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diff --git a/3263-h/3263-h.htm b/3263-h/3263-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ebb09e1 --- /dev/null +++ b/3263-h/3263-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,17706 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Portygee, by Joseph Crosby Lincoln + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Portygee, by Joseph Crosby Lincoln + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Portygee + +Author: Joseph Crosby Lincoln + +Release Date: May 30, 2006 [EBook #3263] +Last Updated: March 5, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PORTYGEE *** + + + + +Produced by Donald Lainson; David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE PORTYGEE + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Joseph Crosby Lincoln + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <p> + Overhead the clouds cloaked the sky; a ragged cloak it was, and, here and + there, a star shone through a hole, to be obscured almost instantly as + more cloud tatters were hurled across the rent. The pines threshed on the + hill tops. The bare branches of the wild-cherry and silverleaf trees + scraped and rattled and tossed. And the wind, the raw, chilling December + wind, driven in, wet and salty, from the sea, tore over the dunes and + brown uplands and across the frozen salt-meadows, screamed through the + telegraph wires, and made the platform of the dismal South Harniss railway + station the lonesomest, coldest, darkest and most miserable spot on the + face of the earth. + </p> + <p> + At least that was the opinion of the seventeen-year-old boy whom the down + train—on time for once and a wonder—had just deposited upon + that platform. He would not have discounted the statement one iota. The + South Harniss station platform WAS the most miserable spot on earth and he + was the most miserable human being upon it. And this last was probably + true, for there were but three other humans upon that platform and, + judging by externals, they seemed happy enough. One was the station agent, + who was just entering the building preparatory to locking up for the + night, and the others were Jim Young, driver of the “depot wagon,” and + Doctor Holliday, the South Harniss “homeopath,” who had been up to a + Boston hospital with a patient and was returning home. Jim was whistling + “Silver Bells,” a tune much in vogue the previous summer, and Doctor + Holliday was puffing at a cigar and knocking his feet together to keep + them warm while waiting to get into the depot wagon. These were the only + people in sight and they were paying no attention whatever to the lonely + figure at the other end of the platform. + </p> + <p> + The boy looked about him. The station, with its sickly yellow gleam of + kerosene lamp behind its dingy windowpane, was apparently the only + inhabited spot in a barren wilderness. At the edge of the platform + civilization seemed to end and beyond was nothing but a black earth and a + black sky, tossing trees and howling wind, and cold—raw, damp, + penetrating cold. Compared with this even the stuffy plush seats and + smelly warmth of the car he had just left appeared temptingly homelike and + luxurious. All the way down from the city he had sneered inwardly at a + one-horse railroad which ran no Pullmans on its Cape branch in winter + time. Now he forgot his longing for mahogany veneer and individual chairs + and would gladly have boarded a freight car, provided there were in it a + lamp and a stove. + </p> + <p> + The light in the station was extinguished and the agent came out with a + jingling bunch of keys and locked the door. “Good-night, Jim,” he shouted, + and walked off into the blackness. Jim responded with a “good-night” of + his own and climbed aboard the wagon, into the dark interior of which the + doctor had preceded him. The boy at the other end of the platform began to + be really alarmed. It looked as if all living things were abandoning him + and he was to be left marooned, to starve or freeze, provided he was not + blown away first. + </p> + <p> + He picked up the suitcase—an expensive suitcase it was, elaborately + strapped and buckled, with a telescope back and gold fittings—and + hastened toward the wagon. Mr. Young had just picked up the reins. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,—oh, I say!” faltered the boy. We have called him “the boy” all + this time, but he did not consider himself a boy, he esteemed himself a + man, if not full-grown physically, certainly so mentally. A man, with all + a man's wisdom, and more besides—the great, the all-embracing wisdom + of his age, or youth. + </p> + <p> + “Here, I say! Just a minute!” he repeated. Jim Young put his head around + the edge of the wagon curtain. “Eh?” he queried. “Eh? Who's talkin'? Oh, + was it you, young feller? Did you want me?” + </p> + <p> + The young fellow replied that he did. “This is South Harniss, isn't it?” + he asked. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Young chuckled. “Darn sure thing,” he drawled. “I give in that it + looks consider'ble like Boston, or Providence, R. I., or some of them + capitols, but it ain't, it's South Harniss, Cape Cod.” + </p> + <p> + Doctor Holliday, on the back seat of the depot wagon, chuckled. Jim did + not; he never laughed at his own jokes. And his questioner did not + chuckle, either. + </p> + <p> + “Does a—does a Mr. Snow live here?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + The answer was prompt, if rather indefinite. “Um-hm,” said the driver. “No + less'n fourteen of him lives here. Which one do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “A Mr. Z. Snow.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Z. Snow, eh? Humph! I don't seem to recollect any Mr. Z. Snow around + nowadays. There used to be a Ziba Snow, but he's dead. 'Twan't him you + wanted, was it?” + </p> + <p> + “No. The one I want is—is a Captain Snow. Captain—” he paused + before uttering the name which to his critical metropolitan ear had seemed + so dreadfully countrified and humiliating; “Captain Zelotes Snow,” he + blurted, desperately. + </p> + <p> + Jim Young laughed aloud. “Good land, Doc!” he cried, turning toward his + passenger; “I swan I clean forgot that Cap'n Lote's name begun with a Z. + Cap'n Lote Snow? Why, darn sure! I . . . Eh?” He stopped short, evidently + struck by a new idea. “Sho!” he drawled, slowly. “Why, I declare I believe + you're . . . Yes, of course! I heard they was expectin' you. Doc, you know + who 'tis, don't you? Cap'n Lote's grandson; Janie's boy.” + </p> + <p> + He took the lighted lantern from under the wagon seat and held it up so + that its glow shone upon the face of the youth standing by the wheel. + </p> + <p> + “Hum,” he mused. “Don't seem to favor Janie much, does he, Doc. Kind of + got her mouth and chin, though. Remember that sort of good-lookin' set to + her mouth she had? And SHE got it from old Cap'n Lo himself. This boy's + face must be more like his pa's, I cal'late. Don't you cal'late so, Doc?” + </p> + <p> + Whether Doctor Holliday cal'lated so or not he did not say. It may be that + he thought this cool inspection of and discussion concerning a stranger, + even a juvenile stranger, somewhat embarrassing to its object. Or the + lantern light may have shown him an ominous pucker between the boy's black + brows and a flash of temper in the big black eyes beneath them. At any + rate, instead of replying to Mr. Young, he said, kindly: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Captain Snow lives in the village. If you are going to his house get + right in here. I live close by, myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Darned sure!” agreed Mr. Young, with enthusiasm. “Hop right in, sonny.” + </p> + <p> + But the boy hesitated. Then, haughtily ignoring the driver, he said: “I + thought Captain Snow would be here to meet me. He wrote that he would.” + </p> + <p> + The irrepressible Jim had no idea of remaining ignored. “Did Cap'n Lote + write you that he'd be here to the depot?” he demanded. “All right, then + he'll be here, don't you fret. I presume likely that everlastin' mare of + his has eat herself sick again; eh, Doc? By godfreys domino, the way they + pet and stuff that fool horse is a sin and a shame. It ain't Lote's fault + so much as 'tis his wife's—she's responsible. Don't you fret, Bub, + the cap'n'll be here for you some time to-night. If he said he'll come + he'll come, even if he has to hire one of them limmysines. He, he, he! All + you've got to do is wait, and . . . Hey! . . . Hold on a minute! . . . + Bub!” + </p> + <p> + The boy was walking away. And to hail him as “Bub” was, although Jim Young + did not know it, the one way least likely to bring him back. + </p> + <p> + “Bub!” shouted Jim again. Receiving no reply he added what he had intended + saying. “If I run afoul of Cap'n Lote anywheres on the road,” he called, + “I'll tell him you're here a-waitin'. So long, Bub. Git dap, Chain + Lightnin'.” + </p> + <p> + The horse, thus complimented, pricked up one ear, lifted a foot, and + jogged off. The depot wagon became merely a shadowy smudge against the + darkness of the night. For a few minutes the “chock, chock” of the hoofs + upon the frozen road and the rattle of wheels gave audible evidence of its + progress. Then these died away and upon the windswept platform of the + South Harniss station descended the black gloom of lonesomeness so + complete as to make that which had been before seem, by comparison, almost + cheerful. + </p> + <p> + The youth upon that platform turned up his coat collar, thrust his gloved + hands into his pockets, and shivered. Then, still shivering, he took a + brisk walk up and down beside the suitcase and, finally, circumnavigated + the little station. The voyage of discovery was unprofitable; there was + nothing to discover. So far as he could see—which was by no means + far—upon each side of the building was nothing but bare fields and + tossing pines, and wind and cold and blackness. He came to anchor once + more by the suitcase and drew a long, hopeless breath. + </p> + <p> + He thought of the cheery dining room at the school he had left the day + before. Dinner would be nearly over by now. The fellows were having + dessert, or, probably, were filing out into the corridors, the younger + chaps to go to the study hall and the older ones—the lordly seniors, + of whom he had been one—on the way to their rooms. The picture of + his own cheerful, gay room in the senior corridor was before his mind; of + that room as it was before the telegram came, before the lawyer came with + the letter, before the end of everything as he knew it and the beginning + of—this. He had not always loved and longed for that school as he + loved and longed for it now. There had been times when he referred to it + as “the old jail,” and professed to hate it. But it had been the only real + home he had known since he was eight years old and now he looked back upon + it as a fallen angel might have looked back upon Paradise. He sighed + again, choked and hastily drew his gloved hand across his eyes. At the age + of seventeen it is very unmanly to cry, but, at that age also, manhood and + boyhood are closely intermingled. He choked again and then, squaring his + shoulders, reached into his coat pocket for the silver cigarette case + which, as a recent acquisition, was the pride of his soul. He had just + succeeded in lighting a cigarette when, borne upon the wind, he heard once + more the sound of hoofs and wheels and saw in the distance a speck of + light advancing toward the station. + </p> + <p> + The sounds drew nearer, so did the light. Then an old-fashioned buggy, + drawn by a plump little sorrel, pulled up by the platform and a hand held + a lantern aloft. + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” hailed a voice. “Where are you?” + </p> + <p> + The hail did not have to be repeated. Before the vehicle reached the + station the boy had tossed away the cigarette, picked up the suitcase, and + was waiting. Now he strode into the lantern light. + </p> + <p> + “Here I am,” he answered, trying hard not to appear too eager. “Were you + looking for me?” + </p> + <p> + The holder of the lantern tucked the reins between the whip-socket and the + dash and climbed out of the buggy. He was a little man, perhaps about + forty-eight or fifty, with a smooth-shaven face wrinkled at the corners of + the mouth and eyes. His voice was the most curious thing about him; it was + high and piping, more like a woman's than a man's. Yet his words and + manner were masculine enough, and he moved and spoke with a nervous, jerky + quickness. + </p> + <p> + He answered the question promptly. “Guess I be, guess I be,” he said + briskly. “Anyhow, I'm lookin' for a boy name of—name of—My + soul to heavens, I've forgot it again, I do believe! What did you say your + name was?” + </p> + <p> + “Speranza. Albert Speranza.” + </p> + <p> + “Sartin, sartin! Sper—er—um—yes, yes. Knew it just as + well as I did my own. Well, well, well! Ye-es, yes, yes. Get right aboard, + Alfred. Let me take your satchel.” + </p> + <p> + He picked up the suitcase. The boy, his foot upon the buggy step, still + hesitated. “Then you're—you're not my grandfather?” he faltered. + </p> + <p> + “Eh? Who? Your grandfather? Me? He, he, he!” He chuckled shrilly. “No, no! + No such luck. If I was Cap'n Lote Snow, I'd be some older'n I be now and a + dum sight richer. Yes, yes. No, I'm Cap'n Lote's bookkeeper over at the + lumber consarn. He's got a cold, and Olive—that's his wife—she + said he shouldn't come out to-night. He said he should, and while they was + Katy-didin' back and forth about it, Rachel—Mrs. Ellis—she's + the hired housekeeper there—she telephoned me to harness up and come + meet you up here to the depot. Er—er—little mite late, wan't + I?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, just a little. The other man, the one who drives the mail cart—I + think that was what it was—said perhaps the horse was sick, or + something like that.” + </p> + <p> + “No-o, no, that wan't it this time. I—er—All tucked in and + warm enough, be you? Ye-es, yes, yes. No, I'm to blame, I shouldn't + wonder. I stopped at the—at the store a minute and met one or two of + the fellers, and that kind of held me up. All right now? Ye-es, yes, yes. + G'long, gal.” + </p> + <p> + The buggy moved away from the platform. Its passenger, his chilly feet and + legs tightly wrapped in the robes, drew a breath of relief between his + chattering teeth. He was actually going somewhere at last; whatever + happened, morning would not find him propped frozen stiff against the + scarred and mangy clapboards of the South Harniss station. + </p> + <p> + “Warm enough, be you?” inquired his driver cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “That's good, that's good, that's good. Ye-es, yes, yes. Well—er—Frederick, + how do you think you're goin' to like South Harniss?” + </p> + <p> + The answer was rather non-committal. The boy replied that he had not seen + very much of it as yet. His companion seemed to find the statement highly + amusing. He chuckled and slapped his knee. + </p> + <p> + “Ain't seen much of it, eh? No-o, no, no. I guess you ain't, guess you + ain't. He, he, he . . . Um . . . Let's see, what was I talkin' about?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, nothing in particular, I think, Mr.—Mr.—” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't I tell you my name? Sho, sho! That's funny. My name's Keeler—Laban + B. Keeler. That's my name and bookkeeper is my station. South Harniss is + my dwellin' place—and I guess likely you'll have to see the minister + about the rest of it. He, he, he!” + </p> + <p> + His passenger, to whom the old schoolbook quatrain was entirely unknown, + wondered what on earth the man was talking about. However, he smiled + politely and sniffed with a dawning suspicion. It seemed to him there was + an unusual scent in the air, a spirituous scent, a— + </p> + <p> + “Have a peppermint lozenger,” suggested Mr. Keeler, with sudden + enthusiasm. “Peppermint is good for what ails you, so they tell me. Ye-es, + yes, yes. Have one. Have two, have a lot.” + </p> + <p> + He proceeded to have a lot himself, and the buggy was straightway + reflavored, so to speak. The boy, his suspicions by no means dispelled, + leaned back in the corner behind the curtains and awaited developments. He + was warmer, that was a real physical and consequently a slight mental + comfort, but the feeling of lonesomeness was still acute. So far his + acquaintanceship with the citizens of South Harniss had not filled him + with enthusiasm. They were what he, in his former and very recent state of + existence, would have called “Rubes.” Were the grandparents whom he had + never met this sort of people? It seemed probable. What sort of a place + was this to which Fate had consigned him? The sense of utter helplessness + which had had him in its clutches since the day when he received the news + of his father's death was as dreadfully real as ever. He had not been + consulted at all. No one had asked him what he wished to do, or where he + wished to go. The letter had come from these people, the Cape Cod + grandparents of whom, up to that time, he had never even heard, and he had + been shipped to them as though he were a piece of merchandise. And what + was to become of him now, after he reached his destination? What would + they expect him to do? Or be? How would he be treated? + </p> + <p> + In his extensive reading—he had been an omnivorous reader—there + were numerous examples of youths left, like him, to the care of distant + relatives, or step-parents, or utter strangers. Their experiences, + generally speaking, had not been cheerful ones. Most of them had run away. + He might run away; but somehow the idea of running away, with no money, to + face hardship and poverty and all the rest, did not make an alluring + appeal. He had been used to comfort and luxury ever since he could + remember, and his imagination, an unusually active one, visualized much + more keenly than the average the tribulations and struggles of a runaway. + David Copperfield, he remembered, had run away, but he did it when a kid, + not a man like himself. Nicholas Nickleby—no, Nicholas had not run + away exactly, but his father had died and he had been left to an uncle. It + would be dreadful if his grandfather should turn out to be a man like + Ralph Nickleby. Yet Nicholas had gotten on well in spite of his wicked + relative. Yes, and how gloriously he had defied the old rascal, too! He + wondered if he would ever be called upon to defy his grandfather. He saw + himself doing it—quietly, a perfect gentleman always, but with the + noble determination of one performing a disagreeable duty. His chin lifted + and his shoulders squared against the back of the buggy. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Keeler, who had apparently forgotten his passenger altogether, broke + into song, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “She's my darlin' hanky-panky + And she wears a number two, + Her father keeps a barber shop + Way out in Kalamazoo.” + </pre> + <p> + He sang the foregoing twice over and then added a chorus, plainly + improvised, made up of “Di doos” and “Di dums” ad lib. And the buggy + rolled up and over the slope of a little hill and, in the face of a + screaming sea wind, descended a long, gentle slope to where, scattered + along a two-mile water frontage, the lights of South Harniss twinkled + sparsely. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Did doo dum, dee dum, doo dum + Di doo dum, doo dum dee.” + </pre> + <p> + So sang Mr. Keeler. Then he broke off his solo as the little mare turned + in between a pair of high wooden posts bordering a drive, jogged along + that drive for perhaps fifty feet, and stopped beside the stone step of a + white front door. Through the arched window above that door shone + lamplight warm and yellow. + </p> + <p> + “Whoa!” commanded Mr. Keeler, most unnecessarily. Then, as if himself a + bit uncertain as to his exact whereabouts, he peered out at the door and + the house of which it was a part, afterward settling back to announce + triumphantly: “And here we be! Yes, sir, here we be!” + </p> + <p> + Then the door opened. A flood of lamplight poured upon the buggy and its + occupants. And the boy saw two people standing in the doorway, a man and a + woman. + </p> + <p> + It was the woman who spoke first. It was she who had opened the door. The + man was standing behind her looking over her shoulder—over her head + really, for he was tall and broad and she short and slender. + </p> + <p> + “Is it—?” she faltered. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Keeler answered. “Yes, ma'am,” he declared emphatically, “that's who + 'tis. Here we be—er—er—what's-your-name—Edward. + Jump right out.” + </p> + <p> + His passenger alighted from the buggy. The woman bent forward to look at + him, her hands clasped. + </p> + <p> + “It—it's Albert, isn't it?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + The boy nodded. “Yes,” he said. + </p> + <p> + The hands unclasped and she held them out toward him. “Oh, Albert,” she + cried, “I'm your grandmother. I—” + </p> + <p> + The man interrupted. “Wait till we get him inside, Olive,” he said. “Come + in, son.” Then, addressing the driver, he ordered: “Labe, take the horse + and team out to the barn and unharness for me, will you?” + </p> + <p> + “Ye-es, yes, yes,” replied Mr. Keeler. “Yes indeed, Cap'n. Take her right + along—right off. Yes indeedy. Git dap!” + </p> + <p> + He drove off toward the end of the yard, where a large building, + presumably a barn, loomed black against the dark sky. He sang as he drove + and the big man on the step looked after him and sniffed suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile the boy had followed the little woman into the house through a + small front hall, from which a narrow flight of stairs shot aloft with + almost unbelievable steepness, and into a large room. Albert had a swift + impression of big windows full of plants, of pictures of ships and + schooners on the walls, of a table set for four. + </p> + <p> + “Take your things right off,” cried his grandmother. “Here, I'll take 'em. + There! now turn 'round and let me look at you. Don't move till I get a + good look.” + </p> + <p> + He stood perfectly still while she inspected him from head to foot. + </p> + <p> + “You've got her mouth,” she said slowly. “Yes, you've got her mouth. Her + hair and eyes were brown and yours are black, but—but I THINK you + look like her. Oh, I did so want you to! May I kiss you, Albert? I'm your + grandmother, you know.” + </p> + <p> + With embarrassed shyness he leaned forward while she put her arms about + his neck and kissed him on the cheek. As he straightened again he became + aware that the big man had entered the room and was regarding him intently + beneath a pair of shaggy gray eyebrows. Mrs. Snow turned. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Zelotes,” she cried, “he's got Janie's mouth, don't you think so? And + he DOES look like her, doesn't he?” + </p> + <p> + Her husband shook his head. “Maybe so, Mother,” he said, with a half + smile. “I ain't a great hand for locatin' who folks look like. How are + you, boy? Glad to see you. I'm your grandfather, you know.” + </p> + <p> + They shook hands, while each inspected and made a mental estimate of the + other. Albert saw a square, bearded jaw, a firm mouth, gray eyes with many + wrinkles at the corners, and a shock of thick gray hair. The eyes had a + way of looking straight at you, through you, as if reading your thoughts, + divining your motives and making a general appraisal of you and them. + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes Snow, for his part, saw a tall young fellow, slim and + straight, with black curly hair, large black eyes and regular features. A + good-looking boy, a handsome boy—almost too handsome, perhaps, or + with just a touch of the effeminate in the good looks. The captain's + glance took in the well-fitting suit of clothes, the expensive tie, the + gold watch chain. + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” grunted Captain Zelotes. “Well, your grandma and I are glad to + have you with us. Let me see, Albert—that's your right name, ain't + it—Albert?” + </p> + <p> + Something in his grandfather's looks or tone aroused a curious feeling in + the youth. It was not a feeling of antagonism, exactly, but more of + defiance, of obstinacy. He felt as if this big man, regarding him so + keenly from under the heavy brows, was looking for faults, was expecting + to find something wrong, might almost be disappointed if he did not find + it. He met the gaze for a moment, the color rising to his cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “My name,” he said deliberately, “is Alberto Miguel Carlos Speranza.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Snow uttered a little exclamation. “Oh!” she ejaculated. And then + added: “Why—why, I thought—we—we understood 'twas + 'Albert.' We didn't know there was—we didn't know there was any more + to it. What did you say it was?” + </p> + <p> + Her grandson squared his shoulders. “Alberto Miguel Carlos Speranza,” he + repeated. “My father”—there was pride in his voice now—“my + father's name was Miguel Carlos. Of course you knew that.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke as if all creation must have known it. Mrs. Snow looked + helplessly at her husband. Captain Zelotes rubbed his chin. + </p> + <p> + “We—ll,” he drawled dryly, “I guess likely we'll get along with + 'Albert' for a spell. I cal'late 'twill come more handy to us Cape folks. + We're kind of plain and everyday 'round here. Sapper's ready, ain't it, + Mother? Al must be hungry. I'm plaguey sure <i>I</i> am.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Zelotes, maybe he'd like to go up to his bedroom first. He's been + ridin' a long ways in the cars and maybe he'd like to wash up or change + his clothes?” + </p> + <p> + “Change his clothes! Lord sakes, Olive, what would he want to change his + clothes this time of night for? You don't want to change your clothes, do + you, boy?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir, I guess not.” + </p> + <p> + “Sartin sure you don't. Want to wash? There's a basin and soap and towel + right out there in the kitchen.” + </p> + <p> + He pointed to the kitchen door. At that moment the door was partially + opened and a brisk feminine voice from behind it inquired: “How about + eatin'? Are you all ready in there?” + </p> + <p> + It was Captain Snow who answered. + </p> + <p> + “You bet we are, Rachel!” he declared. “All ready and then some. Trot her + out. Sit down, Mother. Sit down, Al. Now then, Rachel, all aboard.” + </p> + <p> + Rachel, it appeared, was the owner of the brisk feminine voice just + mentioned. She was brisk herself, as to age about forty, plump, rosy and + very business-like. She whisked the platter of fried mackerel and the + dishes of baked potatoes, stewed corn, hot biscuits and all the rest, to + the table is no time, and then, to Albert's astonishment, sat down at that + table herself. Mrs. Snow did the honors. + </p> + <p> + “Albert,” she said, “this is Mrs. Ellis, who helps me keep house. Rachel, + this is my grandson, Albert—er—Speranza.” + </p> + <p> + She pronounced the surname in a tone almost apologetic. Mrs. Ellis did not + attempt to pronounce it. She extended a plump hand and observed: “Is that + so? Real glad to know you, Albert. How do you think you're goin' to like + South Harniss?” + </p> + <p> + Considering that his acquaintance with the village had been so decidedly + limited, Albert was somewhat puzzled how to reply. His grandfather saved + him the trouble. + </p> + <p> + “Lord sakes, Rachel,” he declared, “he ain't seen more'n three square foot + of it yet. It's darker'n the inside of a nigger's undershirt outdoors + to-night. Well, Al—Albert, I mean, how are you on mackerel? Pretty + good stowage room below decks? About so much, eh?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Snow interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “Zelotes,” she said reprovingly, “ain't you forgettin' somethin'?” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? Forgettin'? Heavens to Betsy, so I am! Lord, we thank thee for these + and all other gifts, Amen. What did I do with the fork; swallow it?” + </p> + <p> + As long as he lives Albert Speranza will not forget that first meal in the + home of his grandparents. It was so strange, so different from any other + meal he had ever eaten. The food was good and there was an abundance of + it, but the surroundings were so queer. Instead of the well-ordered and + sedate school meal, here all the eatables from fish to pie were put upon + the table at the same time and the servant—or housekeeper, which to + his mind were one and the same—sat down, not only to eat with the + family, but to take at least an equal part in the conversation. And the + conversation itself was so different. Beginning with questions concerning + his own journey from the New York town where the school was located, it at + length reached South Harniss and there centered about the diminutive + person of Laban Keeler, his loquacious and tuneful rescuer from the + platform of the railway station. + </p> + <p> + “Where are your things, Albert?” asked Mrs. Snow. “Your trunk or travelin' + bag, or whatever you had, I mean?” + </p> + <p> + “My trunks are coming by express,” began the boy. Captain Zelotes + interrupted him. + </p> + <p> + “Your trunks?” he repeated. “Got more'n one, have you?” + </p> + <p> + “Why—why, yes, there are three. Mr. Holden—he is the + headmaster, you know—” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? Headmaster? Oh, you mean the boss teacher up there at the school? + Yes, yes. Um-hm.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. Mr. Holden says the trunks should get here in a few days.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Ellis, the housekeeper, made the next remark. “Did I understand you + to say you had THREE trunks?” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Three trunks for one boy! For mercy sakes, what have you got in 'em?” + </p> + <p> + “Why—why, my things. My clothes and—and—everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Everything, or just about, I should say. Goodness gracious me, when I go + up to Boston I have all I can do to fill up one trunk. And I'm bigger'n + you are—bigger 'round, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + There was no doubt about that. Captain Zelotes laughed shortly. + </p> + <p> + “That statement ain't what I'd call exaggerated, Rachel,” he declared. + “Every time I see you and Laban out walkin' together he has to keep on the + sunny side or be in a total eclipse. And, by the way, speakin' of Laban—Say, + son, how did you and he get along comin' down from the depot?” + </p> + <p> + “All right. It was pretty dark.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll bet you! Laban wasn't very talkative, was he?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, sir, he talked a good deal but he sang most of the time.” + </p> + <p> + This simple statement appeared to cause a most surprising sensation. The + Snows and their housekeeper looked at each other. Captain Zelotes leaned + back in his chair and whistled. + </p> + <p> + “Whew!” he observed. “Hum! Sho! Thunderation!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear!” exclaimed his wife. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Ellis, the housekeeper, drew a long breath. “I might have expected + it,” she said tartly. “It's past time. He's pretty nigh a month overdue, + as 'tis.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Snow rose to his feet. “I was kind of suspicious when he started + for the barn,” he declared. “Seemed to me he was singin' then. WHAT did he + sing, boy?” he asked, turning suddenly upon his grandson. + </p> + <p> + “Why—why, I don't know. I didn't notice particularly. You see, it + was pretty cold and—” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Ellis interrupted. “Did he sing anything about somebody's bein' his + darlin' hanky-panky and wearin' a number two?” she demanded sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Why—why, yes, he did.” + </p> + <p> + Apparently that settled it. Mrs. Snow said, “Oh, dear!” again and the + housekeeper also rose from the table. + </p> + <p> + “You'd better go right out to the barn this minute, Cap'n Lote,” she said, + “and I guess likely I'd better go with you.” + </p> + <p> + The captain already had his cap on his head. + </p> + <p> + “No, Rachel,” he said, “I don't need you. Cal'late I can take care of + 'most anything that's liable to have happened. If he ain't put the bridle + to bed in the stall and hung the mare up on the harness pegs I judge I can + handle the job. Wonder how fur along he'd got. Didn't hear him singin' + anything about 'Hyannis on the Cape,' did you, boy?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “That's some comfort. Now, don't you worry, Mother. I'll be back in a few + minutes.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Snow clasped her hands. “Oh, I HOPE he hasn't set the barn afire,” + she wailed. + </p> + <p> + “No danger of that, I guess. No, Rachel, you 'tend to your supper. I don't + need you.” + </p> + <p> + He tramped out into the hall and the door closed behind him. Mrs. Snow + turned apologetically to her puzzled grandson, who was entirely at a loss + to know what the trouble was about. + </p> + <p> + “You see, Albert,” she hesitatingly explained, “Laban—Mr. Keeler—the + man who drove you down from the depot—he—he's an awful nice + man and your grandfather thinks the world and all of him, but—but + every once in a while he—Oh, dear, I don't know how to say it to + you, but—” + </p> + <p> + Evidently Mrs. Ellis knew how to say it, for she broke into the + conversation and said it then and there. + </p> + <p> + “Every once in a while he gets tipsy,” she snapped. “And I only wish I had + my fingers this minute in the hair of the scamp that gave him the liquor.” + </p> + <p> + A light broke upon Albert's mind. “Oh! Oh, yes!” he exclaimed. “I thought + he acted a little queer, and once I thought I smelt—Oh, that was why + he was eating the peppermints!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Snow nodded. There was a moment of silence. Suddenly the housekeeper, + who had resumed her seat in compliance with Captain Zelotes' order, + slammed back her chair and stood up. + </p> + <p> + “I've hated the smell of peppermint for twenty-two year,” she declared, + and went out into the kitchen. Albert, looking after her, felt his + grandmother's touch upon his sleeve. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't say any more about it before her,” she whispered. “She's awful + sensitive.” + </p> + <p> + Why in the world the housekeeper should be particularly sensitive because + the man who had driven him from the station ate peppermint was quite + beyond the boy's comprehension. Nor could he thoroughly understand why the + suspicion of Mr. Keeler's slight inebriety should cause such a sensation + in the Snow household. He was inclined to think the tipsiness rather + funny. Of course alcohol was lectured against often enough at school and + on one occasion a member of the senior class—a twenty-year-old + “hold-over” who should have graduated the fall before—had been + expelled for having beer in his room; but during his long summer + vacations, spent precariously at hotels or in short visits to his father's + friends, young Speranza had learned to be tolerant. Tolerance was a + necessary virtue in the circle surrounding Speranza Senior, in his later + years. The popping of corks at all hours of the night and bottles full, + half full or empty, were sounds and sights to which Albert had been well + accustomed. When one has more than once seen his own father overcome by + conviviality and the affair treated as a huge joke, one is not inclined to + be too censorious when others slip. What if the queer old Keeler guy was + tight? Was that anything to raise such a row about? + </p> + <p> + Plainly, he decided, this was a strange place, this household of his + grandparents. His premonition that they might be “Rubes” seemed likely to + have been well founded. What would his father—his great, + world-famous father—have thought of them? “Bah! these Yankee + bourgeoisie!” He could almost hear him say it. Miguel Carlos Speranza + detested—in private—the Yankee bourgeoisie. He took their + money and he married one of their daughters, but he detested them. During + his last years, when the money had not flowed his way as copiously, the + detest grew. + </p> + <p> + “You won't say anything about Laban before Mrs. Ellis, will you, Albert?” + persisted Mrs. Snow. “She's dreadful sensitive. I'll explain by and by.” + </p> + <p> + He promised, repressing a condescending smile. + </p> + <p> + Both the housekeeper and Captain Snow returned in a few minutes. The + latter reported that the mare was safe and sound in her stall. + </p> + <p> + “The harness was mostly on the floor, but Jess was all right, thank the + Lord,” observed the captain. + </p> + <p> + “Jess is our horse's name, Albert,” explained Mrs. Snow. “That is, her + name's Jessamine, but Zelotes can't ever seem to say the whole of any + name. When we first bought Jessamine I named her Magnolia, but he called + her 'Mag' all the time and I COULDN'T stand that. Have some more + preserves, Albert, do.” + </p> + <p> + All through the meal Albert was uneasily conscious that his grandfather + was looking at him from under the shaggy brows, measuring him, estimating + him, reading him through and through. He resented the scrutiny and the + twinkle of sardonic humor which, it seemed to him, accompanied it. His way + of handling his knife and fork, his clothes, his tie, his manner of eating + and drinking and speaking, all these Captain Zelotes seemed to note and + appraise. But whatever the results of his scrutiny and appraisal might be + he kept them entirely to himself. When he addressed his grandson directly, + which was not often, his remarks were trivial commonplaces and, although + pleasant enough, were terse and to the point. + </p> + <p> + Several times Mrs. Snow would have questioned Albert concerning the life + at school, but each time her husband interfered. + </p> + <p> + “Not now, not now, Mother,” he said. “The boy ain't goin' to run away + to-night. He'll be here to-morrow and a good many to-morrows, if”—and + here again Albert seemed to detect the slight sarcasm and the twinkle—“if + we old-fashioned 'down easters' ain't too common and every-day for a + high-toned young chap like him to put up with. No, no, don't make him talk + to-night. Can't you see he's so sleepy that it's only the exercise of + openin' his mouth to eat that keeps his eyes from shuttin'? How about + that, son?” + </p> + <p> + It was perfectly true. The long train ride, the excitement, the cold wait + on the station platform and the subsequent warmth of the room, the hearty + meal, all these combined to make for sleepiness so overpowering that + several times the boy had caught his nose descending toward his plate in a + most inelegant nod. But it hurt his pride to think his grandfather had + noticed his condition. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm all right,” he said, with dignity. + </p> + <p> + Somehow the dignity seemed to have little effect upon Captain Zelotes. + </p> + <p> + “Um—yes, I know,” observed the latter dryly, “but I guess likely + you'll be more all right in bed. Mother, you'll show Albert where to turn + in, won't you? There's your suitcase out there in the hall, son. I fetched + it in from the barn just now.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Snow ventured a protest. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Zelotes,” she cried, “ain't we goin' to talk with him at ALL? Why, + there is so much to say!” + </p> + <p> + “'Twill say just as well to-morrow mornin', Mother; better, because we'll + have all day to say it in. Get the lamp.” + </p> + <p> + Albert looked at his watch. + </p> + <p> + “Why, it's only half-past nine,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes, who also had been looking at the watch, which was a very + fine and very expensive one, smiled slightly. “Half-past nine some + nights,” he said, “is equal to half-past twelve others. This is one of the + some. There, there, son, you're so sleepy this minute that you've got a + list to starboard. When you and I have that talk that's comin' to us we + want to be shipshape and on an even keel. Rachel, light that lamp.” + </p> + <p> + The housekeeper brought in and lighted a small hand lamp. Mrs. Snow took + it and led the way to the hall and the narrow, breakneck flight of stairs. + Captain Zelotes laid a hand on his grandson's shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, son,” he said quietly. + </p> + <p> + Albert looked into the gray eyes. Their expression was not unkindly, but + there was, or he imagined there was, the same quizzical, sardonic twinkle. + He resented that twinkle more than ever; it made him feel very young + indeed, and correspondingly obstinate. Something of that obstinacy showed + in his own eyes as he returned his grandfather's look. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night—sir,” he said, and for the life of him he could not + resist hesitating before adding the “sir.” As he climbed the steep stairs + he fancied he heard a short sniff or chuckle—he was not certain + which—from the big man in the dining-room. + </p> + <p> + His bedroom was a good-sized room; that is, it would have been of good + size if the person who designed it had known what the term “square” meant. + Apparently he did not, and had built the apartment on the hit-or-miss, + higglety-pigglety pattern, with unexpected alcoves cut into the walls and + closets and chimneys built out from them. There were three windows, a big + bed, an old-fashioned bureau, a chest of drawers, a washstand, and several + old-fashioned chairs. Mrs. Snow put the lamp upon the bureau. She watched + him anxiously as he looked about the room. + </p> + <p> + “Do—do you like it?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Albert replied that he guessed he did. Perhaps there was not too much + certainty in his tone. He had never before seen a room like it. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I hope you will like it! It was your mother's room, Albert. She slept + here from the time she was seven until—until she went away.” + </p> + <p> + The boy looked about him with a new interest, an odd thrill. His mother's + room. His mother. He could just remember her, but that was all. The + memories were childish and unsatisfactory, but they were memories. And she + had slept there; this had been her room when she was a girl, before she + married, before—long before such a person as Alberto Miguel Carlos + Speranza had been even dreamed of. That was strange, it was queer to think + about. Long before he was born, when she was years younger than he as he + stood there now, she had stood there, had looked from those windows, had— + </p> + <p> + His grandmother threw her arms about his neck and kissed him. Her cheek + was wet. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, Albert,” she said chokingly, and hurried out of the room. + </p> + <p> + He undressed quickly, for the room was very cold. He opened the window, + after a desperate struggle, and climbed into bed. The wind, whistling in, + obligingly blew out the lamp for him. It shrieked and howled about the + eaves and the old house squeaked and groaned. Albert pulled the comforter + up about his neck and concentrated upon the business of going to sleep. + He, who could scarcely remember when he had had a real home, was + desperately homesick. + </p> + <p> + Downstairs in the dining-room Captain Zelotes stood, his hands in his + pockets, looking through the mica panes of the stove door at the fire + within. His wife came up behind him and laid a hand on his sleeve. + </p> + <p> + “What are you thinkin' about, Father?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Her husband shook his head. “I was wonderin',” he said, “what my granddad, + the original Cap'n Lote Snow that built this house, would have said if + he'd known that he'd have a great-great-grandson come to live in it who + was,” scornfully, “a half-breed.” + </p> + <p> + Olive's grip tightened on his arm. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, DON'T talk so, Zelotes,” she begged. “He's our Janie's boy.” + </p> + <p> + The captain opened the stove door, regarded the red-hot coals for an + instant, and then slammed the door shut again. + </p> + <p> + “I know, Mother,” he said grimly. “It's for the sake of Janie's half that + I'm takin' in the other.” + </p> + <p> + “But—but, Zelotes, don't you think he seems like a nice boy?” + </p> + <p> + The twinkle reappeared in Captain Lote's eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I think HE thinks he's a nice boy, Mother,” he said. “There, there, let's + go to bed.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <p> + The story of the events which led up to the coming, on this December + night, of a “half-breed” grandson to the Snow homestead, was an old story + in South Harniss. The date of its beginning was as far back as the year + 1892. + </p> + <p> + In the fall of that year Captain Zelotes Snow was in Savannah. He was in + command of the coasting schooner Olive S. and the said schooner was then + discharging a general cargo, preparatory to loading with rice and cotton + for Philadelphia. With the captain in Savannah was his only daughter, Jane + Olivia, age a scant eighteen, pretty, charming, romantic and head over + heels in love with a handsome baritone then singing in a popular-priced + grand opera company. It was because of this handsome baritone, who, by the + way, was a Spaniard named Miguel Carlos Speranza, that Jane Snow was then + aboard her father's vessel. Captain Lote was not in the habit of taking + his women-folks on his voyages with him. “Skirts clutter up the deck too + much,” was his opinion. + </p> + <p> + He had taken Jane, however, not only on this voyage, but on that preceding + it, which had been to Rio. It was Captain Lote's belief, and his wife's + hope, that a succession of sea winds might blow away recollections of + Senor Speranza—“fan the garlic out of her head,” as the captain + inelegantly expressed it. Jane had spent her sixteenth and seventeenth + years at a school for girls near Boston. The opera company of which + Speranza was a member was performing at one of the minor theaters. A party + of the school girls, duly chaperoned and faculty-guarded, of course, + attended a series of matinees. At these matinees Jane first saw her hero, + brave in doublet and hose, and braver still in melody and romance. She and + her mates looked and listened and worshiped from afar, as is the habit of + maidenly youth under such circumstances. There is no particular danger in + such worship provided the worshiper remains always at a safely remote + distance from the idol. But in Jane's case this safety-bar was removed by + Fate. The wife of a friend of her father's, the friend being a Boston + merchant named Cole with whom Captain Zelotes had had business dealings + for many years, was a music lover. She was in the habit of giving what she + was pleased to call “musical teas” at her home. Jane, to whom Mr. and Mrs. + Cole had taken a marked fancy, was often invited to those teas and, + because the Coles were “among our nicest people,” she was permitted by the + school authorities to attend. + </p> + <p> + At one of those teas Senor Miguel Carlos Speranza was the brightest star. + The Senor, then in his twenty-ninth year, handsome, talented and + picturesque, shone refulgent. Other and far more experienced feminine + hearts than Jane Snow's were flutteringly disturbed by the glory of his + rays. Jane and he met, they shook hands, they conversed. And at subsequent + teas they met again, for Speranza, on his part, was strongly attracted to + the simple, unaffected Cape Cod schoolgirl. It was not her beauty alone—though + beauty she had and of an unusual type—it was something else, a + personality which attracted all who met her. The handsome Spaniard had had + many love affairs of a more or less perfunctory kind, but here was + something different, something he had not known. He began by exerting his + powers of fascination in a lazy, careless way. To his astonishment the + said powers were not overwhelming. If Jane was fascinated she was not + conquered. She remained sweet, simple, direct, charmingly aloof. + </p> + <p> + And Speranza was at first puzzled, then piqued, then himself madly + fascinated. He wrote fervid letters, he begged for interviews, he haunted + each one of Mrs. Cole's “teas.” And, at last, he wrung from Jane a + confession of her love, her promise to marry him. And that very week Miss + Donaldson, the head of the school, discovered and read a package of the + Senor's letters to her pupil. + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes happened to be at home from a voyage. Being summoned from + South Harniss, he came to Boston and heard the tale from Miss Donaldson's + agitated lips. Jane was his joy, his pride; her future was the great hope + and dream of his life. WHEN she married—which was not to be thought + of for an indefinite number of years to come—she would of course + marry a—well, not a President of the United States, perhaps—but + an admiral possibly, or a millionaire, or the owner of a fleet of + steamships, or something like that. The idea that she should even think of + marrying a play-actor was unbelievable. The captain had never attended the + performance of an opera; what was more, he never expected to attend one. + He had been given to understand that a “parcel of play-actin' men and + women hollered and screamed to music for a couple of hours.” Olive, his + wife, had attended an opera once and, according to her, it was more like a + cat fight than anything else. Nobody but foreigners ever had anything to + do with operas. And for foreigners of all kinds—but the Latin + variety of foreigner in particular—Captain Zelotes Snow cherished a + detest which was almost fanatic. + </p> + <p> + And now his daughter, his own Janie, was receiving ardent love letters + from a play-acting foreigner, a Spaniard, a “Portygee,” a + “macaroni-eater”! When finally convinced that it was true, that the + letters had really been written to Jane, which took some time, he demanded + first of all to be shown the “Portygee.” Miss Donaldson could not, of + course, produce the latter forthwith, but she directed her irate visitor + to the theater where the opera company was then performing. To the theater + Captain Zelotes went. He did not find Speranza there, but from a + frightened attendant he browbeat the information that the singer was + staying at a certain hotel. So the captain went to the hotel. It was + eleven o'clock in the morning, Senor Speranza was in bed and could not be + disturbed. Couldn't, eh? By the great and everlasting et cetera and + continued he was going to be disturbed then and there. And unless some of + the hotel's “hired help” set about the disturbing it would be done for + them. So, rather than summon the police, the hotel management summoned its + guest, and the first, and only, interview between the father and lover of + Jane Snow took place. + </p> + <p> + It was not a long interview, but it was spirited. Captain Zelotes began by + being what he considered diplomatic. Having assured his wife before + leaving home, and the alarmed Miss Donaldson subsequently, that there was + to be no trouble whatever—everything would be settled as smooth and + easy as slidin' downhill; “that feller won't make any fuss, you'll see”—having + thus prophesied, the captain felt it incumbent upon himself to see to the + fulfillment. So he began by condescendingly explaining that of course he + was kind of sorry for the young man before him, young folks were young + folks and of course he presumed likely 'twas natural enough, and the like + of that, you understand. But of course also Mr. Speranza must realize that + the thing could not go on any further. Jane was his daughter and her + people were nice people, and naturally, that being the case, her mother + and he would be pretty particular as to who she kept company with, to say + nothing of marrying, which event was not to be thought of for ten years, + anyway. Now he didn't want to be—er—personal or anything like + that, and of course he wouldn't think of saying that Mr. Speranza wasn't a + nice enough man for—well, for—for . . . You see, everybody + wasn't as particular as he and Mrs. Snow were. But— + </p> + <p> + Here Senor Speranza interrupted. He politely desired to know if the person + speaking was endeavoring to convey the idea that he, Miguel Carlos + Speranza, was not of sufficient poseetion, goodness, standing, what it is? + to be considered as suitor for that person's daughter's hand. Did Meester + Snow comprehend to whom he addressed himself? + </p> + <p> + The interview terminated not long after. The captain's parting remark was + in the nature of an ultimatum. It was to the effect that if Speranza, or + any other condemned undesirable like him, dared to so much as look in the + direction of Jane Olivia Snow, his daughter, he personally would see that + the return for that look was a charge of buckshot. Speranza, white-faced + and furiously gesticulative, commanded the astonished bellboy to put that + “Bah! pig-idiot!” out into the hall and air the room immediately + afterward. + </p> + <p> + Having, as he considered, satisfactorily attended to the presumptuous + lover, Captain Zelotes returned to the school and to what he believed + would be the comparatively easy task, the bringing of his daughter to + reason. Jane had always been an obedient girl, she was devoted to her + parents. Of course, although she might feel rather disappointed at first, + she would soon get over it. The idea that she might flatly refuse to get + over it, that she might have a will of her own, and a determination equal + to that of the father from whom she inherited it, did not occur to the + captain at all. + </p> + <p> + But his enlightenment was prompt and complete. Jane did not rage or become + hysterical, she did not even weep in his presence. But, quietly, with a + set of her square little chin, she informed Captain Zelotes that she loved + Speranza, that she meant to marry him and that she should marry him, some + day or other. The captain raged, commanded, pleaded, begged. What was the + matter with her? What had come over her? Didn't she love her father and + mother any more that she should set out to act this way? Yes, she declared + that she loved them as much as ever, but that she loved her lover more + than all the world, and no one—not even her parents—should + separate them. + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes gave it up at last. That is, he gave up the appeal to + reason and the pleadings. But he did not give up the idea of having his + own way in the matter; being Zelotes Snow, he certainly did not give that + up. Instead he took his daughter home with him to South Harniss, where a + tearful and heart-broken Olive added her persuasions to his. But, when she + found Jane obdurate, Mrs. Snow might have surrendered. Not her husband, + however. Instead he conceived a brilliant idea. He was about to start on a + voyage to Rio Janeiro; he would take his wife and daughter with him. Under + their immediate observation and far removed from the influence of “that + Portygee,” Jane would be in no danger and might forget. + </p> + <p> + Jane made no remonstrance. She went to Rio and returned. She was always + calm, outwardly pleasant and quiet, never mentioned her lover unless in + answer to a question; but she never once varied from her determination not + to give him up. The Snows remained at home for a month. Then Zelotes, Jane + accompanying him, sailed from Boston to Savannah. Olive did not go with + them; she hated the sea and by this time both she and her husband were + somewhat reassured. So far as they could learn by watchful observation of + their daughter, the latter had not communicated with Speranza nor received + communications from him. If she had not forgotten him it seemed likely + that he had forgotten her. The thought made the captain furiously angry, + but it comforted him, too. + </p> + <p> + During the voyage to Savannah this sense of comfort became stronger. Jane + seemed in better spirits. She was always obedient, but now she began to + seem almost cheerful, to speak, and even laugh occasionally just as she + used to. Captain Zelotes patted himself on the back, figuratively. His + scheme had been a good one. + </p> + <p> + And in Savannah, one afternoon, Jane managed to elude her father's + observation, to leave the schooner and to disappear completely. And that + night came a letter. She and Miguel Carlos Speranza had been in + correspondence all the time, how or through whose connivance is a mystery + never disclosed. He had come to Savannah, in accordance with mutual + arrangement; they had met, were married, and had gone away together. + </p> + <p> + “I love you, Father,” Jane wrote in the letter. “I love you and Mother so + very, VERY much. Oh, PLEASE believe that! But I love him, too. And I could + not give him up. You will see why when you know him, really know him. If + it were not for you I should be SO happy. I know you can't forgive me now, + but some day I am sure you will forgive us both.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes was far, far from forgiveness as he read that letter. His + first mate, who was beside him when he opened and read it, was actually + frightened when he saw the look on the skipper's face. “He went white,” + said the mate; “not pale, but white, same as a dead man, or—or the + underside of a flatfish, or somethin'. 'For the Lord sakes, Cap'n,' says + I, 'what's the matter?' He never answered me, stood starin' at the letter. + Then he looked up, not at me, but as if somebody else was standin' there + on t'other side of the cabin table. 'Forgive him!' he says, kind of slow + and under his breath. 'I won't forgive his black soul in hell.' When I + heard him say it I give you my word my hair riz under my cap. If ever + there was killin' in a man's voice and in his looks 'twas in Cap'n Lote's + that night. When I asked him again what was the matter he didn't answer + any more than he had the first time. A few minutes afterwards he went into + his stateroom and shut the door. I didn't see him again until the next + mornin'.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes made no attempt to follow the runaway couple. He did take + pains to ascertain that they were legally married, but that was all. He + left his schooner in charge of the mate at Savannah and journeyed north to + South Harniss and his wife. A week he remained at home with her, then + returned to the Olive S. and took up his command and its duties as if + nothing had happened. But what had happened changed his whole life. He + became more taciturn, a trifle less charitable, a little harder and more + worldly. Before the catastrophe he had been interested in business success + and the making of money chiefly because of his plans for his daughter's + future. Now he worked even harder because it helped him to forget. He + became sole owner of the Olive S., then of other schooners. People spoke + of him as one destined to become a wealthy man. + </p> + <p> + Jane lived only a few years after her marriage. She died at the birth of + her second child, who died with her. Her first, a boy, was born a year + after the elopement. She wrote her mother to tell that news and Olive + answered the letter. She begged permission of her husband to invite Jane + and the baby to visit the old home. At first Zelotes said no, flatly; the + girl had made her bed, let her lie in it. But a year later he had so far + relented as to give reluctant consent for Jane and the child to come, + provided her condemned husband did not accompany them. “If that low-lived + Portygee sets foot on my premises, so help me God, I'll kill him!” + declared the captain. In his vernacular all foreigners were “Portygees.” + </p> + <p> + But Jane was as proud and stubborn as he. Where her husband was not + welcome she would not go. And a little later she had gone on the longest + of all journeys. Speranza did not notify her parents except to send a + clipped newspaper account of her death and burial, which arrived a week + after the latter had taken place. The news prostrated Olive, who was ill + for a month. Captain Zelotes bore it, as he had borne the other great + shock, with outward calm and quiet. Yet a year afterward he suddenly + announced his determination of giving up the sea and his prosperous and + growing shipping business and of spending the rest of his days on the + Cape. + </p> + <p> + Olive was delighted, of course. Riches—that is, more than a + comfortable competency—had no temptations for her. The old house, + home of three generations of Snows, was painted, repaired and, to some + extent, modernized. For another year Captain Zelotes “loafed,” as he + called it, although others might have considered his activities about the + place anything but that. At the end of that year he surprised every one by + buying from the heirs of the estate the business equipment of the late + Eben Raymond, hardware dealer and lumber merchant of South Harniss, said + equipment comprising an office, a store and lumber yards near the railway + station. “Got to have somethin' to keep me from gettin' barnacled,” + declared Captain Lote. “There's enough old hulks rottin' at their moorin's + down here as 'tis. I don't know anything about lumber and half as much + about hardware, but I cal'late I can learn.” As an aid in the learning + process he retained as bookkeeper Laban Keeler, who had acted in that + capacity for the former proprietor. + </p> + <p> + The years slipped away, a dozen of them, as smoothly and lazily as South + Harniss years have always slipped. Captain Zelotes was past sixty now, but + as vigorous as when forty, stubborn as ever, fond of using quarter-deck + methods on shore and especially in town-meeting, and very often in trouble + in consequence. He was a member of the Board of Selectmen and was in the + habit of characterizing those whose opinions differed from his as + “narrow-minded.” They retorted by accusing him of being “pig-headed.” + There was some truth on both sides. His detest of foreigners had not + abated in the least. + </p> + <p> + And then, in this December of the year 1910, fell as from a clear sky the + legacy of a grandson. From Senor Miguel Carlos Speranza the Snows had had + no direct word, had received nothing save the newspaper clipping already + mentioned. Olive had never seen him; her husband had seen him only on the + occasion of the memorable interview in the hotel room. They never spoke of + him, never mentioned him to each other. Occasionally, in the Boston + newspapers, his likeness in costume had appeared amid the music notes or + theatrical jottings. But these had not been as numerous of late. Of his + son, their own daughter's child, they knew nothing; he might be alive or + he might be dead. Sometimes Olive found herself speculating concerning + him, wondering if he was alive, and if he resembled Jane. But she put the + speculation from her thoughts; she could not bear to bring back memories + of the old hopes and their bitter ending. Sometimes Captain Lote at his + desk in the office of “Z. Snow & Co., Lumber and Builders' Hardware,” + caught himself dreaming of his idolized daughter and thinking how + different the future might have been for him had she married a “white + man,” the kind of man he had meant for her to marry. There might be + grandchildren growing up now, fine boys and girls, to visit the old home + at South Harniss. “Ah hum! Well! . . . Labe, how long has this bill of + Abner Parker's been hangin' on? For thunder sakes, why don't he pay up? He + must think we're runnin' a meetin'-house Christmas tree.” + </p> + <p> + The letter from the lawyer had come first. It was written in New York, was + addressed to “Captain Lotus Snow,” and began by taking for granted the + fact that the recipient knew all about matters of which he knew nothing. + Speranza was dead, so much was plain, and the inference was that he had + been fatally injured in an automobile accident, “particulars of which you + have of course read in the papers.” Neither Captain Lote nor his wife had + read anything of the kind in the papers. The captain had been very busy of + late and had read little except political news, and Mrs. Snow never read + of murders and accidents, their details at least. She looked up from the + letter, which her husband had hastened home from the office to bring her, + with a startled face. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Zelotes,” she cried, “he's dead!” + </p> + <p> + The captain nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Seems so,” he said. “That part's plain enough, but go on. The rest of it + is what I can't get a hand-hold on. See what you make of the rest of it, + Olive.” + </p> + <p> + The rest of it was to the effect that the writer, being Mr. Speranza's + business adviser, “that is to say, as much or more so than any one else,” + had been called in at the time of the accident, had conferred with the + injured man, and had learned his last wishes. “He expressed himself + coherently concerning his son,” went on the letter, “and it is in regard + to that son that I am asking an interview with you. I should have written + sooner, but have been engaged with matters pertaining to Mr. Speranza's + estate and personal debts. The latter seem to be large—” + </p> + <p> + “I'LL bet you!” observed Captain Zelotes, sententiously, interrupting his + wife's reading by pointing to this sentence with a big forefinger. + </p> + <p> + “'And the estate's affairs much tangled,'” went on Olive, reading aloud. + “'It seems best that I should see you concerning the boy at once. I don't + know whether or not you are aware that he is at school in ——, + New York. I am inclined to think that the estate itself will scarcely + warrant the expense of his remaining there. Could you make it convenient + to come to New York and see me at once? Or, if not, I shall be in Boston + on Friday of next week and can you meet me there? It seems almost + impossible for me to come to you just now, and, of course, you will + understand that I am acting as a sort of temporary executor merely because + Mr. Speranza was formerly my friend and not because I have any pecuniary + interest in the settlement of his affairs. + </p> + <p> + “'Very truly yours, + </p> + <p> + “'MARCUS W. WEISSMANN.'” + </p> + <p> + “Weissman! Another Portygee!” snorted Captain Lote. + </p> + <p> + “But—but what does it MEAN?” begged Mrs. Snow. “Why—why should + he want to see you, Zelotes? And the boy—why—why, that's HER + boy. It's Janie's boy he must mean, Zelotes.” + </p> + <p> + Her husband nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Hers and that blasted furriner's,” he muttered. “I suppose so.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, DON'T speak that way, Zelotes! Don't! He's dead.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Lote's lips tightened. “If he'd died twenty years ago 'twould have + been better for all hands,” he growled. + </p> + <p> + “Janie's boy!” repeated Olive slowly. “Why—why, he must be a big boy + now. Almost grown up.” + </p> + <p> + Her husband did not speak. He was pacing the floor, his hands in his + pockets. + </p> + <p> + “And this man wants to see you about him,” said Olive. Then, after a + moment, she added timidly: “Are you goin', Zelotes?” + </p> + <p> + “Goin'? Where?” + </p> + <p> + “To New York? To see this lawyer man?” + </p> + <p> + “I? Not by a jugful! What in blazes should I go to see him for?” + </p> + <p> + “Well—well, he wants you to, you know. He wants to talk with you + about the—the boy.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” + </p> + <p> + “It's her boy, Zelotes.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! Young Portygee!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't, Zelotes! Please! . . . I know you can't forgive that—that + man. We can't either of us forgive him; but—” + </p> + <p> + The captain stopped in his stride. “Forgive him!” he repeated. “Mother, + don't talk like a fool. Didn't he take away the one thing that I was + workin' for, that I was plannin' for, that I was LIVIN' for? I—” + </p> + <p> + She interrupted, putting a hand on his sleeve. + </p> + <p> + “Not the only thing, dear,” she said. “You had me, you know.” + </p> + <p> + His expression changed. He looked down at her and smiled. + </p> + <p> + “That's right, old lady,” he admitted. “I had you, and thank the Almighty + for it. Yes, I had you . . . But,” his anger returning, “when I think how + that damned scamp stole our girl from us and then neglected her and killed + her—” + </p> + <p> + “ZELOTES! How you talk! He DIDN'T kill her. How can you!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't mean he murdered her, of course. But I'll bet all I've got + that he made her miserable. Look here, Mother, you and she used to write + back and forth once in a while. In any one of those letters did she ever + say she was happy?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Snow's answer was somewhat equivocal. “She never said she was + unhappy,” she replied. Her husband sniffed and resumed his pacing up and + down. + </p> + <p> + After a little Olive spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “New York IS a good ways,” she said. “Maybe 'twould be better for you to + meet this lawyer man in Boston. Don't you think so?” + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” + </p> + <p> + Another interval. Then: “Zelotes?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” impatiently. “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “It's her boy, after all, isn't it? Our grandson, yours and mine. Don't + you think—don't you think it's your duty to go, Zelotes?” + </p> + <p> + Captain Lote stamped his foot. + </p> + <p> + “For thunderation sakes, Olive, let up!” he commanded. “You ought to know + by this time that there's one thing I hate worse than doin' my duty, + that's bein' preached to about it. Let up! Don't you say another word.” + </p> + <p> + She did not, having learned much by years of experience. He said the next + word on the subject himself. At noon, when he came home for dinner, he + said, as they rose from the table: “Where's my suitcase, up attic?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, I guess likely 'tis. Why?” + </p> + <p> + Instead of answering he turned to the housekeeper, Mrs. Ellis. + </p> + <p> + “Rachel,” he said, “go up and get that case and fetch it down to the + bedroom, will you? Hurry up! Train leaves at half-past two and it's 'most + one now.” + </p> + <p> + Both women stared at him. Mrs. Ellis spoke first. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Cap'n Lote,” she cried; “be you goin' away?” + </p> + <p> + Her employer's answer was crisp and very much to the point. “I am if I can + get that case time enough to pack it and make the train,” he observed. “If + you stand here askin' questions I probably shall stay to home.” + </p> + <p> + The housekeeper made a hasty exit by way of the back stairs. Mrs. Snow + still gazed wonderingly at her husband. + </p> + <p> + “Zelotes,” she faltered, “are you—are you—” + </p> + <p> + “I'm goin' to New York on to-night's boat. I've telegraphed that—that + Weiss—Weiss—what-do-you-call-it—that Portygee lawyer—that + I'll be to his office to-morrow mornin'.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Zelotes, we haven't scarcely talked about it, you and I, at all. You + might have waited till he came to Boston. Why do you go so SOON?” + </p> + <p> + The captain's heavy brows drew together. + </p> + <p> + “You went to the dentist's last Friday,” he said. “Why didn't you wait + till next week?” + </p> + <p> + “Why—why, what a question! My tooth ached and I wanted to have it + fixed quick as possible.” + </p> + <p> + “Um-m, yes. Well, this tooth aches and I want it fixed or hauled out, one + or t'other. I want the thing off my mind. . . . Don't TALK to me?” he + added, irritably. “I know I'm a fool. And,” with a peremptory wave of the + hand, “don't you DARE say anything about DUTY!” + </p> + <p> + He was back again two days later. His wife did not question him, but + waited for him to speak. Those years of experience already mentioned had + taught her diplomacy. He looked at her and pulled his beard. “Well,” he + observed, when they were alone together, “I saw him.” + </p> + <p> + “The—the boy?” eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “No, no! Course not! The boy's at school somewhere up in New York State; + how could I see him! I saw that lawyer and I found out about—about + the other scamp. He was killed in an auto accident, drunk at the time, I + cal'late. Nigh's I can gather he's been drinkin' pretty heavy for the last + six or seven years. Always lived high, same as his kind generally does, + and spent money like water, I judge—but goin' down hill fast lately. + His voice was givin' out on him and he realized it, I presume likely. Now + he's dead and left nothin' but trunks full of stage clothes and + photographs and,” contemptuously, “letters from fool women, and debts—Lord, + yes! debts enough.” + </p> + <p> + “But the boy, Zelotes. Janie's boy?” + </p> + <p> + “He's been at this school place for pretty nigh ten years, so the lawyer + feller said. That lawyer was a pretty decent chap, too, for a furriner. + Seems he used to know this—Speranza rascal—when Speranza was + younger and more decent—if he ever was really decent, which I doubt. + But this lawyer man was his friend then and about the only one he really + had when he was hurt. There was plenty of make-believe friends hangin' on, + like pilot-fish to a shark, for what they could get by spongin' on him, + but real friends were scarce.” + </p> + <p> + “And the boy—” + </p> + <p> + “For the Lord sakes, Mother, don't keep sayin' 'The boy,' 'the boy,' over + and over again like a talkin' machine! Let me finish about the father + first. This Weis—er—thingamajig—the lawyer, had quite a + talk with Speranza afore he died, or while he was dyin'; he only lived a + few hours after the accident and was out of his head part of that. But he + said enough to let Weiss—er—er—Oh, why CAN'T I remember + that Portygee's name?—to let him know that he'd like to have him + settle up what was left of his affairs, and to send word to us about—about + the boy. There! I hope you feel easier, Mother; I've got 'round to 'the + boy' at last.” + </p> + <p> + “But why did he want word sent to us, Zelotes? He never wrote a line to us + in his life.” + </p> + <p> + “You bet he didn't!” bitterly; “he knew better. Why did he want word sent + now? The answer to that's easy enough. 'Cause he wanted to get somethin' + out of us, that's the reason. From what that lawyer could gather, and from + what he's found out since, there ain't money enough for the boy to stay + another six weeks at that school, or anywhere else, unless the young + feller earns it himself. And, leavin' us out of the count, there isn't a + relation this side of the salt pond. There's probably a million or so over + there in Portygee-land,” with a derisive sniff; “those foreigners breed + like flies. But THEY don't count.” + </p> + <p> + “But did he want word sent to us about the—” + </p> + <p> + “Sshh! I'm tellin' you, Olive, I'm tellin' you. He wanted word sent + because he was in hopes that we—you and I, Mother—would take + that son of his in at our house here and give him a home. The cheek of it! + After what he'd done to you and me, blast him! The solid brass nerve of + it!” + </p> + <p> + He stormed up and down the room. His wife did not seem nearly so much + disturbed as he at the thought of the Speranza presumption. She looked + anxious—yes, but she looked eager, too, and her gaze was fixed upon + her husband's face. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” she said, softly. “Oh! . . . And—and what did you say, + Zelotes?” + </p> + <p> + “What did I say? What do you suppose I said? I said no, and I said it good + and loud, too.” + </p> + <p> + Olive made no comment. She turned away her head, and the captain, who now + in his turn was watching her, saw a suspicious gleam, as of moisture, on + her cheek. He stopped his pacing and laid a hand on her shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “There, there, Mother,” he said, gently. “Don't cry. He's comin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Comin'?” She turned pale. “Comin'?” she repeated. “Who?” + </p> + <p> + “That boy! . . . Sshh! shh!” impatiently. “Now don't go askin' me + questions or tellin' me what I just said I said. I SAID the right thing, + but—Well, hang it all, what else could I DO? I wrote the boy—Albert—a + letter and I wrote the boss of the school another one. I sent a check + along for expenses and—Well, he'll be here 'most any day now, I + shouldn't wonder. And WHAT in the devil are we goin' to do with him?” + </p> + <p> + His wife did not reply to this outburst. She was trembling with + excitement. + </p> + <p> + “Is—is his name Albert?” she faltered. + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm. Seems so.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, that's your middle name! Do you—do you s'pose Janie could have + named him for—for you?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” with some hesitation, “it may be she didn't. If she'd named + him Zelotes—” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens, woman! Isn't one name like that enough in the family? Thank + the Lord we're spared two of 'em! But there! he's comin'. And when he gets + here—then what?” + </p> + <p> + Olive put her arm about her big husband. + </p> + <p> + “I hope—yes, I'm sure you did right, Zelotes, and that all's goin' + to turn out to be for the best.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you? Well, <i>I</i> ain't sure, not by a thousand fathom.” + </p> + <p> + “He's Janie's boy.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. And he's that play-actor's boy, too. One Speranza pretty nigh ruined + your life and mine, Olive. What'll this one do? . . . Well, God knows, I + suppose likely, but He won't tell. All we can do is wait and see. I tell + you honest I ain't very hopeful.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <p> + A brisk rap on the door; then a man's voice. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, there! Wake up.” + </p> + <p> + Albert rolled over, opened one eye, then the other and raised himself on + his elbow. + </p> + <p> + “Eh? Wh-what?” he stammered. + </p> + <p> + “Seven o'clock! Time to turn out.” + </p> + <p> + The voice was his grandfather's. “Oh—oh, all right!” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “Understand me, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—yes, sir. I'll be right down.” + </p> + <p> + The stairs creaked as Captain Zelotes descended them. Albert yawned + cavernously, stretched and slid one foot out of bed. He drew it back + instantly, however, for the sensation was that of having thrust it into a + bucket of cold water. The room had been cold the previous evening; plainly + it was colder still now. The temptation was to turn back and go to sleep + again, but he fought against it. Somehow he had a feeling that to + disregard his grandfather's summons would be poor diplomacy. + </p> + <p> + He set his teeth and, tossing back the bed clothes, jumped to the floor. + Then he jumped again, for the floor was like ice. The window was wide open + and he closed it, but there was no warm radiator to cuddle against while + dressing. He missed his compulsory morning shower, a miss which did not + distress him greatly. He shook himself into his clothes, soused his head + and neck in a basin of ice water poured from a pitcher, and, before + brushing his hair, looked out of the window. + </p> + <p> + It was a sharp winter morning. The wind had gone down, but before + subsiding it had blown every trace of mist or haze from the air, and from + his window-sill to the horizon every detail was clean cut and distinct. He + was looking out, it seemed, from the back of the house. The roof of the + kitchen extension was below him and, to the right, the high roof of the + barn. Over the kitchen roof and to the left he saw little rolling hills, + valleys, cranberry swamps, a pond. A road wound in and out and, scattered + along it, were houses, mostly white with green blinds, but occasionally + varied by the gray of unpainted, weathered shingles. A long, low-spreading + building a half mile off looked as if it might be a summer hotel, now + closed and shuttered. Beyond it was a cluster of gray shanties and a gleam + of water, evidently a wharf and a miniature harbor. And, beyond that, the + deep, brilliant blue of the sea. Brown and blue were the prevailing + colors, but, here and there, clumps and groves of pines gave splashes of + green. + </p> + <p> + There was an exhilaration in the crisp air. He felt an unwonted liveliness + and a desire to be active which would have surprised some of his teachers + at the school he had just left. The depression of spirits of which he had + been conscious the previous night had disappeared along with his + premonitions of unpleasantness. He felt optimistic this morning. After + giving his curls a rake with the comb, he opened the door and descended + the steep stairs to the lower floor. + </p> + <p> + His grandmother was setting the breakfast table. He was a little surprised + to see her doing it. What was the use of having servants if one did the + work oneself? But perhaps the housekeeper was ill. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Snow, who had not heard him enter, turned and saw him. When he + crossed the room, she kissed him on the cheek. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Albert,” she said. “I hope you slept well.” + </p> + <p> + Albert replied that he had slept very well indeed. He was a trifle + disappointed that she made no comment on his promptness in answering his + grandfather's summons. He felt such promptness deserved commendation. At + school they rang two bells at ten minute intervals, thus giving a fellow a + second chance. It had been a point of senior etiquette to accept nothing + but that second chance. Here, apparently, he was expected to jump at the + first. There was a matter of course about his grandmother's attitude which + was disturbing. + </p> + <p> + She went on setting the table, talking as she did so. + </p> + <p> + “I'm real glad you did sleep,” she said. “Some folks can hardly ever sleep + the first night in a strange room. Zelotes—I mean your grandpa—'s + gone out to see to the horse and feed the hens and the pig. He'll be in + pretty soon. Then we'll have breakfast. I suppose you're awful hungry.” + </p> + <p> + As a matter of fact he was not very hungry. Breakfast was always a more or + less perfunctory meal with him. But he was surprised to see the variety of + eatables upon that table. There were cookies there, and doughnuts, and + even half an apple pie. Pie for breakfast! It had been a newspaper joke at + which he had laughed many times. But it seemed not to be a joke here, + rather a solemn reality. + </p> + <p> + The kitchen door opened and Mrs. Ellis put in her head. To Albert's + astonishment the upper part of the head, beginning just above the brows, + was swathed in a huge bandage. The lower part was a picture of hopeless + misery. + </p> + <p> + “Has Cap'n Lote come in yet?” inquired the housekeeper, faintly. + </p> + <p> + “Not yet, Rachel,” replied Mrs. Snow. “He'll be here in a minute, though. + Albert's down, so you can begin takin' up the things.” + </p> + <p> + The head disappeared. A sigh of complete wretchedness drifted in as the + door closed. Albert looked at his grandmother in alarm. + </p> + <p> + “Is she sick?” he faltered. + </p> + <p> + “Who? Rachel? No, she ain't exactly sick . . . Dear me! Where did I put + that clean napkin?” + </p> + <p> + The boy stared at the kitchen door. If his grandmother had said the + housekeeper was not exactly dead he might have understood. But to say she + was not exactly sick— + </p> + <p> + “But—but what makes her look so?” he stammered. “And—and + what's she got that on her head for? And she groaned! Why, she MUST be + sick!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Snow, having found the clean napkin, laid it beside her husband's + plate. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said calmly. “It's one of her sympathetic attacks; that's what + she calls 'em, sympathetic attacks. She has 'em every time Laban Keeler + starts in on one of his periodics. It's nerves, I suppose. Cap'n Zelotes—your + grandfather—says it's everlastin' foolishness. Whatever 'tis, it's a + nuisance. And she's so sensible other times, too.” + </p> + <p> + Albert was more puzzled than ever. Why in the world Mrs. Ellis should tie + up her head and groan because the little Keeler person had gone on a spree + was beyond his comprehension. + </p> + <p> + His grandmother enlightened him a trifle. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” she went on, “she and Laban have been engaged to be married + ever since they were young folks. It's Laban's weakness for liquor that's + kept 'em apart so long. She won't marry him while he drinks and he keeps + swearin' off and then breaking down. He's a good man, too; an awful good + man and capable as all get-out when he's sober. Lately that is, for the + last seven or eight years, beginnin' with the time when that lecturer on + mesmerism and telegraphy—no, telepathy—thought-transfers and + such—was at the town hall—Rachel has been havin' these + sympathetic attacks of hers. She declares that alcohol-takin' is a disease + and that Laban suffers when he's tipsy and that she and he are so bound up + together that she suffers just the same as he does. I must say I never + noticed him sufferin' very much, not at the beginnin,' anyhow—acts + more as he was havin' a good time—but she seems to. I don't wonder + you smile,” she added. “'Tis funny, in a way, and it's queer that such a + practical, common-sense woman as Rachel Ellis is, should have such a + notion. It's hard on us, though. Don't say anything to her about it, and + don't laugh at her, whatever you do.” + </p> + <p> + Albert wanted to laugh very much. “But, Mrs. Snow—” he began. + </p> + <p> + “Mercy sakes alive! You ain't goin' to call me 'Mrs. Snow,' I hope.” + </p> + <p> + “No, of course not. But, Grandmother why do you and Captain—you and + Grandfather keep her and Keeler if they are so much trouble? Why don't you + let them go and get someone else?” + </p> + <p> + “Let 'em go? Get someone else! Why, we COULDN'T get anybody else, anyone + who would be like them. They're almost a part of our family; that is, + Rachel is, she's been here since goodness knows when. And, when he's sober + Laban almost runs the lumber business. Besides, they're nice folks—almost + always.” + </p> + <p> + Plainly the ways of South Harniss were not the ways of the world he had + known. Certainly these people were “Rubes” and queer Rubes, too. Then he + remembered that two of them were his grandparents and that his immediate + future was, so to speak, in their hands. The thought was not entirely + comforting or delightful. He was still pondering upon it when his + grandfather came in from the barn. + </p> + <p> + The captain said good morning in the same way he had said good night, that + is, he and Albert shook hands and the boy was again conscious of the gaze + which took him in from head to foot and of the quiet twinkle in the gray + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Sleep well, son?” inquired Captain Zelotes. + </p> + <p> + “Yes . . . Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “That's good. I judged you was makin' a pretty good try at it when I + thumped on your door this mornin'. Somethin' new for you to be turned out + at seven, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? It wasn't?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir. The rising bell rang at seven up at school. We were supposed to + be down at breakfast at a quarter past.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! You were, eh? Supposed to be? Does that mean that you were there?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + There was a surprised look in the gray eyes now, a fact which Albert + noticed with inward delight. He had taken one “rise” out of his + grandfather, at any rate. He waited, hoping for another opportunity, but + it did not come. Instead they sat down to breakfast. + </p> + <p> + Breakfast, in spite of the morning sunshine at the windows, was somewhat + gloomy. The homesickness, although not as acute as on the previous night, + was still in evidence. Albert felt lost, out of his element, lonely. And, + to add a touch of real miserableness, the housekeeper served and ate like + a near relative of the deceased at a funeral feast. She moved slowly, she + sighed heavily, and the bandage upon her forehead loomed large and + portentous. When spoken to she seldom replied before the third attempt. + Captain Zelotes lost patience. + </p> + <p> + “Have another egg?” he roared, brandishing the spoon containing it at + arm's length and almost under her nose. “Egg! Egg! EGG! If you can't hear + it, smell it. Only answer, for heaven sakes!” + </p> + <p> + The effect of this outburst was obviously not what he had hoped. Mrs. + Ellis stared first at the egg quivering before her face, then at the + captain. Then she rose and marched majestically to the kitchen. The door + closed, but a heartrending sniff drifted in through the crack. Olive laid + down her knife and fork. + </p> + <p> + “There!” she exclaimed, despairingly. “Now see what you've done. Oh, + Zelotes, how many times have I told you you've got to treat her tactful + when she's this way?” + </p> + <p> + Captain Lote put the egg back in the bowl. + </p> + <p> + “DAMN!” he observed, with intense enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + His wife shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “Swearin' don't help it a mite, either,” she declared. “Besides I don't + know what Albert here must think of you.” Albert, who, between + astonishment and a wild desire to laugh, was in a critical condition, + appeared rather embarrassed. His grandfather looked at him and smiled + grimly. + </p> + <p> + “I cal'late one damn won't scare him to death,” he observed. “Maybe he's + heard somethin' like it afore. Or do they say, 'Oh, sugar!' up at that + school you come from?” he added. + </p> + <p> + Albert, not knowing how to reply, looked more embarrassed than ever. Olive + seemed on the point of weeping. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Zelotes, how CAN you!” she wailed. “And to-day, of all days! His very + first mornin'!” + </p> + <p> + Captain Lote relented. + </p> + <p> + “There, there, Mother!” he said. “I'm sorry. Forget it. Sorry if I shocked + you, Albert. There's times when salt-water language is the only thing that + seems to help me out . . . Well, Mother, what next? What'll we do now?” + </p> + <p> + “You know just as well as I do, Zelotes. There's only one thing you can + do. That's go out and beg her pardon this minute. There's a dozen places + she could get right here in South Harniss without turnin' her hand over. + And if she should leave I don't know WHAT I'd do.” + </p> + <p> + “Leave! She ain't goin' to leave any more'n than the ship's cat's goin' to + jump overboard. She's been here so long she wouldn't know how to leave if + she wanted to.” + </p> + <p> + “That don't make any difference. The pitcher that goes to the well—er—er—” + </p> + <p> + She had evidently forgotten the rest of the proverb. Her husband helped + her out. + </p> + <p> + “Flocks together or gathers no moss, or somethin', eh? All right, Mother, + don't fret. There ain't really any occasion to, considerin' we've been + through somethin' like this at least once every six months for ten years.” + </p> + <p> + “Zelotes, won't you PLEASE go and ask her pardon?” + </p> + <p> + The captain pushed back his chair. “I'll be hanged if it ain't a healthy + note,” he grumbled, “when the skipper has to go and apologize to the cook + because the cook's made a fool of herself! I'd like to know what kind of + rum Labe drinks. I never saw any but his kind that would go to somebody + else's head. Two people gettin' tight and only one of 'em drinkin' is + somethin'—” + </p> + <p> + He disappeared into the kitchen, still muttering. Mrs. Snow smiled feebly + at her grandson. + </p> + <p> + “I guess you think we're funny folks, Albert,” she said. “But Rachel is + one hired help in a thousand and she has to be treated just so.” + </p> + <p> + Five minutes later Cap'n 'Lote returned. He shrugged his shoulders and sat + down at his place. + </p> + <p> + “All right, Mother, all right,” he observed. “I've been heavin' ile on the + troubled waters and the sea's smoothin' down. She'll be kind and + condescendin' enough to eat with us in a minute or so.” + </p> + <p> + She was. She came into the dining-room with the air of a saint going to + martyrdom and the remainder of the meal was eaten by the quartet almost in + silence. When it was over the captain said: + </p> + <p> + “Well, Al, feel like walkin', do you?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, why, yes, sir, I guess so.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! You don't seem very wild at the prospect. Walkin' ain't much in + your line, maybe. More used to autoin', perhaps?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Snow put in a word. “Don't talk so, Zelotes,” she said. “He'll think + you're makin' fun of him.” + </p> + <p> + “Who? Me? Not a bit of it. Well, Al, do you want to walk down to the + lumber yard with me?” + </p> + <p> + The boy hesitated. The quiet note of sarcasm in his grandfather's voice + was making him furiously angry once more, just as it had done on the + previous night. + </p> + <p> + “Do you want me to?” he asked, shortly. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, I cal'late I do.” + </p> + <p> + Albert, without another word, walked to the hat-rack in the hall and began + putting on his coat. Captain Lote watched him for a moment and then put on + his own. + </p> + <p> + “We'll be back to dinner, Mother,” he said. “Heave ahead, Al, if you're + ready.” + </p> + <p> + There was little conversation between the pair during the half mile walk + to the office and yards of “Z. Snow and Co., Lumber and Builders' + Hardware.” Only once did the captain offer a remark. That was just as they + came out by the big posts at the entrance to the driveway. Then he said: + </p> + <p> + “Al, I don't want you to get the idea from what happened at the table just + now—that foolishness about Rachel Ellis—that your grandmother + ain't a sensible woman. She is, and there's no better one on earth. Don't + let that fact slip your mind.” + </p> + <p> + Albert, somewhat startled by the abruptness of the observation, looked up + in surprise. He found the gray eyes looking down at him. + </p> + <p> + “I noticed you lookin' at her,” went on his grandfather, “as if you was + kind of wonderin' whether to laugh at her or pity her. You needn't do + either. She's kind-hearted and that makes her put up with Rachel's + silliness. Then, besides, Rachel herself is common sense and practical + nine-tenths of the time. It's always a good idea, son, to sail one v'yage + along with a person before you decide whether to class 'em as A. B. or + just roustabout.” + </p> + <p> + The blood rushed to the boy's face. He felt guilty and the feeling made + him angrier than ever. + </p> + <p> + “I don't see why,” he burst out, indignantly, “you should say I was + laughing at—at Mrs. Snow—” + </p> + <p> + “At your grandmother.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—yes—at my grandmother. I don't see why you should say + that. I wasn't.” + </p> + <p> + “Wasn't you? Good! I'm glad of it. I wouldn't, anyhow. She's liable to be + about the best friend you'll have in this world.” + </p> + <p> + To Albert's mind flashed the addition: “Better than you, that means,” but + he kept it to himself. + </p> + <p> + The lumber yards were on a spur track not very far from the railway + station where he had spent that miserable half hour the previous evening. + The darkness then had prevented his seeing them. Not that he would have + been greatly interested if he had seen them, nor was he more interested + now, although his grandfather took him on a personally conducted tour + between the piles of spruce and pine and hemlock and pointed out which was + which and added further details. “Those are two by fours,” he said. Or, + “Those are larger joist, different sizes.” “This is good, clear stock, as + good a lot of white pine as we've got hold of for a long spell.” He gave + particulars concerning the “handiest way to drive a team” to one or the + other of the piles. Albert found it rather boring. He longed to speak + concerning enormous lumber yards he had seen in New York or Chicago or + elsewhere. He felt almost a pitying condescension toward this provincial + grandparent who seemed to think his little piles of “two by fours” so + important. + </p> + <p> + It was much the same, perhaps a little worse, when they entered the + hardware shop and the office. The rows and rows of little drawers and + boxes, each with samples of its contents—screws, or bolts, or hooks, + or knobs—affixed to its front, were even more boring than the lumber + piles. There was a countryfied, middle-aged person in overalls sweeping + out the shop and Captain Zelotes introduced him. + </p> + <p> + “Albert,” he said, “this is Mr. Issachar Price, who works around the place + here. Issy, let me make you acquainted with my grandson, Albert.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Price, looking over his spectacles, extended a horny hand and + observed: “Yus, yus. Pleased to meet you, Albert. I've heard tell of you.” + </p> + <p> + Albert's private appraisal of “Issy” was that the latter was another funny + Rube. Whatever Issy's estimate of his employer's grandson might have been, + he, also, kept it to himself. + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes looked about the shop and glanced into the office. + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” he grunted. “No sign or symptoms of Laban this mornin', I presume + likely?” + </p> + <p> + Issachar went on with his sweeping. + </p> + <p> + “Nary one,” was his laconic reply. + </p> + <p> + “Humph! Heard anything about him?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Price moistened his broom in a bucket of water. “I see Tim Kelley on + my way down street,” he said. “Tim said he run afoul of Laban along about + ten last night. Said he cal'lated Labe was on his way. He was singin' + 'Hyannis on the Cape' and so Tim figgered he'd got a pretty fair start + already.” + </p> + <p> + The captain shook his head. “Tut, tut, tut!” he muttered. “Well, that + means I'll have to do office work for the next week or so. Humph! I + declare it's too bad just now when I was countin' on him to—” He did + not finish the sentence, but instead turned to his grandson and said: “Al, + why don't you look around the hardware store here while I open the mail + and the safe. If there's anything you see you don't understand Issy'll + tell you about it.” + </p> + <p> + He went into the office. Albert sauntered listlessly to the window and + looked out. So far as not understanding anything in the shop was concerned + he was quite willing to remain in ignorance. It did not interest him in + the least. A moment later he felt a touch on his elbow. He turned, to find + Mr. Price standing beside him. + </p> + <p> + “I'm all ready to tell you about it now,” volunteered the unsmiling Issy. + “Sweepin's all finished up.” + </p> + <p> + Albert was amused. “I guess I can get along,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Don't worry.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> ain't worried none. I don't believe in worryin'; worryin' don't + do folks no good, the way I look at it. But long's Cap'n Lote wants me to + tell you about the hardware I'd ruther do it now, than any time. Henry + Cahoon's team'll be here for a load of lath in about ten minutes or so, + and then I'll have to leave you. This here's the shelf where we keep the + butts—hinges, you understand. Brass along here, and iron here. Got + quite a stock, ain't we.” + </p> + <p> + He took the visitor's arm in his mighty paw and led him from shelves to + drawers and from drawers to boxes, talking all the time, so the boy + thought, “like a catalogue.” Albert tried gently to break away several + times and yawned often, but yawns and hints were quite lost on his guide, + who was intent only upon the business—and victim—in hand. At + the window looking across toward the main road Albert paused longest. + There was a girl in sight—she looked, at that distance, as if she + might be a rather pretty girl—and the young man was languidly + interested. He had recently made the discovery that pretty girls may be + quite interesting; and, moreover, one or two of them whom he had met at + the school dances—when the young ladies from the Misses Bradshaws' + seminary had come over, duly guarded and chaperoned, to one-step and + fox-trot with the young gentlemen of the school—one or two of these + young ladies had intimated a certain interest in him. So the feminine + possibility across the road attracted his notice—only slightly, of + course; the sophisticated metropolitan notice is not easily aroused—but + still, slightly. + </p> + <p> + “Come on, come on,” urged Issachar Price. “I ain't begun to show ye the + whole of it yet . . . Eh? Oh, Lord, there comes Cahoon's team now! Well, I + got to go. Show you the rest some other time. So long . . . Eh? Cap'n + Lote's callin' you, ain't he?” + </p> + <p> + Albert went into the office in response to his grandfather's call to find + the latter seated at an old-fashioned roll-top desk, piled with papers. + </p> + <p> + “I've got to go down to the bank, Al,” he said. “Some business about a + note that Laban ought to be here to see to, but ain't. I'll be back pretty + soon. You just stay here and wait for me. You might be lookin' over the + books, if you want to. I took 'em out of the safe and they're on Labe's + desk there,” pointing to the high standing desk by the window. “They're + worth lookin' at, if only to see how neat they're kept. A set of books + like that is an example to any young man. You might be lookin' 'em over.” + </p> + <p> + He hurried out. Albert smiled condescendingly and, instead of looking over + Mr. Keeler's books, walked over to the window and looked out of that. The + girl was not in sight now, but she might be soon. At any rate watching for + her was as exciting as any amusement he could think of about that dull + hole. Ah hum! he wondered how the fellows were at school. + </p> + <p> + The girl did not reappear. Signs of animation along the main road were + limited. One or two men went by, then a group of children obviously on + their way to school. Albert yawned again, took the silver cigarette case + from his pocket and looked longingly at its contents. He wondered what his + grandfather's ideas might be on the tobacco question. But his grandfather + was not there then . . . and he might not return for some time . . . and . + . . He took a cigarette from the case, tapped, with careful carelessness, + its end upon the case—he would not have dreamed of smoking without + first going through the tapping process—lighted the cigarette and + blew a large and satisfying cloud. Between puffs he sang: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “To you, beautiful lady, + I raise my eyes. + My heart, beautiful lady, + To your heart cries: + Come, come, beautiful lady, + To Par-a-dise, + As the sweet, sweet—'” + </pre> + <p> + Some one behind him said: “Excuse me.” The appeal to the beautiful lady + broke off in the middle, and he whirled about to find the girl whom he had + seen across the road and for whose reappearance he had been watching at + the window, standing in the office doorway. He looked at her and she + looked at him. He was embarrassed. She did not seem to be. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me,” she said: “Is Mr. Keeler here?” + </p> + <p> + She was a pretty girl, so his hasty estimate made when he had first + sighted her was correct. Her hair was dark, so were her eyes, and her + cheeks were becomingly colored by the chill of the winter air. She was a + country girl, her hat and coat proved that; not that they were in bad + taste or unbecoming, but they were simple and their style perhaps nearer + to that which the young ladies of the Misses Bradshaws' seminary had worn + the previous winter. All this Albert noticed in detail later on. Just then + the particular point which attracted his embarrassed attention was the + look in the dark eyes. They seemed to have almost the same disturbing + quality which he had noticed in his grandfather's gray ones. Her mouth was + very proper and grave, but her eyes looked as if she were laughing at him. + </p> + <p> + Now to be laughed at by an attractive young lady is disturbing and + unpleasant. It is particularly so when the laughter is from the provinces + and the laughee—so to speak—a dignified and sophisticated city + man. Albert summoned the said dignity and sophistication to his rescue, + knocked the ashes from his cigarette and said, haughtily: + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon?” + </p> + <p> + “Is Mr. Keeler here?” repeated the girl. + </p> + <p> + “No, he is out.” + </p> + <p> + “Will he be back soon, do you think?” + </p> + <p> + Recollections of Mr. Price's recent remark concerning the missing + bookkeeper's “good start” came to Albert's mind and he smiled, slightly. + “I should say not,” he observed, with delicate irony. + </p> + <p> + “Is Issy—I mean Mr. Price, busy?” + </p> + <p> + “He's out in the yard there somewhere, I believe. Would you like to have + me call him?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes—if you please—sir.” + </p> + <p> + The “sir” was flattering, if it was sincere. He glanced at her. The + expression of the mouth was as grave as ever, but he was still uncertain + about those eyes. However, he was disposed to give her the benefit of the + doubt, so, stepping to the side door of the office—that leading to + the yards—he opened it and shouted: “Price! . . . Hey, Price!” + </p> + <p> + There was no answer, although he could hear Issachar's voice and another + above the rattle of lath bundles. + </p> + <p> + “Price!” he shouted, again. “Pri-i-ce!” + </p> + <p> + The rattling ceased. Then, in the middle distance, above a pile of “two by + fours,” appeared Issachar's head, the features agitated and the forehead + bedewed with the moisture of honest toil. + </p> + <p> + “Huh?” yelled Issy. “What's the matter? Be you hollerin' to me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. There's some one here wants to see you.” + </p> + <p> + “Hey?” + </p> + <p> + “I say there's some one here who wants to see you.” + </p> + <p> + “What for?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, find out, can't ye? I'm busy.” + </p> + <p> + Was that a laugh which Albert heard behind him? He turned around, but the + young lady's face wore the same grave, even demure, expression. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want to see him for?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to buy something.” + </p> + <p> + “She wants to buy something,” repeated Albert, shouting. + </p> + <p> + “Hey?” + </p> + <p> + “She wants to—BUY—something.” It was humiliating to have to + scream in this way. + </p> + <p> + “Buy? Buy what?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you want to buy?” + </p> + <p> + “A hook, that's all. A hook for our kitchen door. Would you mind asking + him to hurry? I haven't much time.” + </p> + <p> + “She wants a hook.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? We don't keep books. What kind of a book?” + </p> + <p> + “Not book—HOOK. H-O-O-K! Oh, great Scott! Hook! HOOK! Hook for a + door! And she wants you to hurry.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? Well, I can't hurry now for nobody. I got to load these laths and + that's all there is to it. Can't you wait on him?” Evidently the + customer's sex had not yet been made clear to the Price understanding. + “You can get a hook for him, can't ye? You know where they be, I showed + ye. Ain't forgot so soon, 'tain't likely.” + </p> + <p> + The head disappeared behind the “two by fours.” Its face was red, but no + redder than Mr. Speranza's at that moment. + </p> + <p> + “Fool rube!” he snorted, disgustedly. + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, but you've dropped your cigarette,” observed the young lady. + </p> + <p> + Albert savagely slammed down the window and turned away. The dropped + cigarette stump lay where it had fallen, smudging and smelling. + </p> + <p> + His caller looked at it and then at him. + </p> + <p> + “I'd pick it up, if I were you,” she said. “Cap'n Snow HATES cigarettes.” + </p> + <p> + Albert, his dignity and indignation forgotten, returned her look with one + of anxiety. + </p> + <p> + “Does he, honest?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. He hates them worse than anything.” + </p> + <p> + The cigarette stump was hastily picked up by its owner. + </p> + <p> + “Where'll I put it?” he asked, hurriedly. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you—Oh, don't put it in your pocket! It will set you on + fire. Put it in the stove, quick.” + </p> + <p> + Into the stove it went, all but its fragrance, which lingered. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think you COULD find me that hook?” asked the girl. + </p> + <p> + “I'll try. <i>I</i> don't know anything about the confounded things.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” innocently. “Don't you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, of course I don't. Why should I?” + </p> + <p> + “Aren't you working here?” + </p> + <p> + “Here? Work HERE? ME? Well, I—should—say—NOT!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, excuse me. I thought you must be a new bookkeeper, or—or a new + partner, or something.” + </p> + <p> + Albert regarded her intently and suspiciously for some seconds before + making another remark. She was as demurely grave as ever, but his + suspicions were again aroused. However, she WAS pretty, there could be no + doubt about that. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe I can find the hook for you,” he said. “I can try, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, thank you ever so much,” gratefully. “It's VERY kind of you to take + so much trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” airily, “that's all right. Come on; perhaps we can find it + together.” + </p> + <p> + They were still looking when Mr. Price came panting in. + </p> + <p> + “Whew!” he observed, with emphasis. “If anybody tells you heavin' bundles + of laths aboard a truck-wagon ain't hard work you tell him for me he's a + liar, will ye. Whew! And I had to do the heft of everything, 'cause Cahoon + sent that one-armed nephew of his to drive the team. A healthy lot of good + a one-armed man is to help heave lumber! I says to him, says I: 'What in + time did—' Eh? Why, hello, Helen! Good mornin'. Land sakes! you're + out airly, ain't ye?” + </p> + <p> + The young lady nodded. “Good morning, Issachar,” she said. “Yes, I am + pretty early and I'm in a dreadful hurry. The wind blew our kitchen door + back against the house last night and broke the hook. I promised Father I + would run over here and get him a new one and bring it back to him before + I went to school. And it's quarter to nine now.” + </p> + <p> + “Land sakes, so 'tis! Ain't—er—er—what's-his-name—Albert + here, found it for you yet? He ain't no kind of a hand to find things, is + he? We'll have to larn him better'n that. Yes indeed!” + </p> + <p> + Albert laughed, sarcastically. He was about to make a satisfyingly + crushing reproof to this piece of impertinence when Mr. Price began to + sniff the air. + </p> + <p> + “What in tunket?” he demanded. “Sn'f! Sn'f! Who's been smokin' in here? + And cigarettes, too, by crimus! Sn'f! Sn'f! Yes, sir, cigarettes, by + crimustee! Who's been smokin' cigarettes in here? If Cap'n Lote knew + anybody'd smoked a cigarette in here I don't know's he wouldn't kill 'em. + Who done it?” + </p> + <p> + Albert shivered. The girl with the dark blue eyes flashed a quick glance + at him. “I think perhaps someone went by the window when it was open just + now,” she suggested. “Perhaps they were smoking and the smoke blew in.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? Well, maybe so. Must have been a mighty rank cigarette to smell up + the whole premises like this just goin' past a window. Whew! Gosh! no + wonder they say them things are rank pison. I'd sooner smoke skunk-cabbage + myself; 'twouldn't smell no worse and 'twould be a dum sight safer. Whew! + . . . Well, Helen, there's about the kind of hook I cal'late you need. + Fifteen cents 'll let you out on that. Cheap enough for half the money, + eh? Give my respects to your pa, will ye. Tell him that sermon he preached + last Sunday was fine, but I'd like it better if he'd laid it on to the + Univer'lists a little harder. Folks that don't believe in hell don't + deserve no consideration, 'cordin' to my notion. So long, Helen . . . Oh + say,” he added, as an afterthought, “I guess you and Albert ain't been + introduced, have ye? Albert, this is Helen Kendall, she's our Orthodox + minister's daughter. Helen, this young feller is Albert—er—er—Consarn + it, I've asked Cap'n Lote that name a dozen times if I have once! What is + it, anyway?” + </p> + <p> + “Speranza,” replied the owner of the name. + </p> + <p> + “That's it, Sperandy. This is Albert Sperandy, Cap'n Lote's grandson.” + </p> + <p> + Albert and Miss Kendall shook hands. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks,” said the former, gratefully and significantly. + </p> + <p> + The young lady smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you're welcome,” she said. “I knew who you were all the time—or + I guessed who you must be. Cap'n Snow told me you were coming.” + </p> + <p> + She went out. Issachar, staring after her, chuckled admiringly. “Smartest + girl in THIS town,” he observed, with emphasis. “Head of her class up to + high school and only sixteen and three-quarters at that.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes came bustling in a few minutes later. He went to his desk, + paying little attention to his grandson. The latter loitered idly up and + down the office and hardware shop, watching Issachar wait on customers or + rush shouting into the yard to attend to the wants of others there. + Plainly this was Issachar's busy day. + </p> + <p> + “Crimus!” he exclaimed, returning from one such excursion and mopping his + forehead. “This doin' two men's work ain't no fun. Every time Labe goes on + a time seem's if trade was brisker'n it's been for a month. Seems as if + all creation and part of East Harniss had been hangin' back waitin' till + he had a shade on 'fore they come to trade. Makes a feller feel like + votin' the Prohibition ticket. I WOULD vote it, by crimustee, if I thought + 'twould do any good. 'Twouldn't though; Labe would take to drinkin' bay + rum or Florida water or somethin', same as Hoppy Rogers done when he was + alive. Jim Young says he went into Hoppy's barber-shop once and there was + Hoppy with a bottle of a new kind of hair-tonic in his hand. 'Drummer that + was here left it for a sample,' says Hoppy. 'Wanted me to try it and, if I + liked it, he cal'lated maybe I'd buy some. I don't think I shall, though,' + he says; 'don't taste right to me.' Yes, sir, Jim Young swears that's + true. Wan't enough snake-killer in that hair tonic to suit Hoppy. I—Yes, + Cap'n Lote, what is it? Want me, do ye?” + </p> + <p> + But the captain did not, as it happened, want Mr. Price at that time. It + was Albert whose name he had called. The boy went into the office and his + grandfather rose and shut the door. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, Al,” he said, motioning toward a chair. When his grandson had + seated himself Captain Zelotes tilted back his own desk chair upon its + springs and looked at him. + </p> + <p> + “Well, son,” he said, after a moment, “what do you think of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Think of it? I don't know exactly what—” + </p> + <p> + “Of the place here. Shop, yards, the whole business. Z. Snow and Company—what + do you think of it?” + </p> + <p> + Privately Albert was inclined to classify the entire outfit as one-horse + and countrified, but he deemed it wiser not to express this opinion. So he + compromised and replied that it “seemed to be all right.” + </p> + <p> + His grandfather nodded. “Thanks,” he observed, dryly. “Glad you find it + that way. Well, then, changin' the subject for a minute or two, what do + you think about yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “About myself? About me? I don't understand?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't suppose you do. That's what I got you over here this mornin' + for, so as we could understand—you and me. Al, have you given any + thought to what you're goin' to do from this on? How you're goin' to + live?” + </p> + <p> + Albert looked at him uncomprehendingly. + </p> + <p> + “How I'm going to live?” he repeated. “Why—why, I thought—I + supposed I was going to live with you—with you and Grandmother.” + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm, I see.” + </p> + <p> + “I just kind of took that for granted, I guess. You sent for me to come + here. You took me away from school, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, so I did. You know why I took you from school?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I—I guess I DON'T, exactly. I thought—I supposed it was + because you didn't want me to go there any more.” + </p> + <p> + “'Twasn't that. I don't know whether I would have wanted you to go there + or not if things had been different. From what I hear it was a pretty + extravagant place, and lookin' at it from the outside without knowin' too + much about it, I should say it was liable to put a lot of foolish and + expensive notions into a boy's head. I may be wrong, of course; I have + been wrong at least a few times in my life.” + </p> + <p> + It was evident that he considered the chances of his being wrong in this + instance very remote. His tone again aroused in the youth the feeling of + obstinacy, of rebellion, of desire to take the other side. + </p> + <p> + “It is one of the best schools in this country,” he declared. “My father + said so.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes picked up a pencil on his desk and tapped his chin lightly + with the blunt end. “Um,” he mused. “Well, I presume likely he knew all + about it.” + </p> + <p> + “He knew as much as—most people,” with a slight but significant + hesitation before the “most.” + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm. Naturally, havin' been schooled there himself, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “He wasn't schooled there. My father was a Spaniard.” + </p> + <p> + “So I've heard. . . . Well, we're kind of off the subject, ain't we? Let's + leave your father's nationality out of it for a while. And we'll leave the + school, too, because no matter if it was the best one on earth you + couldn't go there. I shouldn't feel 'twas right to spend as much money as + that at any school, and you—well, son, you ain't got it to spend. + Did you have any idea what your father left you, in the way of tangible + assets?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I knew he had plenty of money always. He was one of the most famous + singers in this country.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe so.” + </p> + <p> + “It WAS so,” hotly. “And he was paid enough in one week to buy this whole + town—or almost. Why, my father—” + </p> + <p> + “Sshh! Sssh!” + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm not going to hush. I'm proud of my father. He was a—a great + man. And—and I'm not going to stand here and have you—” + </p> + <p> + Between indignation and emotion he choked and could not finish the + sentence. The tears came to his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not going to have you or anyone else talk about him that way,” he + concluded, fiercely. + </p> + <p> + His grandfather regarded him with a steady, but not at all unkindly, gaze. + </p> + <p> + “I ain't runnin' down your father, Albert,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you are. You hated him. Anybody could see you hated him.” + </p> + <p> + The captain slowly rapped the desk with the pencil. He did not answer at + once. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, after a moment, “I don't know as I ought to deny that. I + don't know as I can deny it and be honest. Years ago he took away from me + what amounted to three-quarters of everything that made my life worth + while. Some day you'll know more about it than you do now, and maybe + you'll understand my p'int of view better. No, I didn't like your father—Eh? + What was you sayin'?” + </p> + <p> + Albert, who had muttered something, was rather confused. However, he did + not attempt to equivocate. “I said I guessed that didn't make much + difference to Father,” he answered, sullenly. + </p> + <p> + “I presume likely it didn't. But we won't go into that question now. What + I'm tryin' to get at in this talk we're having is you and your future. Now + you can't go back to school because you can't afford it. All your father + left when he died was—this is the honest truth I'm tellin' you now, + and if I'm puttin' it pretty blunt it's because I always think it's best + to get a bad mess out of the way in a hurry—all your father left was + debts. He didn't leave money enough to bury him, hardly.” + </p> + <p> + The boy stared at him aghast. His grandfather, leaning a little toward + him, would have put a hand on his knee, but the knee was jerked out of the + way. + </p> + <p> + “There, that's over, Al,” went on Captain Zelotes. “You know the worst now + and you can say, 'What of it?' I mean just that: What of it? Bein' left + without a cent, but with your health and a fair chance to make good—that, + at seventeen or eighteen ain't a bad lookout, by any manner of means. It's + the outlook <i>I</i> had at fifteen—exceptin' the chance—and I + ain't asked many favors of anybody since. At your age, or a month or two + older, do you know where I was? I was first mate of a three-masted + schooner. At twenty I was skipper; and at twenty-five, by the Almighty, I + owned a share in her. Al, all you need now is a chance to go to work. And + I'm goin' to give you that chance.” + </p> + <p> + Albert gasped. “Do you mean—do you mean I've got to be a—a + sailor?” he stammered. + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes put back his head and laughed, laughed aloud. + </p> + <p> + “A sailor!” he repeated. “Ho, ho! No wonder you looked scared. No, I wan't + cal'latin' to make a sailor out of you, son. For one reason, sailorin' + ain't what it used to be; and, for another, I have my doubts whether a + young feller of your bringin' up would make much of a go handlin' a bunch + of fo'mast hands the first day out. No, I wasn't figgerin' to send you to + sea . . . What do you suppose I brought you down to this place for this + mornin'?” + </p> + <p> + And then Albert understood. He knew why he had been conducted through the + lumber yards, about the hardware shop, why his grandfather and Mr. Price + had taken so much pains to exhibit and explain. His heart sank. + </p> + <p> + “I brought you down here,” continued the captain, “because it's a + first-rate idea to look a vessel over afore you ship aboard her. It's kind + of late to back out after you have shipped. Ever since I made up my mind + to send for you and have you live along with your grandmother and me I've + been plannin' what to do with you. I knew, if you was a decent, ambitious + young chap, you'd want to do somethin' towards makin' a start in life. We + can use—that is, this business can use that kind of a chap right + now. He could larn to keep books and know lumber and hardware and how to + sell and how to buy. He can larn the whole thing. There's a chance here, + son. It's your chance; I'm givin' it to you. How big a chance it turns out + to be 'll depend on you, yourself.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped. Albert was silent. His thoughts were confused, but out of + their dismayed confusion two or three fixed ideas reared themselves like + crags from a whirlpool. He was to live in South Hamiss always—always; + he was to keep books—Heavens, how he hated mathematics, detail work + of any kind!—for drunken old Keeler; he was to “heave lumber” with + Issy Price. He—Oh, it was dreadful! It was horrible. He couldn't! He + wouldn't! He— + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes had been watching him, his heavy brows drawing closer + together as the boy delayed answering. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” he asked, for another minute. “Did you hear what I said?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Understood, did you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + Albert was clutching at straws. “I—I don't know how to keep books,” + he faltered. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't suppose you did. Don't imagine they teach anything as practical + as bookkeepin' up at that school of yours. But you can larn, can't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I guess so.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess so, too. Good Lord, I HOPE so! Humph! You don't seem to be + jumpin' for joy over the prospect. There's a half dozen smart young + fellers here in South Harniss that would, I tell you that.” + </p> + <p> + Albert devoutly wished they had jumped—and landed—before his + arrival. His grandfather's tone grew more brusque. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you want to work?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, I—I suppose I do. I—I hadn't thought much about + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! Then I think it's time you begun. Hadn't you had ANY notion of + what you wanted to do when you got out of that school of yours?” + </p> + <p> + “I was going to college.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! . . . Yes, I presume likely. Well, after you got out of college, + what was you plannin' to do then?” + </p> + <p> + “I wasn't sure. I thought I might do something with my music. I can play a + little. I can't sing—that is, not well enough. If I could,” + wistfully, “I should have liked to be in opera, as father was, of course.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes' only comment was a sniff or snort, or combination of + both. Albert went on. + </p> + <p> + “I had thought of writing—writing books and poems, you know. I've + written quite a good deal for the school magazine. And I think I should + like to be an actor, perhaps. I—” + </p> + <p> + “Good God!” His grandfather's fist came down upon the desk before him. + Slowly he shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “A—a poetry writer and an actor!” he repeated. “Whew! . . . Well, + there! Perhaps maybe we hadn't better talk any more just now. You can have + the rest of the day to run around town and sort of get acquainted, if you + want to. Then to-morrow mornin' you and I'll come over here together and + we'll begin to break you in. I shouldn't wonder,” he added, dryly, “if you + found it kind of dull at first—compared to that school and poetry + makin' and such—but it'll be respectable and it'll pay for board and + clothes and somethin' to eat once in a while, which may not seem so + important to you now as 'twill later on. And some day I cal'late—anyhow + we'll hope—you'll be mighty glad you did it.” + </p> + <p> + Poor Albert looked and felt anything but glad just then. Captain Zelotes, + his hands in his pockets, stood regarding him. He, too, did not look + particularly happy. + </p> + <p> + “You'll remember,” he observed, “or perhaps you don't know, that when your + father asked us to look out for you—” + </p> + <p> + Albert interrupted. “Did—did father ask you to take care of me?” he + cried, in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm. He asked somebody who was with him to ask us to do just that.” + </p> + <p> + The boy drew a long breath. “Well, then,” he said, hopelessly, “I'll—I'll + try.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks. Now you run around town and see the sights. Dinner's at half past + twelve prompt, so be on hand for that.” + </p> + <p> + After his grandson had gone, the captain, hands still in his pockets, + stood for some time looking out of the window. At length he spoke aloud. + </p> + <p> + “A play actor or a poetry writer!” he exclaimed. “Tut, tut, tut! No use + talkin', blood will tell!” + </p> + <p> + Issachar, who was putting coal on the office fire, turned his head. + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” he queried. + </p> + <p> + “Nothin',” said Captain Lote. + </p> + <p> + He would have been surprised if he could have seen his grandson just at + that moment. Albert, on the beach whither he had strayed in his desire to + be alone, safely hidden from observation behind a sand dune, was lying + with his head upon his arms and sobbing bitterly. + </p> + <p> + A disinterested person might have decided that the interview which had + just taken place and which Captain Zelotes hopefully told his wife that + morning would probably result in “a clear, comf'table understandin' + between the boy and me”—such a disinterested person might have + decided that it had resulted in exactly the opposite. In calculating the + results to be obtained from that interview the captain had not taken into + consideration two elements, one his own and the other his grandson's. + These elements were prejudice and temperament. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <p> + The next morning, with much the same feeling that a convict must + experience when he enters upon a life imprisonment, Albert entered the + employ of “Z. Snow and Co., Lumber and Builders' Hardware.” The day, he + would have sworn it, was at least a year long. The interval between + breakfast and dinner was quite six months, yet the dinner hour itself was + the shortest sixty minutes he had ever known. Mr. Keeler had not yet + returned to his labors, so there was no instruction in bookkeeping; but + his grandfather gave him letters to file and long dreary columns of + invoice figures to add. Twice Captain Zelotes went out and then, just as + Albert settled back for a rest and breathing spell, Issachar Price + appeared, warned apparently by some sort of devilish intuition, and + invented “checking up stock” and similar menial and tiresome tasks to keep + him uncomfortable till the captain returned. The customers who came in + asked questions concerning him and he was introduced to at least a dozen + citizens of South Harniss, who observed “Sho!” and “I want to know!” when + told his identity and, in some instances, addressed him as “Bub,” which + was of itself a crime deserving capital punishment. + </p> + <p> + That night, as he lay in bed in the back bedroom, he fell asleep facing + the dreary prospect of another monotonous imprisonment the following day, + and the next day, and the day after that, and after that—and after + that—and so on—and on—and on—forever and ever, as + long as life should last. This, then, was to be the end of all his dreams, + this drudgery in a country town among these commonplace country people. + This was the end of his dreams of some day writing deathless odes and + sonnets or thrilling romances; of treading the boards as the hero of + romantic drama while star-eyed daughters of multi-millionaires gazed from + the boxes in spellbound rapture. This . . . The thought of the star-eyed + ones reminded him of the girl who had come into the office the afternoon + of his first visit to that torture chamber. He had thought of her many + times since their meeting and always with humiliation and resentment. It + was his own foolish tongue which had brought the humiliation upon him. + When she had suggested that he might be employed by Z. Snow and Co. he had + replied: “Me? Work HERE! Well, I should say NOT!” And all the time she, + knowing who he was, must have known he was doomed to work there. He + resented that superior knowledge of hers. He had made a fool of himself + but she was to blame for it. Well, by George, he would NOT work there! He + would run away, he would show her, and his grandfather and all the rest + what was what. Night after night he fell asleep vowing to run away, to do + all sorts of desperate deeds, and morning after morning he went back to + that office. + </p> + <p> + On the fourth morning the prodigal came home, the stray lamb returned to + the fold—Mr. Keeler returned to his desk and his duties. There was a + premonition of his return at the Snow breakfast table. For three days Mrs. + Ellis had swathed her head in white and her soul in black. For three days + her favorite accompaniment to conversation had been a groan or a sigh. + Now, on this fourth morning, she appeared without the bandage on her brow + or the crape upon her spirit. She was not hilarious but she did not groan + once, and twice during the meal she actually smiled. Captain Lote + commented upon the change, she being absent from table momentarily. + </p> + <p> + “Whew!” he observed, in an undertone, addressing his wife. “If it ain't a + comfort to see the wrinkles on Rachel's face curvin' up instead of down. + I'm scared to death that she'll go out some time in a cold spell when + she's havin' one of them sympathetics of hers, and her face'll freeze that + way. Well, Albert,” turning to his grandson, “the colors'll be h'isted to + the truck now instead of half-mast and life'll be somethin' besides one + everlastin' 'last look at the remains.' Now we can take off the mournin' + till the next funeral.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Olive, “and Laban'll be back, too. I'm sure you must have + missed him awfully, Zelotes.” + </p> + <p> + “Missed him! I should say so. For one thing, I miss havin' him between me + and Issy. When Labe's there Is talks to him and Labe keeps on thinkin' of + somethin' else and so it don't worry him any. I can't do that, and my + eardrums get to wearin' thin and that makes me nervous. Maybe you've + noticed that Issy's flow of conversation ain't what you'd call a trickle,” + he added, turning to Albert. + </p> + <p> + Albert had noticed it. “But,” he asked, “what makes Rachel—Mrs. + Ellis—so cheerful this morning? Does she know that Mr. Keeler will + be back at work? How does she know? She hasn't seen him, has she?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” replied the captain. “She ain't seen him. Nobody sees him, far's + that goes. He generally clears out somewheres and locks himself up in a + room, I judge, till his vacation's over. I suppose that's one way to have + fun, but it ain't what I'd call hilarious.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't, Zelotes,” said Mrs. Snow. “I do wish you wouldn't call it fun.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't, but Laban seems to. If he don't do it for fun I don't know what + he does it for. Maybe it's from a sense of duty. It ain't to oblige me, I + know that.” + </p> + <p> + Albert repeated his question. “But how does she know he will be back + to-day?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + His grandmother shook her head. “That's the mysterious part about it,” she + whispered. “It makes a person think there may be somethin' in the + sympathetic notion she talks so much about. She don't see him at all and + yet we can always tell when he's comin' back to work by her spirits. If he + ain't back to-day he will be to-morrow, you'll see. She never misses by + more than a day. <i>I</i> think it's real sort of mysterious, but Zelotes + laughs at me.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Lote's lip twitched. “Yes, Mother,” he said, “it's about as + mysterious as the clock's strikin' twelve when it's noon. <i>I</i> know + it's morally sartin that Labe'll be back aboard to-day or to-morrow + because his sprees don't ever last more than five days. I can't swear to + how she knows, but that's how <i>I</i> know—and I'm darned sure + there's no 'sympathy' about my part.” Then, as if realizing that he had + talked more than usual, he called, brusquely: “Come on, Al, come on. Time + we were on the job, boy.” + </p> + <p> + Sure enough, as they passed the window of the office, there, seated on the + stool behind the tall desk, Albert saw the diminutive figure of the man + who had been his driver on the night of his arrival. He was curious to see + how the delinquent would apologize for or explain his absence. But Mr. + Keeler did neither, nor did Captain Snow ask a question. Instead the pair + greeted each other as if they had parted in that office at the close of + business on the previous day. + </p> + <p> + “Mornin', Cap'n Lote,” said Laban, quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Mornin', Labe,” replied the captain, just as calmly. + </p> + <p> + He went on and opened his own desk, leaving his grandson standing by the + door, not knowing whether to speak or offer to shake hands. The situation + was a little difficult, particularly as Mr. Keeler gave no sign of + recognition, but, after a glance at his employer's companion, went on + making entries in the ledger. + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes looked up a moment later. His gray eyes inspected the pair + and the expression on Albert's face caused them to twinkle slightly. + “Labe,” he said, “this is my grandson, Albert, the one I told you was + comin' to live with us.” + </p> + <p> + Laban turned on the stool, regarded Albert over his spectacles, and + extended a hand. + </p> + <p> + “Pleased to meet you,” he said. “Yes, yes . . . Yes, yes, yes. . . Pleased + to meet you. Cap'n Lote said you was comin'—er—er—Alfred. + Howdy do.” + </p> + <p> + They shook hands. Mr. Keeler's hand trembled a little, but that was the + only symptom of his recent “vacation” which the youth could notice. + Certain vivid remembrances of his father's bad humor on mornings following + convivial evenings recurred to him. Was it possible that this odd, + precise, dried-up little man had been on a spree for four days? It did not + seem possible. He looked more as if he might be expected to rap on the + desk and ask the school to come to order. + </p> + <p> + “Albert's goin' to take hold here with us in the office,” went on Captain + Lote. “You'll remember I spoke to you about that when we talked about his + comin'. Al, Labe—Mr. Keeler here—will start you in larnin' to + bookkeep. He'll be your first mate from now on. Don't forget you're a + fo'mast hand yet awhile and the way for a fo'mast hand to get ahead is to + obey orders. And don't,” he added, with a quiet chuckle, “do any + play-actin' or poetry-makin' when it's your watch on deck. Laban nor I + ain't very strong for play-actin', are we, Labe?” + </p> + <p> + Laban, to whom the reference was anything but clear, replied rather + vaguely that he didn't know as he was, very. Albert's temper flared up + again. His grandfather was sneering at him once more; he was always + sneering at him. All right, let him sneer—now. Some day he would be + shown. He scowled and turned away. And Captain Zelotes, noticing the + scowl, was reminded of a scowl he had seen upon the face of a Spanish + opera singer some twenty years before. He did not like to be reminded of + that man. + </p> + <p> + He went out soon afterward and then Laban, turning to Albert, asked a few + questions. + </p> + <p> + “How do you think you're goin' to like South Harniss, Ansel?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Albert was tempted to reply that he, Keeler, had asked him that very + question before, but he thought it best not to do so. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know yet,” he answered, carelessly. “Well enough, I guess.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll like it fust-rate bimeby. Everybody does when they get used to it. + Takes some time to get used to a place, don't you know it does, Ansel?” + </p> + <p> + “My name is Albert.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? Yes, yes, so 'tis. Yes, yes, yes. I don't know why I called you + Ansel, 'less 'twas on account of my knowin' an Ansel Olsen once . . . Hum + . . . Yes, yes. Well, you'll like South Harniss when you get used to it.” + </p> + <p> + The boy did not answer. He was of the opinion that he should die long + before the getting used process was completed. Mr. Keeler continued. + </p> + <p> + “Come on yesterday's train, did you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Albert looked at him. Was the fellow joking? He did not look as if he was. + </p> + <p> + “Why no,” he replied. “I came last Monday night. Don't you remember?” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? Oh, yes . . . Yes, yes, yes . . . Last Monday night you come, eh? On + the night train, eh?” He hesitated a moment and then asked. “Cap'n Lote + fetch you down from the depot?” + </p> + <p> + Albert stared at him open-mouthed. + </p> + <p> + “Why, no!” he retorted. “You drove me down yourself.” + </p> + <p> + For the first time a slight shade of embarrassment crossed the + bookkeeper's features. He drew a long breath. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he mused. “Yes, yes, yes. I kind of thought I—yes, yes,—I—I + thought likely I did . . . Yes, yes, course I did, course I did. Well, now + maybe we'd better be startin' you in to work—er—Augustus. Know + anything about double-entry, do you?” + </p> + <p> + Albert did not, nor had he the slightest desire to learn. But before the + first hour was over he foresaw that he was destined to learn, if he + remained in that office, whether he wanted to or not. Laban Keeler might + be, and evidently was, peculiar in his ways, but as a bookkeeper he was + thoroughness personified. And as a teacher of his profession he was just + as thorough. All that forenoon Albert practiced the first principles of + “double entry” and, after the blessed hour for dinner, came back to + practice the remainder of the working day. + </p> + <p> + And so for many days. Little by little he learned to invoice and + journalize and “post in the ledger” and all the rest of the detail of + bookkeeping. Not that his instructor permitted him to do a great deal of + actual work upon the books of Z. Snow and Co. Those books were too + spotless and precious for that. Looking over them Albert was surprised and + obliged to admit a grudging admiration at the manner in which, for the + most part, they had been kept. Page after page of the neatest of minute + figures, not a blot, not a blur, not an erasure. So for months; then, in + the minor books, like the day-book or journal, would suddenly break out an + eruption of smudges and scrawls in the rugged handwriting of Captain + Zelotes. When he first happened upon one of these Albert unthinkingly + spoke to Mr. Keeler about it. He asked the latter what it meant. + </p> + <p> + Laban slowly stroked his nose with his thumb and finger, a habit he had. + </p> + <p> + “I cal'late I was away for a spell then,” he said, gravely. “Yes, yes . . + . Yes, yes, yes. I was away for a little spell.” + </p> + <p> + He went soberly back to his desk. His new assistant, catching a glimpse of + his face, felt a pang of real pity for the little man. Of course the + reason for the hiatus in the books was plain enough. He knew about those + “little spells.” Oddly enough Laban seemed to feel sorry for them. He + remembered how funny the bookkeeper had appeared at their first meeting, + when one “spell” was just developing, and the contrast between the + singing, chirruping clown and the precise, grave little person at the desk + struck even his youthful mind as peculiar. He had read “Doctor Jekyll and + Mr. Hyde,” and now here was an example of something similar. He was + beginning to like Laban Keeler, although he was perfectly sure that he + should never like bookkeeping. + </p> + <p> + He did not slave at the books all the time, of course. For stretches, + sometimes lasting whole days, his slavery was of another sort. Then he was + working in the lumber yard with Issachar, or waiting on customers in the + hardware shop. The cold of winter set in in earnest now and handling “two + by fours” and other timber out where the raw winds swept piercingly + through one's overcoat and garments and flesh to the very bone was a + trying experience. His hands were chapped and cracked, even though his + grandmother had knit him a pair of enormous red mittens. He appreciated + the warmth of the mittens, but he hated the color. Why in the name of all + that was inartistic did she choose red; not a deep, rich crimson, but a + screeching vermilion, like a fireman's shirt? + </p> + <p> + Issachar, when he had the opportunity, was a hard boss. It suited Mr. + Price to display his superior knowledge and to find fault with his + helper's lack of skill. Albert's hot temper was at the boiling point many + times, but he fought it down. Occasionally he retorted in kind, but his + usual and most effective weapon was a more or less delicate sarcasm. + Issachar did not understand sarcasm and under rapid fire he was inclined + to lose his head. + </p> + <p> + “Consarn it!” he snapped, irritably, on one occasion. “Consarn it, Al, why + don't you h'ist up on t'other end of that j'ist? What do you cal'late + you're out here along of me for; to look harnsome?” + </p> + <p> + Albert shook his head. “No, Is,” he answered, gravely. “No, that wouldn't + be any use. With you around nobody else has a look-in at the 'handsome' + game. Issy, what do you do to your face?” + </p> + <p> + “Do to it? What do you mean by do to it?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you do to it to make it look the way it does? Don't tell me it + grew that way naturally.” + </p> + <p> + “Grew! Course it grew! What kind of talk's that?” + </p> + <p> + “Issy, with a face like yours how do you keep the birds away?” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? Keep the birds away! Now look here, just—” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me. Did I say 'birds,' Issy? I didn't mean birds like—like + crows. Of course a face like yours would keep the crows away all right + enough. I meant girls. How do you keep the girls away? I should think they + would be making love all the time.” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, you shut up! Just 'cause you're Cap'n Lote's grandson I presume + likely you think you can talk any kind of talk, don't ye?” + </p> + <p> + “Not any kind, Is. I can't talk like you. Will you teach me?” + </p> + <p> + “Shut up! Now, by Crimus, you—you furriner—you Speranzy—” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Keeler appeared at the office window. His shrill voice rose pipingly + in the wintry air as he demanded to know what was the trouble out there. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Price, still foaming, strode toward the window; Albert laughingly + followed him. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter?” repeated Laban. “There's enough noise for a sewin' + circle. Be still, Is, can't you, for a minute. Al, what's the trouble?” + </p> + <p> + “Issy's been talking about his face,” explained Albert, soberly. + </p> + <p> + “I ain't neither. I was h'istin' up my end of a j'ist, same as I'm paid to + do, and, 'stead of helpin' he stands there and heaves out talk about—about—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, about what?” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, about—about me and—and girls—and all sorts of dum + foolishness. I tell ye, I've got somethin' else to do beside listen to + that kind of cheap talk.” + </p> + <p> + “Um. Yes, yes. I see. Well, Al, what have you got to say?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing. I'm sure I don't know what it is all about. I was working as + hard as I could and all at once he began pitching into me.” + </p> + <p> + “Pitchin' into you? How?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know. Something about my looks he didn't like, I guess. + Wanted to know if I thought I was as handsome as he was, or something like + that.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? I never neither! All I said was—” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Keeler raised his hand. “Seems to be a case for an umpire,” he + observed. “Um. Seem's if 'twas, seems so, seems so. Well, Captain Lote's + just comin' across the road and, if you say the word, I'll call him in to + referee. What do you say?” + </p> + <p> + They said nothing relevant to the subject in hand. Issachar made the only + remark. “Crimus-TEE!” he ejaculated. “Come on, Al, come on.” + </p> + <p> + The pair hurried away to resume lumber piling. Laban smiled slightly and + closed the window. It may be gathered from this incident that when the + captain was in charge of the deck there was little idle persiflage among + the “fo'mast hands.” They, like others in South Harniss, did not presume + to trifle with Captain Lote Snow. + </p> + <p> + So the business education of Alberto Miguel Carlos Speranza progressed. At + the end of the first six weeks in South Harniss he had learned a little + about bookkeeping, a little about selling hardware, a little about + measuring and marking lumber. And it must be admitted that that little had + been acquired, not because of vigorous application on the part of the + pupil, but because, being naturally quick and intelligent, he could not + help learning something. He liked the work just as little as he had in the + beginning of his apprenticeship. And, although he was forgetting his + thoughts of running away, of attempting fortune on his own hook, he was + just as rebellious as ever against a future to be spent in that office and + at that work. + </p> + <p> + Outside the office and the hateful bookkeeping he was beginning to find + several real interests. At the old house which had for generations been + called “the Snow place,” he was beginning to feel almost at home. He and + his grandmother were becoming close friends. She was not looking for + trouble, she never sat for long intervals gazing at him as if she were + guessing, guessing, guessing concerning him. Captain Zelotes did that, but + Olive did not. She had taken the boy, her “Janie's boy,” to her heart from + the moment she saw him and she mothered him and loved him in a way which—so + long as it was not done in public—comforted his lonely soul. They + had not yet reached the stage where he confided in her to any great + extent, but that was certain to come later. It was his grandmother's love + and the affection he was already beginning to feel for her which, during + these first lonesome, miserable weeks, kept him from, perhaps, turning the + running away fantasy into a reality. + </p> + <p> + Another inmate of the Snow household with whom Albert was becoming better + acquainted with was Mrs. Rachel Ellis. Their real acquaintanceship began + one Sunday forenoon when Captain Zelotes and Olive had gone to church. + Ordinarily he would have accompanied them, to sit in the straight-backed + old pew on a cushion which felt lumpy and smelt ancient and musty, and + pretend to listen while old Mr. Kendall preached a sermon which was + ancient and musty likewise. + </p> + <p> + But this Sunday morning he awoke with a headache and his grandmother had + pleaded for him, declaring that he ought to “lay to bed” a while and get + over it. He got over it with surprising quickness after the church bell + ceased ringing, and came downstairs to read Ivanhoe in the sitting room. + He had read it several times before, but he wanted to read something and + the choice of volumes in the Snow bookcase was limited. He was stretched + out on the sofa with the book in his hand when the housekeeper entered, + armed with a dust-cloth. She went to church only “every other” Sunday. + This was one of the others without an every, and she was at home. + </p> + <p> + “What are you readin', Albert?” she asked, after a few' minutes vigorous + wielding of the dust-cloth. “It must be awful interestin', you stick at it + so close.” + </p> + <p> + The Black Knight was just then hammering with his battle-axe at the gate + of Front de Buef's castle, not minding the stones and beams cast down upon + him from above “no more than if they were thistle-down or feathers.” + Albert absently admitted that the story was interesting. The housekeeper + repeated her request to be told its name. + </p> + <p> + “Ivanhoe,” replied the boy; adding, as the name did not seem to convey any + definite idea to his interrogator's mind: “It's by Walter Scott, you + know.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Ellis made no remark immediately. When she did it was to the effect + that she used to know a colored man named Scott who worked at the hotel + once. “He swept out and carried trunks and such things,” she explained. + “He seemed to be a real nice sort of colored man, far as ever I heard.” + </p> + <p> + Albert was more interested in the Black Knight of Ivanhoe than the black + man of the hotel, so he went on reading. Rachel sat down in a chair by the + window and looked out, twisting and untwisting the dust-cloth in her lap. + </p> + <p> + “I presume likely lots and lots of folks have read that book, ain't they?” + she asked, after another interval. + </p> + <p> + “What? Oh, yes, almost everybody. It's a classic, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” + </p> + <p> + “What's what?” + </p> + <p> + “What you said the book was. A class-somethin' or other?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, a classic. Why, it's—it's something everybody knows about, or—or + ought to know about. One of the big things, you know. Like—like + Shakespeare or—or Robinson Crusoe or Paradise Lost or—lots of + them. It's a book everybody reads and always will.” + </p> + <p> + “I see. Humph! Well, I never read it. . . . I presume likely you think + that's pretty funny, don't you?” + </p> + <p> + Albert tore himself away from the fight at the gate. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I don't know,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you do. You think it's awful funny. Well, you wouldn't if you knew + more about how busy I've been all my life. I ain't had time to read the + way I'd ought to. I read a book once though that I'll never forget. Did + you ever read a book called Foul Play?” + </p> + <p> + “No. . . . Why, hold on, though; I think I have. By Charles Reade, wasn't + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that's who wrote it, a man named Charles Reade. Laban told me that + part of it; he reads a lot, Laban does. I never noticed who wrote it, + myself. I was too interested in it to notice little extry things like + that. But ain't that a WONDERFUL book? Ain't that the best book you ever + read in all your LIFE?” + </p> + <p> + She dropped the dust-cloth and was too excited and enthusiastic to pick it + up. Albert did his best to recall something definite concerning Foul Play. + The book had been in the school library and he, who read almost + everything, had read it along with the others. + </p> + <p> + “Let me see,” he said musingly. “About a shipwreck—something about a + shipwreck in it, wasn't there?” + </p> + <p> + “I should say there was! My stars above! Not the common kind of shipwreck, + neither, the kind they have down to Setuckit P'int on the shoals. No + sir-ee! This one was sunk on purpose. That Joe Wylie bored holes right + down through her with a gimlet, the wicked thing! And that set 'em afloat + right out on the sea in a boat, and there wan't anything to eat till + Robert Penfold—oh, HE was the smart one; he'd find anything, that + man!—he found the barnacles on the bottom of the boat, just the same + as he found out how to diffuse intelligence tied onto a duck's leg over + land knows how many legs—leagues, I mean—of ocean. But that + come later. Don't you remember THAT?” + </p> + <p> + Albert laughed. The story was beginning to come back to him. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, sure!” he exclaimed. “I remember now. He—the Penfold fellow—and + the girl landed on this island and had all sorts of adventures, and fell + in love and all that sort of stuff, and then her dad came and took her + back to England and she—she did something or other there to—to + get the Penfold guy out of trouble.” + </p> + <p> + “Did somethin'! I should say she did! Why, she found out all about who + forged the letter—the note, I mean—that's what she done. 'Twas + Arthur Wardlaw, that's who 'twas. And he was tryin' to get Helen all the + time for himself, the skinner! Don't talk to me about that Arthur Wardlaw! + I never could bear HIM.” + </p> + <p> + She spoke as if she had known the detested Wardlaw intimately from + childhood. Young Speranza was hugely amused. Ivanhoe was quite forgotten. + </p> + <p> + “Foul Play was great stuff,” he observed. “When did you read it?” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? When? Oh, ever and ever so long ago. When I was about twenty, I + guess, and laid up with the measles. That's the only time I ever was real + what you might call down sick in my life, and I commenced with measles. + That's the way a good many folks commence, I know, but they don't + generally wait till they're out of their 'teens afore they start. I was + workin' for Mrs. Philander Bassett at the time, and she says to me: + 'Rachel,' she says, 'you're on the mendin' hand now, wouldn't you like a + book to read?' I says, 'Why, maybe I would.' And she fetched up three of + 'em. I can see 'em now, all three, plain as day. One was Barriers Burned + Away. She said that was somethin' about a big fire. Well, I'm awful + nervous about fires, have been from a child, so I didn't read that. And + another had the queerest kind of a name, if you'd call it a name at all; + 'twas She.” + </p> + <p> + Albert nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said. “I've read that.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you? Well, I begun to, but my stars, THAT wasn't any book to give to + a person with nerve symptoms. I got as far as where those Indians or + whatever they was started to put red-hot kettles on folks's heads, and + that was enough for ME. 'Give me somethin' civilized,' says I, 'or not at + all.' So I commenced Foul Play, and I tell you I kept right on to the end. + </p> + <p> + “I don't suppose,” she went on, “that there ever was a much better book + than that wrote, was there?” + </p> + <p> + Albert temporized. “It is a good one,” he admitted. + </p> + <p> + “Don't seem to me there could be much better. Laban says it's good, though + he won't go so far as to say it's the very best. He's read lots and lots + of books, Laban has. Reads an awful lot in his spare time. He's what you'd + call an educated person, which is what I ain't. And I guess you'll say + that last is plain enough without bein' told,” she added. + </p> + <p> + Her companion, not exactly knowing how to answer, was silent for a moment. + Rachel, who had picked up and was again twisting the dust-cloth, returned + to the subject she so delighted in. + </p> + <p> + “But that Foul Play book,” she continued, “I've read till I've pretty nigh + wore the covers off. When Mrs. Bassett saw how much I liked it she gave it + to me for a present. I read a little bit in it every little while. I kind + of fit the folks in that book to folks in real life, sort of compare 'em, + you know. Do you ever do that?” + </p> + <p> + Albert, repressing a chuckle, said, “Sure!” again. She nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Now there's General Rolleson in that book,” she said. “Do you know who he + makes me think of? Cap'n Lote, your grandpa, that's who.” + </p> + <p> + General Rolleson, as Albert remembered him, was an extremely dignified, + cultured and precise old gentleman. Just what resemblance there might be + between him and Captain Zelotes Snow, ex-skipper of the Olive S., he could + not imagine. He could not repress a grin, and the housekeeper noticed it. + </p> + <p> + “Seems funny to you, I presume likely,” she said. “Well, now you think + about it. This General Rolleson man was kind of proud and sot in his ways + just as your grandpa is, Albert. He had a daughter he thought all the + world of; so did Cap'n Lote. Along come a person that wanted to marry the + daughter. In the book 'twas Robert Penfold, who had been a convict. In + your grandpa's case, 'twas your pa, who had been a play-actor. So you see—” + </p> + <p> + Albert sat up on the sofa. “Hold on!” he interrupted indignantly. “Do you + mean to compare my father with a—with a CONVICT? I want you to + understand—” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Ellis held up the dust-cloth. “Now, now, now,” she protested. “Don't + go puttin' words in my mouth that I didn't say. I don't doubt your pa was + a nice man, in his way, though I never met him. But 'twan't Cap'n Lote's + way any more than Robert Penfold's was General Rolleson's.” + </p> + <p> + “My father was famous,” declared the youth hotly. “He was one of the most + famous singers in this country. Everybody knows that—that is, + everybody but Grandfather and the gang down here,” he added, in disgust. + </p> + <p> + “I don't say you're wrong. Laban tells me that some of those singin' folks + get awful high wages, more than the cap'n of a steamboat, he says, though + that seems like stretchin' it to me. But, as I say, Cap'n Lote was proud, + and nobody but the best would satisfy him for Janie, your mother. Well, in + that way, you see, he reminds me of General Rolleson in the book.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Mrs. Ellis. Tell me about this business of Dad's marrying my + mother. I never knew much of anything about it.” + </p> + <p> + “You didn't? Did your pa never tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! That's funny. Still, I don't know's as 'twas, after all, + considerin' you was only a boy. Probably he'd have told you some day. + Well, I don't suppose there's any secret about it. 'Twas town talk down + here when it happened.” + </p> + <p> + She told him the story of the runaway marriage. Albert listened with + interest and the almost incredulous amazement with which the young always + receive tales of their parents' love affairs. Love, for people of his age + or a trifle older, was a natural and understandable thing, but for his + father, as he remembered him, to have behaved in this way was + incomprehensible. + </p> + <p> + “So,” said Rachel, in conclusion, “that's how it happened. That's why + Cap'n Lote couldn't ever forgive your father.” + </p> + <p> + He tossed his head. “Well, he ought to have forgiven him,” he declared. + “He was dead lucky to get such a man for a son-in-law, if you ask me.” + </p> + <p> + “He didn't think so. And he wouldn't ever mention your pa's name.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't doubt that. Anybody can see how he hated Father. And he hates + me the same way,” he added moodily. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Ellis was much disturbed. “Oh, no, he don't,” she cried. “You mustn't + think that, Albert. He don't hate you, I'm sure of it. He's just kind of + doubtful about you, that's all. He remembers how your pa acted—or + how he thinks he acted—and so he can't help bein' the least mite + afraid the same thing may crop out in you. If you just stick to your job + over there at the lumber yards and keep on tryin' to please him, he'll get + all over that suspicion, see if he don't. Cap'n Lote Snow is stubborn + sometimes and hard to turn, but he's square as a brick. There's some that + don't like him, and a good many that don't agree with him—but + everybody respects him.” + </p> + <p> + Albert did not answer. The housekeeper rose from her chair. + </p> + <p> + “There!” she exclaimed. “I don't know when I've set down for so long. + Goodness knows I've got work enough to do without settin' around talkin'. + I can't think what possessed me to do it this time, unless 'twas seein' + you readin' that book.” She paused a moment and then said: “Albert, I—I + don't want you and your grandpa to have any quarrels. You see—well, + you see, I used to know your mother real well, and—and I thought an + awful sight of her. I wish—I do wish when you and the cap'n have any + trouble or anything, or when you think you're liable to have any, you'd + come and talk it over with me. I'm like the feller that Laban tells about + in his dog-fight yarn. This feller was watchin' the fight and when they + asked him to stop it afore one or t'other of the dogs was killed, he just + shook his head. 'No-o,' he says, kind of slow and moderate, 'I guess I + shan't interfere. One of 'em's been stealin' my chickens and the other one + bit me. I'm a friend to both parties,' he says. Course I don't mean it + exactly that way,” she added, with a smile, “but you know what I do mean, + I guess. WILL you talk things over with me sometimes, Albert?” + </p> + <p> + His answer was not very enthusiastic, but he said he guessed so, and + Rachel seemed satisfied with that. She went on with her dusting, and he + with his reading, but the conversation was the first of many between the + pair. The housekeeper appeared to consider his having read her beloved + Foul Play a sort of password admitting him to her lodge and that + thereafter they were, in consequence, to be confidants and comrades. She + never hesitated to ask him the most personal questions concerning his + work, his plans, the friends or acquaintances he was making in the + village. Some of those questions he answered honestly and fully, some he + dodged, some he did not answer at all. Mrs. Ellis never resented his not + answering. “I presume likely that ain't any of my business, is it?” she + would say, and ask about something else. + </p> + <p> + On the other hand, she was perfectly outspoken concerning her own affairs. + He was nearly overcome with hilarious joy when, one day, she admitted + that, in her mind, Robert Penfold, the hero of Foul Play, lived again in + the person of Laban Keeler. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Mrs. Ellis,” he cried, as soon as he could trust himself to speak at + all, “I don't see THAT. Penfold was a six-footer, wasn't he? And—and + athletic, you know, and—and a minister, and young—younger, I + mean—and—” + </p> + <p> + Rachel interrupted. “Yes, yes, I know,” she said. “And Laban is little, + and not very young, and, whatever else he is, he ain't a minister. I know + all that. I know the outside of him don't look like Robert Penfold at all. + But,” somewhat apologetically, “you see I've been acquainted with him so + many years I've got into the habit of seein' his INSIDE. Now that sounds + kind of ridiculous, I know,” she added. “Sounds as if I—I—well, + as if I was in the habit of takin' him apart, like a watch or somethin'. + What I mean is that I know him all through. I've known him for a long, + long while. He ain't much to look at, bein' so little and sort of dried + up, but he's got a big, fine heart and big brains. He can do 'most + anything he sets his hand to. When I used to know him, when I was a girl, + folks was always prophesyin' that Laban Keeler would turn out to be a + whole lot more'n the average. He would, too, only for one thing, and you + know what that is. It's what has kept me from marryin' him all this time. + I swore I'd never marry a man that drinks, and I never will. Why, if it + wasn't for liquor Labe would have been runnin' his own business and + gettin' rich long ago. He all but runs Cap'n Lote's place as 'tis. The + cap'n and a good many other folks don't realize that, but it's so.” + </p> + <p> + It was plain that she worshiped the little bookkeeper and, except during + the periods of “vacation” and “sympathetics,” was tremendously proud of + him. Albert soon discovered that Mr. Keeler's feeling for her was equally + strong. In his case, though, there was also a strong strain of gratitude. + </p> + <p> + “She's a fine woman, Al,” he confided to his assistant on one occasion. “A + fine woman. . . . Yes, yes, yes. They don't make 'em any finer. Ah hum! + And not so long ago I read about a passel of darn fools arguin' that the + angels in heaven was all he-ones. . . . Umph! . . . Sho, sho! If men was + as good as women, Ansel—Alfred—Albert, I mean—we could + start an opposition heaven down here most any time. 'Most any time—yes, + yes.” + </p> + <p> + It was considerable for him to say. Except when on a vacation, Laban was + not loquacious. + </p> + <p> + Each Sunday afternoon, when the weather was pleasant, he came, dressed in + his best black cutaway, shiny at elbows and the under part of the sleeves, + striped trousers and a pearl gray soft hat with a black band, a hat which + looked as much out of place above his round, withered little face as a red + roof might have looked on a family vault, and he and the housekeeper went + for a walk. + </p> + <p> + Rachel, in her Sunday black, bulked large beside him. As Captain Zelotes + said, the pair looked like “a tug takin' a liner out to sea.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <p> + Outside of the gates of the Snow place Albert was making many + acquaintances and a few friends. After church on Sundays his grandmother + had a distressful habit of suddenly seizing his arm or his coat-tail as he + was hurrying toward the vestibule and the sunshine of outdoors, and + saying: “Oh, Albert, just a minute! Here's somebody you haven't met yet, I + guess. Elsie”—or Nellie or Mabel or Henry or Charlie or George, + whichever it happened to be—“this is my grandson, Albert Speranza.” + And the young person to whom he was thus introduced would, if a male, + extend a hesitating hand, give his own an embarrassed shake, smile + uncertainly and say, “Yes—er—yes. Pleased to meet you.” Or, if + of the other sex, would blush a little and venture the observation that it + was a lovely morning, and wasn't the sermon splendid. + </p> + <p> + These Sabbath introductions led to week-day, or rather week-evening, + meetings. The principal excitement in South Harniss was “going for the + mail.” At noon and after supper fully one-half of the village population + journeyed to the post office. Albert's labors for Z. Snow and Co. + prevented his attending the noon gatherings—his grandfather usually + got the morning mail—but he early formed the habit of sauntering + “down street” in the evening if the weather was not too cold or + disagreeable. There he was certain to find groups of South Harniss youth + of both sexes, talking, giggling, skylarking and flirting. Sometimes he + joined one or the other of these groups; quite as often he did not, but + kept aloof and by himself, for it may as well be acknowledged now, if it + is not already plain, that the son of Miguel Carlos Speranza had inherited + a share of his father's temperament and self-esteem. The whim of the + moment might lead him to favor these young people with his society, but he + was far from considering himself under obligation to do so. He had not the + least idea that he was in any way a snob, he would have hotly resented + being called one, but he accepted his estimate of his own worth as + something absolute and certain, to be taken for granted. + </p> + <p> + Now this attitude of mind had its dangers. Coupled with its possessor's + extraordinary good looks, it was fascinating to a large percentage of the + village girls. The Speranza eyes and the Speranza curls and nose and chin + were, when joined with the easy condescension of the Speranza manner, a + combination fatal to the susceptible. The South Harniss “flappers,” most + of them, enthused over the new bookkeeper in the lumber office. They ogled + and giggled and gushed in his presence, and he was tolerant or bored, just + as he happened to be feeling at the moment. But he never displayed a + marked interest in any one of them, for the very good reason that he had + no such interest. To him they were merely girls, nice enough in their way, + perhaps, but that way not his. Most of the town young fellows of his age + he found had a “girl” and almost every girl had a “fellow”; there was calf + love in abundance, but he was a different brand of veal. + </p> + <p> + However, a great man must amuse himself, and so he accepted invitations to + church socials and suppers and to an occasional dance or party. His style + of dancing was not that of South Harniss in the winter. It was common + enough at the hotel or the “tea house” in July and August when the summer + people were there, but not at the town hall at the Red Men's Annual Ball + in February. A fellow who could foxtrot as he could swept all before him. + Sam Thatcher, of last year's class in the high school, but now clerking in + the drug store, who had hitherto reigned as the best “two-stepper” in + town, suddenly became conscious of his feet. Then, too, the contents of + the three trunks which had been sent on from school were now in evidence. + No Boston or Brockton “Advanced Styles” held a candle to those suits which + the tailor of the late Miguel Carlos had turned out for his patron's only + son. No other eighteen-year-older among the town's year-around residents + possessed a suit of evening clothes. Albert wore his “Tux” at the Red + Men's Ball and hearts palpitated beneath new muslin gowns and bitter envy + stirred beneath the Brockton “Advanced Styles.” + </p> + <p> + In consequence, by spring the social status of Albert Speranza among those + of his own age in the village had become something like this: He was in + high favor with most of the girls and in corresponding disfavor with most + of the young fellows. The girls, although they agreed that he was + “stand-offish and kind of queer,” voted him “just lovely, all the same.” + Their envious beaux referred to him sneeringly among themselves as a + “stuck-up dude.” Some one of them remembered having been told that Captain + Zelotes, years before, had been accustomed to speak of his hated + son-in-law as “the Portygee.” Behind his back they formed the habit of + referring to their new rival in the same way. The first time Albert heard + himself called a “Portygee” was after prayer meeting on Friday evening, + when, obeying a whim, he had walked home with Gertie Kendrick, quite + forgetful of the fact that Sam Thatcher, who aspired to be Gertie's + “steady,” was himself waiting on the church steps for that privilege. + </p> + <p> + Even then nothing might have come of it had he and Sam not met in the path + as he was sauntering back across lots to the main road and home. It was a + brilliant moonlight night and the pair came together, literally, at the + bend where the path turns sharply around the corner of Elijah Doane's + cranberry shanty. Sam, plowing along, head down and hands in his pockets, + swung around that corner and bumped violently into Albert, who, a + cigarette between his lips—out here in the fields, away from + civilization and Captain Zelotes, was a satisfyingly comfortable place to + smoke a cigarette—was dreaming dreams of a future far away from + South Harniss. Sam had been thinking of Gertie. Albert had not. She had + been a mere incident of the evening; he had walked home with her because + he happened to be in the mood for companionship and she was rather pretty + and always talkative. His dreams during the stroll back alone in the + moonlight had been of lofty things, of poetry and fame and high emprise; + giggling Gerties had no place in them. It was distinctly different with + Sam Thatcher. + </p> + <p> + They crashed together, gasped and recoiled. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm sorry!” exclaimed Albert. + </p> + <p> + “Can't you see where you're goin', you darned Portygee half-breed?” + demanded Sam. + </p> + <p> + Albert, who had stepped past him, turned and came back. + </p> + <p> + “What did you say?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I said you was a darned half-breed, and you are. You're a no-good + Portygee, like your father.” + </p> + <p> + It was all he had time to say. For the next few minutes he was too busy to + talk. The Speranzas, father and son, possessed temperament; also they + possessed temper. Sam's face, usually placid and good-natured, for Sam was + by no means a bad fellow in his way, was fiery red. Albert's, on the + contrary, went perfectly white. He seemed to settle back on his heels and + from there almost to fly at his insulter. Five minutes or so later they + were both dusty and dirty and dishevelled and bruised, but Sam was pretty + thoroughly licked. For one thing, he had been taken by surprise by his + adversary's quickness; for another, Albert's compulsory training in + athletics at school gave him an advantage. He was by no means an unscarred + victor, but victor he was. Sam was defeated, and very much astonished. He + leaned against the cranberry house and held on to his nose. It had been a + large nose in the beginning, it was larger now. + </p> + <p> + Albert stood before him, his face—where it was not a pleasing + combination of black and blue—still white. + </p> + <p> + “If you—if you speak of my father or me again like that,” he panted, + “I'll—I'll kill you!” + </p> + <p> + Then he strode off, a bit wobbly on his legs, but with dignity. + </p> + <p> + Oddly enough, no one except the two most interested ever knew of this + encounter. Albert, of course, did not tell. He was rather ashamed of it. + For the son of Miguel Carlos Speranza to conquer dragons was a worthy and + heroic business, but there seemed to be mighty little heroism in licking + Sam Thatcher behind 'Lije Doane's cranberry shack. And Sam did not tell. + Gertie next day confided that she didn't care two cents for that stuck-up + Al Speranza, anyway; she had let him see her home only because Sam had + danced so many times with Elsie Wixon at the ball that night. So Sam said + nothing concerning the fight, explaining the condition of his nose by + saying that he had run into something in the dark. And he did not appear + to hold a grudge against his conqueror; on the contrary when others spoke + of the latter as a “sissy,” Sam defended him. “He may be a dude,” said + Sam; “I don't say he ain't. But he ain't no sissy.” + </p> + <p> + When pressed to tell why he was so certain, his answer was: “Because he + don't act like one.” It was not a convincing answer, the general opinion + being that that was exactly how Al Speranza did act. + </p> + <p> + There was one young person in the village toward whom Albert found himself + making exceptions in his attitude of serenely impersonal tolerance. That + person was Helen Kendall, the girl who had come into his grandfather's + office the first morning of his stay in South Harniss. He was forced to + make these exceptions by the young lady herself. When he met her the + second time—which was after church on his first Sunday—his + manner was even more loftily reserved than usual. He had distinct + recollections of their first conversation. His own part in it had not been + brilliant, and in it he had made the absurd statement—absurd in the + light of what came after—that he was certainly NOT employed by Z. + Snow and Co. + </p> + <p> + So he was cool and superior when his grandmother brought them together + after the meeting was over. If Helen noticed the superiority, she was + certainly not over-awed by it, for she was so simple and natural and + pleasant that he was obliged to unbend and be natural too. In fact, at + their third meeting he himself spoke of the interview in the lumber office + and again expressed his thanks for warning him of his grandfather's + detestation of cigarettes. + </p> + <p> + “Gee!” he exclaimed, “I'm certainly glad that you put me on to the old + boy's feelings. I think he'd have murdered me if he had come back and + found me puffing a Pall Mall in there.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled. “He does hate them, doesn't he?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Hate them! I should say he did. Hating cigarettes is about the only point + where he and Issy get along without an argument. If a traveler for a + hardware house comes into the office smoking a cig, Issy opens all the + windows to let the smell out, and Grandfather opens the door to throw the + salesman out. Well, not exactly to throw him out, of course, but he never + buys a single cent's worth of a cigarette smoker.” + </p> + <p> + Helen glanced at him. “You must be awfully glad you're not a traveling + salesman,” she said demurely. + </p> + <p> + Albert did not know exactly what to make of that remark. He, in his turn, + looked at her, but she was grave and quite unconcerned. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” he asked, after a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Why—what?” + </p> + <p> + “Why ought I to be glad I'm not a traveling salesman?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know. It just seemed to me that you ought, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “But why?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if you were you wouldn't make a great hit with your grandfather, + would you?” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? . . . Oh, you mean because I smoke. Say, YOU'RE not silly enough to + be down on cigarettes the way grandfather is, are you?” + </p> + <p> + “No-o, I'm not down on them, especially. I'm not very well acquainted with + them.” + </p> + <p> + “Neither is he. He never smoked one in his life. It's just country + prejudice, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I live in the country, too, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but you're different.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know I am?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, because any one can see you are.” The manner in which this remark was + made, a manner implying a wide knowledge of humanity and a hint of + personal interest and discriminating appreciation, had been found quite + effective by the precocious young gentleman uttering it. With variations + to suit the case and the individual it had been pleasantly received by + several of the Misses Bradshaw's pupils. He followed it with another + equally tried and trustworthy. + </p> + <p> + “Say,” he added, “would YOU rather I didn't smoke?” + </p> + <p> + The obvious reply should have been, “Oh, would you stop if I asked you + to?” But Helen Kendall was a most disconcerting girl. Instead of purring a + pleased recognition of the implied flattery, she laughed merrily. The + Speranza dignity was hurt. + </p> + <p> + “What is there to laugh at?” he demanded. “Are you laughing at me?” + </p> + <p> + The answer was as truthful as truth itself. + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course I am,” she replied; and then completed his discomfiture by + adding, “Why should I care whether you smoke or not? You had better ask + your grandfather that question, I should think.” + </p> + <p> + Now Alberto Miguel Carlos Speranza had not been accustomed to this sort of + treatment from young persons of the other sex, and he walked away in a + huff. But the unusual is always attractive, and the next time he and Miss + Kendall met he was as gracious and cordial as ever. But it was not long + before he learned that the graciousness was, in her case, a mistake. + Whenever he grew lofty, she took him down, laughed at him with complete + frankness, and refused to treat him as anything but a boy. So they + gradually grew friendly, and when they met at parties or church socials he + spent most of the time in her company, or, rather, he would have so spent + it had she permitted. But she was provokingly impartial and was quite as + likely to refuse a dance with him to sit out one with Sam Thatcher or Ben + Hammond or any other village youth of her acquaintance. However, although + she piqued and irritated him, he was obliged to admit to his inner + consciousness that she was the most interesting person he had yet + discovered in South Harniss, also that even in the eyes of such + connoisseurs as his fellow members of the senior class at school she would + have been judged a “good looker,” in spite of her country clothes. + </p> + <p> + He met her father, of course. The Reverend Mr. Kendall was a dreamy little + old gentleman with white hair and the stooped shoulders of a student. + Everybody liked him, and it was for that reason principally that he was + still the occupant of the Congregational pulpit, for to quote Captain + Zelotes, his sermons were inclined to be like the sandy road down to + Setuckit Point, “ten mile long and dry all the way.” He was a widower and + his daughter was his companion and managing housekeeper. There was a + half-grown girl, one of the numerous Price family, a cousin of Issachar's, + who helped out with the sweeping, dish-washing and cooking, but Helen was + the real head of the household. + </p> + <p> + “And she's a capable one, too,” declared Mrs. Snow, when at supper one + evening Helen's name had come into the conversation. “I declare when I was + there yesterday to see the minister about readin' poetry to us at + sewin'-circle next Monday that parlor was as neat as wax. And 'twas all + Helen's work that kept it so, that was plain enough. You could see her way + of settin' a vase or puttin' on a table cloth wherever you looked. Nobody + else has just that way. And she does it after school or before school or + 'most any odd time. And whatever 'tis is done right.” + </p> + <p> + The housekeeper put in a word. “There's no doubt about that,” she said, + “and there ain't any more doubt that she don't get much help from her pa + or that Maria B.” There were so many Prices within the township limits + that individuals were usually distinguished by their middle initial. “As + for Mr. Kendall,” went on Rachel, “he moves with his head in the clouds + and his feet cruisin' with nobody at the wheel two-thirds of the time. + Emma Smith says to me yesterday, says she, 'Mr. Kendall is a saint on + earth, ain't he,' says she. 'Yes,' says I, 'and he'll be one in heaven any + minute if he goes stumblin' acrost the road in front of Doctor Holliday's + automobile the way I see him yesterday.' The doctor put on the brakes with + a slam and a yell. The minister stopped right there in the middle of the + road with the front wheels of that auto not MORE'N two foot from his old + baggy trousers' knees, and says he, 'Eh? Did you want me, Doctor?' The + doctor fetched a long breath. 'Why, no, Mr. Kendall,' he says, 'I didn't, + but I come darn nigh gettin' you.' I don't know what WOULD become of him + if he didn't have Helen to look out for him.” + </p> + <p> + As they came to know each other better their conversation dealt with + matters more personal. They sometimes spoke of plans for the future. + Albert's plans and ambitions were lofty, but rather vague. Helen's were + practical and definite. She was to graduate from high school that spring. + Then she was hoping to teach in the primary school there in the village; + the selectmen had promised her the opportunity. + </p> + <p> + “But, of course,” she said, “I don't mean to stay here always. When I can, + after I have saved some money and if Father doesn't need me too badly, I + shall go away somewhere, to Bridgewater, or perhaps to Radcliffe, and + study. I want to specialize in my teaching, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Albert regarded her with amused superiority. + </p> + <p> + “I don't see why on earth you are so anxious to be a school-marm,” he + said. “That's the last job I'd want.” + </p> + <p> + Her answer was given promptly, but without the least trace of temper. That + was one of the most provoking things about this girl, she would not lose + her temper. He usually lost his trying to make her. She spoke now, + pleasantly, and deliberately, but as if she were stating an undesirable + fact. + </p> + <p> + “I think it would be the last one you would get,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Why? Great Scott! I guess I could teach school if I wanted to. But you + bet I wouldn't want to! . . . NOW what are you laughing at?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not laughing.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you are. I can always tell when you're laughing; you get that look + in your eyes, that sort of—of—Oh, I can't tell you what kind + of look it is, but it makes me mad. It's the same kind of look my + grandfather has, and I could punch him for it sometimes. Why should you + and he think I'm not going to amount to anything?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think so. And I'm sure he doesn't either. And I wasn't laughing + at you. Or, if I was, it—it was only because—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, because what?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, because you are so AWFULLY sure you know—well, know more than + most people.” + </p> + <p> + “Meaning I'm stuck on myself, I suppose. Well, now I tell you I'm not + going to hang around in this one-horse town all my life to please + grandfather or any one else.” + </p> + <p> + When he mentioned his determination to win literary glory she was always + greatly interested. Dreams of histrionic achievement were more coldly + received. The daughter of a New England country clergyman, even in these + days of broadening horizons, could scarcely be expected to look with favor + upon an actor's career. + </p> + <p> + June came and with it the first of the summer visitors. For the next three + months Albert was happy with a new set of acquaintances. They were HIS + kind, these young folks from the city, and his spare moments were for the + most part spent in their society. He was popular with them, too. Some of + them thought it queer that he should be living all the year in the village + and keeping books for a concern like Z. Snow and Co., but juvenile society + is tolerant and a youth who could sing passably, dance wonderfully and, + above all, was as beautifully picturesque as Albert Speranza, was + welcomed, especially by the girls. So the Saturdays and Sundays and + evenings of that summer were pleasant for him. He saw little of Helen or + Gertie Kendrick while the hotel or the cottages remained open. + </p> + <p> + Then came the fall and another long, dreary winter. Albert plodded on at + his desk or in the yard, following Mr. Keeler's suggestions, obeying his + grandfather's orders, tormenting Issy, doing his daily stint because he + had to, not because he liked it. For amusement he read a good deal, went + to the usual number of sociables and entertainments, and once took part in + amateur theatricals, a play given by the church society in the town hall. + There was where he shone. As the dashing young hero he was resplendent. + Gertie Kendrick gazed upon him from the third settee center with shining + eyes. When he returned home after it was over his grandmother and Mrs. + Ellis overwhelmed him with praises. + </p> + <p> + “I declare you was perfectly splendid, Albert!” exclaimed Olive. “I was so + proud of you I didn't know what to do.” + </p> + <p> + Rachel looked upon him as one might look upon a god from Olympus. + </p> + <p> + “All I could think of was Robert Penfold,” she said. “I says so to Laban: + 'Laban,' says I, ain't he Robert Penfold and nobody else?' There you was, + tellin' that Hannibal Ellis that you was innocent and some day the world + would know you was, just the way Robert Penfold done in the book. I never + did like that Hannie Ellis!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Snow smiled. “Mercy, Rachel,” she said, “I hope you're not blamin' + Hannie because of what he did in that play. That was his part, he had to + do it.” + </p> + <p> + But Rachel was not convinced. “He didn't have to be so everlastin' mean + and spiteful about it, anyhow,” she declared. “But there, that family of + Ellises never did amount to nothin' much. But, as I said to Laban, Albert, + you was Robert Penfold all over.” + </p> + <p> + “What did Labe say to that?” asked Albert, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “He never had a chance to say nothin'. Afore he could answer, that Maria + B. Price—she was settin' right back of me and eatin' molasses candy + out of a rattly paper bag till I thought I SHOULD die—she leaned + forward and she whispered: 'He looks more to me like that Stevie D. that + used to work for Cap'n Crowell over to the Center. Stevie D. had curly + hair like that and HE was part Portygee, you remember; though there was a + little nigger blood in him, too,' she says. I could have shook her! And + then she went to rattlin' that bag again.” + </p> + <p> + Even Mr. Keeler congratulated him at the office next morning. “You done + well, Al,” he said. “Yes—yes—yes. You done fust-rate, + fust-rate.” + </p> + <p> + His grandfather was the only one who refused to enthuse. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” inquired Captain Zelotes, sitting down at his desk and glancing at + his grandson over his spectacles, “do you cal'late to be able to get down + to earth this mornin' far enough to figger up the payroll? You can put + what you made from play-actin' on a separate sheet. It's about as much as + the average person makes at that job,” he added. + </p> + <p> + Albert's face flushed. There were times when he hated his grandfather. Mr. + Keeler, a moment later, put a hand on his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “You mustn't mind the old man, Al,” he whispered. “I expect that seein' + you last night brought your dad's job back to him strong. He can't bear + play-actin', you know, on your dad's account. Yes—yes. That was it. + Yes—yes—yes.” + </p> + <p> + It may have been a truthful explanation, but as an apology it was a + limited success. + </p> + <p> + “My father was a gentleman, at any rate,” snapped Albert. Laban opened his + mouth to reply, but closed it again and walked back to his books. + </p> + <p> + In May, which was an unusually balmy month, the Congregational Sunday + School gave an automobile excursion and box-luncheon party at High Point + Light down at Trumet. As Rachel Ellis said, it was pretty early for + picnickin', but if the Almighty's season was ahead of time there didn't + seem to be any real good reason why one of his Sunday schools shouldn't + be. And, which was the principal excuse for the hurry, the hotel busses + could be secured, which would not be the case after the season opened. + </p> + <p> + Albert went to the picnic. He was not very keen on going, but his + grandfather had offered him a holiday for the purpose, and it was one of + his principles never to refuse a chance to get away from that office. + Besides, a number of the young people of his age were going, and Gertie + Kendrick had been particularly insistent. + </p> + <p> + “You just MUST come, Al,” she said. “It won't be any fun at all if you + don't come.” + </p> + <p> + It is possible that Gertie found it almost as little fun when he did come. + He happened to be in one of his moods that day; “Portygee streaks,” his + grandfather termed these moods, and told Olive that they were “that + play-actor breakin' out in him.” He talked but little during the ride down + in the bus, refused to sing when called upon, and, after dinner, when the + dancing in the pavilion was going on, stepped quietly out of the side door + and went tramping along the edge of the bluff, looking out over the sea or + down to the beach, where, one hundred and fifty feet below, the big waves + were curling over to crash into a creamy mass of froth and edge the strand + with lacy ripples. + </p> + <p> + The high clay bluffs of Trumet are unique. No other part of the Cape shows + anything just like them. High Point Light crowns their highest and + steepest point and is the flashing beacon the rays of which spell + “America” to the incoming liner Boston bound. + </p> + <p> + Along the path skirting the edge of the bluff Albert strolled, his hands + in his pockets and his thoughts almost anywhere except on the picnic and + the picnickers of the South Harniss Congregational Church. His particular + mood on this day was one of discontent and rebellion against the fate + which had sentenced him to the assistant bookkeeper's position in the + office of Z. Snow and Co. At no time had he reconciled himself to the idea + of that position as a permanent one; some day, somehow he was going to + break away and do—marvelous things. But occasionally, and usually + after a disagreeable happening in the office, he awoke from his youthful + day dreams of glorious futures to a realization of the dismal to-day. + </p> + <p> + The happening which had brought about realization in this instance was + humorous in the eyes of two-thirds of South Harniss's population. They + were chuckling over it yet. The majority of the remaining third were + shocked. Albert, who was primarily responsible for the whole affair, was + neither amused nor shocked; he was angry and humiliated. + </p> + <p> + The Reverend Seabury Calvin, of Providence, R. I., had arrived in town and + opened his summer cottage unusually early in the season. What was quite as + important, Mrs. Seabury Calvin had arrived with him. The Reverend Calvin, + whose stay was in this case merely temporary, was planning to build an + addition to his cottage porch. Mrs. Calvin, who was the head of the summer + “Welfare Workers,” whatever they were, had called a meeting at the Calvin + house to make Welfare plans for the season. + </p> + <p> + The lumber for the new porch was ordered of Z. Snow and Co. The Reverend + Calvin ordered it himself in person. Albert received the order. + </p> + <p> + “I wish this delivered to-morrow without fail,” said Mr. Calvin. Albert + promised. + </p> + <p> + But promises are not always easy to keep. One of Z. Snow and Co.'s teams + was busy hauling lumber for the new schoolhouse at Bayport. The other + Issachar had commandeered for deliveries at Harniss Center and refused to + give up his claim. And Laban Keeler, as it happened, was absent on one of + his “vacations.” Captain Zelotes was attending a directors' meeting at + Osham and from there was going to Boston for a day's stay. + </p> + <p> + “The ship's in your hands, Al,” he had said to his grandson. “Let me see + how you handle her.” + </p> + <p> + So, in spite of Albert's promise, the Calvin lumber was not delivered on + time. The Reverend gentleman called to ask why. His manner was anything + but receptive so far as excuses were concerned. + </p> + <p> + “Young man,” he said loftily, “I am accustomed to do business with + business people. Did you or did you not promise to deliver my order + yesterday?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes sir, I promised, but we couldn't do it. We—” + </p> + <p> + “I don't care to know why you didn't do it. The fact that you did not is + sufficient. Will that order of mine be delivered to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “If it is a possible thing, Mr. Calvin, it—” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me. Will it be delivered?” + </p> + <p> + The Speranza temper was rising. “Yes,” said the owner of that temper, + succinctly. + </p> + <p> + “Does yes mean yes, in this case; or does it mean what it meant before?” + </p> + <p> + “I have told you why—” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind. Young man, if that lumber is not delivered to-day I shall + cancel the order. Do you understand?” + </p> + <p> + Albert swallowed hard. “I tell you, Mr. Calvin, that it shall be + delivered,” he said. “And it will be.” + </p> + <p> + But delivering it was not so easy. The team simply could NOT be taken off + the schoolhouse job, fulfillment of a contract was involved there. And the + other horse had gone lame and Issachar swore by all that was solemn that + the animal must not be used. + </p> + <p> + “Let old Calvin wait till to-morrow,” said Issy. “You can use the big team + then. And Cap'n Lote'll be home, besides.” + </p> + <p> + But Albert was not going to let “old Calvin” wait. That lumber was going + to be delivered, if he had to carry it himself, stick by stick. He asked + Mr. Price if an extra team might not be hired. + </p> + <p> + “Ain't none,” said Issy. “Besides, where'd your granddad's profits be if + you spent money hirin' extry teams to haul that little mite of stuff? I've + been in this business a good long spell, and I tell you—” + </p> + <p> + He did not get a chance to tell it, for Albert walked off and left him. At + half-past twelve that afternoon he engaged “Vessie” Young—christened + Sylvester Young and a brother to the driver of the depot wagon—to + haul the Calvin lumber in his rickety, fragrant old wagon. Simpson Mullen—commonly + called “Simp”—was to help in the delivery. + </p> + <p> + Against violent protests from Issy, who declared that Ves Young's + rattle-trap wan't fit to do nothin' but haul fish heads to the fertilizer + factory, the Calvin beams and boards were piled high on the wagon and with + Ves on the driver's seat and Simp perched, like a disreputable carrion + crow on top of the load, the equipage started. + </p> + <p> + “There!” exclaimed Albert, with satisfaction. “He can't say it wasn't + delivered this time according to promise.” + </p> + <p> + “Godfreys!” snorted Issy, gazing after the departing wagon. “He won't be + able to say nothin' when he sees that git-up—and smells it. Ves + carts everything in that cart from dead cows to gurry barrels. Whew! I'd + hate to have to set on that porch when 'twas built of that lumber. And, + unless I'm mistook, Ves and Simp had been havin' a little somethin' strong + to take, too.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Price, as it happened, was not “mistook.” Mr. Young had, as the South + Harniss saying used to be, “had a jug come down” on the train from Boston + that very morning. The jug was under the seat of his wagon and its + contents had already been sampled by him and by Simp. The journey to the + Calvin cottage was enlivened by frequent stops for refreshment. + </p> + <p> + Consequently it happened that, just as Mrs. Calvin's gathering of Welfare + Workers had reached the cake and chocolate stage in their proceedings and + just as the Reverend Mr. Calvin had risen by invitation to say a few words + of encouragement, the westerly wind blowing in at the open windows bore to + the noses and ears of the assembled faithful a perfume and a sound neither + of which was sweet. + </p> + <p> + Above the rattle and squeak of the Young wagon turning in at the Calvin + gate arose the voices of Vessie and Simp uplifted in song. + </p> + <p> + “'Here's to the good old whiskey, drink 'er daown,'” sang Mr. Young. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “'Here's to the good old whiskey, + Drink 'er daown! + Here's to the good old whiskey, + It makes you feel so frisky, + Drink 'er—' +</pre> + <p> + Git up there, blank blank ye! What the blankety blank you stoppin' here + for? Git up!” + </p> + <p> + The horse was not the only creature that got up. Mrs. Calvin rose from her + chair and gazed in horror at the window. Her husband, being already on his + feet, could not rise but he broke off short the opening sentence of his + “few words” and stared and listened. Each Welfare Worker stared and + listened also. + </p> + <p> + “Git up, you blankety blank blank,” repeated Ves Young, with cheerful + enthusiasm. Mr. Mullen, from the top of the load of lumber, caroled + dreamily on: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “'Here's to the good old rum, + Drink 'er daown! + Here's to the good old rum, + Drink 'er daown! + Here's to the good old rum, + Ain't you glad that you've got some? + Drink 'er daown! Drink 'er daown! + Drink 'er daown!'” + </pre> + <p> + And floating, as it were, upon the waves of melody came the odor of the + Young wagon, an odor combining deceased fish and late lamented cow and + goodness knows what beside. + </p> + <p> + The dissipated vehicle stopped beneath the parlor windows of the Calvin + cottage. Mr. Young called to his assistant. + </p> + <p> + “Here we be, Simp!” he yelled. “A-a-ll ashore that's goin' ashore! Wake up + there, you unmentionably described old rum barrel and help unload this + everlastingly condemned lumber.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Calvin rushed to the window. “What does this mean?” he demanded, in + frothing indignation. + </p> + <p> + Vessie waved at him reassuringly. “'Sall right, Mr. Calvin,” he shouted. + “Here's your lumber from Ze-lotes Snow and Co., South Harniss, Mass., U. + S. A. 'Sall right. Let 'er go, Simp! Let 'er blankety-blank go!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Mullen responded with alacrity and a whoop. A half dozen boards + crashed to the ground beneath the parlor windows. Mrs. Calvin rushed to + her husband's side. + </p> + <p> + “This is DREADFUL, Seabury!” she cried. “Send those creatures and—and + that horrible wagon away at once.” + </p> + <p> + The Reverend Calvin tried to obey orders. He commanded Mr. Young to go + away from there that very moment. Vessie was surprised. + </p> + <p> + “Ain't this your lumber?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “It doesn't make any difference whether it is or not, I—” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't you tell Z. Snow and Co. that this lumber'd got to be delivered + to-day or you'd cancel the order?” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind. That is my business, sir. You—” + </p> + <p> + “Hold on! Ho-o-ld on! <i>I</i> got a business, too. My business is + deliverin' what I'm paid to deliver. Al Speranzy he says to me: 'Ves,' he + says, 'if you don't deliver that lumber to old man Calvin to-day you don't + get no money, see. Will you deliver it?' Says I, 'You bet your + crashety-blank life I'll (hic) d'liver it! What I say I'll do, I'll do!' + And I'm deliverin' it, ain't I? Hey? Ain't I? Well, then, what the—” + And so forth and at length, while Mrs. Calvin collapsed half fainting in + an easy-chair, and horrified Welfare Workers covered their ears—and + longed to cover their noses. + </p> + <p> + The lumber was delivered that day. Its delivery was, from the viewpoint of + Messrs. Young and Mullen, a success. The spring meeting of the Welfare + Workers was not a success. + </p> + <p> + The following day Mr. Calvin called at the office of Z. Snow and Co. He + had things to say and said them. Captain Zelotes, who had returned from + Boston, listened. Then he called his grandson. + </p> + <p> + “Tell him what you've just told me, Mr. Calvin,” he said. + </p> + <p> + The reverend gentleman told it, with added details. + </p> + <p> + “And in my opinion, if you'll excuse me, Captain Snow,” he said, in + conclusion, “this young man knew what he was doing when he sent those + drunken scoundrels to my house. He did it purposely, I am convinced.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes looked at him. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why, because—because of—of what I said to him—er—er—when + I called here yesterday morning. He—I presume he took offense and—and + this outrage is the result. I am convinced that—” + </p> + <p> + “Wait a minute. What did you say for him to take offense at?” + </p> + <p> + “I demanded that order should be delivered as promised. I am accustomed to + do business with business men and—” + </p> + <p> + “Hold on just a minute more, Mr. Calvin. We don't seem to be gettin' at + the clam in this shell as fast as we'd ought to. Al, what have you got to + say about all this business?” + </p> + <p> + Albert was white, almost as white as when he fought Sam Thatcher, but as + he stood up to Sam so also did he face the irate clergyman. He told of the + latter's visit to the office, of the threat to cancel the order unless + delivery was promised that day, of how his promise to deliver was exacted, + of his effort to keep that promise. + </p> + <p> + “I HAD to deliver it, Grandfather,” he said hotly. “He had all but called + me a liar and—and by George, I wasn't going to—” + </p> + <p> + His grandfather held up a warning hand. + </p> + <p> + “Sshh! Ssh!” he said. “Go on with your yarn, boy.” + </p> + <p> + Albert told of the lame horse, of his effort to hire another team, and + finally how in desperation he had engaged Ves Young as a last resort. The + captain's face was serious but there was the twinkle under his heavy + brows. He pulled at his beard. + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” he grunted. “Did you know Ves and Simp had been drinkin' when you + hired 'em?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I didn't. After they had gone Issy said he suspected that they + had been drinking a little, but <i>I</i> didn't know it. All I wanted was + to prove to HIM,” with a motion toward Mr. Calvin, “that I kept my word.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes pulled at his beard. “All right, Al,” he said, after a + moment; “you can go.” + </p> + <p> + Albert went out of the private office. After he had gone the captain + turned to his irate customer. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry this happened, Mr. Calvin,” he said, “and if Keeler or I had + been here it probably wouldn't. But,” he added, “as far as I can see, the + boy did what he thought was the best thing to do. And,” the twinkle + reappeared in the gray eyes, “you sartinly did get your lumber when 'twas + promised.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Calvin stiffened. He had his good points, but he suffered from what + Laban Keeler once called “ingrowin' importance,” and this ailment often + affected his judgment. Also he had to face Mrs. Calvin upon his return + home. + </p> + <p> + “Do I understand,” he demanded, “that you are excusing that young man for + putting that outrage upon me?” + </p> + <p> + “We-ll, as I say, I'm sorry it happened. But, honest, Mr. Calvin, I don't + know's the boy's to blame so very much, after all. He delivered your + lumber, and that's somethin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that all you have to say, Captain Snow? Is that—that impudent + young clerk of yours to go unpunished?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, I guess likely he is.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I shall NEVER buy another dollar's worth of your house again, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes bowed. “I'm sorry to lose your trade, Mr. Calvin,” he + said. “Good mornin'.” + </p> + <p> + Albert, at his desk in the outer office, was waiting rebelliously to be + called before his grandfather and upbraided. And when so called he was in + a mood to speak his mind. He would say a few things, no matter what + happened in consequence. But he had no chance to say them. Captain Zelotes + did not mention the Calvin affair to him, either that day or afterward. + Albert waited and waited, expecting trouble, but the trouble, so far as + his grandfather was concerned, did not materialize. He could not + understand it. + </p> + <p> + But if in that office there was silence concerning the unusual delivery of + the lumber for the Calvin porch, outside there was talk enough and to + spare. Each Welfare Worker talked when she reached home and the story + spread. Small boys shouted after Albert when he walked down the main + street, demanding to know how Ves Young's cart was smellin' these days. + When he entered the post office some one in the crowd was almost sure to + hum, “Here's to the good old whiskey, drink her down.” On the train on the + way to the picnic, girls and young fellows had slyly nagged him about it. + The affair and its consequence were the principal causes of his mood that + day; this particular “Portygee streak” was due to it. + </p> + <p> + The path along the edge of the high bluff entered a grove of scraggy pitch + pines about a mile from the lighthouse and the picnic ground. Albert + stalked gloomily through the shadows of the little grove and emerged on + the other side. There he saw another person ahead of him on the path. This + other person was a girl. He recognized her even at this distance. She was + Helen Kendall. + </p> + <p> + She and he had not been quite as friendly of late. Not that there was any + unfriendliness between them, but she was teaching in the primary school + and, as her father had not been well, spent most of her evenings at home. + During the early part of the winter he had called occasionally but, + somehow, it had seemed to him that she was not quite as cordial, or as + interested in his society and conversation as she used to be. It was but a + slight indifference on her part, perhaps, but Albert Speranza was not + accustomed to indifference on the part of his feminine acquaintances. So + he did not call again. He had seen her at the picnic ground and they had + spoken, but not at any length. + </p> + <p> + And he did not care to speak with her now. He had left the pavilion + because of his desire to be alone, and that desire still persisted. + However, she was some little distance ahead of him and he waited in the + edge of the grove until she should go over the crest of the little hill at + the next point. + </p> + <p> + But she did not go over the crest. Instead, when she reached it, she + walked to the very edge of the bluff and stood there looking off at the + ocean. The sea breeze ruffled her hair and blew her skirts about her and + she made a pretty picture. But to Albert it seemed that she was standing + much too near the edge. She could not see it, of course, but from where he + stood he could see that the bank at that point was much undercut by the + winter rains and winds, and although the sod looked firm enough from + above, in reality there was little to support it. Her standing there made + him a trifle uneasy and he had a mind to shout and warn her. He hesitated, + however, and as he watched she stepped back of her own accord. He turned, + re-entered the grove and started to walk back to the pavilion. + </p> + <p> + He had scarcely done so when he heard a short scream followed by a thump + and a rumbling, rattling sound. He turned like a flash, his heart pounding + violently. + </p> + <p> + The bluff edge was untenanted. A semi-circular section of the sod where + Helen had stood was missing. From the torn opening where it had been rose + a yellow cloud of dust. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <p> + A goodly number of the South Harniss “natives,” those who had not seen him + play tennis, would have been willing to swear that running was, for Albert + Speranza, an impossibility. His usual gait was a rather languid saunter. + They would have changed their minds had they seen him now. + </p> + <p> + He ran along that path as he had run in school at the last track meet, + where he had been second in the hundred-yard dash. He reached the spot + where the sod had broken and, dropping on his knees, looked fearfully + over. The dust was still rising, the sand and pebbles were still rattling + in a diminishing shower down to the beach so far below. But he did not see + what he had so feared to see. + </p> + <p> + What he did see, however, was neither pleasant nor altogether reassuring. + The bluff below the sod at its top dropped sheer and undercut for perhaps + ten feet. Then the sand and clay sloped outward and the slope extended + down for another fifty feet, its surface broken by occasional clinging + chunks of beach grass. Then it broke sharply again, a straight drop of + eighty feet to the mounds and dunes bordering the beach. + </p> + <p> + Helen had of course fallen straight to the upper edge of the slope, where + she had struck feet first, and from there had slid and rolled to the very + edge of the long drop to the beach. Her skirt had caught in the branches + of an enterprising bayberry bush which had managed to find roothold there, + and to this bush and a clump of beach grass she was clinging, her hands + outstretched and her body extended along the edge of the clay precipice. + </p> + <p> + Albert gasped. + </p> + <p> + “Helen!” he called breathlessly. + </p> + <p> + She turned her head and looked up at him. Her face was white, but she did + not scream. + </p> + <p> + “Helen!” cried Albert, again. “Helen, do you hear me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you badly hurt?” + </p> + <p> + “No. No, I don't think so.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you hold on just as you are for a few minutes?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I—I think so.” + </p> + <p> + “You've got to, you know. Here! You're not going to faint, are you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I—I don't think I am.” + </p> + <p> + “You can't! You mustn't! Here! Don't you do it! Stop!” + </p> + <p> + There was just a trace of his grandfather in the way he shouted the order. + Whether or not the vigor of the command produced the result is a question, + but at any rate she did not faint. + </p> + <p> + “Now you stay right where you are,” he ordered again. “And hang on as + tight as you can. I'm coming down.” + </p> + <p> + Come down he did, swinging over the brink with his face to the bank, + dropping on his toes to the upper edge of the slope and digging boots and + fingers into the clay to prevent sliding further. + </p> + <p> + “Hang on!” he cautioned, over his shoulder. “I'll be there in a second. + There! Now wait until I get my feet braced. Now give me your hand—your + left hand. Hold on with your right.” + </p> + <p> + Slowly and cautiously, clinging to his hand, he pulled her away from the + edge of the precipice and helped her to scramble up to where he clung. + There she lay and panted. He looked at her apprehensively. + </p> + <p> + “Don't go and faint now, or any foolishness like that,” he ordered + sharply. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, I won't. I'll try not to. But how are we ever going to climb up—up + there?” + </p> + <p> + Above them and at least four feet out of reach, even if they stood up, and + that would be a frightfully risky proceeding, the sod projected over their + heads like the eaves of a house. + </p> + <p> + Helen glanced up at it and shuddered. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, how CAN we?” she gasped. + </p> + <p> + “We can't. And we won't try.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall we call for help?” + </p> + <p> + “Not much use. Nobody to hear us. Besides, we can always do that if we + have to. I think I see a way out of the mess. If we can't get up, perhaps + we can get down.” + </p> + <p> + “Get DOWN?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it isn't all as steep as it is here. I believe we might sort of + zig-zag down if we were careful. You hold on here just as you are; I'm + going to see what it looks like around this next point.” + </p> + <p> + The “point” was merely a projection of the bluff about twenty feet away. + He crawfished along the face of the slope, until he could see beyond it. + Helen kept urging him to be careful—oh, be careful! + </p> + <p> + “Of course I'll be careful,” he said curtly. “I don't want to break my + neck. Yes—yes, by George, it IS easier around there! We could get + down a good way. Here, here; don't start until you take my hand. And be + sure your feet are braced before you move. Come on, now.” + </p> + <p> + “I—I don't believe I can.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you can. You've GOT to. Come on. Don't look down. Look at the + sand right in front of you.” + </p> + <p> + Getting around that point was a decidedly ticklish operation, but they + managed it, he leading the way, making sure of his foothold before moving + and then setting her foot in the print his own had made. On the other side + of the projection the slope was less abrupt and extended much nearer to + the ground below. They zigzagged down until nearly to the edge of the + steep drop. Then Albert looked about for a new path to safety. He found it + still farther on. + </p> + <p> + “It takes us down farther,” he said, “and there are bushes to hold on to + after we get there. Come on, Helen! Brace up now, be a sport!” + </p> + <p> + She was trying her best to obey orders, but being a sport was no slight + undertaking under the circumstances. When they reached the clump of bushes + her guide ordered her to rest. + </p> + <p> + “Just stop and catch your breath,” he said. “The rest is going to be + easier, I think. And we haven't so very far to go.” + </p> + <p> + He was too optimistic. It was anything but easy; in fact, the last thirty + feet was almost a tumble, owing to the clay giving way beneath their feet. + But there was soft sand to tumble into and they reached the beach safe, + though in a dishevelled, scratched and thoroughly smeared condition. Then + Helen sat down and covered her face with her hands. Her rescuer gazed + triumphantly up at the distant rim of broken sod and grinned. + </p> + <p> + “There, by George!” he exclaimed. “We did it, didn't we? Say, that was + fun!” + </p> + <p> + She removed her hands and looked at him. + </p> + <p> + “WHAT did you say it was?” she faltered. + </p> + <p> + “I said it was fun. It was great! Like something out of a book, eh?” + </p> + <p> + She began to laugh hysterically. He turned to her in indignant surprise. + “What are you laughing at?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Oh—oh, don't, please! Just let me laugh. If I don't laugh I shall + cry, and I don't want to do that. Just don't talk to me for a few minutes, + that's all.” + </p> + <p> + When the few minutes were over she rose to her feet. + </p> + <p> + “Now we must get back to the pavilion, I suppose,” she said. “My, but we + are sights, though! Do let's see if we can't make ourselves a little more + presentable.” + </p> + <p> + She did her best to wipe off the thickest of the clay smears with her + handkerchief, but the experiment was rather a failure. As they started to + walk back along the beach she suddenly turned to him and said: + </p> + <p> + “I haven't told you how—how much obliged I am for—for what you + did. If you hadn't come, I don't know what would have happened to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's all right,” he answered lightly. He was reveling in the + dramatic qualities of the situation. She did not speak again for some time + and he, too, walked on in silence enjoying his day dream. Suddenly he + became aware that she was looking at him steadily and with an odd + expression on her face. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” he asked. “Why do you look at me that way?” + </p> + <p> + Her answer was, as usual, direct and frank. + </p> + <p> + “I was thinking about you,” she said. “I was thinking that I must have + been mistaken, partly mistaken, at least.” + </p> + <p> + “Mistaken? About me, do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I had made up my mind that you were—well, one sort of fellow, + and now I see that you are an entirely different sort. That is, you've + shown that you can be different.” + </p> + <p> + “What on earth do you mean by that?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I mean—I mean—Oh, I'm sure I had better not say it. You + won't like it, and will think I had better mind my own affairs—which + I should do, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on; say it.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him again, evidently deliberating whether or not to speak + her thought. Then she said: + </p> + <p> + “Well, I will say it. Not that it is really my business, but because in a + way it is begging your pardon, and I ought to do that. You see, I had + begun to believe that you were—that you were—well, that you + were not very—very active, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Active? Say, look here, Helen! What—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't wonder you don't understand. I mean that you were rather—rather + fond of not doing much—of—of—” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? Not doing much? That I was lazy, do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, not exactly lazy, perhaps, but—but—Oh, how CAN I say + just what I mean! I mean that you were always saying that you didn't like + the work in your grandfather's office.” + </p> + <p> + “Which I don't.” + </p> + <p> + “And that some day you were going to do something else.” + </p> + <p> + “Which I am.” + </p> + <p> + “Write or act or do something—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and that's true, too.” + </p> + <p> + “But you don't, you know. You don't do anything. You've been talking that + way ever since I knew you, calling this a one-horse town and saying how + you hated it, and that you weren't going to waste your life here, and all + that, but you keep staying here and doing just the same things. The last + long talk we had together you told me you knew you could write poems and + plays and all sorts of things, you just felt that you could. You were + going to begin right away. You said that some months ago, and you haven't + done any writing at all. Now, have you?” + </p> + <p> + “No-o. No, but that doesn't mean I shan't by and by.” + </p> + <p> + “But you didn't begin as you said you would. That was last spring, more + than a year ago, and I don't believe you have tried to write a single + poem. Have you?” + </p> + <p> + He was beginning to be ruffled. It was quite unusual for any one, most of + all for a girl, to talk to him in this way. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know that I have,” he said loftily. “And, anyway, I don't see + that it is—is—” + </p> + <p> + “My business whether you have or not. I know it isn't. I'm sorry I spoke. + But, you see, I—Oh, well, never mind. And I do want you to know how + much I appreciate your helping me as you did just now. I don't know how to + thank you for that.” + </p> + <p> + But thanks were not exactly what he wanted at that moment. + </p> + <p> + “Go ahead and say the rest,” he ordered, after a short pause. “You've said + so much that you had better finish it, seems to me. I'm lazy, you think. + What else am I?” + </p> + <p> + “You're brave, awfully brave, and you are so strong and quick—yes, + and—and—masterful; I think that is the right word. You ordered + me about as if I were a little girl. I didn't want to keep still, as you + told me to; I wanted to scream. And I wanted to faint, too, but you + wouldn't let me. I had never seen you that way before. I didn't know you + could be like that. That is what surprises me so. That is why I said you + were so different.” + </p> + <p> + Here was balm for wounded pride. Albert's chin lifted. “Oh, that was + nothing,” he said. “Whatever had to be done must be done right off, I + could see that. You couldn't hang on where you were very long.” + </p> + <p> + She shuddered. “No,” she replied, “I could not. But <i>I</i> couldn't + think WHAT to do, and you could. Yes, and did it, and made me do it.” + </p> + <p> + The chin lifted still more and the Speranza chest began to expand. Helen's + next remark was in the natures of a reducer for the said expansion. + </p> + <p> + “If you could be so prompt and strong and—and energetic then,” she + said, “I can't help wondering why you aren't like that all the time. I had + begun to think you were just—just—” + </p> + <p> + “Lazy, eh?” he suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Why—why, no-o, but careless and indifferent and with not much + ambition, certainly. You had talked so much about writing and yet you + never tried to write anything, that—that—” + </p> + <p> + “That you thought I was all bluff. Thanks! Any more compliments?” + </p> + <p> + She turned on him impulsively. “Oh, don't!” she exclaimed. “Please don't! + I know what I am saying sounds perfectly horrid, and especially now when + you have just saved me from being badly hurt, if not killed. But don't you + see that—that I am saying it because I am interested in you and sure + you COULD do so much if you only would? If you would only try.” + </p> + <p> + This speech was a compound of sweet and bitter. Albert characteristically + selected the sweet. + </p> + <p> + “Helen,” he asked, in his most confidential tone, “would you like to have + me try and write something? Say, would you?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I would. Oh, will you?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if YOU asked me I might. For your sake, you know.” + </p> + <p> + She stopped and stamped her foot impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, DON'T be silly!” she exclaimed. “I don't want you to do it for my + sake. I want you to do it for your own sake. Yes, and for your + grandfather's sake.” + </p> + <p> + “My grandfather's sake! Great Scott, why do you drag him in? HE doesn't + want me to write poetry.” + </p> + <p> + “He wants you to do something, to succeed. I know that.” + </p> + <p> + “He wants me to stay here and help Labe Keeler and Issy Price. He wants me + to spend all my life in that office of his; that's what HE wants. Now hold + on, Helen! I'm not saying anything against the old fellow. He doesn't like + me, I know, but—” + </p> + <p> + “You DON'T know. He does like you. Or he wants to like you very much + indeed. He would like to have you carry on the Snow Company's business + after he has gone, but if you can't—or won't—do that, I know + he would be very happy to see you succeed at anything—anything.” + </p> + <p> + Albert laughed scornfully. “Even at writing poetry?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, at writing; although of course he doesn't know a thing about it + and can't understand how any one can possibly earn a living that way. He + has read or heard about poets and authors starving in garrets and he + thinks they're all like that. But if you could only show him and prove to + him that you could succeed by writing, he would be prouder of you than any + one else would be. I know it.” + </p> + <p> + He regarded her curiously. “You seem to know a lot about my grandfather,” + he observed. + </p> + <p> + “I do know something about him. He and I have been friends ever since I + was a little girl, and I like him very much indeed. If he were my + grandfather I should be proud of him. And I think you ought to be.” + </p> + <p> + She flashed the last sentence at him in a sudden heat of enthusiasm. He + was surprised at her manner. + </p> + <p> + “Gee! You ARE strong for the old chap, aren't you?” he said. “Well, + admitting that he is all right, just why should I be proud of him? I AM + proud of my father, of course; he was somebody in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean he was somebody just because he was celebrated and lots of + people knew about him. Celebrated people aren't the only ones who do worth + while things. If I were you, I should be proud of Captain Zelotes because + he is what he has made himself. Nobody helped him; he did it all. He was a + sea captain and a good one. He has been a business man and a good one, + even if the business isn't so very big. Everybody here in South Harniss—yes, + and all up and down the Cape—knows of him and respects him. My + father says in all the years he has preached in his church he has never + heard a single person as much as hint that Captain Snow wasn't absolutely + honest, absolutely brave, and the same to everybody, rich or poor. And all + his life he has worked and worked hard. What HE has belongs to him; he has + earned it. That's why I should be proud of him if he were my grandfather.” + </p> + <p> + Her enthusiasm had continued all through this long speech. Albert + whistled. + </p> + <p> + “Whew!” he exclaimed. “Regular cheer for Zelotes, fellows! One—two—! + Grandfather's got one person to stand up for him, I'll say that. But why + this sudden outbreak about him, anyhow? It was me you were talking about + in the beginning—though I didn't notice any loud calls for cheers in + that direction,” he added. + </p> + <p> + She ignored the last part of the speech. “I think you yourself made me + think of him,” she replied. “Sometimes you remind me of him. Not often, + but once in a while. Just now, when we were climbing down that awful place + you seemed almost exactly like him. The way you knew just what to do all + the time, and your not hesitating a minute, and the way you took command + of the situation and,” with a sudden laugh, “bossed me around; every bit + of that was like him, and not like you at all. Oh, I don't mean that,” she + added hurriedly. “I mean it wasn't like you as you usually are. It was + different.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! Well, I must say—See here, Helen Kendall, what is it you + expect me to do; sail in and write two or three sonnets and a 'Come Into + the Garden, Maud,' some time next week? You're terribly keen about + Grandfather, but he has rather got the edge on me so far as age goes. He's + in the sixties, and I'm just about nineteen.” + </p> + <p> + “When he was nineteen he was first mate of a ship.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, so I've heard him say. Maybe first-mating is a little bit easier + than writing poetry.” + </p> + <p> + “And maybe it isn't. At any rate, he didn't know whether it was easy or + not until he tried. Oh, THAT'S what I would like to see you do—TRY + to do something. You could do it, too, almost anything you tried, I do + believe. I am confident you could. But—Oh, well, as you said at the + beginning, it isn't my business at all, and I've said ever and ever so + much more than I meant to. Please forgive me, if you can. I think my + tumble and all the rest must have made me silly. I'm sorry, Albert. There + are the steps up to the pavilion. See them!” + </p> + <p> + He was tramping on beside her, his hands in his pockets. He did not look + at the long flight of steps which had suddenly come into view around the + curve of the bluff. When he did look up and speak it was in a different + tone, some such tone as she had heard him use during her rescue. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” he said, with decision, “I'll show you whether I can try or + not. I know you think I won't, but I will. I'm going up to my room + to-night and I'm going to try to write something or other. It may be the + rottenest poem that ever was ground out, but I'll grind it if it kills + me.” + </p> + <p> + She was pleased, that was plain, but she shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “Not to-night, Albert,” she said. “To-night, after the picnic, is Father's + reception at the church. Of course you'll come to that.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I won't. Look here, you've called me lazy and indifferent and a + hundred other pet names this afternoon. Well, this evening I'll make you + take some of 'em back. Reception be hanged! I'm going to write to-night.” + </p> + <p> + That evening both Mrs. Snow and Rachel Ellis were much disturbed because + Albert, pleading a headache, begged off from attendance at the reception + to the Reverend Mr. Kendall. Either, or both ladies would have been only + too willing to remain at home and nurse the sufferer through his attack, + but he refused to permit the sacrifice on their part. After they had gone + his headache disappeared and, supplied with an abundance of paper, pens + and ink, he sat down at the table in his room to invoke the Muse. The + invocation lasted until three A. M. At that hour, with a genuine headache, + but a sense of triumph which conquered pain, Albert climbed into bed. Upon + the table lay a poem, a six stanza poem, having these words at its head: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + TO MY LADY'S SPRING HAT + By A. M. Speranza. +</pre> + <p> + The following forenoon he posted that poem to the editor of The Cape Cod + Item. And three weeks later it appeared in the pages of that journal. Of + course there was no pecuniary recompense for its author, and the fact was + indisputable that the Item was generally only too glad to publish + contributions which helped to fill its columns. But, nevertheless, Albert + Speranza had written a poem and that poem had been published. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <p> + It was Rachel who first discovered “To My Lady's Spring Hat” in the Item + three weeks later. She came rushing into the sitting room brandishing the + paper. + </p> + <p> + “My soul! My soul! My soul!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + Olive, sitting sewing by the window, was, naturally, somewhat startled. + “Mercy on us, Rachel!” she exclaimed. “What IS it?” + </p> + <p> + “Look!” cried the housekeeper, pointing to the contribution in the “Poets' + Corner” as Queen Isabella may have pointed at the evidence of her proteges + discovery of a new world. “LOOK!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Snow looked, read the verses to herself, and then aloud. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I declare, they're real sort of pretty, ain't they?” she exclaimed, + in astonished admiration. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty! They're perfectly elegant! And right here in the paper for all + hands to see. Ain't you PROUD of him, Mrs. Snow?” + </p> + <p> + Olive had been growing more and more proud of her handsome grandson ever + since his arrival. She was prouder still now and said so. Rachel nodded, + triumphantly. + </p> + <p> + “He'll be a Robert Penfold afore he dies, or I miss MY guess!” she + declared. + </p> + <p> + She showed it to feminine acquaintances all over town, and Olive, when + callers came, took pains to see that a copy of the Item, folded with the + “Poets' Corner” uppermost, lay on the center table. Customers, dropping in + at the office, occasionally mentioned the poem to its author. + </p> + <p> + “See you had a piece in the Item, Al,” was their usual way of referring to + it. “Pretty cute piece 'twas, too, seemed to me. Say, that girl of yours + must have SOME spring bunnit. Ho, ho!” + </p> + <p> + Issachar deigned to express approval, approval qualified with discerning + criticism of course, but approval nevertheless. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty good piece, Al,” he observed. “Pretty good. Glad to see you done + so well. Course you made one little mistake, but 'twan't a very big one. + That part where you said—What was it, now? Where'd I put that piece + of poetry? Oh, yes, here 'tis! Where you said—er—er— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'It floats upon her golden curls + As froth upon the wave.' +</pre> + <p> + Now of course nothin'—a hat or nothin' else—is goin' to float + on top of a person's head. Froth floatin', that's all right, you + understand; but even if you took froth right out of the water and slapped + it up onto anybody's hair 'twouldn't FLOAT up there. If you'd said, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'It SETS up onto her golden curls, + Same as froth sets on top of a wave.' +</pre> + <p> + that would have been all right and true. But there, don't feel bad about + it. It's only a little mistake, same as anybody's liable to make. Nine + persons out of ten wouldn't have noticed it. I'm extry partic'lar, I + presume likely. I'm findin' mistakes like that all the time.” + </p> + <p> + Laban's comment was less critical, perhaps, but more reserved. + </p> + <p> + “It's pretty good, Al,” he said. “Yes—er—yes, sir, it's pretty + good. It ain't all new, there's some of it that's been written before, but + I rather guess that might have been said about Shakespeare's poetry when + he fust commenced. It's pretty good, Al. Yes—yes, yes. It is so.” + </p> + <p> + Albert was inclined to resent the qualified strain in the bookkeeper's + praise. He was tempted to be sarcastic. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he observed, “of course you've read so much real poetry that you + ought to know.” + </p> + <p> + Laban nodded, slowly. “I've read a good deal,” he said quietly. “Readin' + is one of the few things I ain't made a failure of in this life. Um-hm. + One of the few. Yes yes—yes.” + </p> + <p> + He dipped his pen in the inkwell and carefully made an entry in the + ledger. His assistant felt a sudden pang of compunction. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, Mr. Keeler,” he said. “That was pretty fresh of me. + I'm sorry.” + </p> + <p> + Laban looked up in mild surprise. “Sorry?” he repeated. “What for? . . . + Oh, that's all right, Al, that's all right. Lord knows I'm the last one on + earth who'd ought to criticize anybody. All I had in mind in sayin' what I + did was to—well, to kind of keep you from bein' too well satisfied + and not try harder on the next one. It don't pay to be too well satisfied. + . . . Years ago, I can remember, <i>I</i> was pretty well satisfied—with + myself and my work. Sounds like a joke, I know, but 'twas so. . . . Well, + I've had a nice long chance to get over it. Um-hm. Yes—yes. So I + have, so I have.” + </p> + <p> + Only Captain Zelotes at first said nothing about the poem. He read it, his + wife saw to that, but his comment even to her was a non-committal grunt. + </p> + <p> + “But don't you think it's real sort of pretty, Zelotes?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + The captain grunted again. “Why, I guess likely 'tis if you say so, + Mother. I don't know much about such things.” + </p> + <p> + “But everybody says it is.” + </p> + <p> + “Want to know! Well, then 'twon't make much difference whether I say it or + not.” + </p> + <p> + “But ain't you goin' to say a word to Albert about it, Zelotes?” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! I don't know's I know what to say.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, say you like it.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye-es, and if I do he'll keep on writin' more. That's exactly what I + don't want him to do. Come now, Mother, be sensible. This piece of his may + be good or it may not, <i>I</i> wouldn't undertake to say. But this I do + know: I don't want the boy to spend his time writin' poetry slush for that + 'Poets' Corner.' Letitia Makepeace did that—she had a piece in there + about every week—and she died in the Taunton asylum.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Zelotes, it wasn't her poetry got her into the asylum.” + </p> + <p> + “Wan't it? Well, she was in the poorhouse afore that. I don't know whether + 'twas her poetryin' that got her in there, but I know darned well it + didn't get her out.” + </p> + <p> + “But ain't you goin' to say one word? 'Twould encourage him so.” + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord! We don't want to encourage him, do we? If he was takin' to + thievin' you wouldn't encourage him in that, would you?” + </p> + <p> + “Thievin'! Zelotes Snow, you don't mean to say you compare a poet to a + THIEF!” + </p> + <p> + The captain grinned. “No-o, Mother,” he observed drily. “Sometimes a thief + can manage to earn a livin' at his job. But there, there, don't feel bad. + I'll say somethin' to Al, long's you think I ought to.” + </p> + <p> + The something was not much, and yet Captain Zelotes really meant it to be + kindly and to sound like praise. But praising a thing of which you have + precious little understanding and with which you have absolutely no + sympathy is a hard job. + </p> + <p> + “See you had a piece in the Item this week, Al,” observed the captain. + </p> + <p> + “Why—yes, sir,” said Albert. + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm. I read it. I don't know much about such things, but they tell me + it is pretty good.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? Oh, you're welcome.” + </p> + <p> + That was all. Perhaps considering its source it was a good deal, but + Albert was not of the age where such considerations are likely to be made. + </p> + <p> + Helen's praise was warm and enthusiastic. “I knew you could do it if you + only would,” she declared. “And oh, I'm SO glad you did! Now you must keep + on trying.” + </p> + <p> + That bit of advice was quite superfluous. Young Speranza having sampled + the sublime intoxication of seeing himself in print, was not ready to + sober off yet a while. He continued to bombard the Item with verses. They + were invariably accepted, but when he sent to a New York magazine a poem + which he considered a gem, the promptness with which it was returned + staggered his conceit and was in that respect a good thing for him. + </p> + <p> + However, he kept on trying. Helen would not have permitted him to give up + even if he had wished. She was quite as much interested in his literary + aspirations as he was himself and her encouragement was a great help to + him. After months of repeated trial and repeated rejection he opened an + envelope bearing the name of a fairly well-known periodical to find + therein a kindly note stating that his poem, “Sea Spaces” had been + accepted. And a week later came a check for ten dollars. That was a day of + days. Incidentally it was the day of a trial balance in the office and the + assistant bookkeeper's additions and multiplications contained no less + than four ghastly errors. + </p> + <p> + The next afternoon there was an interview in the back office. Captain + Zelotes and his grandson were the participants. The subject discussed was + “Business versus Poetry,” and there was a marked difference of opinion. + Albert had proclaimed his triumph at home, of course, had exhibited his + check, had been the recipient of hugs and praises from his grandmother and + had listened to paeans and hallelujahs from Mrs. Ellis. When he hurried + around to the parsonage after supper, Helen had been excited and delighted + at the good news. Albert had been patted on the back quite as much as was + good for a young man whose bump of self-esteem was not inclined toward + under-development. When he entered the private office of Z. Snow and Co. + in answer to his grandfather's summons, he did so light-heartedly, + triumphantly, with self-approval written large upon him. + </p> + <p> + But though he came like a conquering hero, he was not received like one. + Captain Zelotes sat at his desk, the copy of the Boston morning paper + which he had been reading sticking out of the waste basket into which it + had been savagely jammed a half hour before. The news had not been to the + captain's liking. These were the September days of 1914; the German Kaiser + was marching forward “mit Gott” through Belgium, and it began to look as + if he could not be stopped short of Paris. Consequently, Captain Zelotes, + his sympathies from the first with England and the Allies, was not happy + in his newspaper reading. + </p> + <p> + Albert entered, head erect and eyes shining. If Gertie Kendrick could have + seen him then she would have fallen down and worshiped. His grandfather + looked at him in silence for a moment, tapping his desk with the stump of + a pencil. Albert, too, was silent; he was already thinking of another poem + with which to dazzle the world, and his head was among the rosy clouds. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, Al,” said Captain Zelotes shortly. + </p> + <p> + Albert reluctantly descended to earth and took the battered armchair + standing beside the desk. The captain tapped with his pencil upon the + figure-covered sheet of paper before him. Then he said: + </p> + <p> + “Al, you've been here three years come next December, ain't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Why—yes, sir, I believe I have.” + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm, you have. And for the heft of that time you've been in this + office.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. And Labe Keeler and I have been doin' our best to make a business + man out of you. You understand we have, don't you?” + </p> + <p> + Albert looked puzzled and a little uneasy. Into his roseate dreams was + just beginning to filter the idea that his grandfather's tone and manner + were peculiar. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, sir, of course I understand it,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I asked you because I wasn't quite sure whether you did or not. Can + you guess what this is I've got on my desk here?” + </p> + <p> + He tapped the figure-covered sheet of paper once more. Before Albert could + speak the captain answered his own question. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you what it is,” he went on. “It's one of the latest samples of + your smartness as a business man. I presume likely you know that Laban + worked here in this office until three o'clock this mornin', didn't you?” + </p> + <p> + Albert did not know it. Mr. Keeler had told him nothing of the sort. + </p> + <p> + “Why, no,” he replied. “Did he? What for?” + </p> + <p> + “Ye-es, he did. And what for? Why, just to find out what was the matter + with his trial balance, that's all. When one of Labe's trial balances + starts out for snug harbor and ends up on a reef with six foot of water in + her hold, naturally Labe wants to get her afloat and pumped dry as quick + as possible. He ain't used to it, for one thing, and it makes him + nervous.” + </p> + <p> + Albert's uneasiness grew. When his grandfather's speech became sarcastic + and nautical, the young man had usually found that there was trouble + coming for somebody. + </p> + <p> + “I—I'm sorry Laban had to stay so late,” he stammered. “I should + have been glad to stay and help him, but he didn't ask me.” + </p> + <p> + “No-o. Well, it may possibly be that he cal'lated he was carryin' about + all your help that the craft would stand, as 'twas. Any more might sink + her. See here, young feller—” Captain Zelotes dropped his quiet + sarcasm and spoke sharp and brisk: “See here,” he said, “do you realize + that this sheet of paper I've got here is what stands for a day's work + done by you yesterday? And on this sheet there was no less than four silly + mistakes that a child ten years old hadn't ought to make, that an + able-bodied idiot hadn't ought to make. But YOU made 'em, and they kept + Labe Keeler here till three o'clock this mornin'. Now what have you got to + say for yourself?” + </p> + <p> + As a matter of fact, Albert had very little to say, except that he was + sorry, and that his grandfather evidently did not consider worth the + saying. He waved the protestation aside. + </p> + <p> + “Sorry!” he repeated impatiently. “Of course you're sorry, though even at + that I ain't sure you're sorry enough. Labe was sorry, too, I don't doubt, + when his bedtime went by and he kept runnin' afoul of one of your mistakes + after another. I'm sorry, darned sorry, to find out that you can make such + blunders after three years on board here under such teachin' as you've + had. But bein' sorry don't help any to speak of. Any fool can be sorry for + his foolishness, but if that's all, it don't help a whole lot. Is bein' + sorry the best excuse you've got to offer? What made you make the mistakes + in the first place?” + </p> + <p> + Albert's face was darkly red under the lash of his grandfather's tongue. + Captain Zelotes and he had had disagreements and verbal encounters before, + but never since they had been together had the captain spoken like this. + And the young fellow was no longer seventeen, he was twenty. The flush + began to fade from his cheeks and the pallor which meant the rise of the + Speranza temper took its place. + </p> + <p> + “What made you make such fool blunders?” repeated the captain. “You knew + better, didn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” sullenly, “I suppose I did.” + </p> + <p> + “You know mighty well you did. And as nigh as I can larn from what I got + out of Laban—which wasn't much; I had to pump it out of him word by + word—this ain't the first set of mistakes you've made. You make 'em + right along. If it wasn't for him helpin' you out and coverin' up your + mistakes, this firm would be in hot water with its customers two-thirds of + the time and the books would be fust-rate as a puzzle, somethin' to use + for a guessin' match, but plaguey little good as straight accounts of a + goin' concern. Now what makes you act this way? Eh? What makes you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know. See here, Grandfather—” + </p> + <p> + “Hold on a minute. You don't know, eh? Well, I know. It ain't because you + ain't smart enough to keep a set of books and keep 'em well. I don't + expect you to be a Labe Keeler; there ain't many bookkeepers like him on + this earth. But I do know you're smart enough to keep my books and keep + 'em as they'd ought to be, if you want to keep 'em. The trouble with you + is that you don't want to. You've got too much of your good-for-nothin—” + Captain Lote pulled up short, cleared his throat, and went on: “You've got + too much 'poet' in you,” he declared, “that's what's the matter.” + </p> + <p> + Albert leaned forward. “That wasn't what you were going to say,” he said + quickly. “You were going to say that I had too much of my father in me.” + </p> + <p> + It was the captain's turn to redden. “Eh?” he stammered. “Why, I—I—How + do you know what I was goin' to say?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I do. You say it all the time. Or, if you don't say it, you look + it. There is hardly a day that I don't catch you looking at me as if you + were expecting me to commit murder or do some outrageous thing or other. + And I know, too, that it is all because I'm my father's son. Well, that's + all right; feel that way about me if you want to, I can't help it.” + </p> + <p> + “Here, here, Al! Hold on! Don't—” + </p> + <p> + “I won't hold on. And I tell you this: I hate this work here. You say I + don't want to keep books. Well, I don't. I'm sorry I made the errors + yesterday and put Keeler to so much trouble, but I'll probably make more. + No,” with a sudden outburst of determination, “I won't make any more. I + won't, because I'm not going to keep books any more. I'm through.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes leaned back in his chair. + </p> + <p> + “You're what?” he asked slowly. + </p> + <p> + “I'm through. I'll never work in this office another day. I'm through.” + </p> + <p> + The captain's brows drew together as he stared steadily at his grandson. + He slowly tugged at his beard. + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” he grunted, after a moment. “So you're through, eh? Goin' to quit + and go somewheres else, you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm. I see. Where are you goin' to go?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. But I'm not going to make a fool of myself at this job any + longer. I can't keep books, and I won't keep them. I hate business. I'm no + good at it. And I won't stay here.” + </p> + <p> + “I see. I see. Well, if you won't keep on in business, what will you do + for a livin'? Write poetry?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “Um-m. Be kind of slim livin', won't it? You've been writin' poetry for + about a year and a half, as I recollect, and so far you've made ten + dollars.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right. If I don't make it I may starve, as you are always + saying that writers do. But, starve or not, I shan't ask YOU to take care + of me.” + </p> + <p> + “I've taken care of you for three years or so.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But you did it because—because—Well, I don't know why + you did, exactly, but you won't have to do it any longer. I'm through.” + </p> + <p> + The captain still stared steadily, and what he saw in the dark eyes which + flashed defiance back at him seemed to trouble him a little. His tugs at + his beard became more strenuous. + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” he muttered. “Humph! . . . Well, Al, of course I can't make you + stay by main force. Perhaps I could—you ain't of age yet—but I + shan't. And you want to quit the ship altogether, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “If you mean this office—yes, I do.” + </p> + <p> + “I see, I see. Want to quit South Harniss and your grandmother—and + Rachel—and Labe—and Helen—and all the rest of 'em?” + </p> + <p> + “Not particularly. But I shall have to, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. . . . Um-hm. . . . Yes. Have you thought how your grandmother's + liable to feel when she hears you are goin' to clear out and leave her?” + </p> + <p> + Albert had not thought in that way, but he did now. His tone was a trifle + less combative as he answered. + </p> + <p> + “She'll be sorry at first, I suppose,” he said, “but she'll get over it.” + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm. Maybe she will. You can get over 'most anything in time—'MOST + anything. Well, and how about me? How do you think I'll feel?” + </p> + <p> + Albert's chin lifted. “You!” he exclaimed. “Why, you'll be mighty glad of + it.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes picked up the pencil stump and twirled it in his fingers. + “Shall I?” he asked. “You think I will, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you will. You don't like me, and never did.” + </p> + <p> + “So I've heard you say. Well, boy, don't you cal'late I like you at least + as much as you like me?” + </p> + <p> + “No. What do you mean? I like you well enough. That is, I should if you + gave me half a chance. But you don't do it. You hate me because my father—” + </p> + <p> + The captain interrupted. His big palm struck the desk. + </p> + <p> + “DON'T say that again!” he commanded. “Look here, if I hated you do you + suppose I'd be talkin' to you like this? If I hated you do you cal'late + I'd argue when you gave me notice? Not by a jugful! No man ever came to me + and said he was goin' to quit and had me beg him to stay. If we was at sea + he stayed until we made port; then he WENT, and he didn't hang around + waitin' for a boat to take him ashore neither. I don't hate you, son. I'd + ask nothin' better than a chance to like you, but you won't give it to + me.” + </p> + <p> + Albert's eyes and mouth opened. + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> won't give YOU a chance?” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Sartin. DO you give me one? I ask you to keep these books of mine. You + could keep 'em A Number One. You're smart enough to do it. But you won't. + You let 'em go to thunder and waste your time makin' up fool poetry and + such stuff.” + </p> + <p> + “But I like writing, and I don't like keeping books.” + </p> + <p> + “Keepin' books is a part of l'arnin' the business, and business is the way + you're goin' to get your livin' by and by.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it isn't. I am going to be a writer.” + </p> + <p> + “Now DON'T say that silly thing again! I don't want to hear it.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall say it because it is true.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, boy: When I tell you or anybody else in this office to do or + not to do a thing, I expect 'em to obey orders. And I tell you not to talk + any more of that foolishness about bein' a writer. D'you understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of course I understand.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, then, that much is settled. . . . Here! Where are you goin'?” + </p> + <p> + Albert had turned and was on his way out of the office. He stopped and + answered over his shoulder, “I'm going home,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Goin' HOME? Why, you came from home not more than an hour and a half ago! + What are you goin' there again now for?” + </p> + <p> + “To pack up my things.” + </p> + <p> + “To pack up your things! To pack up—Humph! So you really mean it! + You're really goin' to quit me like this? And your grandma, too!” + </p> + <p> + The young man felt a sudden pang of compunction, a twinge of conscience. + </p> + <p> + “Grandfather,” he said, “I'm sorry. I—” + </p> + <p> + But the change in his attitude and tone came too late. Captain Lote's + temper was boiling now, contradiction was its worst provocative. + </p> + <p> + “Goin' to quit!” he sneered. “Goin' to quit because you don't like to + work. All right, quit then! Go ahead! I've done all I can to make a man of + you. Go to the devil in your own way.” + </p> + <p> + “Grandfather, I—” + </p> + <p> + “Go ahead! <i>I</i> can't stop you. It's in your breed, I cal'late.” + </p> + <p> + That was sufficient. Albert strode out of the private office, head erect. + Captain Zelotes rose and slammed the door after his departing grandson. + </p> + <p> + At ten that evening Albert was in his room, sitting in a chair by the + window, gloomily looking out. The packing, most of it, had been done. He + had not, as he told his grandfather he intended doing, left the office + immediately and come straight home to pack. As he emerged from the inner + office after the stormy interview with the captain he found Laban Keeler + hard at work upon the books. The sight of the little man, so patiently and + cheerfully pegging away, brought another twinge of conscience to the + assistant bookkeeper. Laban had been such a brick in all their + relationships. It must have been a sore trial to his particular, + business-like soul, those errors in the trial balance. Yet he had not + found fault nor complained. Captain Zelotes himself had said that every + item concerning his grandson's mistakes and blunders had been dragged from + Mr. Keeler much against the latter's will. Somehow Albert could not bear + to go off and leave him at once. He would stay and finish his day's work, + for Labe Keeler's sake. + </p> + <p> + So stay he did and when Captain Zelotes later came out of his private + office and found him there neither of them spoke. At home, during supper, + nothing was said concerning the quarrel of the afternoon. Yet Albert was + as determined to leave as ever, and the Captain, judging by the expression + of his face, was just as determined to do nothing more to prevent him. + After supper the young man went to his room and began the packing. His + grandfather went out, an unusual proceeding for him, saying that he + guessed he would go down street for a spell. + </p> + <p> + Now Albert, as he sat there by the window, was gloomy enough. The wind, + howling and wailing about the gables of the old house, was not an aid to + cheerfulness and he needed every aid. He had sworn to go away, he was + going away—but where should he go? He had a little money put by, not + much but a little, which he had been saving for quite another purpose. + This would take him a little way, would pay his bills for a short time, + but after that—Well, after that he could earn more. With the + optimism of youth and the serene self-confidence which was natural to him + he was sure of succeeding sooner or later. It was not the dread of failure + and privation which troubled him. The weight which was pressing upon his + spirit was not the fear of what might happen to him. + </p> + <p> + There was a rap upon the door. Then a voice, the housekeeper's voice, + whispered through the crack. + </p> + <p> + “It's me, Al,” whispered Mrs. Ellis. “You ain't in bed yet, are you? I'd + like to talk with you a minute or two, if I might.” + </p> + <p> + He was not anxious to talk to her or anyone else just then, but he told + her to come in. She entered on tiptoe, with the mysterious air of a + conspirator, and shut the door carefully after her. + </p> + <p> + “May I set down just a minute?” she asked. “I can generally talk better + settin'.” + </p> + <p> + He pulled forward the ancient rocker with the rush seat. The cross-stitch + “tidy” on the back was his mother's handiwork, she had made it when she + was fifteen. Rachel sat down in the rocker. + </p> + <p> + “Al” she began, still in the same mysterious whisper, “I know all about + it.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at her. “All about what?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “About the trouble you and Cap'n Lote had this afternoon. I know you're + plannin' to leave us all and go away somewheres and that he told you to + go, and all that. I know what you've been doin' up here to-night. Fur's + that goes,” she added, with a little catch in her breath and a wave of her + hand toward the open trunk and suitcase upon the floor, “I wouldn't need + to know, I could SEE.” + </p> + <p> + Albert was surprised and confused. He had supposed the whole affair to be, + so far, a secret between himself and his grandfather. + </p> + <p> + “You know?” he stammered. “You—How did you know?” + </p> + <p> + “Laban told me. Labe came hurryin' over here just after supper and told me + the whole thing. He's awful upset about it, Laban is. He thinks almost as + much of you as he does of Cap'n Lote or—or me,” with an apologetic + little smile. + </p> + <p> + Albert was astonished and troubled. “How did Labe know about it?” he + demanded. + </p> + <p> + “He heard it all. He couldn't help hearin'.” + </p> + <p> + “But he couldn't have heard. The door to the private office was shut.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but the window at the top—the transom one, you know—was + wide open. You and your grandpa never thought of that, I guess, and Laban + couldn't hop up off his stool and shut it without givin' it away that he'd + been hearin'. So he had to just set and listen and I know how he hated + doin' that. Laban Keeler ain't the listenin' kind. One thing about it all + is a mercy,” she added, fervently. “It's the Lord's own mercy that that + Issy Price wasn't where HE could hear it, too. If Issy heard it you might + as well paint it up on the town-hall fence; all creation and his wife + wouldn't larn it any sooner.” + </p> + <p> + Albert drew a long breath. “Well,” he said, after a moment, “I'm sorry + Labe heard, but I don't suppose it makes much difference. Everyone will + know all about it in a day or two . . . I'm going.” + </p> + <p> + Rachel leaned forward. + </p> + <p> + “No, you ain't, Al,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not? Indeed I am! Why, what do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean just what I say. You ain't goin'. You're goin' to stay right here. + At least I hope you are, and I THINK you are. . . . Oh, I know,” she + added, quickly, “what you are goin' to say. You're goin' to tell me that + your grandpa is down on you on account of your father, and that you don't + like bookkeepin', and that you want to write poetry and—and such. + You'll say all that, and maybe it's all true, but whether 'tis or not + ain't the point at all just now. The real point is that you're Janie + Snow's son and your grandpa's Cap'n Lote Snow and your grandma's Olive + Snow and there ain't goin' to be another smash-up in this family if I can + help it. I've been through one and one's enough. Albert, didn't you + promise me that Sunday forenoon three years ago when I came into the + settin'-room and we got talkin' about books and Robert Penfold and + everything—didn't you promise me then that when things between you + and your grandpa got kind of—of snarled up and full of knots you'd + come to me with 'em and we'd see if we couldn't straighten 'em out + together? Didn't you promise me that, Albert?” + </p> + <p> + Albert remembered the conversation to which she referred. As he remembered + it, however, he had not made any definite promise. + </p> + <p> + “You asked me to talk them over with you, Rachel,” he admitted. “I think + that's about as far as it went.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, maybe so, but now I ask you again. Will you talk this over with me, + Albert? Will you tell me every bit all about it, for my sake? And for your + grandma's sake. . . . Yes, more'n that, for your mother's sake, Albert; + she was pretty nigh like my own sister, Jane Snow was. Different as night + from day of course, she was pretty and educated and all that and I was + just the same then as I am now, but we did think a lot of each other, + Albert. Tell me the whole story, won't you, please. Just what Cap'n Lote + said and what you said and what you plan to do—and all? Please, + Albert.” + </p> + <p> + There were tears in her eyes. He had always liked her, but it was a liking + with a trace of condescension in it. She was peculiar, her “sympathetic + attacks” were funny, and she and Laban together were an odd pair. Now he + saw her in a new light and he felt a sudden rush of real affection for + her. And with this feeling, and inspired also by his loneliness, came the + impulse to comply with her request, to tell her all his troubles. + </p> + <p> + He began slowly at first, but as he went on the words came quicker. She + listened eagerly, nodding occasionally, but saying nothing. When he had + finished she nodded again. + </p> + <p> + “I see,” she said. “'Twas almost what Laban said and about what he and I + expected. Well, Albert, I ain't goin' to be the one to blame you, not very + much anyhow. I don't see as you are to blame; you can't help the way + you're made. But your grandfather can't help bein' made his way, either. + He can't see with your spectacles and you can't see with his.” + </p> + <p> + He stirred rebelliously. “Then we had better go our own ways, I should + say,” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + “No, you hadn't. That's just what you mustn't do, not now, anyhow. As I + said before, there's been enough of all hands goin' their own ways in this + family and look what came of it.” + </p> + <p> + “But what do you expect me to do? I will not give up every plan I've made + and my chance in the world just because he is too stubborn and cranky to + understand them. I will NOT do it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want you to. But I don't want you to upset the whole kettle just + because the steam has scalded your fingers. I don't want you to go off and + leave your grandma to break her heart a second time and your grandpa to + give up all his plans and hopes that he's been makin' about you.” + </p> + <p> + “Plans about me? He making plans about me? What sort of plans?” + </p> + <p> + “All sorts. Oh, he don't say much about 'em, of course; that ain't his + way. But from things he's let drop I know he has hoped to take you in with + him as a partner one of these days, and to leave you the business after + he's gone.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, Rachel!” + </p> + <p> + “No, it ain't nonsense. It's the one big dream of Cap'n Lote's life. That + Z. Snow and Co. business is his pet child, as you might say. He built it + up, he and Labe together, and when he figgered to take you aboard with him + 'twas SOME chance for you, 'cordin' to his lookout. Now you can't hardly + blame him for bein' disappointed when you chuck that chance away and take + to writin' poetry pieces, can you?” + </p> + <p> + “But—but—why, confound it, Rachel, you don't understand!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do, but your grandpa don't. And you don't understand him. . . . + Oh, Albert, DON'T be as stubborn as he is, as your mother was—the + Lord and she forgive me for sayin' it. She was partly right about marryin' + your pa and Cap'n Lote was partly right, too. If they had met half way and + put the two 'partlys' together the whole thing might have been right in + the end. As 'twas, 'twas all wrong. Don't, don't, DON'T, Albert, be as + stubborn as that. For their sakes, Al,—yes, and for my sake, for I'm + one of your family, too, or seems as if I was—don't.” + </p> + <p> + She hastily wiped her eyes with her apron. He, too was greatly moved. + </p> + <p> + “Don't cry, Rachel,” he muttered, hurriedly. “Please don't. . . . I didn't + know you felt this way. I didn't know anybody did. I don't want to make + trouble in the family—any more trouble. Grandmother has been awfully + good to me; so, too, has Grandfather, I suppose, in his way. But—oh, + what am I going to do? I can't stay in that office all my life. I'm not + good at business. I don't like it. I can't give up—” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, course you mustn't. I don't want you to give up.” + </p> + <p> + “Then what do you want me to do?” + </p> + <p> + “I want you to go to your grandpa and talk to him once more. Not givin' up + your plans altogether but not forcin' him to give up his either, not right + away. Tell him you realize he wants you to go on with Z. Snow and Company + and that you will—for a while—” + </p> + <p> + “But—” + </p> + <p> + “For a while, I said; three or four years, say. You won't be so dreadful + old then, not exactly what you'd call a Methusalem. Tell him you'll do + that and on his side he must let you write as much as you please, provided + you don't let the writin' interfere with the Z. Snow and Co. work. Then, + at the end of the three or four years, if you still feel the same as you + do now, you can tackle your poetry for keeps and he and you'll still be + friends. Tell him that, Albert, and see what he says. . . . Will you?” + </p> + <p> + Albert took some moments to consider. At length he said: “If I did I doubt + if he would listen.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes he would. He'd more than listen, I'm pretty sartin. I think he'd + agree.” + </p> + <p> + “You do?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do. You see,” with a smile, “while I've been talkin' to you + there's been somebody else talkin' to him. . . . There, there! don't you + ask any questions. I promised not to tell anybody and if I ain't exactly + broke that promise, I've sprained its ankle, I'm afraid. Good night, + Albert, and thank you ever and ever so much for listenin' so long without + once tellin' me to mind my own business.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night, Rachel. . . . And thank you for taking so much interest in my + affairs. You're an awfully good friend, I can see that.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't—don't talk that way. And you WILL have that talk with your + grandpa?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I will.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm SO glad! There! Good night. I come pretty nigh kissin' you then + and for a woman that's been engaged to be married for upwards of eighteen + years that's a nice way to act, ain't it! Good night, good night.” + </p> + <p> + She hurried out of the room. Albert sat down again in his chair by the + window. He had promised to go to his grandfather and talk to him. As he + sat there, thinking of the coming interview, he realized more and more + that the keeping of that promise was likely to be no easy matter. He must + begin the talk, he must break the ice—and how should he break it? + Timid and roundabout approaches would be of little use; unless his + grandfather's state of mind had changed remarkably since their parting in + the Z. Snow and Co. office they and their motive would be misunderstood. + No, the only way to break the ice was to break it, to plunge immediately + into the deepest part of the subject. It promised to be a chilly plunge. + He shivered at the prospect. + </p> + <p> + A half hour later he heard the door of the hall open and shut and knew + that Captain Zelotes had returned. Rising, he descended the stairs. He + descended slowly. Just as he reached the foot of the narrow flight Captain + Zelotes entered the hall from the dining-room and turned toward him. Both + were surprised at the meeting. Albert spoke first. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening, Grandfather,” he stammered. “I—I was just coming down + to see you. Were you going to bed?” + </p> + <p> + Captain Lote shook his head. “No-o,” he said, slowly, “not exactly.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mind waiting a minute? I have a few things—I have something + to say to you and—and I guess I shall sleep better if I say it + to-night. I—I won't keep you long.” + </p> + <p> + The captain regarded him intently for an instant, then he turned and led + the way to the dining-room. + </p> + <p> + “Go ahead,” he ordered, laconically. Albert squared his shoulders, + preparatory to the plunge. + </p> + <p> + “Grandfather,” he began, “first of all I want to tell you I am sorry for—for + some of the things I said this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + He had rehearsed this opening speech over and over again, but in spite of + the rehearsals it was dreadfully hard to make. If his grandfather had + helped him even a little it might have been easier, but the captain merely + stood there, expressionless, saying nothing, waiting for him to continue. + </p> + <p> + Albert swallowed, clenched his fists, and took a new start. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” he began, “I am sorry for the mistakes I made in my + bookkeeping, but that I have told you before. Now—now I want to say + I am sorry for being so—well, so pig-headed about the rest of it. I + realize that you have been mighty kind to me and that I owe you about + everything that I've got in this world.” + </p> + <p> + He paused again. It had seemed to him that Captain Zelotes was about to + speak. However, he did not, so the young man stumbled on. + </p> + <p> + “And—and I realize, too,” he said, “that you have, I guess, been + trying to give me a real start in business, the start you think I ought to + have.” + </p> + <p> + The captain nodded slowly. “That was my idea in startin' you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—and fact that I haven't done more with the chance is because + I'm made that way, I guess. But I do want to—yes, and I MEAN to try + to succeed at writing poetry or stories or plays or something. I like that + and I mean to give it a trial. And so—and so, you see, I've been + thinking our talk over and I've concluded that perhaps you may be right, + maybe I'm not old enough to know what I really am fitted for, and yet + perhaps <i>I</i> may be partly right, too. I—I've been thinking that + perhaps some sort of—of—” + </p> + <p> + “Of what?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, of half-way arrangement—some sort of—of compromise, you + know, might be arranged. I might agree to stay in the office and do my + very best with bookkeeping and business for—well, say, three years + or so. During that time I should be trying to write of course, but I would + only do that sort of writing evenings or on Saturdays and holidays. It + shouldn't interfere with your work nor be done in the time you pay me for. + And at the end of the three or four years—” + </p> + <p> + He paused again. This time the pause was longer than ever. Captain Lote + broke the silence. His big right hand had wandered upward and was tugging + at his beard. + </p> + <p> + “Well? . . . And then?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why, then—if—if—Well, then we could see. If business + seemed to be where I was most likely to succeed we'd call it settled and I + would stay with Z. Snow and Co. If poetry-making or—or—literature + seemed more likely to be the job I was fitted for, that would be the job + I'd take. You—you see, don't you, Grandfather?” + </p> + <p> + The captain's beard-pulling continued. He was no longer looking his + grandson straight in the eye. His gaze was fixed upon the braided mat at + his feet and he answered without looking up. + </p> + <p> + “Ye-es,” he drawled, “I cal'late I see. Well, was that all you had to + say?” + </p> + <p> + “No-o, not quite. I—I wanted to say that which ever way it turned + out, I—I hoped we—you and I, you know—would agree to be—to + be good-natured about it and—and friends just the same. I—I—Well, + there! That's all, I guess. I haven't put it very well, I'm afraid, but—but + what do you think about it, Grandfather?” + </p> + <p> + And now Captain Zelotes did look up. The old twinkle was in his eye. His + first remark was a question and that question was rather surprising. + </p> + <p> + “Al,” he asked, “Al, who's been talkin' to you?” + </p> + <p> + The blood rushed to his grandson's face. “Talking to me?” he stammered. + “Why—why, what do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean just that. You didn't think out this scheme all by yourself. + Somebody's been talkin' to you and puttin' you up to it. Haven't they?” + </p> + <p> + “Why—why, Grandfather, I—” + </p> + <p> + “Haven't they?” + </p> + <p> + “Why—Well, yes, someone has been talking to me, but the whole idea + isn't theirs. I WAS sorry for speaking to you as I did and sorry to think + of leaving you and grandmother. I—I was sitting up there in my room + and feeling blue and mean enough and—and—” + </p> + <p> + “And then Rachel came aboard and gave you your sailin' orders; eh?” + </p> + <p> + Albert gasped. “For heaven's sake how did you know that?” he demanded. + “She—Why, she must have told you, after all! But she said—” + </p> + <p> + “Hold on, boy, hold on!” Captain Lote chuckled quietly. “No,” he said, + “Rachel didn't tell me; I guessed she was the one. And it didn't take a + Solomon in all his glory to guess it, neither. Labe Keeler's been talkin' + to ME, and when you come down here and began proposin' the same scheme + that I was just about headin' up to your room with to propose to you, then—well, + then the average whole-witted person wouldn't need more'n one guess. It + couldn't be Labe, 'cause he'd been whisperin' in MY ear, so it must have + been the other partner in the firm. That's all the miracle there is to + it.” + </p> + <p> + Albert's brain struggled with the situation. “I see,” he said, after a + moment. “She hinted that someone had been talking to you along the same + line. Yes, and she was so sure you would agree. I might have known it was + Laban.” + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm, so you might. . . . Well, there have been times when if a man had + talked to me as Labe did to-night I'd have knocked him down, or told him + to go to—um—well, the tropics—told him to mind his own + business, at least. But Labe is Labe, and besides MY conscience was + plaguin' me a little mite, maybe . . . maybe.” + </p> + <p> + The young man shook his head. “They must have talked it over, those two, + and agreed that one should talk to you and the other to me. By George, I + wonder they had the nerve. It wasn't their business, really.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a darn bit.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet—yet I—I'm awfully glad she said it to me. I—I + needed it, I guess.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe you did, son. . . . And—humph—well, maybe I needed it, + too. . . . Yes, I know that's consider'ble for me to say,” he added dryly. + </p> + <p> + Albert was still thinking of Laban and Rachel. + </p> + <p> + “They're queer people,” he mused. “When I first met them I thought they + were about the funniest pair I ever saw. But—but now I can't help + liking them and—and—Say, Grandfather, they must think a lot of + your—of our family.” + </p> + <p> + “Cal'late they do, son. . . . Well, boy, we've had our sermon, you and me, + what shall we do? Willin' to sign for the five years trial cruise if I + will, are you?” + </p> + <p> + Albert couldn't help smiling. “It was three years Rachel proposed, not + five,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Was, eh? Suppose we split the difference and make it four? Willin' to try + that?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Agreement bein' that you shall stick close to Z. Snow and Co. durin' work + hours and write as much poetry as you darned please other times, neither + side to interfere with those arrangements? That right?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Good! Shall we shake hands on it?” + </p> + <p> + They shook, solemnly. Captain Lote was the first to speak after + ratification of the contract. + </p> + <p> + “There, now I cal'late I'll go aloft and turn in,” he observed. Then he + added, with a little hesitation, “Say, Al, maybe we'd better not trouble + your grandma about all this fool business—the row this afternoon and + all. 'Twould only worry her and—” he paused, looked embarrassed, + cleared his throat, and said, “to tell you the truth, I'm kind of ashamed + of my part—-er—er—that is, some of it.” + </p> + <p> + His grandson was very much astonished. It was not often that Captain + Zelotes Snow admitted having been in the wrong. He blurted out the + question he had been dying to ask. + </p> + <p> + “Grandfather,” he queried, “had you—did you really mean what you + said about starting to come to my room and—and propose this scheme + of ours—I mean of Rachel's and Labe's—to me?” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? . . . Ye-es—yes. I was on my way up there when I met you just + now.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Grandfather, I—I—” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right, boy, that's all right. Don't let's talk any more about + it.” + </p> + <p> + “We won't. And—and—But, Grandfather, I just want you to know + that I guess I understand things a little better than I did, and—and + when my father—” + </p> + <p> + The captain's heavy hand descended upon his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Heave short, Al!” he commanded. “I've been doin' consider'ble thinkin' + since Labe finished his—er—discourse and pronounced the + benediction, and I've come to a pretty definite conclusion on one matter. + I've concluded that you and I had better cut out all the bygones from this + new arrangement of ours. We won't have fathers or—or—elopements—or + past-and-done-with disapp'intments in it. This new deal—this four + year trial v'yage of ours—will be just for Albert Speranza and + Zelotes Snow, and no others need apply. . . . Eh? . . . Well, good night, + Al.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <p> + So the game under the “new deal” began. At first it was much easier than + the old. And, as a matter of fact, it was never as hard as before. The + heart to heart talk between Captain Zelotes and his grandson had given + each a glimpse of the other's inner self, a look from the other's point of + view, and thereafter it was easier to make allowances. But the necessity + for the making of those allowances was still there and would continue to + be there. At first Albert made almost no mistakes in his bookkeeping, was + almost painfully careful. Then the carefulness relaxed, as it was bound to + do, and some mistakes occurred. Captain Lote found little fault, but at + times he could not help showing some disappointment. Then his grandson + would set his teeth and buckle down to painstaking effort again. He was + resolved to live up to the very letter of the agreement. + </p> + <p> + In his spare time he continued to write and occasionally he sold + something. Whenever he did so there was great rejoicing among the feminine + members of the Snow household; his grandmother and Rachel Ellis were + enraptured. It was amusing to see Captain Zelotes attempt to join the + chorus. He evidently felt that he ought to praise, or at least that praise + was expected from him, but it was also evident that he did not approve of + what he was praising. + </p> + <p> + “Your grandma says you got rid of another one of your poetry pieces, Al,” + he would say. “Pay you for it, did they?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet, but they will, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “I see, I see. How much, think likely?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know. Ten dollars, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm . . . I see. . . . Well, that's pretty good, considerin', I + suppose. . . . We did first-rate on that Hyannis school-house contract, + didn't we. Nigh's I can figger it we cleared over fourteen hundred and + eighty dollars on that.” + </p> + <p> + He invariably followed any reference to the profit from the sale of verses + by the casual mention of a much larger sum derived from the sale of lumber + or hardware. This was so noticeable that Laban Keeler was impelled to + speak of it. + </p> + <p> + “The old man don't want you to forget that you can get more for hard pine + than you can for soft sonnets, sellin' 'em both by the foot,” observed + Labe, peering over his spectacles. “More money in shingles than there is + in jingles, he cal'lates. . . . Um. . . . Yes, yes. . . . Consider'ble + more, consider'ble.” + </p> + <p> + Albert smiled, but it astonished him to find that Mr. Keeler knew what a + sonnet was. The little bookkeeper occasionally surprised him by breaking + out unexpectedly in that way. + </p> + <p> + From the indiscriminate praise at home, or the reluctant praise of his + grandfather, he found relief when he discussed his verses with Helen + Kendall. Her praise was not indiscriminate, in fact sometimes she did not + praise at all, but expressed disapproval. They had some disagreements, + marked disagreements, but it did not affect their friendship. Albert was a + trifle surprised to find that it did not. + </p> + <p> + So as the months passed he ground away at the books of Z. Snow and Company + during office hours and at the poetry mill between times. The seeing of + his name in print was no longer a novelty and he poetized not quite as + steadily. Occasionally he attempted prose, but the two or three short + stories of his composition failed to sell. Helen, however, urged him to + try again and keep trying. “I know you can write a good story and some day + you are going to,” she said. + </p> + <p> + His first real literary success, that which temporarily lifted him into + the outer circle of the limelight of fame, was a poem written the day + following that upon which came the news of the sinking of the Lusitania. + Captain Zelotes came back from the post-office that morning, a crumpled + newspaper in his hand, and upon his face the look which mutinous foremast + hands had seen there just before the mutiny ended. Laban Keeler was the + first to notice the look. “For the land sakes, Cap'n, what's gone wrong?” + he asked. The captain flung the paper upon the desk. “Read that,” he + grunted. Labe slowly spread open the paper; the big black headlines + shrieked the crime aloud. + </p> + <p> + “Good God Almighty!” exclaimed the little bookkeeper. Captain Zelotes + snorted. “He didn't have anything to do with it,” he declared. “The bunch + that pulled that off was handled from the other end of the line. And I + wish to thunder I was young enough to help send 'em back there,” he added, + savagely. + </p> + <p> + That evening Albert wrote his poem. The next day he sent it to a Boston + paper. It was published the following morning, spread across two columns + on the front page, and before the month was over had been copied widely + over the country. Within the fortnight its author received his first + request, a bona fida request for verse from a magazine. Even Captain + Lote's praise of the Lusitania poem was whole-hearted and ungrudging. + </p> + <p> + That summer was a busy one in South Harniss. There was the usual amount of + summer gaiety, but in addition there were the gatherings of the various + committees for war relief work. Helen belonged to many of these + committees. There were dances and theatrical performances for the + financial benefit of the various causes and here Albert shone. But he did + not shine alone. Helen Kendall was very popular at the social gatherings, + popular not only with the permanent residents but with the summer youth as + well. Albert noticed this, but he did not notice it so particularly until + Issy Price called his attention to it. + </p> + <p> + “Say, Al,” observed Issy, one afternoon in late August of that year, “how + do YOU like that Raymond young feller?” + </p> + <p> + Albert looked up absently from the page of the daybook. + </p> + <p> + “Eh? What?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I say how do YOU like that Eddie Raymond, the Down-at-the-Neck one?” + </p> + <p> + “Down at the neck? There's nothing the matter with his neck that I know + of.” + </p> + <p> + “Who said there was? He LIVES down to the Neck, don't he? I mean that + young Raymond, son of the New York bank man, the ones that's had the + Cahoon house all summer. How do you like him?” + </p> + <p> + Albert's attention was still divided between the day-book and Mr. Price. + “Oh, I guess he's all right,” he answered, carelessly. “I don't know him + very well. Don't bother me, Issy, I'm busy.” + </p> + <p> + Issachar chuckled. “He's busy, too,” he observed. “He, he, he! He's busy + trottin' after Helen Kendall. Don't seem to have time for much else these + days. Noticed that, ain't you, Al? He, he!” + </p> + <p> + Albert had not noticed it. His attention left the day-book altogether. + Issachar chuckled again. + </p> + <p> + “Noticed it, ain't you, Al?” he repeated. “If you ain't you're the only + one. Everybody's cal'latin' you'll be cut out if you ain't careful. Folks + used to figger you was Helen's steady comp'ny, but it don't look as much + so as it did. He, he! That's why I asked you how you liked the Raymond + one. Eh? How do you, Al? Helen, SHE seems to like him fust-rate. He, he, + he!” + </p> + <p> + Albert was conscious of a peculiar feeling, partly of irritation at + Issachar, partly something else. Mr. Price crowed delightedly. + </p> + <p> + “Hi!” he chortled. “Why, Al, your face is gettin' all redded up. Haw, haw! + Blushin', ain't you, Al? Haw, haw, haw! Blushin', by crimustee!” + </p> + <p> + Albert laid down his pen. He had learned by experience that, in Issy's + case, the maxim of the best defensive being a strong offensive was + absolutely true. He looked with concern about the office. + </p> + <p> + “There's a window open somewhere, isn't there, Is?” he inquired. “There's + a dreadful draught anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? Draught? I don't feel no draught. Course the window's open; it's + generally open in summer time, ain't it. Haw, haw!” + </p> + <p> + “There it is again! Where—Oh, <i>I</i> see! It's your mouth that's + open, Issy. That explains the draught, of course. Yes, yes, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? My mouth! Never you mind my mouth. What you've got to think about is + that Eddie Raymond. Yes sir-ee! Haw, haw!” + </p> + <p> + “Issy, what makes you make that noise?” + </p> + <p> + “What noise?” + </p> + <p> + “That awful cawing. If you're trying to make me believe you're a crow + you're wasting your time.” + </p> + <p> + “Say, look here, Al Speranzy, be you crazy?” + </p> + <p> + “No-o, I'M not. But in your case—well, I'll leave it to any + fair-minded person—” + </p> + <p> + And so on until Mr. Price stamped disgustedly out of the office. It was + easy enough, and required nothing brilliant in the way of strategy or + repartee, to turn Issachar's attack into retreat. But all the rest of that + afternoon Albert was conscious of that peculiar feeling of uneasiness. + After supper that night he did not go down town at once but sat in his + room thinking deeply. The subjects of his thoughts were Edwin Raymond, the + young chap from New York, Yale, and “The Neck”—and Helen Kendall. He + succeeded only in thinking himself into an even more uneasy and unpleasant + state of mind. Then he walked moodily down to the post-office. He was a + little late for the mail and the laughing and chatting groups were already + coming back after its distribution. One such group he met was made up of + half a dozen young people on their way to the drug store for ices and + sodas. Helen was among them and with her was young Raymond. They called to + him to join them, but he pretended not to hear. + </p> + <p> + Now, in all the years of their acquaintance it had not once occurred to + Albert Speranza that his interest in Helen Kendall was anything more than + that of a friend and comrade. He liked her, had enjoyed her society—when + he happened to be in the mood to wish society—and it pleased him to + feel that she was interested in his literary efforts and his career. She + was the only girl in South Harniss who would have “talked turkey” to him + as she had on the day of their adventure at High Point Light and he rather + admired her for it. But in all his dreams of romantic attachments and + sentimental adventure, and he had such dreams of course, she had never + played a part. The heroines of these dreams were beautiful and mysterious + strangers, not daughters of Cape Cod clergymen. + </p> + <p> + But now, thanks to Issy's mischievous hints, his feelings were in a + puzzled and uncomfortable state. He was astonished to find that he did not + relish the idea of Helen's being particularly interested in Ed Raymond. + He, himself, had not seen her as frequently of late, she having been busy + with her war work and he with his own interests. But that, according to + his view, was no reason why she should permit Raymond to become friendly + to the point of causing people to talk. He was not ready to admit that he + himself cared, in a sentimental way, for Helen, but he resented any other + fellow's daring to do so. And she should not have permitted it, either. As + a matter of fact, Alberto Miguel Carlos Speranza, hitherto reigning + undisputed king of hearts in South Harniss, was for the first time in his + imperial life feeling the pangs of jealousy. + </p> + <p> + He stalked gloomily on to the post-office. Gertie Kendrick, on the arm of + Sam Thatcher, passed him and he did not even notice her. Gertie whispered + to Sam that he, Albert, was a big stuck-up nothing, but she looked back + over Sam's shoulder, nevertheless. Albert climbed the post-office steps + and walked over to the rack of letter boxes. The Snow box contained little + of interest to him, and he was turning away when he heard his name spoken. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening, Mr. Speranza,” said a feminine voice. + </p> + <p> + Albert turned again, to find Jane Kelsey and another young lady, a + stranger, standing beside him. Miss Kelsey was one of South Harniss's + summer residents. The Kelsey “cottage,” which was larger by considerable + than the Snow house, was situated on the Bay Road, the most exclusive + section of the village. Once, and not so many years before, the Bay Road + was contemptuously referred to as “Poverty Lane” and dwellers along its + winding, weed-grown track vied with one another in shiftless shabbiness. + But now all shabbiness had disappeared and many-gabled “cottages” proudly + stood where the shanties of the Poverty Laners once humbly leaned. + </p> + <p> + Albert had known Jane Kelsey for some time. They had met at one of the + hotel tea-dances during his second summer in South Harniss. He and she + were not intimate friends exactly, her mother saw to that, but they were + well acquainted. She was short and piquant, had a nose which freckled in + the Cape Cod sunshine, and she talked and laughed easily. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening, Mr. Speranza,” she said, again. “You looked so very forlorn + I couldn't resist speaking. Do tell us why you are so sad; we're dying to + know.” + </p> + <p> + Albert, taken by surprise, stammered that he didn't know that he was sad. + Miss Kelsey laughed merrily and declared that everyone who saw him knew it + at once. “Oh, excuse me, Madeline,” she added. “I forgot that you and Mr. + Speranza had not met. Of course as you're going to live in South Harniss + you must know him without waiting another minute. Everybody knows + everybody down here. He is Albert Speranza—and we sometimes call him + Albert because here everybody calls everyone else by their first names. + There, now you know each other and it's all very proper and formal.” + </p> + <p> + The young lady who was her companion smiled. The smile was distinctly + worth looking at, as was the young lady herself, for that matter. + </p> + <p> + “I doubt if Mr. Speranza knows me very well, Jane,” she observed. + </p> + <p> + “Doesn't know you! Why, you silly thing, haven't I just introduced you?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't know much about South Harniss introductions, but isn't it + customary to mention names? You haven't told him mine.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Kelsey laughed in high delight. “Oh, how perfectly ridiculous!” she + exclaimed. “Albert—Mr. Speranza, I mean—this is my friend Miss + Madeline Fosdick. She is from New York and she has decided to spend her + summers in South Harniss—which <i>I</i> consider very good judgment. + Her father is going to build a cottage for her to spend them in down on + the Bay Road on the hill at the corner above the Inlet. But of course + you've heard of THAT!” + </p> + <p> + Of course he had. The purchase of the Inlet Hill land by Fletcher Fosdick, + the New York banker, and the price paid Solomon Dadgett for that land, had + been the principal topics of conversation around South Harniss supper + tables for the past ten days. Captain Lote Snow had summed up local + opinion of the transaction when he said: “We-ll, Sol Dadgett's been + talkin' in prayer-meetin' ever since I can remember about the comin' of + Paradise on earth. Judgin' by the price he got for the Inlet Hill sand + heap he must have cal'lated Paradise had got here and he was sellin' the + golden streets by the runnin' foot.” Or, as Laban Keeler put it: “They say + King Soloman was a wise man, but I guess likely 'twas a good thing for him + that Sol Dadgett wasn't alive in his time. King Sol would have needed all + his wisdom to keep Dadgett from talkin' him into buying the Jerusalem + salt-ma'sh to build the temple on. . . . Um. . . . Yes—yes—yes.” + </p> + <p> + So Albert, as he shook hands with Miss Fosdick, regarded her with unusual + interest. And, judging by the way in which she looked at him, she too was + interested. After some minutes of the usual conventional summer-time chat + the young gentleman suggested that they adjourn to the drug store for + refreshments. The invitation was accepted, the vivacious Miss Kelsey + acting as spokesman—or spokeswoman—in the matter. + </p> + <p> + “I think you must be a mind-reader, Mr. Speranza,” she declared. “I am + dying for a sundae and I have just discovered that I haven't my purse or a + penny with me. I should have been reduced to the humiliation of borrowing + from Madeline here, or asking that deaf old Burgess man to trust me until + to-morrow. And he is so frightfully deaf,” she added in explanation, “that + when I asked him the last time he made me repeat it until I thought I + should die of shame, or exhaustion, one or the other. Every time I shouted + he would say 'Hey?' and I was obliged to shout again. Of course, the place + was crowded, and—Oh, well, I don't like to even think about it. + Bless you, bless you, Albert Speranza! And do please let's hurry!” + </p> + <p> + When they entered the drug store—it also sold, according to its + sign, “Cigars, soda, ice-cream, patent medicines, candy, knick-knacks, + chewing gum, souvenirs and notions”—the sextette of which Helen + Kendall made one was just leaving. She nodded pleasantly to Albert and he + nodded in return, but Ed Raymond's careless bow he did not choose to see. + He had hitherto rather liked that young gentleman; now he felt a sudden + but violent detestation for him. + </p> + <p> + Sundaes pleasant to the palate and disastrous to all but youthful + digestions were ordered. Albert's had a slight flavor of gall and + wormwood, but he endeavored to counterbalance this by the sweetness + derived from the society of Jane Kelsey and her friend. His conversation + was particularly brilliant and sparkling that evening. Jane laughed much + and chatted more. Miss Fosdick was quieter, but she, too, appeared to be + enjoying herself. Jane demanded to know how the poems were developing. She + begged him to have an inspiration now—“Do, PLEASE, so that Madeline + and I can see you.” It seemed to be her idea that having an inspiration + was similar to having a fit. Miss Fosdick laughed at this, but she + declared that she adored poetry and specified certain poems which were + objects of her especial adoration. The conversation thereafter became what + Miss Kelsey described as “high brow,” and took the form of a dialogue + between Miss Fosdick and Albert. It was interrupted by the arrival of the + Kelsey limousine, which rolled majestically up to the drug store steps. + Jane spied it first. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, mercy me, here's mother!” she exclaimed. “And your mother, too, + Madeline. We are tracked to our lair. . . . No, no, Mr. Speranza, you + mustn't go out. No, really, we had rather you wouldn't. Thanks, ever so + much, for the sundaes. Come, Madeline.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Fosdick held out her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Mr. Speranza,” she said. “I have enjoyed our poetry talk SO + much. It must be wonderful to write as you do. Good night.” + </p> + <p> + She looked admiringly into his eyes as she said it. In spite of the gall + and wormwood Albert found it not at all unpleasant to be looked at in that + way by a girl like Madeline Fosdick. His reflections on that point were + interrupted by a voice from the car. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Madeline, come,” it said, fussily. “What ARE you waiting for?” + </p> + <p> + Albert caught a glimpse of a majestic figure which, seated beside Mrs. + Kelsey on the rear seat of the limousine, towered above that short, plump + lady as a dreadnaught towers above a coal barge. He surmised this figure + to be that of the maternal Fosdick. Madeline climbed in beside her parent + and the limousine rolled away. + </p> + <p> + Albert's going-to-bed reflections that evening were divided in flavor, + like a fruit sundae, a combination of sweet and sour. The sour was + furnished by thoughts of Edwin Raymond and Helen Kendall, the former's + presumption in daring to seek her society as he did, and Helen's amazing + silliness in permitting such a thing. The sweet, of course, was furnished + by a voice which repeated to his memory the words, “It must be wonderful + to write as you do.” Also the tone of that voice and the look in the eyes. + </p> + <p> + Could he have been privileged to hear the closing bits of a conversation + which was taking place at that moment his reflections might have been + still further saccharined. Miss Jane Kelsey was saying: “And NOW what do + you think of our Cape Cod poet? Didn't I promise you to show you something + you couldn't find on Fifth Avenue?” And to this Miss Madeline Fosdick made + reply: “I think he is the handsomest creature I ever saw. And so clever! + Why, he is wonderful, Jane! How in the world does he happen to be living + here—all the time?” + </p> + <p> + It is perhaps, on the whole, a good thing that Albert Speranza could not + hear this. It is certainly a good thing that Captain Zelotes Snow did not + hear it. + </p> + <p> + And although the balance of sweet and sour in Albert's mind that night was + almost even, the sour predominated next day and continued to predominate. + Issachar Price had sowed the seed of jealousy in the mind of the assistant + bookkeeper of Z. Snow and Company, and that seed took root and grew as it + is only too likely to do under such circumstances. That evening Albert + walked again to the post-office. Helen was not there, neither was Miss + Kelsey or Miss Fosdick. He waited for a time and then determined to call + at the Kendall home, something he had not done for some time. As he came + up to the front walk, between the arbor-vitae hedges, he saw that the + parlor windows were alight. The window shade was but partially drawn and + beneath it he could see into the room. Helen was seated at the piano and + Edwin Raymond was standing beside her, ready to turn the page of her + music. + </p> + <p> + Albert whirled on his heel and walked out of the yard and down the street + toward his own home. His attitude of mind was a curious one. He had a mind + to wait until Raymond left and then go into the Kendall parlor and demand + of Helen to know what she meant by letting that fellow make such a fool of + himself. What right had he—Raymond—to call upon her, and turn + her music and—and set the whole town talking? Why—Oh, he could + think of many things to ask and say. The trouble was that the saying of + them would, he felt sure, be distinctly bad diplomacy on his part. No one—not + even he—could talk to Helen Kendall in that fashion; not unless he + wished it to be their final conversation. + </p> + <p> + So he went home, to fret and toss angrily and miserably half the night. He + had never before considered himself in the slightest degree in love with + Helen, but he had taken for granted the thought that she liked him better + than anyone else. Now he was beginning to fear that perhaps she did not, + and, with his temperament, wounded vanity and poetic imagination supplied + the rest. Within a fortnight he considered himself desperately in love + with her. + </p> + <p> + During this fortnight he called at the parsonage, the Kendall home, + several times. On the first of these occasions the Reverend Mr. Kendall, + having just completed a sermon dealing with the war and, being full of his + subject, read the said sermon to his daughter and to Albert. The reading + itself lasted for three-quarters of an hour and Mr. Kendall's + post-argument and general dissertation on German perfidy another hour + after that. By that time it was late and Albert went home. The second call + was even worse, for Ed Raymond called also and the two young men glowered + at each other until ten o'clock. They might have continued to glower + indefinitely, for neither meant to leave before the other, but Helen + announced that she had some home-study papers to look over and she knew + they would excuse her under the circumstances. On that hint they departed + simultaneously, separating at the gate and walking with deliberate dignity + in opposite directions. + </p> + <p> + At his third attempt, however, Albert was successful to the extent that + Helen was alone when he called and there was no school work to interrupt. + But in no other respect was the interview satisfactory. All that week he + had been boiling with the indignation of the landed proprietor who + discovers a trespasser on his estate, and before this call was fifteen + minutes old his feelings had boiled over. + </p> + <p> + “What IS the matter with you, Al?” asked Helen. “Do tell me and let's see + if I can't help you out of your trouble.” + </p> + <p> + Her visitor flushed. “Trouble?” he repeated, stiffly. “I don't know what + you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, do. You must. What IS the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing the matter with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense! Of course there is. You have scarcely spoken a word of your own + accord since you came, and you have been scowling like a thundercloud all + the time. Now what is it? Have I done something you don't like?” + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing the matter, I tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “Please don't be so silly. Of course there is. I thought there must be + something wrong the last time you were here, that evening, when Ed called, + too. It seemed to me that you were rather queer then. Now you are queerer + still. What is it?” + </p> + <p> + This straightforward attack, although absolutely characteristic of Helen, + was disconcerting. Albert met it by an attack of his own. + </p> + <p> + “Helen,” he demanded, “what does that Raymond fellow mean by coming to see + you as he does?” + </p> + <p> + Now whether or not Helen was entirely in the dark as to the cause of her + visitor's “queerness” is a question not to be answered here. She was far + from being a stupid young person and it is at least probable that she may + have guessed a little of the truth. But, being feminine, she did not + permit Albert to guess that she had guessed. If her astonishment at the + question was not entirely sincere, it certainly appeared to be so. + </p> + <p> + “What does he mean?” she repeated. “What does he mean by coming to see me? + Why, what do YOU mean? I should think that was the question. Why shouldn't + he come to see me, pray?” + </p> + <p> + Now Albert has a dozen reasons in his mind, each of which was to him + sufficiently convincing. But expressing those reasons to Helen Kendall he + found singularly difficult. He grew confused and stammered. + </p> + <p> + “Well—well, because he has no business to come here so much,” was + the best he could do. Helen, strange to say, was not satisfied. + </p> + <p> + “Has no business to?” she repeated. “Why, of course he has. I asked him to + come.” + </p> + <p> + “You did? Good heavens, you don't LIKE him, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I like him. I think he is a very nice fellow. Don't you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Well—well, because I don't, that's all. He has no business to + monopolize you all the time. Why, he is here about every night in the + week, or you're out with him, down town, or—or somewhere. Everybody + is talking about it and—” + </p> + <p> + “Wait a minute, please. You say everybody is talking about Ed Raymond and + me. What do you mean by that? What are they saying?” + </p> + <p> + “They're saying. . . . Oh, they're saying you and he are—are—” + </p> + <p> + “Are what?” + </p> + <p> + “Are—are—Oh, they're saying all sorts of things. Look here, + Helen, I—” + </p> + <p> + “Wait! I want to know more about this. What have you heard said about me?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, a lot of things. . . . That is—er—well, nothing in + particular, perhaps, but—” + </p> + <p> + “Wait! Who have you heard saying it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, never mind! Helen—” + </p> + <p> + “But I do mind. Who have you heard saying this 'lot of things' about me?” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody, I tell you. . . . Oh, well, if you must know, Issy Price said—well, + he said you and this Raymond fellow were what he called 'keeping company' + and—and that the whole town was talking about it.” + </p> + <p> + She slowly shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “Issy Price!” she repeated. “And you listened to what Issy Price said. + Issy Price, of all people!” + </p> + <p> + “Well—well, he said everyone else said the same thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he say more than that?” + </p> + <p> + “No, but that was enough, wasn't it. Besides, the rest was plain. I could + see it myself. He is calling here about every night in the week, and—and + being around everywhere with you and—and—Oh, anyone can see!” + </p> + <p> + Helen's usually placid temper was beginning to ruffle. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” she said, “then they may see. Why shouldn't he call here if + he wishes—and I wish? Why shouldn't I be 'around with him,' as you + say? Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, because I don't like it. It isn't the right thing for you to do. + You ought to be more careful of—of what people say.” + </p> + <p> + He realized, almost as soon as this last sentence was blurted out, the + absolute tactlessness of it. The quiet gleam of humor he had so often + noticed in Helen's eyes was succeeded now by a look he had never before + seen there. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm sorry,” he added, hastily. “I beg your pardon, Helen. I didn't + mean to say that. Forgive me, will you?” + </p> + <p> + She did not answer immediately. Then she said, “I don't know whether I + shall or not. I think I shall have to think it over. And perhaps you had + better go now.” + </p> + <p> + “But I'M sorry, Helen. It was a fool thing to say. I don't know why I was + such an idiot. Do forgive me; come!” + </p> + <p> + She slowly shook her head. “I can't—yet,” she said. “And this you + must understand: If Ed Raymond, or anyone else, calls on me and I choose + to permit it, or if I choose to go out with him anywhere at any time, that + is my affair and not 'everyone else's'—which includes Issachar + Price. And my FRIENDS—my real friends—will not listen to mean, + ridiculous gossip. Good night.” + </p> + <p> + So that was the end of that attempt at asserting the Divine Right by the + South Harniss king of hearts. Albert was more miserable than ever, angrier + than ever—not only at Raymond and Helen, but at himself—and + his newly-discovered jealousy burned with a brighter and greener flame. + The idea of throwing everything overboard, going to Canada and enlisting + in the Canadian Army—an idea which had had a strong and alluring + appeal ever since the war broke out—came back with redoubled force. + But there was the agreement with his grandfather. He had given his word; + how could he break it? Besides, to go away and leave his rival with a + clear field did not appeal to him, either. + </p> + <p> + On a Wednesday evening in the middle of September the final social event + of the South Harniss summer season was to take place. The Society for the + Relief of the French Wounded was to give a dance in the ballroom of the + hotel, the proceeds from the sale of tickets to be devoted to the purpose + defined by the name of this organization. Every last member of the summer + colony was to attend, of course, and all those of the permanent residents + who aspired to social distinction and cared to pay the high price of + admission. + </p> + <p> + Albert was going, naturally. That is, he had at first planned to go, then—after + the disastrous call at the parsonage—decided that he would go under + no circumstances, and at the last changed his mind once more to the + affirmative. Miss Madeline Fosdick, Jane Kelsey's friend, was responsible + for the final change. She it was who had sold him his ticket and urged him + to be present. He and she had met several times since the first meeting at + the post-office. Usually when they met they talked concerning poetry and + kindred lofty topics. Albert liked Miss Fosdick. It is hard not to like a + pretty, attractive young lady who takes such a flattering interest in + one's aspirations and literary efforts. The “high brow chit-chats”—quoting + Miss Kelsey again—were pleasant in many ways; for instance, they + were in the nature of a tonic for weakened self-esteem, and the Speranza + self-esteem was suffering just at this time, from shock. + </p> + <p> + Albert had, when he first heard that the dance was to take place, intended + inviting Helen to accompany him. He had taken her acceptance for granted, + he having acted as her escort to so many dances and social affairs. So he + neglected inviting her and then came Issy's mischief-making remarks and + the trouble which followed. So, as inviting her was out of the question, + he resolved not to attend, himself. But Miss Fosdick urged so prettily + that he bought his ticket and promised to be among those present. + </p> + <p> + “Provided, of course,” he ventured, being in a reckless mood, “that you + save me at least four dances.” She raised her brows in mock dismay. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my goodness!” she exclaimed. “I'm afraid I couldn't do that. Four is + much too many. One I will promise, but no more.” + </p> + <p> + However, as he persisted, she yielded another. He was to have two dances + and, possibly an “extra.” + </p> + <p> + “And you are a lucky young man,” declared Jane Kelsey, who had also + promised two. “If you knew how many fellows have begged for just one. But, + of course,” she added, “THEY were not poets, second editions of Tennyson + and Keats and all that. It is Keats who was the poet, isn't it, Madeline?” + she added, turning to her friend. “Oh, I'm so glad I got it right the + first time. I'm always mixing him up with Watts, the man who invented the + hymns and wrote the steam-engine—or something.” + </p> + <p> + The Wednesday evening in the middle of September was a beautiful one and + the hotel was crowded. The Item, in its account the following week, + enumerating those present, spoke of “Our new residents, Mrs. Fletcher + Story Fosdick and Miss Madeline Fosdick, who are to occupy the magnificent + residence now about being built on the Inlet Hill by their husband and + father, respectively, Fletcher Story Fosdick, Esquire, the well-known New + York banker.” The phrasing of this news note caused much joy in South + Harniss, and the Item gained several new and hopeful subscribers. + </p> + <p> + But when the gushing reporter responsible for this added that “Miss + Fosdick was a dream of loveliness on this occasion” he was stating only + the truth. She was very beautiful indeed and a certain young man who + stepped up to claim his first dance realized the fact. The said young man + was outwardly cool, but red-hot within, the internal rise in temperature + being caused by the sight of Helen Kendall crossing the floor arm in arm + with Edwin Raymond. Albert's face was white with anger, except for two red + spots on his cheeks, and his black eyes flashed. Consequently he, too, was + considered quite worth the looking at and feminine glances followed him. + </p> + <p> + “Who is that handsome, foreign-looking fellow your friend is dancing + with?” whispered one young lady, a guest at the hotel, to Miss Kelsey. + Jane told her. + </p> + <p> + “But he isn't a foreigner,” she added. “He lives here in South Harniss all + the year. He is a poet, I believe, and Madeline, who knows about such + things—inherits it from her mother, I suppose—says his poetry + is beautiful.” + </p> + <p> + Her companion watched the subject of their conversation as, with Miss + Fosdick, he moved lightly and surely through the crowd on the floor. + </p> + <p> + “He LOOKS like a poet,” she said, slowly. “He is wonderfully handsome, so + distinguished, and SUCH a dancer! But why should a poet live here—all + the year? Is that all he does for a living—write poetry?” + </p> + <p> + Jane pretended not to hear her and, a masculine friend coming to claim his + dance, seized the opportunity to escape. However, another “sitter out” + supplied the information. + </p> + <p> + “He is a sort of assistant bookkeeper at the lumber yard by the railroad + station,” said this person. “His grandfather owns the place, I believe. + One would never guess it to look at him now. . . . Humph! I wonder if Mrs. + Fosdick knows. They say she is—well, not democratically inclined, to + say the least.” + </p> + <p> + Albert had his two promised dances with Madeline Fosdick, but the “extra” + he did not obtain. Mrs. Fosdick, the ever watchful, had seen and made + inquiries. Then she called her daughter to her and issued an ultimatum. + </p> + <p> + “I am SO sorry,” said the young lady, in refusing the plea for the + “extra.” “I should like to, but I—but Mother has asked me to dance + with a friend of ours from home. I—I AM sorry, really.” + </p> + <p> + She looked as if she meant it. Albert was sorry, too. This had been a + strange evening, another combination of sweet and sour. He glanced across + the floor and saw Helen and the inevitable Raymond emerge together from + the room where the refreshments were served. Raging jealousy seized him at + the sight. Helen had not been near him, had scarcely spoken to him since + his arrival. He forgot that he had not been near nor spoken to her. + </p> + <p> + He danced twice or thrice more with acquaintances, “summer” or permanent, + and then decided to go home. Madeline Fosdick he saw at the other end of + the room surrounded by a group of young masculinity. Helen he could not + see at the moment. He moved in the direction of the coatroom. Just as he + reached the door he was surprised to see Ed Raymond stride by him, head + down and looking anything but joyful. He watched and was still more + astonished to see the young man get his coat and hat from the attendant + and walk out of the hotel. He saw him stride away along the drive and down + the moonlit road. He was, apparently, going home—going home alone. + </p> + <p> + He got his own coat and hat and, before putting them on, stepped back for + a final look at the ballroom. As he stood by the cloakroom door someone + touched his arm. Turning he saw Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Why—why, Helen!” he exclaimed, in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going home?” she asked, in a low tone. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I—” + </p> + <p> + “And you are going alone?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you mind—would it trouble you too much to walk with me as far + as our house?” + </p> + <p> + “Why—why of course not. I shall be delighted. But I thought you—I + thought Ed Raymond—” + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm alone. Wait here; I will be ready in just a minute.” + </p> + <p> + She hurried away. He gazed after her in bewilderment. She and he had + scarcely exchanged a word during the evening, and now, when the evening + was almost over, she came and asked him to be her escort. What in the wide + world—? + </p> + <p> + The minute she had specified had hardly elapsed when she reappeared, ready + for out of doors. She took his arm and they walked down the steps of the + hotel, past the group of lights at the head of the drive and along the + road, with the moon shining down upon it and the damp, salt breeze from + the ocean blowing across it. They walked for the first few minutes in + silence. There were a dozen questions he would have liked to ask, but his + jealous resentment had not entirely vanished and his pride forbade. It was + she who spoke first. + </p> + <p> + “Albert,” she said, “you must think this very odd.” + </p> + <p> + He knew what she meant, but he did not choose to admit it. + </p> + <p> + “What?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why, my asking you to walk home with me, after—after our trouble. + It is strange, I suppose, particularly as you had not spoken before this + whole evening.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i>—spoken to YOU? Why, you bowed to me when I came into the + room and that was the only sign of recognition you gave me until just now. + Not a dance—not one.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you expect me to look you up and beg you to dance with me?” + </p> + <p> + “Did you expect me to trot at that fellow's heels and wait my chance to + get a word with you, to take what he left? I should say not! By George, + Helen, I—” + </p> + <p> + She interrupted him. “Hush, hush!” she pleaded. “This is all so silly, so + childish. And we mustn't quarrel any more. I have made up my mind to that. + We mustn't.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! All right, <i>I</i> had no thought of quarreling in the beginning. + But there are some things a self-respecting chap can't stand. I have SOME + pride, I hope.” + </p> + <p> + She caught her breath quickly. “Do you think,” she asked, “that it was no + sacrifice to my pride to beg you to walk home with me? After—after + the things you said the other evening? Oh, Albert, how could you say + them!” + </p> + <p> + “Well—” he hesitated, and then added, “I told you I was sorry.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but you weren't really sorry. You must have believed the things that + hateful Issachar Price said or you wouldn't have repeated them. . . . Oh, + but never mind that now, I didn't mean to speak of it at all. I asked you + to walk home with me because I wanted to make up our quarrel. Yes, that + was it. I didn't want to go away and feel that you and I were not as good + friends as ever. So, you see, I put all MY pride to one side—and + asked.” + </p> + <p> + One phrase in one sentence of this speech caught and held the young man's + attention. He forgot the others. + </p> + <p> + “You are going away?” he repeated. “What do you mean? Where are you + going?” + </p> + <p> + “I am going to Cambridge to study. I am going to take some courses at + Radcliffe. You know I told you I hoped to some day. Well, it has been + arranged. I am to live with my cousin, father's half sister in Somerville. + Father is well enough to leave now and I have engaged a capable woman, + Mrs. Peters, to help Maria with the housework. I am going Friday morning, + the day after to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped short to stare at her. + </p> + <p> + “You are going away?” he asked, again. “You are going to do that and—and—Why + didn't you tell me before?” + </p> + <p> + It was a characteristic return to his attitude of outraged royalty. She + had made all these plans, had arranged to do this thing, and he had not + been informed. At another time Helen might have laughed at him; she + generally did when he became what she called the “Grand Bashaw.” She did + not laugh now, however, but answered quietly. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know I was going to do it until a little more than a week ago,” + she said. “And I have not seen you since then.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you've been too busy seeing someone else.” + </p> + <p> + She lost patience for the instant. “Oh, don't, don't, don't!” she cried. + “I know who you mean, of course. You mean Ed Raymond. Don't you know why + he has been at the house so much of late? Why he and I have been so much + together? Don't you really know?” + </p> + <p> + “What? . . . No, I don't—except that you and he wanted to be + together.” + </p> + <p> + “And it didn't occur to you that there might be some other reason? You + forgot, I suppose, that he and I were appointed on the Ticket Committee + for this very dance?” + </p> + <p> + He had forgotten it entirely. Now he remembered perfectly the meeting of + the French Relief Society at which the appointment had been made. In fact + Helen herself had told him of it at the time. For the moment he was + staggered, but he rallied promptly. + </p> + <p> + “Committee meetings may do as an excuse for some things,” he said, “but + they don't explain the rest—his calls here every other evening and—and + so on. Honest now, Helen, you know he hasn't been running after you in + this way just because he is on that committee with you; now don't you?” + </p> + <p> + They were almost at the parsonage. The light from Mr. Kendall's study + window shone through the leaves of the lilac bush behind the white fence. + Helen started to speak, but hesitated. He repeated his question. + </p> + <p> + “Now don't you?” he urged. + </p> + <p> + “Why, why, yes, I suppose I do,” she said, slowly. “I do know—now. + But I didn't even think of such a thing until—until you came that + evening and told me what Issy Price said.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean you didn't guess at all?” + </p> + <p> + “Well—well, perhaps I—I thought he liked to come—liked + to—Oh, what is the use of being silly! I did think he liked to call, + but only as a friend. He was jolly and lots of fun and we were both fond + of music. I enjoyed his company. I never dreamed that there was anything + more than that until you came and were so—disagreeable. And even + then I didn't believe—until to-night.” + </p> + <p> + Again she hesitated. “To-night?” he repeated. “What happened to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh nothing. I can't tell you. Oh, why can't friends be friends and not. . + . . That is why I spoke to you, Albert, why I wanted to have this talk + with you. I was going away so soon and I couldn't bear to go with any + unfriendliness between us. There mustn't be. Don't you see?” + </p> + <p> + He heard but a part of this. The memory of Raymond's face as he had seen + it when the young man strode out of the cloakroom and out of the hotel + came back to him and with it a great heart-throbbing sense of relief, of + triumph. He seized her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Helen,” he cried, “did he—did you tell him—Oh, by George, + Helen, you're the most wonderful girl in the world! I'm—I—Oh, + Helen, you know I—I—” + </p> + <p> + It was not his habit to be at a loss for words, but he was just then. He + tried to retain her hand, to put his arm about her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Helen!” he cried. “You're wonderful! You're splendid! I'm crazy about + you! I really am! I—” + </p> + <p> + She pushed him gently away. “Don't! Please don't!” she said. “Oh, don't!” + </p> + <p> + “But I must. Don't you see I. . . . Why, you're crying!” + </p> + <p> + Her face had, for a moment, been upturned. The moon at that moment had + slipped behind a cloud, but the lamplight from the window had shown him + the tears in her eyes. He was amazed. He could have shouted, have laughed + aloud from joy or triumphant exultation just then, but to weep! What + occasion was there for tears, except on Ed Raymond's part? + </p> + <p> + “You're crying!” he repeated. “Why, Helen—!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't!” she said, again. “Oh, don't! Please don't talk that way.” + </p> + <p> + “But don't you want me to, Helen? I—I want you to know how I feel. + You don't understand. I—” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! . . . Don't, Al, don't, please. Don't talk in that way. I don't + want you to.” + </p> + <p> + “But why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, because I don't. It's—it is foolish. You're only a boy, you + know.” + </p> + <p> + “A boy! I'm more than a year older than you are.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you? Why yes, I suppose you are, really. But that doesn't make any + difference. I guess girls are older than boys when they are our age, lots + older.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, bother all that! We aren't kids, either of us. I want you to listen. + You don't understand what I'm trying to say.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do. But I'm sure you don't. You are glad because you have found + you have no reason to be jealous of Ed Raymond and that makes you say—foolish + things. But I'm not going to have our friendship spoiled in that way. I + want us to be real friends, always. So you mustn't be silly.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not silly. Helen, if you won't listen to anything else, will you + listen to this? Will you promise me that while you are away you won't have + other fellows calling on you or—or anything like that? And I'll + promise you that I'll have nothing to say to another girl—in any way + that counts, I mean. Shall we promise each other that, Helen? Come!” + </p> + <p> + She paused for some moment before answering, but her reply, when it came, + was firm. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said, “I don't think we should promise anything, except to + remain friends. You might promise and then be sorry, later.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> might? How about you?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps we both might. So we won't take the risk. You may come and see me + to-morrow evening and say good-by, if you like. But you mustn't stay long. + It is my last night with father for some time and I mustn't cheat him out + of it. Good night, Albert. I'm so glad our misunderstanding is over, + aren't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I am. But, Helen—” + </p> + <p> + “I must go in now. Good night.” + </p> + <p> + The reflections of Alberto Speranza during his walk back to the Snow place + were varied but wonderful. He thought of Raymond's humiliation and gloried + in it. He thought of Helen and rhapsodized. And if, occasionally, he + thought also of the dance and of Madeline Fosdick, forgive him. He was + barely twenty-one and the moon was shining. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <p> + The good-by call the following evening was, to him at least, not very + satisfactory. Helen was tired, having been busy all day with the final + preparations for leaving, and old Mr. Kendall insisted on being present + during the entire visit and in telling long and involved stories of the + trip abroad he had made when a young man and the unfavorable opinion which + he had then formed of Prussians as traveling companions. Albert's opinion + of Prussians was at least as unfavorable as his own, but his complete and + even eager agreement with each of the old gentleman's statements did not + have the effect of choking the latter off, but rather seemed to act as + encouragement for more. When ten o'clock came and it was time to go Albert + felt as if he had been listening to a lecture on the Hohenzollerns. “Great + Scott, Helen,” he whispered, as she came to the door with him, “I don't + feel as if I had talked with you a minute. Why, I scarcely—” + </p> + <p> + But just here Mr. Kendall came hurrying from the sitting-room to tell of + one incident which he had hitherto forgotten, and so even this brief + interval of privacy was denied. But Albert made one more attempt. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to run over to the station to-morrow morning to see you off,” + he called from the gate. “Good night.” + </p> + <p> + The morning train left at nine o'clock, and at a quarter to nine Albert, + who had kept his eye on the clock ever since eight, his hour of arriving + at the office, called to Mr. Price. + </p> + <p> + “I say,” he said, in a low tone and one as casual as he could assume, “I + am going to run out for a few minutes. I'll be right back.” + </p> + <p> + Issachar's response was as usual anything but low. + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” he shouted. “Goin' out? Where you goin'?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm just going out—er—on an errand.” + </p> + <p> + “What kind of an errand? I was cal'latin' to run out myself for a little + spell. Can't I do your errand for you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no. . . There, there, don't bother me any more. I'm in a hurry.” + </p> + <p> + “Hurry! So'm I in a hurry. I was cal'latin' to run acrost to the deepo and + see Helen Kendall start for Boston. She's goin' this morning; did you know + it?” + </p> + <p> + Before the somewhat flustered assistant bookkeeper could reply Captain + Zelotes called from the inner office: + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn't wonder if that was where Al was bound, too,” he observed. “And I + was thinkin' of the same thing. Suppose we all go together. Labe'll keep + shop, won't you, Labe?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Keeler looked over his spectacles. “Eh?” he observed. “Oh, yes, yes . + . . yes, yes, yes. And say good-by to Helen for me, some of you, if you + happen to think of it. Not that 'twill make much difference to her,” he + added, “whether she gets my good-bys or not, but it might make some to me. + . . . Um, yes, yes.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Price was eager to oblige. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell her you sent 'em, Labe,” he said, patronizingly. “Set your mind + to rest; I'll tell her.” + </p> + <p> + Laban's lip twitched. “Much obliged, Is,” he chirruped. “That's a great + relief! My mind's rested some already.” + </p> + <p> + So, instead of going alone to the railway station, Albert made one of a + delegation of three. And at the station was Mr. Kendall, and two of the + school committee, and one or two members of the church sewing circle, and + the president and secretary of the Society for the Relief of the French + Wounded. So far from being an intimate confidential farewell, Helen's + departure was in the nature of a public ceremony with speech-making. Mr. + Price made most of the speeches, in fact the lower portion of his + countenance was in violent motion most of the ten minutes. + </p> + <p> + “Take care of yourself, Helen,” he urged loudly. “Don't you worry about + your pa, we'll look out for him. And don't let none of them Boston fellers + carry you off. We'll watch and see that Eddie Raymond and Al here don't + get into mischief while you're gone. I . . . Crimustee! Jim Young, what in + time's the matter with you? Can't ye see nothin'?” + </p> + <p> + This last outburst was directed at the driver of the depot-wagon, who, + wheeling a trunk on a baggage truck, had bumped violently into the rear of + Mr. Price's legs, just at the knee joint, causing their owner to bend + backward unexpectedly, and with enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + “Can't you see nothin' when it's right in front of ye?” demanded Issachar, + righteously indignant. + </p> + <p> + Jim Young winked over his shoulder at Albert. “Sorry, Is,” he said, as he + continued toward the baggage car. “I didn't notice you WAS in front of + me.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, you'd better. . . . Eh? See here, what do you mean by that?” + </p> + <p> + Even after Mr. Price had thus been pushed out of the foreground, so to + speak, Albert was denied the opportunity of taking his place by Helen's + side. Her father had a few last messages to deliver, then Captain Zelotes + shook her hand and talked for a moment, and, after that, the ladies of the + sewing circle and the war work society felt it their duty to, severally + and jointly, kiss her good-by. This last was a trying operation to watch. + </p> + <p> + Then the engine bell rang and the train began to move. Albert, running + beside the platform of the last car, held up his hand for a farewell + clasp. + </p> + <p> + “Good-by,” he said, and added in a whisper, “You'll write, won't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. And so must you. Good-by.” + </p> + <p> + The last car and the handkerchief waving figure on its platform + disappeared around the curve. The little group by the station broke up. + Albert and his grandfather walked over to the office together. + </p> + <p> + “There goes a good girl, Al,” was Captain Lote's only comment. “A mighty + good capable girl.” + </p> + <p> + Albert nodded. A moment later he lifted his hat to a group in a passing + automobile. + </p> + <p> + “Who were those folks?” asked the Captain. + </p> + <p> + “The Fosdicks,” was the reply. “The people who are going to build down by + the Inlet.” + </p> + <p> + It was Madeline and her mother. The latter had been serenely indifferent, + but the young lady had smiled and bowed behind the maternal shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Oh; that so?” observed Captain Zelotes, looking after the flying car with + interest. “That's who 'tis, eh? Nice lookin', the young one, ain't she?” + </p> + <p> + Albert did not answer. With the noise of the train which was carrying + Helen out of his life still ringing in his ears it seemed wicked even to + mention another girl's name, to say nothing of commenting upon her good + looks. For the rest of that day he was a gloomy spirit, a dark shadow in + the office of Z. Snow and Co. + </p> + <p> + Before the end of another fortnight the season at South Harniss was + definitely over. The hotel closed on the Saturday following the dance, and + by October first the last of the cottages was locked and shuttered. The + Kelseys went on the twentieth and the Fosdicks went with them. Albert met + Madeline and Jane at the post-office in the evening of the nineteenth and + there more farewells were said. + </p> + <p> + “Don't forget us down here in the sand, will you?” he suggested to Miss + Fosdick. It was Jane Kelsey who answered. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, she won't forget,” returned that young lady. “Why she has your + photograph to remember you by.” + </p> + <p> + Madeline colored becomingly and was, as Jane described it, “awfully + fussed.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” she exclaimed, with much indignation, “I haven't any such + thing. You know I haven't, Jane.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you have, my dear. You have a photograph of him standing in front of + the drug store and looking dreamily in at—at the strawberry sundaes. + It is a most romantic pose, really.” + </p> + <p> + Albert laughed. He remembered the photograph. It was one of a series of + snapshots taken with Miss Kelsey's camera one Saturday afternoon when a + party of young people had met in front of the sundae dispensary. Jane had + insisted on “snapping” everyone. + </p> + <p> + “That reminds me that I have never seen the rest of those photographs,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + “Haven't you?” exclaimed Jane. “Well, you ought to see them. I have + Madeline's with me. It is a dream, if I do say it as I took it.” + </p> + <p> + She produced the snapshot, which showed her friend standing beside the + silver-leaf tree before the druggist's window and smiling at the camera. + It was a good likeness and, consequently, a very pretty picture. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it a dream, just as I said?” demanded the artist. “Honest now, + isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + Albert of course declared it to be beyond praise. + </p> + <p> + “May I have this one?” he asked, on the impulse of the moment. + </p> + <p> + “Don't ask me, stupid,” commanded Jane, mischievously. “It isn't my + funeral—or my portrait, either.” + </p> + <p> + “May I?” he repeated, turning to Madeline. She hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Why—why yes, you may, if you care for it,” she said. “That + particular one is Jane's, anyway, and if she chooses to give it away I + don't see how I can prevent her. But why you should want the old thing I + can't conceive. I look as stiff and wooden as a sign-post.” + </p> + <p> + Jane held up a protesting finger. + </p> + <p> + “Fibs, fibs, fibs,” she observed. “Can't conceive why he should want it! + As if you weren't perfectly aware that he will wear it next his heart and—Oh, + don't put it in THAT pocket! I said next your heart, and that isn't on + your RIGHT side.” + </p> + <p> + Albert took the photograph home and stuck it between the frame and glass + of his bureau. Then came a sudden remembrance of his parting with Helen + and with it a twinge of conscience. He had begged her to have nothing to + do with any other fellow. True she had refused to promise and consequently + he also was unbound, but that made no difference—should not make + any. So he put the photograph at the back of the drawer where he kept his + collars and ties, with a resolve never to look at it. He did not look at + it—very often. + </p> + <p> + Then came another long winter. He ground away at the bookkeeping—he + was more proficient at it, but he hated it as heartily as ever—and + wrote a good deal of verse and some prose. For the first time he sold a + prose article, a short story, to a minor magazine. He wrote long letters + to Helen and she replied. She was studying hard, she liked her work, and + she had been offered the opportunity to tutor in a girls' summer camp in + Vermont during July and August and meant to accept provided her father's + health continued good. Albert protested violently against her being absent + from South Harniss for so long. “You will scarcely be home at all,” he + wrote. “I shall hardly see you. What am I going to do? As it is now I miss + you—” and so on for four closely written pages. Having gotten into + the spirit of composition he, so to speak, gloried in his loneliness, so + much so that Helen was moved to remonstrate. “Your letter made me almost + miserable,” she wrote, “until I had read it over twice. Then I began to + suspect that you were enjoying your wretchedness, or enjoying writing + about it. I truly don't believe anyone—you especially—could be + quite as lonesome as all that. Honestly now, Albert, weren't you + exaggerating a little? I rather think you were?” + </p> + <p> + He had been, of course, but it irritated him to think that she recognized + the fact. She had an uncanny faculty of seeing through his every pretense. + In his next letter he said nothing whatever about being lonesome. + </p> + <p> + At home, and at the office, the war was what people talked about most of + the time. Since the Lusitania's sinking Captain Zelotes had been a battle + charger chafing at the bit. He wanted to fight and to fight at once. + </p> + <p> + “We've got to do it, Mother,” he declared, over and over again. “Sooner or + later we've got to fight that Kaiser gang. What are we waitin' for; will + somebody tell me that?” + </p> + <p> + Olive, as usual, was mild and unruffled. + </p> + <p> + “Probably the President knows as much about it as you and me, Zelotes,” + she suggested. “I presume likely he has his own reasons.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! When Seth Bassett got up in the night and took a drink out of the + bottle of Paris Green by mistake 'Bial Cahoon asked him what in time he + kept Paris Green in his bedroom for, anyhow. All that Seth would say was + that he had his own reasons. The rest of the town was left to guess what + those reasons was. That's what the President's doin'—keepin' us + guessin'. By the everlastin', if I was younger I'd ship aboard a British + lime-juicer and go and fight, myself!” + </p> + <p> + It was Rachel Ellis who caused the Captain to be a bit more restrained in + his remarks. + </p> + <p> + “You hadn't ought to talk that way, Cap'n Lote,” she said. “Not when + Albert's around, you hadn't.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Because the first thing you know he'll be startin' for Canada to enlist. + He's been crazy to do it for 'most a year.” + </p> + <p> + “He has? How do you know he has?” + </p> + <p> + “Because he's told me so, more'n once.” + </p> + <p> + Her employer looked at her. + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” he grunted. “He seems to tell you a good many things he doesn't + tell the rest of us.” + </p> + <p> + The housekeeper nodded. “Yes,” she said gravely, “I shouldn't wonder if he + did.” A moment later she added, “Cap'n Lote, you will be careful, won't + you? You wouldn't want Al to go off and leave Z. Snow and Company when him + and you are gettin' on so much better. You ARE gettin' on better, ain't + you?” + </p> + <p> + The captain pulled at his beard. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he admitted, “seems as if we was. He ain't any wonder at + bookkeepin', but he's better'n he used to be; and he does seem to try + hard, I'll say that for him.” + </p> + <p> + Rachael beamed gratification. “He'll be a Robert Penfold yet,” she + declared; “see if he isn't. So you musn't encourage him into enlistin' in + the Canadian army. You wouldn't want him to do that any more'n the rest of + us would.” + </p> + <p> + The captain gazed intently into the bowl of the pipe which he had been + cleaning. He made no answer. + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn't want him to do that, would you?” repeated the housekeeper. + </p> + <p> + Captain Lote blew through the pipe stem. Then he said, “No, I wouldn't . . + . but I'm darn glad he's got the spunk to WANT to do it. We may get that + Portygee streak out of him, poetry and all, give us time; eh, Rachael?” + </p> + <p> + It was the first time in months that he had used the word “Portygee” in + connection with his grandson. Mrs. Ellis smiled to herself. + </p> + <p> + In April the arbutus buds began to appear above the leaf mold between the + scrub oaks in the woods, and the walls of Fletcher Fosdick's new summer + home began to rise above the young pines on the hill by the Inlet in the + Bay Road. The Item kept its readers informed, by weekly installments, of + the progress made by the builders. + </p> + <p> + The lumber for Mr. Fletcher Fosdick's new cottage is beginning to be + hauled to his property on Inlet Hill in this town. Our enterprising firm + of South Harniss dealers, Z. Snow & Co., are furnishing said lumber. + Mr. Nehemiah Nickerson is to do the mason work. Mr. Fosdick shows good + judgment as well as a commendable spirit in engaging local talent in this + way. We venture to say he will never regret it. + </p> + <p> + A week later: + </p> + <p> + Mr. Fletcher Fosdick's new residence is beginning building, the foundation + being pretty near laid. + </p> + <p> + And the following week: + </p> + <p> + The Fosdick mansion is growing fast. South Harniss may well be proud of + its new ornament. + </p> + <p> + The rise in three successive numbers from “cottage” to “mansion” is + perhaps sufficient to indicate that the Fosdick summer home was to be, as + Issachar Price described it, “Some considerable house! Yes sir, by crimus, + some considerable!” + </p> + <p> + In June, Helen came home for a week. At the end of the week she left to + take up her new duties at the summer camp for girls in Vermont. Albert and + she were together a good deal during that week. Anticipating her arrival, + the young man's ardent imagination had again fanned what he delighted to + think of as his love for her into flame. During the last months of the + winter he had not played the languishing swain as conscientiously as + during the autumn. Like the sailor in the song “is 'eart was true to Poll” + always, but he had broken away from his self-imposed hermitage in his room + at the Snow place several times to attend sociables, entertainments and, + even, dances. Now, when she returned he was eagerly awaiting her and would + have haunted the parsonage before and after working hours of every day as + well as the evening, if she had permitted, and when with her assumed a + proprietary air which was so obvious that even Mr. Price felt called upon + to comment on it. + </p> + <p> + “Say, Al,” drawled Issachar, “cal'late you've cut out Eddie Raymond along + with Helen, ain't ye? Don't see him hangin' around any since she got back, + and the way you was actin' when I see you struttin' into the parsonage + yard last night afore mail time made me think you must have a first + mortgage on Helen and her pa and the house and the meetin'-house and + two-thirds of the graveyard. I never see such an important-lookin' critter + in MY life. Haw, haw! Eh? How 'bout it?” + </p> + <p> + Albert did not mind the Price sarcasm; instead he felt rather grateful to + have the proletariat recognize that he had triumphed again. The fly in his + ointment, so to speak, was the fact that Helen herself did not in the + least recognize that triumph. She laughed at him. + </p> + <p> + “Don't look at me like that, please, please, don't,” she begged. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” with a repetition of the look. + </p> + <p> + “Because it is silly.” + </p> + <p> + “Silly! Well, I like that! Aren't you and I engaged? Or just the same as + engaged?” + </p> + <p> + “No, of course we are not.” + </p> + <p> + “But we promised each other—” + </p> + <p> + “No, we did not. And you know we didn't.” + </p> + <p> + “Helen, why do you treat me that way? Don't you know that—that I + just worship the ground you tread on? Don't you know you're the only girl + in this world I could ever care for? Don't you know that?” + </p> + <p> + They were walking home from church Sunday morning and had reached the + corner below the parsonage. There, screened by the thicket of young + silver-leafs, she stopped momentarily and looked into his face. Then she + walked on. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you know how much I care?” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. “You think you do now, perhaps,” she said, “but you + will change your mind.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by that? How do you know I will?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I know you. There, there, Albert, we won't quarrel, will we? And + we won't be silly. You're an awfully nice boy, but you are just a boy, you + know.” + </p> + <p> + He was losing his temper. + </p> + <p> + “This is ridiculous!” he declared. “I'm tired of being grandmothered by + you. I'm older than you are, and I know what I'm doing. Come, Helen, + listen to me.” + </p> + <p> + But she would not listen, and although she was always kind and frank and + friendly, she invariably refused to permit him to become sentimental. It + irritated him, and after she had gone the irritation still remained. He + wrote her as before, although not quite so often, and the letters were + possibly not quite so long. His pride was hurt and the Speranza pride was + a tender and important part of the Speranza being. If Helen noted any + change in his letters she did not refer to it nor permit it to influence + her own, which were, as always, lengthy, cheerful, and full of interest in + him and his work and thoughts. + </p> + <p> + During the previous fall, while under the new influence aroused in him by + his discovery that Helen Kendall was “the most wonderful girl in the + world,” said discovery of course having been previously made for him by + the unfortunate Raymond, he had developed a habit of wandering off into + the woods or by the seashore to be alone and to seek inspiration. When a + young poet is in love, or fancies himself in love, inspiration is usually + to be found wherever sought, but even at that age and to one in that + condition solitude is a marked aid in the search. There were two or three + spots which had become Albert Speranza's favorites. One was a high, + wind-swept knoll, overlooking the bay, about a half mile from the hotel, + another was a secluded nook in the pine grove beside Carver's Pond, a + pretty little sheet of water on the Bayport boundary. On pleasant Saturday + afternoons or Sundays, when the poetic fit was on him, Albert, with a half + dozen pencils in his pocket, and a rhyming dictionary and a scribbling pad + in another, was wont to stroll towards one or the other of these two + retreats. There he would sprawl amid the beachgrass or upon the + pine-needles and dream and think and, perhaps, ultimately write. + </p> + <p> + One fair Saturday in late June he was at the first of these respective + points. Lying prone on the beach grass at the top of the knoll and peering + idly out between its stems at the water shimmering in the summer sun, he + was endeavoring to find a subject for a poem which should deal with love + and war as requested by the editor of the Columbian Magazine. “Give us + something with a girl and a soldier in it,” the editor had written. + Albert's mind was lazily drifting in search of the pleasing combination. + </p> + <p> + The sun was warm, the breeze was light, the horizon was veiled with a + liquid haze. Albert's mind was veiled with a similar haze and the idea he + wanted would not come. He was losing his desire to find it and was, in + fact, dropping into a doze when aroused by a blood-curdling outburst of + barks and yelps and growls behind him, at his very heels. He came out of + his nap with a jump and, scrambling to a sitting position and turning, he + saw a small Boston bull-terrier standing within a yard of his ankles and, + apparently, trying to turn his brindled outside in, or his inside out, + with spiteful ferocity. Plainly the dog had come upon him unexpectedly and + was expressing alarm, suspicion and disapproval. + </p> + <p> + Albert jerked his ankles out of the way and said “Hello, boy,” in as + cheerfully cordial a tone as he could muster at such short notice. The dog + took a step forward, evidently with the idea of always keeping the ankles + within jumping distance, showed a double row of healthy teeth and growled + and barked with renewed violence. + </p> + <p> + “Nice dog,” observed Albert. The nice dog made a snap at the nearest ankle + and, balked of his prey by a frenzied kick of the foot attached to the + ankle, shrieked, snarled and gurgled like a canine lunatic. + </p> + <p> + “Go home, you ugly brute,” commanded the young man, losing patience, and + looking about for a stone or stick. On the top of that knoll the largest + stone was the size of a buckshot and the nearest stick was, to be Irish, a + straw. + </p> + <p> + “Nice doggie! Nice old boy! Come and be patted! . . . Clear out with you! + Go home, you beast!” + </p> + <p> + Flatteries and threats were alike in their result. The dog continued to + snarl and growl, darting toward the ankles occasionally. Evidently he was + mustering courage for the attack. Albert in desperation scooped up a + handful of sand. If worst came to worst he might blind the creature + temporarily. What would happen after that was not clear. Unless he might + by a lucky cast fill the dog's interior so full of sand that—like + the famous “Jumping Frog”—it would be too heavy to navigate, he saw + no way of escape from a painful bite, probably more than one. What Captain + Zelotes had formerly called his “Portygee temper” flared up. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, damn you, clear out!” he shouted, springing to his feet. + </p> + <p> + From a little way below him; in fact, from behind the next dune, between + himself and the beach, a feminine voice called his name. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mr. Speranza!” it said. “Is it you? I'm so glad!” + </p> + <p> + Albert turned, but the moment he did so the dog made a dash at his legs, + so he was obliged to turn back again and kick violently. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I am so glad it is you,” said the voice again. “I was sure it was a + dreadful tramp. Googoo loathes tramps.” + </p> + <p> + As an article of diet that meant, probably. Googoo—if that was the + dog's name—was passionately fond of poets, that was self-evident, + and intended to make a meal of this one, forthwith. He flew at the + Speranza ankles. Albert performed a most undignified war dance, and dashed + his handful of sand into Googoo's open countenance. For a minute or so + there was a lively shindy on top of that knoll. At the end of the minute + the dog, held tightly in a pair of feminine arms, was emitting growls and + coughs and sand, while Madeline Fosdick and Albert Speranza were kneeling + in more sand and looking at each other. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, did he bite you?” begged Miss Fosdick. + </p> + <p> + “No . . . no, I guess not,” was the reply. “I—I scarcely know yet. . + . . Why, when did you come? I didn't know you were in town.” + </p> + <p> + “We came yesterday. Motored from home, you know. I—be still, Goo, + you bad thing! It was such a lovely day that I couldn't resist going for a + walk along the beach. I took Googoo because he does love it so, and—Goo, + be still, I tell you! I am sure he thinks you are a tramp, out here all + alone in the—in the wilderness. And what were you doing here?” + </p> + <p> + Albert drew a long breath. “I was half asleep, I guess,” he said, “when he + broke loose at my heels. I woke up quick enough then, as you may imagine. + And so you are here for the summer? Your new house isn't finished, is it?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not quite. Mother and Goo and I are at the hotel for a month. But you + haven't answered my question. What were you doing off here all alone? Have + you been for a walk, too?” + </p> + <p> + “Not exactly. I—well, I come here pretty often. It is one of my + favorite hiding places. You see, I . . . don't laugh if I tell you, will + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not. Go on; this is very mysterious and interesting.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I come here sometimes on pleasant days, to be alone—and + write.” + </p> + <p> + “Write? Write poetry, do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, how wonderful! Were you writing when I—when Goo interrupted + you?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I had made two or three attempts, but nothing that I did satisfied + me. I had just about decided to tear them up and to give up trying for + this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I hope you won't tear them up. I'm sure they shouldn't be. Perhaps + you were not in a proper mood to judge, yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps not. Perhaps they might look a little less hopeless to some one + else. But that person would have to be really interested, and there are + few people in South Harniss who know or care anything about poetry.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose that is true. I—I don't suppose you would care to show + them to me, would you?” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” eagerly, “would you really care to see them?” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I should! Not that my judgment or advice is worth anything, of + course. But I am very, very fond of poetry, and to see how a real poet + wrote would be wonderful. And if I could help you, even the least little + bit, it would be such an honor.” + </p> + <p> + This sort of thing was balm to the Speranza spirit. Albert's temperamental + ego expanded under it like a rosebud under a summer sun. Yet there was a + faint shadow of doubt—she might be making fun of him. He looked at + her intently and she seemed to read his thoughts, for she said: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I mean it! Please believe I do. I haven't spoken that way when Jane + was with me, for she wouldn't understand and would laugh, but I mean it, + Mr. Speranza. It would be an honor—a great honor.” + </p> + <p> + So the still protesting and rebellious Googoo was compelled to go a few + feet away and lie down, while his mistress and the young man whom he had + attempted to devour bent their heads together over a scribbling-pad and + talked and exclaimed during the whole of that hour and a full + three-quarters of the next. Then the distant town clock in the steeple of + the Congregational church boomed five times and Miss Fosdick rose to her + feet. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” she said, “it can't really be five o'clock, can it? But it is! What + WILL mother fancy has become of me? I must go this minute. Thank you, Mr. + Speranza. I have enjoyed this so much. It has been a wonderful + experience.” + </p> + <p> + Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were shining. She had grown handsomer + than ever during the winter months. Albert's eyes were shining also as he + impulsively seized her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Miss Fosdick,” he said. “You have helped me more than I can + tell you. I was about to give up in despair before you came, and now—now + I KNOW I shall write the best thing I have ever done. And you will be + responsible for it.” + </p> + <p> + She caught her breath. “Oh, not really!” she exclaimed. “You don't mean + it, really?” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I do! If I might have your help and sympathy once in awhile, I + believe—I believe I could do almost anything. Will you help me again + some day? I shall be here almost every pleasant Saturday and Sunday + afternoon. Will you come again?” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated. “I—I'll see; perhaps,” she answered hurriedly. “But I + must go now. Come, Goo.” + </p> + <p> + She hastened away, down the knoll and along the beach toward the hotel. + Googoo followed her, turning occasionally to cast diabolical glances at + the Speranza ankles. Albert gazed until the graceful figure in the trim + sport costume disappeared behind the corner of the point of the beach. + Just at the point she paused to wave to him. He waved in return. Then he + tramped homeward. There was deep sand beneath his feet and, later, + pine-needles and grass. They were all alike to him, for he was traveling + on air. + </p> + <p> + That evening at supper his radiant appearance caused comment. + </p> + <p> + “What makes you look so happy, Albert?” asked his grandmother. “Seems to + me I never saw you look so sort of—well, glorified, as you might + say. What is the reason?” + </p> + <p> + The glorified one reddened and was confused. He stammered that he did not + know, he was not aware of any particular reason. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Ellis beamed upon him. “I presume likely his bookkeepin' at the + office has been goin' pretty well lately,” she suggested. + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelote's gray eyes twinkled. “Cal'late he's been makin' up more + poetry about girls,” was his offering. “Another one of those pieces about + teeth like pearls and hair all curls, or somethin' like that. Say, Al, why + don't you poetry-makin' fellers try a new one once in a while? Say, 'Her + hair's like rope and her face has lost hope.' Eh? Why not, for a change?” + </p> + <p> + The protests on the part of Olive and the housekeeper against the + captain's innovation in poetry-making had the effect of distracting + attention from Albert's “glorified” appearance. The young man himself was + thankful for the respite. + </p> + <p> + That night before he retired he took Madeline Fosdick's photograph from + the back of the drawer among the ties and collars and looked at it for + five minutes at least. She was a handsome girl, certainly. Not that that + made any difference to him. And she was an intelligent girl; she + understood his poetry and appreciated it. Yes, and she understood him, + too, almost as well as Helen. . . . Helen! He hastily returned the Fosdick + photograph to the drawer; but this time he did not put it quite so near + the back. + </p> + <p> + On the following Saturday he was early at the knoll, a brand-new + scribbling-pad in his pocket and in his mind divine gems which were later, + and with Miss Fosdick's assistance, to be strung into a glittering + necklace of lyric song and draped, with the stringer's compliments, about + the throat of a grateful muse. But no gems were strung that day. Madeline + did not put in an appearance, and by and by it began to rain, and Albert + walked home, damp, dejected, and disgusted. When, a day or two later, he + met Miss Fosdick at the post office and asked why she had not come he + learned that her mother had insisted upon a motor trip to Wapatomac that + afternoon. + </p> + <p> + “Besides,” she said, “you surely mustn't expect me EVERY Saturday.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he admitted grudgingly, “I suppose not. But you will come sometimes, + won't you? I have a perfectly lovely idea for a ballad and I want to ask + your advice about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do you really? You're not making fun? You mean that my advice is + really worth something? I can't believe it.” + </p> + <p> + He convinced her that it was, and the next Saturday afternoon they spent + together at the inspiration point among the dunes, at work upon the + ballad. It was not finished on that occasion, nor on the next, for it was + an unusually long ballad, but progress was made, glorious progress. + </p> + <p> + And so, during that Summer, as the Fosdick residence upon the Bay Road + grew and grew, so did the acquaintanceship, the friendship, the poetic + partnership between the Fosdick daughter and the grandson of Captain + Zelotes Snow grow and grow. They met almost every Saturday, they met at + the post office on week evenings, occasionally they saw each other for a + moment after church on Sunday mornings. Mrs. Fletcher Fosdick could not + imagine why her only child cared to attend that stuffy little country + church and hear that prosy Kendall minister drone on and on. “I hope, my + dear, that I am as punctilious in my religious duties as the average + woman, but one Kendall sermon was sufficient for me, thank you. What you + see in THAT church to please you, <i>I</i> can't guess.” + </p> + <p> + If she had attended as often as Madeline did she might have guessed and + saved herself much. But she was busy organizing, in connection with Mrs. + Seabury Calvin, a Literary Society among the summer people of South + Harniss. The Society was to begin work with the discussion of the poetry + of Rabindranath Tagore. Mrs. Fosdick said she doted on Tagore; Mrs. Calvin + expressed herself as being positively insane about him. A warm friendship + had sprung up between the two ladies, as each was particularly fond of + shining as a literary light and neither under any circumstances permitted + a new lion to roar unheard in her neighborhood, provided, of course, that + the said roarings had been previously endorsed and well advertised by the + critics and the press. + </p> + <p> + So Mrs. Fosdick was too busy to accompany Madeline to church on Sunday or + to walk on Saturday, and the young lady was left to wander pretty much at + her own sweet will. That sweet will led her footsteps to trails frequented + by Albert Speranza and they walked and talked and poetized together. As + for Mr. Fletcher Fosdick, he was busy at his office in New York and came + to South Harniss only for infrequent week-ends. + </p> + <p> + The walks and talks and poetizings were innocent enough. Neither of the + partners in poesy had the least idea of anything more than being just + that. They liked each other, they had come to call each other by their + Christian names, and on Albert's bureau Madeline's photograph now stood + openly and without apology. Albert had convinced himself there was nothing + to apologize for. She was his friend, that was all. He liked to write and + she liked to help him—er—well, just as Helen used to when she + was at home. He did not think of Helen quite as often as formerly, nor + were his letters to her as frequent or as long. + </p> + <p> + So the summer passed and late August came, the last Saturday afternoon of + that month. Albert and Madeline were together, walking together along the + beach from the knoll where they had met so often. It was six o'clock and + the beach was deserted. There was little wind, the tiny waves were lapping + and plashing along the shore, and the rosy light of the sinking sun lay + warm upon the water and the sand. They were thinking and speaking of the + summer which was so near its end. + </p> + <p> + “It has been a wonderful summer, hasn't it?” said Albert. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, wonderful,” agreed Madeline. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I—I—by George, I never believed a summer could be so + wonderful.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor I.” + </p> + <p> + Silence. Then Albert, looking at her, saw her eyes looking into his and + saw in them— + </p> + <p> + He kissed her. + </p> + <p> + That morning Albert Speranza had arisen as usual, a casual, careless, + perfectly human young fellow. He went to bed that night a superman, an + archangel, a demi-god, with his head in the clouds and the earth a cloth + of gold beneath his feet. Life was a pathway through Paradise arched with + rainbows. + </p> + <p> + He and Madeline Fosdick loved each other madly, devotedly. They were + engaged to be married. They had plighted troth. They were to be each + other's, and no one else's, for ever—and ever—and ever. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <p> + The remainder of that summer was a paradisical meandering over the cloth + of gold beneath the rainbows. Albert and his Madeline met often, very + often. Few poems were written at these meetings. Why trouble to put + penciled lines on paper when the entire universe was a poem especially + composed for your benefit? The lovers sat upon the knoll amid the sand + dunes and gazed at the bay and talked of themselves separately, + individually, and, more especially, collectively. They strolled through + the same woody lanes and discussed the same satisfactory subjects. They + met at the post office or at the drug store and gazed into each other's + eyes. And, what was the most astonishing thing about it all, their secret + remained undiscovered. Undiscovered, that is to say, by those by whom + discovery would have meant calamity. The gossips among the townspeople + winked and chuckled and cal'lated Fletcher Fosdick had better look out or + his girl would be took into the firm of Z. Snow and Co. Issachar Price + uttered sarcastic and sly innuendoes. Jane Kelsey and her set ragged the + pair occasionally. But even these never really suspected that the affair + was serious. And neither Mrs. Fletcher Fosdick nor Captain and Mrs. + Zelotes Snow gave it a minute's attention. + </p> + <p> + It was serious enough with the principals, however. To them it was the + only serious matter in the world. Not that they faced or discussed the + future with earnest and complete attention. Some day or other—that + was of course the mutually accepted idea—some day or other they were + to marry. In the meantime here was the blissful present with its roses and + rainbows and here, for each, was the other. What would be likely to happen + when the Fosdick parents learned of the engagement of their only child to + the assistant bookkeeper of the South Harniss lumber and hardware company + was unpleasant to contemplate, so why contemplate it? Upon one point they + were agreed—never, never, NEVER would they give each other up. No + power on earth—which included parents and grandparents—should + or could separate them. + </p> + <p> + Albert's conscience troubled him slightly at first when he thought of + Helen Kendall. It had been in reality such a short time—although of + course it seemed ages and ages—since he had fancied himself in love + with her. Only the previous fall—yes, even that very spring, he had + asked her to pledge herself to him. Fortunately—oh, how very + fortunately!—she had refused, and he had been left free. Now he knew + that his fancied love for her had been merely a passing whim, a delusion + of the moment. This—THIS which he was now experiencing was the grand + passion of his life. He wrote a poem with the title, “The Greater Love”—and + sold it, too, to a sensational periodical which circulated largely among + sentimental shopgirls. It is but truthful to state that the editor of the + magazine to which he first submitted it sent it back with the brief note—“This + is a trifle too syrupy for our use. Fear the pages might stick. Why not + send us another war verse?” Albert treated the note and the editor with + the contempt they deserved. He pitied the latter; poor soul, doubtless HE + had never known the greater love. + </p> + <p> + He and Madeline had agreed that they would tell no one—no one at all—of + their betrothal. It should be their own precious secret for the present. + So, under the circumstances, he could not write Helen the news. But ought + he to write her at all? That question bothered him not a little. He no + longer loved her—in fact, he was now certain that he never had loved + her—but he liked her, and he wanted her to keep on liking him. And + she wrote to him with regularity. What ought he to do about writing her? + </p> + <p> + He debated the question with himself and, at last, and with some + trepidation, asked Madeline's opinion of his duty in the matter. Her + opinion was decisive and promptly given. Of course he must not write Helen + again. “How would you like it if I corresponded with another fellow?” she + asked. Candor forced him to admit that he should not like it at all. “But + I want to behave decently,” he said. “She is merely a friend of mine”—oh, + how short is memory!—“but we have been friends for a long time and I + wouldn't want to hurt her feelings.” “No, instead you prefer to hurt + mine.” “Now, dearest, be reasonable.” It was their nearest approach to a + quarrel and was a very, very sad affair. The making-up was sweet, of + course, but the question of further correspondence with Helen Kendall + remained just where it was at the beginning. And, meanwhile, the + correspondence lapsed. + </p> + <p> + September came far, far too soon—came and ended. And with it ended + also the stay of the Fosdicks in South Harniss. Albert and Madeline said + good-by at their rendezvous by the beach. It was a sad, a tearful, but a + very precious farewell. They would write each other every day, they would + think of each other every minute of every day, they would live through the + winter somehow and look forward to the next spring and their next meeting. + </p> + <p> + “You will write—oh, ever and ever so many poems, won't you, dear?” + begged Madeline. “You know how I love them. And whenever I see one of your + poems in print I shall be so proud of you—of MY poet.” + </p> + <p> + Albert promised to write ever and ever so many. He felt that there would + be no difficulty in writing reams of poems—inspired, glorious poems. + The difficulty would be in restraining himself from writing too many of + them. With Madeline Fosdick as an inspiration, poetizing became as natural + as breathing. + </p> + <p> + Then, which was unusual for them, they spoke of the future, the dim, + vague, but so happy future, when Albert was to be the nation's poet + laureate and Madeline, as Mrs. Laureate, would share his glory and wear, + so to speak, his second-best laurels. The disagreeable problems connected + with the future they ignored, or casually dismissed with, “Never mind, + dear, it will be all right by and by.” Oh, it was a wonderful afternoon, a + rosy, cloudy, happy, sorrowful, bitter-sweet afternoon. + </p> + <p> + And the next morning Albert, peeping beneath Z. Snow and Co.'s office + window shade, saw his heart's desire step aboard the train, saw that train + puff out of the station, saw for just an instant a small hand waved behind + the dingy glass of the car window. His own hand waved in reply. Then the + raucous voice of Mr. Price broke the silence. + </p> + <p> + “Who was you flappin' your flipper at?” inquired Issachar. “Girl, I'll bet + you! Never saw such a critter as you be to chase after the girls. Which + one is it this time?” + </p> + <p> + Albert made no reply. Between embarrassment and sorrow he was incapable of + speech. Issachar, however, was not in that condition; at all times when + awake, and sometimes when asleep, Mr. Price could, and usually did, speak. + </p> + <p> + “Which one is it this time, Al?” demanded Issy. “Eh? Crimus, see him get + red! Haw, haw! Labe,” to Mr. Keeler, who came into the office from the + inner room, “which girl do you cal'late Al here is wavin' by-bye to this + mornin'? Who's goin' away on the cars this mornin', Labe?” + </p> + <p> + Laban, his hands full of the morning mail, absently replied that he didn't + know. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you do, too,” persisted Issy. “You ain't listenin', that's all. + Who's leavin' town on the train just now?” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? Oh, I don't know. The Small folks are goin' to Boston, I believe. And + George Bartlett's goin' to Ostable on court business, he told me. Oh, yes, + I believe Cap'n Lote said that Fosdick woman and her daughter were goin' + back to New York. Back to New York—yes—yes—yes.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Price crowed triumphantly. “Ah, ha!” he crowed. “Ah, ha! That's the + answer. That's the one he's shakin' day-days to, that Fosdick girl. I've + seen you 'round with her at the post office and the ice cream s'loon. I'm + onto you, Al. Haw, haw! What's her name? Adeline? Dandelion? Madeline?—that's + it! Say, how do you think Helen Kendall's goin' to like your throwin' + kisses to the Madeline one, eh?” + </p> + <p> + The assistant bookkeeper was still silent. The crimson, however, was + leaving his face and the said face was paling rapidly. This was an ominous + sign had Mr. Price but known it. He did not know it and cackled merrily + on, + </p> + <p> + “Guess I'll have to tell Helen when she comes back home,” he announced. + “Cal'late I'll put a flea in her ear. 'Helen,' I'll say, 'don't feel too + bad now, don't cry and get your handkerchief all soakin', or nothin' like + that. I just feel it's my duty to tell ye that your little Albert is + sparkin' up to somebody else. He's waitin' on a party by the name of + Padeline—no, Madeline—Woodtick—no, Fosdick—and . . + .' Here! let go of me! What are you doin'?” + </p> + <p> + That last question was in the nature of a gurgle. Albert, his face now + very white indeed, had strode across the office, seized the speaker by the + front of his flannel shirt and backed him against the wall. + </p> + <p> + “Stop,” commanded Albert, between his teeth. “That's enough of that. Don't + you say any more!” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? Ugh! Ur-gg! Leggo of my shirt.” + </p> + <p> + Albert let go, but he did not step back. He remained where he was, exactly + in front of Mr. Price. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you say any more about—about what you were saying,” he + repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Eh? Not say any more? Why not? Who's goin' to stop me, I'd like to know?” + </p> + <p> + “I am.” + </p> + <p> + “I want to know! What'll you do?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. If you weren't so old, I would—but I'll stop you, + anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + Albert felt a hand on his arm and heard Mr. Keeler's voice at his ear. + </p> + <p> + “Careful, Al, careful,” it said. “Don't hit him.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I shan't hit him,” indignantly. “What do you think I am? But he + must promise not to mention—er—Miss Fosdick's name again.” + </p> + <p> + “Better promise, Is,” suggested Laban. Issachar's mouth opened, but no + promise came forth. + </p> + <p> + “Promise be darned!” he yelled furiously. “Mention her name! I'll mention + any name I set out to, and no Italyun Portygee is goin' to stop me, + neither.” + </p> + <p> + Albert glanced about the office. By the wall stood two brimming pails of + water, brought in by Mr. Price for floor-washing purposes. He lifted one + of the pails. + </p> + <p> + “If you don't promise I'll duck you,” he declared. “Let go of me, Keeler, + I mean it.” + </p> + <p> + “Careful, Al, careful,” said Mr. Keeler. “Better promise, Is.” + </p> + <p> + “Promise nawthin'! Fosdick! What in time do I care for Fosdicks, Madelines + or Padelines or Dandelions or—” + </p> + <p> + His sentence stopped just there. The remainder of it was washed back and + down his throat by the deluge from the bucket. Overcome by shock and + surprise, Mr. Price leaned back against the wall and slid slowly down that + wall until he reclined in a sitting posture, upon the floor. + </p> + <p> + “Crimustee,” he gasped, as soon as he could articulate, “I'm—awk—I'm + drownded.” + </p> + <p> + Albert put down the empty bucket and picked up the full one. + </p> + <p> + “Promise,” he said again. + </p> + <p> + Laban Keeler rubbed his chin. + </p> + <p> + “I'd promise if I was you, Is,” he said. “You're some subject to + rheumatism, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Issachar, sitting in a spreading puddle, looked damply upward at the + remaining bucket. “By crimustee—” he began. Albert drew the bucket + backward; the water dripped from its lower brim. + </p> + <p> + “I—I—darn ye, I promise!” shouted Issachar. Albert put down + the bucket and walked back to his desk. Laban watched him curiously, + smiling just a little. Then he turned to Mr. Price, who was scrambling to + his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Better get your mop and swab up here, Is,” he said. “Cap'n Lote'll be in + 'most any minute.” + </p> + <p> + When Captain Zelotes did return to the office, Issachar was industriously + sweeping out, Albert was hard at work at the books, and Laban was still + rubbing his chin and smiling at nothing in particular. + </p> + <p> + The next day Albert and Issachar made it up. Albert apologized. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry, Issy,” he said. “I shouldn't have done it, but you made me + mad. I have a—rather mean temper, I'm afraid. Forgive me, will you?” + </p> + <p> + He held out his hand, and Issachar, after a momentary hesitation, took it. + </p> + <p> + “I forgive you this time, Al,” he said solemnly, “but don't never do + nothin' like it again, will ye? When I went home for dinner yesterday noon + I give you my word my clothes was kind of dampish even then. If it hadn't + been nice warm sunshine and I was out doors and dried off considerable I'd + a had to change everything, underclothes and all, and 'tain't but the + middle of the week yet.” + </p> + <p> + His ducking had an effect which Albert noticed with considerable + satisfaction—he was never quite as flippantly personal in his + comments concerning the assistant bookkeeper. He treated the latter, if + not with respect, at least with something distantly akin to it. + </p> + <p> + After Madeline's departure the world was very lonely indeed. Albert wrote + long, long letters and received replies which varied in length but never + in devotion. Miss Fosdick was obliged to be cautious in her correspondence + with her lover. “You will forgive me if this is not much more than a note, + won't you, dear?” she wrote. “Mother seems to be very curious of late + about my letters and to whom I write and I had to just steal the + opportunity this morning.” An older and more apprehensive person might + have found Mrs. Fosdick's sudden interest in her daughter's correspondence + suspicious and a trifle alarming, but Albert never dreamed of being + alarmed. + </p> + <p> + He wrote many poems, all dealing with love and lovers, and sold some of + them. He wrote no more letters to Helen. She, too, had ceased to write + him, doubtless because of the lack of reply to her last two or three + letters. His conscience still troubled him about Helen; he could not help + feeling that his treatment of her had not been exactly honorable. Yet what + else under the circumstances could he do? From Mr. Kendall he learned that + she was coming home to spend Thanksgiving. He would see her then. She + would ask him questions? What should his answer be? He faced the situation + in anticipation many, many times, usually after he had gone to bed at + night, and lay awake through long torturing hours in consequence. + </p> + <p> + But when at last Helen and he did meet, the day before Thanksgiving, their + meeting was not at all the dreadful ordeal he had feared. Her greeting was + as frank and cordial as it had always been, and there was no reproach in + her tone or manner. She did not even ask him why he had stopped writing. + It was he, himself, who referred to that subject, and he did so as they + walked together down the main road. Just why he referred to it he could + not probably have told. He was aware only that he felt mean and + contemptible and that he must offer some explanation. His not having any + to offer made the task rather difficult. + </p> + <p> + But she saved him the trouble. She interrupted one of his blundering, + stumbling sentences in the middle. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, Albert,” she said quietly. “You needn't explain. I think I + understand.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped and stared at her. “You understand?” he repeated. “Why—why, + no, you don't. You can't.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I can, or I think I can. You have changed your mind, that is all.” + </p> + <p> + “Changed my mind?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Don't you remember I told you you would change your mind about—well, + about me? You were so sure you cared so very, very much for me, you know. + And I said you mustn't promise anything because I thought you would change + your mind. And you have. That is it, isn't it? You have found some one + else.” + </p> + <p> + He gazed at her as if she were a witch who had performed a miracle. + </p> + <p> + “Why—why—well, by George!” he exclaimed. “Helen—how—how + did you know? Who told you?” + </p> + <p> + “No one told me. But I think I can even guess who it is you have found. It + is Madeline Fosdick, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + His amazement now was so open-mouthed as well as open-eyed that she could + not help smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Don't! Don't stare at me like that,” she whispered. “Every one is looking + at you. There is old Captain Pease on the other side of the street; I'm + sure he thinks you have had a stroke or something. Here! Walk down our + road a little way toward home with me. We can talk as we walk. I'm sure,” + she added, with just the least bit of change in her tone, “that your + Madeline won't object to our being together to that extent.” + </p> + <p> + She led the way down the side street toward the parsonage and he followed + her. He was still speechless from surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” she went on, after a moment, “aren't you going to say anything?” + </p> + <p> + “But—but, Helen,” he faltered, “how did you know?” + </p> + <p> + She smiled again. “Then it IS Madeline,” she said. “I thought it must be.” + </p> + <p> + “You—you thought—What made you think so?” + </p> + <p> + For an instant she seemed on the point of losing her patience. + </p> + <p> + Then she turned and laid her hand on his arm. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Al,” she said, “please don't think I am altogether an idiot. I + surmised when your letters began to grow shorter and—well, different—that + there was something or some one who was changing them, and I suspected it + was some one. When you stopped writing altogether, I KNEW there must be. + Then father wrote in his letters about you and about meeting you, and so + often Madeline Fosdick was wherever he met you. So I guessed—and, + you see, I guessed right.” + </p> + <p> + He seized her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Helen,” he cried, “if you only knew how mean I have felt and how + ashamed I am of the way I have treated you! But, you see, I—I + COULDN'T write you and tell you because we had agreed to keep it a secret. + I couldn't tell ANY ONE.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it is as serious as that! Are you two really and truly engaged?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. There! I've told it, and I swore I would never tell.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, you didn't tell. I guessed. Now tell me all about her. She is + very lovely. Is she as sweet as she looks?” + </p> + <p> + He rhapsodized for five minutes. Then all at once he realized what he was + saying and to whom he was saying it. He stopped, stammering, in the very + middle of a glowing eulogium. + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” said Helen reassuringly. But he could not go on, under the + circumstances. Instead he turned very red. As usual, she divined his + thought, noticed his confusion, and took pity on it. + </p> + <p> + “She must be awfully nice,” she said. “I don't wonder you fell in love + with her. I wish I might know her better.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you might. By and by you must. And she must know you. Helen, I—I + feel so ashamed of—of—” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, or I shall begin to think you are ashamed because you liked me—or + thought you did.” + </p> + <p> + “But I do like you. Next to Madeline there is no one I like so much. But, + but, you see, it is different.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course it is. And it ought to be. Does her mother—do her people + know of the engagement?” + </p> + <p> + He hesitated momentarily. “No-o,” he admitted, “they don't yet. She and I + have decided to keep it a secret from any one for the present. I want to + get on a little further with my writing, you know. She is like you in + that, Helen—she's awfully fond of poetry and literature.” + </p> + <p> + “Especially yours, I'm sure. Tell me about your writing. How are you + getting on?” + </p> + <p> + So he told her and, until they stood together at the parsonage gate, + Madeline's name was not again mentioned. Then Helen put out her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Albert,” she said. “I'm glad we have had this talk, ever so + glad.” + </p> + <p> + “By George, so am I! You're a corking friend, Helen. The chap who does + marry you will be awfully lucky.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled slightly. “Perhaps there won't be any such chap,” she said. “I + shall always be a schoolmarm, I imagine.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed you won't,” indignantly. “I have too high an opinion of men for + that.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled again, seemed about to speak, and then to change her mind. An + instant later she said, + </p> + <p> + “I must go in now. But I shall hope to see you again before I go back to + the city. And, after your secret is out and the engagement is announced, I + want to write Madeline, may I?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you may. And she'll like you as much as I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Will she? . . . Well, perhaps; we'll hope so.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly she will. And you won't let my treating you as—as I have + make any difference in our friendship?” + </p> + <p> + “No. We shall always be friends, I hope. Good-by.” + </p> + <p> + She went into the house. He waited a moment, hoping she might turn again + before entering, but she did not. He walked home, pondering deeply, his + thoughts a curious jumble of relief and dissatisfaction. He was glad Helen + had seen her duty and given him over to Madeline, but he felt a trifle + piqued to think she had done it with such apparent willingness. If she had + wept or scolded it would have been unpleasant but much more gratifying to + his self-importance. + </p> + <p> + He could not help realizing, however, that her attitude toward him was + exceptionally fine. He knew well that he, if in her place, would not have + behaved as she had done. No spite, no sarcasm, no taunts, no unpleasant + reminders of things said only a few months before. And with all her + forgiveness and forbearance and understanding there had been always that + sense of greater age and wisdom; she had treated him as she might have + treated a boy, younger brother, perhaps. + </p> + <p> + “She IS older than I am,” he thought, “even if she really isn't. It's + funny, but it's a fact.” + </p> + <p> + December came and Christmas, and then January and the new year, the year + 1917. In January, Z. Snow and Co. took its yearly account of stock, and + Captain Lote and Laban and Albert and Issachar were truly busy during the + days of stock-taking week and tired when evening came. Laban worked the + hardest of the quartette, but Issy made the most fuss about it. Labe, who + had chosen the holiday season to go on one of his periodical vacations, as + rather white and shaky and even more silent than usual. Mr. Price, + however, talked with his customary fluency and continuity, so there was no + lack of conversation. Captain Zelotes was moved to comment. + </p> + <p> + “Issy,” he suggested gravely, looking up from a long column of figures, + “did you ever play 'Door'?” + </p> + <p> + Issachar stared at him. + </p> + <p> + “Play 'Door'?” he repeated. “What's that?” + </p> + <p> + “It's a game. Didn't you ever play it?” + </p> + <p> + “No, don't know's I ever did.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you'd better begin right this minute. The first thing to do is to + shut up and the next is to stay that way. You play 'Door' until I tell you + to do somethin' else; d'you hear?” + </p> + <p> + At home the week between Christmas and the New Year was rather dismal. Mr. + Keeler's holiday vacation had brought on one of his fiancee's “sympathetic + attacks,” and she tied up her head and hung crape upon her soul, as usual. + During these attacks the Snow household walked on tiptoe, as if the + housekeeper were an invalid in reality. Even consoling speeches from + Albert, who with Laban when the latter was sober, enjoyed in her mind the + distinction of being the reincarnation of “Robert Penfold,” brought no + relief to the suffering Rachel. Nothing but the news brought by the + milkman, that “Labe was taperin' off,” and would probably return to his + desk in a few days, eased her pain. + </p> + <p> + One forenoon about the middle of the month Captain Zelotes himself stopped + in at the post office for the morning mail. When he returned to the lumber + company's building he entered quietly and walked to his own desk with a + preoccupied air. For the half hour before dinner time he sat there, + smoking his pipe, and speaking to no one unless spoken to. The office + force noticed his preoccupation and commented upon it. + </p> + <p> + “What ails the old man, Al?” whispered Issachar, peering in around the + corner of the door at the silent figure tilted back in the revolving + chair, its feet upon the corner of the desk. “Ain't said so much as 'Boo' + for up'ards of twenty minutes, has he? I was in there just now fillin' up + his ink-stand and, by crimus, I let a great big gob of ink come down + ker-souse right in the middle of the nice, clean blottin' paper in front + of him. I held my breath, cal'latin' to catch what Stephen Peter used to + say he caught when he went fishin' Sundays. Stevey said he generally + caught cold when he went and always caught the Old Harry when he got back. + I cal'lated to catch the Old Harry part sure, 'cause Captain Lote is + always neat and fussy 'bout his desk. But no, the old man never said a + word. I don't believe he knew the ink was spilled at all. What's on his + mind, Al; do you know?” + </p> + <p> + Albert did not know, so he asked Laban. Laban shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Give it up, Al,” he whispered. “Somethin's happened to bother him, that's + sartin'. When Cap'n Lote gets his feet propped up and his head tilted back + that way I can 'most generally cal'late he's doin' some real thinkin'. + Real thinkin'—yes, sir-ee—um-hm—yes—yes. When he + h'ists his boots up to the masthead that way it's safe to figger his + brains have got steam up. Um-hm—yes indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “But what is he thinking about? And why is he so quiet?” + </p> + <p> + “I give up both riddles, Al. He's the only one's got the answers and when + he gets ready enough maybe he'll tell 'em. Until then it'll pay us fo'mast + hands to make believe we're busy, even if we ain't. Hear that, do you, + Is?” + </p> + <p> + “Hear what?” demanded Issachar, who was gazing out of the window, his + hands in his pockets. + </p> + <p> + “I say it will pay us—you and Al and me—to make believe we're + workin' even if we ain't.” + </p> + <p> + “'Workin'!” indignantly. “By crimus, I AM workin'! I don't have to make + believe.” + </p> + <p> + “That so? Well, then, I'd pick up that coal-hod and make believe play for + a spell. The fire's 'most out. Almost—um-hm—pretty nigh—yes—yes.” + </p> + <p> + Albert and his grandfather walked home to dinner together, as was their + custom, but still the captain remained silent. During dinner he spoke not + more than a dozen words and Albert several times caught Mrs. Snow + regarding her husband intently and with a rather anxious look. She did not + question him, however, but Rachel was not so reticent. + </p> + <p> + “Mercy on us, Cap'n Lote,” she demanded, “what IS the matter? You're as + dumb as a mouthful of mush. I don't believe you've said ay, yes or no + since we sat down to table. Are you sick?” + </p> + <p> + Her employer's calm was unruffled. + </p> + <p> + “No-o,” he answered, with deliberation. + </p> + <p> + “That's a comfort. What's the matter, then; don't you WANT to talk?” + </p> + <p> + “No-o.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” with a toss of the head, “well, I'm glad I know. I was beginnin' to + be afraid you'd forgotten how.” + </p> + <p> + The captain helped himself to another fried “tinker” mackerel. + </p> + <p> + “No danger of that around here, Rachel,” he said serenely. “So long as my + hearin's good I couldn't forget—not in this house.” + </p> + <p> + Olive detained her grandson as he was following Captain Zelotes from the + dining room. + </p> + <p> + “What's wrong with him, Albert?” she whispered. “Do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't, Grandmother. Do you think there is anything wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “I know there's somethin' troublin' him. I've lived with him too many + years not to know the signs. Oh, Albert—you haven't done anything to + displease him, have you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed, Grandmother. Whatever it is, it isn't that.” + </p> + <p> + When they reached the office, the captain spoke to Mr. Keeler. + </p> + <p> + “Had your dinner, Labe?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—yes, indeed. Don't take me long to eat—not at my boardin' + house. A feller'd have to have paralysis to make eatin' one of Lindy + Dadgett's meals take more'n a half hour. Um-hm—yes.” + </p> + <p> + Despite his preoccupation, Captain Zelotes could not help smiling. + </p> + <p> + “To make it take an hour he'd have to be ossified, wouldn't he, like the + feller in the circus sideshow?” he observed. + </p> + <p> + Laban nodded. “That—or dead,” he replied. “Yes—just about—just + so, Cap'n.” + </p> + <p> + “Where's Issachar?” + </p> + <p> + “He's eatin' yet, I cal'late. He don't board at Lindy's.” + </p> + <p> + “When he gets back set him to pilin' that new carload of spruce under + Number Three shed. Keep him at it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. Um-hm. All right.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes turned to his grandson. “Come in here, Al,” he said. “I + want to see you for a few minutes.” + </p> + <p> + Albert followed him into the inner office. He wondered what in the world + his grandfather wished to see him about, in this very private fashion. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, Al,” said the captain, taking his own chair and pointing to + another. “Oh, wait a minute, though! Maybe you'd better shut that hatch + first.” + </p> + <p> + The “hatch” was the transom over the door between the offices. Albert, + remembering how a previous interview between them had been overheard + because of that open transom, glanced at his grandfather. The twinkle in + the latter's eye showed that he too, remembered. Albert closed the + “hatch.” When he came back to his seat the twinkle had disappeared; + Captain Zelotes looked serious enough. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Grandfather?” queried the young man, after waiting a moment. The + captain adjusted his spectacles, reached into the inside pocket of his + coat and produced an envelope. It was a square envelope with either a + trade-mark or a crest upon the back. Captain Lote did not open the + envelope, but instead tapped his desk with it and regarded his grandson in + a meditative way. + </p> + <p> + “Al,” he said slowly, “has it seemed to you that your cruise aboard this + craft of ours here had been a little smoother the last year or two than it + used to be afore that?” + </p> + <p> + Albert, by this time well accustomed to his grandfather's nautical + phraseology, understood that the “cruise” referred to was his voyage as + assistant bookkeeper with Z. Snow and Co. He nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I have tried to make it so,” he answered. “I mean I have tried to make it + smoother for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm, I think you have tried. I don't mind tellin' you that it has + pleased me consid'ble to watch you try. I don't mean by that,” he added, + with a slight curve of the lip, “that you'd win first prize as a + lightnin'-calculator even yet, but you're a whole lot better one than you + used to be. I've been considerable encouraged about you; I don't mind + tellin' you that either. . . . And,” he added, after another interval + during which he was, apparently, debating just how much of an admission it + was safe to make, “so far as I can see, this poetry foolishness of yours + hasn't interfered with your work any to speak of.” + </p> + <p> + Albert smiled. “Thanks, Grandfather,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “You're welcome. So much for that. But there's another side to our + relations together, yours and mine, that I haven't spoken of to you afore. + And I have kept still on purpose. I've figgered that so long as you kept + straight and didn't go off the course, didn't drink or gamble, or go wild + or the like of that, what you did was pretty much your own business. I've + noticed you're considerable of a feller with the girls, but I kept an eye + on the kind of girls and I will say that so far as I can see, you've + picked the decent kind. I say so far as I can see. Of course I ain't fool + enough to believe I see all you do, or know all you do. I've been young + myself, and when I get to thinkin' how much I know about you I try to set + down and remember how much my dad didn't know about me when I was your + age. That—er—helps some toward givin' me my correct position + on the chart.” + </p> + <p> + He paused. Albert's brain was vainly striving to guess what all this + meant. What was he driving at? The captain crossed his legs and continued. + </p> + <p> + “I did think for a spell,” he said, “that you and Helen Kendall were + gettin' to understand each other pretty well. Well, Helen's a good girl + and your grandma and I like her. Course we didn't cal'late anything very + serious was liable to come of the understandin', not for some time, + anyhow, for with your salary and—well, sort of unsettled prospects, + I gave you credit for not figgerin' on pickin' a wife right away. . . . + Haven't got much laid by to support a wife on, have you, Al?” + </p> + <p> + Albert's expression had changed during the latter portion of the speech. + Now he was gazing intently at his grandfather and at the letter in the + latter's hands. He was beginning to guess, to dread, to be fearful. + </p> + <p> + “Haven't got much to support a wife on, Al, have you?” repeated Captain + Zelotes. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir, not now.” + </p> + <p> + “Um. . . . But you hope to have by and by, eh? Well, I hope you will. But + UNTIL you have it would seem to older folks like me kind of risky + navigatin' to—to . . . Oh, there was a letter in the mail for you + this mornin, Al.” + </p> + <p> + He put down the envelope he had hitherto held in his hand and, reaching + into his pocket, produced another. Even before he had taken it from his + grandfather's hand Albert recognized the handwriting. It was from + Madeline. + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes, regarding him keenly, leaned back again in his chair. + “Read it if you want to, Al,” he said. “Maybe you'd better. I can wait.” + </p> + <p> + Albert hesitated a moment and then tore open the envelope. The note within + was short, evidently written in great haste and agitation and was spotted + with tear stains. He read it, his cheeks paling and his hand shaking as he + did so. Something dreadful had happened. Mother—Mrs. Fosdick, of + course—had discovered everything. She had found all his—Albert's—letters + and read them. She was furious. There had been the most terrible scene. + Madeline was in her own room and was smuggling him this letter by Mary, + her maid, who will do anything for me, and has promised to mail it. Oh, + dearest, they say I must give you up. They say—Oh, they say dreadful + things about you! Mother declares she will take me to Japan or some + frightful place and keep me there until I forget you. I don't care if they + take me to the ends of the earth, I shall NEVER forget you. I will never—never—NEVER + give you up. And you mustn't give me up, will you, darling? They say I + must never write you again. But you see I have—and I shall. Oh, what + SHALL we do? I was SO happy and now I am so miserable. Write me the minute + you get this, but oh, I KNOW they won't let me see your letters and then I + shall die. But write, write just the same, every day. Oh what SHALL we do? + </p> + <p> + Yours, always and always, no matter what everyone does or says, lovingly + and devotedly, + </p> + <p> + MADELINE. + </p> + <p> + When the reading was finished Albert sat silently staring at the floor, + seeing it through a wet mist. Captain Zelotes watched him, his heavy brows + drawn together and the smoke wreaths from his pipe curling slowly upward + toward the office ceiling. At length he said: + </p> + <p> + “Well, Al, I had a letter, too. I presume likely it came from the same + port even if not from the same member of the family. It's about you, and I + think you'd better read it, maybe. I'll read it to you, if you'd rather.” + </p> + <p> + Albert shook his head and held out his hand for the second letter. His + grandfather gave it to him, saying as he did so: “I'd like to have you + understand, Al, that I don't necessarily believe all that she says about + you in this thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, Grandfather,” mechanically. + </p> + <p> + “All right, boy.” + </p> + <p> + The second letter was, as he had surmised, from Mrs. Fosdick. It had + evidently been written at top speed and at a mental temperature well above + the boiling point. Mrs. Fosdick addressed Captain Zelotes Snow because she + had been given to understand that he was the nearest relative, or + guardian, or whatever it was, of the person concerning whom the letter was + written and therefore, it was presumed, might be expected to have some + measure of control over that person's actions. The person was, of course, + one Albert Speranza, and Mrs. Fosdick proceeded to set forth her version + of his conduct in sentences which might almost have blistered the paper. + Taking advantage of her trust in her daughter's good sense and ability to + take care of herself—which trust it appeared had been in a measure + misplaced—he, the Speranza person, had sneakingly, underhandedly and + in a despicably clandestine fashion—the lady's temper had rather + gotten away from her here—succeeded in meeting her daughter in + various places and by various disgraceful means and had furthermore + succeeded in ensnaring her youthful affections, et cetera, et cetera. + </p> + <p> + “The poor child actually believes herself in love with him,” wrote the + poor child's mother. “She protests ridiculously that she is engaged to him + and will marry him in spite of her father or myself or the protests of + sensible people. I write to you, therefore, assuming you likewise to be a + sensible person, and requesting that you use your influence with the—to + put the most charitable interpretation of his conduct—misguided and + foolish young man and show him the preposterous folly of his pretended + engagement to my daughter. Of course the whole affair, CORRESPONDENCE + INCLUDED, must cease and terminate AT ONCE.” + </p> + <p> + And so on for two more pages. The color had returned to Albert's cheeks + long before he finished reading. When he had finished he rose to his feet + and, throwing the letter upon his grandfather's desk, turned away. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Al?” queried Captain Zelotes. + </p> + <p> + Albert's face, when he turned back to answer, was whiter than ever, but + his eyes flashed fire. + </p> + <p> + “Do you believe that?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “That—that stuff about my being a—a sneak and—and + ensnaring her—and all the rest? Do you?” + </p> + <p> + The captain took his pipe from his mouth. + </p> + <p> + “Steady, son, steady,” he said. “Didn't I tell you before you begun to + read at all that I didn't necessarily believe it because that woman wrote + it.” + </p> + <p> + “You—you or no one else had better believe it. It's a lie.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, I'm glad to hear you say so. But there's a little mite of + truth here and there amongst the lies, I presume likely. For instance, you + and this Fosdick girl have been—er—keepin' company?” + </p> + <p> + “Her name is Madeline—and we are engaged to be married.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Hum—I see—I see. And, bein' as the old lady—her + mother, Mrs. Fosdick, I mean—hasn't suspected anything, or, at any + rate, hasn't found out anything until now, yesterday, or whenever it was, + I judge you have been meetin'—er—Madeline at places where + there wasn't—well, too large a crowd. Eh?” + </p> + <p> + Albert hesitated and was, momentarily, a trifle embarrassed. But he + recovered at once. + </p> + <p> + “I met her first at the drug store last summer,” he said defiantly. “Then + I met her after that at the post office and at the hotel dance last fall, + and so on. This year I met her—well, I met her first down by the + beach, where I went to write. She liked poetry and—and she helped me + with mine. After that she came—well, she came to help me again. And + after that—after that—” + </p> + <p> + “After that it just moved along kind of natural, eh? Um-hm, I see.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Grandfather, I want you to understand that she is—is—by + George, she is the cleanest, finest, best girl in the world. Don't you get + the idea that—that she isn't. She came to meet me just because she + was interested in my verse and wanted to help. It wasn't until the very + last that we—that we found out we cared for each other.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, boy, all right. Go on, tell me the whole yarn, if you feel + like it. I don't want to pry too much into your affairs, but, after all, I + AM interested in those affairs, Al. Tell me as much as you can.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you the whole. There's nothing I can't tell, nothing I'm not + proud to tell. By George, I ought to be proud! Why, Grandfather, she's + wonderful!” + </p> + <p> + “Sartin, son, sartin. They always are. I mean she is, of course. Heave + ahead.” + </p> + <p> + So Albert told his love story. When he had finished Captain Zelote's pipe + was empty, and he put it down. + </p> + <p> + “Albert,” he said slowly, “I judge you mean this thing seriously. You mean + to marry her some day.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, indeed I do. And I won't give her up, either. Her mother—why, + what right has her mother got to say—to treat her in this way? Or to + call me what she calls me in that letter? Why, by George—” + </p> + <p> + “Easy, son. As I understand it, this Madeline of yours is the only child + the Fosdicks have got and when our only child is in danger of bein' + carried off by somebody else—why, well, their mothers and fathers + are liable to be just a little upset, especially if it comes on 'em + sudden. . . . Nobody knows that better than I do,” he added slowly. + </p> + <p> + Albert recognized the allusion, but he was not in the mood to be affected + by it. He was not, just then, ready to make allowances for any one, + particularly the parental Fosdicks. + </p> + <p> + “They have no business to be upset—not like that, anyhow,” he + declared. “What does that woman know about me? What right has she to say + that I ensnared Madeline's affection and all that rot? Madeline and I fell + in love with each other, just as other people have, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “You suppose right,” observed Captain Zelotes, dryly. “Other people have—a + good many of 'em since Adam's time.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then! And what right has she to give orders that I stop writing or + seeing Madeline,—all that idiotic stuff about ceasing and + terminating at once? She—she—” His agitation was making him + incoherent—“She talks like Lord Somebody-or-other in an + old-fashioned novel or play or something. Those old fools were always + rejecting undesirable suitors and ordering their daughters to do this and + that, breaking their hearts, and so on. But that sort of thing doesn't go + nowadays. Young people have their own ideas.” + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm, Al; so I've noticed.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, indeed they have. Now, if Madeline wants to marry me and I want to + marry her, who will stop us?” + </p> + <p> + The captain pulled at his beard. + </p> + <p> + “Why, nobody, Al, as I know of,” he said; “provided you both keep on + wantin' to marry each other long enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Keep on wanting long enough? What do you mean by that?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, nothin' much, perhaps; only gettin' married isn't all just goin' to + the parson. After the ceremony the rent begins and the grocers' bills and + the butchers' and the bakers' and a thousand or so more. Somebody's got to + pay 'em, and the money's got to come from somewhere. Your wages here, Al, + poetry counted in, ain't so very big yet. Better wait a spell before you + settle down to married life, hadn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Well—well, I—I didn't say we were to be married right away, + Grandfather. She and I aren't unreasonable. I'm doing better and better + with my writings. Some day I'll make enough, and more. Why not?” + </p> + <p> + There was enough of the Speranza egotism in this confident assurance to + bring the twinkle to the captain's eye. He twisted his beard between his + finger and thumb and regarded his grandson mildly. + </p> + <p> + “Have you any idea how much 'enough' is liable to be, Al?” he inquired. “I + don't know the facts about 'em, of course, but from what I have heard I + judge the Fosdicks have got plenty of cash. I've heard it estimated around + town from one million to fifty millions. Allowin' it's only one million, + it seems likely that your—er—what's-her-name—Madeline + has been used to havin' as much as fifty cents to spend whenever she + wanted it. Do you cal'late to be able to earn enough makin' up poetry to + keep her the way her folks have been doin'?” + </p> + <p> + “No, of course not—not at first.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but later on—when the market price of poetry has gone up—you + can, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Grandfather, if you're making fun of me I tell you I won't + stand it. This is serious; I mean it. Madeline and I are going to be + married some time and no one can stop us.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, son, all right. But it did seem to me that in the light of + this letter from—er—your mother-in-law that's goin' to be, we + ought to face the situation moderately square, anyhow. First comes + marriage. Well, that's easy; any fool can get married, lots of 'em do. But + then, as I said, comes supportin' yourself and wife—bills, bills, + and more bills. You'll say that you and she will economize and fight it + out together. Fine, first-rate, but later on there may be more of you, a + child, children perhaps—” + </p> + <p> + “Grandfather!” + </p> + <p> + “It's possible, son. Such things do happen, and they cost money. More + mouths to feed. Now I take it for granted that you aren't marryin' the + Fosdick girl for her money—” + </p> + <p> + The interruption was prompt and made with fiery indignation. + </p> + <p> + “I never thought of her money,” declared Albert. “I don't even know that + she has any. If she has, I don't want it. I wouldn't take it. She is all I + want.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes' lip twitched. + </p> + <p> + “Judgin' from the tone of her ma's last letter to me,” he observed, “she + is all you would be liable to get. It don't read as if many—er—weddin' + presents from the bride's folks would come along with her. But, there, + there, Al don't get mad. I know this is a long ways from bein' a joke to + you and, in a way, it's no joke for me. Course I had realized that some + day you'd be figgerin', maybe, on gettin' married, but I did hope the + figgerin' wouldn't begin for some years yet. And when you did, I rather + hoped—well, I—I hoped. . . . However, we won't stop to bother + with that now. Let's stick to this letter of Mrs. Fosdick's here. I must + answer that, I suppose, whether I want to or not, to-day. Well, Al, you + tell me, I understand that there has been nothin' underhand in your + acquaintance with her daughter. Other than keepin' the engagement a + secret, that is?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do.” + </p> + <p> + “And you mean to stick by your guns and. . . . Well, what is it? Come in!” + </p> + <p> + There had been a knock upon the office door. In answer to his employer's + summons, Mr. Keeler appeared. He held a card in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Sorry to disturb you, Cap'n Lote,” he said. “Yes, I be, yes, sir. But I + judged maybe 'twas somethin' important about the lumber for his house and + he seemed anxious to see you, so I took the risk and knocked. Um-hm—yes, + yes, yes.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes looked at the card. Then he adjusted his spectacles and + looked again. + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” he grunted. “Humph! . . . We-ell, Labe, I guess likely you might + show him in here. Wait just a minute before you do it, though. I'll open + the door when I want him to come.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Cap'n Lote. Yes, yes,” observed Mr. Keeler and departed. The + captain looked thoughtfully at the card. + </p> + <p> + “Al,” he said, after a moment's reflection, “we'll have to cut this talk + of ours short for a little spell. You go back to your desk and wait there + until I call you. Hold on,” as his grandson moved toward the door of the + outer office. “Don't go that way. Go out through the side door into the + yard and come in the front way. There's—er—there's a man + waitin' to see me, and—er—perhaps he'd better not see you + first.” + </p> + <p> + Albert stared at him uncomprehendingly. + </p> + <p> + “Better not see ME?” he repeated. “Why shouldn't he see me?” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes handed the card to Albert. + </p> + <p> + “Better let me talk with him first, Al,” he said. “You can have your + chance later on.” + </p> + <p> + The card bore the name of Mr. Fletcher Story Fosdick. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <p> + Albert read the name on the card. He was too astonished to speak. Her + father! He was here! He— + </p> + <p> + His grandfather spoke again, and his tone was brisk and businesslike. + </p> + <p> + “Go on, Al,” he ordered. “Out through this side door and around to the + front. Lively, son, lively!” + </p> + <p> + But the young man's wits were returning. He scowled at the card. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said stoutly, “I'm not going to run away. I'm not afraid of him. + I haven't done anything to be ashamed of.” + </p> + <p> + The captain nodded. “If you had, I should ASK you to run away,” he said. + “As it is, I just ask you to step out and wait a little while, that's + all.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Grandfather, I WANT to see him.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, I want you to—but not until he and I have talked first. + Come, boy, come! I've lived a little longer than you have, and maybe I + know about half as much about some things. This is one of 'em. You clear + out and stand by. I'll call you when I want you.” + </p> + <p> + Albert went, but reluctantly. After he had gone his grandfather walked to + the door of the outer office and opened it. + </p> + <p> + “Step aboard, Mr. Fosdick,” he said. “Come in, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Fletcher Fosdick was a large man, portly, and with a head which was + rapidly losing its thatch. His smoot-shaven face was ruddy and his blue + eye mild. He entered the private office of Z. Snow and Co. and shook the + hand which Captain Zelotes proffered. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, Captain Snow?” he asked pleasantly. “You and I have had + some business dealings, but we have never met before, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + The captain waved toward a chair. “That's a fact, Mr. Fosdick,” he said. + “I don't believe we ever have, but it's better late than by and by, as the + feller said. Sit down, sit down, Mr. Fosdick. Throw off your coat, won't + you? It's sort of warm in here compared to out door.” + </p> + <p> + The visitor admitted the difference in temperature between the interior + and exterior of the building, and removed his overcoat. Also he sat down. + Captain Zelotes opened a drawer of his desk and produced a box of cigars. + </p> + <p> + “Have a smoke, won't you?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Fosdick glanced at the label on the box. + </p> + <p> + “Why—why, I was rather hoping you would smoke one of mine,” he said. + “I have a pocket full.” + </p> + <p> + “When I come callin' on you at your place in New York I will smoke yours. + Now it kind of looks to me as if you'd ought to smoke mine. Seems + reasonable when you think it over, don't it?” + </p> + <p> + Fosdick smiled. “Perhaps you're right,” he said. He took one of the + gaudily banded perfectos from his host's box and accepted a light from the + match the captain held. Both men blew a cloud of smoke and through those + clouds each looked at the other. The preliminaries were over, but neither + seemed particularly anxious to begin the real conversation. It was the + visitor who, at last, began it. + </p> + <p> + “Captain Snow,” he said, “I presume your clerk told you I wished to see + you on a matter of business.” + </p> + <p> + “Who? Oh, Labe, you mean? Yes, he told me.” + </p> + <p> + “I told him to tell you that. It may surprise you, however, to learn that + the business I wished to see you about—that I came on from New York + to see you about—has nothing whatever to do with the house I'm + building down here.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes removed his cigar from his lips and looked meditatively at + its burning end. “No-o,” he said slowly, “that don't surprise me very + much. I cal'lated 'twasn't about the house you wished to see me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I see! . . . Humph!” The Fosdick mild blue eye lost, for the moment, + just a trifle of its mildness and became almost keen, as its owner flashed + a glance at the big figure seated at the desk. “I see,” said Mr. Fosdick. + “And have you—er—guessed what I did come to see you about?” + </p> + <p> + “No-o. I wouldn't call it guessin', exactly.” + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn't you? What would you call it?” + </p> + <p> + “We-ll, I don't know but I'd risk callin' it knowin'. Yes, I think likely + I would.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I see. . . . Humph! Have you had a letter—on the subject?” + </p> + <p> + “Ye-es.” + </p> + <p> + “I see. From Mrs. Fosdick, of course. She said she was going to write—I'm + not sure she didn't say she had written; but I had the impression it was + to—well, to another member of your family, Captain Snow.” + </p> + <p> + “No, 'twas to me. Come this mornin's mail.” + </p> + <p> + “I see. My mistake. Well, I'm obliged to her in a way. If the news has + been broken to you, I shan't have to break it and we can get down to brass + tacks just so much sooner. The surprise being over—I take it, it WAS + a surprise, Captain?” + </p> + <p> + “You take it right. Just as much of a surprise to me as you.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. Well, the surprise being over for both of us, we can talk of + the affair—calmly and coolly. What do you think about it, Captain?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know as I know exactly what to think. What do YOU think about + it, Mr. Fosdick?” + </p> + <p> + “I think—I imagine I think very much as you do.” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't be surprised. And—er—what's your notion of what I + think?” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes' gray eye twinkled as he asked the question, and the + Fosdick blue eye twinkled in return. Both men laughed. + </p> + <p> + “We aren't getting very far this way, Captain,” observed the visitor. + “There's no use dodging, I suppose. I, for one, am not very well pleased. + Mrs. Fosdick, for another, isn't pleased at all; she is absolutely and + entirely opposed to the whole affair. She won't hear of it, that's all, + and she said so much that I thought perhaps I had better come down here at + once, see you, and—and the young fellow with the queer name—” + </p> + <p> + “My grandson.” + </p> + <p> + “Why yes. He is your grandson, isn't he? I beg your pardon.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right. I shan't fight with you because you don't like his + name. Go ahead. You decided to come and see him—and me—?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I did. I decided to come because it has been my experience that a + frank, straight talk is better, in cases like this, than a hundred + letters. And that the time to talk was now, before matters between the + young foo—the young people went any further. Don't you agree with + me?” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes nodded. + </p> + <p> + “That now is a good time to talk? Yes, I do,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Good! Then suppose we talk.” + </p> + <p> + “All right.” + </p> + <p> + There was another interval of silence. Then Fosdick broke it with a + chuckle. “And I'm the one to do the talking, eh?” he said. + </p> + <p> + Captain Lote's eye twinkled. “We-ll, you came all the way from New York on + purpose, you know,” he observed. Then he added: “But there, Mr. Fosdick, I + don't want you to think I ain't polite or won't talk, myself. I'll do my + share when the time comes. But it does seem to me that you ought to do + yours first as it's your family so far that's done the objectin'. . . . + Your cigar's gone out. Have another light, won't you?” + </p> + <p> + The visitor shook his head. “No, thank you, not now,” he said hastily, + placing the defunct cigar carefully on the captain's desk. “I won't smoke + for the minute. So you want me to begin the talking, do you? It seems to + me I have begun it. I told you that I do not like the idea of my + daughter's being engaged to—to say nothing of marrying—your + grandson. My wife likes it even less than I do. That is enough of a + statement to begin with, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, no, not exactly, if you'll excuse my sayin' so. Your daughter + herself—how does she feel about it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, she is enthusiastic, naturally. She appears to be suffering from + temporary insanity on the subject.” + </p> + <p> + “She don't seem to think it's quite as—er—preposterous, and + ridiculous and outrageous—and Lord knows what all—as your wife + does, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I say, Snow, I hope you're not too deeply offended by what my wife + wrote you. I judge you are quoting from her letter and apparently she + piled it on red-hot. You'll have to excuse her; she was almost wild all + day yesterday. I'll ask your pardon on her behalf.” + </p> + <p> + “Sho, sho! No need, Mr. Fosdick, no need at all. I know what women are, + even the easy-goin' kind, when they've got steam up. I've got a wife—and + I had a daughter. But, gettin' back on the course again, you think your + daughter's crazy because she wants to marry my grandson. Is that it?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, no, I wouldn't say that, exactly. Of course, I wouldn't say that.” + </p> + <p> + “But, you see, you did say it. However, we'll leave that to one side for a + spell. What objection—what real objection is there to those two + marryin'—my grandson and your daughter—provided that they care + for each other as they'd ought to?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Fosdick's expression changed slightly. His tone, as he replied to the + question, was colder and his manner less cordial. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know that it is worth while answering that in detail,” he said, + after an instant's pause. “Frankly, Captain Snow, I had rather hoped you + would see, for yourself, the reasons why such a marriage wouldn't be + desirable. If you don't see them, if you are backing up your grandson in + his business, why—well, there is no use in our discussing the matter + any further, is there? We should only lose our tempers and not gain much. + So we had better end it now, I think.” + </p> + <p> + He rose to his feet. Captain Zelotes, leaning forward, held up a + protesting hand. + </p> + <p> + “Now—now, Mr. Fosdick,” he said earnestly, “I don't want you to + misunderstand me. And I'm sorry if what I said has made you mad.” + </p> + <p> + Fosdick smiled. “Oh, I'm not mad,” he answered cheerfully. “I make it a + rule in all my business dealings not to get mad, or, more especially, not + to let the other fellow know that I'm getting that way. My temper hasn't a + ruffle in it just now, and I am leaving merely because I want it to remain + smooth. I judge that you and I aren't going to agree. All right, then + we'll differ, but we'll differ without a fight, that's all. Good + afternoon, Captain.” + </p> + <p> + But Captain Lote's hand still remained uplifted. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Fosdick,” he said, “just a minute now—just a minute. You never + have met Albert, my grandson, have you? Never even seen him, maybe?” + </p> + <p> + “No, but I intend to meet him and talk with him before I leave South + Harniss. He was one of the two people I came here to meet.” + </p> + <p> + “And I was the other, eh? Um-hm. . . . I see. You think you've found out + where I stand and now you'll size him up. Honest, Mr. Fosdick, I . . . + Humph! Mind if I tell you a little story? 'Twon't take long. When I was a + little shaver, me and my granddad, the first Cap'n Lote Snow—there's + been two since—were great chums. When he was home from sea he and I + stuck together like hot pitch and oakum. One day we were sittin' out in + the front yard of his house—it's mine, now—watchin' a hoptoad + catch flies. You've seen a toad catch flies, haven't you, Mr. Fosdick? Mr. + Toad sits there, lookin' half asleep and as pious and demure as a + pickpocket at camp-meetin', until a fly comes along and gets too near. + Then, Zip! out shoots about six inches of toad tongue and that fly's been + asked in to dinner. Well, granddad and I sat lookin' at our particular + toad when along came a bumble-bee and lighted on a honeysuckle blossom + right in front of the critter. The toad didn't take time to think it over, + all he saw was a square meal, and his tongue flashed out and nailed that + bumble-bee and snapped it into the pantry. In about a half second, though, + there was a change. The pantry had been emptied, the bumble-bee was on his + way again, and Mr. Toad was on his, hoppin' lively and huntin' for—well, + for ice water or somethin' coolin', I guess likely. Granddad tapped me on + the shoulder. 'Sonny,' says he, 'there's a lesson for you. That hoptoad + didn't wait to make sure that bumble-bee was good to eat; he took it for + granted, and was sorry afterward. It don't pay to jump at conclusions, + son,' he says. 'Some conclusions are like that bumble-bee's, they have + stings in 'em.'” + </p> + <p> + Captain Lote, having finished his story, felt in his pocket for a match. + Fosdick, for an instant, appeared puzzled. Then he laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I see,” he said. “You think I made too quick a jump when I concluded you + were backing your grandson in this affair. All right, I'm glad to hear it. + What do you want me to do, sit down again and listen?” + </p> + <p> + He resumed his seat as he asked the question. Captain Zelotes nodded. + </p> + <p> + “If you don't mind,” he answered. “You see, you misunderstood me, Mr. + Fosdick. I didn't mean any more than what I said when I asked you what + real objection there was, in your opinion to Albert's marryin' your—er—Madeline, + that's her name, I believe. Seems to me the way for us to get to an + understandin'—you and I—is to find out just how the situation + looks to each of us. When we've found out that, we'll know how nigh we + come to agreein' or disagreein' and can act accordin'. Sounds reasonable, + don't it?” + </p> + <p> + Fosdick nodded in his turn. “Perfectly,” he admitted. “Well, ask your + questions, and I'll answer them. After that perhaps I'll ask some myself. + Go ahead.” + </p> + <p> + “I have gone ahead. I've asked one already.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but it is such a general question. There may be so many objections.” + </p> + <p> + “I see. All right, then I'll ask some: What do the lawyers call 'em?—Atlantic? + Pacific? I've got it—I'll ask some specific questions. Here's one. + Do you object to Al personally? To his character?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all. We know nothing about his character. Very likely he may be a + young saint.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he ain't, so we'll let that slide. He's a good boy, though, so far + as I've ever been able to find out. Is it his looks? You've never seen + him, but your wife has. Don't she like his looks?” + </p> + <p> + “She hasn't mentioned his looks to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it his money? He hasn't got any of his own.” + </p> + <p> + “We-ell, of course that does count a little bit. Madeline is our only + child, and naturally we should prefer to have her pick out a husband with + a dollar or so in reserve.” + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm. Al's twenty-one, Mr. Fosdick. When I was twenty-one I had some put + by, but not much. I presume likely 'twas different with you, maybe. + Probably you were pretty well fixed.” + </p> + <p> + Fosdick laughed aloud. “You make a good cross-examiner, Snow,” he + observed. “As a matter of fact, when I was twenty-one I was assistant + bookkeeper in a New Haven broker's office. I didn't have a cent except my + salary, and I had that only for the first five days in the week.” + </p> + <p> + “However, you got married?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I did. More fool I! If I had known anything, I should have waited + five years at least. I didn't have any one to tell me so. My father and + mother were both dead.” + </p> + <p> + “Think you'd have listened to 'em if they had been alive and had told you? + However, however, that's all to one side. Well, Albert's havin' no money + to speak of is an objection—and a good honest one from your point of + view. His prospects here in this business of mine are fair, and he is + doin' better at it than he was, so he may make a comf'table livin'—a + comf'table South Harniss livin', that is—by and by.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he is with you, then? Oh, yes, I remember my wife said he worked in + your office. But she said more about his being some sort of a—a + poet, wasn't it?” + </p> + <p> + For the first time since the interview began the captain looked ill at + ease and embarrassed. + </p> + <p> + “Thunderation!” he exclaimed testily, “you mustn't pay attention to that. + He does make up poetry' pieces—er—on the side, as you might + say, but I keep hopin' all the time he'll grow out of it, give him time. + It 'ain't his regular job, you mustn't think 'tis.” + </p> + <p> + The visitor laughed again. “I'm glad of that,” he said, “both for your + sake and mine. I judge that you and I, Snow, are in complete agreement as + far as our opinion of poetry and that sort of stuff is concerned. Of + course I'm not condemning all poetry, you understand. Longfellow and + Tennyson and the regular poets are all right. You understand what I'm + getting at?” + </p> + <p> + “Sartin. I used to know 'Down went the R'yal George with all her crew + complete,' and a lot more. Used to say 'em over to myself when I first + went to sea and stood watch alone nights. But they were different, you + know; they—they—” + </p> + <p> + “Sure! My wife—why, I give you my word that my own wife and her set + go perfectly daffy over chaps who write stuff that rhymes and that the + papers are printing columns about. Snow, if this grandson of yours was a + genuine press-touted, women's club poet instead of a would-be—well, + I don't know what might happen. In that case she might be as strong FOR + this engagement as she is now against it.” + </p> + <p> + He paused, seeming a bit ashamed of his own heat. Captain Zelotes, + however, regarded him with more approval than he had yet shown. + </p> + <p> + “It's been my observation that women are likely to get off the course + chasin' false signals like that,” he observed. “When a man begins lettin' + his hair and his mouth run wild together seems as if the combination had + an attraction for a good many women folks. Al keeps his hair cut, though, + I'll say that for him,” he added. “It curls some, but it ain't long. I + wouldn't have him in the office if 'twas.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mr. Fosdick,” he continued, “what other objections are they? + Manners? Family and relations? Education? Any objections along that line?” + </p> + <p> + “No-o, no; I—well, I don't know; you see, I don't know much about + the young fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I can help you out. As to manners—well, you can judge them + for yourself when you see him. He seems to be in about every kind of + social doin's there is down here, and he's as much or more popular with + the summer folks than with the year-'rounders. Education? Well, that's + fair to middlin', as I see it. He spent nine or ten years in a mighty + expensive boardin' school up in New York State.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he? What school?” + </p> + <p> + The captain gave the name of the school. Fosdick looked surprised. + </p> + <p> + “Humph! That IS a good school,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Is it? Depends on what you call good, I cal'late. Al learned a good deal + of this and that, a little bit of foreign language, some that they call + dead and some that ought to be dead—and buried, 'cordin' to my + notion. When he came to me he couldn't add up a column of ten figgers + without makin' a mistake, and as for business—well, what he knew + about business was about equal to what Noah knew about a gas engine.” + </p> + <p> + He paused to chuckle, and Fosdick chuckled with him. + </p> + <p> + “As to family,” went on Captain Lote, “he's a Snow on his mother's side, + and there's been seven generations of Snow's in this part of the Cape + since the first one landed here. So far as I know, they've all managed to + keep out of jail, which may have been more good luck than deservin' in + some cases.” + </p> + <p> + “His father?” queried Fosdick. + </p> + <p> + The captain's heavy brows drew together. “His father was a Portygee—or + Spaniard, I believe is right—and he was a play-actor, one of those—what + do you call 'em?—opera singers.” + </p> + <p> + Fosdick seemed surprised and interested. “Oh, indeed,” he exclaimed, “an + opera singer? . . . Why, he wasn't Speranza, the baritone, was he?” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe; I believe he was. He married my daughter and—well, we won't + talk about him, if you don't mind.” + </p> + <p> + “But Speranza was a—” + </p> + <p> + “IF you don't mind, Mr. Fosdick.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Lote lapsed into silence, drumming the desk with his big fingers. + His visitor waited for a few moments. At length he said: + </p> + <p> + “Well, Captain Snow, I have answered your questions and you have answered + mine. Do you think we are any nearer an agreement now?” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes seemed to awake with a start. “Eh?” he queried. + “Agreement? Oh, I don't know. Did you find any—er—what you + might call vital objections in the boy's record?” + </p> + <p> + “No-o. No, all that is all right. His family and his education and all the + rest are good enough, I'm sure. But, nevertheless—” + </p> + <p> + “You still object to the young folks gettin' married.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do. Hang it all, Snow, this isn't a thing one can reason out, + exactly. Madeline is our only child; she is our pet, our baby. Naturally + her mother and I have planned for her, hoped for her, figured that some + day, when we had to give her up, it would be to—to—” + </p> + <p> + “To somebody that wasn't Albert Speranza of South Harniss, Mass. . . . + Eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Not that your grandson isn't all right. I have no doubt he is a + tip-top young fellow. But, you see—” + </p> + <p> + Captain Lote suddenly leaned forward. “Course I see, Mr. Fosdick,” he + interrupted. “Course I see. You object, and the objection ain't a mite + weaker on account of your not bein' able to say exactly what 'tis.” + </p> + <p> + “That's the idea. Thank you, Captain.” + </p> + <p> + “You're welcome. I can understand. I know just how you feel, because I've + been feelin' the same way myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you have? Good! Then you can sympathize with Mrs. Fosdick and with + me. You see—you understand why we had rather our daughter did not + marry your grandson.” + </p> + <p> + “Sartin. You see, I've had just the same sort of general kind of objection + to Al's marryin' your daughter.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Fletcher Fosdick leaned slowly backward in his chair. His appearance + was suggestive of one who has received an unexpected thump between the + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you have!” he said again, but not with the same expression. + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm,” said Captain Zelotes gravely. “I'm like you in one way; I've + never met your Madeline any more than you have met Al. I've seen her once + or twice, and she is real pretty and nice-lookin'. But I don't know her at + all. Now I don't doubt for a minute but that she's a real nice girl and it + might be that she'd make Al a fairly good wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Er—well,—thanks.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's all right, I mean it. It might be she would. And I ain't got a + thing against you or your folks.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph,—er—thanks again.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right; you don't need to thank me. But it's this way with me—I + live in South Harniss all the year round. I want to live here till I die, + and—after I die I'd like first-rate to have Al take up the Z. Snow + and Co. business and the Snow house and land and keep them goin' till HE + dies. Mind, I ain't at all sure that he'll do it, or be capable of doin' + it, but that's what I'd like. Now you're in New York most of the year, and + so's your wife and daughter. New York is all right—I ain't sayin' a + word against it—but New York and South Harniss are different.” + </p> + <p> + The Fosdick lip twitched. “Somewhat different,” he admitted. + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm. That sounds like a joke, I know; but I don't mean it so, not now. + What I mean is that I know South Harniss and South Harniss folks. I don't + know New York—not so very well, though I've been there plenty of + times—and I don't know New York ways. But I do know South Harniss + ways, and they suit me. Would they suit your daughter—not just for + summer, but as a reg'lar thing right straight along year in and out? I + doubt it, Mr. Fosdick, I doubt it consid'able. Course I don't know your + daughter—” + </p> + <p> + “I do—and I share your doubts.” + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm. But whether she liked it or not she'd have to come here if she + married my grandson. Either that or he'd have to go to New York. And if he + went to New York, how would he earn his livin'? Get a new bookkeepin' job + and start all over again, or live on poetry?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Fosdick opened his mouth as if to speak, seemed to change his mind and + closed it again, without speaking. Captain Zelotes, looking keenly at him, + seemed to guess his thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” he said deliberately, but with a firmness which permitted no + misunderstanding of his meaning, “of course you mustn't get it into your + head for one minute that the boy is figgerin' on your daughter's bein' a + rich girl. He hasn't given that a thought. You take my word for that, Mr. + Fosdick. He doesn't know how much money she or you have got and he doesn't + care. He doesn't care a continental darn.” + </p> + <p> + His visitor smiled slightly. “Nevertheless,” he began. The captain + interrupted him. + </p> + <p> + “No, there ain't any nevertheless,” he said. “Albert has been with me + enough years now so that I know a little about him. And I know that all he + wants is your daughter. As to how much she's worth in money or how they're + goin' to live after he's got her—I know that he hasn't given it one + thought. I don't imagine she has, either. For one reason,” he added, with + a smile, “he is too poor a business man to think of marriage as a + business, bill-payin' contract, and for another,—for another—why, + good Lord, Fosdick!” he exclaimed, leaning forward, “don't you know what + this thing means to those two young folks? It means just moonshine and + mush and lookin' into each other's eyes, that's about all. THEY haven't + thought any practical thoughts about it. Why, think what their ages are! + Think of yourself at that age! Can't you remember. . . . Humph! Well, I'm + talkin' fifty revolutions to the second. I beg your pardon.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right, Snow. And I believe you have the situation sized up as + it is. Still—” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, Mr. Fosdick, but don't you think it's about time you had a + look at the boy himself? I'm goin' to ask him to come in here and meet + you.” + </p> + <p> + Fosdick looked troubled. “Think it is good policy?” he asked doubtfully. + “I want to see him and speak with him, but I do hate a scene.” + </p> + <p> + “There won't be any scene. You just meet him face to face and talk enough + with him to get a little idea of what your first impression is. Don't + contradict or commit yourself or anything. And I'll send him out at the + end of two or three minutes.” + </p> + <p> + Without waiting for a reply, he rose, opened the door to the outer office + and called, “Al, come in here!” When Albert had obeyed the order he closed + the door behind him and turning to the gentleman in the visitor's chair, + said: “Mr. Fosdick, this is my grandson, Albert Speranza. Al, shake hands + with Mr. Fosdick from New York.” + </p> + <p> + While awaiting the summons to meet the father of his adored, Albert had + been rehearsing and re-rehearsing the speeches he intended making when + that meeting took place. Sitting at his desk, pen in hand and pretending + to be busy with the bookkeeping of Z. Snow and Company, he had seen, not + the ruled page of the day book, but the parental countenance of the + Honorable Fletcher Fosdick. And, to his mind's eye, that countenance was + as rugged and stern as the rock-bound coast upon which the Pilgrims + landed, and about as unyielding and impregnable as the door of the office + safe. So, when his grandfather called him, he descended from the tall desk + stool and crossed the threshold of the inner room, a trifle pale, a little + shaky at the knees, but with the set chin and erect head of one who, + facing almost hopeless odds, intends fighting to the last gasp. + </p> + <p> + To his astonishment the Fosdick countenance was not as his imagination had + pictured it. The blue eyes met his, not with a glare or a glower, but with + a look of interest and inquiry. The Fosdick hand shook his with + politeness, and the Fosdick manner was, if not genial, at least quiet and + matter of fact. He was taken aback. What did it mean? Was it possible that + Madeline's father was inclined to regard her engagement to him with favor? + A great throb of joy accompanied the thought. Then he remembered the + letter he had just read, the letter from Madeline's mother, and the hope + subsided. + </p> + <p> + “Albert,” said Captain Zelotes, “Mr. Fosdick has come on here to talk with + us; that is, with me and you, about your affairs. He and I have talked up + to the point where it seemed to me you ought to come in for a spell. I've + told him that the news that you and his daughter were—er—favorably + disposed toward each other was as sudden and as big a surprise to me as + 'twas to him. Even your grandma don't know it yet. Now I presume likely + he'd like to ask you a few questions. Heave ahead, Mr. Fosdick.” + </p> + <p> + He relit his cigar stump and leaned back in his chair. Mr. Fosdick leaned + forward in his. Albert stood very straight, his shoulders braced for the + encounter. The quizzical twinkle shone in Captain Lote's eye as he + regarded his grandson. Fosdick also smiled momentarily as he caught the + expression of the youth's face. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Speranza,” he began, in so cheerful a tone that Albert's + astonishment grew even greater, “your grandfather has been kind enough to + get us through the preliminaries, so we'll come at once to the essentials. + You and my daughter consider yourselves engaged to marry?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. We ARE engaged.” + </p> + <p> + “I see. How long have you—um—been that way, so to speak?” + </p> + <p> + “Since last August.” + </p> + <p> + “Why haven't you said anything about it to us—to Mrs. Fosdick or me + or your people here? You must excuse these personal questions. As I have + just said to Captain Snow, Madeline is our only child, and her happiness + and welfare mean about all there is in life to her mother and me. So, + naturally, the man she is going to marry is an important consideration. + You and I have never met before, so the quickest way of reaching an + understanding between us is by the question route. You get my meaning?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, I guess I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Good! Then we'll go ahead. Why have you two kept it a secret so long?” + </p> + <p> + “Because—well, because we knew we couldn't marry yet a while, so we + thought we had better not announce it for the present.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! . . . And the idea that perhaps Mrs. Fosdick and I might be slightly + interested didn't occur to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, sir, it did. But,—but we thought it best not to tell you + until later.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps the suspicion that we might not be overjoyed by the news had a + little weight with you, eh? Possibly that helped to delay the—er—announcement?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir, I—I don't think it did.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't you! Perhaps you thought we WOULD be overjoyed?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir. We didn't think so very much about it. Well, that's not quite + true. Madeline felt that her mother—and you, too, sir, I suppose, + although she didn't speak as often of you in that way—she felt that + her mother would disapprove at first, and so we had better wait.” + </p> + <p> + “Until when?” + </p> + <p> + “Until—until by and by. Until I had gone ahead further, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not sure that I do know. Gone ahead how? Until you had a better + position, more salary?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not exactly. Until my writings were better known. Until I was a + little more successful.” + </p> + <p> + “Successful? Until you wrote more poetry, do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. Poetry and other things, stories and plays, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean—Did you figure that you and Madeline were to live on + what you made by writing poetry and the other stuff?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, of course.” + </p> + <p> + Fosdick looked across at Captain Zelotes. The Captain's face was worth + looking at. + </p> + <p> + “Here, here, hold on!” he exclaimed, jumping into the conversation. “Al, + what are you talkin' about? You're bookkeeper for me, ain't you; for this + concern right here where you are? What do you mean by talkin' as if your + job was makin' up poetry pieces? That's only what you do on the side, and + you know it. Eh, ain't that so?” + </p> + <p> + Albert hesitated. He had, momentarily, forgotten his grandfather and the + latter's prejudices. After all, what was the use of stirring up additional + trouble. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Grandfather,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Course it's so. It's in this office that you draw your wages.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Grandfather.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. Excuse me for nosin' in, Mr. Fosdick, but I knew the boy + wasn't puttin' the thing as plain as it ought to be, and I didn't want you + to get the wrong notion. Heave ahead.” + </p> + <p> + Fosdick smiled slightly. “All right, Captain,” he said. “I get it, I + think. Well, then,” turning again to Albert, “your plan for supporting my + daughter was to wait until your position here, plus the poetry, should + bring in sufficient revenue. It didn't occur to you that—well, that + there might be a possibility of getting money—elsewhere?” + </p> + <p> + Albert plainly did not understand, but it was just as plain that his + grandfather did. Captain Zelotes spoke sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Fosdick,” he said, “I just answered that question for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know. But if you were in my place you might like to have him + answer it. I don't mean to be offensive, but business is business, and, + after all, this is a business talk. So—” + </p> + <p> + The Captain interrupted. “So we'll talk it in a business way, eh?” he + snapped. “All right. Al, what Mr. Fosdick means is had you cal'lated that, + if you married his daughter, maybe her dad's money might help you and her + to keep goin'? To put it even plainer: had you planned some on her bein' a + rich girl?” + </p> + <p> + Fosdick looked annoyed. “Oh, I say, Snow!” he cried. “That's too strong, + altogether.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a mite. It's what you've had in the back of your head all along. I'm + just helpin' it to come out of the front. Well, Al?” + </p> + <p> + The red spots were burning in the Speranza cheeks. He choked as he + answered. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he cried fiercely. “Of course I haven't planned on any such thing. I + don't know how rich she is. I don't care. I wish she was as poor as—as + I am. I want HER, that's all. And she wants me. We don't either of us care + about money. I wouldn't take a cent of your money, Mr. Fosdick. But I—I + want Madeline and—and—I shall have her.” + </p> + <p> + “In spite of her parents, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. . . . I'm sorry to speak so, Mr. Fosdick, but it is true. We—we + love each other. We—we've agreed to wait for each other, no matter—no + matter if it is years and years. And as for the money and all that, if you + disinherit her, or—or whatever it is they do—we don't care. I—I + hope you will. I—she—” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes' voice broke in upon the impassioned outburst. + </p> + <p> + “Steady, Al; steady, son,” he cautioned quietly. “I cal'late you've said + enough. I don't think any more's necessary. You'd better go back to your + desk now.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Grandfather, I want him to understand—” + </p> + <p> + “I guess likely he does. I should say you'd made it real plain. Go now, + Al.” + </p> + <p> + Albert turned, but, with a shaking hand upon the doorknob, turned back + again. + </p> + <p> + “I'm—I—I'm sorry, Mr. Fosdick,” he faltered. “I—I didn't + mean to say anything to hurt your feelings. But—but, you see, + Madeline—she and I—we—” + </p> + <p> + He could not go on. Fosdick's nod and answer were not unkindly. “All + right, Speranza,” he said, “I'm not offended. Hope I wasn't too blunt, + myself. Good-day.” + </p> + <p> + When the door had closed behind the young man he turned to Captain Lote. + </p> + <p> + “Sorry if I offended you, Snow,” he observed. “I threw in that hint about + marrying just to see what effect it would have, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm. So I judged. Well, you saw, didn't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I did. Say, Captain, except as a prospective son-in-law, and then only + because I don't see him in that light—I rather like that grandson of + yours. He's a fine, upstanding young chap.” + </p> + <p> + The captain made no reply. He merely pulled at his beard. However, he did + not look displeased. + </p> + <p> + “He's a handsome specimen, isn't he?” went on Fosdick. “No wonder Madeline + fell for his looks. Those and the poetry together are a combination hard + to resist—at her age. And he's a gentleman. He handled himself + mighty well while I was stringing him just now.” + </p> + <p> + The beard tugging continued. “Um-hm,” observed Captain Zelotes dryly; “he + does pretty well for a—South Harniss gentleman. But we're kind of + wastin' time, ain't we, Mr. Fosdick? In spite of his looks and his manners + and all the rest, now that you've seen him you still object to that + engagement, I take it.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, I do. The boy is all right, I'm sure, but—” + </p> + <p> + “Sartin, I understand. I feel the same way about your girl. She's all + right, I'm sure, but—” + </p> + <p> + “We're agreed on everything, includin' the 'but.' And the 'but' is that + New York is one place and South Harniss is another.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly.” + </p> + <p> + “So we don't want 'em to marry. Fine. First rate! Only now we come to the + most important 'but' of all. What are we going to do about it? Suppose we + say no and they say yes and keep on sayin' it? Suppose they decide to get + married no matter what we say. How are we goin' to stop it?” + </p> + <p> + His visitor regarded him for a moment and then broke into a hearty laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Snow,” he declared, “you're all right. You surely have the faculty of + putting your finger on the weak spots. Of course we can't stop it. If + these two young idiots have a mind to marry and keep that mind, they WILL + marry and we can't prevent it any more than we could prevent the tide + coming in to-morrow morning. <i>I</i> realized that this was a sort of + fool's errand, my coming down here. I know that this isn't the age when + parents can forbid marriages and get away with it, as they used to on the + stage in the old plays. Boys and girls nowadays have a way of going their + own gait in such matters. But my wife doesn't see it in exactly that way, + and she was so insistent on my coming down here to stop the thing if I + could that—well, I came.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad you did, Mr. Fosdick, real glad. And, although I agree with you + that the very worst thing to do, if we want to stop this team from pullin' + together, is to haul back on the bits and holler 'Whoa,' still I'm kind of + hopeful that, maybe . . . humph! I declare, it looks as if I'd have to + tell you another story. I'm gettin' as bad as Cap'n Hannibal Doane used to + be, and they used to call him 'The Rope Walk' 'cause he spun so many + yarns.” + </p> + <p> + Fosdick laughed again. “You may go as far as you like with your stories, + Captain,” he said. “I can grow fat on them.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks. Well, this ain't a story exactly; it just kind of makes the point + I'm tryin' to get at. Calvin Bangs had a white mare one time and the + critter had a habit of runnin' away. Once his wife, Hannah J., was in the + buggy all by herself, over to the Ostable Fair, Calvin havin' got out to + buy some peanuts or somethin'. The mare got scared of the noise and crowd + and bolted. As luck would have it, she went right through the fence and + out onto the trottin' track. And around that track she went, hell bent for + election. All hands was runnin' alongside hollerin' 'Stop her! Stop her! + 'but not Calvin—no SIR! He waited till the mare was abreast of him, + the mare on two legs and the buggy on two wheels and Hannah 'most + anywheres between the dasher and the next world, and then he sung out: + 'Give her her head, Hannah! Give her her head. She'll stop when she runs + down.'” + </p> + <p> + He laughed and his visitor laughed with him. + </p> + <p> + “I gather,” observed the New Yorker, “that you believe it the better + policy to give our young people their heads.” + </p> + <p> + “In reason—yes, I do. It's my judgment that an affair like this will + hurry more and more if you try too hard to stop it. If you don't try at + all so any one would notice it, it may run down and stop of itself, the + way Calvin's mare did.” + </p> + <p> + Fosdick nodded reflectively. “I'm inclined to agree with you,” he said. + “But does that mean that they're to correspond, write love letters, and + all that?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, in reason, maybe. If we say no to that, they'll write anyhow, won't + they?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. . . . How would it do to get them to promise to write nothing + that their parents might not see? Of course I don't mean for your grandson + to show you his letters before he sends them to Madeline. He's too old for + that, and he would refuse. But suppose you asked him to agree to write + nothing that Madeline would not be willing to show her mother—or me. + Do you think he would?” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe. I'll ask him. . . . Yes, I guess likely he'd do that.” + </p> + <p> + “My reason for suggesting it is, frankly, not so much on account of the + young people as to pacify my wife. I am not afraid—not very much + afraid of this love affair. They are young, both of them. Give them time, + and—as you say, Snow, the thing may run down, peter out.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm in hopes 'twill. It's calf love, as I see it, and I believe 'twill + pay to give the calves rope enough.” + </p> + <p> + “So do I. No, I'm not much troubled about the young people. But Mrs. + Fosdick—well, my trouble will be with her. She'll want to have your + boy shot or jailed or hanged or something.” + </p> + <p> + “I presume likely. I guess you'll have to handle her the way another + feller who used to live here in South Harniss said he handled his wife. + 'We don't never have any trouble at all,' says he. 'Whenever she says yes + or no, I say the same thing. Later on, when it comes to doin', I do what I + feel like.' . . . Eh? You're not goin', are you, Mr. Fosdick?” + </p> + <p> + His visitor had risen and was reaching for his coat. Captain Zelotes also + rose. + </p> + <p> + “Don't hurry, don't hurry,” he begged. + </p> + <p> + “Sorry, but I must. I want to be back in New York tomorrow morning.” + </p> + <p> + “But you can't, can you? To do that you'll have to get up to Boston or + Fall River, and the afternoon train's gone. You'd better stay and have + supper along with my wife and me, stay at our house over night, and take + the early train after breakfast to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could; I'd like nothing better. But I can't.” + </p> + <p> + “Sure?” Then, with a smile, he added: “Al needn't eat with us, you know, + if his bein' there makes either of you feel nervous.” + </p> + <p> + Fosdick laughed again. “I think I should be willing to risk the + nervousness,” he replied. “But I must go, really. I've hired a chap at the + garage here to drive me to Boston in his car and I'll take the midnight + train over.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! Well, if you must, you must. Hope you have a comf'table trip, Mr. + Fosdick. Better wrap up warm; it's pretty nigh a five-hour run to Boston + and there's some cool wind over the Ostable marshes this time of year. + Good-by, sir. Glad to have had this talk with you.” + </p> + <p> + His visitor held out his hand. “So am I, Snow,” he said heartily. “Mighty + glad.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope I wasn't too short and brisk at the beginnin'. You see, I'd just + read your wife's letter, and—er—well, of course, I didn't know—just—you + see, you and I had never met, and so—” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, certainly. I quite understand. And, fool's errand or not, I'm + very glad I came here. If you'll pardon my saying so, it was worth the + trip to get acquainted with you. I hope, whatever comes of the other + thing, that our acquaintanceship will continue.” + </p> + <p> + “Same here, same here. Go right out the side door, Mr. Fosdick, saves + goin' through the office. Good day, sir.” + </p> + <p> + He watched the bulky figure of the New York banker tramping across the + yard between the piles of lumber. A moment later he entered the outer + office. Albert and Keeler were at their desks. Captain Zelotes approached + the little bookkeeper. + </p> + <p> + “Labe,” he queried, “there isn't anything particular you want me to talk + about just now, is there?” + </p> + <p> + Lahan looked up in surprise from his figuring. + </p> + <p> + “Why—why, no, Cap'n Lote, don't know's there is,” he said. “Don't + know's there is, not now, no, no, no.” + </p> + <p> + His employer nodded. “Good!” he exclaimed. “Then I'm goin' back inside + there and sit down and rest my chin for an hour, anyhow. I've talked so + much to-day that my jaws squeak. Don't disturb me for anything short of a + fire or a mutiny.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> + <p> + He was not disturbed and that evening, after supper was over, he was ready + to talk again. He and Albert sat together in the sitting room—Mrs. + Snow and Rachel were in the kitchen washing dishes—and Captain + Zelotes told his grandson as much as he thought advisable to tell of his + conversation with the Honorable Fletcher Fosdick. At first Albert was + inclined to rebel at the idea of permitting his letters to Madeline to be + read by the latter's parents, but at length he agreed. + </p> + <p> + “I'll do it because it may make it easier for her,” he said. “She'll have + a dreadful time, I suppose, with that unreasonable mother of hers. But, by + George, Grandfather,” he exclaimed, “isn't she splendid, though!” + </p> + <p> + “Who? Mrs. Fosdick?” + </p> + <p> + “No, of course not,” indignantly. “Madeline. Isn't she splendid and fine + and loyal! I want you to know her, Grandfather, you and Grandmother.” + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm. Well, we'll hope to, some day. Now, son, I'm goin' to ask for + another promise. It may seem a hard one to make, but I'm askin' you to + make it. I want you to give me your word that, no matter what happens or + how long you have to wait, you and Madeline won't get married without + tellin' her folks and yours beforehand. You won't run away and marry. Will + you promise me that?” + </p> + <p> + Albert looked at him. This WAS a hard promise to make. In their talks + beneath the rainbows, whenever he and Madeline had referred to the future + and its doubts, they had always pushed those doubts aside with vague hints + of an elopement. If the unreasonableness of parents and grandparents + should crowd them too far, they had always as a last resort, the solution + of their problem by way of a runaway marriage. And now Captain Zelotes was + asking him to give up this last resort. + </p> + <p> + The captain, watching him keenly, divined what was in his grandson's mind. + </p> + <p> + “Think it over, Al,” he said kindly. “Don't answer me now, but think it + over, and to-morrow mornin' tell me how you feel about it.” He hesitated a + moment and then added: “You know your grandmother and I, we—well, we + have maybe cause to be a little mite prejudiced against this elopin' + business.” + </p> + <p> + So Albert thought, and the next morning, as the pair were walking together + to the office, he spoke his thought. Captain Zelotes had not mentioned the + subject. + </p> + <p> + “Grandfather,” said Albert, with some embarrassment, “I'm going to give + you that promise.” + </p> + <p> + His grandfather, who had been striding along, his heavy brows drawn + together and his glance fixed upon the frozen ground beneath his feet, + looked up. + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” he queried, uncomprehendingly. + </p> + <p> + “You asked me last night to promise you something, you know. . . . You + asked me to think it over. I have, and I'm going to promise you that—Madeline + and I won't marry without first telling you.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes stopped in his stride; then he walked on again. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Al,” he said quietly. “I hoped you'd see it that way.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—yes, I—I do. I don't want to bring any more—trouble + of that kind to you and Grandmother. . . . It seems to me that you—that + you have had too much already.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, son. . . . Much obliged.” + </p> + <p> + The captain's tone was almost gruff and that was his only reference to the + subject of the promise; but somehow Albert felt that at that moment he and + his grandfather were closer together, were nearer to a mutual + understanding and mutual appreciation than they had ever been before. + </p> + <p> + To promise, however, is one thing, to fulfill the obligation another. As + the days passed Albert found his promise concerning letter-writing very, + very hard to keep. When, each evening he sat down at the table in his room + to pour out his soul upon paper it was a most unsatisfactory outpouring. + The constantly enforced recollection that whatever he wrote would be + subject to the chilling glance of the eye of Fosdick mater was of itself a + check upon the flow. To write a love letter to Madeline had hitherto been + a joy, a rapture, to fill pages and pages a delight. Now, somehow, these + pages were hard to fill. Omitting the very things you were dying to say, + the precious, the intimate things—what was there left? He and she + had, at their meetings and in their former correspondence, invented many + delightful little pet names for each other. Now those names were taboo; + or, at any rate, they might as well be. The thought of Mrs. Fosdick's + sniff of indignant disgust at finding her daughter referred to as some + one's ownest little rosebud withered that bud before it reached the paper. + </p> + <p> + And Madeline's letters to him were quite as unsatisfactory. They were + lengthy, but oh, so matter of fact! Saharas of fact without one oasis of + sentiment. She was well and she had done this and that and had been to see + such and such plays and operas. Father was well and very busy. Mother, + too, was well, so was Googoo—but these last two bits of news failed + to comfort him as they perhaps should. He could only try to glean between + the lines, and as Mrs. Fosdick had raked between those lines before him, + the gleaning was scant picking indeed. + </p> + <p> + He found himself growing disconsolate and despondent. Summer seemed ages + away. And when at last it should come—what would happen then? He + could see her only when properly chaperoned, only when Mother, and + probably Googoo, were present. He flew for consolation to the Muse and the + Muse refused to console. The poems he wrote were “blue” and despairing + likewise. Consequently they did not sell. He was growing desperate, ready + for anything. And something came. Germany delivered to our Government its + arrogant mandate concerning unlimited submarine warfare. A long-suffering + President threw patience overboard and answered that mandate in + unmistakable terms. Congress stood at his back and behind them a united + and indignant people. The United States declared war upon the Hun. + </p> + <p> + South Harniss, like every other community, became wildly excited. Captain + Zelotes Snow's gray eyes flashed fiery satisfaction. The flags at the Snow + place and at the lumber yard flew high night and day. He bought newspapers + galore and read from them aloud at meals, in the evenings, and before + breakfast. Issachar, as usual, talked much and said little. Laban Keeler's + comments were pithy and dryly pointed. Albert was very quiet. + </p> + <p> + But one forenoon he spoke. Captain Lote was in the inner office, the + morning newspaper in his hand, when his grandson entered and closed the + door behind him. The captain looked up. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Al, what is it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Albert came over and stood beside the desk. The captain, after a moment's + scrutiny of the young man's face, put down his newspaper. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Al?” he said, again. + </p> + <p> + Albert seemed to find it hard to speak. + </p> + <p> + “Grandfather,” he began, “I—I—Grandfather, I have come to ask + a favor of you.” + </p> + <p> + The captain nodded, slowly, his gaze fixed upon his grandson's face. + </p> + <p> + “All right; heave ahead,” he said quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Grandfather, you and I have had a four years' agreement to work together + in this office. It isn't up yet, but—but I want to break it. I want + you to let me off.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! . . . Let you off, eh? . . . What for?” + </p> + <p> + “That's what I came here to tell you. Grandfather, I can't stay here—now. + I want to enlist.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes did not answer. His hand moved upward and pulled at his + beard. + </p> + <p> + “I want to enlist,” repeated Albert. “I can't stand it another minute. I + must. If it hadn't been for you and our promise and—and Madeline, I + think I should have joined the Canadian Army a year or more ago. But now + that we have gone into the war, I CAN'T stay out. Grandfather, you don't + want me to, do you? Of course you don't.” + </p> + <p> + His grandfather appeared to ponder. + </p> + <p> + “If you can wait a spell,” he said slowly, “I might be able to fix it so's + you can get a chance for an officer's commission. I'd ought to have some + pull somewheres, seems so.” + </p> + <p> + Albert sniffed impatient disgust. “I don't want to get a commission—in + that way,” he declared. + </p> + <p> + “Humph! You'll find there's plenty that do, I shouldn't wonder.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps, but I'm not one of them. And I don't care so much for a + commission, unless I can earn it. And I don't want to stay here and study + for it. I want to go now. I want to get into the thing. I don't want to + wait.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Lote leaned forward. His gray eyes snapped. + </p> + <p> + “Want to fight, do you?” he queried. + </p> + <p> + “You bet I do!” + </p> + <p> + “All right, my boy, then go—and fight. I'd be ashamed of myself if I + held you back a minute. Go and fight—and fight hard. I only wish to + God I was young enough to go with you.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> + <p> + And so, in this unexpected fashion, came prematurely the end of the four + year trial agreement between Albert Speranza and Z. Snow and Co. Of course + neither Captain Zelotes nor Albert admitted that it had ended. Each + professed to regard the break as merely temporary. + </p> + <p> + “You'll be back at that desk in a little while, Al,” said the captain, + “addin' up figgers and tormentin' Issy.” And Albert's reply was + invariably, “Why, of course, Grandfather.” + </p> + <p> + He had dreaded his grandmother's reception of the news of his intended + enlistment. Olive worshiped her daughter's boy and, although an ardent + patriot, was by no means as fiercely belligerent as her husband. She + prayed each night for the defeat of the Hun, whereas Captain Lote was for + licking him first and praying afterwards. Albert feared a scene; he feared + that she might be prostrated when she learned that he was to go to war. + But she bore it wonderfully well, and as for the dreaded “scene,” there + was none. + </p> + <p> + “Zelotes says he thinks it's the right thing for you to do, Albert,” she + said, “so I suppose I ought to think so, too. But, oh, my dear, DO you + really feel that you must? I—it don't seem as I could bear to . . . + but there, I mustn't talk so. It ain't a mite harder for me than it is for + thousands of women all over this world. . . . And perhaps the government + folks won't take you, anyway. Rachel said she read in the Item about some + young man over in Bayport who was rejected because he had fat feet. She + meant flat feet, I suppose, poor thing. Oh, dear me, I'm laughin', and it + seems wicked to laugh a time like this. And when I think of you goin', + Albert, I—I . . . but there, I promised Zelotes I wouldn't. . . . + And they MAY not take you. . . . But oh, of course they will, of course + they will! . . . I'm goin' to make you a chicken pie for dinner to-day; I + know how you like it. . . . If only they MIGHT reject you! . . . But + there, I said I wouldn't and I won't.” + </p> + <p> + Rachel Ellis's opinion on the subject and her way of expressing that + opinion were distinctly her own. Albert arose early in the morning + following the announcement of his decision to enter the service. He had + not slept well; his mind was too busy with problems and speculations to + resign itself to sleep. He had tossed about until dawn and had then risen + and sat down at the table in his bedroom to write Madeline of the step he + had determined to take. He had not written her while he was considering + that step. He felt, somehow, that he alone with no pressure from without + should make the decision. Now that it was made, and irrevocably made, she + must of course be told. Telling her, however, was not an easy task. He was + sure she would agree that he had done the right thing, the only thing, but— + </p> + <p> + “It is going to be very hard for you, dear,” he wrote, heedless of the + fact that Mrs. Fosdick's censorious eye would see and condemn the “dear.” + “It is going to be hard for both of us. But I am sure you will feel as I + do that I COULDN'T do anything else. I am young and strong and fit and I + am an American. I MUST go. You see it, don't you, Madeline. I can hardly + wait until your letter comes telling me that you feel I did just the thing + you would wish me to do.” + </p> + <p> + He hesitated and then, even more regardless of the censor, added the + quotation which countless young lovers were finding so apt just then: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I could not love thee, dear, so much, + Loved I not honor more.” + </pre> + <p> + So when, fresh from the intimacy of this communication with his adored and + with the letter in his hand, he entered the sitting-room at that early + hour he was not overjoyed to find the housekeeper there ahead of him. And + her first sentence showed that she had been awaiting his coming. + </p> + <p> + “Good mornin', Albert,” she said. “I heard you stirrin' 'round up in your + room and I came down here so's you and I could talk together for a minute + without anybody's disturbin' us. . . . Humph! I guess likely you didn't + sleep any too well last night, did you?” + </p> + <p> + Albert shook his head. “Not too well, Rachel,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't wonder. Well, I doubt if there was too much sleep anywheres + in this house last night. So you're really goin' to war, are you, Albert?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. If the war will let me I certainly am.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear, dear! . . . Well, I—I think it's what Robert Penfold would + have done if he was in your place. I've been goin' over it and goin' over + it half the night, myself, and I've come to that conclusion. It's goin' to + be awful hard on your grandma and grandfather and me and Labe, all us + folks here at home, but I guess it's the thing you'd ought to do, the + Penfold kind of thing.” + </p> + <p> + Albert smiled. “I'm glad you think so, Rachel,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I do, and if I'm goin' to tell the truth I might as well say I + tried terrible hard to find some good reasons for thinkin' 'twan't. I did + SO! But the only good reasons I could scare up for makin' you stay to home + was because home was safe and comf'table and where you was goin' wan't. + And that kind of reasonin' might do fust-rate for a passel of clams out on + the flats, but it wouldn't be much credit to decent, self-respectin' + humans. When General Rolleson came to that island and found his daughter + and Robert Penfold livin' there in that house made out of pearls he'd + built for her—Wan't that him all over! Another man, the common run + of man, would have been satisfied to build her a house out of wood and + lucky to get that, but no, nothin' would do him but pearls, and if they'd + have been di'monds he'd have been better satisfied. Well. . . . Where was + I? . . . Oh yes! When General Rolleson came there and says to his + daughter, 'Helen, you come home along of me,' and she says, 'No, I shan't + leave him,' meanin' Robert Penfold, you understand—When she says + that did Robert Penfold say, 'That's the talk! Put that in your pipe, old + man, and smoke it?' No, SIR, he didn't! He says, 'Helen, you go straight + home along with your pa and work like fury till you find out who forged + that note and laid it onto me. You find that out,' he says, 'and then you + can come fetch me and not afore.' That's the kind of man HE was! And they + sailed off and left him behind.” + </p> + <p> + Albert shook his head. He had heard only about half of the housekeeper's + story. “Pretty rough on him, I should say,” he commented, absently. + </p> + <p> + “I GUESS 'twas rough on him, poor thing! But 'twas his duty and so he done + it. It was rough on Helen, havin' to go and leave him, but 'twas rougher + still on him. It's always roughest, seems to me,” she added, “on the ones + that's left behind. Those that go have somethin' to take up their minds + and keep 'em from thinkin' too much. The ones that stay to home don't have + much to do EXCEPT think. I hope you don't get the notion that I feel your + part of it is easy, Al. Only a poor, crazy idiot could read the papers + these days and feel that any part of this war was EASY! It's awful, but—but + it WILL keep you too busy to think, maybe.” + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't wonder, Rachel. I understand what you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “We're all goin' to miss you, Albert. This house is goin' to be a pretty + lonesome place, I cal'late. Your grandma'll miss you dreadful and so will + I, but—but I have a notion that your grandpa's goin' to miss you + more'n anybody else.” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head. “Oh, not as much as all that, Rachel,” he said. “He and + I have been getting on much better than we used to and we have come to + understand each other better, but he is still disappointed in me. I'm + afraid I don't count for much as a business man, you see; and, besides, + Grandfather can never quite forget that I am the son of what he calls a + Portygee play actor.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Ellis looked at him earnestly. “He's forgettin' it better every day, + Albert,” she said. “I do declare I never believed Capt'n Lote Snow could + forget it the way he's doin'. And you—well, you've forgot a whole + lot, too. Memory's a good thing, the land knows,” she added, sagely, “but + a nice healthy forgetery is worth consider'ble—some times and in + some cases.” + </p> + <p> + Issachar Price's comments on his fellow employee's decision to become a + soldier were pointed. Issy was disgusted. + </p> + <p> + “For thunder sakes, Al,” he demanded, “'tain't true that you've enlisted + to go to war and fight them Germans, is it?” + </p> + <p> + Albert smiled. “I guess it is, Issy,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “Well, by crimus!” + </p> + <p> + “Somebody had to go, you see, Is.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, by crimustee!” + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter, Issy? Don't you approve?” + </p> + <p> + “Approve! No, by crimus, I don't approve! I think it's a divil of a note, + that's what I think.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “WHY? Who's goin' to do the work in this office while you're gone? Labe + and me, that's who; and I'll do the heft of it. Slavin' myself half to + death as 'tis and now—Oh, by crimustee! This war is a darned + nuisance. It hadn't ought to be allowed. There'd ought to be a law against + it.” + </p> + <p> + But of all the interviews which followed Albert's decision the most + surprising and that which he was the least likely to forget was his + interview with Laban Keeler. It took place on the evening of the third day + following the announcement of his intention to enlist. All that day, and + indeed for several days, Albert had noted in the little bookkeeper certain + symptoms, familiar symptoms they were and from experience the young man + knew what they portended. Laban was very nervous, his fingers twitched as + he wrote, occasionally he rose from his chair and walked up and down the + room, he ran his hand through his scanty hair, he was inclined to be + irritable—that is, irritable for him. Albert had noted the symptoms + and was sorry. Captain Zelotes noted them and frowned and pulled his + beard. + </p> + <p> + “Al,” he said to his grandson, “if you can put off goin' up to enlist for + a little spell, a few days, I wish you would. Labe's gettin' ready to go + on one of his vacations.” + </p> + <p> + Albert nodded. “I'm afraid he is,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's as sartin as two and two makes four. I've lived with him too + many years not to know the signs. And I did hope,” he added, regretfully, + “that maybe he was tryin' to break off. It's been a good long spell, an + extry long spell, since he had his last spree. Ah hum! it's a pity a good + man should have that weak spot in him, ain't it? But if you could hang + around a few more days, while the vacation's goin' on, I'd appreciate it, + Al. I kind of hate to be left here alone with nobody but Issachar to lean + on. Issy's a good deal like a post in some ways, especially in the makeup + of his head, but he's too ricketty to lean on for any length of time.” + </p> + <p> + That evening Albert went to the post-office for the mail. On his way back + as he passed the dark corner by the now closed and shuttered + moving-picture theater he was hailed in a whisper. + </p> + <p> + “Al,” said a voice, “Al.” + </p> + <p> + Albert turned and peered into the deep shadow of the theater doorway. In + the summer this doorway was a blaze of light and gaiety; now it was cold + and bleak and black enough. From the shadow a small figure emerged on + tiptoe. + </p> + <p> + “Al,” whispered Mr. Keeler. “That's you, ain't it? Yes, yes—yes, + yes, yes—I thought 'twas, I thought so.” + </p> + <p> + Albert was surprised. For one thing it was most unusual to see the little + bookkeeper abroad after nine-thirty. His usual evening procedure, when not + on a vacation, was to call upon Rachel Ellis at the Snow place for an hour + or so and then to return to his room over Simond's shoe store, which room + he had occupied ever since the building was erected. + </p> + <p> + There he read, so people said, until eleven sharp, when his lamp was + extinguished. During or at the beginning of the vacation periods he + usually departed for some unknown destination, destinations which, + apparently, varied. He had been seen, hopelessly intoxicated, in Bayport, + in Ostable, in Boston, once in Providence. When he returned he never + seemed to remember exactly where he had been. And, as most people were + fond of and pitied him, few questions were asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Labe!” exclaimed Albert. “Is that you? What's the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Busy, are you, Al?” queried Laban. “In a hurry, eh? Are you? In a hurry, + Al, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Why no, not especially.” + </p> + <p> + “Could you—could you spare me two or three minutes? Two or three + minutes—yes, yes? Come up to my room, could you—could you, + Al?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes indeed. But what is it, Labe?” + </p> + <p> + “I want to talk. Want to talk, I do. Yes, yes, yes. Saw you go by and I've + been waitin' for you. Waitin'—yes, I have—yes.” + </p> + <p> + He seized his assistant by the arm and led him across the road toward the + shoe store. Albert felt the hand on his arm tremble violently. + </p> + <p> + “Are you cold, Labe?” he asked. “What makes you shiver so?” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? Cold? No, I ain't cold—no, no, no. Come, Al, come.” + </p> + <p> + Albert sniffed suspiciously, but no odor of alcohol rewarded the sniff. + Neither was there any perfume of peppermint, Mr. Keeler's transparent + camouflage at a vacation's beginning. And Laban was not humming the + refrain glorifying his “darling hanky-panky.” Apparently he had not yet + embarked upon the spree which Captain Lote had pronounced imminent. But + why did he behave so queerly? + </p> + <p> + “I ain't the way you think, Al,” declared the little man, divining his + thought. “I'm just kind of shaky and nervous, that's all. That's all, + that's all, that's all. Yes, yes. Come, come! COME!” + </p> + <p> + The last “come” burst from him in an agony of impatience. Albert hastened + up the narrow stairs, Laban leading the way. The latter fumbled with a + key, his companion heard it rattling against the keyhole plate. Then the + door opened. There was a lamp, its wick turned low, burning upon the table + in the room. Mr. Keeler turned it up, making a trembly job of the turning. + Albert looked about him; he had never been in that room before. + </p> + <p> + It was a small room and there was not much furniture in it. And it was a + neat room, for the room of an old bachelor who was his own chambermaid. + Most things seemed to have places where they belonged and most of them + appeared to be in those places. What impressed Albert even more was the + number of books. There were books everywhere, in the cheap bookcase, on + the pine shelf between the windows, piled in the corners, heaped on the + table beside the lamp. They were worn and shabby volumes for the most + part, some with but half a cover remaining, some with none. He picked up + one of the latter. It was Locke on The Human Understanding; and next it, + to his astonishment, was Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Keeler looked over his shoulder and, for an instant, the whimsical + smile which was characteristic of him curved his lip. + </p> + <p> + “Philosophy, Al,” he observed. “If Locke don't suit you try the 'mad + hatter' feller. I get consider'ble comfort out of the hatter, myself. Do + you remember when the mouse was tellin' the story about the three sisters + that lived in the well? He said they lived on everything that began with + M. Alice says 'Why with an M?' And the hatter, or the March hare, I forget + which 'twas, says prompt, 'Why not?' . . . Yes, yes, why not? that's what + he said. . . . There's some philosophy in that, Al. Why does a hen go + across the road? Why not? Why is Labe Keeler a disgrace to all his friends + and the town he lives in? Why not? . . . Eh? . . . Yes, yes. That's it—why + not?” + </p> + <p> + He smiled again, but there was bitterness and not humor in the smile. + Albert put a hand on his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Labe,” he asked, in concern, “what is it?” + </p> + <p> + Laban turned away. + </p> + <p> + “Don't mind, me, Al,” he said, hurriedly. “I mean don't mind if I act + funny. I'm—I'm kind of—of—Oh, good Lord A'mighty, DON'T + look at me like that! . . . I beg your pardon, Al. I didn't mean to bark + like a dog at you. No, I didn't—no, no. Forgive me, will you? Will + you, Al, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I will. But what is the matter, Labe? Sit down and tell me + about it.” + </p> + <p> + Instead of sitting the little bookkeeper began to walk up and down. + </p> + <p> + “Don't mind me, Al,” he said, hurriedly. “Don't mind me. Let me go my own + gait. My own gait—yes, yes. You see, Al, I—I'm tryin' to + enlist, same as you're goin' to do, and—and MY fight's begun + already. Yes indeed—yes, yes—it has so.” + </p> + <p> + Albert was more astonished than ever. There was no smell of alcohol, and + Keeler had declared that he had not been drinking; but— + </p> + <p> + “You're going to ENLIST?” repeated Albert. “YOU? Why, Labe, what—” + </p> + <p> + Laban laughed nervously. “Not to kill the Kaiser,” he replied. “No, no, + not that—not exactly. I'd like to, only I wouldn't be much help that + way. But—but Al, I—I want to do somethin'. I—I'd like to + try to show—I'd like to be an American, a decent American, and the + best way to begin, seems to me, is to try and be a man, a decent man. Eh? + You understand, I—I—Oh, Lord, what a mess I am makin' of this! + I—I—Al,” turning and desperately waving his hands, “I'm goin' + to try to swear off. Will you help me?” + </p> + <p> + Albert's answer was enthusiastic. “You bet I will!” he exclaimed. Keeler + smiled pathetically. + </p> + <p> + “It's goin' to be some job, I cal'late,” he said. “Some job, yes, yes. But + I'm goin' to try it, Al. I read in the papers 'tother day that America + needed every man. Then you enlisted, Al,—or you're goin' to enlist. + It set me to thinkin' I'd try to enlist, too. For the duration of the war, + eh? Yes, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Good for you, Labe! Bully!” + </p> + <p> + Laban held up a protesting hand. “Don't hurrah yet, Al,” he said. “This + ain't the first time I've tried it. I've swore off a dozen times in the + last fifteen years. I've promised Rachel and broke the promise over and + over again. Broke my promise to her, the best woman in the world. Shows + what I am, what sort I am, don't it, Al? Yes, it does,—yes, yes. And + she's stuck by me, too, Lord knows why. Last time I broke it I said I'd + never promise her again. Bad enough to be a common drunk without bein' a + liar—yes, yes. But this is a little different. Seems to me—seems + so.” + </p> + <p> + He began his pacing up and down again. + </p> + <p> + “Seems different, somehow,” he went on. “Seems like a new chance. I want + to do somethin' for Uncle Sam. I—I'd like to try and enlist for the + duration of the war—swear off for that long, anyhow. Then, maybe, + I'd be able to keep on for life, you know—duration of Labe Keeler, + eh? Yes, yes, yes. But I could begin for just the war, couldn't I? Maybe, + 'twould fool me into thinkin' that was easier.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, Labe. It's a good idea.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe; and maybe it's a fool one. But I'm goin' to try it. I AM tryin' + it, have been all day.” + </p> + <p> + He paused, drew a shaking hand across his forehead and then asked, “Al, + will you help me? I asked you up here hopin' you would. Will you, Al, eh? + Will you?” + </p> + <p> + Albert could not understand how he could possibly help another man keep + the pledge, but his promise was eagerly given. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, Labe,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks . . . thank you, Al. . . . And now will you do something for me—a + favor?” + </p> + <p> + “Gladly. What is it?” + </p> + <p> + Laban did not answer at once. He appeared to be on the point of doing so, + but to be struggling either to find words or to overcome a tremendous + reluctance. When he did speak the words came in a burst. + </p> + <p> + “Go down stairs,” he cried. “Down those stairs you came up. At the foot of + 'em, in a kind of cupboard place, under 'em, there's—there probably + is a jug, a full jug. It was due to come by express to-day and I cal'late + it did, cal'late Jim Young fetched it down this afternoon. I—I could + have looked for myself and seen if 'twas there,” he added, after a + momentary hesitation, “but—but I didn't dare to. I was afraid I'd—I'd—” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Labe. I understand. What do you want me to do with it if it is + there?” + </p> + <p> + “I want you—I want you to—to—” The little bookkeeper + seemed to be fighting another internal battle between inclination and + resolution. The latter won, for he finished with, “I want you to take it + out back of the buildin' and—and empty it. That's what I want you to + do, empty it, Al, every drop. . . . And, for the Almighty's sake, go + quick,” he ordered, desperately, “or I'll tell you not to before you + start. Go!” + </p> + <p> + Albert went. He fumbled in the cupboard under the stairs, found the jug—a + large one and heavy—and hastened out into the night with it in his + hands. Behind the shoe store, amid a heap of old packing boxes and other + rubbish, he emptied it. The process was rather lengthy and decidedly + fragrant. As a finish he smashed the jug with a stone. Then he climbed the + stairs again. + </p> + <p> + Laban was waiting for him, drops of perspiration upon his forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Was—was it there?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + Albert nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes. 'Twas there, eh? And did you—did you—?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I did, jug and all.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Al . . . thank you . . . I—I've been trying to muster up + spunk enough to do it myself, but—but I swan I couldn't. I didn't + dast to go nigh it . . . I'm a fine specimen, ain't I, now?” he added, + with a twisted smile. “Some coward, eh? Yes, yes. Some coward.” + </p> + <p> + Albert, realizing a little of the fight the man was making, was affected + by it. “You're a brick, Labe,” he declared, heartily. “And as for being a + coward—Well, if I am half as brave when my turn comes I shall be + satisfied.” + </p> + <p> + Laban shook his head. “I don't know how scared I'd be of a German + bombshell,” he said, “but I'm everlastin' sure I wouldn't run from it for + fear of runnin' towards it, and that's how I felt about that jug. . . . + Yes, yes, yes. I did so . . . I'm much obliged to you, Al. I shan't forget + it—no, no. I cal'late you can trot along home now, if you want to. + I'm pretty safe—for to-night, anyhow. Guess likely the new recruit + won't desert afore morning.” + </p> + <p> + But Albert, watching him intently, refused to go. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to stay for a while, Labe,” he said. “I'm not a bit sleepy, + really. Let's have a smoke and talk together. That is, of course, unless + you want to go to bed.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Keeler smiled his twisted smile. “I ain't crazy to,” he said. “The way + I feel now I'd get to sleep about week after next. But I hadn't ought to + keep you up, Al.” + </p> + <p> + “Rubbish! I'm not sleepy, I tell you. Sit down. Have a cigar. Now what + shall we talk about? How would books do? What have you been reading + lately, Labe?” + </p> + <p> + They smoked and talked books until nearly two. Then Laban insisted upon + his guest departing. “I'm all right, Al” he declared, earnestly. “I am + honest—yes, yes, I am. I'll go to sleep like a lamb, yes indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll be at the office in the morning, won't you, Labe?” + </p> + <p> + The little bookkeeper nodded. “I'll be there,” he said. “Got to answer + roll call the first mornin' after enlistment. Yes, yes. I'll be there, + Al.” + </p> + <p> + He was there, but he did not look as if his indulgence in the lamb-like + sleep had been excessive. He was so pale and haggard that his assistant + was alarmed. + </p> + <p> + “You're not sick, are you, Labe?” he asked, anxiously. Laban shook his + head. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said. “No, I ain't sick. Been doin' picket duty up and down the + room since half past three, that's all. Um-hm, that's all. Say, Al, if + General what's-his-name—er—von Hindenburg—is any harder + scrapper than old Field Marshal Barleycorn he's a pretty tough one. Say, + Al, you didn't say anything about—about my—er—enlistin' + to Cap'n Lote, did you? I meant to ask you not to.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't, Labe. I thought you might want it kept a secret.” + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm. Better keep it in the ranks until we know how this first—er—skirmish + is comin' out. Yes, yes. Better keep it that way. Um-hm.” + </p> + <p> + All day he stuck manfully at his task and that evening, immediately after + supper, Albert went to the room over the shoe store, found him there and + insisted upon his coming over to call upon Rachel. He had not intended + doing so. + </p> + <p> + “You see, Al,” he explained, “I'm—I'm kind of—er—shaky + and Rachel will be worried, I'm afraid. She knows me pretty well and + she'll cal'late I'm just gettin' ready to—to bust loose again.” + </p> + <p> + Albert interrupted. “No, she won't, Laban,” he said. “We'll show her that + you're not.” + </p> + <p> + “You won't say anything to her about my—er—enlistin', Al? + Don't. No, no. I've promised her too many times—and broke the + promises. If anything should come of this fight of mine I'd rather she'd + find it out for herself. Better to surprise her than to disapp'int her. + Yes, yes, lots better.” + </p> + <p> + Albert promised not to tell Rachel and so Laban made his call. When it was + over the young man walked home with him and the pair sat and talked until + after midnight, just as on the previous night. The following evening it + was much the same, except that, as Mr. Keeler pronounced himself more than + usually “shaky” and expressed a desire to “keep movin',” they walked half + way to Orham and back before parting. By the end of the week Laban + declared the fight won—for the time. + </p> + <p> + “You've pulled me through the fust tussle, Al,” he said. “I shan't desert + now, not till the next break-out, anyhow. I cal'late it'll get me harder + than ever then. Harder than ever—yes, yes. And you won't be here to + help me, neither.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind; I shall be thinking of you, Labe. And I know you're going to + win. I feel it in my bones.” + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm. . . . Yes, yes, yes. . . In your bones, eh? Well, MY bones don't + seem to feel much, except rheumatics once in a while. I hope yours are + better prophets, but I wouldn't want to bet too high on it. No, I wouldn't—no, + no. However, we'll do our best, and they say angels can't do any more—though + they'd probably do it in a different way . . . some different. . . . + Um-hm. . . . Yes, indeed.” + </p> + <p> + Two letters came to Albert before that week ended. The first was from + Madeline. He had written her of his intention to enlist and this was her + reply. The letter had evidently been smuggled past the censor, for it + contained much which Mrs. Fosdick would have blue-penciled. Its contents + were a blend of praise and blame, of exaltation and depression. He was a + hero, and so brave, and she was so proud of him. It was wonderful his + daring to go, and just what she would have expected of her hero. If only + she might see him in his uniform. So many of the fellows she knew had + enlisted. They were wonderfully brave, too, although of course nothing + like as wonderful as her own etcetera, etcetera. She had seen some of THEM + in their uniforms and they were PERFECTLY SPLENDID. But they were + officers, or they were going to be. Why wasn't he going to be an officer? + It was so much nicer to be an officer. And if he were one he might not + have to go away to fight nearly so soon. Officers stayed here longer and + studied, you know. Mother had said something about “a common private,” and + she did not like it. But never mind, she would be just as proud no matter + what he was. And she should dream of him and think of him always and + always. And perhaps he might be so brave and wonderful that he would be + given one of those war crosses, the Croix de Guerre or something. She was + sure he would. But oh, no matter what happened, he must not go where it + was TOO dangerous. Suppose he should be wounded. Oh, suppose, SUPPOSE he + should be killed. What would she do then? What would become of her? MUST + he go, after all? Couldn't he stay at home and study or something, for a + while, you know? She should be so lonely after he was gone. And so + frightened and so anxious. And he wouldn't forget her, would he, no matter + where he went? Because she never, never, never would forget him for a + moment. And he must write every day. And— + </p> + <p> + The letter was fourteen pages long. + </p> + <p> + The other letter was a surprise. It was from Helen. The Reverend Mr. + Kendall had been told of Albert's intended enlistment and had written his + daughter. + </p> + <p> + So you are going into the war, Albert (she wrote). I am not surprised + because I expected you would do just that. It is what all of us would like + to do, I'm sure, and you were always anxious to go, even before the United + States came in. So I am writing this merely to congratulate you and to + wish you the very best of good luck. Father says you are not going to try + for a commission but intend enlisting as a private. I suppose that is + because you think you may get to the actual fighting sooner. I think I + understand and appreciate that feeling too, but are you sure it is the + best plan? You want to be of the greatest service to the country and with + your education and brains—This ISN'T flattery, because it is true—don't + you think you might help more if you were in command of men? Of course I + don't know, being only a girl, but I have been wondering. No doubt you + know best and probably it is settled before this; at any rate, please + don't think that I intend butting in. “Butting in” is not at all a proper + expression for a schoolmarm to use but it is a relief to be human + occasionally. Whatever you do I am sure will be the right thing and I know + all your friends are going to be very, very proud of you. I shall hear of + you through the people at home, I know, and I shall be anxious to hear. I + don't know what I shall do to help the cause, but I hope to do something. + A musket is prohibitive to females but the knitting needle is ours and I + CAN handle that, if I do say it. And I MAY go in for Red Cross work + altogether. But I don't count much, and you men do, and this is your day. + Please, for the sake of your grandparents and all your friends, don't take + unnecessary chances. I can see your face as you read that and think that I + am a silly idiot. I'm not and I mean what I say. You see I know YOU and I + know you will not be content to do the ordinary thing. We want you to + distinguish yourself, but also we want you to come back whole and sound, + if it is possible. We shall think of you a great deal. And please, in the + midst of the excitement of the BIG work you are doing, don't forget us + home folk, including your friend, + </p> + <p> + HELEN KENDALL. + </p> + <p> + Albert's feelings when he read this letter were divided. He enjoyed + hearing from Helen. The letter was just like herself, sensible and + good-humored and friendly. There were no hysterics in it and no heroics + but he knew that no one except his grandparents and Rachel and Laban—and, + of course, his own Madeline—would think of him oftener or be more + anxious for his safety and welfare than Helen. He was glad she was his + friend, very glad. But he almost wished she had not written. He felt a bit + guilty at having received the letter. He was pretty sure that Madeline + would not like the idea. He was tempted to say nothing concerning it in + his next letter to his affianced, but that seemed underhanded and + cowardly, so he told her. And in her next letter to him Madeline made no + reference at all to Helen or her epistle, so he knew she was displeased. + And he was miserable in consequence. + </p> + <p> + But his misery did not last long. The happenings which followed crowded it + from his mind, and from Madeline's also, for that matter. One morning, + having told no one except his grandfather of his intention, he took the + morning train to Boston. When he returned the next day he was Uncle Sam's + man, sworn in and accepted. He had passed the physical examination with + flying colors and the recruiting officers expressed themselves as being + glad to get him. He was home for but one day leave, then he must go to + stay. He had debated the question of going in for a commission, but those + were the early days of our participation in the war and a Plattsburg + training or at least some sort of military education was almost an + essential. He did not want to wait; as he had told his grandfather, he + wanted to fight. So he enlisted as a private. + </p> + <p> + And when the brief leave was over he took the train for Boston, no longer + Alberto Miguel Carlos Speranza, South Harniss's Beau Brummel, poet and + Portygee, but Private Speranza, U.S.A. The farewells were brief and no one + cried—much. His grandmother hugged and kissed him, Rachel looked + very much as if she wanted to. Laban and Issachar shook hands with him. + </p> + <p> + “Good luck to you, boy,” said Mr. Keeler. “All the luck there is.” + </p> + <p> + “Same to you, old man,” replied Albert. Then, in a lower tone, he added, + “We'll fight it out together, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “We'll try. Yes, yes. We'll try. So long, Al.” + </p> + <p> + Issachar struck the reassuring note. “Don't fret about things in the + office,” he said. “I'll look out for 'em long's I keep my health.” + </p> + <p> + “Be sure and keep that, Issy.” + </p> + <p> + “You bet you! Only thing that's liable to break it down is over-work.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes said very little. “Write us when you can, Al,” he said. + “And come home whenever you get leave.” + </p> + <p> + “You may be sure of that, Grandfather. And after I get to camp perhaps you + can come and see me.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe so. Will if I can. . . . Well, Al, I . . . I. . . . Good luck to + you, son.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Grandfather.” + </p> + <p> + They shook hands. Each looked as if there was more he would have liked to + say but found the saying hard. Then the engine bell rang and the hands + fell apart. The little group on the station platform watched the train + disappear. Mrs. Snow and Rachel wiped their eyes with their handkerchiefs. + Captain Zelotes gently patted his wife's shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “The team's waitin', Mother,” he said. “Labe'll drive you and Rachel + home.” + </p> + <p> + “But—but ain't you comin', too, Zelotes?” faltered Olive. Her + husband shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Not now, Mother,” he answered. “Got to go back to the office.” + </p> + <p> + He stood for an instant looking at the faint smear of smoke above the + curve in the track. Then, without another word, he strode off in the + direction of Z. Snow and Co.'s buildings. Issachar Price sniffed. + </p> + <p> + “Crimus,” he whispered to Laban, as the latter passed him on the way to + where Jessamine, the Snow horse, was tied, “the old man takes it cool, + don't he! I kind of imagined he'd be sort of shook up by Al's goin' off to + war, but he don't seem to feel it a mite.” + </p> + <p> + Keeler looked at him in wonder. Then he drew a long breath. + </p> + <p> + “Is,” he said, slowly, “it is a mighty good thing for the Seven Wise Men + of Greece that they ain't alive now.” + </p> + <p> + It was Issachar's turn to stare. “Eh?” he queried. “The Seven Wise Men of + Which? Good thing for 'em they ain't alive? What kind of talk's that? Why + is it a good thing?” + </p> + <p> + Laban spoke over his shoulder. “Because,” he drawled, “if they was alive + now they'd be so jealous of you they'd commit suicide. Yes, they would. . + . . Yes, yes.” + </p> + <p> + With which enigmatical remark he left Mr. Price and turned his attention + to the tethered Jessamine. + </p> + <p> + And then began a new period, a new life at the Snow place and in the + office of Z. Snow and Co. Or, rather, life in the old house and at the + lumber and hardware office slumped back into the groove in which it had + run before the opera singer's son was summoned from the New York school to + the home and into the lives of his grandparents. Three people instead of + four sat down at the breakfast table and at dinner and at supper. Captain + Zelotes walked alone to and from the office. Olive Snow no longer baked + and iced large chocolate layer cakes because a certain inmate of her + household was so fond of them. Rachel Ellis discussed Foul Play and Robert + Penfold with no one. The house was emptier, more old-fashioned and behind + the times, more lonely—surprisingly empty and behind the times and + lonely. + </p> + <p> + The daily mails became matters of intense interest and expectation. Albert + wrote regularly and of course well and entertainingly. He described the + life at the camp where he and the other recruits were training, a camp + vastly different from the enormous military towns built later on for + housing and training the drafted men. He liked the life pretty well, he + wrote, although it was hard and a fellow had precious little opportunity + to be lazy. Mistakes, too, were unprofitable for the maker. Captain Lote's + eye twinkled when he read that. + </p> + <p> + Later on he wrote that he had been made a corporal and his grandmother, to + whom a major general and a corporal were of equal rank, rejoiced much both + at home and in church after meeting was over and friends came to hear the + news. Mrs. Ellis declared herself not surprised. It was the Robert Penfold + in him coming out, so she said. + </p> + <p> + A month or two later one of Albert's letters contained an interesting item + of news. In the little spare time which military life afforded him he + continued to write verse and stories. Now a New York publisher, not one of + the most prominent but a reputable and enterprising one, had written him + suggesting the collecting of his poems and their publication in book form. + The poet himself was, naturally, elated. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it splendid!” he wrote. “The best part of it, of course, is that he + asked to publish, I did not ask him. Please send me my scrapbook and all + loose manuscript. When the book will come out I'm sure I don't know. In + fact it may never come out, we have not gotten as far as terms and + contracts yet, but I feel we shall. Send the scrapbook and manuscript + right away, PLEASE.” + </p> + <p> + They were sent. In his next letter Albert was still enthusiastic. + </p> + <p> + “I have been looking over my stuff,” he wrote, “and some of it is pretty + good, if you don't mind my saying so. Tell Grandfather that when this book + of mine is out and selling I may be able to show him that poetry making + isn't a pauper's job, after all. Of course I don't know how much it will + sell—perhaps not more than five or ten thousand at first—but + even at ten thousand at, say, twenty-five cents royalty each, would be + twenty-five hundred dollars, and that's something. Why, Ben Hur, the + novel, you know, has sold a million, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Snow and Rachel were duly impressed by this prophecy of affluence, + but Captain Zelotes still played the skeptic. + </p> + <p> + “A million at twenty-five cents a piece!” exclaimed Olive. “Why, Zelotes, + that's—that's an awful sight of money.” + </p> + <p> + Mental arithmetic failing her, she set to work with a pencil and paper and + after a strenuous struggle triumphantly announced that it came to two + hundred and fifty thousand dollars. + </p> + <p> + “My soul and body!” she cried. “Two hundred and fifty thousand DOLLARS! My + SOUL, Zelotes! Suppose—only suppose Albert's book brought him in as + much as that!” + </p> + <p> + Her husband shook his head. “I can't, Olive,” he said, without looking up + from his newspaper. “My supposer wouldn't stand the strain.” + </p> + <p> + “But it might, Zelotes, it MIGHT. Suppose it did, what would you say + then?” + </p> + <p> + The captain regarded her over the top of the Transcript. “I shouldn't say + a word, Olive,” he answered, solemnly. “I should be down sick by the time + it got up as far as a thousand, and anything past two thousand you could + use to buy my tombstone with. . . . There, there, Mother,” he added, + noticing the hurt look on her face, “don't feel bad. I'm only jokin'. One + of these days Al's goin' to make a nice, comf'table livin' sellin' lumber + and hardware right here in South Harniss. I can SEE that money in the + offin'. All this million or two that's comin' from poetry and such is out + of sight in the fog. It may be there but—humph! well, I KNOW where + Z. Snow and Co. is located.” + </p> + <p> + Olive was not entirely placated. “I must say I think you're awful + discouragin' to the poor boy, Zelotes,” she said. Her husband put down his + paper. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, I ain't, Mother,” he replied, earnestly. “At least I don't mean + to be. Way I look at it, this poetry-makin' and writin' yarns and that + sort of stuff is just part of the youngster's—er—growin' up, + as you might say. Give him time he'll grow out of it, same as I cal'late + he will out of this girl business, this—er—Madel—humph—er—ahem. + . . . Looks like a good day to-morrow, don't it.” + </p> + <p> + He pulled up suddenly, and with considerable confusion. He had kept the + news of his grandson's infatuation and engagement even from his wife. No + one in South Harniss knew of it, no one except the captain. Helen Kendall + knew, but she was in Boston. + </p> + <p> + Rachel Ellis picked up the half knitted Red Cross mitten in her lap. + “Well, I don't know whether he's right or you are, Cap'n Lote,” she said, + with a sigh, “but this I do know—I wish this awful war was over and + he was back home again.” + </p> + <p> + That remark ended the conversation. Olive resumed her own knitting, seeing + it but indistinctly. Her husband did not continue his newspaper reading. + Instead he rose and, saying something about cal'latin' he would go for a + little walk before turning in, went out into the yard. + </p> + <p> + But the war did not end, it went on; so too did the enlisting and + training. In the early summer Albert came home for a two days' leave. He + was broader and straighter and browner. His uniform became him and, more + than ever, the eyes of South Harniss's youthful femininity, native or + imported, followed him as he walked the village streets. But the glances + were not returned, not in kind, that is. The new Fosdick home, although + completed, was not occupied. Mrs. Fosdick had, that summer, decided that + her duties as mover in goodness knows how many war work activities + prevented her taking her “usual summer rest.” Instead she and Madeline + occupied a rented villa at Greenwich, Connecticut, coming into town for + meetings of all sorts. Captain Zelotes had his own suspicions as to + whether war work alone was the cause of the Fosdicks' shunning of what was + to have been their summer home, but he kept those suspicions to himself. + Albert may have suspected also, but he, too, said nothing. The censored + correspondence between Greenwich and the training camp traveled regularly, + and South Harniss damsels looked and longed in vain. He saw them, he bowed + to them, he even addressed them pleasantly and charmingly, but to him they + were merely incidents in his walks to and from the post-office. In his + mind's eye he saw but one, and she, alas, was not present in the flesh. + </p> + <p> + Then he returned to the camp where, later on, Captain Zelotes and Olive + visited him. As they came away the captain and his grandson exchanged a + few significant words. + </p> + <p> + “It is likely to be almost any time, Grandfather,” said Albert, quietly. + “They are beginning to send them now, as you know by the papers, and we + have had the tip that our turn will be soon. So—” + </p> + <p> + Captain Lote grasped the significance of the uncompleted sentence. + </p> + <p> + “I see, Al,” he answered, “I see. Well, boy, I—I—Good luck.” + </p> + <p> + “Good luck, Grandfather.” + </p> + <p> + That was all, that and one more handclasp. Our Anglo-Saxon inheritance + descends upon us in times like these. The captain was silent for most of + the ride to the railroad station. + </p> + <p> + Then followed a long, significant interval during which there were no + letters from the young soldier. After this a short reassuring cablegram + from “Somewhere in France.” “Safe. Well,” it read and Olive Snow carried + it about with her, in the bosom of her gown, all that afternoon and put it + upon retiring on her bureau top so that she might see it the first thing + in the morning. + </p> + <p> + Another long interval, then letters, the reassuring but so tantalizingly + unsatisfactory letters we American families were, just at that time, + beginning to receive. Reading the newspapers now had a personal interest, + a terrifying, dreadful interest. Then the packing and sending of holiday + boxes, over the contents of which Olive and Rachel spent much careful + planning and anxious preparation. Then another interval of more letters, + letters which hinted vaguely at big things just ahead. + </p> + <p> + Then no letter for more than a month. + </p> + <p> + And then, one noon, as Captain Zelotes returned to his desk after the walk + from home and dinner, Laban Keeler came in and stood beside that desk. + </p> + <p> + The captain, looking up, saw the little bookkeeper's face. “What is it, + Labe?” he asked, sharply. + </p> + <p> + Laban held a yellow envelope in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “It came while you were gone to dinner, Cap'n,” he said. “Ben Kelley + fetched it from the telegraph office himself. He—he said he didn't + hardly want to take it to the house. He cal'lated you'd better have it + here, to read to yourself, fust. That's what he said—yes, yes—that's + what 'twas, Cap'n.” + </p> + <p> + Slowly Captain Zelotes extended his hand for the envelope. He did not take + his eyes from the bookkeeper's face. + </p> + <p> + “Ben—Ben, he told me what was in it, Cap'n Lote,” faltered Laban. “I—I + don't know what to say to you, I don't—no, no.” + </p> + <p> + Without a word the captain took the envelope from Keeler's fingers, and + tore it open. He read the words upon the form within. + </p> + <p> + Laban leaned forward. + </p> + <p> + “For the Lord sakes, Lote Snow,” he cried, in a burst of agony, “why + couldn't it have been some darn good-for-nothin' like me instead—instead + of him? Oh, my God A'mighty, what a world this is! WHAT a world!” + </p> + <p> + Still Captain Zelotes said nothing. His eyes were fixed upon the yellow + sheet of paper on the desk before him. After a long minute he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, very slowly, “well, Labe, there goes—there goes Z. + Snow and Company.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV + </h2> + <p> + The telegram from the War Department was brief, as all such telegrams were + perforce obliged to be. The Secretary of War, through his representative, + regretted to inform Captain Zelotes Snow that Sergeant Albert Speranza had + been killed in action upon a certain day. It was enough, however—for + the time quite enough. It was not until later that the little group of + South Harniss recovered sufficiently from the stunning effect of those few + words to think of seeking particulars. Albert was dead; what did it + matter, then, to know how he died? + </p> + <p> + Olive bore the shock surprisingly well. Her husband's fears for her seemed + quite unnecessary. The Captain, knowing how she had idolized her + daughter's boy, had dreaded the effect which the news might have upon her. + She was broken down by it, it is true, but she was quiet and brave—astonishingly, + wonderfully quiet and brave. And it was she, rather than her husband, who + played the part of the comforter in those black hours. + </p> + <p> + “He's gone, Zelotes,” she said. “It don't seem possible, I know, but he's + gone. And he died doin' his duty, same as he would have wanted to die if + he'd known 'twas comin', poor boy. So—so we must do ours, I suppose, + and bear up under it the very best we can. It won't be very long, + Zelotes,” she added. “We're both gettin' old.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Lote made no reply. He was standing by the window of the + sitting-room looking out into the wet backyard across which the + wind-driven rain was beating in stormy gusts. + </p> + <p> + “We must be brave, Zelotes,” whispered Olive, tremulously. “He'd want us + to be and we MUST be.” + </p> + <p> + He put his arm about her in a sudden heat of admiration. “I'd be ashamed + not to be after seein' you, Mother,” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + He went out to the barn a few moments later and Rachel, entering the + sitting-room, found Olive crumpled down in the big rocker in an agony of + grief. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't, Mrs. Snow, don't,” she begged, the tears streaming down her + own cheeks. “You mustn't give way to it like this; you mustn't.” + </p> + <p> + Olive nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I know it, I know it,” she admitted, chokingly, wiping her eyes with a + soaked handkerchief. “I shan't, Rachel, only this once, I promise you. You + see I can't. I just can't on Zelotes's account. I've got to bear up for + his sake.” + </p> + <p> + The housekeeper was surprised and a little indignant. + </p> + <p> + “For his sake!” she repeated. “For mercy sakes why for his sake? Is it any + worse for him than 'tis for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, yes, lots worse. He won't say much, of course, bein' Zelotes + Snow, but you and I know how he's planned, especially these last years, + and how he's begun to count on—on Albert. . . . No, no, I ain't + goin' to cry, Rachel, I ain't—I WON'T—but sayin' his name, you + know, kind of—” + </p> + <p> + “I know, I know. Land sakes, DON'T I know! Ain't I doin' it myself?” + </p> + <p> + “Course you are, Rachel. But we mustn't when Zelotes is around. We women, + we—well, times like these women HAVE to keep up. What would become + of the men if we didn't?” + </p> + <p> + So she and Rachel “kept up” in public and when the captain was present, + and he for his part made no show of grief nor asked for pity. He was + silent, talked little and to the callers who came either at the house or + office was uncomplaining. + </p> + <p> + “He died like a man,” he told the Reverend Mr. Kendall when the latter + called. “He took his chance, knowin' what that meant—” + </p> + <p> + “He was glad to take it,” interrupted the minister. “Proud and glad to + take it.” + </p> + <p> + “Sartin. Why not? Wouldn't you or I have been glad to take ours, if we + could?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Captain Snow, I am glad to find you so resigned.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes looked at him. “Resigned?” he repeated. “What do you mean + by resigned? Not to sit around and whimper is one thing—any decent + man or woman ought to be able to do that in these days; but if by bein' + resigned you mean I'm contented to have it so—well, you're mistaken, + that's all.” + </p> + <p> + Only on one occasion, and then to Laban Keeler, did he open his shell + sufficiently to give a glimpse of what was inside. Laban entered the inner + office that morning to find his employer sitting in the desk chair, both + hands jammed in his trousers' pockets and his gaze fixed, apparently, upon + the row of pigeon-holes. When the bookkeeper spoke to him he seemed to + wake from a dream, for he started and looked up. + </p> + <p> + “Cap'n Lote,” began Keeler, “I'm sorry to bother you, but that last + carload of pine was—” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes waved his hand, brushing the carload of pine out of the + conversation. + </p> + <p> + “Labe,” he said, slowly, “did it seem to you that I was too hard on him?” + </p> + <p> + Laban did not understand. “Hard on him?” he repeated. “I don't know's I + just get—” + </p> + <p> + “Hard on Al. Did it seem to you as if I was a little too much of the bucko + mate to the boy? Did I drive him too hard? Was I unreasonable?” + </p> + <p> + The answer was prompt. “No, Cap'n Lote,” replied Keeler. + </p> + <p> + “You mean that? . . . Um-hm. . . . Well, sometimes seems as if I might + have been. You see, Labe, when he first come I—Well, I cal'late I + was consider'ble prejudiced against him. Account of his father, you + understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Sartin. Sure. I understand.” + </p> + <p> + “It took me a good while to get reconciled to the Portygee streak in him. + It chafed me consider'ble to think there was a foreign streak in our + family. The Snows have been straight Yankee for a good long while. . . . + Fact is, I—I never got really reconciled to it. I kept bein' fearful + all the time that that streak, his father's streak, would break out in + him. It never did, except of course in his poetry and that sort of + foolishness, but I was always scared 'twould, you see. And now—now + that this has happened I—I kind of fret for fear that I may have let + my notions get ahead of my fair play. You think I did give the boy a + square deal, Labe?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure thing, Cap'n.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad of that. . . . And—and you cal'late he wasn't—wasn't + too prejudiced against me? I don't mean along at first, I mean this last + year or two.” + </p> + <p> + Laban hesitated. He wished his answer to be not an overstatement, but the + exact truth. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” he said, with emphasis, “that Al was comin' to understand you + better every day he lived, Cap'n. Yes, and to think more and more of you, + too. He was gettin' older, for one thing—older, more of a man—yes, + yes.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes smiled sadly. “He was more boy than man by a good deal + yet,” he observed. “Well, Labe, he's gone and I'm just beginnin' to + realize how much of life for me has gone along with him. He'd been doin' + better here in the office for the last two or three years, seemed to be + catchin' on to business better. Didn't you think so, Labe?” + </p> + <p> + “Sartin. Yes indeed. Fust-rate, fust-rate.” + </p> + <p> + “No, not first-rate. He was a long ways from a business man yet, but I did + think he was doin' a lot better. I could begin to see him pilotin' this + craft after I was called ashore. Now he's gone and . . . well, I don't see + much use in my fightin' to keep it afloat. I'm gettin' along in years—and + what's the use?” + </p> + <p> + It was the first time Laban had ever heard Captain Zelotes refer to + himself as an old man. It shocked him into sharp expostulation. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” he exclaimed. “You ain't old enough for the scrap heap by a + big stretch. And besides, he made his fight, didn't he? He didn't quit, Al + didn't, and he wouldn't want us to. No sir-ee, he wouldn't! No, sir, no! . + . . I—I hope you'll excuse me, Cap'n Lote. I—declare it must + seem to you as if I was talkin' pretty fresh. I swan I'm sorry. I am so . + . . sorry; yes, yes, I be.” + </p> + <p> + The captain was not offended. He waved the apologies aside. + </p> + <p> + “So you think it's worth while my fightin' it out, do you, Labe?” he + asked, reflectively. + </p> + <p> + “I—I think it's what you ought to do anyhow, whether it's worth + while or not. The whole world's fightin'. Uncle Sam's fightin'. Al was + fightin'. You're fightin'. I'm fightin'. It's a darn sight easier to quit, + a darn sight, but—but Al didn't quit. And—and we mustn't—not + if we can help it,” he added, drawing a hand across his forehead. + </p> + <p> + His agitation seemed to surprise Captain Zelotes. “So all hands are + fightin', are they, Labe,” he observed. “Well, I presume likely there's + some truth in that. What's your particular fight, for instance?” + </p> + <p> + The little bookkeeper looked at him for an instant before replying. The + captain's question was kindly asked, but there was, or so Laban imagined, + the faintest trace of sarcasm in its tone. That trace decided him. He + leaned across the desk. + </p> + <p> + “My particular fight?” he repeated. “You—you want to know what 'tis, + Cap'n Lote? All right, all right, I'll tell you.” + </p> + <p> + And without waiting for further questioning and with, for him, + surprisingly few repetitions, he told of his “enlistment” to fight John + Barleycorn for the duration of the war. Captain Zelotes listened to the + very end in silence. Laban mopped his forehead with a hand which shook + much as it had done during the interview with Albert in the room above the + shoe store. + </p> + <p> + “There—there,” he declared, in conclusion, “that's my fight, Cap'n + Lote. Al and I, we—we kind of went into it together, as you might + say, though his enlistin' was consider'ble more heroic than mine—yes + indeed, I should say so . . . yes, yes, yes. But I'm fightin' too . . . er + . . . I'm fightin' too.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes pulled his beard. + </p> + <p> + “How's the fight goin', Labe?” he asked, quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Well—well, it's kind of—kind of spotty, as you might say. + There's spots when I get along fairly smooth and others when—well, + when it's pretty rough goin'. I've had four hard spots since Al went away, + but there's two that was the hardest. One was along Christmas and New Year + time; you know I 'most generally had one of my—er—spells along + about then. And t'other is just now; I mean since we got word about—about + Al. I don't suppose likely you surmised it, Cap'n, but—but I'd come + to think a lot of that boy—yes, I had. Seems funny to you, I don't + doubt, but it's so. And since the word come, you know—I—I—well, + I've had some fight, some fight. I—I don't cal'late I've slept + more'n four hours in the last four nights—not more'n that, no. + Walkin' helps me most, seems so. Last night I walked to West Orham.” + </p> + <p> + “To West Orham! You WALKED there? Last NIGHT?” + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm. Long's I can keep walkin' I—I seem to part way forget—to + forget the stuff, you know. When I'm alone in my room I go 'most crazy—pretty + nigh loony. . . . But there! I don't know why I got to talkin' like this + to you, Cap'n Lote. You've got your troubles and—” + </p> + <p> + “Hold on, Labe. Does Rachel know about your fight?” + </p> + <p> + “No. No, no. Course she must notice how long I've been—been + straight, but I haven't told her. I want to be sure I'm goin' to win + before I tell her. She's been disappointed times enough before, poor + woman. . . . There, Cap'n Lote, don't let's talk about it any more. Please + don't get the notion that I'm askin' for pity or anything like that. And + don't think I'm comparin' what I call my fight to the real one like Al's. + There's nothin' much heroic about me, eh? No, no, I guess not. Tell that + to look at me, eh?” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes rose and laid his big hand on his bookkeeper's shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you believe it, Labe,” he said. “I'm proud of you. . . . And, I + declare, I'm ashamed of myself. . . . Humph! . . . Well, to-night you come + home with me and have supper at the house.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, now, Cap'n Lote—” + </p> + <p> + “You do as I tell you. After supper, if there's any walkin' to be done—if + you take a notion to frog it to Orham or San Francisco or somewheres—maybe + I'll go with you. Walkin' may be good for my fight, too; you can't tell + till you try. . . . There, don't argue, Labe. I'm skipper of this craft + yet and you'll obey my orders; d'you hear?” + </p> + <p> + The day following the receipt of the fateful telegram the captain wrote a + brief note to Fletcher Fosdick. A day or two later he received a reply. + Fosdick's letter was kindly and deeply sympathetic. He had been greatly + shocked and grieved by the news. + </p> + <p> + Young Speranza seemed to me, (he wrote) in my one short interview with + him, to be a fine young fellow. Madeline, poor girl, is almost frantic. + She will recover by and by, recovery is easier at her age, but it will be + very, very hard for you and Mrs. Snow. You and I little thought when we + discussed the problem of our young people that it would be solved in this + way. To you and your wife my sincerest sympathy. When you hear particulars + concerning your grandson's death, please write me. Madeline is anxious to + know and keeps asking for them. Mrs. Fosdick is too much concerned with + her daughter's health to write just now, but she joins me in sympathetic + regards. + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes took Mrs. Fosdick's sympathy with a grain of salt. When he + showed this letter to his wife he, for the first time, told her of the + engagement, explaining that his previous silence had been due to Albert's + request that the affair be kept a secret for the present. Olive, even in + the depth of her sorrow, was greatly impressed by the grandeur of the + alliance. + </p> + <p> + “Just think, Zelotes,” she exclaimed, “the Fosdick girl—and our + Albert engaged to marry her! Why, the Fosdicks are awful rich, everybody + says so. Mrs. Fosdick is head of I don't know how many societies and clubs + and things in New York; her name is in the paper almost every day, so + another New York woman told me at Red Cross meetin' last summer. And Mr. + Fosdick has been in politics, way up in politics.” + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm. Well, he's reformed lately, I understand, so we mustn't hold that + against him.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Zelotes, what DO you mean? How can you talk so? Just think what it + would have meant to have our Albert marry a girl like Madeline Fosdick.” + </p> + <p> + The captain put his arm about her and gently patted her shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “There, there, Mother,” he said, gently, “don't let that part of it fret + you.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Zelotes,” tearfully, “I don't understand. It would have been such a + great thing for Albert.” + </p> + <p> + “Would it? Well, maybe. Anyhow, there's no use worryin' about it now. It's + done with—ended and done with . . . same as a good many other plans + that's been made in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “Zelotes, don't speak like that, dear, so discouraged. It makes me feel + worse than ever to hear you. And—and he wouldn't want you to, I'm + sure.” + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn't he? No, I cal'late you're right, Mother. We'll try not to.” + </p> + <p> + Other letters came, including one from Helen. It was not long. Mrs. Snow + was a little inclined to feel hurt at its brevity. Her husband, however, + did not share this feeling. + </p> + <p> + “Have you read it carefully, Mother?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I have, Zelotes. What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean—well, I tell you, Mother, I've read it three time. The first + time I was like you; seemed to me as good a friend of Al and of us as + Helen Kendall ought to have written more than that. The second time I read + it I begun to wonder if—if—” + </p> + <p> + “If what, Zelotes?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothin', Mother, nothin'. She says she's comin' to see us just as + soon as she can get away for a day or two. She'll come, and when she does + I cal'late both you and I are goin' to be satisfied.” + </p> + <p> + “But why didn't she WRITE more, Zelotes? That's what I can't understand.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes tugged at his beard reflectively. “When I wrote Fosdick + the other day,” he said, “I couldn't write more than a couple of pages. I + was too upset to do it. I couldn't, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but you are Albert's grandfather.” + </p> + <p> + “I know. And Helen's always . . . But there, Mother, don't you worry about + Helen Kendall. I've known her since she was born, pretty nigh, and <i>I</i> + tell you she's all RIGHT.” + </p> + <p> + Fosdick, in his letter, had asked for particulars concerning Albert's + death. Those particulars were slow in coming. Captain Zelotes wrote at + once to the War Department, but received little satisfaction. The + Department would inform him as soon as it obtained the information. The + name of Sergeant Albert Speranza had been cabled as one of a list of + fatalities, that was all. + </p> + <p> + “And to think,” as Rachel Ellis put it, “that we never knew that he'd been + made a sergeant until after he was gone. He never had time to write it, I + expect likely, poor boy.” + </p> + <p> + The first bit of additional information was furnished by the press. A + correspondent of one of the Boston dailies sent a brief dispatch to his + paper describing the fighting at a certain point on the Allied front. A + small detachment of American troops had taken part, with the French, in an + attack on a village held by the enemy. The enthusiastic reporter declared + it to be one of the smartest little actions in which our soldiers had so + far taken part and was eloquent concerning the bravery and dash of his + fellow countrymen. “They proved themselves,” he went on, “and French + officers with whom I have talked are enthusiastic. Our losses, considering + the number engaged, are said to be heavy. Among those reported as killed + is Sergeant Albert Speranza, a Massachusetts boy whom American readers + will remember as a writer of poetry and magazine fiction. Sergeant + Speranza is said to have led his company in the capture of the village and + to have acted with distinguished bravery.” The editor of the Boston paper + who first read this dispatch turned to his associate at the next desk. + </p> + <p> + “Speranza? . . . Speranza?” he said aloud. “Say, Jim, wasn't it Albert + Speranza who wrote that corking poem we published after the Lusitania was + sunk?” + </p> + <p> + Jim looked up. “Yes,” he said. “He has written a lot of pretty good stuff + since, too. Why?” + </p> + <p> + “He's just been killed in action over there, so Conway says in this + dispatch.” + </p> + <p> + “So? . . . Humph! . . . Any particulars?” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet. 'Distinguished bravery,' according to Conway. Couldn't we have + something done in the way of a Sunday special? He was a Massachusetts + fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “We might. We haven't a photograph, have we? If we haven't, perhaps we can + get one.” + </p> + <p> + The photograph was obtained—bribery and corruption of the Orham + photographer—and, accompanied by a reprint of the Lusitania poem, + appeared in the “Magazine Section” of the Sunday newspaper. With these + also appeared a short notice of the young poet's death in the service of + his country. + </p> + <p> + That was the beginning. At the middle of that week Conway sent another + dispatch. The editor who received it took it into the office of the Sunday + editor. + </p> + <p> + “Say,” he said, “here are more particulars about that young chap Speranza, + the one we printed the special about last Sunday. He must have been a + corker. When his lieutenant was put out of business by a shrapnel this + Speranza chap rallied the men and jammed 'em through the Huns like a hot + knife through butter. Killed the German officer and took three prisoners + all by himself. Carried his wounded lieutenant to the rear on his + shoulders, too. Then he went back into the ruins to get another wounded + man and was blown to slivers by a hand grenade. He's been cited in orders + and will probably be decorated by the French—that is, his memory + will be. Pretty good for a poet, I'd say. No 'lilies and languors' about + that, eh?” + </p> + <p> + The Sunday editor nodded approval. + </p> + <p> + “Great stuff!” he exclaimed. “Let me have that dispatch, will you, when + you've finished. I've just discovered that this young Speranza's father + was Speranza, the opera baritone. You remember him? And his mother was the + daughter of a Cape Cod sea captain. How's that? Spain, Cape Cod, opera, + poetry and the Croix de Guerre. And have you looked at the young fellow's + photograph? Combination of Adonis and 'Romeo, where art thou.' I've had no + less than twenty letters about him and his poetry already. Next Sunday + we'll have a special 'as is.' Where can I get hold of a lot of his poems?” + </p> + <p> + The “special as was” occupied an entire page. A reporter had visited South + Harniss and had taken photographs of the Snow place and some of its + occupants. Captain Zelotes had refused to pose, but there was a view of + the building and yards of “Z. Snow and Co.” with the picturesque figure of + Mr. Issachar Price tastefully draped against a pile of boards in the right + foreground. Issy had been a find for the reporter; he supplied the latter + with every fact concerning Albert which he could remember and some that he + invented on the spur of the moment. According to Issy, Albert was “a fine, + fust-class young feller. Him and me was like brothers, as you might say. + When he got into trouble, or was undecided or anything, he'd come to me + for advice and I always gave it to him. Land, yes! I always give to + Albert. No matter how busy I was I always stopped work to help HIM out.” + The reporter added that Mr. Price stopped work even while speaking of it. + </p> + <p> + The special attracted the notice of other newspaper editors. This skirmish + in which Albert had taken so gallant part was among the first in which our + soldiers had participated. So the story was copied and recopied. The tale + of the death of the young poet, the “happy warrior,” as some writer called + him, was spread from the Atlantic to the Pacific and from Canada to the + Gulf. And just at this psychological moment the New York publisher brought + out the long deferred volume. The Lances of Dawn, Being the Collected + Poems of Albert M. C. Speranza, such was its title. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, or, rather, within the week when the Lances of Dawn flashed + upon the public, Captain Zelotes received a letter from the captain of + Albert's regiment in France. It was not a long letter, for the captain was + a busy man, but it was the kindly, sympathetic letter of one who was, + literally, that well-advertised combination, an officer and a gentleman. + It told of Albert's promotion to the rank of sergeant, “a promotion which, + had the boy been spared, would, I am sure, have been the forerunner of + others.” It told of that last fight, the struggle for the village, of + Sergeant Speranza's coolness and daring and of his rush back into the + throat of death to save a wounded comrade. + </p> + <p> + The men tell me they tried to stop him (wrote the captain). He was himself + slightly wounded, he had just brought Lieutenant Stacey back to safety and + the enemy at that moment was again advancing through the village. But he + insisted upon going. The man he was trying to rescue was a private in his + company and the pair were great friends. So he started back alone, + although several followed him a moment later. They saw him enter the + ruined cottage where his friend lay. Then a party of the enemy appeared at + the corner and flung grenades. The entire side of the cottage which he had + just entered was blown in and the Germans passed on over it, causing our + men to fall back temporarily. We retook the place within half an hour. + Private Kelly's body—it was Private Kelly whom Sergeant Speranza was + attempting to rescue—was found and another, badly disfigured, which + was at first supposed to be that of your grandson. But this body was + subsequently identified as that of a private named Hamlin who was killed + when the enemy first charged. Sergeant Speranza's body is still missing, + but is thought to be buried beneath the ruins of the cottage. These ruins + were subsequently blown into further chaos by a high explosive shell. + </p> + <p> + Then followed more expressions of regret and sympathy and confirmation of + the report concerning citation and the war cross. Captain Lote read the + letter at first alone in his private office. Then he brought it home and + gave it to his wife to read. Afterward he read it aloud to Mrs. Ellis and + to Laban, who was making his usual call in the Snow kitchen. + </p> + <p> + When the reading was ended Labe was the first to speak. His eyes were + shining. + </p> + <p> + “Godfreys!” he exclaimed. “Godfreys, Cap'n Lote!” + </p> + <p> + The captain seemed to understand. + </p> + <p> + “You're right, Labe,” he said. “The boy's made us proud of him. . . . + Prouder than some of us are of ourselves, I cal'late,” he added, rising + and moving toward the door. + </p> + <p> + “Sho, sho, Cap'n, you mustn't feel that way. No, no.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! . . . Labe, I presume likely if I was a pious man, one of the + old-fashioned kind of pious, and believed the Almighty went out of his way + to get square with any human bein' that made a mistake or didn't do the + right thing—if I believed that I might figger all this was a sort of + special judgment on me for my prejudices, eh?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Keeler was much disturbed. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, nonsense, Cap'n Lote!” he protested. “You ain't fair to + yourself. You never treated Al anyhow but just honest and fair and square. + If he was here now instead of layin' dead over there in France, poor + feller, he'd say so, too. Yes, he would. Course he would.” + </p> + <p> + The captain made no reply, but walked from the room. Laban turned to Mrs. + Ellis. + </p> + <p> + “The old man broods over that,” he said. “I wish. . . . Eh? What's the + matter, Rachel? What are you lookin' at me like that for?” + </p> + <p> + The housekeeper was leaning forward in her chair, her cheeks flushed and + her hands clenched. + </p> + <p> + “How do you know he's dead?” she asked, in a mysterious whisper. + </p> + <p> + “Eh? How do I know who's dead?” + </p> + <p> + “Albert. How do you know he's dead?” + </p> + <p> + Laban stared at her. + </p> + <p> + “How do I know he's DEAD!” he repeated. “How do I know—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, yes,” impatiently; “that's what I said. Don't run it over three + or four times more. How do you know Albert's dead?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Rachel, what kind of talk's that? I know he's dead because the + newspapers say so, and the War Department folks say so, and this cap'n man + in France that was right there at the time, HE says so. All hands say so—yes, + yes. So don't—” + </p> + <p> + “Sh! I don't care if they all say so ten times over. How do they KNOW? + They ain't found him dead, have they? The report from the War Department + folks was sent when they thought that other body was Albert's. Now they + know that wasn't him. Where is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, under the ruins of that cottage. 'Twas all blown to pieces and most + likely—” + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm. There you are! 'Most likely!' Well, I ain't satisfied with most + likelys. I want to KNOW.” + </p> + <p> + “But—but—” + </p> + <p> + “Laban Keeler, until they find his body I shan't believe Albert's dead.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Rachel, you mustn't try to deceive yourself that way. Don't you see—” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don't see. Labe, when Robert Penfold was lost and gone for all them + months all hands thought he was dead, didn't they? But he wasn't; he was + on that island lost in the middle of all creation. What's to hinder Albert + bein' took prisoner by those Germans? They came back to that cottage place + after Albert was left there, the cap'n says so in that letter Cap'n Lote + just read. What's to hinder their carryin' Al off with 'em? Eh? What's to + hinder?” + </p> + <p> + “Why—why, nothin', I suppose, in one way. But nine chances out of + ten—” + </p> + <p> + “That leaves one chance, don't it. I ain't goin' to give up that chance + for—for my boy. I—I—Oh, Labe, I did think SO much of + him.” + </p> + <p> + “I know, Rachel, I know. Don't cry any more than you can help. And if it + helps you any to make believe—I mean to keep on hopin' he's alive + somewheres—why, do it. It won't do any harm, I suppose. Only I + wouldn't hint such a thing to Cap'n Lote or Olive.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not,” indignantly. “I ain't quite a fool, I hope. . . . And I + presume likely you're right, Laban. The poor boy is dead, probably. But I—I'm + goin' to hope he isn't, anyhow, just to get what comfort I can from it. + And Robert Penfold did come back, you know.” + </p> + <p> + For some time Laban found himself, against all reason, asking the very + question Rachel had asked: Did they actually KNOW that Albert was dead? + But as the months passed and no news came he ceased to ask it. Whenever he + mentioned the subject to the housekeeper her invariable reply was: “But + they haven't found his body, have they?” She would not give up that tenth + chance. As she seemed to find some comfort in it he did not attempt to + convince her of its futility. + </p> + <p> + And, meanwhile The Lances of Dawn, Being the Collected Poems of Albert M. + C. Speranza was making a mild sensation. The critics were surprisingly + kind to it. The story of the young author's recent and romantic death, of + his gallantry, his handsome features displayed in newspapers everywhere, + all these helped toward the generous welcome accorded the little volume. + If the verses were not inspired—why, they were at least entertaining + and pleasant. And youth, high-hearted youth sang on every page. So the + reviewers were kind and forbearing to the poems themselves, and, for the + sake of the dead soldier-poet, were often enthusiastic. The book sold, for + a volume of poems it sold very well indeed. + </p> + <p> + At the Snow place in South Harniss pride and tears mingled. Olive read the + verses over and over again, and wept as she read. Rachel Ellis learned + many of them by heart, but she, too, wept as she recited them to herself + or to Laban. In the little bookkeeper's room above Simond's shoe store The + Lances of Dawn lay under the lamp upon the center table as before a + shrine. Captain Zelotes read the verses. Also he read all the newspaper + notices which, sent to the family by Helen Kendall, were promptly held + before his eyes by Olive and Rachel. He read the publisher's + advertisements, he read the reviews. And the more he read the more puzzled + and bewildered he became. + </p> + <p> + “I can't understand it, Laban,” he confided in deep distress to Mr. + Keeler. “I give in I don't know anything at all about this. I'm clean off + soundin's. If all this newspaper stuff is so Albert was right all the time + and I was plumb wrong. Here's this feller,” picking up a clipping from the + desk, “callin' him a genius and 'a gifted youth' and the land knows what. + And every day or so I get a letter from somebody I never heard of tellin' + me what a comfort to 'em those poetry pieces of his are. I don't + understand it, Labe. It worries me. If all this is true then—then I + was all wrong. I tried to keep him from makin' up poetry, Labe—TRIED + to, I did. If what these folks say is so somethin' ought to be done to me. + I—I—by thunder, I don't know's I hadn't ought to be hung! . . + . And yet—and yet, I did what I thought was right and did it for the + boy's sake . . . And—and even now I—I ain't sartin I was + wrong. But if I wasn't wrong then this is . . . Oh, I don't know, I don't + know!” + </p> + <p> + And not only in South Harniss were there changes of heart. In New York + City and at Greenwich where Mrs. Fosdick was more than ever busy with war + work, there were changes. When the newspaper accounts of young Speranza's + heroic death were first published the lady paid little attention to them. + Her daughter needed all her care just then—all the care, that is, + which she could spare from her duties as president of this society and + corresponding secretary of that. If her feelings upon hearing the news + could have been analyzed it is probable that their larger proportion would + have been a huge sense of relief. THAT problem was solved, at all events. + She was sorry for poor Madeline, of course, but the dear child was but a + child and would recover. + </p> + <p> + But as with more and more intensity the limelight of publicity was turned + upon Albert Speranza's life and death and writing, the wife of the + Honorable Fletcher Fosdick could not but be impressed. As head of several + so-called literary societies, societies rather neglected since the + outbreak of hostilities, she had made it her business to hunt literary + lions. Recently it was true that military lions—Major Vermicelli of + the Roumanian light cavalry, or Private Drinkwater of the Tank Corps—were + more in demand than Tagores, but, as Mrs. Fosdick read of Sergeant + Speranza's perils and poems, it could not help occurring to her that here + was a lion both literary and martial. Decidedly she had not approved of + her daughter's engagement to that lion, but now the said lion was dead, + which rendered him a perfectly harmless yet not the less fascinating + animal. And then appeared The Lances of Dawn and Mrs. Fosdick's friends + among the elect began to read and talk about it. + </p> + <p> + It was then that the change came. Those friends, one by one, individuals + judiciously chosen, were told in strict confidence of poor Madeline's + romantic love affair and its tragic ending. These individuals, chosen + judiciously as has been stated, whispered, also in strict confidence, the + tale to other friends and acquaintances. Mrs. Fosdick began to receive + condolences on her daughter's account and on her own. Soon she began to + speak publicly of “My poor, dear daughter's dead fiance. Such a loss to + American literature. Sheer genius. Have you read the article in the + Timepiece? Madeline, poor girl, is heartbroken, naturally, but very proud, + even in the midst of her grief. So are we all, I assure you.” + </p> + <p> + She quoted liberally from The Lances of Dawn. A copy specially bound, lay + upon her library table. Albert's photograph in uniform, obtained from the + Snows by Mr. Fosdick, who wrote for it at his wife's request, stood beside + it. To callers and sister war workers Mrs. Fosdick gave details of the + hero's genius, his bravery, his devotion to her daughter. It was all so + romantic and pleasantly self-advertising—and perfectly safe. + </p> + <p> + Summer came again, the summer of 1918. The newspapers now were gravely + personal reading to millions of Americans. Our new army was trying its + metal on the French front and with the British against the vaunted + Hindenburg Line. The transports were carrying thousands on every trip to + join those already “over there.” In South Harniss and in Greenwich and New + York, as in every town and city, the ordinary summer vacations and + playtime occupations were forgotten or neglected and war charities and war + labors took their place. Other soldiers than Sergeant Speranza were the + newspaper heroes now, other books than The Lances of Dawn talked about. + </p> + <p> + As on the previous summer the new Fosdick cottage was not occupied by its + owners. Mrs. Fosdick was absorbed by her multitudinous war duties and her + husband was at Washington giving his counsel and labor to the cause. + Captain Zelotes bought to his last spare dollar of each successive issue + of Liberty Bonds, and gave that dollar to the Red Cross or the Y. M. C. + A.; Laban and Rachel did likewise. Even Issachar Price bought Thrift + Stamps and exhibited them to anyone who would stop long enough to look. + </p> + <p> + “By crimus,” declared Issy, “I'm makin' myself poor helpin' out the + gov'ment, but let 'er go and darn the Kaiser, that's my motto. But they + ain't all like me. I was down to the drug store yesterday and old man + Burgess had the cheek to tell me I owed him for some cigars I bought—er—last + fall, seems to me 'twas. I turned right around and looked at him—'I've + got my opinion,' says I, 'of a man that thinks of cigars and such luxuries + when the country needs every cent. What have you got that gov'ment poster + stuck up on your wall for?' says I. 'Read it,' I says. 'It says' '“Save! + Save! Save!”' don't it? All right. That's what I'M doin'. I AM savin'.' + Then when he was thinkin' of somethin' to answer back I walked right out + and left him. Yes sir, by crimustee, I left him right where he stood!” + </p> + <p> + August came; September—the Hindenburg Line was broken. Each day the + triumphant headlines in the papers were big and black and also, alas, the + casualty lists on the inside pages long and longer. Then October. The + armistice was signed. It was the end. The Allied world went wild, cheered, + danced, celebrated. Then it sat back, thinking, thanking God, solemnly + trying to realize that the killing days, the frightful days of waiting and + awful anxiety, were over. + </p> + <p> + And early in November another telegram came to the office of Z. Snow and + Co. This time it came, not from the War Department direct, but from the + Boston headquarters of the American Red Cross. + </p> + <p> + And this time, just as on the day when the other fateful telegram came, + Laban Keeler was the first of the office regulars to learn its contents. + Ben Kelley himself brought this message, just as he had brought that + telling of Albert Speranza's death. And the usually stolid Ben was greatly + excited. He strode straight from the door to the bookkeeper's desk. + </p> + <p> + “Is the old man in, Labe?” he whispered, jerking his head toward the + private office, the door of which happened to be shut. + </p> + <p> + Laban looked at him over his spectacles. “Cap'n Lote, you mean?” he asked. + “Yes, he's in. But he don't want to be disturbed—no, no. Goin' to + write a couple of important letters, he said. Important ones. . . . Um-hm. + What is it, Ben? Anything I can do for you?” + </p> + <p> + Kelley did not answer that question. Instead he took a telegram from his + pocket. + </p> + <p> + “Read it, Labe,” he whispered. “Read it. It's the darndest news—the—the + darnedest good news ever you heard in your life. It don't seem as if it + could he, but, by time, I guess 'tis. Anyhow, it's from the Red Cross + folks and they'd ought to know.” + </p> + <p> + Laban stared at the telegram. It was not in the usual envelope; Kelley had + been too anxious to bring it to its destination to bother with an + envelope. + </p> + <p> + “Read it,” commanded the operator again. “See if you think Cap'n Lote + ought to have it broke easy to him or—or what? Read it, I tell you. + Lord sakes, it's no secret! I hollered it right out loud when it come in + over the wire and the gang at the depot heard it. They know it and it'll + be all over town in ten minutes. READ IT.” + </p> + <p> + Keeler read the telegram. His florid cheeks turned pale. + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord above!” he exclaimed, under his breath. + </p> + <p> + “Eh? I bet you! Shall I take it to the cap'n? Eh? What do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “Wait. . . . Wait . . . I—I—My soul! My soul! Why . . . It's—it's + true. . . . And Rachel always said . . . Why, she was right . . . I . . .” + </p> + <p> + From without came the sound of running feet and a series of yells. + </p> + <p> + “Labe! Labe!” shrieked Issy. “Oh, my crimus! . . . Labe!” + </p> + <p> + He burst into the office, his eyes and mouth wide open and his hands + waving wildly. + </p> + <p> + “Labe! Labe!” he shouted again. “Have you heard it? Have you? It's true, + too. He's alive! He's alive! He's alive!” + </p> + <p> + Laban sprang from his stool. “Shut up, Is!” he commanded. “Shut up! Hold + on! Don't—” + </p> + <p> + “But he's alive, I tell you! He ain't dead! He ain't never been dead! Oh, + my crimus! . . . Hey, Cap'n Lote! HE'S ALIVE!” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes was standing in the doorway of the private office. The + noise had aroused him from his letter writing. + </p> + <p> + “Who's alive? What's the matter with you this time, Is?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Shut up, Issy,” ordered Laban, seizing the frantic Mr. Price by the + collar. “Be still! Wait a minute.” + </p> + <p> + “Be still? What do I want to be still for? I cal'late Cap'n Lote'll holler + some, too, when he hears. He's alive, Cap'n Lote, I tell ye. Let go of me, + Labe Keeler! He's alive!” + </p> + <p> + “Who's alive? What is it? Labe, YOU answer me. Who's alive?” + </p> + <p> + Laban's thoughts were still in a whirl. He was still shaking from the news + the telegraph operator had brought. Rachel Ellis was at that moment in his + mind and he answered as she might have done. + </p> + <p> + “Er—er—Robert Penfold,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Robert PENFOLD! What—” + </p> + <p> + Issachar could hold in no longer. + </p> + <p> + “Robert Penfold nawthin'!” he shouted. “Who in thunder's he? 'Tain't + Robert Penfold nor Robert Penholder neither. It's Al Speranza, that's who + 'tis. He ain't killed, Cap'n Lote. He's alive and he's been alive all the + time.” + </p> + <p> + Kelley stepped forward. + </p> + <p> + “Looks as if 'twas so, Cap'n Snow,” he said. “Here's the telegram from the + Red Cross.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV + </h2> + <p> + There was nothing miraculous about it. That is to say, it was no more of a + miracle than hundreds of similar cases in the World War. The papers of + those years were constantly printing stories of men over whose supposed + graves funeral sermons had been preached, to whose heirs insurance + payments had been made, in whose memory grateful communities had made + speeches and delivered eulogiums—the papers were telling of instance + after instance of those men being discovered alive and in the flesh, as + casuals in some French hospital or as inmates of German prison camps. + </p> + <p> + Rachel Ellis had asked what was to hinder Albert's having been taken + prisoner by the Germans and carried off by them. As a matter of fact + nothing had hindered and that was exactly what had happened. Sergeant + Speranza, wounded by machine gun fire and again by the explosion of the + grenade, was found in the ruins of the cottage when the detachment of the + enemy captured it. He was conscious and able to speak, so instead of being + bayonetted was carried to the rear where he might be questioned concerning + the American forces. The questioning was most unsatisfactory to the + Prussian officers who conducted it. Albert fainted, recovered + consciousness and fainted again. So at last the Yankee swine was left to + die or get well and his Prussian interrogators went about other business, + the business of escaping capture themselves. But when they retreated the + few prisoners, mostly wounded men, were taken with them. + </p> + <p> + Albert's recollections of the next few days were hazy and very doubtful. + Pain, pain and more pain. Hours and hours—they seemed like years—of + jolting over rough roads. Pawing-over by a fat, bearded surgeon, who may + not have been intentionally brutal, but quite as likely may. A great + desire to die, punctuated by occasional feeble spurts of wishing to live. + Then more surgical man-handling, more jolting—in freight cars this + time—a slow, miserable recovery, nurses who hated their patients and + treated them as if they did, then, a prison camp, a German prison camp. + Then horrors and starvation and brutality lasting many months. Then fever. + </p> + <p> + He was wandering in that misty land between this world and the next when, + the armistice having been signed, an American Red Cross representative + found him. In the interval between fits of delirium he told this man his + name and regiment and, later, the name of his grandparents. When it seemed + sure that he was to recover the Red Cross representative cabled the facts + to this country. And, still later, those facts, or the all-important fact + that Sergeant Albert M. C. Speranza was not dead but alive, came by + telegraph to Captain Zelotes Snow of South Harniss. And, two months after + that, Captain Zelotes himself, standing on the wharf in Boston and peering + up at a crowded deck above him, saw the face of his grandson, that face + which he had never expected to see again, looking eagerly down upon him. + </p> + <p> + A few more weeks and it was over. The brief interval of camp life and the + mustering out were things of the past. Captain Lote and Albert, seated in + the train, were on their way down the Cape, bound home. Home! The word had + a significance now which it never had before. Home! + </p> + <p> + Albert drew a long breath. “By George!” he exclaimed. “By George, + Grandfather, this looks good to me!” + </p> + <p> + It might not have looked as good to another person. It was raining, the + long stretches of salt marsh were windswept and brown and bleak. In the + distance Cape Cod Bay showed gray and white against a leaden sky. The + drops ran down the dingy car windows. + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes understood, however. He nodded. + </p> + <p> + “It used to look good to me when I was bound home after a v'yage,” he + observed. “Well, son, I cal'late your grandma and Rachel are up to the + depot by this time waitin' for you. We ain't due for pretty nigh an hour + yet, but I'd be willin' to bet they're there.” + </p> + <p> + Albert smiled. “My, I do want to see them!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Shouldn't wonder a mite if they wanted to see you, boy. Well, I'm kind of + glad I shooed that reception committee out of the way. I presumed likely + you'd rather have your first day home to yourself—and us.” + </p> + <p> + “I should say so! Newspaper reporters are a lot of mighty good fellows, + but I hope I never see another one. . . . That's rather ungrateful, I + know,” he added, with a smile, “but I mean it—just now.” + </p> + <p> + He had some excuse for meaning it. The death of Albert Speranza, poet and + warrior, had made a newspaper sensation. His resurrection and return + furnished material for another. Captain Zelotes was not the only person to + meet the transport at the pier; a delegation of reporters was there also. + Photographs of Sergeant Speranza appeared once more in print. This time, + however, they were snapshots showing him in uniform, likenesses of a still + handsome, but less boyish young man, thinner, a scar upon his right cheek, + and the look in his eyes more serious, and infinitely older, the look of + one who had borne much and seen more. The reporters found it difficult to + get a story from the returned hero. He seemed to shun the limelight and to + be almost unduly modest and retiring, which was of itself, had they but + known it, a transformation sufficiently marvelous to have warranted a + special “Sunday special.” + </p> + <p> + “Will not talk about himself,” so one writer headed his article. Gertie + Kendrick, with a brand-new ring upon her engagement finger, sniffed as she + read that headline to Sam Thatcher, who had purchased the ring. “Al + Speranza won't talk about himself!” exclaimed Gertie. “Well, it's the + FIRST time, then. No wonder they put it in the paper.” + </p> + <p> + But Albert would not talk, claiming that he had done nothing worth talking + about, except to get himself taken prisoner in almost his first + engagement. “Go and ask some of the other fellows aboard here,” he urged. + “They have been all through it.” As he would not talk the newspaper men + were obliged to talk for him, which they did by describing his appearance + and his manner, and by rehashing the story of the fight in the French + village. Also, of course, they republished some of his verses. The Lances + of Dawn appeared in a special edition in honor of its author's + reappearance on this earth. + </p> + <p> + “Yes sir,” continued Captain Zelotes, “the reception committee was + consider'ble disappointed. They'd have met you with the Orham band if + they'd had their way. I told 'em you'd heard all the band music you wanted + in camp, I guessed likely, and you'd rather come home quiet. There was + goin' to be some speeches, too, but I had them put off.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, Grandfather.” + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm. I had a notion you wouldn't hanker for speeches. If you do Issy'll + make one for you 'most any time. Ever since you got into the papers Issy's + been swellin' up like a hot pop-over with pride because you and he was + what he calls chummies. All last summer Issachar spent his evenin's + hangin' around the hotel waitin' for the next boarder to mention your + name. Sure as one did Is was ready for him. 'Know him?' he'd sing out. + 'Did I know Al Speranza? ME? Well, now say!—' And so on, long as the + feller would listen. I asked him once if he ever told any of 'em how you + ducked him with the bucket of water. He didn't think I knew about that and + it kind of surprised him, I judged.” + </p> + <p> + Albert smiled. “Laban told you about it, I suppose,” he said. “What a kid + trick that was, wasn't it?” + </p> + <p> + The captain turned his head and regarded him for an instant. The old + twinkle was in his eye when he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn't do a thing like that now, Al, I presume likely?” he said. “Feel + a good deal older now, eh?” + </p> + <p> + Albert's answer was seriously given. + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes I feel at least a hundred and fifty,” he replied. + </p> + <p> + “Humph! . . . Well, I wouldn't feel like that. If you're a hundred and + fifty I must be a little older than Methuselah was in his last years. I'm + feelin' younger to-day, younger than I have for quite a spell. Yes, for + quite a spell.” + </p> + <p> + His grandson put a hand on his knee. “Good for you, Grandfather,” he said. + “Now tell me more about Labe. Do you know I think the old chap's sticking + by his pledge is the bulliest thing I've heard since I've been home.” + </p> + <p> + So they talked of Laban and of Rachel and of South Harniss happenings + until the train drew up at the platform of that station. And upon that + platform stepped Albert to feel his grandmother's arms about him and her + voice, tremulous with happiness, at his ear. And behind her loomed Mrs. + Ellis, her ample face a combination of smiles and tears, “all sunshine and + fair weather down below but rainin' steady up aloft,” as Captain Lote + described it afterwards. And behind her, like a foothill in the shadow of + a mountain, was Laban. And behind Laban—No, that is a mistake—in + front of Laban and beside Laban and in front of and beside everyone else + when opportunity presented was Issachar. And Issachar's expression and + bearings were wonderful to see. A stranger, and there were several + strangers amid the group at the station, might have gained the impression + that Mr. Price, with of course a very little help from the Almighty, was + responsible for everything. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Issy!” exclaimed Albert, when they shook hands. “You're here, too, + eh?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Price's already protuberant chest swelled still further. His reply had + the calmness of finality. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” said Issy, “I'm here. 'Who's goin' to look out for Z. Snow and + Co. if all hands walks out and leaves 'em?' Labe says. 'I don't know,' + says I, 'and I don't care. I'm goin' to that depot to meet Al Speranzy and + if Z. Snow and Co. goes to pot while I'm gone I can't help it. I have + sacrificed,' I says, 'and I stand ready to sacrifice pretty nigh + everything for my business, but there's limits and this is one of 'em. I'm + goin' acrost to that depot to meet him,' says I, 'and don't you try to + stop me, Labe Keeler.'” + </p> + <p> + “Great stuff, Is!” said Albert, with a laugh. “What did Labe say to that?” + </p> + <p> + “What was there for him to say? He could see I meant it. Course he hove + out some of his cheap talk, but it didn't amount to nothin'. Asked if I + wan't goin' to put up a sign sayin' when I'd be back, so's to ease the + customers' minds. 'I don't know when I'll be back,' I says. 'All right,' + says he, 'put that on the sign. That'll ease 'em still more.' Just cheap + talk 'twas. He thinks he's funny, but I don't pay no attention to him.” + </p> + <p> + Others came to shake hands and voice a welcome. The formal reception, that + with the band, had been called off at Captain Zelotes's request, but the + informal one was, in spite of the rain, which was now much less heavy, + quite a sizable gathering. + </p> + <p> + The Reverend Mr. Kendall held his hand for a long time and talked much, it + seemed to Albert that he had aged greatly since they last met. He wandered + a bit in his remarks and repeated himself several times. + </p> + <p> + “The poor old gentleman's failin' a good deal, Albert,” said Mrs. Snow, as + they drove home together, he and his grandparents, three on the seat of + the buggy behind Jessamine. “His sermons are pretty tiresome nowadays, but + we put up with 'em because he's been with us so long. . . . Ain't you + squeezed 'most to death, Albert? You two big men and me all mashed + together on this narrow seat. It's lucky I'm small. Zelotes ought to get a + two-seated carriage, but he won't.” + </p> + <p> + “Next thing I get, Mother,” observed the captain, “will be an automobile. + I'll stick to the old mare here as long as she's able to navigate, but + when she has to be hauled out of commission I'm goin' to buy a car. I + believe I'm pretty nigh the last man in this county to drive a horse, as + 'tis. Makes me feel like what Sol Dadgett calls a cracked teapot—a + 'genuine antique.' One of these city women will be collectin' me some of + these days. Better look out, mother.” + </p> + <p> + Olive sighed happily. “It does me good to hear you joke again, Zelotes,” + she said. “He didn't joke much, Albert, while—when we thought you—you—” + </p> + <p> + Albert interrupted in time to prevent the threatened shower. + </p> + <p> + “So Mr. Kendall is not well,” he said. “I'm very sorry to hear it.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you would be. You and he used to be so friendly when Helen was + home. Oh, speakin' of Helen, she IS comin' home in a fortni't or three + weeks, so I hear. She's goin' to give up her teachin' and come back to be + company for her father. I suppose she realizes he needs her, but it must + be a big sacrifice for her, givin' up the good position she's got now. + She's such a smart girl and such a nice one. Why, she came to see us after + the news came—the bad news—and she was so kind and so good. I + don't know what we should have done without her. Zelotes says so too, + don't you, Zelotes?” + </p> + <p> + Her husband did not answer. Instead he said: “Well, there's home, Al. + Rachel's there ahead of us and dinner's on the way, judgin' by the smoke + from the kitchen chimney. How does the old place look to you, boy?” + </p> + <p> + Albert merely shook his head and drew a long breath, but his grandparents + seemed to be quite satisfied. + </p> + <p> + There were letters and telegrams awaiting him on the table in the + sitting-room. Two of the letters were postmarked from a town on the + Florida coast. The telegram also was from that same town. + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> had one of those things,” observed Captain Zelotes, alluding to + the telegram. “Fosdick sent me one of those long ones, night-letters I + believe they call 'em. He wants me to tell you that Mrs. Fosdick is better + and that they cal'late to be in New York before very long and shall expect + you there. Of course you knew that, Al, but I presume likely the main idea + of the telegram was to help say, 'Welcome home' to you, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + Albert nodded. Madeline and her mother had been in Florida all winter. + Mrs. Fosdick's health was not good. She declared that her nerves had given + way under her frightful responsibilities during the war. There was, + although it seems almost sacrilege to make such a statement, a certain + similarity between Mrs. Fletcher Fosdick and Issachar Price. The telegram + was, as his grandfather surmised, an expression of welcome and of regret + that the senders could not be there to share in the reception. The two + letters which accompanied it he put in his pocket to read later on, when + alone. Somehow he felt that the first hours in the old house belonged + exclusively to his grandparents. Everything else, even Madeline's letters, + must take second place for that period. + </p> + <p> + Dinner was, to say the least, an ample meal. Rachel and Olive had, as + Captain Lote said, “laid themselves out” on that dinner. It began well and + continued well and ended best of all, for the dessert was one of which + Albert was especially fond. They kept pressing him to eat until Laban, who + was an invited guest, was moved to comment. + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” observed Mr. Keeler. “I knew 'twas the reg'lar program to kill + the fatted calf when the prodigal got home, but I see now it's the proper + caper to fat up the prodigal to take the critter's place. No, no, Rachel, + I'd like fust-rate to eat another bushel or so to please you, but + somethin'—that still, small voice we're always readin' about, or + somethin'—seems to tell me 'twouldn't be good jedgment. . . . Um-hm. + . . . 'Twouldn't be good jedgment. . . . Cal'late it's right, too. . . . + Yes, yes, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Cap'n Lote,” he added, as they rose from the table, “you stay right + to home here for the rest of the day. I'll hustle back to the office and + see if Issy's importance has bust his b'iler for him. So-long, Al. See you + pretty soon. Got some things to talk about, you and I have. . . . Yes, + yes.” + </p> + <p> + Later, when Rachel was in the kitchen with the dishes, Olive left the + sitting room and reappeared with triumph written large upon her face. In + one hand she held a mysterious envelope and in the other a book. Albert + recognized that book. It was his own, The Lances of Dawn. It was no + novelty to him. When first the outside world and he had reopened + communication, copies of that book had been sent him. His publisher had + sent them, Madeline had sent them, his grandparents had sent them, + comrades had sent them, nurses and doctors and newspaper men had brought + them. No, The Lances of Dawn was not a novelty to its author. But he + wondered what was in the envelope. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Snow enlightened him. “You sit right down now, Albert,” she said. + “Sit right down and listen because I've got somethin' to tell you. Yes, + and somethin' to show you, too. Here! Stop now, Zelotes! You can't run + away. You've got to sit down and look on and listen, too.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes smiled resignedly. There was, or so it seemed to his + grandson, an odd expression on his face. He looked pleased, but not + altogether pleased. However, he obeyed his wife's orders and sat. + </p> + <p> + “Stop, look and listen,” he observed. “Mother, you sound like a railroad + crossin'. All right, here I am. Al, the society of 'What did I tell you' + is goin' to have a meetin'.” + </p> + <p> + His wife nodded. “Well,” she said, triumphantly, “what DID I tell you? + Wasn't I right?” + </p> + <p> + The captain pulled his beard and nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Right as right could be, Mother,” he admitted. “Your figgers was a few + hundred thousand out of the way, maybe, but barrin' that you was perfectly + right.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm glad to hear you say so for once in your life. Albert,” holding + up the envelope, “do you know what this is?” + </p> + <p> + Albert, much puzzled, admitted that he did not. His grandmother put down + the book, opened the envelope and took from it a slip of paper. + </p> + <p> + “And can you guess what THIS is?” she asked. Albert could not guess. + </p> + <p> + “It's a check, that's what it is. It's the first six months' royalties, + that's what they call 'em, on that beautiful book of yours. And how much + do you suppose 'tis?” + </p> + <p> + Albert shook his head. “Twenty-five dollars?” he suggested jokingly. + </p> + <p> + “Twenty-five dollars! It's over twenty-five HUNDRED dollars. It's + twenty-eight hundred and forty-three dollars and sixty-five cents, that's + what it is. Think of it! Almost three thousand dollars! And Zelotes + prophesied that 'twouldn't be more than—” + </p> + <p> + Her husband held up his hand. “Sh-sh! Sh-sh, Mother,” he said. “Don't get + started on what I prophesied or we won't be through till doomsday. I'll + give in right off that I'm the worst prophet since the feller that h'isted + the 'Fair and Dry' signal the day afore Noah's flood begun. You see,” he + explained, turning to Albert, “your grandma figgered out that you'd + probably clear about half a million on that book of poetry, Al. I + cal'lated 'twan't likely to be much more'n a couple of hundred thousand, + so—” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Zelotes Snow! You said—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes. So I did, Mother, so I did. You was right and I was wrong. + Twenty-eight hundred ain't exactly a million, Al, but it's a darn sight + more than I ever cal'lated you'd make from that book. Or 'most anybody + else ever made from any book, fur's that goes,” he added, with a shake of + the head. “I declare, I—I don't understand it yet. And a poetry + book, too! Who in time BUYS 'em all? Eh?” + </p> + <p> + Albert was looking at the check and the royalty statement. + </p> + <p> + “So this is why I couldn't get any satisfaction from the publisher,” he + observed. “I wrote him two or three times about my royalties, and he put + me off each time. I began to think there weren't any.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes smiled. “That's your grandma's doin's,” he observed. “The + check came to us a good while ago, when we thought you was—was—well, + when we thought—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Surely, I understand,” put in Albert, to help him out. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. That's when 'twas. And Mother, she was so proud of it, because you'd + earned it, Al, that she kept it and kept it, showin' it to all hands and—and + so on. And then when we found out you wasn't—that you'd be home some + time or other—why, then she wouldn't let me put it in the bank for + you because she wanted to give it to you herself. That's what she said was + the reason. I presume likely the real one was that she wanted to flap it + in my face every time she crowed over my bad prophesyin', which was about + three times a day and four on Sundays.” + </p> + <p> + “Zelotes Snow, the idea!” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Mother, all right. Anyhow, she got me to write your publisher + man and ask him not to give you any satisfaction about those royalties, + so's she could be the fust one to paralyze you with 'em. And,” with a + frank outburst, “if you ain't paralyzed, Al, I own up that <i>I</i> am. + Three thousand poetry profits beats me. <i>I</i> don't understand it.” + </p> + <p> + His wife sniffed. “Of course you don't,” she declared. “But Albert does. + And so do I, only I think it ought to have been ever and ever so much + more. Don't you, yourself, Albert?” + </p> + <p> + The author of The Lances of Dawn was still looking at the statement of its + earnings. + </p> + <p> + “Approximately eighteen thousand sold at fifteen cents royalty,” he + observed. “Humph! Well, I'll be hanged!” + </p> + <p> + “But you said it would be twenty-five cents, not fifteen,” protested + Olive. “In your letter when the book was first talked about you said so.” + </p> + <p> + Albert smiled. “Did I?” he observed. “Well, I said a good many things in + those days, I'm afraid. Fifteen cents for a first book, especially a book + of verse, is fair enough, I guess. But eighteen thousand SOLD! That is + what gets me.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean you think it ought to be a lot more. So do I, Albert, and so + does Rachel. Why, we like it a lot better than we do David Harum. That was + a nice book, but it wasn't lovely poetry like yours. And David Harum sold + a million. Why shouldn't yours sell as many? Only eighteen thousand—why + are you lookin' at me so funny?” + </p> + <p> + Her grandson rose to his feet. “Let's let well enough alone, Grandmother,” + he said. “Eighteen thousand will do, thank you. I'm like Grandfather, I'm + wondering who on earth bought them.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Snow was surprised and a little troubled. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Albert,” she said, “you act kind of—kind of queer, seems to + me. You talk as if your poetry wasn't beautiful. You know it is. You used + to say it was, yourself.” + </p> + <p> + He interrupted her. “Did I, Grandmother?” he said. “All right, then, + probably I did. Let's walk about the old place a little. I want to see it + all. By George, I've been dreaming about it long enough!” + </p> + <p> + There were callers that afternoon, friends among the townsfolk, and more + still after supper. It was late—late for South Harniss, that is—when + Albert, standing in the doorway of the bedroom he nor they had ever + expected he would occupy again, bade his grandparents good night. Olive + kissed him again and again and, speech failing her, hastened away down the + hall. Captain Zelotes shook his hand, opened his mouth to speak, shut it + again, repeated both operations, and at last with a brief, “Well, good + night, Al,” hurried after his wife. Albert closed the door, put his lamp + upon the bureau, and sat down in the big rocker. + </p> + <p> + In a way the night was similar to that upon which he had first entered + that room. It had ceased raining, but the wind, as on that first night, + was howling and whining about the eaves, the shutters rattled and the old + house creaked and groaned rheumatically. It was not as cold as on that + occasion, though by no means warm. He remembered how bare and comfortless + he had thought the room. Now it looked almost luxurious. And he had been + homesick, or fancied himself in that condition. Compared to the + homesickness he had known during the past eighteen months that youthful + seizure seemed contemptible and quite without excuse. He looked about the + room again, looked long and lovingly. Then, with a sigh of content, drew + from his pocket the two letters which had lain upon the sitting-room table + when he arrived, opened them and began to read. + </p> + <p> + Madeline wrote, as always, vivaciously and at length. The maternal + censorship having been removed, she wrote exactly as she felt. She could + scarcely believe he was really going to be at home when he received this, + at home in dear, quaint, queer old South Harniss. Just think, she had not + seen the place for ever and ever so long, not for over two years. How were + all the funny, odd people who lived there all the time? Did he remember + how he and she used to go to church every Sunday and sit through those + dreadful, DREADFUL sermons by that prosy old minister just as an excuse + for meeting each other afterward? She was SO sorry she could not have been + there to welcome her hero when he stepped from the train. If it hadn't + been for Mother's poor nerves she surely would have been. He knew it, + didn't he? Of course he did. But she should see him soon “because Mother + is planning already to come back to New York in a few weeks and then you + are to run over immediately and make us a LONG visit. And I shall be so + PROUD of you. There are lots of Army fellows down here now, officers for + the most part. So we dance and are very gay—that is, the other girls + are; I, being an engaged young lady, am very circumspect and demure, of + course. Mother carries The Lances about with her wherever she goes, to + teas and such things, and reads aloud from it often. Captain Blanchard, he + is one of the family's officer friends, is crazy about your poetry, dear. + He thinks it WONDERFUL. You know what <i>I</i> think of it, don't you, and + when I think that <i>I</i> actually helped you, or played at helping you + write some of it! + </p> + <p> + “And I am WILD to see your war cross. Some of the officers here have them—the + crosses, I mean—but not many. Captain Blanchard has the military + medal, and he is almost as modest about it as you are about your + decoration. I don't see how you CAN be so modest. If <i>I</i> had a Croix + de Guerre I should want EVERY ONE to know about it. At the tea dance the + other afternoon there was a British major who—” + </p> + <p> + And so on. The second letter was really a continuation of the first. + Albert read them both and, after the reading was finished, sat for some + time in the rocking chair, quite regardless of the time and the cold, + thinking. He took from his pocketbook a photograph, one which Madeline had + sent him months before, which had reached him while he lay in the French + hospital after his removal from the German camp. He looked at the pretty + face in the photograph. She looked just as he remembered her, almost + exactly as she had looked more than two years before, smiling, charming, + carefree. She had not, apparently, grown older, those age-long months had + not changed her. He rose and regarded his own reflection in the mirror of + the bureau. He was surprised, as he was constantly being surprised, to see + that he, too, had not changed greatly in personal appearance. + </p> + <p> + He walked about the room. His grandmother had told him that his room was + just as he had left it. “I wouldn't change it, Albert,” she said, “even + when we thought you—you wasn't comin' back. I couldn't touch it, + somehow. I kept thinkin', 'Some day I will. Pretty soon I MUST.' But I + never did, and now I'm so glad.” + </p> + <p> + He wandered back to the bureau and pulled open the upper drawers. In those + drawers were so many things, things which he had kept there, either + deliberately or because he was too indolent to destroy them. Old dance + cards, invitations, and a bundle of photographs, snapshots. He removed the + rubber band from the bundle and stood looking them over. Photographs of + school fellows, of picnic groups, of girls. Sam Thatcher, Gertie Kendrick—and + Helen Kendall. There were at least a dozen of Helen. + </p> + <p> + One in particular was very good. From that photograph the face of Helen as + he had known it four years before looked straight up into his—clear-eyed, + honest, a hint of humor and understanding and common-sense in the gaze and + at the corners of the lips. He looked at the photograph, and the + photograph looked up at him. He had not seen her for so long a time. He + wondered if the war had changed her as it had changed him. Somehow he + hoped it had not. Change did not seem necessary in her case. + </p> + <p> + There had been no correspondence between them since her letter written + when she heard of his enlistment. He had not replied to that because he + knew Madeline would not wish him to do so. He wondered if she ever thought + of him now, if she remembered their adventure at High Point light. He had + thought of her often enough. In those days and nights of horror in the + prison camp and hospital he had found a little relief, a little solace in + lying with closed eyes and summoning back from memory the things of home + and the faces of home. And her face had been one of these. Her face and + those of his grandparents and Rachel and Laban, and visions of the old + house and the rooms—they were the substantial things to cling to and + he had clung to them. They WERE home. Madeline—ah! yes, he had + longed for her and dreamed of her, God knew, but Madeline, of course, was + different. + </p> + <p> + He snapped the rubber band once more about the bundle of photographs, + closed the drawer and prepared for bed. + </p> + <p> + For the two weeks following his return home he had a thoroughly good time. + It was a tremendous comfort to get up when he pleased, to eat the things + he liked, to do much or little or nothing at his own sweet will. He walked + a good deal, tramping along the beach in the blustering wind and chilly + sunshine and enjoying every breath of the clean salt air. He thought much + during those solitary walks, and at times, at home in the evenings, he + would fall to musing and sit silent for long periods. His grandmother was + troubled. + </p> + <p> + “Don't it seem to you, Zelotes,” she asked her husband, “as if Albert was + kind of discontented or unsatisfied these days? He's so—so sort of + fidgety. Talks like the very mischief for ten minutes and then don't speak + for half an hour. Sits still for a long stretch and then jumps up and + starts off walkin' as if he was crazy. What makes him act so? He's kind of + changed from what he used to be. Don't you think so?” + </p> + <p> + The captain patted her shoulder. “Don't worry, Mother,” he said. “Al's + older than he was and what he's been through has made him older still. As + for the fidgety part of it, the settin' down and jumpin' up and all that, + that's the way they all act, so far as I can learn. Elisha Warren, over to + South Denboro, tells me his nephew has been that way ever since he got + back. Don't fret, Mother, Al will come round all right.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know but he might be anxious to see—to see her, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Her? Oh, you mean the Fosdick girl. Well, he'll be goin' to see her + pretty soon, I presume likely. They're due back in New York 'most any time + now, I believe. . . . Oh, hum! Why in time couldn't he—” + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't he what, Zelotes?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothin', nothin'.” + </p> + <p> + The summons came only a day after this conversation. It came in the form + of another letter from Madeline and one from Mrs. Fosdick. They were, so + the latter wrote, back once more in their city home, her nerves, thank + Heaven, were quite strong again, and they were expecting him, Albert, to + come on at once. “We are all dying to see you,” wrote Mrs. Fosdick. “And + poor, dear Madeline, of course, is counting the moments.” + </p> + <p> + “Stay as long as you feel like, Al,” said the captain, when told of the + proposed visit. “It's the dull season at the office, anyhow, and Labe and + I can get along first-rate, with Issy to superintend. Stay as long as you + want to, only—” + </p> + <p> + “Only what, Grandfather?” + </p> + <p> + “Only don't want to stay too long. That is, don't fall in love with New + York so hard that you forget there is such a place as South Harniss.” + </p> + <p> + Albert smiled. “I've been in places farther away than New York,” he said, + “and I never forgot South Harniss.” + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm. . . . Well, I shouldn't be surprised if that was so. But you'll + have better company in New York than you did in some of those places. Give + my regards to Fosdick. So-long, Al.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI + </h2> + <p> + The Fosdick car was at the Grand Central Station when the Knickerbocker + Limited pulled in. And Madeline, a wonderfully furred and veiled and + hatted Madeline, was waiting there behind the rail as he came up the + runway from the train. It was amazing the fact that it was really she. It + was more amazing still to kiss her there in public, to hold her hand + without fear that some one might see. To— + </p> + <p> + “Shall I take your bags, sir?” + </p> + <p> + It was the Fosdick footman who asked it. Albert started guiltily. Then he + laughed, realizing that the hand-holding and the rest were no longer + criminal offenses. He surrendered his luggage to the man. A few minutes + later he and Madeline were in the limousine, which was moving rapidly up + the Avenue. And Madeline was asking questions and he was answering and—and + still it was all a dream. It COULDN'T be real. + </p> + <p> + It was even more like a dream when the limousine drew up before the door + of the Fosdick home and they entered that home together. For there was + Mrs. Fosdick, as ever majestic, commanding, awe-inspiring, the same Mrs. + Fosdick who had, in her letter to his grandfather, written him down a + despicable, underhanded sneak, here was that same Mrs. Fosdick—but + not at all the same. For this lady was smiling and gracious, welcoming him + to her home, addressing him by his Christian name, treating him kindly, + with almost motherly tenderness. Madeline's letters and Mrs. Fosdick's own + letters received during his convalescence abroad had prepared him, or so + he had thought, for some such change. Now he realized that he had not been + prepared at all. The reality was so much more revolutionary than the + anticipation that he simply could not believe it. + </p> + <p> + But it was not so very wonderful if he had known all the facts and had + been in a frame of mind to calmly analyze them. Mrs. Fletcher Fosdick was + a seasoned veteran, a general who had planned and fought many hard + campaigns upon the political battlegrounds of women's clubs and societies + of various sorts. From the majority of those campaigns she had emerged + victorious, but her experiences in defeat had taught her that the next + best thing to winning is to lose gracefully, because by so doing much + which appears to be lost may be regained. For Albert Speranza, bookkeeper + and would-be poet of South Harniss, Cape Cod, she had had no use whatever + as a prospective son-in-law. Even toward a living Albert Speranza, hero + and newspaper-made genius, she might have been cold. But when that hero + and genius was, as she and every one else supposed, safely and + satisfactorily dead and out of the way, she had seized the opportunity to + bask in the radiance of his memory. She had talked Albert Speranza and + read Albert Speranza and boasted of Albert Speranza's engagement to her + daughter before the world. Now that the said Albert Speranza had been + inconsiderate enough to “come alive again,” there was but one thing for + her to do—that is, to make the best of it. And when Mrs. Fletcher + Fosdick made the best of anything she made the very best. + </p> + <p> + “It doesn't make any difference,” she told her husband, “whether he really + is a genius or whether he isn't. We have said he is and now we must keep + on saying it. And if he can't earn his salt by his writings—which he + probably can't—then you must fix it in some way so that he can + make-believe earn it by something else. He is engaged to Madeline, and we + have told every one that he is, so he will have to marry her; at least, I + see no way to prevent it.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” grunted Fosdick. “And after that I'll have to support them, I + suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Probably—unless you want your only child to starve.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I must say, Henrietta—” + </p> + <p> + “You needn't, for there is nothing more TO say. We're in it and, whether + we like it or not, we must make the best of it. To do anything now except + appear joyful about it would be to make ourselves perfectly ridiculous. We + can't do that, and you know it.” + </p> + <p> + Her husband still looked everything but contented. + </p> + <p> + “So far as the young fellow himself goes,” he said, “I like him, rather. + I've talked with him only once, of course, and then he and I weren't + agreeing exactly. But I liked him, nevertheless. If he were anything but a + fool poet I should be more reconciled.” + </p> + <p> + He was snubbed immediately. “THAT,” declared Mrs. Fosdick, with decision, + “is the only thing that makes him possible.” + </p> + <p> + So Mrs. Fosdick's welcome was whole-handed if not whole-hearted. And her + husband's also was cordial and intimate. The only member of the Fosdick + household who did not regard the guest with favor was Googoo. That + aristocratic bull-pup was still irreconcilably hostile. When Albert + attempted to pet him he appeared to be planning to devour the caressing + hand, and when rebuked by his mistress retired beneath a davenport, + growling ominously. Even when ignominiously expelled from the room he + growled and cast longing backward glances at the Speranza ankles. No, + Googoo did not dissemble; Albert was perfectly sure of his standing in + Googoo's estimation. + </p> + <p> + Dinner that evening was a trifle more formal than he had expected, and he + was obliged to apologize for the limitations of his wardrobe. His dress + suit of former days he had found much too dilapidated for use. Besides, he + had outgrown it. + </p> + <p> + “I thought I was thinner,” he said, “and I think I am. But I must have + broadened a bit. At any rate, all the coats I left behind won't do at all. + I shall have to do what Captain Snow, my grandfather, calls 'refit' here + in New York. In a day or two I hope to be more presentable.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Fosdick assured him that it was quite all right, really. Madeline + asked why he didn't wear his uniform. “I was dying to see you in it,” she + said. “Just think, I never have.” + </p> + <p> + Albert laughed. “You have been spared,” he told her. “Mine was not a + triumph, so far as fit was concerned. Of course, I had a complete new rig + when I came out of the hospital, but even that was not beautiful. It + puckered where it should have bulged and bulged where it should have been + smooth.” + </p> + <p> + Madeline professed not to believe him. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” she declared. “I don't believe it. Why, almost all the fellows + I know have been in uniform for the past two years and theirs fitted + beautifully.” + </p> + <p> + “But they were officers, weren't they, and their uniforms were custom + made.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I suppose so. Aren't all uniforms custom made?” + </p> + <p> + Her father laughed. “Scarcely, Maddie,” he said. “The privates have their + custom-made by the mile and cut off in chunks for the individual. That was + about it, wasn't it, Speranza?” + </p> + <p> + “Just about, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Fosdick evidently thought that the conversation was taking a rather + low tone. She elevated it by asking what his thoughts were when taken + prisoner by the Germans. He looked puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “Thoughts, Mrs. Fosdick?” he repeated. “I don't know that I understand, + exactly. I was only partly conscious and in a good deal of pain and my + thoughts were rather incoherent, I'm afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “But when you regained consciousness, you know. What were your thoughts + then? Did you realize that you had made the great sacrifice for your + country? Risked your life and forfeited your liberty and all that for the + cause? Wasn't it a great satisfaction to feel that you had done that?” + </p> + <p> + Albert's laugh was hearty and unaffected. “Why, no,” he said. “I think + what I was realizing most just then was that I had made a miserable mess + of the whole business. Failed in doing what I set out to do and been taken + prisoner besides. I remember thinking, when I was clear-headed enough to + think anything, 'You fool, you spent months getting into this war, and + then got yourself out of it in fifteen minutes.' And it WAS a silly trick, + too.” + </p> + <p> + Madeline was horrified. + </p> + <p> + “What DO you mean?” she cried. “Your going back there to rescue your + comrade a silly trick! The very thing that won you your Croix de Guerre?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, in a way. I didn't save Mike, poor fellow—” + </p> + <p> + “Mike! Was his name Mike?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; Michael Francis Xavier Kelly. A South Boston Mick he was, and one of + the finest, squarest boys that ever drew breath. Well, poor Mike was dead + when I got to him, so my trip had been for nothing, and if he had been + alive I could not have prevented his being taken. As it was, he was dead + and I was a prisoner. So nothing was gained and, for me, personally, a + good deal was lost. It wasn't a brilliant thing to do. But,” he added + apologetically, “a chap doesn't have time to think collectively in such a + scrape. And it was my first real scrap and I was frightened half to death, + besides.” + </p> + <p> + “Frightened! Why, I never heard anything so ridiculous! What—” + </p> + <p> + “One moment, Madeline.” It was Mrs. Fosdick who interrupted. “I want to + ask—er—Albert a question. I want to ask him if during his long + imprisonment he composed—wrote, you know. I should have thought the + sights and experiences would have forced one to express one's self—that + is, one to whom the gift of expression was so generously granted,” she + added, with a gracious nod. + </p> + <p> + Albert hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Why, at first I did,” he said. “When I first was well enough to think, I + used to try to write—verses. I wrote a good many. Afterwards I tore + them up.” + </p> + <p> + “Tore them up!” Both Mrs. and Miss Fosdick uttered this exclamation. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes. You see, they were such rot. The things I wanted to write + about, the things <i>I</i> had seen and was seeing, the—the fellows + like Mike and their pluck and all that—well, it was all too big for + me to tackle. My jingles sounded, when I read them over, like tunes on a + street piano. <i>I</i> couldn't do it. A genius might have been equal to + the job, but I wasn't.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Fosdick glanced at her husband. There was something of alarmed + apprehension in the glance. Madeline's next remark covered the situation. + It expressed the absolute truth, so much more of the truth than even the + young lady herself realized at the time. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Albert Speranza,” she exclaimed, “I never heard you speak of + yourself and your work in that way before. Always—ALWAYS you have + had such complete, such splendid confidence in yourself. You were never + afraid to attempt ANYTHING. You MUST not talk so. Don't you intend to + write any more?” + </p> + <p> + Albert looked at her. “Oh, yes, indeed,” he said simply. “That is just + what I do intend to do—or try to do.” + </p> + <p> + That evening, alone in the library, he and Madeline had their first long, + intimate talk, the first since those days—to him they seemed as far + away as the last century—when they walked the South Harniss beach + together, walked beneath the rainbows and dreamed. And now here was their + dream coming true. + </p> + <p> + Madeline, he was realizing it as he looked at her, was prettier than ever. + She had grown a little older, of course, a little more mature, but + surprisingly little. She was still a girl, a very, very pretty girl and a + charming girl. And he— + </p> + <p> + “What are you thinking about?” she demanded suddenly. + </p> + <p> + He came to himself. “I was thinking about you,” he said. “You are just as + you used to be, just as charming and just as sweet. You haven't changed.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled and then pouted. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know whether to like that or not,” she said. “Did you expect to + find me less—charming and the rest?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, no, of course not. That was clumsy on my part. What I meant was that—well, + it seems ages, centuries, since we were together there on the Cape—and + yet you have not changed.” + </p> + <p> + She regarded him reflectively. + </p> + <p> + “You have,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Have what?” + </p> + <p> + “Changed. You have changed a good deal. I don't know whether I like it or + not. Perhaps I shall be more certain by and by. Now show me your war + cross. At least you have brought that, even if you haven't brought your + uniform.” + </p> + <p> + He had the cross in his pocket-book and he showed it to her. She enthused + over it, of course, and wished he might wear it even when in citizen's + clothes. She didn't see why he couldn't. And it was SUCH a pity he could + not be in uniform. Captain Blanchard had called the evening before, to see + Mother about some war charities she was interested in, and he was still in + uniform and wearing his decorations, too. Albert suggested that probably + Blanchard was still in service. Yes, she believed he was, but she could + not see why that should make the difference. Albert had BEEN in service. + </p> + <p> + He laughed at this and attempted to explain. She seemed to resent the + attempt or the tone. + </p> + <p> + “I do wish,” she said almost pettishly, “that you wouldn't be so + superior.” + </p> + <p> + He was surprised. “Superior!” he repeated. “Superior! I? Superiority is + the very least of my feelings. I—superior! That's a joke.” + </p> + <p> + And, oddly enough, she resented that even more. “Why is it a joke?” she + demanded. “I should think you had the right to feel superior to almost any + one. A hero—and a genius! You ARE superior.” + </p> + <p> + However, the little flurry was but momentary, and she was all sweetness + and smiles when she kissed him good night. He was shown to his room by a + servant and amid its array of comforts—to him, fresh from France and + the camp and his old room at South Harniss, it was luxuriously magnificent—he + sat for some time thinking. His thoughts should have been happy ones, yet + they were not entirely so. This is a curiously unsatisfactory world, + sometimes. + </p> + <p> + The next day he went shopping. Fosdick had given him a card to his own + tailor and Madeline had given him the names of several shops where, so she + declared, he could buy the right sort of ties and things. From the + tailor's Albert emerged looking a trifle dazed; after a visit to two of + the shops the dazed expression was even more pronounced. His next visits + were at establishments farther downtown and not as exclusive. He returned + to the Fosdick home feeling fairly well satisfied with the results + achieved. Madeline, however, did not share his satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “But Dad sent you to his tailor,” she said. “Why in the world didn't you + order your evening clothes there? And Brett has the most stunning ties. + Every one says so. Instead you buy yours at a department store. Now why?” + </p> + <p> + He smiled. “My dear girl,” he said, “your father's tailor estimated that + he might make me a very passable dress suit for one hundred and + seventy-five dollars. Brett's ties were stunning, just as you say, but the + prices ranged from five to eight dollars, which was more stunning still. + For a young person from the country out of a job, which is my condition at + present, such things may be looked at but not handled. I can't afford + them.” + </p> + <p> + She tossed her head. “What nonsense!” she exclaimed. “You're not out of a + job, as you call it. You are a writer and a famous writer. You have + written one book and you are going to write more. Besides, you must have + made heaps of money from The Lances. Every one has been reading it.” + </p> + <p> + When he told her the amount of his royalty check she expressed the opinion + that the publisher must have cheated. It ought to have been ever and ever + so much more than that. Such wonderful poems! + </p> + <p> + The next day she went to Brett's and purchased a half dozen of the most + expensive ties, which she presented to him forthwith. + </p> + <p> + “There!” she demanded. “Aren't those nicer than the ones you bought at + that old department store? Well, then!” + </p> + <p> + “But, Madeline, I must not let you buy my ties.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? It isn't such an unheard-of thing for an engaged girl to give + her fiance a necktie.” + </p> + <p> + “That isn't the idea. I should have bought ties like those myself, but I + couldn't afford them. Now for you to—” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense! You talk as if you were a beggar. Don't be so silly.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Madeline—” + </p> + <p> + “Stop! I don't want to hear it.” + </p> + <p> + She rose and went out of the room. She looked as if she were on the verge + of tears. He felt obliged to accept the gift, but he disliked the + principle of the things as much as ever. When she returned she was very + talkative and gay and chatted all through luncheon. The subject of the + ties was not mentioned again by either of them. He was glad he had not + told her that his new dress suit was ready-made. + </p> + <p> + While in France, awaiting his return home, he had purchased a ring and + sent it to her. She was wearing it, of course. Compared with other + articles of jewelry which she wore from time to time, his ring made an + extremely modest showing. She seemed quite unaware of the discrepancy, but + he was aware of it. + </p> + <p> + On an evening later in the week Mrs. Fosdick gave a reception. “Quite an + informal affair,” she said, in announcing her intention. “Just a few + intimate friends to meet Mr. Speranza, that is all. Mostly lovers of + literature—discerning people, if I may say so.” + </p> + <p> + The quite informal affair looked quite formidably formal to Albert. The + few intimate friends were many, so it seemed to him. There was still + enough of the former Albert Speranza left in his make-up to prevent his + appearing in the least distressed or ill at ease. He was, as he had always + been when in the public eye, even as far back as the school + dancing-classes with the Misses Bradshaw's young ladies, perfectly + self-possessed, charmingly polite, absolutely self-assured. And his good + looks had not suffered during his years of imprisonment and suffering. He + was no longer a handsome boy, but he was an extraordinarily attractive and + distinguished man. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Fosdick marked his manner and appearance and breathed a sigh of + satisfaction. Madeline noted them. Her young friends of the sex noted them + and whispered and looked approval. What the young men thought does not + matter so much, perhaps. One of these was the Captain Blanchard, of whom + Madeline had written and spoken. He was a tall, athletic chap, who looked + well in his uniform, and whose face was that of a healthy, clean-living + and clean-thinking young American. He and Albert shook hands and looked + each other over. Albert decided he should like Blanchard if he knew him + better. The captain was not talkative; in fact, he seemed rather taciturn. + Maids and matrons gushed when presented to the lion of the evening. It + scarcely seemed possible that they were actually meeting the author of The + Lances of Dawn. That wonderful book! Those wonderful poems! “How CAN you + write them, Mr. Speranza?” “When do your best inspirations come, Mr. + Speranza?” “Oh, if I could write as you do I should walk on air.” The + matron who breathed the last-quoted ecstasy was distinctly weighty; the + mental picture of her pedestrian trip through the atmosphere was + interesting. Albert's hand was patted by the elderly spinsters, young + women's eyes lifted soulful glances to his. + </p> + <p> + It was the sort of thing he would have revelled in three or four years + earlier. Exactly the sort of thing he had dreamed of when the majority of + the poems they gushed over were written. It was much the same thing he + remembered having seen his father undergo in the days when he and the + opera singer were together. And his father had, apparently, rather enjoyed + it. He realized all this—and he realized, too, with a queer feeling + that it should be so, that he did not like it at all. It was silly. + Nothing he had written warranted such extravagances. Hadn't these people + any sense of proportion? They bored him to desperation. The sole relief + was the behavior of the men, particularly the middle-aged or elderly men, + obviously present through feminine compulsion. They seized his hand, moved + it up and down with a pumping motion, uttered some stereotyped + prevarications about their pleasure at meeting him and their having + enjoyed his poems very much, and then slid on in the direction of the + refreshment room. + </p> + <p> + And Albert, as he shook hands, bowed and smiled and was charmingly + affable, found his thoughts wandering until they settled upon Private Mike + Kelly and the picturesque language of the latter when he, as sergeant, + routed him out for guard duty. Mike had not gushed over him nor called him + a genius. He had called him many things, but not that. + </p> + <p> + He was glad indeed when he could slip away for a dance with Madeline. He + found her chatting gaily with Captain Blanchard, who had been her most + recent partner. He claimed her from the captain and as he led her out to + the dance floor she whispered that she was very proud of him. “But I DO + wish YOU could wear your war cross,” she added. + </p> + <p> + The quite informal affair was the first of many quite as informally + formal. Also Mrs. Fosdick's satellites and friends of the literary clubs + and the war work societies seized the opportunity to make much of the + heroic author of The Lances of Dawn. His society was requested at teas, at + afternoon as well as evening gatherings. He would have refused most of + these invitations, but Madeline and her mother seemed to take his + acceptance for granted; in fact, they accepted for him. A ghastly habit + developed of asking him to read a few of his own poems on these occasions. + “PLEASE, Mr. Speranza. It will be such a treat, and such an HONOR.” + Usually a particular request was made that he read “The Greater Love.” Now + “The Greater Love” was the poem which, written in those rapturous days + when he and Madeline first became aware of their mutual adoration, was + refused by one editor as a “trifle too syrupy.” To read that sticky + effusion over and over again became a torment. There were occasions when + if a man had referred to “The Greater Love,” its author might have howled + profanely and offered bodily violence. But no men ever did refer to “The + Greater Love.” + </p> + <p> + On one occasion when a sentimental matron and her gushing daughter had + begged to know if he did not himself adore that poem, if he did not + consider it the best he had ever written, he had answered frankly. He was + satiated with cake and tea and compliments that evening and recklessly + truthful. “You really wish to know my opinion of that poem?” he asked. + Indeed and indeed they really wished to knew just that thing. “Well, then, + I think it's rot,” he declared. “I loathe it.” + </p> + <p> + Of course mother and daughter were indignant. Their comments reached + Madeline's ear. She took him to task. + </p> + <p> + “But why did you say it?” she demanded. “You know you don't mean it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I do mean it. It IS rot. Lots of the stuff in that book of mine is + rot. I did not think so once, but I do now. If I had the book to make over + again, that sort wouldn't be included.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him for a moment as if studying a problem. + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand you sometimes,” she said slowly. “You are different. + And I think what you said to Mrs. Bacon and Marian was very rude.” + </p> + <p> + Later when he went to look for her he found her seated with Captain + Blanchard in a corner. They were eating ices and, apparently, enjoying + themselves. He did not disturb them. Instead he hunted up the offended + Bacons and apologized for his outbreak. The apology, although graciously + accepted, had rather wearisome consequences. Mrs. Bacon declared she knew + that he had not really meant what he said. + </p> + <p> + “I realize how it must be,” she declared. “You people of temperament, of + genius, of aspirations, are never quite satisfied, you cannot be. You are + always trying, always seeking the higher attainment. Achievements of the + past, though to the rest of us wonderful and sublime, are to you—as + you say, 'rot.' That is it, is it not?” Albert said he guessed it was, and + wandered away, seeking seclusion and solitude. When the affair broke up he + found Madeline and Blanchard still enjoying each other's society. Both + were surprised when told the hour. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII + </h2> + <p> + So the first three weeks of his proposed month's visit passed and the + fourth began. And more and more his feelings of dissatisfaction and + uneasiness increased. The reasons for those feelings he found hard to + define. The Fosdicks were most certainly doing their best to make him + comfortable and happy. They were kind—yes, more than kind. Mr. + Fosdick he really began to like. Mrs. Fosdick's manner had a trace of + condescension in it, but as the lady treated all creation with much the + same measure of condescension, he was more amused than resentful. And + Madeline—Madeline was sweet and charming and beautiful. There was in + her manner toward him, or so he fancied, a slight change, perhaps a change + a trifle more marked since the evening when his expressed opinion of “The + Greater Love” had offended her and the Bacons. It seemed to him that she + was more impatient, more capricious, sometimes almost overwhelming him + with attention and tenderness and then appearing to forget him entirely + and to be quite indifferent to his thoughts and opinions. Her moods varied + greatly and there were occasions when he found it almost impossible to + please her. At these times she took offense when no offense was intended + and he found himself apologizing when, to say the least, the fault, if + there was any, was not more than half his. But she always followed those + moods with others of contrition and penitence and then he was petted and + fondled and his forgiveness implored. + </p> + <p> + These slight changes in her he noticed, but they troubled him little, + principally because he was coming to realize the great change in himself. + More and more that change was forcing itself upon him. The stories and + novels he had read during the first years of the war, the stories by + English writers in which young men, frivolous and inconsequential, had + enlisted and fought and emerged from the ordeal strong, purposeful and + “made-over”—those stories recurred to him now. He had paid little + attention to the “making-over" idea when he read those tales, but now he + was forced to believe there might be something in it. Certainly something, + the three years or the discipline and training and suffering, or all + combined, had changed him. He was not as he used to be. Things he liked + very much he no longer liked at all. And where, oh where, was the serene + self-satisfaction which once was his? + </p> + <p> + The change must be quite individual, he decided. All soldiers were not so + affected. Take Blanchard, for instance. Blanchard had seen service, more + and quite as hard fighting as he had seen, but Blanchard was, to all + appearances, as light-hearted and serene and confident as ever. Blanchard + was like Madeline; he was much the same now as he had been before the war. + Blanchard could dance and talk small talk and laugh and enjoy himself. + Well, so could he, on occasions, for that matter, if that had been all. + But it was not all, or if it was why was he at other times so discontented + and uncomfortable? What was the matter with him, anyway? + </p> + <p> + He drew more and more into his shell and became more quiet and less + talkative. Madeline, in one of her moods, reproached him for it. + </p> + <p> + “I do wish you wouldn't be grumpy,” she said. + </p> + <p> + They had been sitting in the library and he had lapsed into a fit of + musing, answering her questions with absentminded monosyllables. Now he + looked up. + </p> + <p> + “Grumpy?” he repeated. “Was I grumpy? I beg your pardon.” + </p> + <p> + “You should. You answered every word I spoke to you with a grunt or a + growl. I might as well have been talking to a bear.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm awfully sorry, dear. I didn't feel grumpy. I was thinking, I + suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Thinking! You are always thinking. Why think, pray? . . . If I permitted + myself to think, I should go insane.” + </p> + <p> + “Madeline, what do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothing. I'm partially insane now, perhaps. Come, let's go to the + piano. I feel like playing. You don't mind, do you?” + </p> + <p> + That evening Mrs. Fosdick made a suggestion to her husband. + </p> + <p> + “Fletcher,” she said, “I am inclined to think it is time you and Albert + had a talk concerning the future. A business talk, I mean. I am a little + uneasy about him. From some things he has said to me recently I gather + that he is planning to earn his living with his pen.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, how else did you expect him to earn it; as bookkeeper for the South + Harniss lumber concern?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be absurd. What I mean is that he is thinking of devoting himself + to literature exclusively. Don't interrupt me, please. That is very + beautiful and very idealistic, and I honor him for it, but I cannot see + Madeline as an attic poet's wife, can you?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't, and I told you so in the beginning.” + </p> + <p> + “No. Therefore I should take him to one side and tell him of the opening + in your firm. With that as a means of keeping his feet on the ground his + brain may soar as it likes, the higher the better.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Fosdick, as usual, obeyed orders and that afternoon Albert and he had + the “business talk.” Conversation at dinner was somewhat strained. Mr. + Fosdick was quietly observant and seemed rather amused about something. + His wife was dignified and her manner toward her guest was inclined to be + abrupt. Albert's appetite was poor. As for Madeline, she did not come down + to dinner, having a headache. + </p> + <p> + She came down later, however. Albert, alone in the library, was sitting, a + book upon his knees and his eyes fixed upon nothing in particular, when + she came in. + </p> + <p> + “You are thinking again, I see,” she said. + </p> + <p> + He had not heard her enter. Now he rose, the book falling to the floor. + </p> + <p> + “Why—why, yes,” he stammered. “How are you feeling? How is your + head?” + </p> + <p> + “It is no worse. And no better. I have been thinking, too, which perhaps + explains it. Sit down, Albert, please. I want to talk with you. That is + what I have been thinking about, that you and I must talk.” + </p> + <p> + She seated herself upon the davenport and he pulled forward a chair and + sat facing her. For a moment she was silent. When she did speak, however, + her question was very much to the point. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you say 'No' to Father's offer?” she asked. He had been expecting + this very question, or one leading up to it. Nevertheless, he found + answering difficult. He hesitated, and she watched him, her impatience + growing. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + He sighed. “Madeline,” he said, “I am afraid you think me very + unreasonable, certainly very ungrateful.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what to think about you. That is why I feel we must have + this talk. Tell me, please, just what Father said to you this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “He said—well, the substance of what he said was to offer me a + position in his office, in his firm.” + </p> + <p> + “What sort of a position?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I—I scarcely know. I was to have a desk there and—and + be generally—ornamental, I suppose. It was not very definite, the + details of the position, but—” + </p> + <p> + “The salary was good, wasn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; more than good. Much too good for the return I could make for it, so + it seemed to me.” + </p> + <p> + “And your prospects for the future? Wasn't the offer what people call a + good opportunity?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, I suppose it was. For the right sort of man it would have been + a wonderful opportunity. Your father was most kind, most generous, + Madeline. Please don't think I am not appreciative. I am, but—” + </p> + <p> + “Don't. I want to understand it all. He offered you this opportunity, this + partnership in his firm, and you would not accept it? Why? Don't you like + my father?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I like him very much.” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't you,” with the slightest possible curl of the lip, “think the + offer worthy of you? . . . Oh, I don't mean that! Please forgive me. I am + trying not to be disagreeable. I—I just want to understand, Albert, + that's all.” + </p> + <p> + He nodded. “I know, Madeline,” he said. “You have the right to ask. It + wasn't so much a question of the offer being worthy of me as of my being + worthy the offer. Oh, Madeline, why should you and I pretend? You know why + Mr. Fosdick made me that offer. It wasn't because I was likely to be worth + ten dollars a year to his firm. In Heaven's name, what use would I be in a + stockbroker's office, with my make-up, with my lack of business ability? + He would be making a place for me there and paying me a high salary for + one reason only, and you know what that is. Now don't you?” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated now, but only for an instant. She colored a little, but she + answered bravely. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I do,” she said, “but what of it? It is not unheard of, is it, + the taking one's prospective son-in-law into partnership?” + </p> + <p> + “No, but—We're dodging the issue again, Madeline. If I were likely + to be of any help to your father's business, instead of a hindrance, I + might perhaps see it differently. As it is, I couldn't accept unless I + were willing to be an object of charity.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you tell Father that?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “What did he say?” + </p> + <p> + “He said a good deal. He was frank enough to say that he did not expect me + to be of great assistance to the firm. But I might be of SOME use—he + didn't put it as baldly as that, of course—and at all times I could + keep on with my writing, with my poetry, you know. The brokerage business + should not interfere with my poetry, he said; your mother would scalp him + if it did that.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled faintly. “That sounds like dad,” she commented. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Well, we talked and argued for some time on the subject. He asked me + what, supposing I did not accept this offer of his, my plans for the + future might be. I told him they were pretty unsettled as yet. I meant to + write, of course. Not poetry altogether. I realized, I told him, that I + was not a great poet, a poet of genius.” + </p> + <p> + Madeline interrupted. Her eyes flashed. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you say that?” she demanded. “I have heard you say it before. That + is, recently. In the old days you were as sure as I that you were a real + poet, or should be some day. You never doubted it. You used to tell me so + and I loved to hear you.” + </p> + <p> + Albert shook his head. “I was sure of so many things then,” he said. “I + must have been an insufferable kid.” + </p> + <p> + She stamped her foot. “It was less than three years ago that you said it,” + she declared. “You are not so frightfully ancient now. . . . Well, go on, + go on. How did it end, the talk with Father, I mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I told him,” he continued, “that I meant to write and to earn my living + by writing. I meant to try magazine work—stories, you know—and, + soon, a novel. He asked if earning enough to support a wife on would not + be a long job at that time. I said I was afraid it might, but that that + seemed to me my particular game, nevertheless.” + </p> + <p> + She interrupted again. “Did it occur to you to question whether or not + that determination of yours was quite fair to me?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why—why, yes, it did. And I don't know that it IS exactly fair to + you. I—” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind. Go on. Tell me the rest. How did it end?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it ended in a sort of flare-up. Mr. Fosdick was just a little bit + sarcastic, and I expressed my feelings rather freely—too freely, I'm + afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind. I want to know what you said.” + </p> + <p> + “To be absolutely truthful, then, this is what I said: I said that I + appreciated his kindness and was grateful for the offer. But my mind was + made up. I would not live upon his charity and draw a large salary for + doing nothing except be a little, damned tame house-poet led around in + leash and exhibited at his wife's club meetings. . . . That was about all, + I think. We shook hands at the end. He didn't seem to like me any the less + for . . . Why, Madeline, have I offended you? My language was pretty + strong, I know, but—” + </p> + <p> + She had bowed her head upon her arms amid the sofa cushions and was + crying. He sprang to his feet and bent over her. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Madeline,” he said again, “I beg your pardon. I'm sorry—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it isn't that,” she sobbed. “It isn't that. I don't care what you + said.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it, then?” + </p> + <p> + She raised her head and looked at him. + </p> + <p> + “It is you,” she cried. “It is myself. It is everything. It is all wrong. + I—I was so happy and—and now I am miserable. Oh—oh, I + wish I were dead!” + </p> + <p> + She threw herself upon the cushions again and wept hysterically. He stood + above her, stroking her hair, trying to soothe her, to comfort her, and + all the time he felt like a brute, a heartless beast. At last she ceased + crying, sat up and wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. + </p> + <p> + “There!” she exclaimed. “I will not be silly any longer. I won't be! I + WON'T! . . . Now tell me: Why have you changed so?” + </p> + <p> + He looked down at her and shook his head. He was conscience-stricken and + fully as miserable as she professed to be. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” he said. “I am older and—and—and I DON'T see + things as I used to. If that book of mine had appeared three years ago I + have no doubt I should have believed it to be the greatest thing ever + printed. Now, when people tell me it is and I read what the reviewers said + and all that, I—I DON'T believe, I KNOW it isn't great—that + is, the most of it isn't. There is some pretty good stuff, of course, but—You + see, I think it wasn't the poems themselves that made it sell; I think it + was all the fool tommyrot the papers printed about me, about my being a + hero and all that rubbish, when they thought I was dead, you know. That—” + </p> + <p> + She interrupted. “Oh, don't!” she cried. “Don't! I don't care about the + old book. I'm not thinking about that. I'm thinking about you. YOU aren't + the same—the same toward me.” + </p> + <p> + “Toward you, Madeline? I don't understand what you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you do. Of course you do. If you were the same as you used to be, + you would let Father help you. We used to talk about that very thing and—and + you didn't resent it then.” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't I? Well, perhaps I didn't. But I think I remember our speaking + sometimes of sacrificing everything for each other. We were to live in + poverty, if necessary, and I was to write, you know, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Stop! All that was nonsense, nonsense! you know it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I'm afraid it was.” + </p> + <p> + “You know it was. And if you were as you used to be, if you—” + </p> + <p> + “Madeline!” + </p> + <p> + “What? Why did you interrupt me?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I wanted to ask you a question. Do you think YOU are exactly the + same—as you used to be?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Haven't YOU changed a little? Are you as sure as you were then—as + sure of your feeling toward me?” + </p> + <p> + She gazed at him, wide-eyed. “WHAT do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean ARE you sure? It has seemed to me that perhaps—I was out of + your life for a long time, you know, and during a good deal of that time + it seemed certain that I had gone forever. I am not blaming you, goodness + knows, but—Madeline, isn't there—Well, if I hadn't come back, + mightn't there have been some one—else?” + </p> + <p> + She turned pale. + </p> + <p> + “What do—” she stammered, inarticulate. “Why, why—” + </p> + <p> + “It was Captain Blanchard, wasn't it?” + </p> + <p> + The color came back to her cheeks with a rush. She blushed furiously and + sprang to her feet. + </p> + <p> + “How—how can you say such things!” she cried. “What do you mean? How + DARE you say Captain Blanchard took advantage of—How—how DARE + you say I was not loyal to you? It is not true. It is not true. I was. I + am. There hasn't been a word—a word between us since—since the + news came that you were—I told him—I said—And he has + been splendid! Splendid! And now you say—Oh, what AM I saying? What + SHALL I do?” + </p> + <p> + She collapsed once more among the cushions. He leaned forward. + </p> + <p> + “My dear girl—” he began, but she broke in. + </p> + <p> + “I HAVEN'T been disloyal,” she cried. “I have tried—Oh, I have tried + so hard—” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, Madeline, hush. I understand. I understand perfectly. It is all + right, really it is.” + </p> + <p> + “And I should have kept on trying always—always.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear, yes. But do you think a married life with so much trying in it + likely to be a happy one? It is better to know it now, isn't it, a great + deal better for both of us? Madeline, I am going to my room. I want you to + think, to think over all this, and then we will talk again. I don't blame + you. I don't, dear, really. I think I realize everything—all of it. + Good night, dear.” + </p> + <p> + He stooped and kissed her. She sobbed, but that was all. The next morning + a servant came to his room with a parcel and a letter. The parcel was a + tiny one. It was the ring he had given her, in its case. The letter was + short and much blotted. It read: + </p> + <p> + Dear Albert: + </p> + <p> + I have thought and thought, as you told me to, and I have concluded that + you were right. It IS best to know it now. Forgive me, please, PLEASE. I + feel wicked and horrid and I HATE myself, but I think this is best. Oh, do + forgive me. Good-by. + </p> + <p> + MADELINE. + </p> + <p> + His reply was longer. At its end he wrote: + </p> + <p> + Of course I forgive you. In the first place there is nothing to forgive. + The unforgivable thing would have been the sacrifice of your happiness and + your future to a dream and a memory. I hope you will be very happy. I am + sure you will be, for Blanchard is, I know, a fine fellow. The best of + fortune to you both. + </p> + <p> + The next forenoon he sat once more in the car of the morning train for + Cape Cod, looking out of the window. He had made the journey from New York + by the night boat and had boarded the Cape train at Middleboro. All the + previous day, and in the evening as he tramped the cold wind-swept deck of + the steamer, he had been trying to collect his thoughts, to readjust them + to the new situation, to comprehend in its entirety the great change that + had come in his life. The vague plans, the happy indefinite dreams, all + the rainbows and roses had gone, shivered to bits like the reflection in a + broken mirror. Madeline, his Madeline, was his no longer. Nor was he hers. + In a way it seemed impossible. + </p> + <p> + He tried to analyze his feelings. It seemed as if he should have been + crushed, grief-stricken, broken. He was inclined to reproach himself + because he was not. Of course there was a sadness about it, a regret that + the wonder of those days of love and youth had passed. But the sorrow was + not bitter, the regret was but a wistful longing, the sweet, lingering + fragrance of a memory, that was all. Toward her, Madeline, he felt—and + it surprised him, too, to find that he felt—not the slightest trace + of resentment. And more surprising still he felt none toward Blanchard. He + had meant what he said in his letter, he wished for them both the greatest + happiness. + </p> + <p> + And—there was no use attempting to shun the fact—his chief + feeling, as he sat there by the car window looking out at the familiar + landscape, was a great relief, a consciousness of escape from what might + have been a miserable, crushing mistake for him and for her. And with this + a growing sense of freedom, of buoyancy. It seemed wicked to feel like + that. Then it came to him, the thought that Madeline, doubtless, was + experiencing the same feeling. And he did not mind a bit; he hoped she + was, bless her! + </p> + <p> + A youthful cigar “drummer,” on his first Down-East trip, sat down beside + him. + </p> + <p> + “Kind of a flat, bare country, ain't it?” observed the drummer, with a + jerk of his head toward the window. “Looks bleak enough to me. Know + anything about this neck of the woods, do you?” + </p> + <p> + Albert turned to look at him. + </p> + <p> + “Meaning the Cape?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Sure.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I do. I know all about it.” + </p> + <p> + “That so! Say, you sound as if you liked it.” + </p> + <p> + Albert turned back to the window again. + </p> + <p> + “Like it!” he repeated. “I love it.” Then he sighed, a sigh of + satisfaction, and added: “You see, I BELONG here.” + </p> + <p> + His grandparents and Rachel were surprised when he walked into the house + that noon and announced that he hoped dinner was ready, because he was + hungry. But their surprise was more than balanced by their joy. Captain + Zelotes demanded to know how long he was going to stay. + </p> + <p> + “As long as you'll have me, Grandfather,” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + “Eh? Well, that would be a consider'ble spell, if you left it to us, but I + cal'late that girl in New York will have somethin' to say as to time + limit, won't she?” + </p> + <p> + Albert smiled. “I'll tell you about that by and by,” he said. + </p> + <p> + He did not tell them until that evening after supper. It was Friday + evening and Olive was going to prayer-meeting, but she delayed “putting on + her things” to hear the tale. The news that the engagement was off and + that her grandson was not, after all, to wed the daughter of the Honorable + Fletcher Fosdick, shocked and grieved her not a little. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear!” she sighed. “I suppose you know what's best, Albert, and + maybe, as you say, you wouldn't have been happy, but I DID feel sort of + proud to think my boy was goin' to marry a millionaire's daughter.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes made no comment—then. He asked to be told more + particulars. Albert described the life at the Fosdick home, the + receptions, his enforced exhibitions and readings. At length the recital + reached the point of the interview in Fosdick's office. + </p> + <p> + “So he offered you to take you into the firm—eh, son?” he observed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! Fosdick, Williamson and Hendricks are one of the biggest brokerage + houses goin', so a good many New Yorkers have told me.” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt. But, Grandfather, you've had some experience with me as a + business man; how do you think I would fit into a firm of stockbrokers?” + </p> + <p> + Captain Lote's eye twinkled, but he did not answer the question. Instead + he asked: + </p> + <p> + “Just what did you give Fosdick as your reason for not sayin' yes?” + </p> + <p> + Albert laughed. “Well, Grandfather,” he said, “I'll tell you. I said that + I appreciated his kindness and all that, but that I would not draw a big + salary for doing nothing except to be a little, damned tame house-poet led + around in leash and shown off at his wife's club meetings.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Snow uttered a faint scream. “Oh, Albert!” she exclaimed. She might + have said more, but a shout from her husband prevented her doing so. + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes had risen and his mighty hand descended with a stinging + slap upon his grandson's shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Bully for you, boy!” he cried. Then, turning to Olive, he added, “Mother, + I've always kind of cal'lated that you had one man around this house. Now, + by the Lord A'Mighty, I know you've got TWO!” + </p> + <p> + Olive rose. “Well,” she declared emphatically, “that may be; but if both + those men are goin' to start in swearin' right here in the sittin' room, I + think it's high time SOMEBODY in that family went to church.” + </p> + <p> + So to prayer meeting she went, with Mrs. Ellis as escort, and her husband + and grandson, seated in armchairs before the sitting room stove, both + smoking, talked and talked, of the past and of the future—not as man + to boy, nor as grandparent to grandson, but for the first time as equals, + without reservations, as man to man. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII + </h2> + <p> + The next morning Albert met old Mr. Kendall. After breakfast Captain + Zelotes had gone, as usual, directly to the office. His grandson, however, + had not accompanied him. + </p> + <p> + “What are you cal'latin' to do this mornin', Al?” inquired the captain. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know exactly, Grandfather. I'm going to look about the place + a bit, write a letter to my publishers, and take a walk, I think. You will + probably see me at the office pretty soon. I'll look in there by and by.” + </p> + <p> + “Ain't goin' to write one or two of those five hundred dollar stories + before dinner time, are you?” + </p> + <p> + “I guess not, sir. I'm afraid they won't be written as quickly as all + that.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Lote shook his head. “Godfreys!” he exclaimed; “it ain't the + writin' of 'em I'd worry about so much as the gettin' paid for 'em. You're + sure that editor man ain't crazy, you say?” + </p> + <p> + “I hope he isn't. He seemed sane enough when I saw him.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't know. It's live and learn, I suppose, but if anybody but + you had told me that magazine folks paid as much as five hundred dollars a + piece for yarns made up out of a feller's head without a word of truth in + 'em, I'd—well, I should have told the feller that told me to go to a + doctor right off and have HIS head examined. But—well, as 'tis I + cal'late I'd better have my own looked at. So long, Al. Come in to the + office if you get a chance.” + </p> + <p> + He hurried out. Albert walked to the window and watched the sturdy figure + swinging out of the yard. He wondered if, should he live to his + grandfather's age, his step would be as firm and his shoulders as square. + </p> + <p> + Olive laid a hand on his arm. + </p> + <p> + “You don't mind his talkin' that way about your writin' those stories, do + you, Albert?” she asked, a trace of anxiety in her tone. “He don't mean + it, you know. He don't understand it—says he don't himself—but + he's awful proud of you, just the same. Why, last night, after you and he + had finished talkin' and he came up to bed—and the land knows what + time of night or mornin' THAT was—he woke me out of a sound sleep to + tell me about that New York magazine man givin' you a written order to + write six stories for his magazine at five hundred dollars a piece. + Zelotes couldn't seem to get over it. 'Think of it, Mother,' he kept + sayin'. 'Think of it! Pretty nigh twice what I pay as good a man as Labe + Keeler for keepin' books a whole year. And Al says he ought to do a story + every forni't. I used to jaw his head off, tellin' him he was on the road + to starvation and all that. Tut, tut, tut! Mother, I've waited a long time + to say it, but it looks as if you married a fool.' . . . That's the way he + talked, but he's a long ways from bein' a fool, your grandfather is, + Albert.” + </p> + <p> + Albert nodded. “No one knows that better than I,” he said, with emphasis. + </p> + <p> + “There's one thing,” she went on, “that kind of troubled me. He said you + was goin' to insist on payin' board here at home. Now you know this house + is yours. And we love to—” + </p> + <p> + He put his arm about her. “I know it, Grandmother,” he broke in, quickly. + “But that is all settled. I am going to try to make my own living in my + own way. I am going to write and see what I am really worth. I have my + royalty money, you know, most of it, and I have this order for the series + of stories. I can afford to pay for my keep and I shall. You see, as I + told Grandfather last night, I don't propose to live on his charity any + more than on Mr. Fosdick's.” + </p> + <p> + She sighed. + </p> + <p> + “So Zelotes said,” she admitted. “He told me no less than three times that + you said it. It seemed to tickle him most to death, for some reason, and + that's queer, too, for he's anything but stingy. But there, I suppose you + can pay board if you want to, though who you'll pay it to is another + thing. <i>I</i> shan't take a cent from the only grandson I've got in the + world.” + </p> + <p> + It was while on his stroll down to the village that Albert met Mr. + Kendall. The reverend gentleman was plodding along carrying a market + basket from the end of which, beneath a fragment of newspaper, the tail + and rear third of a huge codfish drooped. The basket and its contents must + have weighed at least twelve pounds and the old minister was, as Captain + Zelotes would have said, making heavy weather of it. Albert went to his + assistance. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, Mr. Kendall,” he said; “I'm afraid that basket is rather + heavy, isn't it. Mayn't I help you with it?” Then, seeing that the old + gentleman did not recognize him, he added, “I am Albert Speranza.” + </p> + <p> + Down went the basket and the codfish and Mr. Kendall seized him by both + hands. + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course, of course,” he cried. “Of course, of course. It's our + young hero, isn't it. Our poet, our happy warrior. Yes,—yes, of + course. So glad to see you, Albert. . . . Er . . . er . . . How is your + mother?” + </p> + <p> + “You mean my grandmother? She is very well, thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—er—yes, your grandmother, of course. . . . Er . . . er. . + . . Did you see my codfish? Isn't it a magnificent one. I am very fond of + codfish and we almost never have it at home. So just now, I happened to be + passing Jonathan Howes'—he is the—er—fishdealer, you + know, and . . . Jonathan is a very regular attendant at my Sunday morning + services. He is—is. . . . Dear me. . . . What was I about to say?” + </p> + <p> + Being switched back to the main track by Albert he explained that he had + seen a number of cod in Mr. Howes' possession and had bought this + specimen. Howes had lent him the basket. + </p> + <p> + “And the newspaper,” he explained; adding, with triumph, “I shall dine on + codfish to-day, I am happy to say.” Judging by appearances he might dine + and sup and breakfast on codfish and still have a supply remaining. Albert + insisted on carrying the spoil to the parsonage. He was doing nothing in + particular and it would be a pleasure, he said. Mr. Kendall protested for + the first minute or so but then forgot just what the protest was all about + and rambled garrulously on about affairs in the parish. He had failed in + other faculties, but his flow of language was still unimpeded. They + entered the gate of the parsonage. Albert put the basket on the upper + step. + </p> + <p> + “There,” he said; “now I must go. Good morning, Mr. Kendall.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but you aren't going? You must come in a moment. I want to give you + the manuscript of that sermon of mine on the casting down of Baal, that is + the one in which I liken the military power of Germany to the brazen idol + which. . . . Just a moment, Albert. The manuscript is in my desk and. . . + . Oh, dear me, the door is locked. . . . Helen, Helen!” + </p> + <p> + He was shaking the door and shouting his daughter's name. Albert was + surprised and not a little disturbed. It had not occurred to him that + Helen could be at home. It is true that before he left for New York his + grandmother had said that she was planning to return home to be with her + father, but since then he had heard nothing more concerning her. Neither + of his grandparents had mentioned her name in their letters, nor since his + arrival the day before had they mentioned it. And Mr. Kendall had not + spoken of her during their walk together. Albert was troubled and taken + aback. In one way he would have liked to meet Helen very much indeed. They + had not met since before the war. But he did not, somehow, wish to meet + her just then. He did not wish to meet anyone who would speak of Madeline, + or ask embarrassing questions. He turned to go. + </p> + <p> + “Another time, Mr. Kendall,” he said. “Good morning.” + </p> + <p> + But he had gone only a few yards when the reverend gentleman was calling + to him to return. + </p> + <p> + “Albert! Albert!” called Mr. Kendall. + </p> + <p> + He was obliged to turn back, he could do nothing else, and as he did so + the door opened. It was Helen who opened it and she stood there upon the + threshold and looked down at him. For a moment, a barely perceptible + interval, she looked, then he heard her catch her breath quickly and saw + her put one hand upon the door jamb as if for support. The next, and she + was running down the steps, her hands outstretched and the light of + welcome in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Albert Speranza!” she cried. “Why, ALBERT!” + </p> + <p> + He seized her hands. “Helen!” he cried, and added involuntarily, “My, but + it's good to see you again!” + </p> + <p> + She laughed and so did he. All his embarrassment was gone. They were like + two children, like the boy and girl who had known each other in the old + days. + </p> + <p> + “And when did you get here?” she asked. “And what do you mean by + surprising us like this? I saw your grandfather yesterday morning and he + didn't say a word about your coming.” + </p> + <p> + “He didn't know I was coming. I didn't know it myself until the day + before. And when did you come? Your father didn't tell me you were here. I + didn't know until I heard him call your name.” + </p> + <p> + He was calling it again. Calling it and demanding attention for his + precious codfish. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Father, yes, in a minute,” she said. Then to Albert, “Come in. Oh, + of course you'll come in.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, if I won't be interfering with the housekeeping.” + </p> + <p> + “You won't. Yes, Father, yes, I'm coming. Mercy, where did you get such a + wonderful fish? Come in, Albert. As soon as I get Father's treasure safe + in the hands of Maria I'll be back. Father will keep you company. No, + pardon me, I am afraid he won't, he's gone to the kitchen already. And I + shall have to go, too, for just a minute. I'll hurry.” + </p> + <p> + She hastened to the kitchen, whither Mr. Kendall, tugging the fish basket, + had preceded her. Albert entered the little sitting-room and sat down in a + chair by the window. The room looked just as it used to look, just as + neat, just as homelike, just as well kept. And when she came back and they + began to talk, it seemed to him that she, too, was just as she used to be. + She was a trifle less girlish, more womanly perhaps, but she was just as + good to look at, just as bright and cheerful and in her conversation she + had the same quietly certain way of dealing directly with the common-sense + realities and not the fuss and feathers. It seemed to him that she had not + changed at all, that she herself was one of the realities, the wholesome + home realities, like Captain Zelotes and Olive and the old house they + lived in. He told her so. She laughed. + </p> + <p> + “You make me feel as ancient as the pyramids,” she said. + </p> + <p> + He shook his head. “I am the ancient,” he declared. “This war hasn't + changed you a particle, Helen, but it has handed me an awful jolt. At + times I feel as if I must have sailed with Noah. And as if I had wasted + most of the time since.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled. “Just what do you mean by that?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I mean—well, I don't know exactly what I do mean, I guess. I seem + to have an unsettled feeling. I'm not satisfied with myself. And as I + remember myself,” he added, with a shrug, “that condition of mind was not + usual with me.” + </p> + <p> + She regarded him for a moment without speaking, with the appraising look + in her eyes which he remembered so well, which had always reminded him of + the look in his grandfather's eyes, and which when a boy he resented so + strongly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said slowly, “I think you have changed. Not because you say you + feel so much older or because you are uneasy and dissatisfied. So many of + the men I talked with at the camp hospital, the men who had been over + there and had been wounded, as you were, said they felt the same way. That + doesn't mean anything, I think, except that it is dreadfully hard to get + readjusted again and settle down to everyday things. But it seems to me + that you have changed in other ways. You are a little thinner, but + broader, too, aren't you? And you do look older, especially about the + eyes. And, of course—well, of course I think I do miss a little of + the Albert Speranza I used to know, the young chap with the chip on his + shoulder for all creation to knock off.” + </p> + <p> + “Young jackass!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no indeed. He had his good points. But there! we're wasting time and + we have so much to talk about. You—why, what am I thinking of! I + have neglected the most important thing in the world. And you have just + returned from New York, too. Tell me, how is Madeline Fosdick?” + </p> + <p> + “She is well. But tell me about yourself. You have been in all sorts of + war work, haven't you. Tell me about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my work didn't amount to much. At first I 'Red Crossed' in Boston, + then I went to Devens and spent a long time in the camp hospital there.” + </p> + <p> + “Pretty trying, wasn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Why—yes, some of it was. When the 'flu' epidemic was raging and the + poor fellows were having such a dreadful time it was bad enough. After + that I was sent to Eastview. In the hospital there I met the boys who had + been wounded on the other side and who talked about old age and + dissatisfaction and uneasiness, just as you do. But MY work doesn't count. + You are the person to be talked about. Since I have seen you you have + become a famous poet and a hero and—” + </p> + <p> + “Don't!” + </p> + <p> + She had been smiling; now she was very serious. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me, Albert,” she said. “We have been joking, you and I, but there + was a time when we—when your friends did not joke. Oh, Albert, if + you could have seen the Snow place as I saw it then. It was as if all the + hope and joy and everything worth while had been crushed out of it. Your + grandmother, poor little woman, was brave and quiet, but we all knew she + was trying to keep up for Captain Zelotes' sake. And he—Albert, you + can scarcely imagine how the news of your death changed him. . . . Ah! + well, it was a hard time, a dreadful time for—for every one.” + </p> + <p> + She paused and he, turning to look at her, saw that there were tears in + her eyes. He knew of her affection for his grandparents and theirs for + her. Before he could speak she was smiling again. + </p> + <p> + “But now that is all over, isn't it?” she said. “And the Snows are the + happiest people in the country, I do believe. AND the proudest, of course. + So now you must tell me all about it, about your experiences, and about + your war cross, and about your literary work—oh, about everything.” + </p> + <p> + The all-inclusive narrative was not destined to get very far. Old Mr. + Kendall came hurrying in, the sermon on the casting down of Baal in his + hand. Thereafter he led, guided, and to a large extent monopolized the + conversation. His discourse had proceeded perhaps as far as “Thirdly” when + Albert, looking at his watch, was surprised to find it almost dinner time. + Mr. Kendall, still talking, departed to his study to hunt for another + sermon. The young people said good-by in his absence. + </p> + <p> + “It has been awfully good to see you again, Helen,” declared Albert. “But + I told you that in the beginning, didn't I? You seem like—well, like + a part of home, you know. And home means something to me nowadays.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad to hear you speak of South Harniss as home. Of course I know you + don't mean to make it a permanent home—I imagine Madeline would have + something to say about that—but it is nice to have you speak as if + the old town meant something to you.” + </p> + <p> + He looked about him. + </p> + <p> + “I love the place,” he said simply. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad. So do I; but then I have lived here all my life. The next time + we talk I want to know more about your plans for the future—yours + and Madeline's, I mean. How proud she must be of you.” + </p> + <p> + He looked up at her; she was standing upon the upper step and he on the + walk below. + </p> + <p> + “Madeline and I—” he began. Then he stopped. What was the use? He + did not want to talk about it. He waved his hand and turned away. + </p> + <p> + After dinner he went out into the kitchen to talk to Mrs. Ellis, who was + washing dishes. She was doing it as she did all her share of the + housework, with an energy and capability which would have delighted the + soul of a “scientific management” expert. Except when under the spell of a + sympathetic attack Rachel was ever distinctly on the job. + </p> + <p> + And of course she was, as always, glad to see her protege, her Robert + Penfold. The proprietary interest which she had always felt in him was + more than ever hers now. Had not she been the sole person to hint at the + possibility of his being alive, when every one else had given him up for + dead? Had not she been the only one to suggest that he might have been + taken prisoner? Had SHE ever despaired of seeing him again—on this + earth and in the flesh? Indeed, she had not; at least, she had never + admitted it, if she had. So then, hadn't she a RIGHT to feel that she + owned a share in him? No one ventured to dispute that right. + </p> + <p> + She turned and smiled over one ample shoulder when he entered the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + “Hello,” she hailed cheerfully. “Come callin', have you, Robert—Albert, + I mean? It would have been a great help to me if you'd been christened + Robert. I call you that so much to myself it comes almost more natural + than the other. On account of you bein' so just like Robert Penfold in the + book, you know,” she added. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, of course, Rachel, I understand,” put in Albert hastily. He was + not in the mood to listen to a dissertation on a text taken from Foul + Play. He looked about the room and sighed happily. + </p> + <p> + “There isn't a speck anywhere, is there?” he observed. “It is just as it + used to be, just as I used to think of it when I was laid up over there. + When I wanted to try and eat a bit, so as to keep what strength I had, I + would think about this kitchen of yours, Rachel. It didn't do to think of + the places where the prison stuff was cooked. They were not—appetizing.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Ellis nodded. “I presume likely not,” she observed. “Well, don't tell + me about 'em. I've just scrubbed this kitchen from stem to stern. If I + heard about those prison places, I'd feel like startin' right in and + scrubbin' it all over again, I know I should. . . . Dirty pigs! I wish I + had the scourin' of some of those Germans! I'd—I don't know as I + wouldn't skin 'em alive.” + </p> + <p> + Albert laughed. “Some of them pretty nearly deserved it,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Rachel smiled grimly. “Well, let's talk about nice things,” she said. “Oh, + Issy Price was here this forenoon; Cap'n Lote sent him over from the + office on an errand, and he said he saw you and Mr. Kendall goin' down + street together just as he was comin' along. He hollered at you, but you + didn't hear him. 'Cordin' to Issachar's tell, you was luggin' a basket + with Jonah's whale in it, or somethin' like that.” + </p> + <p> + Albert described his encounter with the minister. Rachel was much + interested. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, so you saw Helen,” she said. “Well, I guess she was surprised to see + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Not more than I was to see her. I didn't know she was in town. Not a soul + had mentioned it—you nor Grandfather nor Grandmother.” + </p> + <p> + The housekeeper answered without turning her head. “Guess we had so many + things to talk about we forgot it,” she said. “Yes, she's been here over a + week now. High time, from what I hear. The poor old parson has failed + consider'ble and Maria Price's housekeepin' and cookin' is enough to make + a well man sick—or wish he was. But he'll be looked after now. Helen + will look after him. She's the most capable girl there is in Ostable + County. Did she tell you about what she done in the Red Cross and the + hospitals?” + </p> + <p> + “She said something about it, not very much.” + </p> + <p> + “Um-hm. She wouldn't, bein' Helen Kendall. But the Red Cross folks said + enough, and they're sayin' it yet. Why—” + </p> + <p> + She went on to tell of Helen's work in the Red Cross depots and in the + camp, and hospitals. It was an inspiring story. + </p> + <p> + “There they was,” said Rachel, “the poor things, just boys most of 'em, + dyin' of that dreadful influenza like rats, as you might say. And, of + course it's dreadful catchin', and a good many was more afraid of it than + they would have been of bullets, enough sight. But Helen Kendall wa'n't + afraid—no, siree! Why—” + </p> + <p> + And so on. Albert listened, hearing most of it, but losing some as his + thoughts wandered back to the Helen he had known as a boy and the Helen he + had met that forenoon. Her face, as she had welcomed him at the parsonage + door—it was surprising how clearly it showed before his mind's eye. + He had thought at first that she had not changed in appearance. That was + not quite true—she had changed a little, but it was merely the + fulfillment of a promise, that was all. Her eyes, her smile above a + hospital bed—he could imagine what they must have seemed like to a + lonely, homesick boy wrestling with the “flu.” + </p> + <p> + “And, don't talk!” he heard the housekeeper say, as he drifted out of his + reverie, “if she wa'n't popular around that hospital, around both + hospitals, fur's that goes! The patients idolized her, and the other + nurses they loved her, and the doctors—” + </p> + <p> + “Did they love her, too?” Albert asked, with a smile, as she hesitated. + </p> + <p> + She laughed. “Some of 'em did, I cal'late,” she answered. “You see, I got + most of my news about it all from Bessie Ryder, Cornelius Ryder's niece, + lives up on the road to the Center; you used to know her, Albert. Bessie + was nursin' in that same hospital, the one Helen was at first. 'Cordin' to + her, there was some doctor or officer tryin' to shine up to Helen most of + the time. When she was at Eastview, so Bessie heard, there was a real + big-bug in the Army, a sort of Admiral or Commodore amongst the doctors he + was, and HE was trottin' after her, or would have been if she'd let him. + 'Course you have to make some allowances for Bessie—she wouldn't be + a Ryder if she didn't take so many words to say so little that the truth + gets stretched pretty thin afore she finished—but there must have + been SOMETHIN' in it. And all about her bein' such a wonderful nurse and + doin' so much for the Red Cross I KNOW is true. . . . Eh? Did you say + anything, Albert?” + </p> + <p> + Albert shook his head. “No, Rachel,” he replied. “I didn't speak.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought I heard you or somebody say somethin'. I—Why, Laban + Keeler, what are you doin' away from your desk this time in the + afternoon?” + </p> + <p> + Laban grinned as he entered the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + “Did I hear you say you thought you heard somebody sayin' somethin', + Rachel?” he inquired. “That's queer, ain't it? Seemed to me <i>I</i> heard + somebody sayin' somethin' as I come up the path just now. Seemed as if + they was sayin' it right here in the kitchen, too. 'Twasn't your voice, + Albert, and it couldn't have been Rachel's, 'cause she NEVER talks—'specially + to you. It's too bad, the prejudice she's got against you, Albert,” he + added, with a wink. “Um-hm, too bad—yes, 'tis—yes, yes.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Ellis sniffed. + </p> + <p> + “And that's what the newspapers in war time used to call—er—er—oh, + dear, what was it?—camel—seems's if 'twas somethin' about a + camel—” + </p> + <p> + “Camouflage?” suggested Albert. + </p> + <p> + “That's it. All that talk about me is just camouflage to save him + answerin' my question. But he's goin' to answer it. What are you doin' + away from the office this time in the afternoon, I want to know?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Keeler perched his small figure on the corner of the kitchen table. + </p> + <p> + “Well, to tell you the truth, Rachel,” he said solemnly. “I'm here to do + what the folks in books call demand an explanation. You and I, Rachel, are + just as good as engaged to be married, ain't we? I've been keepin' company + with you for the last twenty, forty or sixty years, some such spell as + that. Now, just as I'm gettin' used to it and beginnin' to consider it a + settled arrangement, as you may say, I come into this house and find you + shut up in the kitchen with another man. Now, what—” + </p> + <p> + The housekeeper advanced toward him with the dripping dishcloth. + </p> + <p> + “Laban Keeler,” she threatened, “if you don't stop your foolishness and + answer my question, I declare I'll—” + </p> + <p> + Laban slid from his perch and retired behind the table. + </p> + <p> + “Another man,” he repeated. “And SOME folks—not many, of course, but + some—might be crazy enough to say he was a better-lookin' man than I + am. Now, bein' ragin' jealous,—All right, Rachel, all right, I + surrender. Don't hit me with all those soapsuds. I don't want to go back + to the office foamin' at the mouth. The reason I'm here is that I had to + go down street to see about the sheathin' for the Red Men's lodge room. + Issy took the order, but he wasn't real sure whether 'twas sheathin' or + scantlin' they wanted, so I told Cap'n Lote I'd run down myself and + straighten it out. On the way back I saw you two through the window and I + thought I'd drop in and worry you. So here I am.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Ellis nodded. “Yes,” she sniffed. “And all that camel—camel—Oh, + DEAR, what DOES ail me? All that camel—No use, I've forgot it + again.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, Rachel,” said Mr. Keeler consolingly. “All the—er—menagerie + was just that and nothin' more. Oh, by the way, Al,” he added, “speakin' + of camels—don't you think I've done pretty well to go so long + without any—er—liquid nourishment? Not a drop since you and I + enlisted together. . . . Oh, she knows about it now,” he added, with a + jerk of his head in the housekeeper's direction. “I felt 'twas fairly safe + and settled, so I told her. I told her. Yes, yes, yes. Um-hm, so I did.” + </p> + <p> + Albert turned to the lady. + </p> + <p> + “You should be very proud of him, Rachel,” he said seriously. “I think I + realize a little something of the fight he has made, and it is bully. You + should be proud of him.” + </p> + <p> + Rachel looked down at the little man. + </p> + <p> + “I am,” she said quietly. “I guess likely he knows it.” + </p> + <p> + Laban smiled. “The folks in Washington are doin' their best to help me + out,” he said. “They're goin' to take the stuff away from everybody so's + to make sure <i>I</i> don't get any more. They'll probably put up a + monument to me for startin' the thing; don't you think they will, Al? Eh? + Don't you, now?” + </p> + <p> + Albert and he walked up the road together. Laban told a little more of his + battle with John Barleycorn. + </p> + <p> + “I had half a dozen spells when I had to set my teeth, those I've got + left, and hang on,” he said. “And the hangin'-on wa'n't as easy as + stickin' to fly-paper, neither. Honest, though, I think the hardest was + when the news came that you was alive, Al. I—I just wanted to start + in and celebrate. Wanted to whoop her up, I did.” He paused a moment and + then added, “I tried whoopin' on sass'parilla and vanilla sody, but + 'twa'n't satisfactory. Couldn't seem to raise a real loud whisper, let + alone a whoop. No, I couldn't—no, no.” + </p> + <p> + Albert laughed and laid a hand on his shoulder. “You're all right, Labe,” + he declared. “I know you, and I say so.” + </p> + <p> + Laban slowly shook his head. His smile, as he answered, was rather + pathetic. + </p> + <p> + “I'm a long, long ways from bein' all right, Al,” he said. “A long ways + from that, I am. If I'd made my fight thirty year ago, I might have been + nigher to amountin' to somethin'. . . . Oh, well, for Rachel's sake I'm + glad I've made it now. She's stuck to me when everybody would have praised + her for chuckin' me to Tophet. I was readin' one of Thackeray's books + t'other night—Henry Esmond, 'twas; you've read it, Al, of course; I + was readin' it t'other night for the ninety-ninth time or thereabouts, and + I run across the place where it says it's strange what a man can do and a + woman still keep thinkin' he's an angel. That's true, too, Al. Not,” with + the return of the slight smile, “that Rachel ever went so far as to call + me an angel. No, no. There's limits where you can't stretch her + common-sense any farther. Callin' me an angel would be just past the + limit. Yes, yes, yes. I guess SO.” + </p> + <p> + They spoke of Captain Zelotes and Olive and of their grief and + discouragement when the news of Albert's supposed death reached them. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know,” said Labe, “I believe Helen Kendall's comin' there for a + week did 'em more good than anything else. She got away from her soldier + nursin' somehow—must have been able to pull the strings consider'ble + harder'n the average to do it—and just came down to the Snow place + and sort of took charge along with Rachel. Course she didn't live there, + her father thought she was visitin' him, I guess likely, but she was with + Cap'n Lote and Olive most of the time. Rachel says she never made a fuss, + you understand, just was there and helped and was quiet and soft-spoken + and capable and—and comfortin', that's about the word, I guess. + Rachel always thought a sight of Helen afore that, but since then she + swears by her.” + </p> + <p> + That evening—or, rather, that night, for they did not leave the + sitting room until after twelve—Mrs. Snow heard her grandson walking + the floor of his room, and called to ask if he was sick. + </p> + <p> + “I'm all right, Grandmother,” he called in reply. “Just taking a little + exercise before turning in, that's all. Sorry if I disturbed you.” + </p> + <p> + The exercise was, as a matter of fact, almost entirely mental, the pacing + up and down merely an unconscious physical accompaniment. Albert Speranza + was indulging in introspection. He was reviewing and assorting his + thoughts and his impulses and trying to determine just what they were and + why they were and whither they were tending. It was a mental and spiritual + picking to pieces and the result was humiliating and in its turn resulted + in a brand-new determination. + </p> + <p> + Ever since his meeting with Helen, a meeting which had been quite + unpremeditated, he had thought of but little except her. During his talk + with her in the parsonage sitting room he had been—there was no use + pretending to himself that it was otherwise—more contented with the + world, more optimistic, happier, than he had been for months, it seemed to + him for years. Even while he was speaking to her of his uneasiness and + dissatisfaction he was dimly conscious that at that moment he was less + uneasy and less dissatisfied, conscious that the solid ground was beneath + his feet at last, that here was the haven after the storm, here was— + </p> + <p> + He pulled up sharply. This line of thought was silly, dangerous, wicked. + What did it mean? Three days before, only three days, he had left Madeline + Fosdick, the girl whom he had worshiped, adored, and who had loved him. + Yes, there was no use pretending there, either; he and Madeline HAD loved + each other. Of course he realized now that their love had nothing + permanently substantial about it. It was the romance of youth, a dream + which they had shared together and from which, fortunately for both, they + had awakened in time. And of course he realized, too, that the awakening + had begun long, long before the actual parting took place. But + nevertheless only three days had elapsed since that parting, and now—What + sort of a man was he? + </p> + <p> + Was he like his father? Was it what Captain Zelotes used to call the + “Portygee streak” which was now cropping out? The opera singer had been of + the butterfly type—in his later years a middle-aged butterfly whose + wings creaked somewhat—but decidedly a flitter from flower to + flower. As a boy, Albert had been aware, in an uncertain fashion, of his + father's fondness for the sex. Now, older, his judgment of his parent was + not as lenient, was clearer, more discerning. He understood now. Was his + own “Portygee streak,” his inherited temperament, responsible for his + leaving one girl on a Tuesday and on Friday finding his thoughts concerned + so deeply with another? + </p> + <p> + Well, no matter, no matter. One thing was certain—Helen should never + know of that feeling. He would crush it down, he would use his + common-sense. He would be a decent man and not a blackguard. For he had + had his chance and had tossed it away. What would she think of him now if + he came to her after Madeline had thrown him over—that is what Mrs. + Fosdick would say, would take pains that every one else should say, that + Madeline had thrown him over—what would Helen think of him if he + came to her with a second-hand love like that? + </p> + <p> + And of course she would not think of him as a lover at all. Why should + she? In the boy and girl days she had refused to let him speak of such a + thing. She was his friend, a glorious, a wonderful friend, but that was + all, all she ever dreamed of being. + </p> + <p> + Well, that was right; that was as it should be. He should be thankful for + such a friend. He was, of course. And he would concentrate all his + energies upon his work, upon his writing. That was it, that was it. Good, + it was settled! + </p> + <p> + So he went to bed and, eventually, to sleep. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX + </h2> + <p> + While dressing in the cold light of dawn his perturbations of the previous + night appeared in retrospect as rather boyish and unnecessary. His sudden + and unexpected meeting with Helen and their talk together had tended to + make him over-sentimental, that was all. He and she were to be friends, of + course, but there was no real danger of his allowing himself to think of + her except as a friend. No, indeed. He opened the bureau drawer in search + of a tie, and there was the package of “snapshots” just where he had + tossed them that night when he first returned home after muster-out. + Helen's photograph was the uppermost. He looked at it—looked at it + for several minutes. Then he closed the drawer again and hurriedly + finished his dressing. A part, at least, of his resolve of the night + before had been sound common-sense. His brain was suffering from lack of + exercise. Work was what he needed, hard work. + </p> + <p> + So to work he went without delay. A place to work in was the first + consideration. He suggested the garret, but his grandmother and Rachel + held up their hands and lifted their voices in protest. + </p> + <p> + “No, INDEED,” declared Olive. “Zelotes has always talked about writin' + folks and poets starvin' in garrets. If you went up attic to work he'd be + teasin' me from mornin' to night. Besides, you'd freeze up there, if the + smell of moth-balls didn't choke you first. No, you wait; I've got a + notion. There's that old table desk of Zelotes' in the settin' room. He + don't hardly ever use it nowadays. You take it upstairs to your own room + and work in there. You can have the oil-heater to keep you warm.” + </p> + <p> + So that was the arrangement made, and in his own room Albert sat down at + the battered old desk, which had been not only his grandfather's but his + great-grandfather's property, to concentrate upon the first of the series + of stories ordered by the New York magazine. He had already decided upon + the general scheme for the series. A boy, ragamuffin son of immigrant + parents, rising, after a wrong start, by sheer grit and natural shrewdness + and ability, step by step to competence and success, winning a place in + and the respect of a community. There was nothing new in the idea itself. + Some things his soldier chum Mike Kelley had told him concerning an uncle + of his—Mike's—suggested it. The novelty he hoped might come + from the incidents, the various problems faced by his hero, the solution + of each being a step upward in the latter's career and in the formation of + his character. He wanted to write, if he could, the story of the building + of one more worth-while American, for Albert Speranza, like so many others + set to thinking by the war and the war experiences, was realizing strongly + that the gabbling of a formula and the swearing of an oath of + naturalization did not necessarily make an American. There were too many + eager to take that oath with tongue in cheek and knife in sleeve. Too + many, for the first time in their lives breathing and speaking as free + men, thanks to the protection of Columbia's arm, yet planning to stab + their protectress in the back. + </p> + <p> + So Albert's hero was to be an American, an American to whom the term meant + the highest and the best. If he had hunted a lifetime for something to + please and interest his grandfather he could not have hit the mark nearer + the center. Cap'n Lote, of course, pretended a certain measure of + indifference, but that was for Olive and Rachel's benefit. It would never + do for the scoffer to become a convert openly and at once. The feminine + members of the household clamored each evening to have the author read + aloud his day's installment. The captain sniffed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear, dear,” with a groan, “now I've got to hear all that made-up + stuff that happened to a parcel of made-up folks that never lived and + never will. Waste of time, waste of time. Where's my Transcript?” + </p> + <p> + But it was noticed—and commented upon, you may be sure—by his + wife and housekeeper that the Transcript was likely to be, before the + reading had progressed far, either in the captain's lap or on the floor. + And when the discussion following the reading was under way Captain + Zelotes' opinions were expressed quite as freely as any one's else. Laban + Keeler got into the habit of dropping in to listen. + </p> + <p> + One fateful evening the reading was interrupted by the arrival of Mr. + Kendall. The reverend gentleman had come to make a pastoral call. Albert's + hero was in the middle of a situation. The old clergyman insisted upon the + continuation of the reading. It was continued and so was the discussion + following it; in fact, the discussion seemed likely to go on indefinitely, + for the visitor showed no inclination of leaving. At ten-thirty his + daughter appeared to inquire about him and to escort him home. Then he + went, but under protest. Albert walked to the parsonage with them. + </p> + <p> + “Now we've started somethin',” groaned the captain, as the door closed. + “That old critter'll be cruisin' over here six nights out of five from now + on to tell Al just how to spin those yarns of his. And he'll talk—and + talk—and talk. Ain't it astonishin' how such a feeble-lookin' craft + as he is can keep blowin' off steam that way and still be able to + navigate.” + </p> + <p> + His wife took him to task. “The idea,” she protested, “of your callin' + your own minister a 'critter'! I should think you'd be ashamed. . . . But, + oh, dear, I'm afraid he WILL be over here an awful lot.” + </p> + <p> + Her fears were realized. Mr. Kendall, although not on hand “six nights out + of five,” as the captain prophesied, was a frequent visitor at the Snow + place. As Albert's story-writing progressed the discussions concerning the + growth and development of the hero's character became more and more + involved and spirited. They were for the most part confined, when the + minister was present, to him and Mrs. Snow and Rachel. Laban, if he + happened to be there, sat well back in the corner, saying little except + when appealed to, and then answering with one of his dry, characteristic + observations. Captain Lote, in the rocker, his legs crossed, his hand + stroking his beard, and with the twinkle in his eyes, listened, and spoke + but seldom. Occasionally, when he and his grandson exchanged glances, the + captain winked, indicating appreciation of the situation. + </p> + <p> + “Say, Al,” he said, one evening, after the old clergyman had departed, “it + must be kind of restful to have your work all laid out for you this way. + Take it to-night, for instance; I don't see but what everything's planned + for this young feller you're writin' about so you nor he won't have to + think for yourselves for a hundred year or such matter. Course there's + some little difference in the plans. Rachel wants him to get wrecked on an + island or be put in jail, and Mother, she wants him to be a soldier and a + poet, and Mr. Kendall thinks it's high time he joined the church or signed + the pledge or stopped swearin' or chewin' gum.” + </p> + <p> + “Zelotes, how ridiculous you do talk!” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Mother, all right. What strikes me, Al, is they don't any of + 'em stop to ask you what YOU mean to have him do. Course I know 'tain't + any of your business, but still—seems 's if you might be a little + mite interested in the boy yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Albert laughed. “Don't worry, Grandfather,” he said. “I'm enjoying it all + very much. And some of the suggestions may be just what I'm looking for.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, son, we'll hope so. Say, Labe, I've got a notion for keepin' the + minister from doin' all the talkin.' We'll ask Issy Price to drop in; eh?” + </p> + <p> + Laban shook his head. “I don't know, Cap'n Lote,” he observed. “Sounds to + me a good deal like lettin' in a hurricane to blow out a match with. . . . + Um-hm. Seems so to me. Yes, yes.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Kendall's calls would have been more frequent still had Helen not + interfered. Very often, when he came she herself dropped in a little later + and insisted upon his making an early start for home. Occasionally she + came with him. She, too, seemed much interested in the progress of the + stories, but she offered few suggestions. When directly appealed to, she + expressed her views, and they were worth while. + </p> + <p> + Albert was resolutely adhering to his determination not to permit himself + to think of her except as a friend. That is, he hoped he was; thoughts are + hard to control at times. He saw her often. They met on the street, at + church on Sunday—his grandmother was so delighted when he + accompanied her to “meeting” that he did so rather more frequently, + perhaps, than he otherwise would—at the homes of acquaintances, and, + of course, at the Snow place. When she walked home with her father after a + “story evening” he usually went with them as additional escort. + </p> + <p> + She had not questioned him concerning Madeline since their first meeting + that morning at the parsonage. He knew, therefore, that some one—his + grandmother, probably—had told her of the broken engagement. When + they were alone together they talked of many things, casual things, the + generalities of which, so he told himself, a conversation between mere + friends was composed. But occasionally, after doing escort duty, after Mr. + Kendall had gone into the house to take his “throat medicine”—a + medicine which Captain Zelotes declared would have to be double-strength + pretty soon to offset the wear and tear of the story evenings—they + talked of matters more specific and which more directly concerned + themselves. She spoke of her hospital work, of her teaching before the + war, and of her plans for the future. The latter, of course, were very + indefinite now. + </p> + <p> + “Father needs me,” she said, “and I shall not leave him while he lives.” + </p> + <p> + They spoke of Albert's work and plans most of all. He began to ask for + advice concerning the former. When those stories were written, what then? + She hoped he would try the novel he had hinted at. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure you can do it,” she said. “And you mustn't give up the poems + altogether. It was the poetry, you know, which was the beginning.” + </p> + <p> + “YOU were the beginning,” he said impulsively. “Perhaps I should never + have written at all if you hadn't urged me, shamed me out of my laziness.” + </p> + <p> + “I was a presuming young person, I'm afraid,” she said. “I wonder you + didn't tell me to mind my own business. I believe you did, but I wouldn't + mind.” + </p> + <p> + June brought the summer weather and the summer boarders to South Harniss. + One of the news sensations which came at the same time was that the new + Fosdick cottage had been sold. The people who had occupied it the previous + season had bought it. Mrs. Fosdick, so rumor said, was not strong and her + doctors had decided that the sea air did not agree with her. + </p> + <p> + “Crimustee!” exclaimed Issachar, as he imparted the news to Mr. Keeler, + “if that ain't the worst. Spend your money, and a pile of money, too, + buyin' ground, layin' of it out to build a house on to live in, then + buildin' that house and then, by crimus, sellin' it to somebody else for + THEM to live in. That beats any foolishness ever come MY way.” + </p> + <p> + “And there's some consider'ble come your way at that, ain't they, Is?” + observed Laban, busy with his bookkeeping. + </p> + <p> + Issachar nodded. “You're right there has,” he said complacently. “I . . . + What do you mean by that? Tryin' to be funny again, ain't you?” + </p> + <p> + Albert heard the news with a distinct feeling of relief. While the feeling + on his part toward Madeline was of the kindliest, and Madeline's was, he + felt sure, the same toward him, nevertheless to meet her day after day, as + people must meet in a village no bigger than South Harniss, would be + awkward for both. And to meet Mrs. Fosdick might be more awkward still. He + smiled as he surmised that the realization by the lady of that very + awkwardness was probably responsible for the discovery that sea air was + not beneficial. + </p> + <p> + The story-writing and the story evenings continued. Over the fourth story + in the series discussion was warm, for there were marked differences of + opinion among the listeners. One of the experiences through which Albert + had brought his hero was that of working as general assistant to a sharp, + unscrupulous and smooth-tongued rascal who was proprietor of a circus + sideshow and fake museum. He was a kind-hearted swindler, but one who + never let a question of honesty interfere with the getting of a dollar. In + this fourth story, to the town where the hero, now a man of twenty-five, + had established himself in business, came this cheat of other days, but + now he came as a duly ordained clergyman in answer to the call of the + local church. The hero learned that he had not told the governing body of + that church of his former career. Had he done so, they most certainly + would not have called him. The leading man in that church body was the + hero's patron and kindest friend. The question: What was the hero's duty + in the matter? + </p> + <p> + Of course the first question asked was whether or not the ex-sideshow + proprietor was sincerely repentant and honestly trying to walk the + straight path and lead others along it. Albert replied that his hero had + interviewed him and was satisfied that he was; he had been “converted” at + a revival and was now a religious enthusiast whose one idea was to save + sinners. + </p> + <p> + That was enough for Captain Zelotes. + </p> + <p> + “Let him alone, then,” said the captain. “He's tryin' to be a decent man. + What do you want to do? Tell on him and have him chucked overboard from + one church after another until he gets discouraged and takes to swindlin' + again?” + </p> + <p> + Rachel Ellis could not see it that way. + </p> + <p> + “If he was a saved sinner,” she declared, “and repentant of his sins, then + he'd ought to repent 'em out loud. Hidin' 'em ain't repentin'. And, + besides, there's Donald's (Donald was the hero's name) there's Donald's + duty to the man that's been so good to him. Is it fair to that man to keep + still and let him hire a minister that, like as not, will steal the + collection, box and all, afore he gets through? No, sir, Donald ought to + tell THAT man, anyhow.” + </p> + <p> + Olive was pretty dubious about the whole scheme. She doubted if anybody + connected with a circus COULD ever become a minister. + </p> + <p> + “The whole—er—er—trade is so different,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Kendall was not there that evening, his attendance being required at a + meeting of the Sunday School teachers. Helen, however, was not at that + meeting and Captain Zelotes declared his intention of asking her opinion + by telephone. + </p> + <p> + “She'll say same as I do—you see if she don't,” he declared. When he + called the parsonage, however, Maria Price answered the phone and informed + him that Helen was spending the evening with old Mrs. Crowell, who lived + but a little way from the Snow place. The captain promptly called up the + Crowell house. + </p> + <p> + “She's there and she'll stop in here on her way along,” he said + triumphantly. “And she'll back me up—you see.” + </p> + <p> + But she did not. She did not “back up” any one. She merely smiled and + declared the problem too complicated to answer offhand. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you ask Albert?” she inquired. “After all, he is the one who + must settle it eventually.” + </p> + <p> + “He won't tell,” said Olive. “He's real provokin', isn't he? And now you + won't tell, either, Helen.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know—yet. But I think he does.” + </p> + <p> + Albert, as usual, walked home with her. + </p> + <p> + “How are you going to answer your hero's riddle?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Before I tell you, suppose you tell me what your answer would be.” + </p> + <p> + She reflected. “Well,” she said, “it seems to me that, all things being as + they are, he should do this: He should go to the sideshow man—the + minister now—and have a very frank talk with him. He should tell him + that he had decided to say nothing about the old life and to help him in + every way, to be his friend—provided that he keep straight, that is + all. Of course more than that would be meant, the alternative would be + there and understood, but he need not say it. I think that course of + action would be fair to himself and to everybody. That is my answer. What + is yours?” + </p> + <p> + He laughed quietly. “Just that, of course,” he said. “You would see it, I + knew. You always see down to the heart of things, Helen. You have the + gift.” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. “It didn't really need a gift, this particular + problem, did it?” she said. “It is not—excuse me—it isn't + exactly a new one.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it isn't. It is as old as the hills, but there are always new twists + to it.” + </p> + <p> + “As there are to all our old problems.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. By the way, your advice about the ending of my third story was + exactly what I needed. The editor wrote me he should never have forgiven + me if it had ended in any other way. It probably WOULD have ended in + another way if it hadn't been for you. Thank you, Helen.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you know there was really nothing to thank me for. It was all you, as + usual. Have you planned the next story, the fifth, yet?” + </p> + <p> + “Not entirely. I have some vague ideas. Do you want to hear them?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course.” + </p> + <p> + So they discussed those ideas as they walked along the sidewalk of the + street leading down to the parsonage. It was a warm evening, a light mist, + which was not substantial enough to be a fog, hanging low over everything, + wrapping them and the trees and the little front yards and low houses of + the old village in a sort of cozy, velvety, confidential quiet. The scent + of lilacs was heavy in the air. + </p> + <p> + They both were silent. Just when they had ceased speaking neither could + have told. They walked on arm in arm and suddenly Albert became aware that + this silence was dangerous for him; that in it all his resolves and brave + determinations were melting into mist like that about him; that he must + talk and talk at once and upon a subject which was not personal, which— + </p> + <p> + And then Helen spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what this reminds me of?” she said. “All this talk of ours? + It reminds me of how we used to talk over those first poems of yours. You + have gone a long way since then.” + </p> + <p> + “I have gone to Kaiserville and back.” + </p> + <p> + “You know what I mean. I mean your work has improved wonderfully. You + write with a sure hand now, it seems to me. And your view is so much + broader.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope I'm not the narrow, conceited little rooster I used to be. I told + you, Helen, that the war handed me an awful jolt. Well, it did. I think + it, or my sickness or the whole business together, knocked most of that + self-confidence of mine galley-west. For so much I'm thankful.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know that I am, altogether. I don't want you to lose confidence + in yourself. You should be confident now because you deserve to be. And + you write with confidence, or it reads as if you did. Don't you feel that + you do, yourself? Truly, don't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, perhaps, a little. I have been at it for some time now. I ought to + show some progress. Perhaps I don't make as many mistakes.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't see that you have made any.” + </p> + <p> + “I have made one . . . a damnable one.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, what do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothing. I didn't mean to say that. . . . Helen, do you know it is + awfully good of you to take all this interest in me—in my work, I + mean. Why do you do it?” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, why?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, because—Why shouldn't I? Haven't we always talked about your + writings together, almost since we first knew each other? Aren't we old + friends?” + </p> + <p> + There it was again—friends. It was like a splash of cold water in + the face, at once awakening and chilling. Albert walked on in silence for + a few moments and then began speaking of some trivial subject entirely + disconnected with himself or his work or her. When they reached the + parsonage door he said good night at once and strode off toward home. + </p> + <p> + Back in his room, however, he gave himself another mental picking to + pieces. He was realizing most distinctly that this sort of thing would not + do. It was easy to say that his attitude toward Helen Kendall was to be + that of a friend and nothing more, but it was growing harder and harder to + maintain that attitude. He had come within a breath that very night of + saying what was in his heart. + </p> + <p> + Well, if he had said it, if he did say it—what then? After all, was + there any real reason why he should not say it? It was true that he had + loved, or fancied that he loved, Madeline, that he had been betrothed to + her—but again, what of it? Broken engagements were common enough, + and there was nothing disgraceful in this one. Why not go to Helen and + tell her that his fancied love for Madeline had been the damnable mistake + he had confessed making. Why not tell her that since the moment when he + saw her standing in the doorway of the parsonage on the morning following + his return from New York he had known that she was the only woman in the + world for him, that it was her image he had seen in his dreams, in the + delirium of fever, that it was she, and not that other, who— + </p> + <p> + But there, all this was foolishness, and he knew it. He did not dare say + it. Not for one instant had she, by speech or look or action, given him + the slightest encouragement to think her feeling for him was anything but + friendship. And that friendship was far too precious to risk. He must not + risk it. He must keep still, he must hide his thoughts, she must never + guess. Some day, perhaps, after a year or two, after his position in his + profession was more assured, then he might speak. But even then there + would be that risk. And the idea of waiting was not pleasant. What had + Rachel told him concerning the hosts of doctors and officers and generals + who had been “shining up” to her. Some risk there, also. + </p> + <p> + Well, never mind. He would try to keep on as he had been going for the + present. He would try not to see her as frequently. If the strain became + unbearable he might go away somewhere—for a time. + </p> + <p> + He did not go away, but he made it a point not to see her as frequently. + However, they met often even as it was. And he was conscious always that + the ice beneath his feet was very, very thin. + </p> + <p> + One wonderful August evening he was in his room upstairs. He was not + writing. He had come up there early because he wished to think, to + consider. A proposition had been made to him that afternoon, a surprising + proposition—to him it had come as a complete surprise—and + before mentioning it even to his grandparents he wished to think it over + very carefully. + </p> + <p> + About ten o'clock his grandfather called to him from the foot of the + stairs and asked him to come down. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Kendall's on the phone,” said Captain Zelotes. “He's worried about + Helen. She's up to West Harniss sittin' up along of Lurany Howes, who's + been sick so long. She ain't come home, and the old gentleman's frettin' + about her walkin' down from there alone so late. I told him I cal'lated + you'd just as soon harness Jess and drive up and get her. You talk with + him yourself, Al.” + </p> + <p> + Albert did and, after assuring the nervous clergyman that he would see + that his daughter reached home safely, put on his hat and went out to the + barn. Jessamine was asleep in her stall. As he was about to lead her out + he suddenly remembered that one of the traces had broken that morning and + Captain Zelotes had left it at the harness-maker's to be mended. It was + there yet. The captain had forgotten the fact, and so had he. That settled + the idea of using Jessamine and the buggy. Never mind, it was a beautiful + night and the walk was but little over a mile. + </p> + <p> + When he reached the tiny story-and-a-half Howes cottage, sitting back from + the road upon the knoll amid the tangle of silverleaf sprouts, it was + Helen herself who opened the door. She was surprised to see him, and when + he explained his errand she was a little vexed. + </p> + <p> + “The idea of Father's worrying,” she said. “Such a wonderful night as + this, bright moonlight, and in South Harniss, too. Nothing ever happens to + people in South Harniss. I will be ready in a minute or two. Mrs. Howes' + niece is here now and will stay with her until to-morrow. Then her sister + is coming to stay a month. As soon as I get her medicine ready we can go.” + </p> + <p> + The door of the tiny bedroom adjoining the sitting room was open, and + Albert, sitting upon the lounge with the faded likeness of a pink dog + printed on the plush cover, could hear the querulous voice of the invalid + within. The widow Howes was deaf and, as Laban Keeler described it, + “always hollered loud enough to make herself hear” when she spoke. Helen + was moving quietly about the sick room and speaking in a low tone. Albert + could not hear what she said, but he could hear Lurania. + </p> + <p> + “You're a wonder, that's what you be,” declared the latter, “and I told + your pa so last time he was here. 'She's a saint,' says I, 'if ever there + was one on this earth. She's the nicest, smartest, best-lookin' girl in + THIS town and . . .' eh?” + </p> + <p> + There had been a murmur, presumably of remonstrance, from Helen. + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” + </p> + <p> + Another murmur. + </p> + <p> + “EH? WHO'D you say was there?” + </p> + <p> + A third murmur. + </p> + <p> + “WHO? . . . Oh, that Speranzy one? Lote Snow's grandson? The one they used + to call the Portygee? . . . Eh? Well, all right, I don't care if he did + hear me. If he don't know you're nice and smart and good-lookin', it's + high time he did.” + </p> + <p> + Helen, a trifle embarrassed but laughing, emerged a moment later, and when + she had put on her hat she and Albert left the Howes cottage and began + their walk home. It was one of those nights such as Cape Codders, + year-rounders or visitors, experience three or four times during a summer + and boast of the remainder of the year. A sky clear, deep, stretched + cloudless from horizon to horizon. Every light at sea or on shore, in + cottage window or at masthead or in lighthouse or on lightship a twinkling + diamond point. A moon, apparently as big as a barrel-head, hung up in the + east and below it a carpet of cold fire, of dancing, spangled silver + spread upon the ocean. The sound of the surf, distant, soothing; and for + the rest quiet and the fragrance of the summer woods and fields. + </p> + <p> + They walked rather fast at first and the conversation was brisk, but as + the night began to work its spell upon them their progress was slower and + there were intervals of silence of which neither was aware. They came to + the little hill where the narrow road from West Harniss comes to join the + broader highway leading to the Center. There were trees here, a pine + grove, on the landward side, and toward the sea nothing to break the + glorious view. + </p> + <p> + Helen caught her breath. “Oh, it is beautiful, beautiful!” she said. + </p> + <p> + Albert did not answer. “Why don't you talk?” she asked. “What are you + thinking about?” + </p> + <p> + He did not tell her what he was thinking about. Instead, having caught + himself just in time, he began telling her of what he had been thinking + when his grandfather called him to the telephone. + </p> + <p> + “Helen,” he said, “I want to ask your advice. I had an astonishing + proposal made to me this afternoon. I must make a decision, I must say yes + or no, and I'm not sure which to say.” + </p> + <p> + She looked up at him inquiringly. + </p> + <p> + “This afternoon,” he went on, “Doctor Parker called me into his office. + There was a group of men there, prominent men in politics from about the + country; Judge Baxter from Ostable was there, and Captain Warren from + South Denboro, and others like them. What do you suppose they want me to + do?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't imagine.” + </p> + <p> + “They offer me the party nomination for Congress from this section. That + is, of course, they want me to permit my name to stand and they seem sure + my nomination will be confirmed by the voters. The nomination, they say, + is equivalent to election. They seem certain of it. . . . And they were + insistent that I accept.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh—oh, Albert!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. They said a good many flattering things, things I should like to + believe. They said my war record and my writing and all that had made me a + prominent man in the county—Please don't think I take any stock in + that—” + </p> + <p> + “But <i>I</i> do. Go on.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that is all. They seemed confident that I would make a good + congressman. I am not so sure. Of course the thing . . . well, it does + tempt me, I confess. I could keep on with my writing, of course. I should + have to leave the home people for a part of the year, but I could be with + them or near them the rest. And . . . well, Helen, I—I think I + should like the job. Just now, when America needs Americans and the thing + that isn't American must be fought, I should like—if I were sure I + was capable of it—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but you are—you ARE.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you really think so? Would you like to have me try?” + </p> + <p> + He felt her arm tremble upon his. She drew a long breath. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I should be so PROUD!” she breathed. + </p> + <p> + There was a quiver in her voice, almost a sob. He bent toward her. She was + looking off toward the sea, the moonlight upon her face was like a glory, + her eyes were shining—and there were tears in them. His heart + throbbed wildly. + </p> + <p> + “Helen!” he cried. “Helen!” + </p> + <p> + She turned and looked up into his face. The next moment her own face was + hidden against his breast, his arms were about her, and . . . and the + risk, the risk he had feared to take, was taken. + </p> + <p> + They walked home after a time, but it was a slow, a very slow walk with + many interruptions. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Helen,” he kept saying, “I don't see how you can. How can you? In + spite of it all. I—I treated you so badly. I was SUCH an idiot. And + you really care? You really do?” + </p> + <p> + She laughed happily. “I really do . . . and . . . and I really have, all + the time.” + </p> + <p> + “Always?” + </p> + <p> + “Always.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—well, by George! And . . . Helen, do you know I think—I + think I did too—always—only I was such a young fool I didn't + realize it. WHAT a young fool I was!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't say that, dear, don't. . . . You are going to be a great man. You + are a famous one already; you are going to be great. Don't you know that?” + </p> + <p> + He stooped and kissed her. + </p> + <p> + “I think I shall have to be,” he said, “if I am going to be worthy of + you.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX + </h2> + <p> + Albert, sitting in the private office of Z. Snow and Co., dropped his + newspaper and looked up with a smile as his grandfather came in. Captain + Zelotes' florid face was redder even than usual, for it was a cloudy day + in October and blowing a gale. + </p> + <p> + “Whew!” puffed the captain, pulling off his overcoat and striding over to + warm his hands at the stove; “it's raw as January comin' over the tops of + those Trumet hills, and blowin' hard enough to part your back hair, + besides. One time there I didn't know but I'd have to reef, cal'late I + would if I'd known how to reef an automobile.” + </p> + <p> + “Is the car running as well as ever?” asked Albert. + </p> + <p> + “You bet you! Took all but two of those hills on full steam and never + slowed down a mite. Think of goin' to Trumet and back in a forenoon, and + havin' time enough to do the talkin' I went to do besides. Why, Jess would + have needed the whole day to make the down cruise, to say nothin' of the + return trip. Well, the old gal's havin' a good rest now, nothin' much to + do but eat and sleep. She deserves it; she's been a good horse for your + grandma and me.” + </p> + <p> + He rubbed his hands before the stove and chuckled. + </p> + <p> + “Olive's still scared to death for fear I'll get run into, or run over + somebody or somethin',” he observed. “I tell her I can navigate that car + now the way I used to navigate the old President Hayes, and I could do + that walkin' in my sleep. There's a little exaggeration there,” he added, + with a grin. “It takes about all my gumption when I'm wide awake to turn + the flivver around in a narrow road, but I manage to do it. . . . Well, + what are you doin' in here, Al?” he added. “Readin' the Item's prophesy + about how big your majority's goin' to be?” + </p> + <p> + Albert smiled. “I dropped in here to wait for you, Grandfather,” he + replied. “The novel-writing mill wasn't working particularly well, so I + gave it up and took a walk.” + </p> + <p> + “To the parsonage, I presume likely?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I did stop there for a minute or two.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't say! I'm surprised to hear it. How is Helen this mornin'? Did + she think you'd changed much since you saw her last night?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. She didn't say so if she did. She sent her love to you and + Grandmother—” + </p> + <p> + “What she had left over, you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “And said to tell you not to tire yourself out electioneering for me. That + was good advice, too. Grandfather, don't you know that you shouldn't motor + all the way to Trumet and back a morning like this? I'd rather—much + rather go without the votes than have you do such things.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes seated himself in his desk chair. + </p> + <p> + “But you ain't goin' to do without 'em,” he chuckled. “Obed Nye—he's + chairman of the Trumet committee—figgers you'll have a five-to-one + majority. He told me to practice callin' you 'the Honorable' because + that's what you'd be by Tuesday night of week after next. And next winter + Mother and I will be takin' a trip to Washin'ton so as to set in the + gallery and listen to you makin' speeches. We'll be some consider'ble + proud of you, too, boy,” he added, with a nod. + </p> + <p> + His grandson looked away, out of the window, over the bleak yard with its + piles of lumber. The voice of Issacher raised in expostulation with the + driver of Cahoon's “truck-wagon” could be faintly heard. + </p> + <p> + “I shall hate to leave you and Grandmother and the old place,” he said. + “If I am elected—” + </p> + <p> + “WHEN you're elected; there isn't any 'if.'” + </p> + <p> + “Well, all right. I shall hate to leave South Harniss. Every person I + really care for will be here. Helen—and you people at home.” + </p> + <p> + “It's too bad you and Helen can't be married and go to Washin'ton + together. Not to stay permanent,” he added quickly, “but just while + Congress is in session. Your grandma says then she'd feel as if you had + somebody to look after you. She always figgers, you know, that a man ain't + capable of lookin' out for himself. There'd ought to be at least one woman + to take care of him, see that he don't get his feet wet and goes to + meetin' reg'lar and so on; if there could be two, so much the better. + Mother would have made a pretty good Mormon, in some ways.” + </p> + <p> + Albert laughed. “Helen feels she must stay with her father for the + present,” he said. “Of course she is right. Perhaps by and by we can find + some good capable housekeeper to share the responsibility, but not this + winter. IF I am sent to Washington I shall come back often, you may be + sure.” + </p> + <p> + “When ARE you cal'latin' to be married, if that ain't a secret?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps next spring. Certainly next fall. It will depend upon Mr. + Kendall's health. But, Grandfather, I do feel rather like a deserter, + going off and leaving you here—” + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord! You don't cal'late I'M breakin' down, runnin' strong to talk + and weakenin' everywhere else, like old Minister Kendall, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, hardly. But . . . well, you see, I have felt a little ungrateful + ever since I came back from the war. In a way I am sorry that I feel I + must give myself entirely to my writing—and my political work. I + wish I might have gone on here in this office, accepted that partnership + you would have given me—” + </p> + <p> + “You can have it yet, you know. Might take it and just keep it to fall + back on in case that story-mill of yours busts altogether or all hands in + Ostable County go crazy and vote the wrong ticket. Just take it and wait. + Always well to have an anchor ready to let go, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, but that wouldn't be fair. I wish I MIGHT have taken it—for + your sake. I wish for your sake I were so constituted as to be good for + something at it. Of course I don't mean by that that I should be willing + to give up my writing—but—well, you see, Grandfather, I owe + you an awful lot in this world . . . and I know you had set your heart on + my being your partner in Z. Snow and Co. I know you're disappointed.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Lote did not answer instantly. He seemed to be thinking. Then he + opened a drawer in his desk and took out a box of cigars similar to those + he had offered the Honorable Fletcher Fosdick on the occasion of their + memorable interview. + </p> + <p> + “Smoke, Al?” he asked. Albert declined because of the nearness to dinner + time, but the captain, who never permitted meals or anything else to + interfere with his smoking, lighted one of the cigars and leaned back in + his chair, puffing steadily. + </p> + <p> + “We-ll, Al,” he said slowly, “I'll tell you about that. There was a time—I'll + own up that there was a time when the idea you wasn't goin' to turn out a + business man and the partner who would take over this concern after I got + my clearance papers was a notion I wouldn't let myself think of for a + minute. I wouldn't THINK of it, that's all. But I've changed my mind about + that, as I have about some other things.” He paused, tugged at his beard, + and then added, “And I guess likely I might as well own up to the whole + truth while I'm about it: I didn't change it because I wanted to, but + because I couldn't help it—'twas changed for me.” + </p> + <p> + He made this statement more as if he were thinking aloud than as if he + expected a reply. A moment later he continued. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” he said, “'twas changed for me. And,” with a shrug, “I'd + rather prided myself that when my mind was made up it stayed that way. But—but, + well, consarn it, I've about come to the conclusion that I was a + pig-headed old fool, Al, in some ways.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, Grandfather. You are the last man to—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't mean a candidate for the feeble-minded school. There ain't + been any Snows put there that I can remember, not our branch of 'em, + anyhow. But, consarn it, I—I—” he was plainly finding it hard + to express his thought, “I—well, I used to think I knew + consider'ble, had what I liked to think was good, hard sense. 'Twas hard + enough, I cal'late—pretty nigh petrified in spots.” + </p> + <p> + Albert laid a hand on his knee. + </p> + <p> + “Don't talk like that,” he replied impulsively. “I don't like to hear + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you? Then I won't. But, you see, Al, it bothers me. Look how I used + to talk about makin' up poetry and writin' yarns and all that. Used to + call it silliness and a waste of time, I did—worse names than that, + generally. And look what you're makin' at it in money, to say nothin' of + its shovin' you into Congress, and keepin' the newspapers busy printin' + stuff about you. . . . Well, well,” with a sigh of resignation, “I don't + understand it yet, but know it's so, and if I'd had my pig-headed way + 'twouldn't have been so. It's a dreadful belittlin' feelin' to a man at my + time of life, a man that's commanded ten-thousand-ton steamers and handled + crews and bossed a business like this. It makes him wonder how many other + fool things he's done. . . . Why, do you know, Al,” he added, in a sudden + burst of confidence, “I was consider'ble prejudiced against you when you + first came here.” + </p> + <p> + He made the statement as if he expected it to come as a stunning surprise. + Albert would not have laughed for the world, nor in one way did he feel + like it, but it was funny. + </p> + <p> + “Well, perhaps you were, a little,” he said gravely. “I don't wonder.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't mean just because you was your father's son. I mean on your + own account, in a way. Somehow, you see, I couldn't believe—eh? Oh, + come in, Labe! It's all right. Al and I are just talkin' about nothin' in + particular and all creation in general.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Keeler entered with a paper in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Sorry to bother you, Cap'n Lote,” he said, “but this bill of Colby and + Sons for that last lot of hardware ain't accordin' to agreement. The + prices on those butts ain't right, and neither's those half-inch screws. + Better send it back to em, eh?” + </p> + <p> + Captain Zelotes inspected the bill. + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” he grunted. “You're right, Labe. You generally are, I notice. + Yes, send it back and tell 'em—anything you want to.” + </p> + <p> + Laban smiled. “I want to, all right,” he said. “This is the third time + they've sent wrong bills inside of two months. Well, Al,” turning toward + him, “I cal'late this makes you kind of homesick, don't it, this talk + about bills and screws and bolts and such? Wa'n't teasin' for your old job + back again, was you, Al? Cal'late he could have it, couldn't he, Cap'n? + We'll need somebody to heave a bucket of water on Issy pretty soon; he's + gettin' kind of pert and uppish again. Pretty much so. Yes, yes, yes.” + </p> + <p> + He departed, chuckling. Captain Zelotes looked after him. He tugged at his + beard. + </p> + <p> + “Al,” he said, “do you know what I've about made up my mind to do?” + </p> + <p> + Albert shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “I've about made up my mind to take Labe Keeler into the firm of Z. Snow + and Co. YOU won't come in, and,” with a twinkle, “I need somebody to keep + my name from gettin' lonesome on the sign.” + </p> + <p> + Albert was delighted. + </p> + <p> + “Bully for you, Grandfather!” he exclaimed. “You couldn't do a better + thing for Labe or for the firm. And he deserves it, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye-es, I think he does. Labe's a mighty faithful, capable feller, and now + that he's sworn off on those vacations of his he can be trusted anywheres. + Yes, I've as good as made up my mind to take him in. Of course,” with the + twinkle in evidence once more, “Issachar'll be a little mite jealous, but + we'll have to bear up under that as best we can.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what Labe will say when you tell him?” + </p> + <p> + “He'll say yes. I'll tell Rachel first and she'll tell him to say it. And + then I'll tell 'em both I won't do it unless they agree to get married. + I've always said I didn't want to die till I'd been to that weddin'. I + want to hear Rachel tell the minister she'll 'obey' Labe. Ho, ho!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose they ever will be married?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, I kind of think so. I shouldn't wonder if they would be right + off now if it wasn't that Rachel wouldn't think of givin' up keepin' house + for your grandmother. She wouldn't do that and Labe wouldn't want her to. + I've got to fix that somehow. Perhaps they could live along with us. Land + knows there's room enough. They're all right, those two. Kind of funny to + look at, and they match up in size like a rubber boot and a slipper, but I + declare I don't know which has got the most common-sense or the biggest + heart. And 'twould be hard to tell which thinks the most of you, Al. . . . + Eh? Why, it's after half-past twelve o'clock! Olive'll be for combin' our + topknots with a belayin' pin if we keep her dinner waitin' like this.” + </p> + <p> + As they were putting on their coats the captain spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “I hadn't finished what I was sayin' to you when Labe came in,” he + observed. “'Twasn't much account; just a sort of confession, and they say + that's good for the soul. I was just goin' to say that when you first came + here I was prejudiced against you, not only because your father and I + didn't agree, but because he was what he was. Because he was—was—” + </p> + <p> + Albert finished the sentence for him. + </p> + <p> + “A Portygee,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, that's what I called him. That's what I used to call about + everybody that wasn't born right down here in Yankeeland. I used to be + prejudiced against you because you was what I called a half-breed. I'm + sorry, Al. I'm ashamed. See what you've turned out to be. I declare, I—” + </p> + <p> + “Shh! shh! Don't, Grandfather. When I came here I was a little snob, a + conceited, insufferable little—” + </p> + <p> + “Here, here! Hold on! No, you wa'n't, neither. Or if you was, you was only + a boy. I was a man, and I ought to—” + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm going to finish. Whatever I am now, or whatever I may be. I owe + to you, and to Grandmother, and Rachel and Laban—and Helen. You made + me over between you. I know that now.” + </p> + <p> + They walked home instead of riding in the new car. Captain Zelotes + declared he had hung on to that steering wheel all the forenoon and he was + afraid if he took it again his fingers would grow fast to the rim. As they + emerged from the office into the open air, he said: + </p> + <p> + “Al, regardin' that makin'-over business, I shouldn't be surprised if it + was a kind of—er—mutual thing between you and me. We both had + some prejudices to get rid of, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps so. I'm sure I did.” + </p> + <p> + “And I'm sartin sure I did. And the war and all that came with it put the + finishin' touches to the job. When I think of what the thousands and + thousands of men did over there in those hell-holes of trenches, men with + names that run all the way from Jones and Kelly to—er—” + </p> + <p> + “Speranza.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and Whiskervitch and the land knows what more. When I think of that + I'm ready to take off my hat to 'em and swear I'll never be so narrow + again as to look down on a feller because he don't happen to be born in + Ostable County. There's only one thing I ask of 'em, and that is that when + they come here to live—to stay—under our laws and takin' + advantage of the privileges we offer 'em—they'll stop bein' + Portygees or Russians or Polacks or whatever they used to be or their + folks were, and just be Americans—like you, Al.” + </p> + <p> + “That's what we must work for now, Grandfather. It's a big job, but it + must be done.” + </p> + <p> + They walked on in silence for a time. Then the captain said: + </p> + <p> + “It's a pretty fine country, after all, ain't it, Albert?” + </p> + <p> + Albert looked about him over the rolling hills, the roofs of the little + town, the sea, the dunes, the pine groves, the scene which had grown so + familiar to him and which had become in his eyes so precious. + </p> + <p> + “It is MY country,” he declared, with emphasis. + </p> + <p> + His grandfather caught his meaning. + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad you feel that way, son,” he said, “but 'twasn't just South + Harniss I meant then. I meant all of it, the whole United States. It's got + its faults, of course, lots of 'em. And if I was an Englishman or a + Frenchman I'd probably say it wasn't as good as England or France, + whichever it happened to be. That's all right; I ain't findin' any fault + with 'em for that—that's the way they'd ought to feel. But you and + I, Al, we're Americans. So the rest of the world must excuse us if we say + that, take it by and large, it's a mighty good country. We've planned for + it, and worked for it, and fought for it, and we know. Eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. We know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. And no howlin', wild-eyed bunch from somewhere else that haven't + done any of these things are goin' to come here and run it their way if we + can help it—we Americans; eh?” + </p> + <p> + Alberto Miguel Carlos Speranza, American, drew a long breath. + </p> + <p> + “No!” he said, with emphasis. + </p> + <p> + “You bet! Well, unless I'm mistaken, I smell salt fish and potatoes, + which, accordin' to Cape Cod notion, is a good American dinner. I don't + know how you feel, Al, but I'm hungry.” + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Portygee, by Joseph Crosby Lincoln + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE PORTYGEE *** + +***** This file should be named 3263-h.htm or 3263-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/2/6/3263/ + +Produced by Donald Lainson; David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +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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