, he's better," he says. "He's practically -all right. I wanted him to get up and walk, but he -wouldn't."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Wouldn't, hey?" says I. "Humph! Well, -maybe he wouldn't walk for you; but I'll bet <em class="italics">I</em> can -make him <em class="italics">fly</em>."</p> -<p class="pnext">Before he could stop me, I flung that door open -and walked into that room. The sufferer from -fallin' packin' boxes was settin' in one chair with -his foot in another. I drew off, and slapped him -on the shoulder hard as I could.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hello, Sol Uncas Mohicans!" I sung out. -"How's genuine antique lamp mats these days?"</p> -<p class="pnext">For about two seconds he just set there and -looked at me, set and glared, with his mouth open. -Then he let out a scream like a scared woman, -jumped out of that chair, and made for the kitchen -door, lame foot and all. I headed him off, and he -turned and set sail for the one I'd come in at. He -reached the front hall just ahead of me; but my -boot caught him at the top step and helped him -<em class="italics">some</em>. He never stopped at the gate, but went -head-first into the woods whoopin' anthems.</p> -<p class="pnext">The sandpaperin' chap came runnin' out of the -barn, and I took after him; but he didn't wait to see -what I had to say. He dove for the woods on his -side. We had the premises to ourselves, and I went -back and picked up the doctor, who'd been upset -by the "child of the forest" on his way to the ancestral -tall timber.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What—what—what?" gasps the medical -man. "For Heaven sakes! Why, he wouldn't <em class="italics">try</em> -to walk when I asked him to. <em class="italics">How</em> did you do -that?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Easy enough," says I. "'Twas an old-fashioned -treatment, but it helps—in some cases. Just -layin' on of hands, that's all. Now, Doc, afore you -ask another question, let me ask you one. Ain't -that critter's name Rose?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He was consider'ble shook, but he managed to -grin a little.</p> -<p class="pnext">"No," says he, "but you've guessed pretty near -it."</p> -<p class="pnext">Then he told me what the name was.</p> -<p class="pnext">I rode back to West Ostable with that doctor and -took the evenin' train home. Jim Henry was -waitin' for me on the store platform when I got out -of the depot wagon.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well?" he wanted to know. "Did you find -him?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" says I. "I did find the lost tribes, -a couple of members of 'em, anyway."</p> -<p class="pnext">"What do you mean by that?" says he.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Come somewheres where 'tain't so public and I'll -tell you."</p> -<p class="pnext">So we went back into the back room and I told -him my yarn. He listened, with his mouth open, -gettin' madder and madder all the time.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Now," says I, endin' up, "the way I look at it -is this. I've been thinkin' it out on the cars and I -cal'late we'll have to do this way. We ain't crooks—that -is, we didn't mean to be—and now we -know all our 'antiques' are frauds and our 'Injun -curios' made up to Boston, we must either shut up -the 'Exchange' or go back to home products. -We'll have to keep mum about those we have sold, -because most of 'em have been carted out of town -and we don't know where to locate the buyers. -But, for my part, bein' average honest and meanin' -to be square, I feel mighty bad. What do you -say?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He said enough. He felt as bad as I did about -stickin' our customers, but what seemed to cut him -the most was that somebody had got ahead of him in -business.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Think of it!" says he. "Skipper, we're -gold-bricked! Cheated! Faked! Done! Think of it! -If I could only get my hands on that—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hold on a minute," says I. "Better think the -whole of it while you're about it. We set out to -drive those peddlers out of what was <em class="italics">their</em> trade. -If they was smart enough to turn the tables and -make a good profit out of sellin' us the stuff, I don't -know as I blame 'em much. It was just tit for tat—or -so it seems to me now that I've cooled off."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Maybe so," says he; "but it hurts my pride just -the same. James Henry Jacobs, doctor of sick -businesses, beat by a couple of peddlers from Armenia!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hold on again," I says. "I ain't told you -their real name yet."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Their name?" he says. "I know it already. -It's Rose."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Not accordin' to that West Ostable doctor, it -ain't. The name they give <em class="italics">him</em> was Rosenstein."</p> -<p class="pnext">He looked at me for a spell without speakin'. -Then he smiled, heaved a long breath, and reached -over and shook my hand.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Whew!" says he. "Skipper, I feel better. -Richard's himself again. To be beat in a business -deal by Roses is one thing—but by Rosensteins is -another. You can't beat the Rosensteins in business."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Not in the secondhand and by-productin' -business you can't," says I. "Them lines belong to -'em. We hadn't any right to butt in."</p> -<p class="pnext">And we both laughed, good and hearty.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But," says I, after a little, "what'll we do with -that curio room, anyway? Give it up?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Not much!" says he, emphatic. "I guess -we'll have to give up the antiques; but we've got the -winter ahead of us, Skipper, and the Ostable County -embroidery crop flourishes best in cold weather. -We'll start the old ladies knittin' again and have a -fairly good-sized stock when the autos commence -runnin' once more. Give up the Colonial Pilgrim -Mothers? I should say not!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"All right," I says, dubious. "You may be -right, Jim; you generally are. But I'm a little -scary of this by-product game. It'll get us into serious -trouble, I'm afraid, some day. It's easier to -steer one big craft, than 'tis to maneuver a fleet of -little ones."</p> -<p class="pnext">He sniffed, scornful. "As I understand it, -Cap'n Zeb," he says, "this business of yours was in -a pretty feeble condition when you called me in to -prescribe."</p> -<p class="pnext">"No doubt of that, Jim, but—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes. And it's a healthy, growin' child now."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes. It sartin is."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Then, if I was you, I'd take my medicine and -be thankful. Time enough to complain when you -commence to go into another decline. Ain't that -so?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I didn't answer.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Isn't it so?" he asked again.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Maybe," I said; "but it may be a fatal disease -next time; and it's better to keep well than to be -cured—and a lot cheaper."</p> -<p class="pnext">He said I was a reg'lar bullfrog for croakin', -and hinted that I was in the back row of the primer -class so fur's business instinct went. I had a feelin' -that he was right, but I had another feelin' that <em class="italics">I</em> -was right, too. However, there was nothin' to do -but keep quiet and wait the next development. -Afore Christmas the development landed with both -feet.</p> -<p class="pnext">I'd heard the news twice already that mornin'. -Fust at the Poquit House breakfast table, where -'twas served along with the chopped hay cereal and -warmed over and picked to pieces, as you might -say, all through the b'iled eggs and spider-bread, -plumb down to the doughnuts and imitation coffee. -Then I'd no sooner got outdoor than Solon Saunders -sighted me, and he 'bout ship and beat acrost the -road like a porgie-boat bearin' down on a school of -fish. He was so excited that he couldn't wait to -get alongside, but commenced heavin' overboard his -cargo of information while he was in mid-channel.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Did you hear about the Higgins Place bein' -rented, Cap'n Snow?" he sung out. "It's been -took for next summer and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes, yes, I heard it," says I. "Fine seasonable -weather we're havin' these days. Don't see -any signs of snow yet, do you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">If he'd been skipper of a pleasure boat with a -picnic party aboard he couldn't have paid less attention -to my weather signals.</p> -<p class="pnext">"It's been hired for an eatin'-house," he says, -puffin' and out of breath. "A man by the name of -Fred from Buffalo, has hired it, and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Fred, hey?" I interrupted. "Humph! 'Cordin' -to the proclamations <em class="italics">I</em> heard he cruises under the -name of George—Eben George—and he hails -from Bangor."</p> -<p class="pnext">"No, no!" he says, emphatic. "His name's -Edgar Fred and it's Buffalo he comes from. Henry -Williams told me and he got it from his wife's aunt, -Mrs. Debby Baker, and her cousin by marriage told -her. She is a Knowles—the cousin is—married -one of the Denboro Knowleses—and <em class="italics">she</em> got it -from Peleg Kendrick's nephew whose stepmother -is related to the woman that used to do old Judge -Higgins's cookin' when he was alive. So it come -straight, you see."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," I says, "about as straight as the eel went -through the snarled fish net. All right. I don't -care. How's your rheumatiz gettin' on, Solon?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I thought that would fetch him, but it didn't. -Gen'rally speakin', he'd talk for an hour about his -rheumatiz and never skip an ache; but now he was -too much interested in the Higgins Place even to -catalogue his symptoms.</p> -<p class="pnext">"It's some better," he says, "since I tried the -Electric Ointment out of the newspaper. But, -Cap'n Zeb, did you know that this Fred man was -goin' to start a swell dinin'-room for automobile -folks? He is. He's had all kinds of experience in -them lines. He's goin' to have foreign help and -a chief Frenchman to do the cookin' and—and I -don't know what all."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I guess that's right," says I. "Well, I don't -know what all, either, and I ain't goin' to worry. -We'll see what we shall see, as the blind feller said. -Hello! there's the minister over there and I'll bet he -ain't heard a word about it."</p> -<p class="pnext">That done the trick. Away he put, all sail set, to -give the minister the earache, and I went on down -to the store. And there was Jacobs talkin' to a -man I'd never seen afore and both of 'em so interested -they scarcely noticed me when I come in.</p> -<p class="pnext">He was a kind of ordinary-lookin' feller at fust -sight, the stranger was, sort of a cross between a -parson and a circus agent, judgin' by his get-up. -Pretty thin, with black hair and a black beard, and -dressed all in black except his vest, which was -thunder-storm plaid. I'd have cal'lated he was in -mournin' if it hadn't been for that vest. As 'twas he -looked like a hearse with a brass band aboard. Both -him and Jacobs was smokin' cigars, the best ten-centers -we carried in stock.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Mornin'," says I, passin' by 'em. Jim Henry -looked up and saw me.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Ah, Skipper," says he; "glad to see you. -Come here. I want to make you acquainted with -Mr. Edwin Frank, who is intendin' to locate here -in Ostable. Mr. Frank, shake hands with my partner, -Cap'n Zebulon Snow."</p> -<p class="pnext">We shook, the band wagon hearse and me, and I -felt as if I was back aboard the old <em class="italics">Fair Breeze</em>, -handlin' cold fish. Jim Henry went right along explainin' -matters.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Mr. Frank," he says, "has had a long experience -in the restaurant and hotel line and he believes -there is an openin' for a first-class road-house -in this town. He has leased the—"</p> -<p class="pnext">Then I understood. "Why, yes, yes!" I interrupted. -"I know now. You're Mr. Eben Edgar -Fred George from Buffalo and Bangor, ain't you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Then <em class="italics">they</em> didn't understand. When I explained -about the boardin'-house talk and Solon Saunders' -"straight" news, Jacobs laughed fit to kill and even -Mr. Fred George Frank pumped up a smile. But -his pumps was out of gear, or somethin', for the -smile looked more like a crack in an ice chest than -anything human. However, he said he was glad -to see me and I strained the truth enough to say I -was glad to meet him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"So you've hired the Higgins Place, Mr. Frank," -I went on. "Well, well! And you're goin' to -make a hotel of it. If old Judge Higgins don't turn -over in his grave at that, he's fast moored, that's -all."</p> -<p class="pnext">I meant what I said, almost. Judge Higgins, in -his day, had been one of the big-bugs of the town -and his place on the hill was one of the best on the -main road. It set 'way back from the street and -the view from under the two big silver-leaf trees by -the front door took in all creation and part of Ostable -Neck, as the sayin' is. The Judge had been -dead most eight year now, and, bein' a three times -widower without chick nor child, the estate was all -tied up amongst the heirs of the three wives and -was fast tumblin' to pieces. It couldn't be sold, on -account of the row between the owners, but it had -been let once or twice to summer folks. To turn it -into a tavern was pretty nigh the final come-down, -seemed to me.</p> -<p class="pnext">But Jim Henry Jacobs wa'n't worryin' about -come-downs. He never let dead dignity interfere -with live business. He didn't shed a tear over the -old place, or lay a wreath on Judge Higgins's tomb. -No, sir! he got down to the keelson of things -in a jiffy.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Skipper," he says, sweet and plausible as a dose -of sugared soothin'-syrup. "Skipper," he says, -"Mr. Frank's proposition is to open, not a hotel -exactly, but a first-class, up-to-date road-house and -restaurant. As progressive citizens of Ostable, as -business men, wide-awake to the town's welfare, that -ought to interest you and me, on general principles, -hadn't it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I judged that this was only Genesis, and that Revelation -would come later, so I nodded and said I -cal'lated that it had—on general principles.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You bet!" he goes on. "It does interest us. -Speakin' personally, I've long felt that there was a -place in Ostable for a dinin'-room, run to bag—to -attract, I mean—the wealthy, the well-to-do transient -trade. Why, just think of it!" he says, -warmin' up, "it's winter now. By May or June -there'll be a steady string of autos runnin' along this -road here, every one of 'em solid full of city people -and all hungry. Now, it's a shame to let those -good things—I mean hungry gents and ladies, go -by without givin' 'em what they want. If I hadn't -had so many things on my mind, if the Ostable -Store's large and growin' business hadn't took my -attention exclusive, I should have ventured a flyer -in that direction myself. But never mind that; Mr. -Frank here has got ahead of me and the job's in -better hands. Mr. Frank is right up to the minute; -he's abreast of the times and he—by the way, Mr. -Frank, perhaps you wouldn't mind tellin' my partner -here somethin' about your plans. Just give him -the line of talk you've been givin' me, say."</p> -<p class="pnext">Mr. Frank didn't mind. He had the line over -in a minute and if I'd been cal'latin' that he was a -frosty specimen with the water in his talk-b'iler -froze, I got rid of the notion in a hurry. He -smiled, polite, and begun slow and deliberate, but -pretty soon he was runnin' twenty knots an hour. -He told about his experience in the eatin'-house line—he'd -been everything from hotel manager to club -steward—and about how successful he'd been and -how big the profits was, and what his customers said -about him, and so on. Afore a body had a chance -to think this over—or to digest it, long's we're -talkin' about eatin'—he was under full steam -through Ostable with the Higgins Place loaded to -the guards and beatin' all entries two mile to the -lap. He'd never seen a better openin'; his experience -backed his judgment in callin' it the ideal -location and opportunity, and the like of that. He -talked his throat dry and wound up, husky but -hurrahin', with somethin' like this:</p> -<p class="pnext">"Cap'n Snow," he says, "you and Mr. Jacobs -must understand that I know what I'm talkin' about. -This enterprise of mine will be the very highest -class. French chef, French waiters, all the delicacies -and game in season. A country Delmonico's, -that's the dope—ahem! I mean that is the reputation -this establishment of ours will have; yes."</p> -<p class="pnext">I judged that the "dope" had slipped out unexpected -and that the miscue jarred him a little mite, -for he colored up and wiped his forehead with a red -and yellow bordered handkerchief. I was jarred, -too, but not by that.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Establishment of <em class="italics">ours</em>?" I says, slow. "You -mean yours, of course."</p> -<p class="pnext">He was goin' to answer, but Jim Henry got ahead -of him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Sure! of course, Skipper," he says. "That's -all right. There!" he went on, gettin' up and takin' -me by the arm. "Mr. Frank's got to be trottin' -along and we mustn't detain him. So long, Mr. -Frank. My partner and I will have some conversation -and we'll meet again. Drop in any time. -Good day."</p> -<p class="pnext">I hadn't noticed any signs of Frank's impatience -to trot along, but he took the hint all right and got -up to go. He said good-by and I was turnin' away, -when I see Jim Henry wink at him when they -thought I wa'n't lookin'. I was suspicious afore; -that wink made me uneasy as a spring pullet tied to -the choppin'-block.</p> -</div> -<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xthe-sign-of-the-windmill"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id11">CHAPTER X—THE SIGN OF THE WINDMILL</a></h2> -<p class="pfirst">Eben George Edgar Edwin Delmonico -Frank went out, dabbin' at his -forehead with the red and yellow handkerchief. -Jacobs kept his clove hitch on my arm and -led me out to the settee on the front platform.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Set down, Skipper," he says, cheerful and -more'n extra friendly, seemed to me. "Set down," -he says, "and enjoy the December ozone."</p> -<p class="pnext">We come to anchor on the settee and there we -set and shivered for much as five minutes, each of -us waitin' for the other to begin. Finally Jim -Henry says, without lookin' at me:</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well, Skipper," he says, "that chap's sharp all -right, ain't he?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Seems to be," says I, not too enthusiastic.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes, he is. If I'm any judge of human nature—and -I hand myself <em class="italics">that</em> bouquet any day in the -week—he knows his business. Don't you think -so?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Maybe," I says. "But what business of ours -his business is I don't see—yet. If you do, bein' -as you and me are supposed to be partners, perhaps -you wouldn't mind soundin' the fog whistle for my -benefit. I seem to have lost my reckonin' on this -v'yage. Why should we be interested in this Frank -man and his eatin'-house?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He laughed, louder'n was necessary, I thought, and -slapped me on the shoulder.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You don't see where we come in, hey?" he says. -"Well, I do. A dinin'-room like that one of his -will need a good many supplies, won't it? And, if -I can mesmerize him into patronizin' the home -market, the Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and -Shoes and Fancy Goods Emporium will gain some, -I shouldn't wonder. Hey, pard! How about -that?" And he slapped my shoulder again.</p> -<p class="pnext">I turned this over in my mind. "Humph!" I -says. "I begin to see."</p> -<p class="pnext">"You bet you do!" he says, laughin'. "The -amount of stuff I can sell that restaurant will—"</p> -<p class="pnext">But I broke in here. I remembered that wink -and I didn't believe I was clear of the choppin'-block -yet.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hold on!" says I. "Heave to! And never -mind poundin' my starboard shoulder to pieces, -either. I said I <em class="italics">begun</em> to see; I don't see clear yet. -How did you and he come to get together in the -fust place? Did you go and hunt him up? or did -he come in here to see you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He kind of hesitated. "Why," he says, "he -come into the store, and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Did he happen in, or did he come to see you -a-purpose?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"He—I believe he came to see me. Then he -and I—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Heave to again! He didn't come to see you -to beg the favor of buyin' goods of you, 'tain't -likely. Jim Jacobs, answer me straight. There's -somethin' else. That feller wants somethin' of you—or -of us. Now what is it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He hesitated some more. Then he upset the -woodpile and let out the darky.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," he says, "I'll tell you. I was goin' to -tell you, anyway. Frank's all right. He's got a -good idea and he's got the experience to put it into -practice; but he's somethin' the way old Beanblossom -was afore you took a share in this store—he needs -a little more capital."</p> -<p class="pnext">I swung round on the settee and looked him square -in the eye.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I—see," I says, slow. "Now—I see! He's -after money and he wants us to lend it to him. I -might have guessed it. Well, did you say no right -off? or was you waitin' to have me say it? You -might have said it yourself. You knew I'd back -you up."</p> -<p class="pnext">Would you believe it? he got as red as a beet.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I didn't say anything," he says. "Don't go off -half-cocked like that. What's the matter with you -this mornin'? He don't want to borrer money. He -wants more capital in the proposition—wants to -float it right. And he's been inquirin' around and -has found that you and me are the two leadin' business -men in the place and has come to us first. It's -more a favor on his part than anything else. He -offers to let us have a third interest between us; you -put in a thousand and I do the same. Why, man, -it's a cinch! It's a chance that don't come every day. -As I told you, I've had the same notion in my head -for a long time. A summer dinin'-room like that in -this town is—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Wait!" I interrupted. "What do you know -about this Frank critter? Where'd he come from? -Who is he?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"He comes from Pittsburg. That's the last place -he was in. And he's got his pockets full of references -and testimonials."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph! Anybody can get testimonials. -Write 'em himself, if there wa'n't any other way. -I had a second mate once with more testimonials -than shirts, enough sight, and he—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, cut it out! Besides, I don't care where he -comes from. He's sharp as a steel trap; that much -I can tell with one eye shut. And he's run dinin'-rooms -and hotels; that I'll bet my hat on. That's -all we need to know. A road-house in this town is a -twenty per cent proposition durin' the summer -months. It's the chance of a lifetime, I tell you."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Maybe so. But how do you know the feller's -honest?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I don't care whether he's honest or not. It -doesn't make any difference. If I wa'n't here to -keep my eye peeled, it might be; but I'll be here -and if he gets ahead of me, he'll be movin' to some -extent. Someone else'll grab the chance if we don't. -I'm for it. What do you say?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I shook my head. "Jim," says I, "I can see -where you stand. You're so dead sartin that an -eatin'-house of that kind'll pay big, that you're blind -to the rest of it. Now I don't pretend to be a judge -of human nature like you—leavin' out Injun and -Rosenstein human nature, of course—nor a doctor -of sick businesses, which is your profession. But my -experience is—"</p> -<p class="pnext">He stood up and sniffed impatient.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Cut it out, I tell you!" he says, again. "This -ain't an experience meetin'. Will you take a flyer -with me in that road-house, or won't you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Way I feel now, I won't," says I, prompt.</p> -<p class="pnext">He turned on his heel, took a step towards the -door and then stopped.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," he says, "you think it over till to-morrer -mornin' and then let me know. Only, you mark my -words, it's a chance. And, with me to keep my eye -on it, there's no risk at all."</p> -<p class="pnext">So that's the way it ended that day. And half -that night I laid awake, feelin' meaner'n dirt to say no -to as good a partner as I had, and yet pretty average -sure I was right, just the same.</p> -<p class="pnext">In the mornin' my mind was still betwixt and between. -I went down to the store and walked back -to the post-office department. I looked in through -the little window and saw Mary Blaisdell inside, -sortin' the outgoin' letters. The sunshine, streamin' -in from outside, lit up her hair till it looked like one -of them halos in a church picture. Seems to me I -never saw her look prettier; but then, every time I -saw her I thought the same thing. A good-lookin' -woman and a good woman—yes, and capable. -That she'd lived so many years without gettin' married, -was one of the things that made a feller lose -confidence in the good-sense of humans. The chap -that got her would be lucky. Then I caught a -glimpse of myself in the lookin'-glass where customers -tried on hats, and decided I'd better stop -thinkin' foolishness or somebody would catch me at -it and send me to the comic papers.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Mornin', Mary," says I. "Has Mr. Jacobs -come aboard yet?"</p> -<p class="pnext">She turned and came to her side of the window.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," she says, "he was here. He's gone out -now with that Mr. Frank. I believe they've gone -up to the old Higgins Place."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Um-hm," says I. "Well, Mary, just between -friends, I'd like to ask you somethin'. Do you like -that Frank man's looks?"</p> -<p class="pnext">She wa'n't expectin' that and she didn't know how -to answer for a jiffy. Then she kind of half laughed, -and says: "No, Cap'n Zeb, since you ask me, I—I -don't. I don't like him. And I haven't any good -reason, either."</p> -<p class="pnext">I nodded. "Much obliged, Mary," says I. -"And, since you ain't asked me, I'll tell you that <em class="italics">I</em> -don't like him. And my reason's about as good as -yours. Maybe it's his clothes. A man, 'cordin' -to my notion, has a right to look like a horse jockey, -if he wants to; and he's got a right to look like an -undertaker. But when he looks like a combination -of the two, I—well, I get skittish and begin to shy, -that's all. It's too much as if he was baited to trap -you dead or alive."</p> -<p class="pnext">Then Jim Henry come in and when, an hour or -so later, he got me one side and asked me if I'd -made up my mind about investin' in Frank's road-house, -I answered prompt that my mind was made up -and the answer was still no. He was disapp'inted, -I could see that, and pretty mad.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" says he. "Skipper, you're all right -except for one fault—you're as 'country' as they -make 'em, and they make 'em pretty narrer sometimes. -Well, you've had the chance. Don't ever -tell me you haven't."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I won't," says I, and we didn't mention the subject -for a long time. Then—but that comes later. -However, I judged that Frank had found folks in -Ostable who wa'n't as narrer and "country" as I -was, for, inside of a week, the carpenters was busy -on the Higgins Place. They built on great, wide -piazzas; they knocked out partitions between rooms; -they made the house pretty much over. In March -loads of fancy furniture came from Boston. At -last a windmill three feet high—made to look like -a little copy of the old Cape windmills our great-granddads -used to grind grist in, with sails that -turned—was set up in the front yard, and on a -post by the big gate was swingin' a fancy notice -board, with a gilt windmill painted on that, and the -words in big letters:</p> -<div class="center line-block noindent outermost"> -<div class="line">THE SIGN OF THE WINDMILL.</div> -<div class="line"> </div> -<div class="line">MEALS AT ALL HOURS.</div> -<div class="line"> </div> -<div class="line"><span class="small-caps">Steaks, Chops, Game, Etc.</span></div> -<div class="line"><span class="small-caps">Table D'hote Dinner Each Day at 1.15.</span></div> -<div class="line"> </div> -<div class="line"><em class="italics">Special Accommodations for Auto Parties.</em></div> -</div> -<p class="pfirst">That was it, you see. "The Sign of the Windmill" -was the name of the new road-house.</p> -<p class="pnext">But that wa'n't all the advertisin', by a consider'ble -sight. There was signs all up and down the -main roads, with hands p'intin' in the "Windmill" -direction. And there was ads in the Cape papers -and in the Boston papers, too. I swan, I didn't -believe anybody but Jim Henry Jacobs could have -engineered such advertisin'! And there was a -black-lookin' critter with the ends of his mustache -waxed so sharp you could have sewed canvas with -'em—he was the French chef—and three foreign -waiters, and a dark-complected fleshy woman who -seemed to be a sort of general assistant manager and -stewardess, and—and—goodness knows what -there wa'n't. There was so many kinds of hired -help that I couldn't see where Frank himself come -in—unless he was the spare "windmill," which, -judgin' by his gift of gab, I cal'late might be the -fact.</p> -<p class="pnext">"The Sign of the Windmill" bought all its groceries -and general supplies at the store, which, considerin' -that we'd turned down the "chance" to be -part owners, seemed sort of odd to me, 'cause Frank -didn't look like a feller who'd forgive a slight like -that. But I judged Jim Henry had hypnotized him, -as he done other difficult customers, and so I said -nothin'. The auto season opened and our weekly -bills with that road-house was big ones, but they was -paid every week, and I hadn't any kick there, -either.</p> -<p class="pnext">As for the business that dinin'-room done, it was -surprisin', particularly Saturdays and Sundays, when -there'd be twenty or more autos in the front yard -and more a-comin'. The table d'hote dinner at 1.15 -was so well patronized that folks had to wait their -turns at table and later, on moonlight nights, the old -house was all lighted up and you could hear the noise -of dishes rattlin' and the laughin' and singin' till -after eleven o'clock. And our bills with the "Sign -of the Windmill" kept gettin' bigger and bigger.</p> -<p class="pnext">But though the auto parties was thick and the -patronage good, still there was some dissatisfaction, -I found out. One big car stopped at the store on a -Saturday afternoon and the boss of it talked with -me while the women folks was inside buyin' postcards -and such.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says I, to the owner of the car, a big, -fleshy, good-natured chap he was, "well," says I, -"I cal'late you've all had a good dinner. Feed you -fust-class up there at the Windmill place, don't -they?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He sniffed. "Humph!" says he, "the food's -all right. It ought to be, at the price. Is the proprietor -of that hotel named Allie Baby?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Allie which?" I says, laughin'. "No, no, his -name's Frank. Edwin George Eben etcetery Frank. -What made you think 'twas Allie?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"'Cause he's a close connection of the Forty -Thieves," he says, sharp. "He'd take a prize in -the hog class at a county fair, that chap would. -What's the matter with him? Does he think he's -runnin' a get-rich-quick shop? Two weeks ago I -paid a dollar and a half for a dinner there, and that -was seventy-five cents too much. Now he's jumped -to two-fifty and the feed ain't a bit better."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Two dollars and a half for a <em class="italics">dinner</em>!" says I. -"Whew! The cost of livin' <em class="italics">is</em> goin' up, ain't it? -What do they give you? Canary birds' tongues on -toast? Any shore dinner ever I see could be cooked -for—"</p> -<p class="pnext">He interrupted. "Shore dinner nothin'!" he -snorts. "I wouldn't kick at the price if I got a good -shore dinner. But what we got here is a poor imitation -of a country Waldorf. Everybody's kickin', -but we all go there because it's the best we can find -for twenty miles. However, I hear another place -is to be started in Denboro and if <em class="italics">that</em> makes good, -your Forty Thief friend will have to haul in his -horns. He'll never get another cent from me, or a -hundred others I know, who have been his best customers. -We're all waitin' to give him the shake -and it looks as if we should be able to do it. We -motorin' fellers stick together and, if the word's -passed along the line, the "Sign of the Windmill" -will be a dead one, mark my words."</p> -<p class="pnext">I marked 'em, and when, by and by, I heard that -the Denboro dinin'-room was open and doin' a good -business, I underscored the mark.</p> -<p class="pnext">This was about the middle of June. A week -later Jim Henry got the telegram about his younger -brother out in Colorado bein' sick and wantin' to see -him bad. He hated to go, but he felt he had to, -so he went.</p> -<p class="pnext">I said good-by to him up at the depot and told him -not to worry a mite. "I'll look out for everything," -I says. "Course I'll miss you at the store, but -I'll write you every day or so and keep you posted, -and you can give me business prescriptions by -mail."</p> -<p class="pnext">"That's all right, Skipper," says he, "I know the -store'll be took care of. But there's one thing that—that—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"What's the one thing?" I asked. "Overboard -with it. My shoulders are broad and I won't mind -totin' another hogshead or so."</p> -<p class="pnext">He hesitated and it seemed to me that he looked -troubled. But finally he said he'd guessed 'twas -nothin' that amounted to nothin' anyway and he'd -be back in a couple of weeks sure. So off he went -and I had a sort of Robinson Crusoe desert island -feelin' that lasted all that day and night.</p> -<p class="pnext">It lasted longer than that, too. I didn't hear -from him for ten days. Then I got a note sayin' -his brother had scarlet fever—which seemed a fool -disease for a grown-up man to have—and was pretty -sick. I wrote to him for the land sakes to be careful -he didn't get it himself, and the next news I heard -was from a doctor sayin' he <em class="italics">had</em> got it. After that -the bulletins was infrequent and alarmin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">I'd have put for Colorado in a minute, but I -couldn't; that store was on my shoulders and I -couldn't leave. I telegraphed not to spare no -expense and to write or wire every day. 'Twas all -I could do, but I never spent such a worried time -afore nor since. I was worried, not only about my -partner, but about the business he'd put in my charge. -There was new developments in that business and -they kept on developin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">'Twas the "Sign of the Windmill" that was troublin' -me. As I told you, the weekly bills for that -eatin'-house was big ones, but the fust three or four -had been paid on the dot. Now, however, they -wa'n't paid and they was just as big. Frank's -account on our books kept gettin' larger and larger -and, not only that, but anybody could see that the -Windmill wa'n't doin' half the trade it begun with. -There was more auto parties than ever, but the heft -of 'em went right on by to the new road-house in -Denboro. I remembered what the fleshy man told -me and I judged that the word had been passed to -the motorin' crew, just as he prophesied.</p> -<p class="pnext">I went up to see Frank and had a talk with him. -I found him in his office, settin' at a fine new roll-top -desk, with the dark-complected stewardess alongside -of him. She seemed to be helpin' him with his letters -and accounts, which looked odd to me, and she -glowered at me when I come in like a cat at a stray -poodle. She didn't get up and go out, neither, till -he hinted p'raps she'd better, and even then she -whispered to him mighty confidential afore she went. -'Twas a queer way for hired help to act, but 'twa'n't -none of my affairs, of course.</p> -<p class="pnext">He was cordial enough till he found out what I -was after and then he chilled up like a freezer full -of cream. He was in the habit of payin' his bills, -he give me to understand, and he'd pay this one when -'twas convenient. If I didn't care to sell the Windmill -goods, that was my affair, of course, but his -relations with my partner had been so pleasant that—and -so forth and so on. I sneaked out of that -office, feelin' like a henroost-thief instead of an honest -man tryin' to collect an honest debt. I'd bungled -things again. Instead of makin' matters better, I'd -made 'em worse; come nigh losin' a good customer -and all that. What business had an old salt herrin' -like me to be in business, anyhow? That's how I -felt when I was talkin' to him, and how I felt -when I shut that office door and come out into the -dinin'-room.</p> -<p class="pnext">But the sight of that dinin'-room, tables all vacant, -and two waiters where there had been four, fetched -all my uneasiness back again. If ever a place had -"Goin' down" marked on it 'twas the "Sign of the -Windmill." I stewed and fretted all the way to the -store and when I got there I found that another big -order of groceries and canned goods had been delivered -to the eatin' house while I was gone.</p> -<p class="pnext">The next week'll stick in my mind till doomsday, -I cal'late. Every blessed mornin' found me vowin' -I'd stop sellin' that Windmill, and every night found -more dollars added to the bill. You see, I didn't -know what to do. If I'd been sole owner and sailin' -master, I'd have set my foot down, I guess; but -there was Jim Henry to be considered. I wrote a -note to the Frank man, but he didn't even trouble -to answer it.</p> -<p class="pnext">Saturday noon came round and, after the mail was -sorted, I wandered out to the front platform and -set there, blue as a whetstone. The gang of summer -boarders and natives, that's always around mail -times, melted away fast and I was pretty nigh alone. -Not quite alone; Alpheus Perkins, the fish man, was -occupyin' moorin's at t'other end of the platform -and he didn't seem to be in any hurry. By and by -over he comes and sets down alongside of me.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Cap'n Zeb," he says, fidgety like, "I s'pose -likely you've been wonderin' why I don't pay your -bill here at the store, ain't you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I hadn't, havin' more important things to think -about, but now I remembered that he did owe consider'ble -and had owed it for some time. Alpheus -is as straight as they make 'em and usually pays his -debts prompt.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I know you must have," he went on, not waitin' -for me to answer. "Well, I intended to pay long -afore this, and I will pay pretty soon. But I've had -trouble collectin' my own debts and it's held me back. -If I could only get my hands on one account that's -owin' me, I'd be all right. Say," says he, tryin' hard -to act careless and as if 'twa'n't important one way -or t'other: "Say," he says, "you know Mr. Frank, -up here at the hotel, pretty well, don't you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">For a minute or so I didn't answer. Then I -knocked the ashes out of my pipe and says I, "Why, -yes. I know him. What of it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, nothin' much," he says. "Only I was told -he was a partic'lar friend of yours and Mr. Jacobs's -and—and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Who told you he was our partic'lar friend?" -I asked.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, he did. I was up there yesterday, just -hintin' I could use a check on account. Not pressin' -the matter nor tryin' to be hard on him, you -understand; course he's all right; but I was mighty short -of ready cash and so—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hold on, Al!" I said, quick. "Wait! Does -the 'Sign of the Windmill' owe you a bill?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Pretty nigh a hundred dollars," says he. "I've -supplied 'em with fish and lobsters and clams and such -ever since they started. Fust month they paid me -by the week. After that—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Good heavens and earth!" I sung out. "My -soul and body! And—and, when you asked for -it, this—this Frank man told you he'd pay you when -'twas convenient, same as he paid Jacobs and me, -who was his friends and was quite ready to do business -that way."</p> -<p class="pnext">He actually jumped, I'd surprised him so.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hey?" he sung out. "Zeb Snow, be you a -second-sighter? How did you know he told me -that?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I drew a long breath. "It didn't take second -sight for that," I says. "I was up there last Monday -and he told me the same thing, only 'twas you -and Ed Cahoon who was his friends then."</p> -<p class="pnext">He let that sink in slow.</p> -<p class="pnext">"My godfreys domino!" he groaned. "My -godfreys! He—he told—Why! why, he must -be workin' the same game on all hands!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Looks like it," says I, and, thinkin' of Jim -Henry, poor feller, sick as he could be, and the business -he'd left me to look out for, my heart went -down into my boots.</p> -<p class="pnext">Perkins set thinkin' for a jiffy. Then he got up -off the settee.</p> -<p class="pnext">"The son of a gun!" he says. "I'll fix him! -I'll put my bill in a lawyer's hands to-night."</p> -<p class="pnext">"No, you won't," I sung out, grabbin' him by the -arm. "You mustn't. He owes the Ostable Store -four times what he owes you, and it's likely he owes -Cahoon and a lot more. The rest of us can't afford -to let you upset the calabash that way. You might -get yours, though I'm pretty doubtful, but where -would the rest of us come in. You set down, Alpheus. -Set down, and let me think. Set down, I tell you!"</p> -<p class="pnext">When I talk that way—it's an old seafarin' habit—most -folks usually obey orders. Alpheus set. -He started to talk, but I hushed him up and, havin' -filled my pipe and got it to goin', I smoked and -thought for much as five minutes.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hum!" says I, after the spell was over, "the -way I sense it is like this: This ain't any fo'mast -hand's job; and it ain't a skipper's job neither. It's -a case for all hands and the ship's cat, workin' -together and standin' by each other. We've got to -find out who's who and what's what, make up our -minds and then all read the lesson in concert, like -young ones in school. This Frank Windmill critter -owes you and he owes me; we're sartin of that. -More'n likely he owes Ed Cahoon for chickens and -fowls and eggs, and Bill Bangs for milk, and Henry -Hall for ice, and land knows how many more. -S'pose you skirmish around and find out who he does -owe and fetch all the creditors to the store here -to-morrer mornin' at eleven o'clock. It'll be church -time, I know, but even the parson will excuse us for -this once, 'specially as the 'Sign of the Windmill' is -supposed to sell liquor and he's down on it."</p> -<p class="pnext">We had consider'ble more talk, but that was the -way it ended, finally. I went to bed that night, but -it didn't take; I might as well have set up, so fur's -sleep was concerned. All I could think of was -poor, sick Jim Henry and the trust he put in me.</p> -</div> -<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xicooks-and-crooks"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id12">CHAPTER XI—COOKS AND CROOKS</a></h2> -<p class="pfirst">I was at the store by quarter of eleven, but the -gang of creditors was there to meet me, seven -of 'em altogether. Cahoon, the chicken man, -and Bangs, the milk man, and Hall, the ice man, -and Alpheus, and Caleb Bearse, who'd been supplyin' -meat to that road-house, and Peleg Doane, who'd -done carpenterin' and repairs on it, and Jeremiah -Doane, his brother, who'd painted the repaired -places. Seven was all the creditors Perkins could -scare up on short notice, though he cal'lated there -was more.</p> -<p class="pnext">"There's one more, anyway," says Bill Bangs. -"That dark-complected woman—the one you call -the stewardess, Cap'n Zeb—was sick a spell ago -and Frank told Doctor Goodspeed he'd be responsible -for the bill. I see the doc this mornin' and -he's with us. Says he may be down later."</p> -<p class="pnext">They elected me chairman of the meetin' and we -started deliberatin'. The debts amounted to quite -a lot, though the Ostable Store's was the biggest. -Some was for doin' one thing and some another, but -we all agreed we must see Colcord, the lawyer, afore -we did much of anything. While we was still pow-wowin', -somebody knocked at the door. 'Twas -Doctor Goodspeed, on the way to see a patient.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says he, "how's the consultation comin' -on? Judgin' by your faces, I should imagine 'twas -a autopsy. Time to take desperate measures, if you -asked <em class="italics">me</em>. I never did believe that Frank chap was -anything but a crook, so I'm not surprised. I'm -with you in spirit, boys, though I can't stop. However, -here's a couple of pieces of information which -may interest you: One is that 'The Sign of the -Windmill's' account was overdrawn yesterday at the -bank and the bank folks sent notice. T'other is that -Lawyer Colcord is out of town for a couple of days, -so you can't get him. Otherwise than that, the -patient is normal. By, by. Life's a giddy jag of -joy, isn't it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He grinned and shut the door with a bang. The -eight of us looked at each other. Then Alpheus -Perkins riz to his feet.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" says he. "Account overdrawn, -hey? Well, maybe that Windmill ain't made -enough to pay its bills, but it's been takin' in consider'ble -cash. If it ain't at the bank, where is it? -I'm goin' to find out. And if I can't get a lawyer -to help me, I'll do without one. That Frank critter's -store clothes are wuth somethin', and, if I can't -get nothin' more, I'll rip <em class="italics">them</em> right off his back. -So long, fellers. Keep your ear to the ground and -you'll hear somethin' drop."</p> -<p class="pnext">He headed for the door, but he didn't go alone. -The rest of us got there at the same time, and I—well, -I wouldn't wonder if 'twas me that opened it. -I was desperate, and I've commanded vessels in my -time.</p> -<p class="pnext">Anyhow, 'twas me that led the procession up the -front steps of the "Sign of the Windmill" and into -the dinin'-room. The two waiters was busy. They -had five of the tables set end to end and covered with -cloths, and they was layin' plates and knives and -forks for a big crowd. 'Twas plain that special -customers was expected.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Mr. Frank in his office?" says I, headin' for the -skipper's cabin. The waiters looked at each other -and jabbered in some sort of foreign lingo.</p> -<p class="pnext">"No, sare," says one of 'em. "No, sare. -Meester Frank, he is away—out."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Away out, hey?" says I. "You're wrong, son. -We're the ones that are out, but we ain't goin' to -be out another cent's wuth. Come on, boys, we'll -find him."</p> -<p class="pnext">You can see I was mighty mad, or I wouldn't have -been so reckless. I walked acrost that dinin'-room -and flung open the office door. Frank himself wa'n't -there, but who should be settin' at his roll-top desk, -but the fleshy, dark-complected stewardess woman. -She glowered at me, ugly as a settin' hen.</p> -<p class="pnext">"This is a private room," she snaps.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I know, ma'am," says I; "but the business we've -come on is sort of private, too. Come in, boys."</p> -<p class="pnext">The seven of 'em come in and they filled that -office plumb full. The stewardess woman's black -eyes opened and then shut part way. But there was -fire between the lashes.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What do you mean by comin' in here?" says -she. "And what do you want?"</p> -<p class="pnext">The rest of the fellers looked at me, so I answered.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Ma'am," says I, "we don't want nothin' of you -and we're sorry to trouble you. We've come to see -Mr. Frank on a matter of business, important business—that -is, it's important to us."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Mr. Frank is out," says she. "You must call -again. Good day."</p> -<p class="pnext">She turned back again to the desk, but none of -us moved.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Out, is he?" says I. "Well then, I cal'late -we'll wait till he comes in."</p> -<p class="pnext">"He is out of town. He won't be in till to-morrer," -she snaps.</p> -<p class="pnext">I looked 'round at the rest of the crowd. Every -one of 'em nodded.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well, then, ma'am," I says, "I cal'late we'll -stay here and wait till to-morrer."</p> -<p class="pnext">That shook her. She got up from the desk and -turned to face us. If I'm any judge of a temper -she had one, and she was holdin' it in by main -strength.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You may tell me your business," she says. "I -am Mr. Frank's—er—secretary."</p> -<p class="pnext">So I told her. "We've waited for our money -long as we can," says I. "None of us are well-off -and every one of us needs what's owin' him. We've -called and we've wrote. Now we're goin' to stay -here till we're paid. Of course, ma'am, I realize -'tain't none of your affairs, and we ain't goin' to -make you any more trouble than we can help. We'll -just set down on the piazza or in the dinin'-room or -somewheres and wait for your boss, that's all."</p> -<p class="pnext">I said that, 'cause I didn't want her to think we -had anything against her personal. I cal'lated -'twould smooth her down, but it didn't. She looked -as if she'd like to murder us, every livin' soul.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You get out of here!" she screamed, her hands -openin' and shuttin'. "You get right out of here -this minute!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes, ma'am," says I, "we'll get out of your -office, of course. Further'n that you'll have to excuse -us. We're goin' to stay right in this house till -we see Mr. Frank."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I'll put you out!" she sputtered. "I'll have -the waiters put you out."</p> -<p class="pnext">I thought of them two puny lookin' waiters and, -to save me, I couldn't help smilin'. You'd think -she'd have seen the ridic'lous side of it, too, but -apparently she didn't, for she bust right through -between Alpheus and me and rushed into the dinin'-room.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Boys," says I, to the crowd, "maybe we'd better -step out of here. We may need more room."</p> -<p class="pnext">She was in the dinin'-room talkin' foreign language -in a blue streak to the waiters. They was -lookin' scared and spreadin' out their hands and -hunchin' their shoulders.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Ma'am," says I, "if I was you I wouldn't do -nothin' foolish. We ain't goin' and we won't be -put out, but, on the other hand, we won't make any -fuss. We'll just set down here and wait for the -boss, that's all. Set down, boys."</p> -<p class="pnext">So all hands come to anchor on chairs around that -dinin'-room and grinned and looked silly but determined. -The stewardess glared at us some more -and then rushed off upstairs. In a minute she was -back with her hat on.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You wait!" says she. "You just wait! I'll -put you in prison! I'll—Oh—" The rest of it -was French or Italian or somethin', but we didn't -need an interpreter. She shook her fists at us and -run down the front steps and away up the road.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well, gents all," says I, "man born of woman -is of few days and full of trouble. To-day we're -here and to-morrer we're in jail, as the sayin' is. -Anybody want to back out? Now's the accepted -time."</p> -<p class="pnext">Nobody backed. The two waiters went on with -their table settin' and we set and watched 'em. -'Twas the queerest Sunday mornin' ever I put in. -By and by Alpheus got uneasy and wandered away -out towards the kitchen. In a few minutes back -he comes, b'ilin' mad.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Say, fellers," he sung out. "Do you know -what's goin' on here? There's a party of thirty -folks comin' in automobiles for dinner. They're -gettin' the dinner ready now. And if we don't stop -'em, they'll be fed with our stuff, the grub we've -never got a cent for. I don't know how you feel, -but <em class="italics">I've</em> got ten dollar's wuth of clams and lobsters -in this eatin'-house that ain't goin' to be used unless -I get my pay for 'em. You can do as you please, -but I'm goin' to stay in that kitchen and watch them -lobsters and things."</p> -<p class="pnext">And out he put, headed for the kitchen. The -rest of us looked at each other. Then Caleb Bearse -rose to his feet.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says he, determined, "there's a lot of -chops and roastin' beef and steaks out aft here that -belong to me. None of <em class="italics">them</em> go to feed auto folks -unless I get my pay fust."</p> -<p class="pnext">And <em class="italics">he</em> started for the kitchen. Then up gets -Ed Cahoon and follers suit.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I've got six or eight fowl and some eggs aboard -this craft," he says. "I cal'late I'll keep 'em company."</p> -<p class="pnext">The rest of us never said nothin', but I presume -likely we all thought alike. Anyhow, inside of three -minutes we was all out in that kitchen and facin' as -mad a chief cook and bottle washer as ever hailed -from France or anywheres else. You see, 'twas -time to put the lobsters and clams and all the rest -of the truck on the fire and we wa'n't willin' to see -'em put there.</p> -<p class="pnext">The chief or "chef," or whatever they called -him, fairly hopped up and down. The madder he -got the less English he talked and the less everybody -else understood. Bill Bangs done most of the -talkin' for our side and he had the common idea that -to make foreigners understand you must holler at -'em. Some of the other fellers put in their remarks -to help along, all hollerin' too, and such a riot you -never heard outside of a darky camp-meetin'. -While the exercises was at their liveliest the telephone -bell rung. After it had rung five times I -went into the other room to answer it. When I -got back to that kitchen I got Alpheus to one side -and says I:</p> -<p class="pnext">"Al," I says, "this thing's gettin' more -interestin' every minute. That telephone call was from -the man that's ordered the big dinner here to-day. -There's thirty-two in his party and they've got as -far as Cohasset Narrows already. They'll be here -in an hour and a half. He 'phoned just to let me -know they was on the way."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" says he. "What did he say when -you told him there wouldn't be no dinner?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"He didn't say nothin'," says I, "because I didn't -tell him. The wire was a bad one and he couldn't -hear plain, so he lost patience and rung off. Said -I could tell him whatever I wanted to say when him -and his party got here. <em class="italics">I</em> don't want to tell him -anything. You can explain to thirty-two hungry -folks that there's nothin' doin' in the grub line, if -you want to—I don't."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" he says again. "I ain't hankerin' -for the job. What had we better do, Cap'n Zeb, -do you think?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says I, "I cal'late we'd better shorten -sail and haul out of the race, for a spell, anyhow. -At any rate we'd better clear out of this kitchen and -leave that chef and the rest to get the dinner. I -know it's our stuff that'll go to make that dinner, but -I don't see's we can help it. A few dollars more -won't break us more'n we're cracked already."</p> -<p class="pnext">But he waved his hand for me to stop. "No -question of a few dollars is in it. It's no use," he -says, solemn; "you're too late. The Frenchman's -quit."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Quit?" says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Um-hm," says he. "Bill Bangs told him that -we fellers had took charge of this road-house and -he and the rest of the kitchen help quit right then -and there. They're out in the barn now, holdin' -counsel of war, I shouldn't wonder. Bill seems to -think he's done a great piece of work, but I don't."</p> -<p class="pnext">I didn't either; and, after I'd hot-footed it to the -barn and tried to pump some reason and sense into -that chef and his gang, I was surer of it than ever. -They wouldn't listen to reason, not from us. They -wanted to see the boss, meanin' Mr. Frank. He -was the one that had hired 'em and they wouldn't -have anything to say to anybody else.</p> -<p class="pnext">I come back to the kitchen and found the boys -all settin' round lookin' pretty solemn. My joke -about the jail wa'n't half so funny as it had been. -Bill Bangs, who'd been the most savage outlaw of -us all, was the meekest now.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Say, Cap'n," he says to me, nervous like, -"hadn't we better clear out and go home? I don't -want to see them auto people when they get here. -And—and I'm scared that that stewardess has gone -after the sheriff."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I presume likely that's just where she's gone," -says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Wh-what'll we do?" says he.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Don't know," says I. "But I do know that -the time for backin' out is past and gone. We -started out to be pirates and now it's too late to -haul down the skull and cross-bones. We've got to -stand by our guns and fight to the finish, that's all I -see. If the rest of you have got anything better to -offer, I, for one, would be mighty glad to hear -it."</p> -<p class="pnext">Everybody looked at everybody else, but nobody -said anything. 'Twas a glum creditors' meetin', -now I tell you. We set and stood around that -kitchen for ten minutes; then we heard voices in the -dinin'-room.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Heavens and earth!" sings out Ed Cahoon. -"Who's that? It can't be the automobile gang so -soon!"</p> -<p class="pnext">It wa'n't. 'Twas a parcel of women. You see, -some of the crowd had told their wives about the -counsel at the store and that, more'n likely, we'd -pay a visit to the "Sign of the Windmill." Church -bein' over, they'd come to hunt us up. There was -Alpheus's wife, and Cahoon's, and Bangs's, and -Bearse's, and Jerry Doane's daughter, and Mary -Blaisdell. They was mighty excited and wanted to -know what was up. We told 'em, but we didn't -hurrah none while we was doin' it.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says Matildy Bangs, "I must say you -men folks have made a nice mess of it all. William -Bangs, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. -What'll I do when you're in state's prison? How'm -I goin' to get along, I'd like to know! You never -think of nobody but yourself."</p> -<p class="pnext">Poor Bill was about ready to cry, but this made -him mad. "Who would I think of, for thunder -sakes!" he sung out. "I'm the one that's goin' to -be jailed, ain't I?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Then Mary Blaisdell took me by the arm. Her -eyes were sparklin' and she looked excited.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Cap'n Snow," she whispered, "come here a -minute. I want to speak to you. I have an idea."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Lord!" says I, groanin', "I wish <em class="italics">I</em> had. What -is it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">What do you suppose 'twas? Why, that we, -ourselves, should get up the dinner for the auto folks. -Every woman there could cook, she said, and so -could some of the men. We'd seized the stuff for -the dinner already. It was ours, or, at any rate, it -hadn't been paid for.</p> -<p class="pnext">"We can get 'em a good dinner," says she. "I -know we can. And, if that Frank doesn't come back -until you have been paid, you can take that much -out of his bills. If he does come no one will be any -worse off, not even he. Let's do it."</p> -<p class="pnext">I looked at her. As she said, we wouldn't be any -worse off, and we might as well be hung for old -sheep as lamb. The auto folks would be better off; -they'd have some kind of a meal, anyhow.</p> -<p class="pnext">We had a grand confab, but, in the end, that's -what we done. Every one of them women could -cook plain food, and Mrs. Cahoon was the best cake -and pie maker in the county. We divided up the -job. All hands had somethin' to do, includin' me, -who undertook a clam chowder, and Bill Bangs, who -split wood and lugged water and cussed and groaned -about state's prison while he was doin' it.</p> -<p class="pnext">The last thing was ready and the last plate set -when the autos, six of 'em, purred and chugged up -to the front door. We expected Frank, or the -stewardess, or the constable, or all three of 'em, any -minute, but they hadn't showed up. The dinner -crowd piled in and set down at the tables and the -head man of 'em, the one who was givin' the party, -come over to see me. And who should he turn out -to be but the stout man I'd met at the store. The -one who had told me he'd been waitin' for a chance -to get even with Frank. I don't know which was -the most surprised to meet each other in that place, -he or I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hello!" says he. "What are you doin' here? -You joined the Forty Thieves? Where's the boss -robber?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I told him the boss was out; that there was some -complications that would take too long to explain.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But, at any rate," says I, "you're meal's ready -and that's the main thing, ain't it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says he, "it is. I've got a crowd of New -York men—business associates of mine and their -wives—down for the week end and I wanted to -give 'em a Cape dinner. I never would have come -here, but the Denboro place is full up and couldn't -take us in. I hope the dinner is a better one than -the last I had in this place."</p> -<p class="pnext">I told him not to expect too much, but to set and -be thankful for whatever he got. He didn't understand, -of course, but he set down and we commenced -servin' the dinner.</p> -<p class="pnext">We started in with Little Neck quahaugs and followed -them up with my clam chowder. Then we -jogged along with bluefish and hot biscuit and -creamed potatoes. After them come the lobsters -and corn and such. Eat! You never see anybody -stow food the way those New Yorkers did.</p> -<p class="pnext">In the middle of the lobster doin's I bent over my -fleshy friend and asked him if things was satisfactory. -He looked up with his mouth full.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Great Scott!" says he. "Cap'n, this is the best -feed I've had since I first struck the Cape, and that -was ten years ago. What's happened to this hotel? -Is it under new management?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I didn't feel like grinnin', but I couldn't help it.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says I, "it is—for the time bein'."</p> -<p class="pnext">The final layer we loaded that crowd up with was -blueberry dumplin' and they washed it down with -coffee. Then the fat man—his name was Johnson—hauled -out cigars and the males lit and started -puffin'. I went out to the kitchen to see how things -was goin' there.</p> -<p class="pnext">Mary Blaisdell, with a big apron tied over her -Sunday gown, was washin' dishes. Her sleeves was -rolled up, her hair was rumpled, and she looked -pretty enough to eat—at least, I shouldn't have -minded tryin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">"How was it?" she asked. "Are they satisfied?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"If they ain't they ought to be," says I. "And -to-morrer the dyspepsy doctors'll do business enough -to give us a commission. But where's our old college -chum, the chef, and the waiters and all?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"They're in the barn," says she. "They tried -to come in here and make trouble, but Mr. Perkins -wouldn't let 'em. He drove 'em back to the barn -again. But they're dreadfully cross."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I shouldn't wonder," I says. "Well, goodness -knows what'll come of this, Mary, but—"</p> -<p class="pnext">Bill Bangs interrupted me. He come tearin' out -of the dinin'-room, white as a new tops'l, and his -eyes pretty close to poppin' out of his head.</p> -<p class="pnext">"My soul!" he panted. "Oh, my soul, Cap'n -Zeb! They're comin'! they're comin'!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Who's comin'?" I wanted to know.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, Mr. Frank, and that stewardess! And -John Bean, the constable, is with 'em. What shall -I do? I'll have to go to jail!"</p> -<p class="pnext">He was all but cryin', like a young one. I left -him to his wife, who, judgin' by her actions, was -cal'latin' to soothe him with a pan of hot water, and -headed for the front porch. However, I was too -late. I hadn't any more than reached the dinin'-room, -where all the comp'ny was still settin' at the -tables, than in through the front door marches Mr. -Edwin Frank of Pittsburg, and the stewardess, and -John Bean, the constable. The band had begun to -play and 'twas time to face the music.</p> -<p class="pnext">Frank looked around at the crowd at the tables, -at Mrs. Cahoon, and Alpheus, and the rest who'd -done the waitin'; and then at me. His face was -fire red and he was ugly as a shark in a weir net.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" says he. "What does this mean? -Snow, what high-handed outrage have you committed -on these premises?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I held up my hand. "Shh!" says I, tryin' to -think quick and save a scene; "Shh, Mr. Frank!" -I says. "If you'll come into your private cabin -I'll explain best I can. Somebody had to get dinner -for this crowd. Your Frenchmen wouldn't -work, so we did. All we've used is our grub, that -which ain't been paid for, and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">His teeth snapped together and he was so mad -he couldn't speak for a second. The stewardess -was as mad as he was, but it took more'n that to -keep her quiet.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Fred," says she—and even then, upset as I was, -I noticed she didn't call him by the name he give -Jacobs and me—"Fred, have him arrested. He's -the one that's responsible for it all. Officer, you do -your duty. Arrest that Snow there! Do you -hear?"</p> -<p class="pnext">She was pointin' to me. Poor old Bean hadn't -arrested anybody for so long that he'd forgot how, -I cal'late. All he did was stammer and look silly.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Cap'n Zeb," he says, "I—I'm dreadful sorry, -but—but—"</p> -<p class="pnext">Then <em class="italics">he</em> was interrupted. A big, tall, gray-haired -chap, who was settin' about amidships of the table -got to his feet.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Just a minute, Officer," says he, quiet, and never -lettin' go of his cigar, "just a minute, please. The—er—lady -and gentleman you have with you are -old acquaintances of mine. Hello, Francis! I'm -very glad to see you. We've missed you at the Conquilquit -Club. This meetin' is unexpected, but not -the less pleasant."</p> -<p class="pnext">He was talkin' to the Frank man. And the Frank -man—well, you should have seen him! The red -went out of his face and he almost flopped over onto -the floor. The stewardess went white, too, and she -grabbed his arm with both hands.</p> -<p class="pnext">"My Lord!" she says, in a whisper like, "it's -Mr. Washburn!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Correct, Hortense," says the gray-haired man. -"You haven't forgotten me, I see. Flattered, I'm -sure."</p> -<p class="pnext">For just about ten seconds the three of 'em looked -at each other. Then Frank made a jump for the -door and the woman with him. They was out and -down the steps afore poor old Bean could get his -brains to workin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Stop 'em!" shouts Washburn. "Officer, don't -let 'em get away!"</p> -<p class="pnext">But they'd got away already. By the time we'd -reached the porch they was in the buggy they'd come -in and flyin' down the road in a cloud of dust.</p> -<p class="pnext">I wiped my forehead.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well!" says I, "<em class="italics">well!</em>"</p> -<p class="pnext">Johnson pushed through the excited bunch and -took the gray-haired feller by the arm.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Say, Wash," he says, "you're havin' too good -a time all by yourself. Let us in on it, won't you? -Your friends are goin' some; no use to run after -them. Who are they?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Washburn knocked the ashes from his cigar and -smiled. He'd been cool as a no'thwest breeze right -along.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," he says, "the masculine member used to -be called Fred Francis. He was steward of the Conquilquit -Country Club on Long Island for some -time. He cleared out a year ago with a thousand -or so of the Club funds, and we haven't been able -to trace him since. He was a first-class steward and -sharp as a steel trap—but he was a crook. The -woman—oh, she went with him. She is his wife."</p> -</div> -<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xiijim-henry-starts-screenin"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id13">CHAPTER XII—JIM HENRY STARTS SCREENIN'</a></h2> -<p class="pfirst">A whole month more went by afore Jim -Henry Jacobs was well enough to come -home. When he got off the train at the -Ostable depot, thin and white and lookin' as if he'd -been hauled through a knothole, I was waitin' for -him. Maybe we wa'n't glad to see each other! -We shook hands for pretty nigh five minutes, I cal'late. -I loaded him into my buggy and drove him -down to the Poquit House and took him upstairs -to his room, which had been made as comf'table and -cozy as it's possible to make a room in that kind of -a boardin'-house.</p> -<p class="pnext">He set down in a big chair and looked around -him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"By George, Skipper!" he says, fetchin' a long -breath, "this is home, and I'm mighty glad to be -here. Where'd all the flowers come from?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Mary is responsible for them," I told him. -"She thought they'd sort of brighten up things."</p> -<p class="pnext">"They do, all right," says he, grateful. "And -now tell me about business. How is everything?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I told him that everything was fine; trade was tip-top, -and so on. He listened and was pleased, but -I could see there was somethin' else on his mind.</p> -<p class="pnext">"There's just one thing more," he said, soon's -he got the chance. "I knew the store must be O. -K.; your letters told me that. But—er—but—" -tryin' hard to be casual and not too interested, "how -is Frank doin' with his restaurant? How's the -'Sign of the Windmill' gettin' on?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Then I told him the whole yarn, almost as I've -told it here. He listened, breakin' out with exclamations -and such every little while. When I got -to where the Washburn man told who Frank and -the stewardess was, he couldn't hold in any longer.</p> -<p class="pnext">"A crook!" he sung out. "A crook! And she -was his wife!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"So it seems," says I. "And that ain't all of -it, neither. You remember the doctor said he'd -drawn his account out of the Ostable bank. Yes. -Well, that account didn't amount to much; he'd used -it about all, anyway. But there was another account -in his wife's name at the Sandwich bank, and -<em class="italics">that</em> was fairly good size."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Did you get hold of that?" he asked, excited.</p> -<p class="pnext">"No, we didn't. 'Twas in her name and we -wouldn't have touched it, if we'd wanted to; but we -didn't get the chance. She drew it all the very next -mornin' and the pair of 'em cleared out. I judge -they'd planned to skip in a few days anyhow, and -our creditors' raid only hurried things up a little -mite. The whole thing was a skin game—Frank -and his precious wife had seen ruination comin' on -and they'd laid plans to feather their own nest and -let the rest of us whistle. We ain't seen 'em from -that day to this."</p> -<p class="pnext">He was shakin' all over. "You ain't?" he -shouted, jumpin' from the chair. "You ain't? -Why not? What did you let 'em get away for? -Why didn't you set the police after 'em? What -sort of managin' do you call that? I—I—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hush!" says I, surprised to see him act so. -"Hush, Jim! you ain't heard the whole of it yet. -Our bill—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Bill be hanged!" he broke in. "I don't care a -continental about the bill. I invested fifteen hundred -dollars of my own money in that road-house, -and you let that fakir get away with the whole of it. -You're a nice partner!"</p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">I</em> was surprised now, and a good deal cut up and -hurt. 'Twas an understandin' between us—not a -written one, but an understandin' just the same—that -neither should go into any outside deal without -tellin' the other. We'd agreed to that after the row -concernin' Taylor and the "Palace Parlors." So I -was surprised and hurt and mad. But I held in well -as I could.</p> -<p class="pnext">"That's enough of that, Jim Henry!" says I. -"I'll talk about that later. Now I'll tell you the -rest of the yarn I started with. After that critter -who called himself Frank, but whose name, it -seemed, was Francis, had galloped away with the -stewardess woman, there was consider'ble excitement -around that dinin'-room, now I tell you. However, -Johnson and Washburn and me managed to get together -in the private office and I told 'em all about -how we come to be there, and about our gettin' their -dinner, and all the rest of it. They seemed to think -'twas funny, laughed liked a pair of loons, but I was -a long ways from laughin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">"'Well, well, well!' says Johnson, when I'd finished, -'that's the best joke I've heard in a month -of Sundays. You sartinly have your own ways of -doin' business down here, Cap'n Snow. But the dinner -was a good one and I'll pay you for it now. -How much?'</p> -<p class="pnext">"'Well,' says I, 'I suppose I ought to get what -I can for our crowd to leave with their wives and -relations afore we're carted to jail. Course the meal -we got for you wa'n't what you expected and I can't -charge that Frank thief's price for it; but I've got -to charge somethin'. If you think a dollar a head -wouldn't be too much, I—'</p> -<p class="pnext">"'A <em class="italics">dollar</em>!' says both of 'em. 'A dollar!'</p> -<p class="pnext">"'Do you mean that's all you'll charge?' says -Johnson. 'A dollar for <em class="italics">that</em> dinner! It was the -best—'</p> -<p class="pnext">"'You bet it was!' says Washburn.</p> -<p class="pnext">"'Look here!' goes on Johnson. 'I was to pay -Frank, or whatever his real name is, two-fifty a plate. -Yours was wuth three of any meal I ever got here, -but, if you will be satisfied with the contract price I -made with him, I'll give you a check now. And, -Cap'n Snow, let me give you a piece of advice. Now -you've got this hotel, keep it; keep it and run it. -If you can furnish dinners like this one every day -in the week durin' the summer and fall you'll have -customers enough. Why, I'll engage twenty-five -plates for next Sunday, myself. I've got another -week-end party, haven't I, Wash?'</p> -<p class="pnext">"'If you haven't I can get one for you,' says -Washburn. 'Johnson's advice is good, Cap'n. -Keep this place and run it yourself. Don't be afraid -of Francis. Confound him! I ought to have him -jailed. The Club would pitch me out if they knew -I had the chance and didn't take it. But I won't, -for your sake. So long as he doesn't trouble you -I'll keep quiet. But if he <em class="italics">does</em> trouble you, if he -ever comes back, just send for me. However, you -won't have to send; he'll never come back.'</p> -<p class="pnext">"And," says I, to Jim Henry, "he ain't ever -come back. I talked the matter over with Mary -and Alpheus and a few of the others and, after -consider'ble misgivin's on my part, we reached an agreement. -I decided to run the 'Sign of the Windmill' -myself. We bounced the chef and his helpers and -the foreign waiters and hired Alpheus's wife and -Cahoon's daughter and four or five more. We fed -ten folks that next day and they all said they was -comin' again. They did and they fetched others. -The upshot of it is that all that hotel's outstandin' -bills have been paid, the place is out of debt, and -the outlook for next season is somethin' fine. There, -Jim Henry, that's the yarn. I went through Purgatory -because I figgered that you had trusted the store -business in my hands and the Windmill's bill was so -large and I thought I was responsible for it. If I'd -known you'd put money into the shebang without -tellin' me, your partner, a word about it, maybe I'd -have felt worse. I <em class="italics">should</em> have felt worse—I do -now—but in another way. I didn't think you'd -do such a thing, Jim! I honestly didn't."</p> -<p class="pnext">He'd set down while I was talkin'. Now he got -up again.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Skipper," he says, sort of broken, "I—I don't -know what to say to you. I—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"It's all right," says I, pretty sharp. "Your -fifteen hundred's all right, I cal'late. The furniture -and fixin's are wuth that, I guess. Is there anything -else you want to ask me? If not I'm goin' to the -store."</p> -<p class="pnext">I was turnin' to go, but he stepped for'ard and -stopped me.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Zeb," he says, his face workin', "don't go away -mad. I've been a chump. You ought to hate me, -but I—I hope you won't. I was a fool. I thought -because you was country that you hadn't any head -for business, and when you wouldn't invest in that -Windmill proposition I was sore and went into it -myself. My conscience has plagued me ever since. -I'm a low-down chump. I deserve to lose the fifteen -hundred and I'm glad I did. By the Lord -Harry! you've got more real business instinct than -I ever dreamed of."</p> -<p class="pnext">He looked so sort of weak and sick and pitiful -that I was awful sorry for him, in spite of everything.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Don't talk foolish," says I. "You ain't lost -your money. It's yours now; at least I don't think -Brother Fred George Eben Frank Francis'll ever -turn up to claim it."</p> -<p class="pnext">He shook his head. "Not much!" he says. -"You don't suppose I'll take a share in that hotel, -after you and your smart managin' saved it, do you? -I ain't quite as mean as that, no matter what you -think. No, sir, you've made good and the whole -property is yours. All I want you to do is to give -me another chance. If I live I'll show you how -thankful I—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"There! there!" says I, all upset, "don't say -another word. Of course we'll hang together in -this, same as in everything else. Shake, and let's -forget it."</p> -<p class="pnext">We shook hands and his was so thin and white I -felt worse than ever.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Skipper," he says, "I can't thank—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"No need to thank me," I cut in. "If you've -got to thank anybody, thank Mary Blaisdell. She's -been the brains of that eatin'-house concern ever -since I took hold of it. She's a wonder, that woman. -If she'd been my own sister she couldn't have done -more. I wish she was."</p> -<p class="pnext">He looked at me, pretty queer.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Skipper," says he, smilin', "if you wish that -you're a bigger chump than I've been, and that's -sayin' a heap."</p> -<p class="pnext">What in the world he meant by that I didn't know—but -I didn't ask him. Not that I didn't think. -I'd been thinkin' a lot of foolish things lately, but -you could have cut my head off afore I said 'em out -loud, even to myself.</p> -<p class="pnext">He came down to the store the next mornin' and -the sight of it seemed to be the very tonic he needed. -He got better day by day and pretty soon was his -own brisk self again. "The Sign of the Windmill"—by -the way, I'd changed the name on my own -hook and 'twas the "Sign of the Bluefish" now—done -fust rate all through the fall and when we -closed it we was sure that next summer it would be -a little gold mine for us. In fact, everything in the -trade line looked good, by-products and all, and I -ought to have been a happy man. But I wa'n't exactly. -Somehow or other I couldn't feel quite contented. -I didn't know what was the matter with -me and when I hinted as much to Jacobs he just -looked at me and laughed.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You're lonesome, that's what's the matter with -you," he says. "You're too good a man to be -boardin' at a one-horse ranch like the Poquit."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I'll admit that," says I. "I'll give in that I'm -next door to an angel and ought to wear wings, if -it'll please you any to have me say so. And the -Poquit ain't a paradise, by no means. But I've -sailed salt water for the biggest part of my life and -it ain't poor grub that ails me."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Who said it was?" says he. "I said you were -lonesome. You ought to have a home."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Old Mans' Home you mean, I s'pose. Well, -I ain't goin' there yet."</p> -<p class="pnext">He laughed again and walked off.</p> -<p class="pnext">In October he went up to Boston and came back -with his head full of new ideas and his pockets full -of notions. He'd been to what the advertisements -called the Industrial Exhibition in Mechanics' -Buildin' up there, and had fetched back every last -thing he could get for nothin' and some few that he -bought cheap. He had a sample trap that, accordin' -to the circular, would catch all the able-bodied rats -in a township the fust night and make all the crippled -and bedridden ones grieve themselves to death -of disappointment because they couldn't get into it -afore closin' hours. And he had the Gunners' -Pocket Companion, which was a foldin' hatchet and -butcher knife, with a corkscrew in the handle; and -samples of "cereal coffee" that didn't taste like -either cereal or coffee; and safety razors that were -warranted not to cut—and wouldn't; and—and I -don't know what all. These was side issues, however, -as you might say. What he was really enthusiastic -over was the Eureka Adjustable Aluminum -Window Screen. If he'd been a mosquito he -couldn't have been more anxious about them -screens.</p> -<p class="pnext">"They're the greatest ever, Skipper!" he says -to me, enthusiastic. "Fit any window; can't rust—and -a child of twelve can put 'em up."</p> -<p class="pnext">"That part don't count," says I. "Nowadays -if a child of twelve ain't halfway through Harvard -his folks send for the doctor. I may be a hayseed, -but I read the magazines."</p> -<p class="pnext">He went right along, never payin' no attention, -and praisin' up them screens as if he was nominatin' -'em for office. Finally he made proclamation that -he'd applied—in the store name, of course—for -the Ostable County agency for 'em.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But why?" says I. "We've got an adjustable -screen agency now. And they're good screens, too. -No mosquito can get through them—unless it takes -to usin' a can-opener, which wouldn't surprise me a -whole lot."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I know they are good screens," says he; "but -there's nothin' new or novel about 'em. And, I -tell you, Cap'n Zeb, it's novelty that catches the coin. -We want to get the contract for screenin' that new -hotel at West Ostable. It'll be ready in a couple of -months and there's two hundred rooms in it. Let's -say there are two windows to a room; that's four -hundred screens—besides doors and all the rest. -That hotel will need screens, won't it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Need 'em!" says I. "In West Ostable! In -among all them salt meadows and cedar swamps! -It'll need screens and nettin's and insect powder and -'intment—and even then nobody but the hard-of-hearin' -bo'rders'll be able to sleep on account of the -hummin'. Need screens! <em class="italics">That</em> hotel! My soul -and body!"</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, then, we must get the contract—that's all. -It was well wuth the trouble of gettin'. And with -the Adjustable Aluminum to start with, and he, Jim -Henry, to do the talkin', we would get it. He'd -applied for the county agency and the Adjustable -folks had about decided to give it to him. They'd -write and let us know pretty soon.</p> -<p class="pnext">A week went by and we didn't hear a word. -Then, on the followin' Monday but one, come a -letter. Jim Henry was openin' the mail and I heard -him rip loose a brisk remark.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What's the matter?" says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Matter!" he snarls. "Why, the miserable -four-flushers have turned me down—that's all. -Read that!"</p> -<p class="pnext">I took the letter he handed me. It was type-wrote -on a big sheet of paper, with a printed head, -readin': "Ormstein & Meyer, Hardware and -Tools. Manufacturers of Eureka Adjustable Aluminum -Window Screens." And this is what it said:</p> -<blockquote><div> -<p class="pfirst"><em class="italics">Mr. J. H. Jacobs</em>,</p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes and -Fancy Goods Store, Ostable, Mass.</em></p> -<p class="pnext"><span class="small-caps">Dear Sir</span>: Regarding your application for Ostable -County ag'y Eureka Adjustable Aluminum Window -Screens, would say that we have decided to give -ag'y to party named Geo. Lentz, who will give entire -time to it instead making it a side issue as per -your conversation with our Mr. Meyer. Regretting -that we cannot do business together in this regard, -but trusting for a continuance of your valued patronage, -we remain</p> -<p class="pnext">Yours truly,</p> -<blockquote><div> -<p class="pfirst"><span class="small-caps">Ormstein & Meyer.</span></p> -</div></blockquote> -<p class="pfirst">Dic. M—L. G.</p> -</div></blockquote> -<p class="pfirst">"Now what do you think of that?" snaps Jim, -mad as he could stick. "What do you think of -that!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says I, slow, "I think that, speakin' as -a man in the crosstrees, it looks as if you and me -wouldn't furnish screens for the West Ostable Hotel."</p> -<p class="pnext">He half shut his eyes and stared at me hard.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh!" says he. "That's what you think, -hey?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, yes," I says. "Don't you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"No!" he sings out, so loud that 'Dolph Cahoon, -our new clerk, who'd been half asleep in the lee of -the gingham and calico dressgoods counter, jumped -up and stepped on the store cat. The cat beat -for port down the back stairs, whoopin' comments, -and 'Dolph begun measurin' calico as if he was -wound up for eight days.</p> -<p class="pnext">"No!" says Jacobs again, soon as the cat's opinion -of 'Dolph had faded away into the cellar—"No!" -he says. "I don't think it at all. We -may not sell Eureka Adjustables to that hotel, but -we'll sell screens to it—and don't you forget that. -I'll make it my business to get that contract if I -don't do anything else. I'm no quitter, if you are!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nary quit!" says I. "I'll stand by to pull -whatever rope I can; but it does seem to me that -this agent, whoever he is, will have an eye on that -hotel. And, accordin' to your accounts, he's got -better goods than we have."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Maybe. But if he's a better salesman than I -am he'll have to go some to prove it. I'll beat him, -by fair means or foul, just to get even. That's a -promise, Skipper, and I call you to witness it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Wonder who this Geo. Lentz is," says I. -"'Tain't a Cape name, that's sure."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I don't care who he is. I only wish he'd have -the nerve to come into this store—that's all. He'd -go out on the fly—I tell you that! And that's another -promise."</p> -<p class="pnext">Maybe 'twas; but, if so—However, I'm a little -mite ahead of myself; fust come fust served, as -the youngest boy said when the father undertook to -thrash the whole family. The fust thing that happened -after our talk and the Eureka folks' letter was -Jim Henry's goin' over to West Ostable to see -Parkinson, the hotel man. He went in the new runabout -automobile that he'd bought since he got back -from the West, and was gone pretty nigh all day. -When he got back he was hopeful—I could see -that.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says he, "I've laid the cornerstone. -I've talked the Nonesuch"—that was the brand of -screen we carried—"to beat the cars; and we'll have -a show to get in a bid, at any rate. It'll be six weeks -more afore the contract's given out, and meantime -yours truly will be on the job. If our old college -chum, G. Lentz, Esquire, don't hustle he'll be left at -the post."</p> -<p class="pnext">"What sort of a chap is this Parkinson man?" -I asked.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, he's all right; big and fat and good-natured. -A good feller, I should say. Likes automobilin', -too, and thinks my car is a winner."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Married, is he?" says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"No; he's a widower. That's a good thing, too."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why? What's that got to do with it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"A whole lot. If he was married I'd have to -take Mrs. P. along on our auto rides; and—let -alone the fact that there wouldn't be room—she'd -want to talk scenery instead of screens. Women -and business don't mix. That's one reason why I've -never married."</p> -<p class="pnext">I couldn't help thinkin' of some of the hints he'd -been heavin' at me—the "home" remarks and so -on—but I never said nothin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">This was a Tuesday. And when, on Thursday -afternoon, I walked into the store, after havin' had -dinner at the Poquit, I found 'Dolph Cahoon—our -new clerk I've mentioned already—leanin' graceful -and easy over the candy counter and talkin' with -a young woman I'd never seen afore. I didn't look -at her very close, but I got a sort of general observation -as I walked aft to the post-office department; -and, sifted down, that observation left me with remembrances -of a blue serge jacket and skirt, cut -clipper fashion and fittin' as if they was built for the -craft that was in 'em; a little blue hat—a real hat; -not a velvet tar barrel upside down—with a little -white gull's wing on it; brown eyes and brown hair, -and a white collar and shirtwaist. I didn't stop to -hail, you understand; but I judged that the stranger's -home port wa'n't Ostable or any of the Cape towns. -Ostable outfitters don't rig 'em that way.</p> -<p class="pnext">I come in the side door, and 'Dolph or his customer -didn't notice me. The young woman was -lookin' into the showcase; and, as for 'Dolph, he -wouldn't have noticed the President of the United -States just then. He was twirlin' his red mustache -with the hand that had the rock-crystal ring on the -finger of it, and his talk was a sort of sugared purr—at -least, that's the nighest description of it that -I can get at.</p> -<p class="pnext">I set down in my chair at the postmaster's desk -and begun to turn over some papers. Mary had -gone to dinner and Jim Henry was away in his auto; -so I was all alone. I turned over the papers, but I -couldn't get my mind on 'em—the talk outside was -too prevailin', so to speak.</p> -<p class="pnext">'Dolph was doin' the heft of it. The young -woman's answers was short and not too interested. -'Dolph was remarkin' about the weather and what -a dull winter we'd had, and how glad he'd be when -spring really set in and the summer folks begun to -come—and so on.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Really," says he, and though I couldn't see him -I'd have bet that the mustache and ring was doin' -business—"Really," he says, "there's a dreadful -lack of cultivated society in this town, Miss—er—"</p> -<p class="pnext">He held up here, waitin', I judged, for the young -woman to give her name. However, she didn't; so -he purred ahead.</p> -<p class="pnext">"There's so few folks," he says, "for a young -feller like me—used to the city—to associate with. -This is a jay place all right. I'm only here temporary. -I shall go back to Brockton in the fall, I -guess."</p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">I</em> guessed he'd go sooner; but I kept still.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Are you goin' to remain here for some time?" -he asked.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Possibly," says the girl.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I'm 'fraid you'll find it pretty dull, won't you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Perhaps."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I should be glad to introduce you to the folks -that are worth knowin'. Are you fond of dancin'? -There's a subscription ball at the town hall to-night."</p> -<p class="pnext">This was what a lawyer'd call a leadin' question, -seemed to me; but the answer didn't seem to lead to -anything warmer than the North Pole. The young -woman said, "Indeed?" and that was all.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I'm perfectly dippy about waltzin'," says 'Dolph. -"By the way, won't you have some confectionery? -These chocolates are pretty fair."</p> -<p class="pnext">I riz to my feet. I don't mind bein' a philanthropist -once in a while, but I like to do my philanthropin' -fust-hand. And them chocolates sold for sixty cents -a pound!</p> -<p class="pnext">I had my hand on the doorknob. Just as I turned -it I heard the young woman say, crisp and cold as a -fresh cucumber:</p> -<p class="pnext">"Pardon me, but will your employer be in soon? -If not I'll call again—when he is in."</p> -<p class="pnext">"You won't have to," says I, steppin' out of the -post-office room and walkin' over toward the candy -counter. "One of him's in now. 'Dolph, you can -put them chocolates back in the case. Oh, yes—and -you might associate yourself with the broom and -waltz out and sweep the front platform. It's been -needin' your cultivated society bad."</p> -<p class="pnext">The rest of that clerk's face turned as red as his -mustache, and the way he slammed the chocolate -box into the showcase was a caution! Then I turned -to the young woman, who was as sober as a deacon, -except for her eyes, which were snappin' with fun, -and says I:</p> -<p class="pnext">"You wanted to see me, I believe, miss. My -name's Zebulon Snow and I'm one of the partners -in this jay place. What can I do for you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">She waited until 'Dolph and the broom had moved -out to the platform. Then she turned to me and she -says:</p> -<p class="pnext">"Captain Snow," she says, "I understand that -your firm here is intendin' puttin' in a bid for the -window screens at the new hotel at West Ostable. -Is that so?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I was consider'ble surprised, but I didn't see any -reason why I shouldn't tell the truth.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, yes, ma'am," says I; "we are figgerin' -on the job. Are you interested in that hotel? If -you are I'd be glad to show you samples of the -Nonesuch screen. We cal'late that it's a mighty -slick article."</p> -<p class="pnext">She smiled, pretty as a picture.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I am interested in the hotel," she says; "and in -screens, though not exactly in the way you mean, -perhaps. Here is my card."</p> -<p class="pnext">She took a little leather wallet out of her jacket-pocket -and handed me a card. I took it. 'Twas -printed neat as could be; but it wa'n't the neatness -of the printin' that set me all aback, with my canvas -flappin'—'twas what that printin' said:</p> -<div class="center line-block noindent outermost"> -<div class="line">GEORGIANNA LENTZ</div> -<div class="line"> </div> -<div class="line"><span class="small-caps">Ostable County Agent for the</span></div> -<div class="line"><span class="small-caps">Eureka Adjustable Aluminum Window Screen</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pfirst">"What?—What!—Hey?" says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says she.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Agent for the Eureka Adjusta—You!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, yes; of course. The Eureka people wrote -you that they had given me the agency, didn't -they?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I rubbed my forehead.</p> -<p class="pnext">"They wrote my partner and me," I stammered, -"that they'd given it to—to a feller named George—er—that -is—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Not George—Georgianna. Oh, I see! They -abbreviated the name and so you thought—Of -course you did. How odd!"</p> -<p class="pnext">She laughed. I'd have laughed too, maybe, if -I'd had sense enough to think of it; but I hadn't, just -then.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You the agent!" says I. "A—a woman!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes."</p> -<p class="pnext">"But—but a woman!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well?" pretty crisp. "I admit I am a woman; -but is that any reason why I should not sell window -screens?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I rubbed my forehead some more. These are -progressive days we're livin' in, and sometimes I have -to hustle to keep abreast of 'em.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, no," says I, slow; "I cal'late 'tain't. I -suppose there's no law against a woman's sellin' -'most any article that is salable, window screens -or anything else if she wants to; but I can't -see—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why she should want to? Perhaps not. However, -we needn't go into that just now. The fact is -I do want to and intend to. I have secured a -boardin' place here in Ostable and shall make the -town my headquarters. This is a small community -and one naturally prefers to be friendly with all the -people in it. So, after thinkin' the matter over, I -decided that it was best to begin with a clear understandin'. -Do you follow me?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I—I guess so. Heave ahead; I'll do my best -to keep you in sight. If the weather gets too thick -I'll sound the foghorn. Go on."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I am naturally desirous of securin' the hotel -screen contract. So, I understand, are you. I have -seen Mr. Parkinson, the hotel man, and he tells me -that your firm and mine will probably be the only -bidders. Now that makes us rivals, but it need not -necessarily make us enemies. My proposition is this: -You will submit your bid and I will submit mine. -The party submittin' the lowest bid—quality of -product considered—will win. I propose that we -let it go in that way. We might, of course, do a -great many other things—might attempt to bring -influence to bear; might—well, might cultivate Mr. -Parkinson's acquaintance, and—and so on. You -might do that—so might I, I suppose; but, for my -part, I prefer to make this a fair, honorable business -rivalry, in which the best man—er—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Or woman," I couldn't help puttin' in.</p> -<p class="pnext">"In which the best bid wins. I have already -demonstrated the Eureka for Mr. Parkinson's benefit -and left a sample with him. He tells me that you -have done the same with the Nonesuch. I will agree—if -you will—to let the matter rest there, submittin' -our respective bids when the time comes and -abidin' by the result. Now what do you say?"</p> -<p class="pnext">'Twas pretty hard to say anything. I wanted to -laugh; but I couldn't do that. If there ever was -anybody in dead earnest 'twas this partic'lar young -woman. And she wa'n't the kind to laugh at either. -She might be in a queer sort of business for a female—but -she was nobody's fool.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," she asks again, "what do you say?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I shook my head. "I can't say anything very -definite just this minute," I told her. "I've got a -partner, and naturally I can't do much without consultin' -him; but I will say this, though," noticin' that -she looked pretty disappointed—"I'll say that, fur's -I'm concerned, I'm agreeable."</p> -<p class="pnext">She smiled and, as I cal'late I've said afore, her -smile was wuth lookin' at.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Thank you so much, Cap'n Snow," she says. -"Then we shall be friends, sha'n't we? Except in -business, I mean."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I hope so—sartin," says I. "Now it ain't -none of my affairs, of course, but I am curious. How -did you ever happen to take the agency for—for -window screens?"</p> -<p class="pnext">That made her serious right off. She might smile -at other things, but not at her trade; that was life -and death for sure.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I took it," she says, "for several reasons. My -mother died recently and I was left alone. My -means were not sufficient to support me. I have -done office work, typewritin', and so on, for some -years; but I felt that the opportunities in the positions -I held were limited and I determined to take -up sellin'—that is where the larger returns are. -Don't you think so?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, yes—sartin."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes. I knew Mr. Meyer slightly in a business -way. I took the Eureka screen and sold it on commission -about Boston for a time. Then I applied -for the Ostable County agency and got it—that's -all."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I see," says I. "Yes, yes. Well, I must say -that, for a girl, you—"</p> -<p class="pnext">She interrupted me quick.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I don't see that my bein' a girl has anything to -do with it," she says. "And in this agreement of -ours, if it is made, I don't wish the difference of sex -considered at all. This is a business proposition -and sex has nothin' to do with it. Is that plain?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says I, considerin', "it's plain; but I ain't -sure that—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I am sure," she interrupts—"and you must be. -I wish to be treated in this matter exactly as if I -were a man. I wish I were one!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I doubt if you'd get most men to agree with -you in that wish," I says. "However, never mind. -I'll do my best to get Mr. Jacobs, my partner, to -say 'Yes' to your proposal. And I hope you'll do -fust-rate, even if we are what you call rivals. Drop -in any time, Miss Georg—Georgianna, I mean."</p> -<p class="pnext">We shook hands and she went away. I went as -fur as the platform with her. When I turned to go -in again I noticed 'Dolph Cahoon starin' after her, -with his eyes and mouth open.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Gosh!" says he, grinnin'. "By gosh! She's -a peach! Ain't she, Cap'n Zeb?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Maybe so," says I, pretty short; "but I don't -recollect that we hired you as a judge of fruit. Has -that broom took root in the dirt on this platform? -Or what is the matter?"</p> -</div> -<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xiiiwhat-came-through-the-screen"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id14">CHAPTER XIII—WHAT CAME THROUGH THE SCREEN</a></h2> -<p class="pfirst">Jacobs come in late that afternoon.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Say," says he, "there was a sample of the -Eureka screen in Parkinson's office when I was -there just now. He wouldn't say who left it or -anything about it. When I asked he grinned and -winked. That's all. Confound his fat head! Do -you know where it came from?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I can guess," I says; and then I told him the -whole yarn. He was as surprised as I was to find -out that Geo. Lentz was a female; but it only made -him madder than ever—if such a thing's possible.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Wants to be treated like a man, does she?" he -says. "All right; we'll treat her like one. She -may be Georgianna, but she'll get just what was -comin' to George."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Then you won't agree to puttin' in the bids and -lettin' it go at that?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I'll agree to get that screen contract, all right!" -says he, emphatic.</p> -<p class="pnext">I was kind of sorry for Miss Lentz; but Jim Henry -was my partner, so there wa'n't nothin' more to be -said. We didn't mention the subject again for two -days. However, I did hear from the Eureka agent -durin' that time. 'Twas 'Dolph that I got my news -of her from. I was tellin' Mary Blaisdell about her -and Cahoon happened to be standin' by.</p> -<p class="pnext">"So she boards here in Ostable," says Mary. "I -wonder where."</p> -<p class="pnext">Afore I could answer 'Dolph spoke up. "She's -stoppin' at Maria Berry's, down on the Neck Road," -he says.</p> -<p class="pnext">"How did you know?" I asked.</p> -<p class="pnext">He looked sort of silly. "Oh, I found out," says -he, and walked off.</p> -<p class="pnext">The very next evenin', as I was strollin' along the -sidewalk, smokin' my good-night pipe, I happened -to see somebody turn the corner from the Neck Road -and hurry by me. I thought his gait and build were -pretty familiar, so I turned and followed. When he -got abreast the lighted windows of the billiard saloon -I recognized him. 'Twas 'Dolph, all togged out in -his Sunday-go-to-meetin' duds, light fall overcoat -and all.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" says I to myself. "So that's how -you knew, hey? Been callin' on her, have you? -Well, she may not hanker for my sympathy, but she -has it just the same. I swan, I thought she had better -taste! I'm surprised!"</p> -<p class="pnext">The followin' mornin', however, I was more -surprised still. I had an errand that made me late at -the store. When I came in who should I see talkin' -together but Jacobs and a young woman; the young -woman was Miss Georgianna Lentz. They ought -to have been quarrelin', 'cordin' to all reasonable -expectations; but they wa'n't. Fact is, they seemed -as friendly as could be. You'd have thought they -was old chums to see 'em.</p> -<p class="pnext">Georgianna sighted me fust.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Good mornin', Cap'n Snow," says she. "Mr. -Jacobs and I have made each other's acquaintance, -you see."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says I, doubtful. "I see you have. I -cal'late you think it's kind of unreasonable, our -not—"</p> -<p class="pnext">Jim Henry cut in ahead of me quick as a flash.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Miss Lentz and I have been goin' over the matter -of screens for Parkinson's hotel," he says. "I -tell her that her proposition suits us down to the -ground."</p> -<p class="pnext">Over I went on my beam-ends again. All I could -think of to say was: "Hey?"—and I said that -pretty feeble.</p> -<p class="pnext">"It is very nice of you to do this," says Georgianna. -"It makes it so much easier for me. Of -course, when I decided to make business my life-work, -I realized that I might be called upon to do -disagreeable things like—like wire-pullin', and so -on, which some business people do; but honorable -rivalry is so much better, isn't it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Sure!" says Jacobs, prompt. "Yes, indeed."</p> -<p class="pnext">"So it is all settled," she went on. "Our bids -are to go in on the same day; and meantime neither -of us is to call on Mr. Parkinson or to meet him—in -a business way, I mean."</p> -<p class="pnext">I nodded, bein' still too upset to talk; but Jim -Henry spoke quick and prompt.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What do you mean," he asks—"in a business -way?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why," says she—and it seemed to me that she -reddened a little—"I mean that—well, if we -should meet him by accident we wouldn't talk about -screens or the hotel contract. Of course one can't -help meetin' people sometimes. For instance, I -happened to meet Mr. Parkinson yesterday. He -had driven over and happened to be in the vicinity -of the house where I board. I was goin' out for -a walk, and he stopped his horse and spoke."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh," says I, "he did, hey?" Jim Henry didn't -say nothin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," she says; "but I didn't talk about the contract. -Though our agreement wasn't actually made -then, I hoped that it would be. Good mornin'; I -must be goin'."</p> -<p class="pnext">She started for the door, but she turned to say -one more thing.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Of course," she says, decided, "it is understood -that you haven't agreed to my proposal simply because -I am a girl. If that was the case I shouldn't -permit it. I insist upon bein' treated exactly as if -I were a man. You must promise that—both of -you."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Sure! Sure! That's understood," says Jacobs.</p> -<p class="pnext">I said "Sure!" too, but my tone wa'n't quite so -sartin. She went out, Jim Henry goin' with her -as fur as the door. I follered him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Say," says I, "next time you turn a back somerset -like this I'd like to know about it in advance. -I've got a weak heart."</p> -<p class="pnext">He didn't answer me at all. He was starin' down -the road, just as 'Dolph had stared when the Eureka -agent called the fust time.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Say, Jim—" says I. He didn't turn or move; -didn't seem to hear me. I touched him on the shoulder -and he jumped and come about.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Eh—what?" he says.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nothin'," says I, "only I want to know why—that's -all."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why?" says he. "Oh!—you mean what -made me change my mind? Well, I just thought it -over and decided we might as well agree. Agreein' -don't do any harm, you know. Hey, Skipper? -Ha-ha!"</p> -<p class="pnext">He slapped me on the shoulder and laughed. -The laugh seemed too big for the joke and sounded -a little mite forced, I thought.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes, yes! Ha-ha!" says I. "But your -changin' from lion to lamb so sudden—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"What are you talkin' about? I've got a right -to change my mind, ain't I?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Sartin sure. But you was so set on gettin' that -contract."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well, I ain't said I wasn't goin' to get it, have -I? We're goin' to put in a bid, ain't we? What's -the matter with you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nothin' at all; but <em class="italics">your</em> breakfast don't seem to -have set extry well! However, it takes two to make -a row, and I'm peaceful, myself. What do you -think of the rival entry? Kind of a nice-appearin' -girl—don't you think so?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He whirled round and looked at me as if he -thought I was crazy.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nice-appearin'!" he says. "Nice-ap—Why, -she's—"</p> -<p class="pnext">Then he pulled up short and headed for the back -room.</p> -<p class="pnext">Nothin' of much importance happened for a while -after that. And yet there was somethin'—two or -three somethin's—that had a bearin' on the case. -One was the change in 'Dolph Cahoon. For a few -days after that night I met him on the road he was -as gay and chipper as a blackbird in a pear tree—happy -even when I made him work, which was surprisin' -enough. And then, all to once, he turned -glum and ugly. Wouldn't speak and seemed to be -broodin' over his troubles all day long. I had my -suspicions; and so, one time when him and me was -alone, I hove over a little mite of bait just to see -if he'd rise to it.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Seen anything of the Lentz girl lately?" I asked, -casual.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Naw," says he, "and I don't want to, neither! -She's a bird, she is! Too stuck up to speak to common -folks. Everybody's gettin' on to her—you -bet! She won't make many friends in this town."</p> -<p class="pnext">I grinned to myself. Thinks I: "I guess, -young man, Georgianna's handed you your walkin' -papers. You won't go down the Neck Road any -more!"</p> -<p class="pnext">And yet, an evenin' or so after that, I see somebody -go down that road. I didn't see him plain, -but I'd have almost taken my oath 'twas Jim Henry -Jacobs. It couldn't be, of course—and yet—</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, two days later, I took back the "yet." I -happened to be standin' at the side door of the store, -lookin' across the fields, when I saw an auto with -two people in it sailin' along the crossroad from the -east'ard. 'Twas a runabout auto—and I looked -and looked! Then I called to 'Dolph.</p> -<p class="pnext">"'Dolph," says I, "come here! Who's -automobile's that? If I didn't know Mr. Jacobs was -off takin' orders in Denboro I should say 'twas his."</p> -<p class="pnext">'Dolph looked.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" says he—"'tis his. He's drivin' it -himself. But who's that with him? What? Well, -by gosh! if it ain't that stuck-up Georgianna Lentz!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Get out!" says I. "The softness of your heart -has struck to your head. It's likely he'd be takin' -her to ride, ain't it!"</p> -<p class="pnext">And then Jacobs looked up and sighted us standin' -in the doorway. His machine hadn't been goin' -slow afore—now it fairly jumped off the ground -and flew. In a minute there was nothin' but a dust-cloud -in the offin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">He came in about noon. I didn't say nothin', -but I guess my face was enough. He looked at me, -turned away—and then turned back again.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," he says, loud and cheerful, "you saw us, -didn't you? I was goin' to tell you, anyway, soon -as I got the chance."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh," says I, "I want to know!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Sure, I was. Of course you see through the -game."</p> -<p class="pnext">"The game?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, yes, yes! The game I'm playin'—the -game that's goin' to get us that screen contract! -Oh, I wasn't born yesterday. I knew a thing or -two. This—er—Lentz girl and you and me have -agreed not to go near Parkinson till the contract's -given out; but Parkinson ain't promised not to go -near her! He's been over there two or three times -lately, and that won't do. He's a widower, and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"A widower!" I put in. "What's that got to -do with it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, nothin'—nothin'. Just a joke, that's -all. But I realized right away that she and he -mustn't be together or he'll make her talk screens -in spite of herself, and that'll be dangerous for us. -So, says I to myself, 'Jim Henry,' says I, 'it's up to -you. You must keep her out of his way.' That's -why I've been goin' to see her once in a while and—and -takin' her to ride, and—and so on. See? -Oh, I'm wise! You trust your old doctor of sick -businesses."</p> -<p class="pnext">He'd been talkin' a blue streak. Seemed almost -as if he was afraid I'd say somethin' afore he could -say it all. Now he stopped to get his breath and -I put in a word.</p> -<p class="pnext">"So," says I, slow, "that's why you're doin' it, -hey? But ain't that—You know you promised -to treat her just as if she was a man!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well, ain't I?" he snaps—hotter than was -needful, I thought. "If she was a man I'd make -it my business to keep her in sight, wouldn't I? -Well, then! I never saw such a chap as you are for -lookin' for trouble when there isn't any."</p> -<p class="pnext">He stalked off. I follered him; and as I done so -I noticed 'Dolph Cahoon duck behind the calico -counter. I judged he'd heard every word.</p> -<p class="pnext">The finishin' work on the hotel hustled along and -inside of a month we got word that 'twas time to -put in our bid. Jacobs and I figured and figured till -we got the price down to the last cent we thought -it could stand, and then we sent our proposition over -to Parkinson by mail.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Wonder if Miss Georgianna's sent hers in," I -says, casual.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, yes," says Jim, prompt; "she is goin' to -mail it this morning'."</p> -<p class="pnext">I didn't ask him how he knew. His chasin' round -and keepin' watch on a girl who was as fair-minded -and square as she was had always seemed too much -like spyin' to please me, and I cal'lated he knew how -I felt—at any rate he'd scurcely spoke her name -since the day when I saw 'em autoin' together. But -now I did say that, so long as the bids was in, it -wouldn't be necessary for him to keep his eye on her -any longer.</p> -<p class="pnext">He looked at me kind of queer. "Umph!" he -says; "maybe not!" And he walked away to -attend to a customer.</p> -<p class="pnext">That afternoon he took his car and went off on -his reg'lar order trip to Denboro and Bayport -and round. 'Dolph Cahoon and I was alone in the -front part of the store. 'Dolph seemed to be in -mighty good spirits—for him—and kept chucklin' -to himself in a way I couldn't understand. At last -he says to me, lookin' back to be sure that Mary -Blaisdell, in the post-office department, couldn't -hear—</p> -<p class="pnext">"Cap'n Zeb," he says, "what would you give the -feller that got the screen contract for you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Give him?" I says. "What feller do you mean—Parkinson? -I wouldn't give him a cent! I -ain't a briber and I don't think he's a grafter."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I don't mean Parkinson," he says, chucklin'. -"But, suppose somebody else had been workin' for -you on the quiet, what would you give him?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I looked him over.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Look here, 'Dolph," says I; "I never try to -guess a riddle till I hear the whole of it. What -are you drivin' at?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He grinned. "I know who's goin' to get that -contract," he says.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You do. Who is it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"The Ostable Store's goin' to get it. Your bid's -a little mite the lowest. Parkinson told me so last -night."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Parkinson told you!" I sung out. "How did -you happen to see Parkinson?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He winked.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, I saw him!" says he. "I've seen him a -good many times lately. I made it my business to -see him. He was pretty stuck on the Eureka till -I got after him and I cal'late he'd have contracted -for Eurekas, bid or no bid. But I put in my licks; -I've drove over to West Ostable four nights and -two Sundays in the last fortni't. And didn't I -preach Nonesuch to him! He-he! You bet I did! -And last night he said he was goin' to give us the -job. Oh, I fixed that stuck-up Georgianna Lentz! -I got even with her. He-he-he!"</p> -<p class="pnext">I never was madder in my life. I took two steps -toward him with my fists doubled up.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You whelp!" says I—and then I stopped short. -The Lentz girl herself was walkin' in at the front -door.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Good mornin', Cap'n Snow," she says, holdin' -out her hand. She paid no more attention to 'Dolph -than if he'd been a graven image. "Good mornin'," -says she. "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I was past carin' about the weather.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Miss Georgianna," says I, "I'm glad you come -in. I've got somethin' to tell you. I've got to beg -your pardon for somethin' that ain't my fault or -Mr. Jacobs', either. You and my partner and me -had an agreement not to go nigh Parkinson or try -to influence him in any way. Well, unbeknown to -me, that agreement has been broke."</p> -<p class="pnext">She stared at me, too astonished to speak.</p> -<p class="pnext">"It's been broke," says I. "That—that critter -there," pointin' to 'Dolph, "has been sneakin—"</p> -<p class="pnext">'Dolph's face had been gettin' redder and redder, -I cal'late he thought I'd praise him for his doin's; -and when he found I wouldn't, but was goin' to give -the whole thing away, he blew up like a leaky b'iler.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I ain't been sneakin'!" he yelled. "And I ain't -broke no agreement, neither. You and Mr. Jacobs -agreed—but I never. I see Parkinson on my own -hook; and if it hadn't been for me he wouldn't be -goin' to give you the contract."</p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure" style="margin-left: 29%; width: 42%" id="figure-8"> -<img style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="'I ain't been sneakin'!' he yelled." src="images/illus4.jpg" width="100%"/> -<div class="caption italics"> -'I ain't been sneakin'!' he yelled.</div> -</div> -<p class="pfirst">There 'twas, out of the bag. I looked at Georgianna. -Her pretty face went white. That contract -meant all creation to her; but she stood up to the -news like a major. She was plucky, that girl!</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh!" she says. "Oh! Then he has given -you the contract? I—I congratulate you, Cap'n -Snow."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Don't congratulate me," says I. "The contract -ain't been given yet, though this pup says it's goin' -to be; but, as for me, if I'd known what was goin' -on I'd have stopped it mighty quick! I'm honorable -and decent, and so's Jacobs; and we don't take -underhanded advantages."</p> -<p class="pnext">'Dolph bust out from astern of the counter.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You don't, hey!" says he. "I want to know! -How about Jacobs' takin' her to ride and callin' on -her, and pretendin' to be dead gone on her? What -did he do that for? You know as well as I do. -'Twas so's to keep a watch on her, and not let -Parkinson see her and be influenced into buyin' -Eureka screens. You know it!"</p> -<p class="pnext">My own face grew red now, I cal'late.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You—you—" I begun. "You miserable -liar—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"'Tain't a lie," says he. "I heard him tell you -with my own ears. He said all he was beauin' her -round for was just that. If that ain't a underhanded -trick then I don't know what is."</p> -<p class="pnext">I wanted to say lots more; but, afore I could get -my talkin' machinery to runnin', the Lentz girl herself -spoke.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Is that true, Cap'n Snow?" says she.</p> -<p class="pnext">I was set back forty fathom.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well, miss," says I, "I—I—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Is that true?" says she.</p> -<p class="pnext">I got out my handkerchief and swabbed my forehead.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well, Miss Georgianna," says I, "I'll tell you. -Jim Henry—Mr. Jacobs, I mean—did say somethin' -like that; but—but—Well, you wanted to -be treated like a salesman, and—er—Mr. Jacobs -would have kept his eye on a man, you know; and -so—and so—"</p> -<p class="pnext">I stopped again. 'Twas the shoalest water ever -I cruised in. All I could do was mop away with the -handkerchief and look at Georgianna. And she—well, -the color, and plenty of it, begun to come back -to her cheeks. And how her brown eyes did -flash!</p> -<p class="pnext">"I see," she says, slow and so frosty I pretty nigh -shivered. "I—see!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says I, "'tain't anything I'm proud of, -I will admit; but—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"One moment, if you please. You haven't actually -got the contract yet?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"No. As I told you, all I know is what this consarned -fo'mast hand of mine says. For what he's -done, I'm ashamed as I can be. As for Mr. Jacobs, -I know he did keep to the letter of the agreement, -anyhow. For the rest—Well, all's fair in love -and war, they say—and there's precious little love -in business."</p> -<p class="pnext">She looked at me, with a queer little smile about -the corners of her lips, though her eyes wa'n't smilin', -by a consider'ble sight.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Isn't there?" she says. "I—I wonder. -Good-by, Cap'n Snow. You might tell Mr. Jacobs -not to order those Nonesuch screens just yet."</p> -<p class="pnext">Out she went; and for the next five minutes I had -a real enjoyable time. I told 'Dolph Cahoon just -what I thought of him—that took four of the minutes; -durin' the other one I fired him and run him -out of the office by the scruff of the neck.</p> -<p class="pnext">Then Mary Blaisdell and me held officers' council, -and that ended by our decidin' not to tell Jim Henry -that the Lentz girl knew why he'd been so friendly -with her. It wouldn't do any good and might make -him feel bad. Besides, the contract was as good as -got, 'cordin' to 'Dolph's yarn; and 'twa'n't likely -he'd see Georgianna again, anyway. When he come -back I told him I'd fired Cahoon for bein' no good -and sassy, and he agreed I'd done just right.</p> -<p class="pnext">When I said good night to him he was chipper -as could be; but next day he was blue as a whetstone—and -the blueness seemed to strike in, so to speak. -He didn't take any interest in anything—moped -round, glum and ugly; and I couldn't get him to talk -at all. If I mentioned the screen contract he shut -up like a quahaug, and only once did he give an -opinion about it. That opinion was a surprisin' one, -though.</p> -<p class="pnext">Alpheus Perkins was in the store, and says he:</p> -<p class="pnext">"Say, Mr. Jacobs," he says, "is old Parkinson, -the hotel man, cal'latin' to get married again? I -see him out ridin' with a girl yesterday? That -female screen drummer—that Georgianna Lentz, -'twas. She's a daisy, ain't she! I don't blame him -much for takin' a shine to her."</p> -<p class="pnext">Jim Henry didn't make any answer; but, knowin' -what I did, I was a little surprised.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Jim," says I, "that contract—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"D—n the contract!" says he, and cleared out -and left us.</p> -<p class="pnext">I was astonished, but I guessed 'twas a healthy -plan to keep my hatches closed.</p> -<p class="pnext">When I opened the mail a few mornin's later I -found a letter with the West Ostable Hotel's name -printed on the envelope. I figgered I knew what -was inside. Thinks I: "Here's the acceptance of -our bid!" But my figgers was on the wrong side -of the ledger. Parkinson wrote just a few words, -but they was enough. After considerin' the matter -careful, he wrote, he had decided the Eureka to be -a better screen than the Nonesuch; and, though our -bid was a trifle lower, he should give the Eureka -folks the contract.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well!" says I out loud. "Well, I'll—be—blessed!"</p> -<p class="pnext">Jim Henry was settin' at his desk—we was all -alone in the store—and he looked up.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What are you askin' a blessin' over?" says he.</p> -<p class="pnext">I handed him the letter. He read it through and -set for a full minute without speakin'. Then he -slammed it into the wastebasket and got up and -started to go away.</p> -<p class="pnext">"For thunder sakes!" I sung out. "What ails -you? Ain't you goin' to say nothin' at all?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"What is there to say?" he asked, gruff. -"We're stung—and that's the end of it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"But—but—don't you realize—Why, our -bid was the lowest! And yet the contract—"</p> -<p class="pnext">He whirled on me savage.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Didn't I tell you," says he, "that I didn't give -a durn about the contract?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"You don't! <em class="italics">You</em> don't! Then who on airth -does?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I don't know and I don't care!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"You don't care! I swan to man! Why, 'twas -you that swore you'd put the screens in that hotel -or die tryin'. You said 'twas a matter of principle -with you. And now that the Eureka folks have -beat us by some shenanigan or other—for our bid -was lower than theirs—you say you don't care! -Have you gone loony? What <em class="italics">do</em> you care -about?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nothin'—much," says he, and flopped down in -his chair again.</p> -<p class="pnext">I stared at him. All at once I begun to see a -light. You'd have thought anybody that wa'n't -stone blind would have seen it afore—but I hadn't. -You see, I cal'lated that I knew him from trunk to -keelson, and so it never once occurred to me. I riz -and walked over to him. Just as I done so, I heard -the front door open and shut, but I figgered 'twas -Mary comin' back, and didn't even look. I laid my -hand on his shoulder.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Jim," says I, "I guess likely I understand. I -declare I'm sorry! And yet I wouldn't wonder -if—"</p> -<p class="pnext">I didn't go on. He wa'n't payin' any attention, -but was lookin' over the top of his desk—lookin' -with all the eyes in his head. I looked, too, and -caught my breath with a jerk. The person who'd -come in wa'n't Mary Blaisdell, but Georgianna -Lentz.</p> -<p class="pnext">She saw us and walked straight down to where we -was. She was kind of pale and her eyes looked as -if she'd been awake all night; but when she spoke -'twas right to the point—there wa'n't any hesitation -about her.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Cap'n Snow," says she, "have you heard from -Mr. Parkinson?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says I, wonderin; "we've heard. We -don't understand exactly, but perhaps that ain't -necessary. I cal'late all there is left for us to do -is to offer congratulations and 'go 'way back and -set down,' as the boys say. You've got the contract."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," she says; "it has been given to me. -But—"</p> -<p class="pnext">Jim Henry stood up. "You'll excuse me," he -says, sharp. "I'm busy."</p> -<p class="pnext">He started to go, but she stopped him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"No," she says; "I want you both to hear what -I've got to say. Mr. Parkinson gave me the -contract yesterday; but I have decided not to take -it."</p> -<p class="pnext">We both looked at her.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You—you've what?" says I. "Not take it? -You want it, don't you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," she says, quiet but determined, "I want -it—or I did want it very, very much. It meant -so much to me—now—and might mean a great -deal more in the future; but I can't take it."</p> -<p class="pnext">This was too many for me. I looked at Jacobs. -He didn't say a word.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I can't take it," says Georgianna, "under the -circumstances. I don't feel that I got it fairly. We -agreed, you and I, that no personal influence should -be brought to bear upon Mr. Parkinson; and I"—she -blushed a little, but kept right on—"I have seen -Mr. Parkinson several times durin' the past week."</p> -<p class="pnext">I thought of her bein' to ride with the hotel man, -but I didn't say anything. Jim Henry, though, -started again to go. And again she stopped him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Wait, please!" she went on. "I didn't go to -him—you must understand that! But after what -you, Cap'n Snow, and that Mr. Cahoon told me the -other day I was hurt and angry. I felt that you had -broken your agreement with me. So when Mr. -Parkinson came to see me I didn't avoid him as I -had been doin'. I—I accepted invitations for -drives with him, and—and—Oh, don't you see? -I couldn't take the contract. I couldn't! What -would you think of me? What would I think of -myself? No, my mind is made up. I'm afraid"—with -a half smile that had more tears than fun in it—"that -my experience in business hasn't been a success. -I shall give it up and go back to stenography—or -somethin'. There! Good-by. I'm sure that the -Nonesuch screen will win now. Good-by!"</p> -<p class="pnext">And now 'twas she that started to go and Jim -Henry that stopped her.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Wait!" says he, sharp. "There's somethin' -here I don't understand. What do you mean by -what the Cap'n and Cahoon told you the other day? -Skipper, what have you been doin'?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I wished there was a crack or a knothole handy -for me to crawl into; but there wa'n't, so I braced -up best I could.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, Jim," says I, "I ain't told you the whole -of that business I fired 'Dolph for. Seems he'd been -seein' Parkinson on his own hook and pullin' wires -for the Nonesuch. 'Twas a sneakin' mean trick, -and I knew 'twould make you mad same as it done -me; so I didn't tell you. 'Twas for that I bounced -him."</p> -<p class="pnext">Jim Henry's fists shut.</p> -<p class="pnext">"The toad!" says he. "I wish I'd been there. -Wait till I get my hands on him! I'll—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"But you mustn't," put in Georgianna. "I hope -you don't think I care what such a creature as he -might do. When I first came here he—Oh, why -can't people forget that I'm a girl!"</p> -<p class="pnext">I could have answered that, but I didn't. Jacobs -asked another question.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Then, if it wa'n't 'Dolph, who was it?" says he. -"Parkinson?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"No!" with a flash of her eyes. "Certainly not. -Mr. Parkinson is a gentleman; but—but I don't -like him—that is, I don't dislike him exactly; -but—"</p> -<p class="pnext">She was dreadful fussed up. Jim Henry was -between her and the door, though, and he kept right -on with his questions.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Then what was the trouble?" he said, brisk.</p> -<p class="pnext">I answered for her.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well, Jim," says I, "there was somethin' else. -You see, 'Dolph got mad when I sailed into him, and -he come back at me by tellin' what you said about -your callin' on Miss Lentz here—and takin' her -autoin' and such. How you said you was doin' it -so's to keep a watch on her—that's all. I couldn't -deny that you did say it, you know—because you -did!"</p> -<p class="pnext">Jim's face was a sight to see—a sort of combination -of sheepishness and shame, mixed with another -look, almost of joy—or as if he'd got the answer to -a puzzle that had been troublin' him.</p> -<p class="pnext">The Lentz girl spoke up quick.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Of course," she says, "I understand now why -you did it. Then I was—was—Well, it did -hurt me to think that I hadn't seen through the -scheme, and for a while I felt that you hadn't been -true to our agreement; but, now that I have had -time to think, I understand. You promised to treat -me exactly as if I were a man; and, as Cap'n Snow -said, if I were a man you would have kept me in -sight. It's all right! But"—with a sigh—"I -realize that I'm not fitted for business—this kind of -business. I don't blame you, though. Good-by. -I must go!"</p> -<p class="pnext">Lettin' her go, however, was the last thing Jim -intended doin' just then. He stepped for'ard and -caught her by the hand.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Georgianna," says he, eager, "you know what -you're sayin' isn't true. I did tell the Cap'n that -yarn about watchin' you. He'd seen me with you -and I had to tell him somethin'; but it was a lie—every -word of it! You know it was."</p> -<p class="pnext">She tried to pull her hand away, but he hung on -to it as if 'twas the last life-preserver on a sinkin' -ship. I cal'late he'd forgot I was on earth.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You were keeping your promise," she said. -"You were treatin' me as you would if I were a -man! Please let me go, Mr. Jacobs; I have told -you that I didn't blame you."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nonsense!" says he. "If I had done that I -ought to be hung! A man! Treat you like a man! -Do you suppose if you were a man I should—"</p> -<p class="pnext">That was the last word I heard. I was bound -for the front platform, and makin' some headway for -a craft of my age and build. I have got some sense -and I know when three's a crowd!</p> -<p class="pnext">I didn't go back until they called me. I give the -pair of 'em one look and then I shook hands with 'em -up to the elbows. Georgianna was blushin', and her -eyes were damp, but shinin' like masthead lights on -a rainy night. As for Jim Henry Jacobs, he was -one broad grin.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says I, after I'd said all the joyful things -I could think of, "one point ain't settled even yet—who's -goin' to get that screen contract? There ain't -any love in business, you know."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" says Jim Henry. "I wonder!"</p> -<p class="pnext">I laughed out loud.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why," says I, "that's exactly what Georgianna -here said t'other day—she wondered!"</p> -</div> -<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xivthe-epistle-to-ichabod"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id15">CHAPTER XIV—THE EPISTLE TO ICHABOD</a></h2> -<p class="pfirst">Mary came in a few minutes later and she -had to be told the news. She was as -pleased as I was and there was more congratulatin'. -Then Georgianna had to go home and, -as she was altogether too precious to be allowed -to walk, Jim Henry went and got his auto and they -left in that.</p> -<p class="pnext">When he got back—that car must have been -sufferin' from a stroke of creepin' paralysis, for it -took him two hours to run that little distance—he -and I had a good confidential talk. He was way up -above this common earth, soarin' around in the -clouds, and all he wanted to talk was Georgianna. -The whole of creation had been set to music and was -dancin' to the one tune—"Georgianna."</p> -<p class="pnext">It was astonishin' to me who had been in the habit -of considerin' him just a sharp, up-to-date buyer and -seller, a man whose whole soul was wrapped up in -business with no room in it for anything else. I -found myself lookin' at him and wonderin': "Is -the world comin' to an end, I wonder? Is this my -partner? Is this moon-struck critter Jim Henry -Jacobs, doctor of sick businesses?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I couldn't help jokin' him a little.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Jim," says I, "for a feller who hadn't any use -for females you're doin' pretty well, I must say. -Either you was mistaken in your old opinions or your -new ones are wrong. Which is it? 'Women and -business don't mix,' you know. That ain't an original -notion; that is quoted from the Gospel according -to Jacobs, Chapter 1,000; two hundred and -eightieth verse."</p> -<p class="pnext">He reddened up and laughed. "Well, they <em class="italics">don't</em> -mix, as a general thing," he says. "I guess 'twas -Georgianna's sand in goin' into business that got me -in the first place. I leave it to you, Skipper—ain't -she a wonder? Now be honest, ain't she?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Course I said she was; I have the usual sane man's -regard for my head and I didn't want it knocked off -yet awhile. And Georgianna <em class="italics">was</em> as nice a girl as -I ever saw—that is, <em class="italics">almost</em> as nice. Jim went -sailin' on, about how now he could settle down and -live like a white man in a home of his own, about -the house he was goin' to build, and so forth and -etcetery. I declare it made me feel almost jealous -to hear him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"My! my!" says I, kind of spiteful, I'm afraid, -"you have got it bad, ain't you! Sudden attacks -are liable to be the most acute, I suppose."</p> -<p class="pnext">He laughed again. You couldn't have made him -mad just then.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Ha, ha!" says he. "Yes, I guess I'm way past -where there's any hope for me. But I'm glad of it. -It did come sudden, but that's the way most good -things come to me. It's my nature. Now if I was -like some folks that I won't name, I'd be mopin' -around for months without sense enough to know -what ailed me."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Who are you diggin' at?" I wanted to know. -He wouldn't tell; said 'twas a secret, and maybe -I'd find out the answer for myself some day.</p> -<p class="pnext">The next few weeks was busy times, in the store -and out of it. Georgianna havin' declined the screen -contract, Parkinson gave it to us, after a little -arguin'. That kept me hustlin', for Jim was too -interested in other things to care for screens. He -was making arrangements to be married.</p> -<p class="pnext">And married he and Georgianna were. She'd -have waited a little longer, I cal'late—that bein' a -woman's way—if it had been left to her to name the -time; but Jim Henry never was the waitin' kind. -They were married at the parson's and Mary Blaisdell -and I saw the splice made fast. Then we went -to the depot and said good-by to Mr. and Mrs. Jim -Henry Jacobs. They were goin' on a honeymoon -cruise to the West Indies that would last two months.</p> -<p class="pnext">Good-byes ain't ever pleasant to say, but I was so -glad for Jim, and so happy because he was, that I -tried to be as chipper as I could.</p> -<p class="pnext">"If you need me, wire at Havana, Skipper," he -says. "I'll come the minute you say the word."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I sha'n't need you," I told him. "Mary and -I'll run things as well as we can. She makes a good -fust mate, Mary does."</p> -<p class="pnext">"You bet!" says he. "I feel a little conscience-struck -to leave you just now, with that West End -crowd tryin' to make trouble for you, but Congressman -Shelton is your friend and he'll look out for you -in Washin'ton."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Don't you worry about that," I says. "I ain't -scared of Bill Phipps or Ike Hamilton—much, or -any of their West End crew. The decent folks in -town are on my side, and with Shelton to back me up -at Washin'ton, I cal'late I'll keep my job till you come -back anyhow."</p> -<p class="pnext">The train started and Mary and I waved till -'twas out of sight. Then we went back to the store. -I give in that the old feelin', the feelin' that I'd had -when Jim was sick out West, that of bein' adrift -without an anchor, was hangin' around me a little, -but I braced up and vowed to myself that I'd do -the best I could. If this post-office row did get dangerous, -I might telegraph for Jacobs, but I wouldn't -till the ship was founderin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">I suppose you can always get up an opposition -party. There was one amongst the Children of -Israel in Moses's time, and there's been plenty ever -since. So long as somebody has got somethin' -there'll always be somebody else to want to get it -away from him. That's human nature, and there's -as much human nature in Ostable, size considered, -as there was in the Land of Canaan.</p> -<p class="pnext">I'd been postmaster at Ostable for quite a spell. I -didn't try for the position, I was mad when 'twas -given to me, there wa'n't much of anything in it but -a lot of fuss and trouble, and I'd said forty times over -that I wished I didn't have it. But when the gang -up at the West End of the town set out to take it -away from me I r'ared up on my hind legs and swore -I'd fight for my job till the last plank sunk from -under me. Don't sound like sense, does it? It -wa'n't—'twas just more human nature.</p> -<p class="pnext">Course the opposition wa'n't large and 'twa'n't -very influential. Old man William Phipps and -young Ike Hamilton was at the head of it, and they -had forty or fifty West-Enders to back 'em up. -Phipps had been one of the leading workers for -Abubus Payne, the chap I beat for the app'intment -in the fust place; and young Hamilton was junior -partner in the firm of "Ichabod Hamilton & Co., -Stoves, Tinware and Fishermen's Supplies," a mile -or so up the main road. Young Ike—everybody -called him "Ike," though his real name was Ichabod, -same as his uncle's—was a pushin' critter, who'd -come back from a Boston business college and had -started right in to make the town sit up and take -notice. He was goin' to get rich—he admitted that -much—and he cal'lated to show us hayseeds a few -things. Up to now he hadn't showed much but -loud clothes and cheek, but he had enough of them to -keep all hands interested for a spell.</p> -<p class="pnext">His uncle, Ichabod, Senior, was a shrewd old -rooster, with twenty thousand or so that, accordin' -to his brags—he was always tellin' of it—he'd -put away for a "rainy day." We have consider'ble -damp weather at the Cape, but 'twould have taken a -Noah's Ark flood to make Ichabod's purse strings -loosen up. That twenty thousand dollars had -growed fast to his nervous system and when you -pulled away a cent he howled. Young Ike was the -only one that could mesmerize this old man into -spendin' anything, and how he did it nobody knew. -But he did. Since he got into that Stoves and Tinware -firm the store had been fixed up and advertisements -put in the papers, and I don't know what -all. The uncle had been under the weather with -rheumatism for a year; maybe that explained a little.</p> -<p class="pnext">Anyhow 'twas young Ike that picked himself to -be postmaster instead of me and he and Phipps -got the West-Enders, fifty or so of 'em, to sign a -petition askin' that a new app'intment be made. I -couldn't be removed except on charges, so a lot of -charges was made. Fust, the post-office, bein' in -the Ostable Grocery, Dry Goods, Boots and Shoes -and Fancy Goods Store, was too far from the center -of the town. Second, I was neglectin' the office -and my assistant—Mary, that is—was really doin' -the whole of the government work. There was some -truth in this, because Mary knew a good deal more -about mail work than I did, and was as capable a -woman as ever lived; and besides, Jim Henry and -I had been so busy with our store and the "Windmill -Restaurant," and our other by-product ventures, that -I <em class="italics">had</em> left Mary to run the post-office. But it was -run better than any post-office ever was run afore -in Ostable and everybody with brains knew it.</p> -<p class="pnext">Third.... But never mind the rest of the -charges, they didn't amount to anything. In fact, -there was so little to 'em that when the West End -petition went in to Washin'ton, I didn't take the -trouble to send one of my own, though Jacobs -thought I'd better and a hundred folks asked me to -and said they'd sign. I just wrote to the Post-office -Department and told them that I was ready to submit -my case, if there was any need for it, and if they -cared to send a representative to investigate, I'd be -tickled to death to see him. They wrote back that -they'd look into the matter, and that's the way it -stood when Jim and Georgianna left and it stayed -so until the lost letter affair run me bows fust onto -the rocks and turned the situation from ridiculousness -into something that looked likely to be mighty serious -for me.</p> -<p class="pnext">It come about—same as such jolts generally come—when -I was least ready for it. Jim Henry had -been gone three weeks or more. 'Twas February -and none of my influential friends amongst the summer -folks was on hand to help. No, Mary and I -were all alone and sailin' free with what looked like -a fair wind, when "Bump!"—all at once our craft -was half full of water and sinkin' fast.</p> -<p class="pnext">That mornin' the mail was a little mite late and -there wa'n't any store trade to speak of. Mary was -in the post-office place writin', the usual gang of -loafers was settin' around the stove, and I was out -front talkin' with Sim Kelley, who lived up to the -west end of the town, amongst the mutineers. -'Twas from Sim that I got most of my news about -the doin's of the Phipps and Hamilton crowd. He -was a great, hulkin', cross-eyed lubber, too lazy to -get out of his own way, and as shif'less as a body -could be and take pains enough to live.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Sim," says I to him, "I thought you said old -man Hamilton was in bed with his rheumatiz. I -saw him up street as I was comin' by. He looked -pretty feeble, but he was toddlin' along on foot just -as he always does. Rheumatic or not, it's all the -same. I cal'late the old critter wouldn't spend -enough money to hire a team if he was dyin'."</p> -<p class="pnext">Sim was surprised, and not only surprised, but, -seemingly, a little mite worried. Why he should -be worried because Ichabod was takin' chances with -his diseases I couldn't see.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Old man Hamilton!" says he. "Is he out a -cold mornin' like this? Where was he bound?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Don't know," says I. "He stopped into the -drug store when I saw him. Whether that was his -final port of call or not I don't know."</p> -<p class="pnext">He seemed to be thinkin' it over. Then he got -up and walked to the door.</p> -<p class="pnext">"He ain't in sight nowheres," he says. "Guess -he wa'n't comin' as far as here, 'tain't likely."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says I, "how's the rest of the family? -The hopeful leader of the forlorn hope—how's -he?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Ike?" he says. "Oh, he's all right. He's a -mighty smart young feller, Ike is."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says I, "so I've heard him say. Gettin' -ready to stand in with him when he gets my job, -are you, Sim?"</p> -<p class="pnext">That shook him up a mite. 'Twas common talk -around town that Sim and Ike was pretty thick. He -turned red under his freckles.</p> -<p class="pnext">"No, no!" he sputtered. "Course I ain't! I'm -standin' by you, Cap'n Snow, and you know it. But, -all the same, Ike's a smart boy. He's gettin' rich -fast, Ike is."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Sold another cookstove, has he?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"He sells a lot of 'em. Sold two last month. -But that ain't it. He's got foresight and friends in -the stock exchange up to Boston. He's buyin' copper -stocks and they—"</p> -<p class="pnext">He stopped short; thought his tongue was runnin' -away with him, I presume likely. But I was interested -and I kept on.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh!" says I; "he's buyin' coppers, is he? Well, -where does he get the U. S. coppers to do it with? -Is Uncle Ichabod backin' him? Has the old man's -rheumatiz struck to his brains?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Course he ain't backin' him. <em class="italics">He</em> don't know -nothin' of stocks. He ain't up-to-date same as -Ike. But he'll be glad enough when his nephew -makes fifty thousand. When he finds that out -he'll—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"He'll never find it out on this earth," I cut in. -"If he found out that Ike made fifty dollars, all on -his own hook, he'd drop dead with heart disease. -If he didn't, everybody else in town would. But -it takes money to buy stocks, don't it? I never knew -Ike had any cash of his own."</p> -<p class="pnext">"He's in the firm, ain't he! And Hamilton and -Co. are——Hello! here comes the depot -wagon."</p> -<p class="pnext">Sure enough, 'twas the depot wagon with the mail. -I took the bags from the driver and went back to -help Mary sort. I'd taken to helpin' her a good -deal lately—more since Jacobs left than ever afore. -She said there wa'n't any need of it, but I didn't -agree with her. Of course I realized that I was -an old fool—but, somehow or other, I felt more -and more contented with life when I was alongside -of Mary. She and I understood each other and -I'd come to depend upon her same as a man might -on his sister—or his—well, or anybody, you understand, -that he thought a good deal of and knew was -square and—and so on. And she seemed to feel -the same way about me.</p> -<p class="pnext">We sorted the mail together, puttin' it in the different -boxes and such. And almost the fust thing -I run across was that registered letter addressed to -"Ichabod Hamilton, Jr." 'Twas a long envelope -and up in one corner of it was printed the name of -a Boston broker's firm. I laid it out by itself and -went on sortin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">When the sortin' and distributin' was over and the -crowd had gone, I called to Sim Kelley. We didn't -have Rural Free Delivery then and Sim carried the -West End mail box; that is, a lot of the folks up -that way chipped in and paid him so much for deliverin' -their mail to 'em.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Sim," says I, "there's a registered letter here -for young Ike Hamilton. If I give it to you will -you be careful and see that he signs the receipt and -the like of that?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He was outside the partition and he come to the -little window and took the letter from me. He -acted mighty interested.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Gosh!" says he, grinnin', "I wouldn't wonder -if this was.... Humph! Oh, I'll be careful -of it! don't you worry about that."</p> -<p class="pnext">Just then Mary called to me. I went over to -where she was settin' at her desk.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Cap'n Zeb," she whispered, "I wouldn't send -that letter by Sim. It is important, or it would not -be registered, and Sim is so irresponsible. If anything -<em class="italics">should</em> happen it would give Mr. Hamilton -and the rest such a chance. And they have accused -us of bein' careless already."</p> -<p class="pnext">They had, that was a fact. One or two letters -had gone astray durin' the past six months and the -loss of 'em was described, with trimmin's, in the -West End charges and petition. And Sim <em class="italics">was</em> a -lunkhead. I thought it over a jiffy and then I called -to Kelley once more. He was just comin' to the -hooks by the door outside the mail-box racks where -Mary and I and the store clerk—the one we'd hired -in place of 'Dolph—hung our overcoats and hats. -Sim had hung his coat there that mornin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Sim," I said, "let me see that registered letter -of Ike Hamilton's again, will you?" He took it -out of his pocket and passed it to me.</p> -<p class="pnext">"All right," says I; "you needn't bother about -this. I'll send a notice by you that it's here and Ike -can call for it himself. I won't take any chances of -your losin' it."</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, you'd ought to have seen him! His face -blazed up like a Fourth of July tar-barrel. -"Chances!" he sung out. "What are you talkin' -about? I cal'late I'm able to carry a letter without -losin' it. I ain't a kid."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Maybe not," says I, "but you ain't goin' to lose -this one, kid or not. Here's the notice, all made -out."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Notice be darned!" he snarled. "You give -me that letter. Hamilton and Co. pay me to carry -their mail, don't they? And, besides, Ike told me -particular that he was expectin'—"</p> -<p class="pnext">He pulled up short again.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well?" says I. "Heave ahead. What's the -rest of it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nothin'," he answered, ugly; "but you've got -no right to say I can't carry a letter when I'm paid -to do it. As for losin' things, there's others besides -me that lose mail in this town."</p> -<p class="pnext">There's no use arguin' when a matter's all settled. -I handed him the notice and walked off, leavin' him -standin' outside that partition, sore as a scalded cat.</p> -<p class="pnext">I looked at my watch. 'Twas twelve o'clock, my -dinner time. I walked out to the hook rack, took -down my overcoat and put it on. I had the Hamilton -letter in my hand. There wa'n't any reason why -I should be more worried about that registered letter -than any other, but I was, just the same. Maybe -'twas because 'twas Ike's and he was so anxious to -make trouble for me. Somehow or other I couldn't -feel safe till he got it and signed the receipt. I -thought for a minute and then I decided I'd walk -up to Hamilton and Co.'s and deliver it myself. -That decision was foolish, maybe, but I felt better -when 'twas made. I put the letter in the inside -pocket of the overcoat I had on, and just as I was -doin' it Mary come out of the post-office room with -her hat on.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh!" says she, "are you goin' out, Cap'n Zeb? -I thought—"</p> -<p class="pnext">Then I remembered. She'd asked to go to dinner -fust that day and I'd told her of course she could. -I begged her pardon and said I'd forgot. I'd wait -till she got back. So, after makin' sure that I didn't -care, she took her coat from the hook, put it on and -went out.</p> -<p class="pnext">I took off my overcoat and, just as I did so, somethin' -fell on the floor. I stooped and picked it up. -I swan to man if it wasn't that pesky Hamilton letter! -Thinks I, "That's funny!" I put my hand -into the pocket where it had been and there was a -hole right through the linin'. Now if there's one -thing I'm fussy about it is that my pockets are whole. -And I <em class="italics">knew</em> this one ought to be whole. So I looked -at the coat and I'm blessed if it was mine at all! -'Twas Sim Kelley's! Both coats had been hangin' -together on the hook-rack and both was blue and -about the same size. I'd been saved by a miracle, -as you might say.</p> -<p class="pnext">I was comin' to feel more and more as if there -was some sort of fate about that registered letter. -I took it back into the post-office room, handlin' it as -careful as if 'twas solid gold, and laid it down on the -sortin' bench behind the letter boxes. And then -somebody spoke to me through the little window.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Cap'n Zeb," says Sim Kelley, "there's a man -just drove over from Bayport to see you. Come in -Gabe Lumley's buggy, he did. His name's Peters -and Gabe says he's got some sort of government -job."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Government job?" says I. And then it flashed -through my mind who the feller might be. The -Post-office Department had said they might send an -investigator. I didn't care for that, but I did wish -Sim hadn't seen him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh," says I; "all right. It's the lighthouse -inspector, I shouldn't wonder. Guess 'tain't me he -is after. Probably I ain't the Snow he wants to -see; it's Henry Snow over to the Point. Where -is he?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Out on the platform," says Sim. I hurried out -of the post-office room, lockin' the door careful -astern of me. The man Peters was just comin' into -the store. I met him at the front door. We shook -hands and he introduced himself. 'Twas the investigator, -sure enough.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Glad to see you," says I. "I know that may -sound like a lie, but, as it happens, it ain't in this -case. I ain't got anything to be ashamed of and the -sooner the government finds that out the better I'll -be pleased."</p> -<p class="pnext">He laughed. He was a real good chap, this -Peters man, and I took to him right off the reel. -We stood there talkin' and laughin' and says he:</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well, Cap'n," he says, "I'll tell you frankly -that I'm not very much worried about the conduct -of your office here at Ostable. I've made some -inquiries about you, here and in Washin'ton, and the -answers are pretty satisfactory. Congressman -Shelton seems to be a friend of yours."</p> -<p class="pnext">I grinned. "Yes," says I, "but Shelton's prejudiced, -I'm afraid. He and old Major Clark ate a -chowder once that I cooked and ever since they've -both swore by me."</p> -<p class="pnext">He laughed, though I could see Shelton hadn't -told him the yarn.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" says he, "that's unusual, isn't it? -Judgin' by some chowders <em class="italics">I've</em> eaten, it would be -easier to swear <em class="italics">at</em> the cook. Speakin' of eatables, -though, reminds me that I'm hungry. Where's a -good place to get a meal around here?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nowhere," says I, prompt; "not at this season -of the year, with the summer dinin'-room closed. -But, if you'll wait until my assistant gets back, I'll -pilot you down to the Poquit House, where I feed, -and we'll face the wust together."</p> -<p class="pnext">He was willin' to risk it, he said, and we walked -back and set down in the post-office department. As -we left the front door Sim Kelley went out of it, -luggin' his West-End mail box. Peters and I talked. -Seems he hadn't come to the Cape a-purpose to investigate -me, but he had a job at the Bayport office and -had took me in on the way home. After a spell -Mary come back and Peters and I headed for the -Poquit, where the cold fish balls and warmed-over -beans was waitin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">On the way I saw old man Hamilton, Ike's uncle, -totterin' along, headin' to the west'ard this time. I -pointed him out to Peters.</p> -<p class="pnext">"There goes," I says, "one of the fellers that's -trying to knock me out of my job."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Humph!" says he; "he looks pretty near -knocked out himself. Why, he's all bent out of -shape."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," I told him. "Ichabod's bent, but he's -far from broke. And a tough old limb like him -stands a lot of bendin'."</p> -<p class="pnext">I was feelin' pretty good. With a square man -like this Peters to look into matters, I cal'lated I'd -be postmaster for a spell yet.</p> -<p class="pnext">But that afternoon, about three o'clock, as we was -inside the mail room, Mary at her desk, and Peters -alongside of her, goin' over the books and papers, -and me smokin' in a chair nigh the delivery window, -Ike Hamilton walked into the store.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Afternoon, Snow," says he, pert and important -as ever, "I understand there's a registered letter -for me. I s'pose it is part of your business to refuse -to give it to the regular carrier and put me to the -trouble of walkin' way down here."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I s'pose 'tis," says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," he says. "Well, if you were as careful -to put your partic'lar friends to the same inconvenience -there might not be as much talk about you and -your handlin' of this office as there is now."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, yes, there would," I told him. "There'd -always be more talk than anything else where you -lived, Ike. Want your letter, do you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He was mad, but he held in pretty well.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I do—if gettin' it won't make you work <em class="italics">too</em> -hard," he says, sarcastic. "I should hate to see you -really work."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," I says, "the sight of work never was a -joy to you, 'cordin' to all accounts. Well, here's -your letter."</p> -<p class="pnext">I reached down to the sortin' table where I'd laid -the letter at noon time—and it wa'n't there.</p> -<p class="pnext">I hunted that table over. "Mary," says I, "did -you put that registered letter of Mr. Hamilton's -away somewheres?"</p> -<p class="pnext">She looked surprised and, it seemed to me, rather -anxious.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why no!" says she; "I haven't touched it."</p> -<p class="pnext">Whew!... Well, there was a lively hunt -in that mail room for the next ten minutes, but it -ended in nothin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">Ike Hamilton's registered letter was <em class="italics">gone</em>!</p> -</div> -<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xvhow-ike-s-loss-turned-out-to-be-my-gain"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id16">CHAPTER XV—HOW IKE'S LOSS TURNED OUT TO BE MY GAIN</a></h2> -<p class="pfirst">There's no use dwelling on unpleasantness. -And there's no use tellin' what Ike Hamilton -said. I'd be liable to the law, if I -did tell it, and, besides, I've been away from seafarin' -so long that my memory for such language ain't as -good as 'twas. Ike wa'n't only mad now: he was -ha'f crazy, and pale and scared-lookin' besides. The -interview ended by my takin' him by the arm and -leadin' him to the door.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You get out of here," I told him, "and I'll leave -this door open so's to sweeten the air after you. -That letter of yours has turned up missin' and I'm -mighty sorry. I'll find it, though, or die a-tryin'. -Meanwhile, unless you can behave like a decent -human bein'—which I doubt—you'll find it turrible -unhealthy for you on these premises. Understand?"</p> -<p class="pnext">I cal'late he understood, for he waited till he was -out of reach afore he answered. Then he turned -and snarled at me like a kicked dog.</p> -<p class="pnext">"By the Almighty, Zeb Snow," he says, "this is -the wust day's work <em class="italics">you</em> ever did! That letter's -wuth hundreds of dollars to me and I'll sue you for -every cent. And, more'n that," he says, "this is the -last straw that'll break your back as postmaster of -this town. <em class="italics">You're</em> done! and don't you forget it!"</p> -<p class="pnext">I wa'n't likely to forget it—not to any consider'ble -extent.</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, all the rest of that day and for the next two -days, Mary and Peters and I hunted high and low -for that letter; but we couldn't find it. I was worried, -Peters was worried, and Mary Blaisdell seemed -the most worried of any of us. Ike Hamilton come -in every few hours, and, though he blustered and -threatened a whole lot, he kept a civil tongue in his -head, rememberin', I cal'late, what I said to him when -I showed him the door. Apparently he hadn't told -any of his cronies about his loss, for nobody else said -a word about it to me. This was queer, for I expected -the news would be all over town by this time.</p> -<p class="pnext">Peters asked a lot of questions and I done my best -to satisfy him. I showed him the exact place where -I laid the letter down afore I went to the front of -the store to meet him, and he remembered, same as -I did, that the door to the mail room was locked -when we come back to it. And we'd stayed in that -room together until Mary came and we went to dinner. -Nobody but Mary and I had keys to the room, -either.</p> -<p class="pnext">Course I thought of Sim Kelley and how mad -he was because I took the letter away from him, -and Peters and I cross-questioned him pretty sharp. -But he told a straight yarn and stuck to it. He -hadn't seen the letter since I took it. He'd delivered -the notice to Ike and Ike had said he'd call -and get the letter that afternoon. Well, all that -seemed to be true, and, besides, there was no way -Sim could have got hold of the thing if he'd wanted -to.</p> -<p class="pnext">"No use," says I, when the questionin' was over -and Sim had cleared out, protestin' injured innocence -and almost cryin'. "No use," says I, "I cal'late -he's tellin' the truth for once in his life. I -guess his skirts are clear."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Maybe so," says Peters. "His story is straight -enough; but he don't look you in the face; I don't -like that."</p> -<p class="pnext">"That's nothin'," I said. "He'd have to get -'round the corner to look a body in the face, as cross-eyed -as he is."</p> -<p class="pnext">Mary Blaisdell spoke up then. "If this letter -shouldn't be found at all, Mr. Peters," says she, -"what effect would it have on Cap'n Zeb's position -as postmaster?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Peters was pretty solemn, and he shook his head.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," he says, "to be perfectly frank with you, -Cap'n, it might have consider'ble effect. From -what I've seen of you and this office, generally -speakin', my report to headquarters would be a very -favorable one. Your records and accounts are -straight and the place is neat and well kept. But -your opponent's petition charges that several letters -have been lost already. This loss comes at a very -bad time and it <em class="italics">might</em> be considered serious."</p> -<p class="pnext">I'd realized all this, but it didn't help me much -to hear him say it. I didn't make any answer, but -Mary asked another question.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But if," she says, slow, "it should turn out that -the Cap'n was not to blame at all? If someone else -had lost that letter? He wouldn't be removed -<em class="italics">then</em>?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"No, certainly not. That is, not if my report -counted for anything."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I see," says she; and she didn't speak to us -again that afternoon. Peters, though, had more -questions to ask. What sort of a letter was this, -anyhow? And did I have any idea what was in it?</p> -<p class="pnext">I told him that I didn't really know much, but, -bein' a Yankee, I was subject to the guessin' habit. -Ike Hamilton had been buyin' stocks up to Boston -and this letter had a broker firm's name printed on -the envelope. My guess was that there was some -certificates, or such, inside.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I see," he says. "That would explain what he -said about its value. So he's been speculatin', hey?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"So Sim Kelley hinted. But where the money -comes from I don't see. Old Ichabod don't furnish -it, I'll bet a dollar. The old critter's got cramps in -the pocketbook worse than he has in his back."</p> -<p class="pnext">"That was the old feller you pointed out to me -the other day," he says. "I haven't seen him since. -Where is he?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Back in bed with the rheumatiz, so I hear. -Guess his cruise down town was too much for him."</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, the rest of our talk didn't amount to much -and I went home that night pretty blue and discouraged. -I didn't care so much about bein' postmaster, -but it hurt my pride to be bounced for bad -seamanship. I'd never wrecked a craft afore in -my life.</p> -<p class="pnext">Next mornin' I come to the store at my usual time, -but Mary was late, for a wonder. When she did -come she looked so pale and used up that I was -troubled.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Mary," says I, "what's the matter? Ain't sick, -are you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, no!" says she. "I—I didn't sleep well, -that's all. I'm all right."</p> -<p class="pnext">"But, Mary," I says, "I—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Please excuse me, Cap'n Zeb," she cut in. -"I'm very busy."</p> -<p class="pnext">She'd never used that tone to me afore, and I was -set back about forty mile. Why she should be so -frosty I couldn't see. I went out to the platform -and paced the quarter deck, thinkin'. I was down -at the heel anyway, and I thought a whole lot of -fool things. I was goin' to lose my job and so I -s'posed that, after all, I'd ought to expect my friends -to shake me. There's a proverb about rats leavin' -a leaky vessel. But Mary Blaisdell!! I cal'late I -come as nigh wishin' I was dead as ever I did in my -life.</p> -<p class="pnext">'Twas almost eleven afore the Peters man showed -up. He was walkin' brisk and smilin' a little.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well," says I, "you're lookin' a heap more -chipper than I feel. What are you grinnin' about?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, just for instance," he says. "Is Miss -Blaisdell in the office?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Guess so. She was awhile ago. Yes, she's -there. Why?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"I want to see her—and you, too. Come on."</p> -<p class="pnext">He led the way to the mail room. Mary was -there, workin' at her books. She looked up when -we come in, and her face was whiter than ever. I -forgot all about my "rat" thoughts and the rest -of it.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Mary," says I, anxious, "you <em class="italics">are</em> under the -weather. Why don't you go home?"</p> -<p class="pnext">She held up her hand and stopped me.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Please don't," she says.</p> -<p class="pnext">Then, turnin' to Peters: "Mr. Peters, I want -to speak to you. And to you, too, Cap'n Zeb. I—I've -got somethin' that I must tell you."</p> -<p class="pnext">'Twa'n't so much what she said as the way she said -it. I looked at Peters and he looked at me. I cal'late -we was both wonderin' what sort of lightnin' -was goin' to strike now.</p> -<p class="pnext">She didn't leave us to wonder long. She went -right on, speakin' quick, as if she wanted to get it -over with.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Mr. Peters," she says, "last night you told me -that, if it should be proved that Cap'n Zeb had no -part in losin' that letter, if it wasn't his fault at all, -the postmastership wouldn't be taken from him. -You meant that, didn't you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Peters looked queer enough. "Why, yes," he -says, "I did. But how—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Mr. Peters," she went on, in the same hurried -way, "<em class="italics">I</em> lost that letter."</p> -<p class="pnext">I don't know what Peters did then, but I know -that my knees give from under me and I flopped -down in the armchair.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You? <em class="italics">You</em>, Mary!" says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">Peters seemed to be as much flabbergasted as I -was. He rubbed his forehead.</p> -<p class="pnext">"<em class="italics">You</em> lost it?" he says, slow.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says she. "That is, I—I destroyed it -by accident. It was while you two were at dinner. -I was clearin' up the sortin' table and—and puttin' -the waste paper in the stove. I—I must have -taken the letter with the other things."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nonsense!" I sung out. Peters didn't say -nothin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nonsense!" I said again. "You don't know -that 'twas—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"But I do," she interrupted. "I—I saw it -burnin' and—and it was too late to get it out. It -was my fault altogether. No one else is to blame -at all."</p> -<p class="pnext">If I hadn't been settin' down already you could -have knocked me over with a feather. 'Twas an -accident, of course; anybody might have done such -a thing; but what I couldn't understand was why she -hadn't told me of it afore. That didn't seem like -her at all.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well!" I says; "<em class="italics">well</em>!"</p> -<p class="pnext">Peters had transferred his rubbin' from his forehead -to his chin.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Miss Blaisdell," says he, quiet, "why didn't you -tell us sooner?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"That's all right," I cut in, quick. "I don't -blame her for not tellin'. I cal'late that she felt so -bad about it that she couldn't make up her mind to -tell right off. That was it, wa'n't it, Mary?"</p> -<p class="pnext">She didn't look up, but sat playin' with a pen-holder.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," she says, "that was it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"All right then," says I. "It was an accident, -and if anybody's to blame it's me. I shouldn't have -left the letter there."</p> -<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">Then</em> she looked up. "Of course you're not to -blame," she says, awful earnest. "It was my fault -entirely. You know it was, Mr. Peters. It was -my fault and I must take the consequences. I will -resign my place as assistant and—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Resign!" I sung out. "Resign! Well, I guess -not!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"But I shall. Of course I shall. Mr. Peters, -you see that it wasn't Cap'n Snow's fault, don't you? -<em class="italics">Don't</em> you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says Peters, short.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nonsense!" I roared. "He don't see no such -thing. Mary, I don't care—"</p> -<p class="pnext">She held up her hand. "Please don't talk to me -now," she begged. "Please—not now."</p> -<p class="pnext">I looked at Peters. There was a look in his eyes, -almost as if he was smilin' inside. I could have -punched his head for it.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But, Mary—" I begun.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Please don't talk to me," she begged, almost -cryin'. "Please go away and leave me now. -Please."</p> -<p class="pnext">I cal'late I shouldn't have gone; fact is, I know -I shouldn't; but that government investigator put his -hand on my arm.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Cap'n," he says, "come with me."</p> -<p class="pnext">"With you?" I snapped. "Why?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Because I want you to. It's important. I -won't keep you long."</p> -<p class="pnext">I went, but he'll never know how much I wanted -to kick him. As I shut the door of the mail room -I saw poor Mary's head go down on her arms on -the desk.</p> -<p class="pnext">Peters led me out to the front of the store, where -he come to anchor on a shoe-case.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Set down," says he, pattin' the case alongside -of him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"I don't feel like settin'," I says, ugly. "And -I tell you, Mr. Peters—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"No," says he, "I'm goin' to tell <em class="italics">you</em> this time. -Or, if I'm not, the feller I told to be here at half past -eleven will. Yes ... here he comes now."</p> -<p class="pnext">In at the door comes Sim Kelley, and, if ever a -chap looked as if he was marchin' to be hung, he -did. His eyes was red and his face was white under -the freckles.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Here—here I be, Mr. Peters," he stammered.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes, I see you 'be,'" says Peters, dry as a chip. -"All right. Now you can tell Cap'n Snow what you -told me this mornin'."</p> -<p class="pnext">Sim looked at me, and at the government man. -He was shakin' all over.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Aw, Cap'n Zeb," he bust out, "don't be too -hard on me. Don't put me in jail! I know I -hadn't ought to have taken that letter, but you riled -me up when you told me I couldn't be trusted with -it. Ike pays me to fetch the mail. And he told me -he was expectin' an important letter from them stockbrokers. -So I—"</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, there's no use tryin' to spin the yarn the -way he did. 'Twas all mixed up with prayers about -not puttin' him in jail, and what would his ma say, -and "pleases" and "oh, dont's" and such. B'iled -down and skimmed it amounted to this: He'd seen -me lay that Hamilton letter on the sortin' table, saw -it when he come back to tell me that Peters had -arrived. After I'd gone out to the platform he was -struck with an idea. He <em class="italics">would</em> take that letter to -Ike, just to show that he could be trusted, and, besides -Ike had promised him fifty cents for lookin' -out for it and fetchin' it to him direct. He had a -key to the Hamilton box and the letter laid right -back of that box. All he had to do was to reach -through the box to the table, take the letter, and lock -up again. So he did it, and put the letter in his -overcoat inside pocket.</p> -<p class="pnext">"And—and—" he finished up, almost blubberin', -"there was a great big hole in that pocket -and I didn't know it."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I did," says I, involuntary, so to speak. -"Never mind. Heave ahead."</p> -<p class="pnext">"And the letter must have dropped out of it. -When I got a little ways up the road I found 'twas -gone. I didn't dast tell Ike or you. I—I didn't -<em class="italics">dast</em> to. Ike would kill me if I told him, and—and—Oh, -please, Cap'n Zeb, don't put me in jail! I -don't know where the letter is. Honest, I don't! -<em class="italics">Please</em> ..." and so on.</p> -<p class="pnext">Peters cut him short. "There!" says he, "that'll -do. Kelley, you go out on the platform and wait -till we need you. Go ahead! Shut up—and -go."</p> -<p class="pnext">Sim went, but I cal'late if we'd listened we could -have heard the platform boards tremblin' underneath -where he was standin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">Peters looked at me and grinned. 'Twas my time -to rub my forehead.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Well!" says I. "Well, I—I.... Is he -lyin'?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Didn't act like it, did he?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"No-o, he didn't. But—but, if he took that letter, -how did it get back onto that sortin' table?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"How do you know it did?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"How do I know! Course it got back there! -Didn't Mary say—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Wait a minute," he put in. "How do you explain -that, Cap'n?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He was holdin' out somethin' that he'd took from -his pocket. I grabbed it. 'Twas the regular -receipt for that registered letter, and 'twas signed by -Ichabod Hamilton, Junior.</p> -<p class="pnext">I looked at that receipt and then at him. The -paddin' in my head that, up to then, I'd complimented -by callin' brains was whirlin' as if somebody -was stirrin' it. I couldn't say a word. He laughed -out loud.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Don't have a fit, Cap'n Snow," he says. "It's -simple enough. What you told me yesterday about -the firm of Hamilton and Co. put me wise to the -real answer to the riddle. I remembered that you -pointed out Hamilton to me on the street when you -and I were on the way to that hotel where we dined -the noon of my arrival. He was on his way home -then and he had been somewhere in this vicinity. -There was a chance that he had been here at the -office. This mornin' I went to his house and found -him in bed. He was full of rheumatism and groans, -but fuller still of the Evil One. I told him I knew -he'd got his partner's registered letter—a bluff of -course—and he didn't take the trouble to deny it. -Seems Sim Kelley, with the mail box, passed him -right here by the store platform. As they passed -each other the letter fell from Kelley's overcoat -pocket. The old man picked it up, intendin' to call -to Kelley and give it back to him. When he saw -the address he didn't."</p> -<p class="pnext">He stopped then, waitin' for me to say somethin', -I s'pose. But I couldn't say anything. My head -was fuller of stir-about than ever, and I just stared -at him with my mouth open.</p> -<p class="pnext">"When he saw the address—and the name of -the brokerage firm—he didn't. He took that letter -home and opened it. You see, the old feller is -nobody's fool, even if his rheumatism has kept him -from active business for the last few months. He -had suspected his nephew of speculatin' and here was -the proof, a hundred shares of cheap minin' stock, -and a letter sayin' that two hundred more had been -bought on a margin. Young Hamilton had been -stockjobbin' with the firm's money."</p> -<p class="pnext">"My—soul!" was all I could say.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes; well, old Ichabod is—ha! ha!—a queer -character. His rheumatism had come back and he -was waitin' to get better afore he took the matter -up with his partner. 'What I'll say and do to that -young pup is a well man's job,' he told me. We had -a long talk and it ended in his sendin' for Ike. As -soon as the young chap came I cleared out—that is, -after I got this receipt signed. That bedroom was -too sulphurous for me. I could smell brimstone -even in the front yard. Cap'n, I guess you needn't -worry about your rival candidate for postmaster. -He's got troubles enough of his own."</p> -<p class="pnext">I got up, slow and deliberate, from that shoe-case.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But—but—" I stuttered.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes? Anything that I haven't made clear?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Anything? Why! if all this yarn of yours is -so—.... But it <em class="italics">can't</em> be so! Why did Mary -burn that letter?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"She didn't."</p> -<p class="pnext">"But she said she did."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I know. Well, Cap'n, if you'll remember when -we talked, the three of us, yesterday, I hinted that -unless you were cleared of blame in this affair you -might be removed from office."</p> -<p class="pnext">"I know, but.... Hey? You mean that -she lied and put the blame on herself, so as to save -<em class="italics">me</em>? So's I'd keep my job?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Looks that way to a man up a tree, doesn't it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"But why? Why should she sacrifice herself for—for -me?"</p> -<p class="pnext">Peters bit the end off of a cigar. "That," says -he, "don't come under the head of government business."</p> -<hr class="docutils"/> -<p class="pfirst">Mary was still at her desk when I walked into the -mail room. I put my hand on her shoulder.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Mary," says I, "I know all about it."</p> -<p class="pnext">She looked at me. Her eyes were wet, and I -cal'late mine wa'n't as dry as a sand bank in July.</p> -<p class="pnext">"You know?" she says.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," says I. And I told her the yarn. Afore -I got through the color had come back to her cheeks.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Then you did leave it on the sortin' table after -all," she says, almost in a whisper.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Course I did! Didn't I say so?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes; but Cap'n Zeb, I saw you put that letter -in your overcoat pocket. I saw you do it, myself."</p> -<p class="pnext">So there 'twas. I'd forgot to tell her about my -mistake in the overcoats and she thought I'd lost the -letter and didn't know it.</p> -<p class="pnext">"And so," says I, after I'd explained, "you -thought I'd lost it and yet you took the blame all on -yourself. You risked your place and told a lie just -to save me, Mary. Why did you do it?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"How could I help it?" she says. "You've been -so good to me and so kind."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Good and kind be keelhauled!" I sung out. -"Mary, my goodness and kindness wouldn't explain -a thing like that. Oh, Mary, don't let's have another -misunderstandin'. I'm crazy maybe to think -of such a thing, and I'm ten years older than you, -and you'll be throwin' yourself away, but, <em class="italics">do</em> you -care enough for me to—"</p> -<p class="pnext">She got up from her desk, all flustered like.</p> -<p class="pnext">"It's mail time," she says. "I—I must—"</p> -<p class="pnext">But 'twa'n't mail I was interested in just then. I -caught her afore she could get away.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Could you, Mary?" I pleaded. She wouldn't -look at me, so I put my hand under her chin and -tipped her head back so I could see her face. 'Twas -as red as a spring peony, and her eyes were wetter -than ever. But they were shinin' behind the fog.</p> -<p class="pnext">Well, about three that afternoon, we were alone -together in the mail room. Peters, who had as much -common sense as anybody ever I see, had gone for -a walk.</p> -<p class="pnext">Mary was thinkin' things over and says she, "But -it was too bad," she says, "that all the worry and -trouble had to come on you just because of that foolish -Sim Kelley. I'm so sorry."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Sorry!" says I. "I'm goin' to give Sim a ten-dollar -bill next time I see him. If I gave him a -million 'twould be a cheap price for what I've got -by his buttin' in. Sorry! <em class="italics">I</em> ain't sorry, I tell you -that!"</p> -<p class="pnext">And I've never been sorry since, either.</p> -</div> -<div class="level-2 section" id="chapter-xvii-pay-my-other-bet"> -<h2 class="level-2 pfirst section-title title"><a class="toc-backref pginternal" href="#id17">CHAPTER XVI—I PAY MY OTHER BET</a></h2> -<p class="pfirst">'Twas June, and Mary and I were in -New York together, on <em class="italics">our</em> honeymoon. -We'd been married, quietly, by the same -parson that tied the knot for Jim and Georgianna, -and Georgianna and Jim had been on hand at the -ceremony. We was cal'latin' to stop in New York -a few days, then go to Washington, and from there -to Chicago, and from there to California or the -Yellerstone, or anywhere that seemed good to us at -the time. I'd waited fifty years for my weddin' -tour and I didn't intend to let dollars and cents cut -much figger, so far as regulatin' the limits of the -cruise was concerned. Jim Henry and the clerk, -who'd been swore in as substitute assistant, believed -they could run the store and post-office while we -were gone.</p> -<p class="pnext">Mary and I were walkin' down Broadway together. -I'd told her I had an errand to do and -asked her if she wanted to come along. She said -she did and we were walkin' down Broadway, as I -said, when all at once I pulled up short.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What is it?" asked Mary, lookin' to see what -had run across my bows to bring me up into the -wind so sudden.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Nothin' serious," says I; "but, unless my eyesight -is goin' back on me, this shop we're in front -of is what I've been huntin' for."</p> -<p class="pnext">She looked at the shop I was p'intin' at. The -window was full of hats, straw ones mainly.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why!" says she, "it's a hat store, isn't it? -You don't need a new hat, Zebulon, do you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"You bet I do!" says I, chucklin'. "I need -just as much hat as there is. Come in and watch -me buy it."</p> -<p class="pnext">I could see she was puzzled, but she was more -so after I got into the store. A slick-lookin', but -pretty condescendin' young clerk marched up to us -and says he:</p> -<p class="pnext">"Somethin' in a hat, sir?"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes, sir," says I; "<em class="italics">everything</em> in a hat."</p> -<p class="pnext">He didn't know what to make of that, so he tried -again.</p> -<p class="pnext">"One of our new straws, perhaps?" he asks. -"The fifteenth is almost here, you know."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Maybe so," I told him, "but I don't want any -straw, the fifteenth or the sixteenth either. I want -a plug hat, a beaver hat—that's what I want."</p> -<p class="pnext">The clerk was a little set back, I guess, but poor -Mary was all at sea.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, Zebulon!" she whispers, grabbin' me by -the arm, "what are you doin'? You're not goin' -to buy a silk hat!"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes, I am," says I.</p> -<p class="pnext">"But you aren't goin' to <em class="italics">wear</em> it."</p> -<p class="pnext">To save me, when I looked at her face I couldn't -help laughin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Ain't I?" says I. "Why, I think I'd look too -cute for anything in a tall hat. What's your opinion?" -turnin' to the clerk.</p> -<p class="pnext">He coughed behind his hand and then made proclamation -that a silk hat would become me very well, -he was sure.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Then you're a whole lot surer than I am," says -I. "However, trot one out, the best article you've -got in stock."</p> -<p class="pnext">That clerk's back was gettin' limberer every second. -"Yes, sir," says he, bowin'. "Our imported -hat at ten dollars is the finest in New York. -If you and the lady will step this way, please."</p> -<p class="pnext">We stepped; that is, I did. I pretty nigh had to -<em class="italics">drag</em> Mary.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What size, sir?" asked the clerk.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Oh, I don't know," says I. "Any nice genteel -size will do, I guess."</p> -<p class="pnext">I had consider'ble fun with that clerk, fust and -last, and when we came out of that store I was -luggin' a fine leather box with the imported tall hat -inside it. I'd made arrangements that, if the size -shouldn't be right, it could be exchanged.</p> -<p class="pnext">"And now, Mary," says I, "I cal'late you're -wonderin' where we'll go next, ain't you?"</p> -<p class="pnext">She looked at me and shook her head.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Zeb," she says, half laughin', "I—I'm almost -afraid we ought to go to the insane asylum."</p> -<p class="pnext">I laughed out loud then. "Not just yet," I told -her. "We're goin' on a cruise down South Street -fust."</p> -<p class="pnext">So I hired a hack—street cars ain't good enough -for a man on his weddin' trip—and the feller drove -us to the number I give him on South Street. The -old place looked mighty familiar.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Is Mr. Pike in?" I asked the bookkeeper, who -had hollered my name out as if he was glad to see -me.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Why, yes, Cap'n Snow, he's in. I'll tell him -you're here."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Wait a minute," says I. "Is he alone? -Good! Then I'll tell him myself. Come, Mary."</p> -<p class="pnext">Pike was in his private office, not lookin' a day -older than when I left him four years and a half -ago. He looked up, jumped, and then grabbed -me by both hands. "Why, Cap'n Zeb!" he sung -out. "If this isn't good for sore eyes. How are -you? What are you doin' here in New York? By -George, I'm glad to see you! What—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Wait!" I interrupted. "Business fust, and -pleasure afterwards. I'm here to pay my debts."</p> -<p class="pnext">"Debts?" says he, wonderin'.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Yes," I says. "Did you get a hat from me -four year or so ago?"</p> -<p class="pnext">He laughed. "Yes, I did," he says. "I wrote -you that I did. I knew I should win that bet. You -couldn't stay idle to save your soul."</p> -<p class="pnext">"There was another bet, too, if you recollect. -A bet with a five-year limit on it. The limit won't -be up till next fall, so here I am—and here's the -other hat."</p> -<p class="pnext">I set the leather box on the table. He stared at -it and then at me.</p> -<p class="pnext">"What do you mean?" he says, slow. "I don't -remember.... Why, yes—I do! You don't -mean to tell me that you're—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"That's the hat, ain't it?" I cut in. "You're a -man of judgment, Mr. Pike, and any time you want -to set up professionally as a prophet I'd like to take -stock in the company."</p> -<p class="pnext">He was beginnin' to smile.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Then—" says he—"Why, then this must -be—"</p> -<p class="pnext">I cut in and stopped him.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Hold on," says I. "Hold on! I'm prouder -to be able to say it than I ever was of anything else -in this world, and I sha'n't let you say it fust. Mr. -Pike, let me introduce you to my wife—Mrs. Zebulon -Snow."</p> -<p class="pnext">About half an hour afterwards he found time to -look at the hat.</p> -<p class="pnext">"Whew!" says he. "Cap'n, this is much too -good a hat for you to buy for me. I'm mighty glad, -for your sake, that I won the bet, but—"</p> -<p class="pnext">"Ssh-h! shh!" says I. "Don't say another -word. Think of what <em class="italics">I</em> won! Hey, Mary?"</p> -<div class="center level-3 section" id="the-end"> -<h3 class="level-3 pfirst section-title title">THE END</h3> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 5em"> -</div> -</div> -</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POSTMASTER ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. 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