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diff --git a/old/prtge10.txt b/old/prtge10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6d78054 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/prtge10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,15380 @@ +The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Portygee, by Joseph C. Lincoln +#7 in our series by Joseph C. Lincoln + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the laws for your country before redistributing these files!!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. + +Please do not remove this. + +This should be the first thing seen when anyone opens the book. +Do not change or edit it without written permission. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.12.12.00*END* + + + + + +This etext was produced by Donald Lainson, charlie@idirect.com + + + + + +THE PORTYGEE + +by JOSEPH C. LINCOLN + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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?" + +The young fellow replied that he did. "This is South Harniss, +isn't it?" he asked. + +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." + +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. + +"Does a--does a Mr. Snow live here?" he asked. + +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?" + +"A Mr. Z. Snow." + +"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?" + +"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. + +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." + +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. + +"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?" + +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: + +"Yes, Captain Snow lives in the village. If you are going to his +house get right in here. I live close by, myself." + +"Darned sure!" agreed Mr. Young, with enthusiasm. "Hop right in, +sonny." + +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." + +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!" + +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. + +"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'." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Hello!" hailed a voice. "Where are you?" + +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. + +"Here I am," he answered, trying hard not to appear too eager. +"Were you looking for me?" + +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. + +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?" + +"Speranza. Albert Speranza." + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"Warm enough, be you?" inquired his driver cheerfully. + +"Yes, thank you." + +"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?" + +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. + +"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?" + +"Why, nothing in particular, I think, Mr.--Mr.--" + +"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!" + +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-- + +"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." + +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? + +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. + +Mr. Keeler, who had apparently forgotten his passenger altogether, +broke into song, + + + "She's my darlin' hanky-panky + And she wears a number two, + Her father keeps a barber shop + Way out in Kalamazoo." + + +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. + + + "Did doo dum, dee dum, doo dum + Di doo dum, doo dum dee." + + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +"Is it--?" she faltered. + +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." + +His passenger alighted from the buggy. The woman bent forward to +look at him, her hands clasped. + +"It--it's Albert, isn't it?" she asked. + +The boy nodded. "Yes," he said. + +The hands unclasped and she held them out toward him. "Oh, +Albert," she cried, "I'm your grandmother. I--" + +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?" + +"Ye-es, yes, yes," replied Mr. Keeler. "Yes indeed, Cap'n. Take +her right along--right off. Yes indeedy. Git dap!" + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +He stood perfectly still while she inspected him from head to foot. + +"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." + +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. + +"Oh, Zelotes," she cried, "he's got Janie's mouth, don't you think +so? And he DOES look like her, doesn't he?" + +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." + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"My name," he said deliberately, "is Alberto Miguel Carlos +Speranza." + +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?" + +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." + +He spoke as if all creation must have known it. Mrs. Snow looked +helplessly at her husband. Captain Zelotes rubbed his chin. + +"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_ +am." + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"No, sir, I guess not." + +"Sartin sure you don't. Want to wash? There's a basin and soap +and towel right out there in the kitchen." + +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?" + +It was Captain Snow who answered. + +"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." + +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. + +"Albert," she said, "this is Mrs. Ellis, who helps me keep house. +Rachel, this is my grandson, Albert--er--Speranza." + +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?" + +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. + +"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?" + +Mrs. Snow interrupted. + +"Zelotes," she said reprovingly, "ain't you forgettin' somethin'?" + +"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?" + +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. + +"Where are your things, Albert?" asked Mrs. Snow. "Your trunk or +travelin' bag, or whatever you had, I mean?" + +"My trunks are coming by express," began the boy. Captain Zelotes +interrupted him. + +"Your trunks?" he repeated. "Got more'n one, have you?" + +"Why--why, yes, there are three. Mr. Holden--he is the headmaster, +you know--" + +"Eh? Headmaster? Oh, you mean the boss teacher up there at the +school? Yes, yes. Um-hm." + +"Yes, sir. Mr. Holden says the trunks should get here in a few +days." + +Mrs. Ellis, the housekeeper, made the next remark. "Did I +understand you to say you had THREE trunks?" she demanded. + +"Why, yes." + +"Three trunks for one boy! For mercy sakes, what have you got in +'em?" + +"Why--why, my things. My clothes and--and--everything." + +"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." + +There was no doubt about that. Captain Zelotes laughed shortly. + +"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?" + +"All right. It was pretty dark." + +"I'll bet you! Laban wasn't very talkative, was he?" + +"Why, yes, sir, he talked a good deal but he sang most of the +time." + +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. + +"Whew!" he observed. "Hum! Sho! Thunderation!" + +"Oh, dear!" exclaimed his wife. + +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." + +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. + +"Why--why, I don't know. I didn't notice particularly. You see, +it was pretty cold and--" + +Mrs. Ellis interrupted. "Did he sing anything about somebody's +bein' his darlin' hanky-panky and wearin' a number two?" she +demanded sharply. + +"Why--why, yes, he did." + +Apparently that settled it. Mrs. Snow said, "Oh, dear!" again and +the housekeeper also rose from the table. + +"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." + +The captain already had his cap on his head. + +"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?" + +"No." + +"That's some comfort. Now, don't you worry, Mother. I'll be back +in a few minutes." + +Mrs. Snow clasped her hands. "Oh, I HOPE he hasn't set the barn +afire," she wailed. + +"No danger of that, I guess. No, Rachel, you 'tend to your supper. +I don't need you." + +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. + +"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--" + +Evidently Mrs. Ellis knew how to say it, for she broke into the +conversation and said it then and there. + +"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." + +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!" + +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. + +"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. + +"I wouldn't say any more about it before her," she whispered. +"She's awful sensitive." + +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? + +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. + +"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." + +He promised, repressing a condescending smile. + +Both the housekeeper and Captain Snow returned in a few minutes. +The latter reported that the mare was safe and sound in her stall. + +"The harness was mostly on the floor, but Jess was all right, thank +the Lord," observed the captain. + +"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." + +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. + +Several times Mrs. Snow would have questioned Albert concerning the +life at school, but each time her husband interfered. + +"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?" + +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. + +"Oh, I'm all right," he said, with dignity. + +Somehow the dignity seemed to have little effect upon Captain +Zelotes. + +"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." + +Mrs. Snow ventured a protest. + +"Oh, Zelotes," she cried, "ain't we goin' to talk with him at ALL? +Why, there is so much to say!" + +"'Twill say just as well to-morrow mornin', Mother; better, because +we'll have all day to say it in. Get the lamp." + +Albert looked at his watch. + +"Why, it's only half-past nine," he said. + +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." + +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. + +"Good-night, son," he said quietly. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +"Do--do you like it?" she asked. + +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. + +"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." + +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-- + +His grandmother threw her arms about his neck and kissed him. Her +cheek was wet. + +"Good-night, Albert," she said chokingly, and hurried out of the +room. + +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. + +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. + +"What are you thinkin' about, Father?" she asked. + +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." + +Olive's grip tightened on his arm. + +"Oh, DON'T talk so, Zelotes," she begged. "He's our Janie's boy." + +The captain opened the stove door, regarded the red-hot coals for +an instant, and then slammed the door shut again. + +"I know, Mother," he said grimly. "It's for the sake of Janie's +half that I'm takin' in the other." + +"But--but, Zelotes, don't you think he seems like a nice boy?" + +The twinkle reappeared in Captain Lote's eyes. + +"I think HE thinks he's a nice boy, Mother," he said. "There, +there, let's go to bed." + + + +CHAPTER II + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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-- + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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'." + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +"Oh, Zelotes," she cried, "he's dead!" + +The captain nodded. + +"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." + +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--" + +"I'LL bet you!" observed Captain Zelotes, sententiously, +interrupting his wife's reading by pointing to this sentence +with a big forefinger. + +"'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. + +"'Very truly yours, + +"'MARCUS W. WEISSMANN.'" + + +"Weissman! Another Portygee!" snorted Captain Lote. + +"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." + +Her husband nodded. + +"Hers and that blasted furriner's," he muttered. "I suppose so." + +"Oh, DON'T speak that way, Zelotes! Don't! He's dead." + +Captain Lote's lips tightened. "If he'd died twenty years ago +'twould have been better for all hands," he growled. + +"Janie's boy!" repeated Olive slowly. "Why--why, he must be a big +boy now. Almost grown up." + +Her husband did not speak. He was pacing the floor, his hands in +his pockets. + +"And this man wants to see you about him," said Olive. Then, after +a moment, she added timidly: "Are you goin', Zelotes?" + +"Goin'? Where?" + +"To New York? To see this lawyer man?" + +"I? Not by a jugful! What in blazes should I go to see him for?" + +"Well--well, he wants you to, you know. He wants to talk with you +about the--the boy." + +"Humph!" + +"It's her boy, Zelotes." + +"Humph! Young Portygee!" + +"Don't, Zelotes! Please! . . . I know you can't forgive that-- +that man. We can't either of us forgive him; but--" + +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--" + +She interrupted, putting a hand on his sleeve. + +"Not the only thing, dear," she said. "You had me, you know." + +His expression changed. He looked down at her and smiled. + +"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--" + +"ZELOTES! How you talk! He DIDN'T kill her. How can you!" + +"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?" + +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. + +After a little Olive spoke again. + +"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?" + +"Bah!" + +Another interval. Then: "Zelotes?" + +"Yes," impatiently. "What is it?" + +"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?" + +Captain Lote stamped his foot. + +"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." + +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?" + +"Why, yes, I guess likely 'tis. Why?" + +Instead of answering he turned to the housekeeper, Mrs. Ellis. + +"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." + +Both women stared at him. Mrs. Ellis spoke first. + +"Why, Cap'n Lote," she cried; "be you goin' away?" + +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." + +The housekeeper made a hasty exit by way of the back stairs. Mrs. +Snow still gazed wonderingly at her husband. + +"Zelotes," she faltered, "are you--are you--" + +"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'." + +"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?" + +The captain's heavy brows drew together. + +"You went to the dentist's last Friday," he said. "Why didn't you +wait till next week?" + +"Why--why, what a question! My tooth ached and I wanted to have it +fixed quick as possible." + +"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!" + +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." + +"The--the boy?" eagerly. + +"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." + +"But the boy, Zelotes. Janie's boy?" + +"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." + +"And the boy--" + +"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." + +"But why did he want word sent to us, Zelotes? He never wrote a +line to us in his life." + +"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." + +"But did he want word sent to us about the--" + +"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!" + +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. + +"Oh!" she said, softly. "Oh! . . . And--and what did you say, +Zelotes?" + +"What did I say? What do you suppose I said? I said no, and I +said it good and loud, too." + +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. + +"There, there, Mother," he said, gently. "Don't cry. He's +comin'." + +"Comin'?" She turned pale. "Comin'?" she repeated. "Who?" + +"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?" + +His wife did not reply to this outburst. She was trembling with +excitement. + +"Is--is his name Albert?" she faltered. + +"Um-hm. Seems so." + +"Why, that's your middle name! Do you--do you s'pose Janie could +have named him for--for you?" + +"I don't know." + +"Of course," with some hesitation, "it may be she didn't. If she'd +named him Zelotes--" + +"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?" + +Olive put her arm about her big husband. + +"I hope--yes, I'm sure you did right, Zelotes, and that all's goin' +to turn out to be for the best." + +"Are you? Well, _I_ ain't sure, not by a thousand fathom." + +"He's Janie's boy." + +"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." + + + +CHAPTER III + + +A brisk rap on the door; then a man's voice. + +"Hello, there! Wake up." + +Albert rolled over, opened one eye, then the other and raised +himself on his elbow. + +"Eh? Wh-what?" he stammered. + +"Seven o'clock! Time to turn out." + +The voice was his grandfather's. "Oh--oh, all right!" he answered. + +"Understand me, do you?" + +"Yes--yes, sir. I'll be right down." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Good morning," he said. + +Mrs. Snow, who had not heard him enter, turned and saw him. When +he crossed the room, she kissed him on the cheek. + +"Good morning, Albert," she said. "I hope you slept well." + +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. + +She went on setting the table, talking as she did so. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Has Cap'n Lote come in yet?" inquired the housekeeper, faintly. + +"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." + +The head disappeared. A sigh of complete wretchedness drifted in +as the door closed. Albert looked at his grandmother in alarm. + +"Is she sick?" he faltered. + +"Who? Rachel? No, she ain't exactly sick . . . Dear me! Where +did I put that clean napkin?" + +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-- + +"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!" + +Mrs. Snow, having found the clean napkin, laid it beside her +husband's plate. + +"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." + +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. + +His grandmother enlightened him a trifle. + +"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." + +Albert wanted to laugh very much. "But, Mrs. Snow--" he began. + +"Mercy sakes alive! You ain't goin' to call me 'Mrs. Snow,' I +hope." + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Sleep well, son?" inquired Captain Zelotes. + +"Yes . . . Yes, sir." + +"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?" + +"No, sir." + +"Eh? It wasn't?" + +"No, sir. The rising bell rang at seven up at school. We were +supposed to be down at breakfast at a quarter past." + +"Humph! You were, eh? Supposed to be? Does that mean that you +were there?" + +"Yes, sir." + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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?" + +Captain Lote put the egg back in the bowl. + +"DAMN!" he observed, with intense enthusiasm. + +His wife shook her head. + +"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. + +"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. + +Albert, not knowing how to reply, looked more embarrassed than +ever. Olive seemed on the point of weeping. + +"Oh, Zelotes, how CAN you!" she wailed. "And to-day, of all days! +His very first mornin'!" + +Captain Lote relented. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"That don't make any difference. The pitcher that goes to the +well--er--er--" + +She had evidently forgotten the rest of the proverb. Her husband +helped her out. + +"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." + +"Zelotes, won't you PLEASE go and ask her pardon?" + +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'--" + +He disappeared into the kitchen, still muttering. Mrs. Snow smiled +feebly at her grandson. + +"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." + +Five minutes later Cap'n 'Lote returned. He shrugged his shoulders +and sat down at his place. + +"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." + +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: + +"Well, Al, feel like walkin', do you?" + +"Why, why, yes, sir, I guess so." + +"Humph! You don't seem very wild at the prospect. Walkin' ain't +much in your line, maybe. More used to autoin', perhaps?" + +Mrs. Snow put in a word. "Don't talk so, Zelotes," she said. +"He'll think you're makin' fun of him." + +"Who? Me? Not a bit of it. Well, Al, do you want to walk down to +the lumber yard with me?" + +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. + +"Do you want me to?" he asked, shortly. + +"Why, yes, I cal'late I do." + +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. + +"We'll be back to dinner, Mother," he said. "Heave ahead, Al, if +you're ready." + +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: + +"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." + +Albert, somewhat startled by the abruptness of the observation, +looked up in surprise. He found the gray eyes looking down at him. + +"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." + +The blood rushed to the boy's face. He felt guilty and the feeling +made him angrier than ever. + +"I don't see why," he burst out, indignantly, "you should say I was +laughing at--at Mrs. Snow--" + +"At your grandmother." + +"Well--yes--at my grandmother. I don't see why you should say +that. I wasn't." + +"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." + +To Albert's mind flashed the addition: "Better than you, that +means," but he kept it to himself. + +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. + +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. + +"Albert," he said, "this is Mr. Issachar Price, who works around +the place here. Issy, let me make you acquainted with my grandson, +Albert." + +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." + +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. + +Captain Zelotes looked about the shop and glanced into the office. + +"Humph!" he grunted. "No sign or symptoms of Laban this mornin', I +presume likely?" + +Issachar went on with his sweeping. + +"Nary one," was his laconic reply. + +"Humph! Heard anything about him?" + +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." + +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." + +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. + +"I'm all ready to tell you about it now," volunteered the unsmiling +Issy. "Sweepin's all finished up." + +Albert was amused. "I guess I can get along," he said. + +"Don't worry." + +"_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." + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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: + + + "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--'" + + +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. + +"Excuse me," she said: "Is Mr. Keeler here?" + +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. + +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: + +"I beg your pardon?" + +"Is Mr. Keeler here?" repeated the girl. + +"No, he is out." + +"Will he be back soon, do you think?" + +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. + +"Is Issy--I mean Mr. Price, busy?" + +"He's out in the yard there somewhere, I believe. Would you like +to have me call him?" + +"Why, yes--if you please--sir." + +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!" + +There was no answer, although he could hear Issachar's voice and +another above the rattle of lath bundles. + +"Price!" he shouted, again. "Pri-i-ce!" + +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. + +"Huh?" yelled Issy. "What's the matter? Be you hollerin' to me?" + +"Yes. There's some one here wants to see you." + +"Hey?" + +"I say there's some one here who wants to see you." + +"What for?" + +"I don't know." + +"Well, find out, can't ye? I'm busy." + +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. + +"What do you want to see him for?" he asked. + +"I wanted to buy something." + +"She wants to buy something," repeated Albert, shouting. + +"Hey?" + +"She wants to--BUY--something." It was humiliating to have to +scream in this way. + +"Buy? Buy what?" + +"What do you want to buy?" + +"A hook, that's all. A hook for our kitchen door. Would you mind +asking him to hurry? I haven't much time." + +"She wants a hook." + +"Eh? We don't keep books. What kind of a book?" + +"Not book--HOOK. H-O-O-K! Oh, great Scott! Hook! HOOK! Hook for +a door! And she wants you to hurry." + +"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." + +The head disappeared behind the "two by fours." Its face was red, +but no redder than Mr. Speranza's at that moment. + +"Fool rube!" he snorted, disgustedly. + +"Excuse me, but you've dropped your cigarette," observed the young +lady. + +Albert savagely slammed down the window and turned away. The +dropped cigarette stump lay where it had fallen, smudging and +smelling. + +His caller looked at it and then at him. + +"I'd pick it up, if I were you," she said. "Cap'n Snow HATES +cigarettes." + +Albert, his dignity and indignation forgotten, returned her look +with one of anxiety. + +"Does he, honest?" he asked. + +"Yes. He hates them worse than anything." + +The cigarette stump was hastily picked up by its owner. + +"Where'll I put it?" he asked, hurriedly. + +"Why don't you-- Oh, don't put it in your pocket! It will set you +on fire. Put it in the stove, quick." + +Into the stove it went, all but its fragrance, which lingered. + +"Do you think you COULD find me that hook?" asked the girl. + +"I'll try. _I_ don't know anything about the confounded things." + +"Oh!" innocently. "Don't you?" + +"No, of course I don't. Why should I?" + +"Aren't you working here?" + +"Here? Work HERE? ME? Well, I--should--say--NOT!" + +"Oh, excuse me. I thought you must be a new bookkeeper, or--or a +new partner, or something." + +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. + +"Maybe I can find the hook for you," he said. "I can try, anyway." + +"Oh, thank you ever so much," gratefully. "It's VERY kind of you +to take so much trouble." + +"Oh," airily, "that's all right. Come on; perhaps we can find it +together." + +They were still looking when Mr. Price came panting in. + +"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?" + +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." + +"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!" + +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. + +"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?" + +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." + +"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?" + +"Speranza," replied the owner of the name. + +"That's it, Sperandy. This is Albert Sperandy, Cap'n Lote's +grandson." + +Albert and Miss Kendall shook hands. + +"Thanks," said the former, gratefully and significantly. + +The young lady smiled. + +"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." + +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." + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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. + +"Well, son," he said, after a moment, "what do you think of it?" + +"Think of it? I don't know exactly what--" + +"Of the place here. Shop, yards, the whole business. Z. Snow and +Company--what do you think of it?" + +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." + +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?" + +"About myself? About me? I don't understand?" + +"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?" + +Albert looked at him uncomprehendingly. + +"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." + +"Um-hm, I see." + +"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." + +"Yes, so I did. You know why I took you from school?" + +"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." + +"'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." + +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. + +"It is one of the best schools in this country," he declared. "My +father said so." + +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." + +"He knew as much as--most people," with a slight but significant +hesitation before the "most." + +"Um-hm. Naturally, havin' been schooled there himself, I suppose." + +"He wasn't schooled there. My father was a Spaniard." + +"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?" + +"No. I knew he had plenty of money always. He was one of the most +famous singers in this country." + +"Maybe so." + +"It WAS so," hotly. "And he was paid enough in one week to buy +this whole town--or almost. Why, my father--" + +"Sshh! Sssh!" + +"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--" + +Between indignation and emotion he choked and could not finish the +sentence. The tears came to his eyes. + +"I'm not going to have you or anyone else talk about him that way," +he concluded, fiercely. + +His grandfather regarded him with a steady, but not at all +unkindly, gaze. + +"I ain't runnin' down your father, Albert," he said. + +"Yes, you are. You hated him. Anybody could see you hated him." + +The captain slowly rapped the desk with the pencil. He did not +answer at once. + +"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'?" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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_ 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." + +Albert gasped. "Do you mean--do you mean I've got to be a--a +sailor?" he stammered. + +Captain Zelotes put back his head and laughed, laughed aloud. + +"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'?" + +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. + +"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." + +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-- + +Captain Zelotes had been watching him, his heavy brows drawing +closer together as the boy delayed answering. + +"Well?" he asked, for another minute. "Did you hear what I said?" + +"Yes." + +"Understood, did you?" + +"Yes--sir." + +"Well?" + +Albert was clutching at straws. "I--I don't know how to keep +books," he faltered. + +"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?" + +"I--I guess so." + +"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." + +Albert devoutly wished they had jumped--and landed--before his +arrival. His grandfather's tone grew more brusque. + +"Don't you want to work?" he demanded. + +"Why, yes, I--I suppose I do. I--I hadn't thought much about it." + +"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?" + +"I was going to college." + +"Humph! . . . Yes, I presume likely. Well, after you got out of +college, what was you plannin' to do then?" + +"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." + +Captain Zelotes' only comment was a sniff or snort, or combination +of both. Albert went on. + +"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--" + +"Good God!" His grandfather's fist came down upon the desk before +him. Slowly he shook his head. + +"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." + +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. + +"You'll remember," he observed, "or perhaps you don't know, that +when your father asked us to look out for you--" + +Albert interrupted. "Did--did father ask you to take care of me?" +he cried, in surprise. + +"Um-hm. He asked somebody who was with him to ask us to do just +that." + +The boy drew a long breath. "Well, then," he said, hopelessly, +"I'll--I'll try." + +"Thanks. Now you run around town and see the sights. Dinner's at +half past twelve prompt, so be on hand for that." + +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. + +"A play actor or a poetry writer!" he exclaimed. "Tut, tut, tut! +No use talkin', blood will tell!" + +Issachar, who was putting coal on the office fire, turned his head. + +"Eh?" he queried. + +"Nothin'," said Captain Lote. + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Yes," said Olive, "and Laban'll be back, too. I'm sure you must +have missed him awfully, Zelotes." + +"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. + +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?" + +"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." + +"Don't, Zelotes," said Mrs. Snow. "I do wish you wouldn't call it +fun." + +"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." + +Albert repeated his question. "But how does she know he will be +back to-day?" he asked. + +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_ +think it's real sort of mysterious, but Zelotes laughs at me." + +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_ +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_ 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." + +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. + +"Mornin', Cap'n Lote," said Laban, quietly. + +"Mornin', Labe," replied the captain, just as calmly. + +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. + +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." + +Laban turned on the stool, regarded Albert over his spectacles, and +extended a hand. + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +He went out soon afterward and then Laban, turning to Albert, asked +a few questions. + +"How do you think you're goin' to like South Harniss, Ansel?" he +asked. + +Albert was tempted to reply that he, Keeler, had asked him that +very question before, but he thought it best not to do so. + +"I don't know yet," he answered, carelessly. "Well enough, I +guess." + +"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?" + +"My name is Albert." + +"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." + +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. + +"Come on yesterday's train, did you?" he asked. + +Albert looked at him. Was the fellow joking? He did not look as +if he was. + +"Why no," he replied. "I came last Monday night. Don't you +remember?" + +"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?" + +Albert stared at him open-mouthed. + +"Why, no!" he retorted. "You drove me down yourself." + +For the first time a slight shade of embarrassment crossed the +bookkeeper's features. He drew a long breath. + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +Laban slowly stroked his nose with his thumb and finger, a habit he +had. + +"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." + +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. + +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? + +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. + +"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?" + +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?" + +"Do to it? What do you mean by do to it?" + +"What do you do to it to make it look the way it does? Don't tell +me it grew that way naturally." + +"Grew! Course it grew! What kind of talk's that?" + +"Issy, with a face like yours how do you keep the birds away?" + +"Eh? Keep the birds away! Now look here, just--" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Not any kind, Is. I can't talk like you. Will you teach me?" + +"Shut up! Now, by Crimus, you--you furriner--you Speranzy--" + +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. + +Mr. Price, still foaming, strode toward the window; Albert +laughingly followed him. + +"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?" + +"Issy's been talking about his face," explained Albert, soberly. + +"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--" + +"Well, about what?" + +"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." + +"Um. Yes, yes. I see. Well, Al, what have you got to say?" + +"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." + +"Pitchin' into you? How?" + +"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." + +"Eh? I never neither! All I said was--" + +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?" + +They said nothing relevant to the subject in hand. Issachar made +the only remark. "Crimus-TEE!" he ejaculated. "Come on, Al, come +on." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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." + +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. + +"I presume likely lots and lots of folks have read that book, ain't +they?" she asked, after another interval. + +"What? Oh, yes, almost everybody. It's a classic, I suppose." + +"What's that?" + +"What's what?" + +"What you said the book was. A class-somethin' or other?" + +"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." + +"I see. Humph! Well, I never read it. . . . I presume likely you +think that's pretty funny, don't you?" + +Albert tore himself away from the fight at the gate. + +"Why, I don't know," he replied. + +"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?" + +"No. . . . Why, hold on, though; I think I have. By Charles +Reade, wasn't it?" + +"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?" + +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. + +"Let me see," he said musingly. "About a shipwreck--something +about a shipwreck in it, wasn't there?" + +"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?" + +Albert laughed. The story was beginning to come back to him. + +"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." + +"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." + +She spoke as if she had known the detested Wardlaw intimately from +childhood. Young Speranza was hugely amused. Ivanhoe was quite +forgotten. + +"Foul Play was great stuff," he observed. "When did you read it?" + +"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." + +Albert nodded. + +"Yes," he said. "I've read that." + +"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. + +"I don't suppose," she went on, "that there ever was a much better +book than that wrote, was there?" + +Albert temporized. "It is a good one," he admitted. + +"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. + +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. + +"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?" + +Albert, repressing a chuckle, said, "Sure!" again. She nodded. + +"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." + +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. + +"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--" + +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--" + +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." + +"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. + +"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." + +"Look here, Mrs. Ellis. Tell me about this business of Dad's +marrying my mother. I never knew much of anything about it." + +"You didn't? Did your pa never tell you?" + +"No." + +"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." + +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. + +"So," said Rachel, in conclusion, "that's how it happened. That's +why Cap'n Lote couldn't ever forgive your father." + +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." + +"He didn't think so. And he wouldn't ever mention your pa's name." + +"Oh, I don't doubt that. Anybody can see how he hated Father. And +he hates me the same way," he added moodily. + +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." + +Albert did not answer. The housekeeper rose from her chair. + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +"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--" + +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." + +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. + +"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." + +It was considerable for him to say. Except when on a vacation, +Laban was not loquacious. + +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. + +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." + + + +CHAPTER V + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +They crashed together, gasped and recoiled. + +"Oh, I'm sorry!" exclaimed Albert. + +"Can't you see where you're goin', you darned Portygee half-breed?" +demanded Sam. + +Albert, who had stepped past him, turned and came back. + +"What did you say?" he asked. + +"I said you was a darned half-breed, and you are. You're a no-good +Portygee, like your father." + +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. + +Albert stood before him, his face--where it was not a pleasing +combination of black and blue--still white. + +"If you--if you speak of my father or me again like that," he +panted, "I'll--I'll kill you!" + +Then he strode off, a bit wobbly on his legs, but with dignity. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +She smiled. "He does hate them, doesn't he?" she said. + +"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." + +Helen glanced at him. "You must be awfully glad you're not a +traveling salesman," she said demurely. + +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. + +"Why?" he asked, after a moment. + +"Why--what?" + +"Why ought I to be glad I'm not a traveling salesman?" + +"Oh, I don't know. It just seemed to me that you ought, that's +all." + +"But why?" + +"Well, if you were you wouldn't make a great hit with your +grandfather, would you?" + +"Eh? . . . Oh, you mean because I smoke. Say, YOU'RE not silly +enough to be down on cigarettes the way grandfather is, are you?" + +"No-o, I'm not down on them, especially. I'm not very well +acquainted with them." + +"Neither is he. He never smoked one in his life. It's just +country prejudice, that's all." + +"Well, I live in the country, too, you know." + +"Yes, but you're different." + +"How do you know I am?" + +"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. + +"Say," he added, "would YOU rather I didn't smoke?" + +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. + +"What is there to laugh at?" he demanded. "Are you laughing at +me?" + +The answer was as truthful as truth itself. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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." + +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. + +"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." + +Albert regarded her with amused superiority. + +"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." + +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. + +"I think it would be the last one you would get," she said. + +"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?" + +"I'm not laughing." + +"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?" + +"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--" + +"Well, because what?" + +"Oh, because you are so AWFULLY sure you know--well, know more than +most people." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I declare you was perfectly splendid, Albert!" exclaimed Olive. +"I was so proud of you I didn't know what to do." + +Rachel looked upon him as one might look upon a god from Olympus. + +"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!" + +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." + +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." + +"What did Labe say to that?" asked Albert, laughing. + +"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." + +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." + +His grandfather was the only one who refused to enthuse. + +"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. + +Albert's face flushed. There were times when he hated his +grandfather. Mr. Keeler, a moment later, put a hand on his +shoulder. + +"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." + +It may have been a truthful explanation, but as an apology it was a +limited success. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"You just MUST come, Al," she said. "It won't be any fun at all if +you don't come." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I wish this delivered to-morrow without fail," said Mr. Calvin. +Albert promised. + +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. + +"The ship's in your hands, Al," he had said to his grandson. "Let +me see how you handle her." + +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. + +"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?" + +"Why, yes sir, I promised, but we couldn't do it. We--" + +"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?" + +"If it is a possible thing, Mr. Calvin, it--" + +"Pardon me. Will it be delivered?" + +The Speranza temper was rising. "Yes," said the owner of that +temper, succinctly. + +"Does yes mean yes, in this case; or does it mean what it meant +before?" + +"I have told you why--" + +"Never mind. Young man, if that lumber is not delivered to-day I +shall cancel the order. Do you understand?" + +Albert swallowed hard. "I tell you, Mr. Calvin, that it shall be +delivered," he said. "And it will be." + +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. + +"Let old Calvin wait till to-morrow," said Issy. "You can use the +big team then. And Cap'n Lote'll be home, besides." + +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. + +"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--" + +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. + +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. + +"There!" exclaimed Albert, with satisfaction. "He can't say it +wasn't delivered this time according to promise." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"'Here's to the good old whiskey, drink 'er daown,'" sang Mr. +Young. + + + "'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--' + + +Git up there, blank blank ye! What the blankety blank you stoppin' +here for? Git up!" + +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. + +"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: + + + "'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!'" + + +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. + +The dissipated vehicle stopped beneath the parlor windows of the +Calvin cottage. Mr. Young called to his assistant. + +"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." + +Mr. Calvin rushed to the window. "What does this mean?" he +demanded, in frothing indignation. + +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!" + +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. + +"This is DREADFUL, Seabury!" she cried. "Send those creatures and-- +and that horrible wagon away at once." + +The Reverend Calvin tried to obey orders. He commanded Mr. Young +to go away from there that very moment. Vessie was surprised. + +"Ain't this your lumber?" he demanded. + +"It doesn't make any difference whether it is or not, I--" + +"Didn't you tell Z. Snow and Co. that this lumber'd got to be +delivered to-day or you'd cancel the order?" + +"Never mind. That is my business, sir. You--" + +"Hold on! Ho-o-ld on! _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. + +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. + +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. + +"Tell him what you've just told me, Mr. Calvin," he said. + +The reverend gentleman told it, with added details. + +"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." + +Captain Zelotes looked at him. + +"Why?" he asked. + +"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--" + +"Wait a minute. What did you say for him to take offense at?" + +"I demanded that order should be delivered as promised. I am +accustomed to do business with business men and--" + +"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?" + +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. + +"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--" + +His grandfather held up a warning hand. + +"Sshh! Ssh!" he said. "Go on with your yarn, boy." + +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. + +"Humph!" he grunted. "Did you know Ves and Simp had been drinkin' +when you hired 'em?" + +"Of course I didn't. After they had gone Issy said he suspected +that they had been drinking a little, but _I_ didn't know it. All +I wanted was to prove to HIM," with a motion toward Mr. Calvin, +"that I kept my word." + +Captain Zelotes pulled at his beard. "All right, Al," he said, +after a moment; "you can go." + +Albert went out of the private office. After he had gone the +captain turned to his irate customer. + +"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." + +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. + +"Do I understand," he demanded, "that you are excusing that young +man for putting that outrage upon me?" + +"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'." + +"Is that all you have to say, Captain Snow? Is that--that impudent +young clerk of yours to go unpunished?" + +"Why, yes, I guess likely he is." + +"Then I shall NEVER buy another dollar's worth of your house again, +sir." + +Captain Zelotes bowed. "I'm sorry to lose your trade, Mr. Calvin," +he said. "Good mornin'." + +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. + +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. + +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, + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Albert gasped. + +"Helen!" he called breathlessly. + +She turned her head and looked up at him. Her face was white, but +she did not scream. + +"Helen!" cried Albert, again. "Helen, do you hear me?" + +"Yes." + +"Are you badly hurt?" + +"No. No, I don't think so." + +"Can you hold on just as you are for a few minutes?" + +"Yes, I--I think so." + +"You've got to, you know. Here! You're not going to faint, are +you?" + +"No, I--I don't think I am." + +"You can't! You mustn't! Here! Don't you do it! Stop!" + +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. + +"Now you stay right where you are," he ordered again. "And hang on +as tight as you can. I'm coming down." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Don't go and faint now, or any foolishness like that," he ordered +sharply. + +"No, no, I won't. I'll try not to. But how are we ever going to +climb up--up there?" + +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. + +Helen glanced up at it and shuddered. + +"Oh, how CAN we?" she gasped. + +"We can't. And we won't try." + +"Shall we call for help?" + +"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." + +"Get DOWN?" + +"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." + +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! + +"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." + +"I--I don't believe I can." + +"Of course you can. You've GOT to. Come on. Don't look down. +Look at the sand right in front of you." + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"There, by George!" he exclaimed. "We did it, didn't we? Say, +that was fun!" + +She removed her hands and looked at him. + +"WHAT did you say it was?" she faltered. + +"I said it was fun. It was great! Like something out of a book, +eh?" + +She began to laugh hysterically. He turned to her in indignant +surprise. "What are you laughing at?" he demanded. + +"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." + +When the few minutes were over she rose to her feet. + +"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." + +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: + +"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." + +"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. + +"What is it?" he asked. "Why do you look at me that way?" + +Her answer was, as usual, direct and frank. + +"I was thinking about you," she said. "I was thinking that I must +have been mistaken, partly mistaken, at least." + +"Mistaken? About me, do you mean?" + +"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." + +"What on earth do you mean by that?" + +"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." + +"Go on; say it." + +She looked at him again, evidently deliberating whether or not to +speak her thought. Then she said: + +"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." + +"Active? Say, look here, Helen! What--" + +"Oh, I don't wonder you don't understand. I mean that you were +rather--rather fond of not doing much--of--of--" + +"Eh? Not doing much? That I was lazy, do you mean?" + +"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." + +"Which I don't." + +"And that some day you were going to do something else." + +Which I am." + +"Write or act or do something--" + +"Yes, and that's true, too." + +"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?" + +"No-o. No, but that doesn't mean I shan't by and by." + +"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?" + +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. + +"I don't know that I have," he said loftily. "And, anyway, I don't +see that it is--is--" + +"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." + +But thanks were not exactly what he wanted at that moment. + +"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?" + +"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." + +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." + +She shuddered. "No," she replied, "I could not. But _I_ couldn't +think WHAT to do, and you could. Yes, and did it, and made me do +it." + +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. + +"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--" + +"Lazy, eh?" he suggested. + +"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--" + +"That you thought I was all bluff. Thanks! Any more compliments?" + +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." + +This speech was a compound of sweet and bitter. Albert +characteristically selected the sweet. + +"Helen," he asked, in his most confidential tone, "would you like +to have me try and write something? Say, would you?" + +"Of course I would. Oh, will you?" + +"Well, if YOU asked me I might. For your sake, you know." + +She stopped and stamped her foot impatiently. + +"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." + +"My grandfather's sake! Great Scott, why do you drag him in? HE +doesn't want me to write poetry." + +"He wants you to do something, to succeed. I know that." + +"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--" + +"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." + +Albert laughed scornfully. "Even at writing poetry?" he asked. + +"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." + +He regarded her curiously. "You seem to know a lot about my +grandfather," he observed. + +"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." + +She flashed the last sentence at him in a sudden heat of enthusiasm. +He was surprised at her manner. + +"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." + +"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." + +Her enthusiasm had continued all through this long speech. Albert +whistled. + +"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. + +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." + +"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." + +"When he was nineteen he was first mate of a ship." + +"Yes, so I've heard him say. Maybe first-mating is a little bit +easier than writing poetry." + +"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!" + +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. + +"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." + +She was pleased, that was plain, but she shook her head. + +"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." + +"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." + +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: + + + TO MY LADY'S SPRING HAT + By A. M. Speranza. + + +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. + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +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. + +"My soul! My soul! My soul!" she cried. + +Olive, sitting sewing by the window, was, naturally, somewhat +startled. "Mercy on us, Rachel!" she exclaimed. "What IS it?" + +"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!" + +Mrs. Snow looked, read the verses to herself, and then aloud. + +"Why, I declare, they're real sort of pretty, ain't they?" she +exclaimed, in astonished admiration. + +"Pretty! They're perfectly elegant! And right here in the paper +for all hands to see. Ain't you PROUD of him, Mrs. Snow?" + +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. + +"He'll be a Robert Penfold afore he dies, or I miss MY guess!" she +declared. + +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. + +"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!" + +Issachar deigned to express approval, approval qualified with +discerning criticism of course, but approval nevertheless. + +"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-- + + + 'It floats upon her golden curls + As froth upon the wave.' + + +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, + + + 'It SETS up onto her golden curls, + Same as froth sets on top of a wave.' + + +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." + +Laban's comment was less critical, perhaps, but more reserved. + +"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." + +Albert was inclined to resent the qualified strain in the +bookkeeper's praise. He was tempted to be sarcastic. + +"Well," he observed, "of course you've read so much real poetry +that you ought to know." + +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." + +He dipped his pen in the inkwell and carefully made an entry in the +ledger. His assistant felt a sudden pang of compunction. + +"I beg your pardon, Mr. Keeler," he said. "That was pretty fresh +of me. I'm sorry." + +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_ 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." + +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. + +"But don't you think it's real sort of pretty, Zelotes?" she asked. + +The captain grunted again. "Why, I guess likely 'tis if you say +so, Mother. I don't know much about such things." + +"But everybody says it is." + +"Want to know! Well, then 'twon't make much difference whether I +say it or not." + +"But ain't you goin' to say a word to Albert about it, Zelotes?" + +"Humph! I don't know's I know what to say." + +"Why, say you like it." + +"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_ 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." + +"But, Zelotes, it wasn't her poetry got her into the asylum." + +"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." + +"But ain't you goin' to say one word? 'Twould encourage him so." + +"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?" + +"Thievin'! Zelotes Snow, you don't mean to say you compare a poet +to a THIEF!" + +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." + +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. + +"See you had a piece in the Item this week, Al," observed the +captain. + +"Why--yes, sir," said Albert. + +"Um-hm. I read it. I don't know much about such things, but they +tell me it is pretty good." + +"Thank you, sir." + +"Eh? Oh, you're welcome." + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Sit down, Al," said Captain Zelotes shortly. + +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: + +"Al, you've been here three years come next December, ain't you?" + +"Why--yes, sir, I believe I have." + +"Um-hm, you have. And for the heft of that time you've been in +this office." + +"Yes, sir." + +"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?" + +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. + +"Why, yes, sir, of course I understand it," he replied. + +"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?" + +He tapped the figure-covered sheet of paper once more. Before +Albert could speak the captain answered his own question. + +"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?" + +Albert did not know it. Mr. Keeler had told him nothing of the +sort. + +"Why, no," he replied. "Did he? What for?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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?" + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"What made you make such fool blunders?" repeated the captain. +"You knew better, didn't you?" + +"Yes," sullenly, "I suppose I did." + +"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?" + +"Oh, I don't know. See here, Grandfather--" + +"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." + +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." + +It was the captain's turn to redden. "Eh?" he stammered. "Why, +I--I-- How do you know what I was goin' to say?" + +"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." + +"Here, here, Al! Hold on! Don't--" + +"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." + +Captain Zelotes leaned back in his chair. + +"You're what?" he asked slowly. + +"I'm through. I'll never work in this office another day. I'm +through." + +The captain's brows drew together as he stared steadily at his +grandson. He slowly tugged at his beard. + +"Humph!" he grunted, after a moment. "So you're through, eh? +Goin' to quit and go somewheres else, you mean?" + +"Yes." + +"Um-hm. I see. Where are you goin' to go?" + +"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." + +"I see. I see. Well, if you won't keep on in business, what will +you do for a livin'? Write poetry?" + +"Perhaps." + +"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." + +"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." + +"I've taken care of you for three years or so." + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"If you mean this office--yes, I do." + +"I see, I see. Want to quit South Harniss and your grandmother-- +and Rachel--and Labe--and Helen--and all the rest of 'em?" + +"Not particularly. But I shall have to, of course." + +"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?" + +Albert had not thought in that way, but he did now. His tone was a +trifle less combative as he answered. + +"She'll be sorry at first, I suppose," he said, "but she'll get +over it." + +"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?" + +Albert's chin lifted. "You!" he exclaimed. "Why, you'll be mighty +glad of it." + +Captain Zelotes picked up the pencil stump and twirled it in his +fingers. "Shall I?" he asked. "You think I will, do you?" + +"Of course you will. You don't like me, and never did." + +"So I've heard you say. Well, boy, don't you cal'late I like you +at least as much as you like me?" + +"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--" + +The captain interrupted. His big palm struck the desk. + +"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." + +Albert's eyes and mouth opened. + +"_I_ won't give YOU a chance?" he repeated. + +"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." + +"But I like writing, and I don't like keeping books." + +"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." + +"No, it isn't. I am going to be a writer." + +"Now DON'T say that silly thing again! I don't want to hear it." + +"I shall say it because it is true." + +"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?" + +"Yes, of course I understand." + +"All right, then, that much is settled. . . . Here! Where are you +goin'?" + +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. + +"Goin' HOME? Why, you came from home not more than an hour and a +half ago! What are you goin' there again now for?" + +"To pack up my things." + +"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!" + +The young man felt a sudden pang of compunction, a twinge of +conscience. + +"Grandfather," he said, "I'm sorry. I--" + +But the change in his attitude and tone came too late. Captain +Lote's temper was boiling now, contradiction was its worst +provocative. + +"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." + +"Grandfather, I--" + +"Go ahead! _I_ can't stop you. It's in your breed, I cal'late." + +That was sufficient. Albert strode out of the private office, head +erect. Captain Zelotes rose and slammed the door after his +departing grandson. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +There was a rap upon the door. Then a voice, the housekeeper's +voice, whispered through the crack. + +"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." + +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. + +"May I set down just a minute?" she asked. "I can generally talk +better settin'." + +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. + +"Al" she began, still in the same mysterious whisper, "I know all +about it." + +He looked at her. "All about what?" he asked. + +"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." + +Albert was surprised and confused. He had supposed the whole +affair to be, so far, a secret between himself and his grandfather. + +"You know?" he stammered. "You-- How did you know?" + +"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. + +Albert was astonished and troubled. "How did Labe know about it?" +he demanded. + +"He heard it all. He couldn't help hearin'." + +"But he couldn't have heard. The door to the private office was +shut." + +"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." + +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." + +Rachel leaned forward. + +"No, you ain't, Al," she said. + +"I'm not? Indeed I am! Why, what do you mean?" + +"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?" + +Albert remembered the conversation to which she referred. As he +remembered it, however, he had not made any definite promise. + +"You asked me to talk them over with you, Rachel," he admitted. "I +think that's about as far as it went." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +He stirred rebelliously. "Then we had better go our own ways, I +should say," he muttered. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Plans about me? He making plans about me? What sort of plans?" + +"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." + +"Nonsense, Rachel!" + +"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?" + +"But--but--why, confound it, Rachel, you don't understand!" + +"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." + +She hastily wiped her eyes with her apron. He, too was greatly +moved. + +"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--" + +"No, no, course you mustn't. I don't want you to give up." + +"Then what do you want me to do?" + +"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--" + +"But--" + +"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?" + +Albert took some moments to consider. At length he said: "If I +did I doubt if he would listen." + +"Oh, yes he would. He'd more than listen, I'm pretty sartin. I +think he'd agree." + +"You do?" + +"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." + +"Good night, Rachel. . . . And thank you for taking so much +interest in my affairs. You're an awfully good friend, I can see +that." + +"Don't--don't talk that way. And you WILL have that talk with your +grandpa?" + +"Yes, I will." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Good evening, Grandfather," he stammered. "I--I was just coming +down to see you. Were you going to bed?" + +Captain Lote shook his head. "No-o," he said, slowly, "not +exactly." + +"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." + +The captain regarded him intently for an instant, then he turned +and led the way to the dining-room. + +"Go ahead," he ordered, laconically. Albert squared his shoulders, +preparatory to the plunge. + +"Grandfather," he began, "first of all I want to tell you I am +sorry for--for some of the things I said this afternoon." + +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. + +Albert swallowed, clenched his fists, and took a new start. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +The captain nodded slowly. "That was my idea in startin' you," he +said. + +"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_ may be partly right, too. +I--I've been thinking that perhaps some sort of--of--" + +"Of what?" + +"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--" + +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. + +"Well? . . . And then?" he asked. + +"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?" + +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. + +"Ye-es," he drawled, "I cal'late I see. Well, was that all you had +to say?" + +"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?" + +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. + +"Al," he asked, "Al, who's been talkin' to you?" + +The blood rushed to his grandson's face. "Talking to me?" he +stammered. "Why--why, what do you mean?" + +"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?" + +"Why--why, Grandfather, I--" + +"Haven't they?" + +"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--" + +"And then Rachel came aboard and gave you your sailin' orders; eh?" + +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--" + +"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." + +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." + +"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." + +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." + +"Not a darn bit." + +"Yet--yet I--I'm awfully glad she said it to me. I--I needed it, +I guess." + +"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. + +Albert was still thinking of Laban and Rachel. + +"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." + +"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?" + +Albert couldn't help smiling. "It was three years Rachel proposed, +not five," he said. + +"Was, eh? Suppose we split the difference and make it four? +Willin' to try that?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"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?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Good! Shall we shake hands on it?" + +They shook, solemnly. Captain Lote was the first to speak after +ratification of the contract. + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"Eh? . . . Ye-es--yes. I was on my way up there when I met you +just now." + +"Well, Grandfather, I--I--" + +"That's all right, boy, that's all right. Don't let's talk any +more about it." + +"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--" + +The captain's heavy hand descended upon his shoulder. + +"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." + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +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. + +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. + +"Your grandma says you got rid of another one of your poetry +pieces, Al," he would say. "Pay you for it, did they?" + +"Not yet, but they will, I suppose." + +"I see, I see. How much, think likely?" + +"Oh, I don't know. Ten dollars, perhaps." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"Say, Al," observed Issy, one afternoon in late August of that +year, "how do YOU like that Raymond young feller?" + +Albert looked up absently from the page of the daybook. + +"Eh? What?" he asked. + +"I say how do YOU like that Eddie Raymond, the Down-at-the-Neck +one?" + +"Down at the neck? There's nothing the matter with his neck that I +know of." + +"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?" + +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." + +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!" + +Albert had not noticed it. His attention left the day-book +altogether. Issachar chuckled again. + +"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!" + +Albert was conscious of a peculiar feeling, partly of irritation at +Issachar, partly something else. Mr. Price crowed delightedly. + +"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!" + +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. + +"There's a window open somewhere, isn't there, Is?" he inquired. +"There's a dreadful draught anyhow." + +"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!" + +"There it is again! Where-- Oh, _I_ see! It's your mouth that's +open, Issy. That explains the draught, of course. Yes, yes, of +course." + +"Eh? My mouth! Never you mind my mouth. What you've got to think +about is that Eddie Raymond. Yes sir-ee! Haw, haw!" + +"Issy, what makes you make that noise?" + +"What noise?" + +"That awful cawing. If you're trying to make me believe you're a +crow you're wasting your time." + +"Say, look here, Al Speranzy, be you crazy?" + +"No-o, I'M not. But in your case--well, I'll leave it to any fair- +minded person--" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Good evening, Mr. Speranza," said a feminine voice. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +The young lady who was her companion smiled. The smile was +distinctly worth looking at, as was the young lady herself, for +that matter. + +"I doubt if Mr. Speranza knows me very well, Jane," she observed. + +"Doesn't know you! Why, you silly thing, haven't I just introduced +you?" + +"Well, I don't know much about South Harniss introductions, but +isn't it customary to mention names? You haven't told him mine." + +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_ 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!" + +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." + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Miss Fosdick held out her hand. + +"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." + +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. + +"Come, Madeline, come," it said, fussily. "What ARE you waiting +for?" + +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. + +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. + +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?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Her visitor flushed. "Trouble?" he repeated, stiffly. "I don't +know what you mean." + +"Oh yes, do. You must. What IS the matter?" + +"There is nothing the matter with me." + +"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?" + +"There is nothing the matter, I tell you." + +"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?" + +This straightforward attack, although absolutely characteristic of +Helen, was disconcerting. Albert met it by an attack of his own. + +"Helen," he demanded, "what does that Raymond fellow mean by coming +to see you as he does?" + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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. + +"Has no business to?" she repeated. "Why, of course he has. I +asked him to come." + +"You did? Good heavens, you don't LIKE him, do you?" + +"Of course I like him. I think he is a very nice fellow. Don't +you?" + +"No, I don't." + +"Why not?" + +"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--" + +"Wait a minute, please. You say everybody is talking about Ed +Raymond and me. What do you mean by that? What are they saying?" + +"They're saying. . . . Oh, they're saying you and he are--are--" + +"Are what?" + +"Are--are-- Oh, they're saying all sorts of things. Look here, +Helen, I--" + +"Wait! I want to know more about this. What have you heard said +about me?" + +"Oh, a lot of things. . . . That is--er--well, nothing in +particular, perhaps, but--" + +"Wait! Who have you heard saying it?" + +"Oh, never mind! Helen--" + +"But I do mind. Who have you heard saying this 'lot of things' +about me?" + +"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." + +She slowly shook her head. + +"Issy Price!" she repeated. "And you listened to what Issy Price +said. Issy Price, of all people!" + +"Well--well, he said everyone else said the same thing." + +"Did he say more than that?" + +"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!" + +Helen's usually placid temper was beginning to ruffle. + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +"Oh, I'm sorry," he added, hastily. "I beg your pardon, Helen. I +didn't mean to say that. Forgive me, will you?" + +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." + +"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!" + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +However, as he persisted, she yielded another. He was to have two +dances and, possibly an "extra." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +Her companion watched the subject of their conversation as, with +Miss Fosdick, he moved lightly and surely through the crowd on the +floor. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Why--why, Helen!" he exclaimed, in surprise. + +"Are you going home?" she asked, in a low tone. + +"Yes, I--" + +"And you are going alone?" + +"Yes." + +"Would you mind--would it trouble you too much to walk with me as +far as our house?" + +"Why--why of course not. I shall be delighted. But I thought you-- +I thought Ed Raymond--" + +"No, I'm alone. Wait here; I will be ready in just a minute." + +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--? + +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. + +"Albert," she said, "you must think this very odd." + +He knew what she meant, but he did not choose to admit it. + +"What?" he asked. + +"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." + +"_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." + +"Did you expect me to look you up and beg you to dance with me?" + +"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--" + +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." + +"Humph! All right, _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." + +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!" + +"Well--" he hesitated, and then added, "I told you I was sorry." + +"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." + +One phrase in one sentence of this speech caught and held the young +man's attention. He forgot the others. + +"You are going away?" he repeated. "What do you mean? Where are +you going?" + +"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." + +He stopped short to stare at her. + +"You are going away?" he asked, again. "You are going to do that +and--and-- Why didn't you tell me before?" + +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. + +"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." + +"No, you've been too busy seeing someone else." + +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?" + +"What? . . . No, I don't--except that you and he wanted to be +together." + +"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?" + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"Now don't you?" he urged. + +"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." + +"You mean you didn't guess at all?" + +"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." + +Again she hesitated. "To-night?" he repeated. "What happened to- +night?" + +"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?" + +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. + +"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--" + +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. + +"Oh, Helen!" he cried. "You're wonderful! You're splendid! I'm +crazy about you! I really am! I--" + +She pushed him gently away. "Don't! Please don't!" she said. +"Oh, don't!" + +"But I must. Don't you see I. . . . Why, you're crying!" + +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? + +"You're crying!" he repeated. "Why, Helen--!" + +"Don't!" she said, again. "Oh, don't! Please don't talk that +way." + +"But don't you want me to, Helen? I--I want you to know how I +feel. You don't understand. I--" + +"Hush! . . . Don't, Al, don't, please. Don't talk in that way. I +don't want you to." + +"But why not?" + +"Oh, because I don't. It's--it is foolish. You're only a boy, you +know." + +"A boy! I'm more than a year older than you are." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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!" + +She paused for some moment before answering, but her reply, when it +came, was firm. + +"No," she said, "I don't think we should promise anything, except +to remain friends. You might promise and then be sorry, later." + +"_I_ might? How about you?" + +"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?" + +"Of course I am. But, Helen--" + +"I must go in now. Good night." + +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. + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +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--" + +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. + +"I'm going to run over to the station to-morrow morning to see you +off," he called from the gate. "Good night." + +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. + +"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." + +Issachar's response was as usual anything but low. + +"Eh?" he shouted. "Goin' out? Where you goin'?" + +"Oh, I'm just going out--er--on an errand." + +"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?" + +"No, no. . . There, there, don't bother me any more. I'm in a +hurry." + +"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?" + +Before the somewhat flustered assistant bookkeeper could reply +Captain Zelotes called from the inner office: + +"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?" + +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." + +Mr. Price was eager to oblige. + +"I'll tell her you sent 'em, Labe," he said, patronizingly. "Set +your mind to rest; I'll tell her." + +Laban's lip twitched. "Much obliged, Is," he chirruped. "That's a +great relief! My mind's rested some already." + +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. + +"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'?" + +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. + +"Can't you see nothin' when it's right in front of ye?" demanded +Issachar, righteously indignant. + +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." + +"Well, then, you'd better. . . . Eh? See here, what do you mean +by that?" + +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. + +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. + +"Good-by," he said, and added in a whisper, "You'll write, won't +you?" + +"Of course. And so must you. Good-by." + +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. + +"There goes a good girl, Al," was Captain Lote's only comment. "A +mighty good capable girl." + +Albert nodded. A moment later he lifted his hat to a group in a +passing automobile. + +"Who were those folks?" asked the Captain. + +"The Fosdicks," was the reply. "The people who are going to build +down by the Inlet." + +It was Madeline and her mother. The latter had been serenely +indifferent, but the young lady had smiled and bowed behind the +maternal shoulders. + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +"Don't forget us down here in the sand, will you?" he suggested to +Miss Fosdick. It was Jane Kelsey who answered. + +"Oh, she won't forget," returned that young lady. "Why she has +your photograph to remember you by." + +Madeline colored becomingly and was, as Jane described it, "awfully +fussed." + +"Nonsense!" she exclaimed, with much indignation, "I haven't any +such thing. You know I haven't, Jane." + +"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." + +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. + +"That reminds me that I have never seen the rest of those +photographs," he said. + +"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." + +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. + +"Isn't it a dream, just as I said?" demanded the artist. "Honest +now, isn't it? + +Albert of course declared it to be beyond praise. + +"May I have this one?" he asked, on the impulse of the moment. + +"Don't ask me, stupid," commanded Jane, mischievously. "It isn't +my funeral--or my portrait, either." + +"May I?" he repeated, turning to Madeline. She hesitated. + +"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." + +Jane held up a protesting finger. + +"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." + +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. + +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?" + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +Olive, as usual, was mild and unruffled. + +"Probably the President knows as much about it as you and me, +Zelotes," she suggested. "I presume likely he has his own +reasons." + +"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!" + +It was Rachel Ellis who caused the Captain to be a bit more +restrained in his remarks. + +"You hadn't ought to talk that way, Cap'n Lote," she said. "Not +when Albert's around, you hadn't." + +"Eh? Why not?" + +"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." + +"He has? How do you know he has?" + +"Because he's told me so, more'n once." + +Her employer looked at her. + +"Humph!" he grunted. "He seems to tell you a good many things he +doesn't tell the rest of us." + +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?" + +The captain pulled at his beard. + +"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." + +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." + +The captain gazed intently into the bowl of the pipe which he had +been cleaning. He made no answer. + +"You wouldn't want him to do that, would you?" repeated the +housekeeper. + +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?" + +It was the first time in months that he had used the word "Portygee" +in connection with his grandson. Mrs. Ellis smiled to herself. + +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. + + +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. + + +A week later: + + +Mr. Fletcher Fosdick's new residence is beginning building, the +foundation being pretty near laid. + + +And the following week: + + +The Fosdick mansion is growing fast. South Harniss may well be +proud of its new ornament. + + +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!" + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"Don't look at me like that, please, please, don't," she begged. + +"Why not?" with a repetition of the look. + +"Because it is silly." + +"Silly! Well, I like that! Aren't you and I engaged? Or just the +same as engaged?" + +"No, of course we are not." + +"But we promised each other--" + +"No, we did not. And you know we didn't." + +"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?" + +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. + +"Don't you know how much I care?" he repeated. + +She shook her head. "You think you do now, perhaps," she said, +"but you will change your mind." + +"What do you mean by that? How do you know I will?" + +"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." + +He was losing his temper. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"Nice doggie! Nice old boy! Come and be patted! . . . Clear out +with you! Go home, you beast!" + +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. + +"Oh, damn you, clear out!" he shouted, springing to his feet. + +From a little way below him; in fact, from behind the next dune, +between himself and the beach, a feminine voice called his name. + +"Oh, Mr. Speranza!" it said. "Is it you? I'm so glad!" + +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. + +"Oh, I am so glad it is you," said the voice again. "I was sure it +was a dreadful tramp. Googoo loathes tramps." + +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. + +"Oh, did he bite you?" begged Miss Fosdick. + +"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." + +"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?" + +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?" + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"Of course not. Go on; this is very mysterious and interesting." + +"Well, I come here sometimes on pleasant days, to be alone--and +write." + +"Write? Write poetry, do you mean?" + +"Yes." + +"Oh, how wonderful! Were you writing when I--when Goo interrupted +you?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"I suppose that is true. I--I don't suppose you would care to show +them to me, would you?" + +"Why," eagerly, "would you really care to see them?" + +"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." + +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: + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +She caught her breath. "Oh, not really!" she exclaimed. "You +don't mean it, really?" + +"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?" + +She hesitated. "I--I'll see; perhaps," she answered hurriedly. +"But I must go now. Come, Goo." + +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. + +That evening at supper his radiant appearance caused comment. + +"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?" + +The glorified one reddened and was confused. He stammered that he +did not know, he was not aware of any particular reason. + +Mrs. Ellis beamed upon him. "I presume likely his bookkeepin' at +the office has been goin' pretty well lately," she suggested. + +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?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Besides," she said, "you surely mustn't expect me EVERY Saturday." + +"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." + +"Oh, do you really? You're not making fun? You mean that my +advice is really worth something? I can't believe it." + +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. + +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_ can't guess." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"It has been a wonderful summer, hasn't it?" said Albert. + +"Yes, wonderful," agreed Madeline. + +"Yes, I--I--by George, I never believed a summer could be so +wonderful." + +"Nor I." + +Silence. Then Albert, looking at her, saw her eyes looking into +his and saw in them-- + +He kissed her. + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER X + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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?" + +Laban, his hands full of the morning mail, absently replied that he +didn't know. + +"Yes, you do, too," persisted Issy. "You ain't listenin', that's +all. Who's leavin' town on the train just now?" + +"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." + +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?" + +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, + +"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'?" + +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. + +"Stop," commanded Albert, between his teeth. "That's enough of +that. Don't you say any more!" + +"Eh? Ugh! Ur-gg! Leggo of my shirt." + +Albert let go, but he did not step back. He remained where he was, +exactly in front of Mr. Price. + +"Don't you say any more about--about what you were saying," he +repeated. + +"Eh? Not say any more? Why not? Who's goin' to stop me, I'd like +to know?" + +"I am." + +"I want to know! What'll you do?" + +"I don't know. If you weren't so old, I would--but I'll stop you, +anyhow." + +Albert felt a hand on his arm and heard Mr. Keeler's voice at his +ear. + +"Careful, Al, careful," it said. "Don't hit him." + +"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." + +"Better promise, Is," suggested Laban. Issachar's mouth opened, +but no promise came forth. + +"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." + +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. + +"If you don't promise I'll duck you," he declared. "Let go of me, +Keeler, I mean it." + +"Careful, Al, careful," said Mr. Keeler. "Better promise, Is." + +"Promise nawthin'! Fosdick! What in time do I care for Fosdicks, +Madelines or Padelines or Dandelions or--" + +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. + +"Crimustee," he gasped, as soon as he could articulate, "I'm--awk-- +I'm drownded." + +Albert put down the empty bucket and picked up the full one. + +"Promise," he said again. + +Laban Keeler rubbed his chin. + +"I'd promise if I was you, Is," he said. "You're some subject to +rheumatism, you know." + +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. + +"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. + +"Better get your mop and swab up here, Is," he said. "Cap'n +Lote'll be in 'most any minute." + +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. + +The next day Albert and Issachar made it up. Albert apologized. + +"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?" + +He held out his hand, and Issachar, after a momentary hesitation, +took it. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +But she saved him the trouble. She interrupted one of his +blundering, stumbling sentences in the middle. + +"Never mind, Albert," she said quietly. "You needn't explain. I +think I understand." + +He stopped and stared at her. "You understand?" he repeated. +"Why--why, no, you don't. You can't." + +"Yes, I can, or I think I can. You have changed your mind, that is +all." + +"Changed my mind?" + +"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." + +He gazed at her as if she were a witch who had performed a miracle. + +"Why--why--well, by George!" he exclaimed. "Helen--how--how did +you know? Who told you?" + +"No one told me. But I think I can even guess who it is you have +found. It is Madeline Fosdick, isn't it?" + +His amazement now was so open-mouthed as well as open-eyed that she +could not help smiling. + +"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." + +She led the way down the side street toward the parsonage and he +followed her. He was still speechless from surprise. + +"Well," she went on, after a moment, "aren't you going to say +anything?" + +"But--but, Helen," he faltered, "how did you know?" + +She smiled again. "Then it IS Madeline," she said. "I thought it +must be." + +"You--you thought-- What made you think so?" + +For an instant she seemed on the point of losing her patience. + +Then she turned and laid her hand on his arm. + +"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." + +He seized her hand. + +"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." + +"Oh, it is as serious as that! Are you two really and truly +engaged?" + +"Yes. There! I've told it, and I swore I would never tell." + +"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?" + +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. + +"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. + +"She must be awfully nice," she said. "I don't wonder you fell in +love with her. I wish I might know her better." + +"I wish you might. By and by you must. And she must know you. +Helen, I--I feel so ashamed of--of--" + +"Hush, or I shall begin to think you are ashamed because you liked +me--or thought you did." + +"But I do like you. Next to Madeline there is no one I like so +much. But, but, you see, it is different." + +"Of course it is. And it ought to be. Does her mother--do her +people know of the engagement?" + +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." + +"Especially yours, I'm sure. Tell me about your writing. How are +you getting on?" + +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. + +"Good morning, Albert," she said. "I'm glad we have had this talk, +ever so glad." + +"By George, so am I! You're a corking friend, Helen. The chap who +does marry you will be awfully lucky." + +She smiled slightly. "Perhaps there won't be any such chap," she +said. "I shall always be a schoolmarm, I imagine." + +"Indeed you won't," indignantly. "I have too high an opinion of +men for that." + +She smiled again, seemed about to speak, and then to change her +mind. An instant later she said, + +"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?" + +"Of course you may. And she'll like you as much as I do." + +"Will she? . . . Well, perhaps; we'll hope so." + +"Certainly she will. And you won't let my treating you as--as I +have make any difference in our friendship?" + +"No. We shall always be friends, I hope. Good-by." + +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. + +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. + +"She IS older than I am," he thought, "even if she really isn't. +It's funny, but it's a fact." + +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. + +"Issy," he suggested gravely, looking up from a long column of +figures, "did you ever play 'Door'?" + +Issachar stared at him. + +"Play 'Door'?" he repeated. "What's that?" + +"It's a game. Didn't you ever play it?" + +"No, don't know's I ever did." + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +Albert did not know, so he asked Laban. Laban shook his head. + +"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." + +"But what is he thinking about? And why is he so quiet?" + +"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?" + +"Hear what?" demanded Issachar, who was gazing out of the window, +his hands in his pockets. + +"I say it will pay us--you and Al and me--to make believe we're +workin' even if we ain't." + +"'Workin'!" indignantly. "By crimus, I AM workin'! I don't have to +make believe." + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +Her employer's calm was unruffled. + +"No-o," he answered, with deliberation. + +"That's a comfort. What's the matter, then; don't you WANT to +talk?" + +"No-o." + +"Oh," with a toss of the head, "well, I'm glad I know. I was +beginnin' to be afraid you'd forgotten how." + +The captain helped himself to another fried "tinker" mackerel. + +"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." + +Olive detained her grandson as he was following Captain Zelotes +from the dining room. + +"What's wrong with him, Albert?" she whispered. "Do you know?" + +"No, I don't, Grandmother. Do you think there is anything wrong?" + +"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?" + +"No, indeed, Grandmother. Whatever it is, it isn't that." + +When they reached the office, the captain spoke to Mr. Keeler. + +"Had your dinner, Labe?" he asked. + +"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." + +Despite his preoccupation, Captain Zelotes could not help smiling. + +"To make it take an hour he'd have to be ossified, wouldn't he, +like the feller in the circus sideshow?" he observed. + +Laban nodded. "That--or dead," he replied. "Yes--just about--just +so, Cap'n." + +"Where's Issachar?" + +"He's eatin' yet, I cal'late. He don't board at Lindy's." + +"When he gets back set him to pilin' that new carload of spruce +under Number Three shed. Keep him at it." + +"Yes, sir. Um-hm. All right." + +Captain Zelotes turned to his grandson. "Come in here, Al," he +said. "I want to see you for a few minutes." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"I have tried to make it so," he answered. "I mean I have tried to +make it smoother for you." + +"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." + +Albert smiled. "Thanks, Grandfather," he said. + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"Haven't got much to support a wife on, Al, have you?" repeated +Captain Zelotes. + +"No, sir, not now." + +"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." + +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. + +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." + +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? + +Yours, always and always, no matter what everyone does or says, +lovingly and devotedly, + +MADELINE. + + +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: + +"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." + +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." + +"Thanks, Grandfather," mechanically. + +"All right, boy." + +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. + + +"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." + + +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. + +"Well, Al?" queried Captain Zelotes. + +Albert's face, when he turned back to answer, was whiter than ever, +but his eyes flashed fire. + +"Do you believe that?" he demanded. + +"What?" + +"That--that stuff about my being a--a sneak and--and ensnaring her-- +and all the rest? Do you?" + +The captain took his pipe from his mouth. + +"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." + +"You--you or no one else had better believe it. It's a lie." + +"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?" + +"Her name is Madeline--and we are engaged to be married." + +"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?" + +Albert hesitated and was, momentarily, a trifle embarrassed. But +he recovered at once. + +"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--" + +"After that it just moved along kind of natural, eh? Um-hm, I +see." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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!" + +"Sartin, son, sartin. They always are. I mean she is, of course. +Heave ahead." + +So Albert told his love story. When he had finished Captain +Zelote's pipe was empty, and he put it down. + +"Albert," he said slowly, "I judge you mean this thing seriously. +You mean to marry her some day." + +"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--" + +"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. + +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. + +"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." + +"You suppose right," observed Captain Zelotes, dryly. "Other +people have--a good many of 'em since Adam's time." + +"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." + +"Um-hm, Al; so I've noticed." + +"Yes, indeed they have. Now, if Madeline wants to marry me and I +want to marry her, who will stop us?" + +The captain pulled at his beard. + +"Why, nobody, Al, as I know of," he said; "provided you both keep +on wantin' to marry each other long enough." + +"Keep on wanting long enough? What do you mean by that?" + +"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?" + +"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?" + +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. + +"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'?" + +"No, of course not--not at first." + +"Oh, but later on--when the market price of poetry has gone up--you +can, eh?" + +"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." + +"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--" + +"Grandfather!" + +"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--" + +The interruption was prompt and made with fiery indignation. + +"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." + +Captain Zelotes' lip twitched. + +"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?" + +"Yes, I do." + +"And you mean to stick by your guns and. . . . Well, what is it? +Come in!" + +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. + +"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." + +Captain Zelotes looked at the card. Then he adjusted his spectacles +and looked again. + +"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." + +"All right, Cap'n Lote. Yes, yes," observed Mr. Keeler and +departed. The captain looked thoughtfully at the card. + +"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." + +Albert stared at him uncomprehendingly. + +"Better not see ME?" he repeated. "Why shouldn't he see me?" + +Captain Zelotes handed the card to Albert. + +"Better let me talk with him first, Al," he said. "You can have +your chance later on." + +The card bore the name of Mr. Fletcher Story Fosdick. + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +Albert read the name on the card. He was too astonished to speak. +Her father! He was here! He-- + +His grandfather spoke again, and his tone was brisk and businesslike. + +"Go on, Al," he ordered. "Out through this side door and around to +the front. Lively, son, lively!" + +But the young man's wits were returning. He scowled at the card. + +"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." + +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." + +"But, Grandfather, I WANT to see him." + +"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." + +Albert went, but reluctantly. After he had gone his grandfather +walked to the door of the outer office and opened it. + +"Step aboard, Mr. Fosdick," he said. "Come in, sir." + +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. + +"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." + +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." + +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. + +"Have a smoke, won't you?" he inquired. + +Mr. Fosdick glanced at the label on the box. + +"Why--why, I was rather hoping you would smoke one of mine," he +said. "I have a pocket full." + +"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?" + +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. + +"Captain Snow," he said, "I presume your clerk told you I wished to +see you on a matter of business." + +"Who? Oh, Labe, you mean? Yes, he told me." + +"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." + +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." + +"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?" + +"No-o. I wouldn't call it guessin', exactly." + +"Wouldn't you? What would you call it?" + +"We-ll, I don't know but I'd risk callin' it knowin'. Yes, I think +likely I would." + +"Oh, I see. . . . Humph! Have you had a letter--on the subject?" + +"Ye-es." + +"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." + +"No, 'twas to me. Come this mornin's mail." + +"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?" + +"You take it right. Just as much of a surprise to me as you." + +"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?" + +"Oh, I don't know as I know exactly what to think. What do YOU +think about it, Mr. Fosdick?" + +"I think--I imagine I think very much as you do." + +"I shouldn't he surprised. And--er--what's your notion of what I +think?" + +Captain Zelotes' gray eye twinkled as he asked the question, and +the Fosdick blue eye twinkled in return. Both men laughed. + +"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--" + +"My grandson." + +"Why yes. He is your grandson, isn't he? I beg your pardon." + +"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--?" + +"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?" + +Captain Zelotes nodded. + +"That now is a good time to talk? Yes, I do," he said. + +"Good! Then suppose we talk." + +"All right." + +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. + +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?" + +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?" + +"Why, no, not exactly, if you'll excuse my sayin' so. Your +daughter herself--how does she feel about it?" + +"Oh, she is enthusiastic, naturally. She appears to be suffering +from temporary insanity on the subject." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Why, no, I wouldn't say that, exactly. Of course, I wouldn't say +that." + +"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?" + +Mr. Fosdick's expression changed slightly. His tone, as he replied +to the question, was colder and his manner less cordial. + +"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." + +He rose to his feet. Captain Zelotes, leaning forward, held up a +protesting hand. + +"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." + +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." + +But Captain Lote's hand still remained uplifted. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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.'" + +Captain Lote, having finished his story, felt in his pocket for +a match. Fosdick, for an instant, appeared puzzled. Then he +laughed. + +"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?" + +He resumed his seat as he asked the question. Captain Zelotes +nodded. + +"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?" + +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." + +"I have gone ahead. I've asked one already." + +"Yes, but it is such a general question. There may be so many +objections." + +"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?" + +"Not at all. We know nothing about his character. Very likely he +may be a young saint." + +"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?" + +"She hasn't mentioned his looks to me." + +"Is it his money? He hasn't got any of his own." + +"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." + +"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." + +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." + +"However, you got married?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +For the first time since the interview began the captain looked ill +at ease and embarrassed. + +"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." + +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?" + +"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--" + +"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." + +He paused, seeming a bit ashamed of his own heat. Captain Zelotes, +however, regarded him with more approval than he had yet shown. + +"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." + +"Well, Mr. Fosdick," he continued, "what other objections are they? +Manners? Family and relations? Education? Any objections along +that line?" + +"No-o, no; I--well, I don't know; you see, I don't know much about +the young fellow." + +"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." + +"Did he? What school?" + +The captain gave the name of the school. Fosdick looked surprised. + +"Humph! That IS a good school," he said. + +"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." + +He paused to chuckle, and Fosdick chuckled with him. + +"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." + +"His father?" queried Fosdick. + +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." + +Fosdick seemed surprised and interested. "Oh, indeed," he +exclaimed, "an opera singer? . . . Why, he wasn't Speranza, the +baritone, was he?" + +"Maybe; I believe he was. He married my daughter and--well, we +won't talk about him, if you don't mind." + +"But Speranza was a--" + +"IF you don't mind, Mr. Fosdick." + +Captain Lote lapsed into silence, drumming the desk with his big +fingers. His visitor waited for a few moments. At length he said: + +"Well, Captain Snow, I have answered your questions and you have +answered mine. Do you think we are any nearer an agreement now?" + +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?" + +"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--" + +"You still object to the young folks gettin' married." + +"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--" + +"To somebody that wasn't Albert Speranza of South Harniss, +Mass. . . . Eh?" + +"Yes. Not that your grandson isn't all right. I have no doubt he +is a tip-top young fellow. But, you see--" + +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." + +"That's the idea. Thank you, Captain." + +"You're welcome. I can understand. I know just how you feel, +because I've been feelin' the same way myself." + +"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." + +"Sartin. You see, I've had just the same sort of general kind of +objection to Al's marryin' your daughter." + +Mr. Fletcher Fosdick leaned slowly backward in his chair. His +appearance was suggestive of one who has received an unexpected +thump between the eyes. + +"Oh, you have!" he said again, but not with the same expression. + +"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." + +"Er--well,--thanks." + +"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." + +"Humph,--er--thanks again." + +"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." + +The Fosdick lip twitched. "Somewhat different," he admitted. + +"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--" + +"I do--and I share your doubts." + +"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?" + +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. + +"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." + +His visitor smiled slightly. "Nevertheless," he began. The +captain interrupted him. + +"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." + +"That's all right, Snow. And I believe you have the situation +sized up as it is. Still--" + +"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." + +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." + +"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." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"Yes, sir. We ARE engaged." + +"I see. How long have you--um--been that way, so to speak?" + +"Since last August." + +"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?" + +"Yes, sir, I guess I do." + +"Good! Then we'll go ahead. Why have you two kept it a secret so +long?" + +"Because--well, because we knew we couldn't marry yet a while, so +we thought we had better not announce it for the present." + +"Oh! . . . And the idea that perhaps Mrs. Fosdick and I might be +slightly interested didn't occur to you?" + +"Why, yes, sir, it did. But,--but we thought it best not to tell +you until later." + +"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?" + +"No, sir, I--I don't think it did." + +"Oh, don't you! Perhaps you thought we WOULD be overjoyed?" + +"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." + +"Until when?" + +"Until--until by and by. Until I had gone ahead further, you +know." + +"I'm not sure that I do know. Gone ahead how? Until you had a +better position, more salary?" + +"No, not exactly. Until my writings were better known. Until I +was a little more successful." + +"Successful? Until you wrote more poetry, do you mean?" + +"Yes, sir. Poetry and other things, stories and plays, perhaps." + +"Do you mean-- Did you figure that you and Madeline were to live +on what you made by writing poetry and the other stuff?" + +"Yes, sir, of course." + +Fosdick looked across at Captain Zelotes. The Captain's face was +worth looking at. + +"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?" + +Albert hesitated. He had, momentarily, forgotten his grandfather +and the latter's prejudices. After all, what was the use of +stirring up additional trouble. + +"Yes, Grandfather," he said. + +"Course it's so. It's in this office that you draw your wages." + +"Yes, Grandfather." + +"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." + +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?" + +Albert plainly did not understand, but it was just as plain that +his grandfather did. Captain Zelotes spoke sharply. + +"Mr. Fosdick," he said, "I just answered that question for you." + +"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--" + +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?" + +Fosdick looked annoyed. "Oh, I say, Snow!" he cried. "That's too +strong, altogether." + +"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?" + +The red spots were burning in the Speranza cheeks. He choked as he +answered. + +"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." + +"In spite of her parents, eh?" + +"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--" + +Captain Zelotes' voice broke in upon the impassioned outburst. + +"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." + +"But, Grandfather, I want him to understand--" + +"I guess likely he does. I should say you'd made it real plain. +Go now, Al." + +Albert turned, but, with a shaking hand upon the doorknob, turned +back again. + +"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--" + +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." + +When the door had closed behind the young man he turned to Captain +Lote. + +"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." + +"Um-hm. So I judged. Well, you saw, didn't you?" + +"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." + +The captain made no reply. He merely pulled at his beard. +However, he did not look displeased. + +"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." + +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." + +"Why, yes, I do. The boy is all right, I'm sure, but--" + +"Sartin, I understand. I feel the same way about your girl. She's +all right, I'm sure, but--" + +"We're agreed on everything, includin' the 'but.' And the 'but' is +that New York is one place and South Harniss is another." + +"Exactly." + +"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?" + +His visitor regarded him for a moment and then broke into a hearty +laugh. + +"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_ +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." + +"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." + +Fosdick laughed again. "You may go as far as you like with your +stories, Captain," he said. "I can grow fat on them." + +"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.'" + +He laughed and his visitor laughed with him. + +"I gather," observed the New Yorker, "that you believe it the +better policy to give our young people their heads." + +"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." + +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?" + +"Why, in reason, maybe. If we say no to that, they'll write +anyhow, won't they?" + +"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?" + +"Maybe. I'll ask him. . . . Yes, I guess likely he'd do that." + +"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." + +"I'm in hopes 'twill. It's calf love, as I see it, and I believe +'twill pay to give the calves rope enough." + +"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." + +"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?" + +His visitor had risen and was reaching for his coat. Captain +Zelotes also rose. + +"Don't hurry, don't hurry," he begged. + +"Sorry, but I must. I want to be back in New York tomorrow +morning." + +"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." + +"I wish I could; I'd like nothing better. But I can't." + +"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." + +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." + +"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." + +His visitor held out his hand. "So am I, Snow," he said heartily. +"Mighty glad." + +"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--" + +"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." + +"Same here, same here. Go right out the side door, Mr. Fosdick, +saves goin' through the office. Good day, sir." + +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. + +"Labe," he queried, "there isn't anything particular you want me to +talk about just now, is there?" + +Lahan looked up in surprise from his figuring. + +"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." + +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." + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +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. + +"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!" + +"Who? Mrs. Fosdick?" + +"No, of course not," indignantly. "Madeline. Isn't she splendid +and fine and loyal! I want you to know her, Grandfather, you and +Grandmother." + +"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?" + +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. + +The captain, watching him keenly, divined what was in his +grandson's mind. + +"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." + +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. + +"Grandfather," said Albert, with some embarrassment, "I'm going to +give you that promise." + +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. + +"Eh?" he queried, uncomprehendingly. + +"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." + +Captain Zelotes stopped in his stride; then he walked on again. + +"Thank you, Al," he said quietly. "I hoped you'd see it that way." + +"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." + +"Thank you, son. . . . Much obliged." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Well, Al, what is it?" he asked. + +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. + +"Well, Al?" he said, again. + +Albert seemed to find it hard to speak. + +"Grandfather," he began, "I--I--Grandfather, I have come to ask a +favor of you." + +The captain nodded, slowly, his gaze fixed upon his grandson's +face. + +"All right; heave ahead," he said quietly. + +"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." + +"Humph! . . . Let you off, eh? . . . What for?" + +"That's what I came here to tell you. Grandfather, I can't stay +here--now. I want to enlist." + +Captain Zelotes did not answer. His hand moved upward and pulled +at his beard. + +"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." + +His grandfather appeared to ponder. + +"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." + +Albert sniffed impatient disgust. "I don't want to get a +commission--in that way," he declared. + +"Humph! You'll find there's plenty that do, I shouldn't wonder." + +"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." + +Captain Lote leaned forward. His gray eyes snapped. + +"Want to fight, do you?" he queried. + +"You bet I do!" + +"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." + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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-- + +"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." + +He hesitated and then, even more regardless of the censor, added +the quotation which countless young lovers were finding so apt just +then: + + + "I could not love thee, dear, so much, + Loved I not honor more." + + +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. + +"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?" + +Albert shook his head. "Not too well, Rachel," he replied. + +"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?" + +"Yes. If the war will let me I certainly am." + +"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." + +Albert smiled. "I'm glad you think so, Rachel," he said. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"I shouldn't wonder, Rachel. I understand what you mean." + +"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." + +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." + +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." + +Issachar Price's comments on his fellow employee's decision to +become a soldier were pointed. Issy was disgusted. + +"For thunder sakes, Al," he demanded, "'tain't true that you've +enlisted to go to war and fight them Germans, is it?" + +Albert smiled. "I guess it is, Issy," he replied. + +"Well, by crimus!" + +"Somebody had to go, you see, Is." + +"Well, by crimustee!" + +"What's the matter, Issy? Don't you approve?" + +"Approve! No, by crimus, I don't approve! I think it's a divil of +a note, that's what I think." + +"Why?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +Albert nodded. "I'm afraid he is," he said. + +"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." + +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. + +"Al," said a voice, "Al." + +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. + +"Al," whispered Mr. Keeler. "That's you, ain't it? Yes, yes--yes, +yes, yes--I thought 'twas, I thought so." + +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. + +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. + +"Why, Labe!" exclaimed Albert. "Is that you? What's the matter?" + +"Busy, are you, Al?" queried Laban. "In a hurry, eh? Are you? In +a hurry, Al, eh?" + +"Why no, not especially." + +"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?" + +"Yes indeed. But what is it, Labe?" + +"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." + +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. + +"Are you cold, Labe?" he asked. "What makes you shiver so?" + +"Eh? Cold? No, I ain't cold--no, no, no. Come, Al, come." + +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? + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +Mr. Keeler looked over his shoulder and, for an instant, the +whimsical smile which was characteristic of him curved his lip. + +"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?" + +He smiled again, but there was bitterness and not humor in the +smile. Albert put a hand on his shoulder. + +"Why, Labe," he asked, in concern, "what is it?" + +Laban turned away. + +"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?" + +"Of course I will. But what is the matter, Labe? Sit down and +tell me about it." + +Instead of sitting the little bookkeeper began to walk up and down. + +"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." + +Albert was more astonished than ever. There was no smell of +alcohol, and Keeler had declared that he had not been drinking; +but-- + +"You're going to ENLIST?" repeated Albert. "YOU? Why, Labe, what--" + +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?" + +Albert's answer was enthusiastic. "You bet I will!" he exclaimed. +Keeler smiled pathetically. + +"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." + +"Good for you, Labe! Bully!" + +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." + +He began his pacing up and down again. + +"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." + +"Of course, Labe. It's a good idea." + +"Maybe; and maybe it's a fool one. But I'm goin' to try it. I AM +tryin' it, have been all day." + +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?" + +Albert could not understand how he could possibly help another man +keep the pledge, but his promise was eagerly given. + +"Certainly, Labe," he said. + +"Thanks . . . thank you, Al. . . . And now will you do something +for me--a favor?" + +"Gladly. What is it?" + +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. + +"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--" + +"All right, Labe. I understand. What do you want me to do with it +if it is there?" + +"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!" + +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. + +Laban was waiting for him, drops of perspiration upon his forehead. + +"Was--was it there?" he demanded. + +Albert nodded. + +"Yes, yes. 'Twas there, eh? And did you--did you--?" + +"Yes, I did, jug and all." + +"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." + +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." + +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." + +But Albert, watching him intently, refused to go. + +"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." + +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." + +"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?" + +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." + +"You'll be at the office in the morning, won't you, Labe?" + +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." + +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. + +"You're not sick, are you, Labe?" he asked, anxiously. Laban shook +his head. + +"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." + +"I didn't, Labe. I thought you might want it kept a secret." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +Albert interrupted. "No, she won't, Laban," he said. "We'll show +her that you're not." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Never mind; I shall be thinking of you, Labe. And I know you're +going to win. I feel it in my bones." + +"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." + +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-- + +The letter was fourteen pages long. + +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. + + +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, + +HELEN KENDALL. + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Good luck to you, boy," said Mr. Keeler. "All the luck there is." + +"Same to you, old man," replied Albert. Then, in a lower tone, he +added, "We'll fight it out together, eh?" + +"We'll try. Yes, yes. We'll try. So long, Al." + +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." + +"Be sure and keep that, Issy." + +"You bet you! Only thing that's liable to break it down is over- +work." + +Captain Zelotes said very little. "Write us when you can, Al," he +said. "And come home whenever you get leave." + +"You may be sure of that, Grandfather. And after I get to camp +perhaps you can come and see me." + +"Maybe so. Will if I can. . . . Well, Al, I . . . I. . . . Good +luck to you, son." + +"Thank you, Grandfather." + +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. + +"The team's waitin', Mother," he said. "Labe'll drive you and +Rachel home." + +"But--but ain't you comin', too, Zelotes?" faltered Olive. Her +husband shook his head. + +"Not now, Mother," he answered. "Got to go back to the office." + +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. + +"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." + +Keeler looked at him in wonder. Then he drew a long breath. + +"Is," he said, slowly, "it is a mighty good thing for the Seven +Wise Men of Greece that they ain't alive now." + +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?" + +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." + +With which enigmatical remark he left Mr. Price and turned his +attention to the tethered Jessamine. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +They were sent. In his next letter Albert was still enthusiastic. + +"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." + +Mrs. Snow and Rachel were duly impressed by this prophecy of +affluence, but Captain Zelotes still played the skeptic. + +"A million at twenty-five cents a piece!" exclaimed Olive. "Why, +Zelotes, that's--that's an awful sight of money." + +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. + +"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!" + +Her husband shook his head. "I can't, Olive," he said, without +looking up from his newspaper. "My supposer wouldn't stand the +strain." + +"But it might, Zelotes, it MIGHT. Suppose it did, what would you +say then?" + +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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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--" + +Captain Lote grasped the significance of the uncompleted sentence. + +"I see, Al," he answered, "I see. Well, boy, I--I-- Good luck." + +"Good luck, Grandfather." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Then no letter for more than a month. + +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. + +The captain, looking up, saw the little bookkeeper's face. "What +is it, Labe?" he asked, sharply. + +Laban held a yellow envelope in his hand. + +"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." + +Slowly Captain Zelotes extended his hand for the envelope. He did +not take his eyes from the bookkeeper's face. + +"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." + +Without a word the captain took the envelope from Keeler's fingers, +and tore it open. He read the words upon the form within. + +Laban leaned forward. + +"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!" + +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. + +"Well," he said, very slowly, "well, Labe, there goes--there goes +Z. Snow and Company." + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +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? + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"We must be brave, Zelotes," whispered Olive, tremulously. "He'd +want us to be and we MUST be." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Olive nodded. + +"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." + +The housekeeper was surprised and a little indignant. + +"For his sake!" she repeated. "For mercy sakes why for his sake? +Is it any worse for him than 'tis for you." + +"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--" + +"I know, I know. Land sakes, DON'T I know! Ain't I doin' it +myself?" + +"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?" + +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. + +"He died like a man," he told the Reverend Mr. Kendall when the +latter called. "He took his chance, knowin' what that meant--" + +"He was glad to take it," interrupted the minister. "Proud and +glad to take it." + +"Sartin. Why not? Wouldn't you or I have been glad to take ours, +if we could?" + +"Well, Captain Snow, I am glad to find you so resigned." + +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." + +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. + +"Cap'n Lote," began Keeler, "I'm sorry to bother you, but that last +carload of pine was--" + +Captain Zelotes waved his hand, brushing the carload of pine out of +the conversation. + +"Labe," he said, slowly, "did it seem to you that I was too hard on +him?" + +Laban did not understand. "Hard on him?" he repeated. "I don't +know's I just get--" + +"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?" + +The answer was prompt. "No, Cap'n Lote," replied Keeler. + +"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." + +"Sartin. Sure. I understand." + +"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?" + +"Sure thing, Cap'n." + +"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." + +Laban hesitated. He wished his answer to be not an overstatement, +but the exact truth. + +"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." + +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?" + +"Sartin. Yes indeed. Fust-rate, fust-rate." + +"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?" + +It was the first time Laban had ever heard Captain Zelotes refer to +himself as an old man. It shocked him into sharp expostulation. + +"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." + +The captain was not offended. He waved the apologies aside. + +"So you think it's worth while my fightin' it out, do you, Labe?" +he asked, reflectively. + +"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. + +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?" + +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. + +"My particular fight?" he repeated. "You--you want to know what +'tis, Cap'n Lote? All right, all right, I'll tell you." + +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. + +"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." + +Captain Zelotes pulled his beard. + +"How's the fight goin', Labe?" he asked, quietly. + +"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." + +"To West Orham! You WALKED there? Last NIGHT?" + +"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--" + +"Hold on, Labe. Does Rachel know about your fight?" + +"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?" + +Captain Zelotes rose and laid his big hand on his bookkeeper's +shoulder. + +"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." + +"Now, now, Cap'n Lote--" + +"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?" + +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. + + +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. + + +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. + +"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." + +"Um-hm. Well, he's reformed lately, I understand, so we mustn't +hold that against him." + +"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." + +The captain put his arm about her and gently patted her shoulder. + +"There, there, Mother," he said, gently, "don't let that part of it +fret you." + +"But, Zelotes," tearfully, "I don't understand. It would have been +such a great thing for Albert." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Wouldn't he? No, I cal'late you're right, Mother. We'll try not +to." + +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. + +"Have you read it carefully, Mother?" he asked. + +"Of course I have, Zelotes. What do you mean?" + +"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--" + +"If what, Zelotes?" + +"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." + +"But why didn't she WRITE more, Zelotes? That's what I can't +understand." + +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." + +"Yes, but you are Albert's grandfather." + +"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_ tell you she's all RIGHT." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Speranza? . . . Speranza?" he said aloud. "Say, Jim, wasn't it +Albert Speranza who wrote that corking poem we published after the +Lusitania was sunk?" + +Jim looked up. "Yes," he said. "He has written a lot of pretty +good stuff since, too. Why?" + +"He's just been killed in action over there, so Conway says in this +dispatch." + +"So? . . . Humph! . . . Any particulars?" + +"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." + +"We might. We haven't a photograph, have we? If we haven't, +perhaps we can get one." + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +The Sunday editor nodded approval. + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + + +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. + + +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. + +When the reading was ended Labe was the first to speak. His eyes +were shining. + +"Godfreys!" he exclaimed. Godfreys, Cap'n Lote!" + +The captain seemed to understand. + +"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. + +"Sho, sho, Cap'n, you mustn't feel that way. No, no." + +"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?" + +Mr. Keeler was much disturbed. + +"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." + +The captain made no reply, but walked from the room. Laban turned +to Mrs. Ellis. + +"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?" + +The housekeeper was leaning forward in her chair, her cheeks +flushed and her hands clenched. + +"How do you know he's dead?" she asked, in a mysterious whisper. + +"Eh? How do I know who's dead?" + +"Albert. How do you know he's dead?" + +Laban stared at her. + +"How do I know he's DEAD!" he repeated. "How do I know--" + +"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?" + +"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--" + +"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?" + +"Why, under the ruins of that cottage. 'Twas all blown to pieces +and most likely--" + +"Um-hm. There you are! 'Most likely!' Well, I ain't satisfied +with most likelys. I want to KNOW." + +"But--but--" + +"Laban Keeler, until they find his body I shan't believe Albert's +dead." + +"But, Rachel, you mustn't try to deceive yourself that way. Don't +you see--" + +"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?" + +"Why--why, nothin', I suppose, in one way. But nine chances out of +ten--" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Is the old man in, Labe?" he whispered, jerking his head toward +the private office, the door of which happened to be shut. + +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?" + +Kelley did not answer that question. Instead he took a telegram +from his pocket. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +Keeler read the telegram. His florid cheeks turned pale. + +"Good Lord above!" he exclaimed, under his breath. + +"Eh? I bet you! Shall I take it to the cap'n? Eh? What do you +think?" + +"Wait. . . . Wait . . . I--I-- My soul! My soul! Why . . . +It's--it's true. . . . And Rachel always said . . . Why, she was +right . . . I . . ." + +From without came the sound of running feet and a series of yells. + +"Labe! Labe!" shrieked Issy. "Oh, my crimus! . . . Labe!" + +He burst into the office, his eyes and mouth wide open and his +hands waving wildly. + +"Labe! Labe!" he shouted again. "Have you heard it? Have you? +It's true, too. He's alive! He's alive! He's alive!" + +Laban sprang from his stool. "Shut up, Is!" he commanded. "Shut +up! Hold on! Don't--" + +"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!" + +Captain Zelotes was standing in the doorway of the private office. +The noise had aroused him from his letter writing. + +"Who's alive? What's the matter with you this time, Is?" he +demanded. + +"Shut up, Issy," ordered Laban, seizing the frantic Mr. Price by +the collar. "Be still! Wait a minute." + +"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!" + +"Who's alive? What is it? Labe, YOU answer me. Who's alive?" + +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. + +"Er--er--Robert Penfold," he said. + +"Robert PENFOLD! What--" + +Issachar could hold in no longer. + +"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." + +Kelley stepped forward. + +"Looks as if 'twas so, Cap'n Snow," he said. "Here's the telegram +from the Red Cross." + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +Albert drew a long breath. "By George!" he exclaimed. "By George, +Grandfather, this looks good to me!" + +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. + +Captain Zelotes understood, however. He nodded. + +"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." + +Albert smiled. "My, I do want to see them!" he said. + +"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." + +"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." + +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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Thanks, Grandfather." + +"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." + +Albert smiled. "Laban told you about it, I suppose," he said. +"What a kid trick that was, wasn't it?" + +The captain turned his head and regarded him for an instant. The +old twinkle was in his eye when he spoke. + +"Wouldn't do a thing like that now, Al, I presume likely?" he said. +"Feel a good deal older now, eh?" + +Albert's answer was seriously given. + +"Sometimes I feel at least a hundred and fifty," he replied. + +"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." + +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." + +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. + +"Why, Issy!" exclaimed Albert, when they shook hands. "You're +here, too, eh?" + +Mr. Price's already protuberant chest swelled still further. His +reply had the calmness of finality. + +"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.'" + +"Great stuff, Is!" said Albert, with a laugh. "What did Labe say +to that?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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--" + +Albert interrupted in time to prevent the threatened shower. + +"So Mr. Kendall is not well," he said. "I'm very sorry to hear +it." + +"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?" + +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?" + +Albert merely shook his head and drew a long breath, but his +grandparents seemed to be quite satisfied. + +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. + +"_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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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." + +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. + +"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'." + +His wife nodded. "Well," she said, triumphantly, "what DID I tell +you? Wasn't I right?" + +The captain pulled his beard and nodded. + +"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." + +"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?" + +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. + +"And can you guess what THIS is?" she asked. Albert could not +guess. + +"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?" + +Albert shook his head. "Twenty-five dollars?" he suggested +jokingly. + +"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--" + +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--" + +"Why, Zelotes Snow! You said--" + +"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?" + +Albert was looking at the check and the royalty statement. + +"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." + +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--" + +"Yes. Surely, I understand," put in Albert, to help him out. + +"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." + +"Zelotes Snow, the idea!" + +"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_ am. Three thousand poetry profits beats me. +_I_ don't understand it." + +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?" + +The author of The Lances of Dawn was still looking at the statement +of its earnings. + +"Approximately eighteen thousand sold at fifteen cents royalty," he +observed. "Humph! Well, I'll be hanged!" + +"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." + +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." + +"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?" + +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." + +Mrs. Snow was surprised and a little troubled. + +"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." + +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!" + +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. + +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. + +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_ think of +it, don't you, and when I think that _I_ actually helped you, or +played at helping you write some of it! + +"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_ 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--" + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +He snapped the rubber band once more about the bundle of photographs, +closed the drawer and prepared for bed. + +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. + +"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?" + +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." + +"I didn't know but he might be anxious to see--to see her, you +know." + +"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--" + +"Couldn't he what, Zelotes?" + +"Oh, nothin', nothin'." + +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." + +"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--" + +"Only what, Grandfather?" + +"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." + +Albert smiled. "I've been in places farther away than New York," +he said, "and I never forgot South Harniss." + +"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." + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +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-- + +"Shall I take your bags, sir?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Humph!" grunted Fosdick. "And after that I'll have to support +them, I suppose." + +"Probably--unless you want your only child to starve." + +"Well, I must say, Henrietta--" + +"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." + +Her husband still looked everything but contented. + +"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." + +He was snubbed immediately. "THAT," declared Mrs. Fosdick, with +decision, "is the only thing that makes him possible." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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." + +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." + +Madeline professed not to believe him. + +"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." + +"But they were officers, weren't they, and their uniforms were +custom made." + +"Why, I suppose so. Aren't all uniforms custom made?" + +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?" + +"Just about, sir." + +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. + +"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." + +"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?" + +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." + +Madeline was horrified. + +"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?" + +"Why, yes, in a way. I didn't save Mike, poor fellow--" + +"Mike! Was his name Mike?" + +"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." + +"Frightened! Why, I never heard anything so ridiculous! What--" + +"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. + +Albert hesitated. + +"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." + +"Tore them up!" Both Mrs. and Miss Fosdick uttered this exclamation. + +"Why, yes. You see, they were such rot. The things I wanted to +write about, the things _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_ couldn't do it. A genius +might have been equal to the job, but I wasn't." + +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. + +"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?" + +Albert looked at her. "Oh, yes, indeed," he said simply. "That is +just what I do intend to do--or try to do." + +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. + +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-- + +"What are you thinking about?" she demanded suddenly. + +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." + +She smiled and then pouted. + +"I don't know whether to like that or not," she said. "Did you +expect to find me less--charming and the rest?" + +"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." + +She regarded him reflectively. + +"You have," she said. + +"Have what?" + +"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." + +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. + +He laughed at this and attempted to explain. She seemed to resent +the attempt or the tone. + +"I do wish," she said almost pettishly, "that you wouldn't be so +superior." + +He was surprised. "Superior!" he repeated. "Superior! I? +Superiority is the very least of my feelings. I--superior! That's +a joke." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +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." + +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." + +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! + +The next day she went to Brett's and purchased a half dozen of the +most expensive ties, which she presented to him forthwith. + +"There!" she demanded. "Aren't those nicer than the ones you +bought at that old department store? Well, then!" + +"But, Madeline, I must not let you buy my ties." + +"Why not? It isn't such an unheard-of thing for an engaged girl to +give her fiance a necktie." + +"That isn't the idea. I should have bought ties like those myself, +but I couldn't afford them. Now for you to--" + +"Nonsense! You talk as if you were a beggar. Don't be so silly." + +"But, Madeline--" + +"Stop! I don't want to hear it." + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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." + +Of course mother and daughter were indignant. Their comments +reached Madeline's ear. She took him to task. + +"But why did you say it?" she demanded. "You know you don't mean +it." + +"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." + +She looked at him for a moment as if studying a problem. + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +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. + +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? + +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? + +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. + +"I do wish you wouldn't be grumpy," she said. + +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. + +"Grumpy?" he repeated. "Was I grumpy? I beg your pardon." + +"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." + +"I'm awfully sorry, dear. I didn't feel grumpy. I was thinking, I +suppose." + +"Thinking! You are always thinking. Why think, pray? . . . If I +permitted myself to think, I should go insane." + +"Madeline, what do you mean?" + +"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?" + +That evening Mrs. Fosdick made a suggestion to her husband. + +"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." + +"Well, how else did you expect him to earn it; as bookkeeper for +the South Harniss lumber concern?" + +"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?" + +"I can't, and I told you so in the beginning." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"You are thinking again, I see," she said. + +He had not heard her enter. Now he rose, the book falling to the +floor. + +"Why--why, yes," he stammered. "How are you feeling? How is your +head?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"Well?" she asked. + +He sighed. "Madeline," he said, "I am afraid you think me very +unreasonable, certainly very ungrateful." + +"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." + +"He said--well, the substance of what he said was to offer me a +position in his office, in his firm." + +"What sort of a position?" + +"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--" + +"The salary was good, wasn't it?" + +"Yes; more than good. Much too good for the return I could make +for it, so it seemed to me." + +"And your prospects for the future? Wasn't the offer what people +call a good opportunity?" + +"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--" + +"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?" + +"Yes, I like him very much." + +"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." + +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?" + +She hesitated now, but only for an instant. She colored a little, +but she answered bravely. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"Did you tell Father that?" + +"Yes." + +"What did he say?" + +"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." + +She smiled faintly. "That sounds like dad," she commented. + +"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." + +Madeline interrupted. Her eyes flashed. + +"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." + +Albert shook his head. "I was sure of so many things then," he +said. "I must have been an insufferable kid." + +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?" + +"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." + +She interrupted again. "Did it occur to you to question whether or +not that determination of yours was quite fair to me?" she asked. + +"Why--why, yes, it did. And I don't know that it IS exactly fair +to you. I--" + +"Never mind. Go on. Tell me the rest. How did it end?" + +"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." + +"Never mind. I want to know what you said." + +"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--" + +She had bowed her head upon her arms amid the sofa cushions and was +crying. He sprang to his feet and bent over her. + +"Why, Madeline," he said again, "I beg your pardon. I'm sorry--" + +"Oh, it isn't that," she sobbed. "It isn't that. I don't care +what you said." + +"What is it, then?" + +She raised her head and looked at him. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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?" + +He looked down at her and shook his head. He was conscience- +stricken and fully as miserable as she professed to be. + +"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--" + +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." + +"Toward you, Madeline? I don't understand what you mean." + +"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." + +"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--" + +"Stop! All that was nonsense, nonsense! you know it." + +"Yes, I'm afraid it was." + +"You know it was. And if you were as you used to be, if you--" + +"Madeline!" + +"What? Why did you interrupt me?" + +"Because I wanted to ask you a question. Do you think YOU are +exactly the same--as you used to be?" + +"What do you mean?" + +"Haven't YOU changed a little? Are you as sure as you were then-- +as sure of your feeling toward me?" + +She gazed at him, wide-eyed. "WHAT do you mean?" + +"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?" + +She turned pale. + +"What do--" she stammered, inarticulate. "Why, why--" + +"It was Captain Blanchard, wasn't it?" + +The color came back to her cheeks with a rush. She blushed +furiously and sprang to her feet. + +"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?" + +She collapsed once more among the cushions. He leaned forward. + +"My dear girl--" he began, but she broke in. + +"I HAVEN'T been disloyal," she cried. "I have tried-- Oh, I have +tried so hard--" + +"Hush, Madeline, hush. I understand. I understand perfectly. It +is all right, really it is." + +"And I should have kept on trying always--always." + +"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." + +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: + + +Dear Albert: + +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. + +MADELINE. + + +His reply was longer. At its end he wrote: + + +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. + + +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. + +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. + +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! + +A youthful cigar "drummer," on his first Down-East trip, sat down +beside him. + +"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?" + +Albert turned to look at him. + +"Meaning the Cape?" he asked. + +"Sure." + +"Indeed I do. I know all about it." + +"That so! Say, you sound as if you liked it." + +Albert turned back to the window again. + +"Like it!" he repeated. "I love it." Then he sighed, a sigh of +satisfaction, and added: "You see, I BELONG here." + +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. + +"As long as you'll have me, Grandfather," was the answer. + +"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?" + +Albert smiled. "I'll tell you about that by and by," he said. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"So he offered you to take you into the firm--eh, son?" he +observed. + +"Yes, sir." + +"Humph! Fosdick, Williamson and Hendricks are one of the biggest +brokerage houses goin', so a good many New Yorkers have told me." + +"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?" + +Captain Lote's eye twinkled, but he did not answer the question. +Instead he asked: + +"Just what did you give Fosdick as your reason for not sayin' yes?" + +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." + +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. + +Captain Zelotes had risen and his mighty hand descended with a +stinging slap upon his grandson's shoulder. + +"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!" + +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." + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +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. + +"What are you cal'latin' to do this mornin', Al?" inquired the +captain. + +"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." + +"Ain't goin' to write one or two of those five hundred dollar +stories before dinner time, are you?" + +"I guess not, sir. I'm afraid they won't be written as quickly as +all that." + +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?" + +"I hope he isn't. He seemed sane enough when I saw him." + +"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." + +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. + +Olive laid a hand on his arm. + +"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." + +Albert nodded. "No one knows that better than I," he said, with +emphasis. + +"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--" + +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." + +She sighed. + +"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_ shan't take a cent from the +only grandson I've got in the world." + +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. + +"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." + +Down went the basket and the codfish and Mr. Kendall seized him by +both hands. + +"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?" + +"You mean my grandmother? She is very well, thank you." + +"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?" + +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. + +"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. + +"There," he said; "now I must go. Good morning, Mr. Kendall." + +"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!" + +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. + +"Another time, Mr. Kendall," he said. "Good morning." + +But he had gone only a few yards when the reverend gentleman was +calling to him to return. + +"Albert! Albert!" called Mr. Kendall. + +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. + +"Why, Albert Speranza!" she cried. "Why, ALBERT!" + +He seized her hands. "Helen!" he cried, and added involuntarily, +"My, but it's good to see you again!" + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +He was calling it again. Calling it and demanding attention for +his precious codfish. + +"Yes, Father, yes, in a minute, " she said. Then to Albert, "Come +in. Oh, of course you'll come in." + +"Why, yes, if I won't be interfering with the housekeeping." + +"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." + +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. + +"You make me feel as ancient as the pyramids," she said. + +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." + +She smiled. "Just what do you mean by that?" she asked. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Young jackass!" + +"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?" + +"She is well. But tell me about yourself. You have been in all +sorts of war work, haven't you. Tell me about it." + +"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." + +"Pretty trying, wasn't it?" + +"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--" + +"Don't!" + +She had been smiling; now she was very serious. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +He looked about him. + +"I love the place," he said simply. + +"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." + +He looked up at her; she was standing upon the upper step and he on +the walk below. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +She turned and smiled over one ample shoulder when he entered the +kitchen. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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." + +Albert laughed. "Some of them pretty nearly deserved it," he said. + +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." + +Albert described his encounter with the minister. Rachel was much +interested. + +"Oh, so you saw Helen," she said. "Well, I guess she was surprised +to see you." + +"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." + +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?" + +"She said something about it, not very much." + +"Um-hm. She wouldn't, bein' Helen Kendall. But the Red Cross +folks said enough, and they're sayin' it yet. Why--" + +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. + +"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--" + +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." + +"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--" + +"Did they love her, too?" Albert asked, with a smile, as she +hesitated. + +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?" + +Albert shook his head. "No, Rachel," he replied. "I didn't +speak." + +"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?" + +Laban grinned as he entered the kitchen. + +"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_ +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." + +Mrs. Ellis sniffed. + +"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--" + +"Camouflage?" suggested Albert. + +"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?" + +Mr. Keeler perched his small figure on the corner of the kitchen +table. + +"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--" + +The housekeeper advanced toward him with the dripping dishcloth. + +"Laban Keeler," she threatened, "if you don't stop your foolishness +and answer my question, I declare I'll--" + +Laban slid from his perch and retired behind the table. + +"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." + +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." + +"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." + +Albert turned to the lady. + +"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." + +Rachel looked down at the little man. + +"I am," she said quietly. "I guess likely he knows it." + +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_ 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?" + +Albert and he walked up the road together. Laban told a little +more of his battle with John Barleycorn. + +"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." + +Albert laughed and laid a hand on his shoulder. "You're all right, +Labe," he declared. "I know you, and I say so." + +Laban slowly shook his head. His smile, as he answered, was rather +pathetic. + +"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." + +They spoke of Captain Zelotes and Olive and of their grief and +discouragement when the news of Albert's supposed death reached +them. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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-- + +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? + +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? + +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? + +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. + +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! + +So he went to bed and, eventually, to sleep. + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Zelotes, how ridiculous you do talk!" + +"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." + +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." + +"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?" + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Father needs me," she said, "and I shall not leave him while he +lives." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"And there's some consider'ble come your way at that, ain't they, +Is?" observed Laban, busy with his bookkeeping. + +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?" + +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. + +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? + +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. + +That was enough for Captain Zelotes. + +"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?" + +Rachel Ellis could not see it that way. + +"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." + +Olive was pretty dubious about the whole scheme. She doubted if +anybody connected with a circus COULD ever become a minister. + +"The whole--er--er--trade is so different," she said. + +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. + +"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. + +"She's there and she'll stop in here on her way along," he said +triumphantly. "And she'll back me up--you see." + +But she did not. She did not "back up" any one. She merely smiled +and declared the problem too complicated to answer offhand. + +"Why don't you ask Albert?" she inquired. "After all, he is the +one who must settle it eventually." + +"He won't tell," said Olive. "He's real provokin', isn't he? And +now you won't tell, either, Helen." + +"Oh, I don't know--yet. But I think he does." + +Albert, as usual, walked home with her. + +"How are you going to answer your hero's riddle?" she asked. + +"Before I tell you, suppose you tell me what your answer would be." + +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?" + +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." + +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." + +"No, it isn't. It is as old as the hills, but there are always new +twists to it." + +"As there are to all our old problems." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Not entirely. I have some vague ideas. Do you want to hear +them?" + +"Of course." + +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. + +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-- + +And then Helen spoke. + +"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." + +"I have gone to Kaiserville and back." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"I can't see that you have made any." + +"I have made one . . . a damnable one." + +"Why, what do you mean?" + +"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?" + +"Why?" + +"Yes, why?" + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +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-- + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +About ten o'clock his grandfather called to him from the foot of +the stairs and asked him to come down. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +There had been a murmur, presumably of remonstrance, from Helen. + +"Eh?" + +Another murmur. + +"EH? WHO'D you say was there?" + +A third murmur. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +Helen caught her breath. "Oh, it is beautiful, beautiful!" she +said. + +Albert did not answer. "Why don't you talk?" she asked. "What are +you thinking about?" + +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. + +"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." + +She looked up at him inquiringly. + +"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?" + +"I can't imagine." + +"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." + +"Oh--oh, Albert!" + +"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--" + +"But _I_ do. Go on." + +"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--" + +"Oh, but you are--you ARE." + +"Do you really think so? Would you like to have me try?" + +He felt her arm tremble upon his. She drew a long breath. + +"Oh, I should be so PROUD!" she breathed. + +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. + +"Helen!" he cried. "Helen!" + +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. + +They walked home after a time, but it was a slow, a very slow walk +with many interruptions. + +"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?" + +She laughed happily. "I really do . . . and . . . and I really +have, all the time." + +"Always?" + +"Always." + +"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!" + +"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?" + +He stooped and kissed her. + +"I think I shall have to be," he said, "if I am going to be worthy +of you." + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +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. + +"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." + +"Is the car running as well as ever?" asked Albert. + +"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." + +He rubbed his hands before the stove and chuckled. + +"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?" + +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." + +"To the parsonage, I presume likely?" + +"Well, I did stop there for a minute or two." + +"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?" + +"I don't know. She didn't say so if she did. She sent her love to +you and Grandmother--" + +"What she had left over, you mean." + +"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." + +Captain Zelotes seated himself in his desk chair. + +"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. + +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. + +"I shall hate to leave you and Grandmother and the old place," he +said. "If I am elected--" + +"WHEN you're elected; there isn't any 'if.'" + +"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." + +"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." + +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." + +"When ARE you cal'latin' to be married, if that ain't a secret?" + +"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--" + +"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?" + +"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--" + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +He made this statement more as if he were thinking aloud than as if +he expected a reply. A moment later he continued. + +"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." + +"Nonsense, Grandfather. You are the last man to--" + +"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." + +Albert laid a hand on his knee. + +"Don't talk like that," he replied impulsively. "I don't like to +hear you." + +"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." + +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. + +"Well, perhaps you were, a little," he said gravely. "I don't +wonder." + +"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." + +Mr. Keeler entered with a paper in his hand. + +"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?" + +Captain Zelotes inspected the bill. + +"Humph!" he grunted. "You're right, Labe. You generally are, I +notice. Yes, send it back and tell 'em--anything you want to." + +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." + +He departed, chuckling. Captain Zelotes looked after him. He +tugged at his beard. + +"Al," he said, "do you know what I've about made up my mind to do?" + +Albert shook his head. + +"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." + +Albert was delighted. + +"Bully for you, Grandfather!" he exclaimed. "You couldn't do a +better thing for Labe or for the firm. And he deserves it, too." + +"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." + +"I wonder what Labe will say when you tell him?" + +"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!" + +"Do you suppose they ever will be married?" + +"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." + +As they were putting on their coats the captain spoke again. + +"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--" + +Albert finished the sentence for him. + +"A Portygee," he said. + +"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--" + +"Shh! shh! Don't, Grandfather. When I came here I was a little +snob, a conceited, insufferable little--" + +"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--" + +"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." + +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: + +"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?" + +"Perhaps so. I'm sure I did." + +"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--" + +"Speranza." + +"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." + +"That's what we must work for now, Grandfather. It's a big job, +but it must be done." + +They walked on in silence for a time. Then the captain said: + +"It's a pretty fine country, after all, ain't it, Albert?" + +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. + +"It is MY country," he declared, with emphasis. + +His grandfather caught his meaning. + +"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?" + +"Yes. We know." + +"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?" + +Alberto Miguel Carlos Speranza, American, drew a long breath. + +"No!" he said, with emphasis. + +"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." + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext of The Portygee by Joseph C. Lincoln + diff --git a/old/prtge10.zip b/old/prtge10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..4f5deb6 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/prtge10.zip |