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diff --git a/5195-h/5195-h.htm b/5195-h/5195-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..20e3853 --- /dev/null +++ b/5195-h/5195-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7945 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + Cape Cod Stories, by Joseph C. Lincoln + </title> + <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + +<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Cape Cod Stories, by Joseph C. Lincoln</p> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Cape Cod Stories<br /> +The Old Home House</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Joseph C. Lincoln</div> +<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: June 6, 2006 [eBook #5195]<br /> +[Most recently updated: January 7, 2023]</p> +<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> + <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: + Don Lainson; David Widger</p> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAPE COD STORIES ***</div> + + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + CAPE COD STORIES + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Also Published Under The Title Of <br /> “The Old Home House” <br /> <br /> + By Joseph C. Lincoln + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary=""> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> TWO PAIRS OF SHOES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> THE COUNT AND THE MANAGER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> THE SOUTH SHORE WEATHER BUREAU </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> THE DOG STAR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> THE MARE AND THE MOTOR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> THE MARK ON THE DOOR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> THE LOVE OF LOBELIA 'ANKINS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> THE MEANNESS OF ROSY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> THE ANTIQUERS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> HIS NATIVE HEATH </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> JONESY </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + TWO PAIRS OF SHOES + </h2> + <p> + I don't exactly know why Cap'n Jonadab and me went to the post-office that + night; we wa'n't expecting any mail, that's sartin. I guess likely we done + it for the reason the feller that tumbled overboard went to the bottom—'twas + the handiest place TO go. + </p> + <p> + Anyway we was there, and I was propping up the stove with my feet and + holding down a chair with the rest of me, when Jonadab heaves alongside + flying distress signals. He had an envelope in his starboard mitten, and, + coming to anchor with a flop in the next chair, sets shifting the thing + from one hand to the other as if it 'twas red hot. + </p> + <p> + I watched this performance for a spell, waiting for him to say something, + but he didn't, so I hailed, kind of sarcastic, and says: “What you doing—playing + solitaire? Which hand's ahead?” + </p> + <p> + He kind of woke up then, and passes the envelope over to me. + </p> + <p> + “Barzilla,” he says, “what in time do you s'pose that is?” + </p> + <p> + 'Twas a queer looking envelope, more'n the average length fore and aft, + but kind of scant in the beam. There was a puddle of red sealing wax on + the back of it with a “D” in the middle, and up in one corner was a kind + of picture thing in colors, with some printing in a foreign language + underneath it. I b'lieve 'twas what they call a “coat-of-arms,” but it + looked more like a patchwork comforter than it did like any coat ever <i>I</i> + see. The envelope was addressed to “Captain Jonadab Wixon, Orham, Mass.” + </p> + <p> + I took my turn at twisting the thing around, and then I hands it back to + Jonadab. + </p> + <p> + “I pass,” I says. “Where'd you get it?” + </p> + <p> + “'Twas in my box,” says he. “Must have come in to-night's mail.” + </p> + <p> + I didn't know the mail was sorted, but when he says that I got up and went + over and unlocked my box, just to show that I hadn't forgot how, and I + swan to man if there wa'n't another envelope, just like Jonadab's, except + that 'twas addressed to “Barzilla Wingate.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” says I, coming back to the stove; “you ain't the only one that's + heard from the Prince of Wales. Look here!” + </p> + <p> + He was the most surprised man, but one, on the Cape: I was the one. We + couldn't make head nor tail of the business, and set there comparing the + envelopes, and wondering who on earth had sent 'em. Pretty soon “Ily” + Tucker heads over towards our moorings, and says he: + </p> + <p> + “What's troubling the ancient mariners?” he says. + </p> + <p> + “Barzilla and me's got a couple of letters,” says Cap'n Jonadab; “and we + was wondering who they was from.” + </p> + <p> + Tucker leaned away down—he's always suffering from a rush of + funniness to the face—and he whispers, awful solemn: “For heaven's + sake, whatever you do, don't open 'em. You might find out.” Then he threw + off his main-hatch and “haw-hawed” like a loon. + </p> + <p> + To tell you the truth, we hadn't thought of opening 'em—not yet—so + that was kind of one on us, as you might say. But Jonadab ain't so slow + but he can catch up with a hearse if the horses stop to drink, and he + comes back quick. + </p> + <p> + “Ily,” he says, looking troubled, “you ought to sew reef-points on your + mouth. 'Tain't safe to open the whole of it on a windy night like this. + First thing you know you'll carry away the top of your head.” + </p> + <p> + Well, we felt consider'ble better after that—having held our own on + the tack, so to speak—and we walked out of the post-office and up to + my room in the Travellers' Rest, where we could be alone. Then we opened + up the envelopes, both at the same time. Inside of each of 'em was another + envelope, slick and smooth as a mack'rel's back, and inside of THAT was a + letter, printed, but looking like the kind of writing that used to be in + the copybook at school. It said that Ebenezer Dillaway begged the honor of + our presence at the marriage of his daughter, Belle, to Peter Theodosius + Brown, at Dillamead House, Cashmere-on-the-Hudson, February three, + nineteen hundred and so forth. + </p> + <p> + We were surprised, of course, and pleased in one way, but in another we + wa'n't real tickled to death. You see, 'twas a good while sence Jonadab + and me had been to a wedding, and we know there'd be mostly young folks + there and a good many big-bugs, we presumed likely, and 'twas going to + cost consider'ble to get rigged—not to mention the price of passage, + and one thing a' 'nother. But Ebenezer had took the trouble to write us, + and so we felt 'twas our duty not to disappoint him, and especially Peter, + who had done so much for us, managing the Old Home House. + </p> + <p> + The Old Home House was our summer hotel at Wellmouth Port. How me and + Jonadab come to be in the summer boarding trade is another story and it's + too long to tell now. We never would have been in it, anyway, I cal'late, + if it hadn't been for Peter. He made a howling success of our first season + and likewise helped himself along by getting engaged to the star boarder, + rich old Dillaway's daughter—Ebenezer Dillaway, of the Consolidated + Cash Stores. + </p> + <p> + Well, we see 'twas our duty to go, so we went. I had a new Sunday cutaway + and light pants to go with it, so I figgered that I was pretty well found, + but Cap'n Jonadab had to pry himself loose from considerable money, and + every cent hurt as if 'twas nailed on. Then he had chilblains that winter, + and all the way over in the Fall River boat he was fuming about them + chilblains, and adding up on a piece of paper how much cash he'd spent. + </p> + <p> + We struck Cashmere-on-the-Hudson about three o'clock on the afternoon of + the day of the wedding. 'Twas a little country kind of a town, smaller by + a good deal than Orham, and so we cal'lated that perhaps after all, the + affair wouldn't be so everlasting tony. But when we hove in sight of + Dillamead—Ebenezer's place—we shortened sail and pretty nigh + drew out of the race. 'Twas up on a high bank over the river, and the + house itself was bigger than four Old Homes spliced together. It had a + fair-sized township around it in the shape of land, with a high stone wall + for trimming on the edges. There was trees, and places for flower-beds in + summer, and the land knows what. We see right off that this was the real + Cashmere-on-the-Hudson; the village folks were stranded on the flats—old + Dillaway filled the whole ship channel. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I says to Jonadab, “it looks to me as if we was getting out of + soundings. What do you say to coming about and making a quick run for + Orham again?” + </p> + <p> + But he wouldn't hear of it. “S'pose I've spent all that money on duds for + nothing?” he says. “No, sir, by thunder! I ain't scared of Peter Brown, + nor her that's going to be his wife; and I ain't scared of Ebenezer + neither; no matter if he does live in the Manufacturers' Building, with + two or three thousand fathom of front fence,” he says. + </p> + <p> + Some years ago Jonadab got reckless and went on a cut-rate excursion to + the World's Fair out in Chicago, and ever sence then he's been comparing + things with the “Manufacturers' Building” or the “Palace of Agriculture” + or “Streets of Cairo,” or some other outlandish place. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” says I. “Darn the torpedoes! Keep her as she is! You can fire + when ready, Gridley!” + </p> + <p> + So we sot sail for what we jedged was Ebenezer's front-gate, and just as + we made it, a man comes whistling round the bend in the path, and I'm + blessed if 'twa'n't Peter T. Brown. He was rigged to kill, as usual, only + more so. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Peter!” I says. “Here we be.” + </p> + <p> + If ever a feller was surprised, Brown was that feller. He looked like he'd + struck a rock where there was deep water on the chart. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll be ——” he begun, and then stopped. “What in the + ——” he commenced again, and again his breath died out. Fin'lly + he says: “Is this you, or had I better quit and try another pipe?” + </p> + <p> + We told him 'twas us, and it seemed to me that he wa'n't nigh so tickled + as he'd ought to have been. When he found we'd come to the wedding, 'count + of Ebenezer sending us word, he didn't say nothing for a minute or so. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, we HAD to come,” says Jonadab. “We felt 'twouldn't be right to + disapp'int Mr. Dillaway.” + </p> + <p> + Peter kind of twisted his mouth. “That's so,” he says. “It'll be worth + more'n a box of diamonds to him. Do him more good than joining a 'don't + worry club.' Well, come on up to the house and ease his mind.” + </p> + <p> + So we done it, and Ebenezer acted even more surprised than Peter. + </p> + <p> + I can't tell you anything about that house, nor the fixings in it; it beat + me a mile—that house did. We had a room somewheres up on the + hurricane deck, with brass bunks and plush carpets and crocheted curtains + and electric lights. I swan there was looking glasses in every corner—big + ones, man's size. I remember Cap'n Jonadab hollering to me that night when + he was getting ready to turn in: + </p> + <p> + “For the land's sake, Barzilla!” says he, “turn out them lights, will you? + I ain't over'n' above bashful, but them looking glasses make me feel's if + I was undressing along with all hands and the cook.” + </p> + <p> + The house was full of comp'ny, and more kept coming all the time. Swells! + don't talk! We felt 'bout as much at home as a cow in a dory, but we was + there 'cause Ebenezer had asked us to be there, so we kept on the course + and didn't signal for help. Travelling through the rooms down stairs where + the folks was, was a good deal like dodging icebergs up on the Banks, but + one or two noticed us enough to dip the colors, and one was real sociable. + He was a kind of slow-spoken city-feller, dressed as if his clothes was + poured over him hot and then left to cool. His last name had a splice in + the middle of it—'twas Catesby-Stuart. Everybody—that is, most + everybody—called him “Phil.” + </p> + <p> + Well, sir, Phil cottoned to Jonadab and me right away. He'd get us, one on + each wing, and go through that house asking questions. He pumped me and + Jonadab dry about how we come to be there, and told us more yarns than a + few 'bout Dillaway, and how rich he was. I remember he said that he only + wished he had the keys to the cellar so he could show us the money-bins. + Said Ebenezer was so just—well, rotten with money, as you might say, + that he kept it in bins down cellar, same as poor folks kept coal—gold + in one bin, silver half-dollars in another, quarters in another, and so + on. When he needed any, he'd say to a servant: “James, fetch me up a hod + of change.” This was only one of the fish yarns he told. They sounded kind + of scaly to Jonadab and me, but if we hinted at such a thing, he'd pull + himself together and say: “Fact, I assure you,” in a way to freeze your + vitals. He seemed like such a good feller that we didn't mind his telling + a few big ones; we'd known good fellers afore that liked to lie—gunners + and such like, they were mostly. + </p> + <p> + Somehow or 'nother Phil got Cap'n Jonadab talking “boat,” and when Jonadab + talks “boat” there ain't no stopping him. He's the smartest feller in a + cat-boat that ever handled a tiller, and he's won more races than any man + on the Cape, I cal'late. Phil asked him and me if we'd ever sailed on an + ice-boat, and, when we said we hadn't he asks if we won't take a sail with + him on the river next morning. We didn't want to put him to so much + trouble on our account, but he said: “Not at all. Pleasure'll be all mine, + I assure you.” Well, 'twas his for a spell—but never mind that now. + </p> + <p> + He introduced us to quite a lot of the comp'ny—men mostly. He'd see + a school of 'em in a corner, or under a palm tree or somewheres, and steer + us over in that direction and make us known to all hands. Then he begin to + show us off, so to speak, get Jonadab telling 'bout the boats he'd sailed, + or something like it—and them fellers would laugh and holler, but + Phil's face wouldn't shake out a reef: he looked solemn as a fun'ral all + the time. Jonadab and me begun to think we was making a great hit. Well, + we was, but not the way we thought. I remember one of the gang gets Phil + to one side after a talk like this and whispers to him, laughing like fun. + Phil says to him: “My dear boy, I've been to thousands of these things”—waving + his flipper scornful around the premises—“and upon honor they've all + been alike. Now that I've discovered something positively original, let me + enjoy myself. The entertainment by the Heavenly Twins is only begun.” + </p> + <p> + I didn't know what he meant then; I do now. + </p> + <p> + The marrying was done about eight o'clock and done with all the trimmings. + All hands manned the yards in the best parlor, and Peter and Belle was + hitched. Then they went away in a swell turnout—not like the + derelict hacks we'd seen stranded by the Cashmere depot—and Jonadab + pretty nigh took the driver's larboard ear off with a shoe Phil gave him + to heave after 'em. + </p> + <p> + After the wedding the folks was sitting under the palms and bushes that + was growing in tubs all over the house, and the stewards—there was + enough of 'em to man a four-master—was carting 'round punch and + frozen victuals. Everybody was togged up till Jonadab and me, in our new + cutaways, felt like a couple of moulting blackbirds at a blue-jay + camp-meeting. Ebenezer was so busy, flying 'round like a pullet with its + head off, that he'd hardly spoke to us sence we landed, but Phil scarcely + ever left us, so we wa'n't lonesome. Pretty soon he comes back from a beat + into the next room, and he says: + </p> + <p> + “There's a lady here that's just dying to know you gentlemen. Her name's + Granby. Tell her all about the Cape; she'll like it. And, by the way, my + dear feller,” he whispers to Jonadab “if you want to please her—er—mightily, + congratulate her upon her boy's success in the laundry business. You + understand,” he says, winking; “only son and self-made man, don't you + know.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Granby was roosting all by herself on a sofy in the parlor. She was + fleshy, but terrible stiff and proud, and when she moved the diamonds on + her shook till her head and neck looked like one of them “set pieces” at + the Fourth of July fireworks. She was deef, too, and used an ear-trumpet + pretty nigh as big as a steamer's ventilator. + </p> + <p> + Maybe she was “dying to know us,” but she didn't have a fit trying to show + it. Me and Jonadab felt we'd ought to be sociable, and so we set, one on + each side of her on the sofy, and bellered: “How d'ye do?” and “Fine day, + ain't it?” into that ear-trumpet. She didn't say much, but she'd couple on + the trumpet and turn to whichever one of us had hailed, heeling over to + that side as if her ballast had shifted. She acted to me kind of uneasy, + but everybody that come into that parlor—and they kept piling in all + the time—looked more'n middling joyful. They kept pretty quiet, too, + so that every yell we let out echoed, as you might say, all 'round. I + begun to git shaky at the knees, as if I was preaching to a big + congregation. + </p> + <p> + After a spell, Jonadab not being able to think of anything more to say, + and remembering Phil's orders, leans over and whoops into the trumpet. + </p> + <p> + “I'm real glad your son done so well with his laundry,” he says. + </p> + <p> + Well, sir, Phil had give us to understand that them congratulations would + make a hit, and they done it. The women 'round the room turned red and + some of 'em covered their mouths with their handkerchiefs. The men looked + glad and set up and took notice. Ebenezer wa'n't in the room—which + was a mercy—but your old mess-mate, Catesby-Stuart, looked solemn as + ever and never turned a hair. + </p> + <p> + But as for old lady Granby—whew! She got redder'n she was afore, + which was a miracle, pretty nigh. She couldn't speak for a minute—just + cackled like a hen. Then she busts out with: “How dare you!” and flounces + out of that room like a hurricane. And it was still as could be for a + minute, and then two or three of the girls begun to squeal and giggle + behind their handkerchiefs. + </p> + <p> + Jonadab and me went away, too. We didn't flounce any to speak of. I guess + a “sneak” would come nearer to telling how we quit. I see the cap'n + heading for the stairs and I fell into his wake. Nobody said good-night, + and we didn't wait to give 'em a chance. + </p> + <p> + 'Course we knew we'd put our foot in it somewheres, but we didn't see just + how. Even then we wa'n't really onto Phil's game. You see, when a green + city chap comes to the Old Home House—and the land knows there's + freaks enough do come—we always try to make things pleasant for him, + and the last thing we'd think of was making him a show afore folks. So we + couldn't b'lieve even now 'twas done a-purpose. But we was suspicious, a + little. + </p> + <p> + “Barzilla,” says Jonadab, getting ready to turn in, “'tain't possible that + that feller with the sprained last name is having fun with us, is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Jonadab,” says I, “I've been wondering that myself.” + </p> + <p> + And we wondered for an hour, and finally decided to wait a while and say + nothing till we could ask Ebenezer. And the next morning one of the + stewards comes up to our room with some coffee and grub, and says that Mr. + Catesby-Stuart requested the pleasure of our comp'ny on a afore-breakfast + ice-boat sail, and would meet us at the pier in half an hour. They didn't + have breakfast at Ebenezer's till pretty close to dinner time, eleven + o'clock, so we had time enough for quite a trip. + </p> + <p> + Phil and the ice-boat met us on time. I s'pose it 'twas style, but, if I + hadn't known I'd have swore he'd run short of duds and had dressed up in + the bed-clothes. I felt of his coat when he wa'n't noticing, and if it + wa'n't made out of a blanket then I never slept under one. And it made me + think of my granddad to see what he had on his head—a reg'lar + nightcap, tassel and all. Phil said he was sorry we turned in so early the + night afore. Said he'd planned to entertain us all the evening. We didn't + hurrah much at this—being suspicious, as I said—and he changed + the subject to ice-boats. + </p> + <p> + That ice-boat was a bird. I cal'lated to know a boat when I sighted one, + but a flat-iron on skates was something bran-new. I didn't think much of + it, and I could see that Jonadab didn't neither. + </p> + <p> + But in about three shakes of a lamb's tail I was ready to take it all back + and say I never said it. I done enough praying in the next half hour to + square up for every Friday night meeting I'd missed sence I was a boy. + Phil got sail onto her, and we moved out kind of slow. + </p> + <p> + “Now, then,” says he, “we'll take a little jaunt up the river. 'Course + this isn't like one of your Cape Cod cats, but still—” + </p> + <p> + And then I dug my finger nails into the deck and commenced: “Now I lay + me.” Talk about going! 'Twas “F-s-s-s-t!” and we was a mile from home. + “Bu-z-z-z!” and we was just getting ready to climb a bank; but 'fore she + nosed the shore Phil would put the helm over and we'd whirl round like a + windmill, with me and Jonadab biting the planking, and hanging on for dear + life, and my heart, that had been up in my mouth knocking the soles of my + boots off. And Cap'n Catesby-Stuart would grin, and drawl: “'Course, this + ain't like a Orham cat-boat, but she does fairly well—er—fairly. + Now, for instance, how does this strike you?” + </p> + <p> + It struck us—I don't think any got away. I expected every minute to + land in the hereafter, and it got so that the prospect looked kind of + inviting, if only to get somewheres where 'twas warm. That February wind + went in at the top of my stiff hat and whizzed out through the legs of my + thin Sunday pants till I felt for all the world like the ventilating pipe + on an ice-chest. I could see why Phil was wearing the bed-clothes; what I + was suffering for just then was a feather mattress on each side of me. + </p> + <p> + Well, me and Jonadab was “it” for quite a spell. Phil had all the fun, and + I guess he enjoyed it. If he'd stopped right then, when the fishing was + good, I cal'late he'd have fetched port with a full hold; but no, he had + to rub it in, so to speak, and that's where he slopped over. You know how + 'tis when you're eating mince-pie—it's the “one more slice” that + fetches the nightmare. Phil stopped to get that slice. + </p> + <p> + He kept whizzing up and down that river till Jonadab and me kind of got + over our variousness. We could manage to get along without spreading out + like porous plasters, and could set up for a minute or so on a stretch. + And twa'n't necessary for us to hold a special religious service every + time the flat-iron come about. Altogether, we was in that condition where + the doctor might have held out some hopes. + </p> + <p> + And, in spite of the cold, we was noticing how Phil was sailing that + three-cornered sneak-box—noticing and criticising; at least, I was, + and Cap'n Jonadab, being, as I've said, the best skipper of small craft + from Provincetown to Cohasset Narrows, must have had some ideas on the + subject. Your old chum, Catesby-Stuart, thought he was mast-high so fur's + sailing was concerned, anybody could see that, but he had something to + larn. He wasn't beginning to get out all there was in that ice-boat. And + just then along comes another feller in the same kind of hooker and gives + us a hail. There was two other chaps on the boat with him. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Phil!” he yells, rounding his flat-iron into the wind abreast of + ours and bobbing his night-cap. “I hoped you might be out. Are you game + for a race?” + </p> + <p> + “Archie,” answers our skipper, solemn as a setting hen, “permit me to + introduce to you Cap'n Jonadab Wixon and Admiral Barzilla Wingate, of + Orham, on the Cape.” + </p> + <p> + I wasn't expecting to fly an admiral's pennant quite so quick, but I + managed to shake out through my teeth—they was chattering like a box + of dice—that I was glad to know the feller. Jonadab, he rattled + loose something similar. + </p> + <p> + “The Cap'n and the Admiral,” says Phil, “having sailed the raging main for + lo! these many years, are now favoring me with their advice concerning the + navigation of ice-yachts. Archie, if you're willing to enter against such + a handicap of brains and barnacles, I'll race you on a beat up to the + point yonder, then on the ten mile run afore the wind to the buoy opposite + the Club, and back to the cove by Dillaway's. And we'll make it a case of + wine. Is it a go?” + </p> + <p> + Archie, he laughed and said it was, and, all at once, the race was on. + </p> + <p> + Now, Phil had lied when he said we was “favoring” him with advice, 'cause + we hadn't said a word; but that beat up to the point wa'n't half over + afore Jonadab and me was dying to tell him a few things. He handled that + boat like a lobster. Archie gained on every tack and come about for the + run a full minute afore us. + </p> + <p> + And on that run afore the wind 'twas worse than ever. The way Phil + see-sawed that piece of pie back and forth over the river was a sin and + shame. He could have slacked off his mainsail and headed dead for the + buoy, but no, he jiggled around like an old woman crossing the road ahead + of a funeral. + </p> + <p> + Cap'n Jonadab was on edge. Racing was where he lived, as you might say, + and he fidgeted like he was setting on a pin-cushion. By and by he snaps + out: + </p> + <p> + “Keep her off! Keep her off afore the wind! Can't you see where you're + going?” + </p> + <p> + Phil looked at him as if he was a graven image, and all the answer he made + was; “Be calm, Barnacles, be calm!” + </p> + <p> + But pretty soon I couldn't stand it no longer, and I busts out with: “Keep + her off, Mr. What's-your name! For the Lord's sake, keep her off! He'll + beat the life out of you!” + </p> + <p> + And all the good that done was for me to get a stare that was colder than + the wind, if such a thing's possible. + </p> + <p> + But Jonadab got fidgetyer every minute, and when we come out into the + broadest part of the river, within a little ways of the buoy, he couldn't + stand it no longer. + </p> + <p> + “You're spilling half the wind!” he yells. “Pint' her for the buoy or else + you'll be licked to death! Jibe her so's she gits it full. Jibe her, you + lubber! Don't you know how? Here! let me show you!” + </p> + <p> + And the next thing I knew he fetched a hop like a frog, shoved Phil out of + the way, grabbed the tiller, and jammed it over. + </p> + <p> + She jibed—oh, yes, she jibed! If anybody says she didn't you send + 'em to me. I give you my word that that flat-iron jibed twice—once + for practice, I jedge, and then for business. She commenced by twisting + and squirming like an eel. I jest had sense enough to clamp my mittens + onto the little brass rail by the stern and hold on; then she jibed the + second time. She stood up on two legs, the boom come over with a slat that + pretty nigh took the mast with it, and the whole shebang whirled around as + if it had forgot something. I have a foggy kind of remembrance of locking + my mitten clamps fast onto that rail while the rest of me streamed out in + the air like a burgee. Next thing I knew we was scooting back towards + Dillaway's, with the sail catching every ounce that was blowing. Jonadab + was braced across the tiller, and there, behind us, was the Honorable + Philip Catesby-Stuart, flat on his back, with his blanket legs looking + like a pair of compasses, and skimming in whirligigs over the slick ice + towards Albany. HE hadn't had nothing to hold onto, you understand. Well, + if I hadn't seen it, I wouldn't have b'lieved that a human being could + spin so long or travel so fast on his back. His legs made a kind of smoky + circle in the air over him, and he'd got such a start I thought he'd NEVER + STOP a-going. He come to a place where some snow had melted in the sun and + there was a pond, as you might say, on the ice, and he went through that, + heaving spray like one of them circular lawn sprinklers the summer folks + have. He'd have been as pretty as a fountain, if we'd had time to stop and + look at him. + </p> + <p> + “For the land sakes, heave to!” I yelled, soon's I could get my breath. + “You've spilled the skipper!” + </p> + <p> + “Skipper be durned!” howls Jonadab, squeezing the tiller and keeping on + the course; “We'll come back for him by and by. It's our business to win + this race.” + </p> + <p> + And, by ginger! we DID win it. The way Jonadab coaxed that cocked hat on + runners over the ice was pretty—yes, sir, pretty! He nipped her + close enough to the wind'ard, and he took advantage of every single + chance. He always COULD sail; I'll say that for him. We walked up on + Archie like he'd set down to rest, and passed him afore he was within a + half mile of home. We run up abreast of Dillaway's, putting on all the + fancy frills of a liner coming into port, and there was Ebenezer and a + whole crowd of wedding company down by the landing. + </p> + <p> + “Gosh!” says Jonadab, tugging at his whiskers: “'Twas Cape Cod against New + York that time, and you can't beat the Cape when it comes to getting over + water, not even if the water's froze. Hey, Barzilla?” + </p> + <p> + Ebenezer came hopping over the ice towards us. He looked some surprised. + </p> + <p> + “Where's Phil?” he says. + </p> + <p> + Now, I'd clean forgot Phil and I guess Jonadab had, by the way he colored + up. + </p> + <p> + “Phil?” says he. “Phil? Oh, yes! We left him up the road a piece. Maybe + we'd better go after him now.” + </p> + <p> + But old Dillaway had something to say. + </p> + <p> + “Cap'n,” he says, looking round to make sure none of the comp'ny was + follering him out to the ice-boat. “I've wanted to speak to you afore, but + I haven't had the chance. You mustn't b'lieve too much of what Mr. + Catesby-Stuart says, nor you mustn't always do just what he suggests. You + see,” he says, “he's a dreadful practical joker.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” says Jonadab, beginning to look sick. I didn't say nothing, but I + guess I looked the same way. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Ebenezer, kind of uneasy like; “Now, in that matter of Mrs. + Granby. I s'pose Phil put you up to asking her about her son's laundry. + Yes? Well, I thought so. You see, the fact is, her boy is a broker down in + Wall Street, and he's been caught making some of what they call 'wash + sales' of stock. It's against the rules of the Exchange to do that, and + the papers have been full of the row. You can see,” says Dillaway, “how + the laundry question kind of stirred the old lady up. But, Lord! it must + have been funny,” and he commenced to grin. + </p> + <p> + I looked at Jonadab, and he looked at me. I thought of Marm Granby, and + her being “dying to know us,” and I thought of the lies about the “hod of + change” and all the rest, and I give you my word <i>I</i> didn't grin, not + enough to show my wisdom teeth, anyhow. A crack in the ice an inch wide + would have held me, with room to spare; I know that. + </p> + <p> + “Hum!” grunts Jonadab, kind of dry and bitter, as if he'd been taking + wormwood tea; “<i>I</i> see. He's been having a good time making durn + fools out of us.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” says Ebenezer, “not exactly that, p'raps, but—” + </p> + <p> + And then along comes Archie and his crowd in the other ice-boat. + </p> + <p> + “Hi!” he yells. “Who sailed that boat of yours? He knew his business all + right. I never saw anything better. Phil—why, where IS Phil?” + </p> + <p> + I answered him. “Phil got out when we jibed,” I says. + </p> + <p> + “Was THAT Phil?” he hollers, and then the three of 'em just roared. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, by Jove, you know!” says Archie, “that's the funniest thing I ever + saw. And on Phil, too! He'll never hear the last of it at the club—hey, + boys?” And then they just bellered and laughed again. + </p> + <p> + When they'd gone, Jonadab turned to Ebenezer and he says: “That taking us + out on this boat was another case of having fun with the countrymen. Hey?” + </p> + <p> + “I guess so,” says Dillaway. “I b'lieve he told one of the guests that he + was going to put Cape Cod on ice this morning.” + </p> + <p> + I looked away up the river where a little black speck was just getting to + shore. And I thought of how chilly the wind was out there, and how that + ice-water must have felt, and what a long ways 'twas from home. And then I + smiled, slow and wide; there was a barge load of joy in every half inch of + that smile. + </p> + <p> + “It's a cold day when Phil loses a chance for a joke,” says Ebenezer. + </p> + <p> + “'Tain't exactly what you'd call summery just now,” I says. And we hauled + down sail, run the ice-boat up to the wharf, and went up to our room to + pack our extension cases for the next train. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” says Jonadab, putting in his other shirt, “it's easy enough to + get the best of Cape folks on wash sales and lying, but when it comes to + boats that's a different pair of shoes.” + </p> + <p> + “I guess Phil'll agree with you,” I says. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE COUNT AND THE MANAGER + </h2> + <p> + The way we got into the hotel business in the first place come around like + this: Me and Cap'n Jonadab went down to Wellmouth Port one day 'long in + March to look at some property he'd had left him. Jonadab's Aunt Sophrony + had moved kind of sudden from that village to Beulah Land—they're a + good ways apart, too—and Cap'n Jonadab had come in for the old farm, + he being the only near relative. + </p> + <p> + When you go to Wellmouth Port you get off the cars at Wellmouth Center and + then take Labe Bearse's barge and ride four miles; and then, if the horse + don't take a notion to lay down in the road and go to sleep, or a wheel + don't come off or some other surprise party ain't sprung on you, you come + to a place where there's a Baptist chapel that needs painting, and a + little two-for-a-cent store that needs trade, and two or three houses that + need building over, and any Lord's quantity of scrub pines and beach grass + and sand. Then you take Labe's word for it that you've got to Wellmouth + Port and get out of the barge and try to remember you're a church member. + </p> + <p> + Well, Aunt Sophrony's house was a mile or more from the place where the + barge stopped, and Jonadab and me, we hoofed it up there. We bought some + cheese and crackers and canned things at the store, 'cause we expected to + stay overnight in the house, and knew there wasn't no other way of getting + provender. + </p> + <p> + We got there after a spell and set down on the big piazza with our souls + full of gratitude and our boots full of sand. Great, big, old-fashioned + house with fourteen big bedrooms in it, big barn, sheds, and one thing or + 'nother, and perched right on top of a hill with five or six acres of + ground 'round it. And how the March wind did whoop in off the sea and howl + and screech lonesomeness through the pine trees! You take it in the middle + of the night, with the shutters rattling and the old joists a-creaking and + Jonadab snoring like a chap sawing hollow logs, and if it wan't joy then + my name ain't Barzilla Wingate. I don't wonder Aunt Sophrony died. I'd + have died 'long afore she did if I knew I was checked plumb through to + perdition. There'd be some company where I was going, anyhow. + </p> + <p> + The next morning after ballasting up with the truck we'd bought at the + store—the feller 'most keeled over when he found we was going to pay + cash for it—we went out on the piazza again, and looked at the + breakers and the pine trees and the sand, and held our hats on with both + hands. + </p> + <p> + “Jonadab,” says I, “what'll you take for your heirloom?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he says, “Barzilla, the way I feel now, I think I'd take a return + ticket to Orham and be afraid of being took up for swindling at that.” + </p> + <p> + Neither of us says nothing more for a spell, and, first thing you know, we + heard a carriage rattling somewhere up the road. I was shipwrecked once + and spent two days in a boat looking for a sail. When I heard that + rattling I felt just the way I done when I sighted the ship that picked us + up. + </p> + <p> + “Judas!” says Jonadab, “there's somebody COMING!” + </p> + <p> + We jumped out of our chairs and put for the corner of the house. There WAS + somebody coming—a feller in a buggy, and he hitched his horse to the + front fence and come whistling up the walk. + </p> + <p> + He was a tall chap, with a smooth face, kind of sharp and knowing, and + with a stiff hat set just a little on one side. His clothes was new and + about a week ahead of up-to-date, his shoes shined till they lit up the + lower half of his legs, and his pants was creased so's you could mow with + 'em. Cool and slick! Say! in the middle of that deadliness and compared to + Jonadab and me, he looked like a bird of Paradise in a coop of moulting + pullets. + </p> + <p> + “Cap'n Wixon?” he says to me, sticking out a gloved flipper. + </p> + <p> + “Not guilty,” says I. “There's the skipper. My name's Wingate.” + </p> + <p> + “Glad to have the pleasure, Mr. Wingate,” he says. “Cap'n Wixon, yours + truly.” + </p> + <p> + We shook hands, and he took each of us by the arm and piloted us back to + the piazza, like a tug with a couple of coal barges. He pulled up a chair, + crossed his legs on the rail, reached into the for'ard hatch of his coat + and brought out a cigar case. + </p> + <p> + “Smoke up,” he says. We done it—I holding my hat to shut off the + wind, while Jonadab used up two cards of matches getting the first light. + When we got the cigars to going finally, the feller says: + </p> + <p> + “My name's Brown—Peter T. Brown. I read about your falling heir to + this estate, Cap'n Wixon, in a New Bedford paper. I happened to be in New + Bedford then, representing the John B. Wilkins Unparalleled All Star Uncle + Tom's Cabin and Ten Nights in a Bar-room Company. It isn't my reg'lar + line, the show bus'ness, but it produced the necessary 'ham and' every day + and the excelsior sleep inviter every night, so—but never mind that. + Soon as I read the paper I came right down to look at the property. Having + rubbered, back I go to Orham to see you. Your handsome and talented + daughter says you are over here. That'll be about all—here I am. + Now, then, listen to this.” + </p> + <p> + He went under his hatches again, rousted out a sheet of paper, unfolded it + and read something like this—I know it by heart: + </p> + <p> + “The great sea leaps and splashes before you as it leaped and splashed in + the old boyhood days. The sea wind sings to you as it sang of old. The old + dreams come back to you, the dreams you dreamed as you slumbered upon the + cornhusk mattress in the clean, sweet little chamber of the old home. + Forgotten are the cares of business, the scramble for money, the ruthless + hunt for fame. Here are perfect rest and perfect peace. + </p> + <p> + “Now what place would you say I was describing?” says the feller. + </p> + <p> + “Heaven,” says Jonadab, looking up, reverent like. + </p> + <p> + You never see a body more disgusted than Brown. + </p> + <p> + “Get out!” he snaps. “Do I look like the advance agent of Glory? Listen to + this one.” + </p> + <p> + He unfurls another sheet of paper, and goes off on a tack about like this: + </p> + <p> + “The old home! You who sit in your luxurious apartments, attended by your + liveried servants, eating the costly dishes that bring you dyspepsia and + kindred evils, what would you give to go back once more to the simple, + cleanly living of the old house in the country? The old home, where the + nights were cool and refreshing, the sleep deep and sound; where the + huckleberry pies that mother fashioned were swimming in fragrant juice, + where the shells of the clams for the chowder were snow white and the + chowder itself a triumph; where there were no voices but those of the wind + and sea; no—” + </p> + <p> + “Don't!” busts out Jonadab. “Don't! I can't stand it!” + </p> + <p> + He was mopping his eyes with his red bandanner. I was consider'ble shook + up myself. The dear land knows we was more used to huckleberry pies and + clam chowder than we was to liveried servants and costly dishes, but there + was something in the way that feller read off that slush that just worked + the pump handle. A hog would have cried; I know <i>I</i> couldn't help it. + As for Peter T. Brown, he fairly crowed. + </p> + <p> + “It gets you!” he says. “I knew it would. And it'll get a heap of others, + too. Well, we can't send 'em back to the old home, but we can trot the old + home to them, or a mighty good imitation of it. Here it is; right here!” + </p> + <p> + And he waves his hand up toward Aunt Sophrony's cast-off palace. + </p> + <p> + Cap'n Jonadab set up straight and sputtered like a firecracker. A man + hates to be fooled. + </p> + <p> + “Old home!” he snorts. “Old county jail, you mean!” + </p> + <p> + And then that Brown feller took his feet down off the rail, hitched his + chair right in front of Jonadab and me and commenced to talk. And HOW he + did talk! Say, he could talk a Hyannis fisherman into a missionary. I wish + I could remember all he said; 'twould make a book as big as a dictionary, + but 'twould be worth the trouble of writing it down. 'Fore he got through + he talked a thousand dollars out of Cap'n Jonadab, and it takes a pretty + hefty lecture to squeeze a quarter out of HIM. To make a long yarn short, + this was his plan: + </p> + <p> + He proposed to turn Aunt Sophrony's wind plantation into a hotel for + summer boarders. And it wan't going to be any worn-out, regulation kind of + a summer hotel neither. + </p> + <p> + “Confound it, man!” he says, “they're sick of hot and cold water, + elevators, bell wires with a nigger on the end, and all that. There's a + raft of old codgers that call themselves 'self-made men'—meanin' + that the Creator won't own 'em, and they take the responsibility + themselves—that are always wishing they could go somewheres like the + shacks where they lived when they were kids. They're always talking about + it, and wishing they could go to the old home and rest. Rest! Why, say, + there's as much rest to this place as there is sand, and there's enough of + that to scour all the knives in creation.” + </p> + <p> + “But 'twill cost so like the dickens to furnish it,” I says. + </p> + <p> + “Furnish it!” says he. “Why, that's just it! It won't cost nothing to + furnish it—nothing to speak of. I went through the house day before + yesterday—crawled in the kitchen window—oh! it's all right, + you can count the spoons—and there's eight of those bedrooms + furnished just right, corded bedsteads, painted bureaus with glass knobs, + 'God Bless Our Home' and Uncle Jeremiah's coffin plate on the wall, rag + mats on the floor, and all the rest. All she needs is a little more of the + same stuff, that I can buy 'round here for next to nothing—I used to + buy for an auction room—and a little paint and fixings, and there + she is. All I want from you folks is a little money—I'll chuck in + two hundred and fifty myself—and you two can be proprietors and + treasurers if you want to. But active manager and publicity man—that's + yours cheerily, Peter Theodosius Brown!” And he slapped his plaid vest. + </p> + <p> + Well, he talked all the forenoon and all the way to Orham on the train and + most of that night. And when he heaved anchor, Jonadab had agreed to put + up a thousand and I was in for five hundred and Peter contributed two + hundred and fifty and experience and nerve. And the “Old Home House” was + off the ways. + </p> + <p> + And by the first of May 'twas open and ready for business, too. You never + see such a driver as that feller Brown was. He had a new wide piazza built + all 'round the main buildings, painted everything up fine, hired the three + best women cooks in Wellmouth—and there's some good cooks on Cape + Cod, too—and a half dozen chamber girls and waiters. He had some + trouble getting corded beds and old bureaus for the empty rooms, but he + got 'em finally. He bought the last bed of Beriah Burgess, up at East + Harniss, and had quite a dicker getting it. + </p> + <p> + “He thought he ought to get five dollars for it,” says Brown, telling + Jonadab and me about it. “Said he hated to part with it because his + grandmother died in it. I told him I couldn't see any good reason why I + should pay more for a bed just because it had killed his grandmother, so + we split up and called it three dollars. 'Twas too much money, but we had + to have it.” + </p> + <p> + And the advertisements! They was sent everywheres. Lots of 'em was what + Peter called “reading notices,” and them he mostly got for nothing, for he + could talk an editor foolish same as he could anybody else. By the middle + of April most of our money was gone, but every room in the house was let + and we had applications coming by the pailful. + </p> + <p> + And the folks that come had money, too—they had to have to pay + Brown's rates. I always felt like a robber or a Standard Oil director + every time I looked at the books. The most of 'em was rich folks—self-made + men, just like Peter prophesied—and they brought their wives and + daughters and slept on cornhusks and eat chowder and said 'twas great and + just like old times. And they got the rest we advertised; we didn't cheat + 'em on REST. By ten o'clock pretty nigh all hands was abed, and 'twas so + still all you could hear was the breakers or the wind, or p'raps a groan + coming from a window where some boarder had turned over in his sleep and a + corncob in the mattress had raked him crossways. + </p> + <p> + There was one old chap that we'll call Dillaway—Ebenezer Dillaway. + That wan't his name; his real one's too well known to tell. He runs the + “Dillaway Combination Stores” that are all over the country. In them + stores you can buy anything and buy it cheap—cheapness is Ebenezer's + stronghold and job lots is his sheet anchor. He'll sell you a mowing + machine and the grass seed to grow the hay to cut with it. He'll sell you + a suit of clothes for two dollars and a quarter, and for ten cents more + he'll sell you glue enough to stick it together again after you've worn it + out in the rain. He'll sell you anything, and he's got cash enough to sink + a ship. + </p> + <p> + He come to the “Old Home House” with his daughter, and he took to the + place right away. Said 'twas for all the world like where he used to live + when he was a boy. He liked the grub and he liked the cornhusks and he + liked Brown. Brown had a way of stealing a thing and yet paying enough for + it to square the law—that hit Ebenezer where he lived. + </p> + <p> + His daughter liked Brown, too, and 'twas easy enough to see that Brown + liked her. She was a mighty pretty girl, the kind Peter called a “queen,” + and the active manager took to her like a cat to a fish. They was together + more'n half the time, gitting up sailing parties, or playing croquet, or + setting up on the “Lover's Nest,” which was a kind of slab summer-house + Brown had rigged up on the bluff where Aunt Sophrony's pig-pens used to be + in the old days. + </p> + <p> + Me and Jonadab see how things was going, and we'd look at one another and + wink and shake our heads when the pair'd go by together. But all that was + afore the count come aboard. + </p> + <p> + We got our first letter from the count about the third of June. The + writing was all over the plate like a biled dinner, and the English looked + like it had been shook up in a bag, but it was signed with a nine fathom, + toggle-jinted name that would give a pollparrot the lockjaw, and had the + word “Count” on the bow of it. + </p> + <p> + You never see a feller happier than Peter T. Brown. + </p> + <p> + “Can he have rooms?” says Peter. “CAN he? Well, I should rise to elocute! + He can have the best there is if yours truly has to bunk in the coop with + the gladsome Plymouth Rock. That's what! He says he's a count and he'll be + advertised as a count from this place to where rolls the Oregon.” + </p> + <p> + And he was, too. The papers was full of how Count What's-his-Name was + hanging out at the “Old Home House,” and we got more letters from rich old + women and pork-pickling money bags than you could shake a stick at. If you + want to catch the free and equal nabob of a glorious republic, bait up + with a little nobility and you'll have your salt wet in no time. We had to + rig up rooms in the carriage house, and me and Jonadab slept in the + haymow. + </p> + <p> + The count himself hove in sight on June fifteenth. He was a little, smoked + Italian man with a pair of legs that would have been carried away in a + gale, and a black mustache with waxed ends that you'd think would punch + holes in the pillow case. His talk was like his writing, only worse, but + from the time his big trunk with the foreign labels was carried upstairs, + he was skipper and all hands of the “Old Home House.” + </p> + <p> + And the funny part of it was that old man Dillaway was as much gone on him + as the rest. For a self-made American article he was the worst gone on + this machine-made importation that ever you see. I s'pose when you've got + more money than you can spend for straight goods you nat'rally go in for + buying curiosities; I can't see no other reason. + </p> + <p> + Anyway, from the minute the count come over the side it was “Good-by, + Peter.” The foreigner was first oar with the old man and general consort + for the daughter. Whenever there was a sailing trip on or a spell of + roosting in the Lover's Nest, Ebenezer would see that the count looked out + for the “queen,” while Brown stayed on the piazza and talked bargains with + papa. It worried Peter—you could see that. He'd set in the barn with + Jonadab and me, thinking, thinking, and all at once he'd bust out: + </p> + <p> + “Bless that Dago's heart! I haven't chummed in with the degenerate + aristocracy much in my time, but somewhere or other I've seen that chap + before. Now where—where—where?” + </p> + <p> + For the first two weeks the count paid his board like a major; then he let + it slide. Jonadab and me was a little worried, but he was advertising us + like fun, his photographs—snap shots by Peter—was getting into + the papers, so we judged he was a good investment. But Peter got bluer and + bluer. + </p> + <p> + One night we was in the setting room—me and Jonadab and the count + and Ebenezer. The “queen” and the rest of the boarders was abed. + </p> + <p> + The count was spinning a pigeon English yarn of how he'd fought a duel + with rapiers. When he'd finished, old Dillaway pounded his knee and sung + out: + </p> + <p> + “That's bus'ness! That's the way to fix 'em! No lawsuits, no argument, no + delays. Just take 'em out and punch holes in 'em. Did you hear that, + Brown?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I heard it,” says Peter, kind of absent-minded like. “Fighting with + razors, wan't it?” + </p> + <p> + Now there wan't nothing to that—'twas just some of Brown's sarcastic + spite getting the best of him—but I give you my word that the count + turned yellow under his brown skin, kind of like mud rising from the + bottom of a pond. + </p> + <p> + “What-a you say?” he says, bending for'ards. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Brown was mistaken, that's all,” says Dillaway; “he meant rapiers.” + </p> + <p> + “But why-a razors—why-a razors?” says the count. + </p> + <p> + Now I was watching Brown's face, and all at once I see it light up like + you'd turned a searchlight on it. He settled back in his chair and fetched + a long breath as if he was satisfied. Then he grinned and begged pardon + and talked a blue streak for the rest of the evening. + </p> + <p> + Next day he was the happiest thing in sight, and when Miss Dillaway and + the count went Lover's Nesting he didn't seem to care a bit. All of a + sudden he told Jonadab and me that he was going up to Boston that evening + on bus'ness and wouldn't be back for a day or so. He wouldn't tell what + the bus'ness was, either, but just whistled and laughed and sung, + “Good-by, Susannah; don't you grieve for me,” till train time. + </p> + <p> + He was back again three nights afterward, and he come right out to the + barn without going nigh the house. He had another feller with him, a kind + of shabby dressed Italian man with curly hair. + </p> + <p> + “Fellers,” he says to me and Jonadab, “this is my friend, Mr. Macaroni; + he's going to engineer the barber shop for a while.” + </p> + <p> + Well, we'd just let our other barber go, so we didn't think anything of + this, but when he said that his friend Spaghetti was going to stay in the + barn for a day or so, and that we needn't mention that he was there, we + thought that was funny. + </p> + <p> + But Peter done a lot of funny things the next day. One of 'em was to set a + feller painting a side of the house by the count's window, that didn't + need painting at all. And when the feller quit for the night, Brown told + him to leave the ladder where 'twas. + </p> + <p> + That evening the same crowd was together in the setting room. Peter was as + lively as a cricket, talking, talking, all the time. By and by he says: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, say, I want you to see the new barber. He can shave anything from a + note to a porkypine. Come in here, Chianti!” he says, opening the door and + calling out. “I want you.” + </p> + <p> + And in come the new Italian man, smiling and bowing and looking “meek and + lowly, sick and sore,” as the song says. + </p> + <p> + Well, we laughed at Brown's talk and asked the Italian all kinds of fool + questions and nobody noticed that the count wan't saying nothing. Pretty + soon he gets up and says he guesses he'll go to his room, 'cause he feels + sort of sick. + </p> + <p> + And I tell you he looked sick. He was yellower than he was the other + night, and he walked like he hadn't got his sea legs on. Old Dillaway was + terrible sorry and kept asking if there wan't something he could do, but + the count put him off and went out. + </p> + <p> + “Now that's too bad!” says Brown. “Spaghetti, you needn't wait any + longer.” + </p> + <p> + So the other Italian went out, too. + </p> + <p> + And then Peter T. Brown turned loose and talked the way he done when me + and Jonadab first met him. He just spread himself. He told of this bargain + that he'd made and that sharp trade he had turned, while we set there and + listened and laughed like a parsel of fools. And every time that + Ebenezer'd get up to go to bed, Peter'd trot out a new yarn and he'd have + to stop to listen to that. And it got to be eleven o'clock and then twelve + and then one. + </p> + <p> + It was just about quarter past one and we was laughing our heads off at + one of Brown's jokes, when out under the back window there was a jingle + and a thump and a kind of groaning and wiggling noise. + </p> + <p> + “What on earth is that?” says Dillaway. + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't be surprised,” says Peter, cool as a mack'rel on ice, “if + that was his royal highness, the count.” + </p> + <p> + He took up the lamp and we all hurried outdoors and 'round the corner. And + there, sure enough, was the count, sprawling on the ground with his + leather satchel alongside of him, and his foot fast in a big steel trap + that was hitched by a chain to the lower round of the ladder. He rared up + on his hands when he see us and started to say something about an outrage. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that's all right, your majesty,” says Brown. “Hi, Chianti, come here + a minute! Here's your old college chum, the count, been and put his foot + in it.” + </p> + <p> + When the new barber showed up the count never made another move, just + wilted like a morning-glory after sunrise. But you never see a worse upset + man than Ebenezer Dillaway. + </p> + <p> + “But what does this mean?” says he, kind of wild like. “Why don't you take + that thing off his foot?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” says Peter, “he's been elongating my pedal extremity for the last + month or so; I don't see why I should kick if he pulls his own for a + while. You see,” he says, “it's this way: + </p> + <p> + “Ever since his grace condescended to lend the glory of his countenance to + this humble roof,” he says, “it's stuck in my mind that I'd seen the said + countenance somewhere before. The other night when our conversation was + trifling with the razor subject and the Grand Lama here”—that's the + name he called the count—“was throwing in details about his carving + his friends, it flashed across me where I'd seen it. About a couple of + years ago I was selling the guileless rural druggists contiguous to + Scranton, Pennsylvania, the tasty and happy combination called 'Dr. + Bulger's Electric Liver Cure,' the same being a sort of electric light for + shady livers, so to speak. I made my headquarters at Scranton, and, while + there, my hair was shortened and my chin smoothed in a neat but gaudy + barber shop, presided over by my friend Spaghetti here, and my equally + valued friend the count.” + </p> + <p> + “So,” says Peter, smiling and cool as ever, “when it all came back to me, + as the song says, I journeyed to Scranton accompanied by a photograph of + his lordship. I was lucky enough to find Macaroni in the same old shop. He + knew the count's classic profile at once. It seems his majesty had hit up + the lottery a short time previous for a few hundred and had given up + barbering. I suppose he'd read in the papers that the imitation count line + was stylish and profitable and so he tried it on. It may be,” says Brown, + offhand, “that he thought he might marry some rich girl. There's some fool + fathers, judging by the papers, that are willing to sell their daughters + for the proper kind of tag on a package like him.” + </p> + <p> + Old man Dillaway kind of made a face, as if he'd ate something that tasted + bad, but he didn't speak. + </p> + <p> + “And so,” says Peter, “Spaghetti and I came to the Old Home together, he + to shave for twelve per, and I to set traps, etcetera. That's a good + trap,” he says, nodding, “I bought it in Boston. I had the teeth filed + down, but the man that sold it said 'twould hold a horse. I left the + ladder by his grace's window, thinking he might find it handy after he'd + seen his friend of other days, particularly as the back door was locked. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” goes on Brown, short and sharp, “let's talk business. Count,” + he says, “you are set back on the books about sixty odd for old home + comforts. We'll cut off half of that and charge it to advertising. You + draw well, as the man said about the pipe. But the other thirty you'll + have to work out. You used to shave like a bird. I'll give you twelve + dollars a week to chip in with Macaroni here and barber the boarders.” + </p> + <p> + But Dillaway looked anxious. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Brown,” he says, “I wouldn't do that. I'll pay his board bill + and his traveling expenses if he clears out this minute. It seems tough to + set him shaving after he's been such a big gun around here.” + </p> + <p> + I could see right off that the arrangement suited Brown first rate and was + exactly what he'd been working for, but he pretended not to care much for + it. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I don't know,” he says. “I'd rather be a sterling barber than a + plated count. But anything to oblige you, Mr. Dillaway.” + </p> + <p> + So the next day there was a nobleman missing at the “Old Home House,” and + all we had to remember him by was a trunk full of bricks. And Peter T. + Brown and the “queen” was roosting in the Lover's Nest; and the new + Italian was busy in the barber shop. He could shave, too. He shaved me + without a pull, and my face ain't no plush sofy, neither. + </p> + <p> + And before the season was over the engagement was announced. Old Dillaway + took it pretty well, considering. He liked Peter, and his having no money + to speak of didn't count, because Ebenezer had enough for all hands. The + old man said he'd been hoping for a son-in-law sharp enough to run the + “Consolidated Stores” after he was gone, and it looked, he said, as if + he'd found him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE SOUTH SHORE WEATHER BUREAU + </h2> + <p> + “But,” says Cap'n Jonadab and me together, jest as if we was “reading in + concert” same as the youngsters do in school, “but,” we says, “will it + work? Will anybody pay for it?” + </p> + <p> + “Work?” says Peter T., with his fingers in the arm-holes of the + double-breasted danger-signal that he called a vest, and with his cigar + tilted up till you'd think 'twould set his hat-brim afire. “Work?” says + he. “Well, maybe 'twouldn't work if the ordinary brand of canned lobster + was running it, but with ME to jerk the lever and sound the loud timbrel—why, + say! it's like stealing money from a blind cripple that's hard of + hearing.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” says Cap'n Jonadab. “But this ain't like starting the Old + Home House. That was opening up a brand-new kind of hotel that nobody ever + heard of before. This is peddling weather prophecies when there's the + Gov'ment Weather Bureau running opposition—not to mention the Old + Farmer's Almanac, and I don't know how many more,” he says. + </p> + <p> + Brown took his patent leathers down off the rail of the piazza, give the + ashes of his cigar a flip—he knocked 'em into my hat that was on the + floor side of his chair, but he was too excited to mind—and he says: + </p> + <p> + “Confound it, man!” he says. “You can throw more cold water than a + fire-engine. Old Farmer's Almanac! This isn't any 'About this time look + out for snow' business. And it ain't any Washington cold slaw like + 'Weather for New England and Rocky Mountains, Tuesday to Friday; cold to + warm; well done on the edges with a rare streak in the middle, preceded or + followed by rain, snow, or clearing. Wind, north to south, varying east + and west.' No siree! this is TO-DAY'S weather for Cape Cod, served right + off the griddle on a hot plate, and cooked by the chef at that. You don't + realize what a regular dime-museum wonder that feller is,” he says. + </p> + <p> + Well, I suppose we didn't. You see, Jonadab and me, like the rest of the + folks around Wellmouth, had come to take Beriah Crocker and his weather + notions as the regular thing, like baked beans on a Saturday night. + Beriah, he— + </p> + <p> + But there! I've been sailing stern first. Let's get her headed right, if + we ever expect to turn the first mark. You see, 'twas this way: + </p> + <p> + 'Twas in the early part of May follering the year that the “Old Home + House” was opened. We'd had the place all painted up, decks holy-stoned, + bunks overhauled, and one thing or 'nother, and the “Old Home” was all + taut and shipshape, ready for the crew—boarders, I mean. Passages + was booked all through the summer and it looked as if our second season + would be better'n our first. + </p> + <p> + Then the Dillaway girl—she was christened Lobelia, like her mother, + but she'd painted it out and cruised under the name of Belle since the + family got rich—she thought 'twould be nice to have what she called + a “spring house-party” for her particular friends 'fore the regular season + opened. So Peter—he being engaged at the time and consequent in that + condition where he'd have put on horns and “mooed” if she'd give the order—he + thought 'twould be nice, too, and for a week it was “all hands on deck!” + getting ready for the “house-party.” + </p> + <p> + Two days afore the thing was to go off the ways Brown gets a letter from + Belle, and in it says she's invited a whole lot of folks from Chicago and + New York and Boston and the land knows where, and that they've never been + to the Cape and she wants to show 'em what a “quaint” place it is. “Can't + you get,” says she, “two or three delightful, queer, old 'longshore + characters to be at work 'round the hotel? It'll give such a touch of + local color,” she says. + </p> + <p> + So out comes Peter with the letter. + </p> + <p> + “Barzilla,” he says to me, “I want some characters. Know anybody that's a + character?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” says I, “there's Nate Slocum over to Orham. He'd steal anything + that wa'n't spiked down. He's about the toughest character I can think of, + offhand, this way.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, thunder!” says Brown. “I don't want a crook; that wouldn't be any + novelty to THIS crowd,” he says. “What I'm after is an odd stick; a feller + with pigeons in his loft. Not a lunatic, but jest a queer genius—little + queerer than you and the Cap'n here.” + </p> + <p> + After a while we got his drift, and I happened to think of Beriah and his + chum, Eben Cobb. They lived in a little shanty over to Skakit P'int and + got their living lobstering, and so on. Both of 'em had saved a few + thousand dollars, but you couldn't get a cent of it without giving 'em + ether, and they'd rather live like Portugees than white men any day, + unless they was paid to change. Beriah's pet idee was foretelling what the + weather was going to be. And he could do it, too, better'n anybody I ever + see. He'd smell a storm further'n a cat can smell fish, and he hardly ever + made a mistake. Prided himself on it, you understand, like a boy does on + his first long pants. His prophecies was his idols, so's to speak, and you + couldn't have hired him to foretell what he knew was wrong, not for no + money. + </p> + <p> + Peter said Beriah and Eben was just the sort of “cards” he was looking for + and drove right over to see 'em. He hooked 'em, too. I knew he would; he + could talk a Come-Outer into believing that a Unitarian wasn't booked for + Tophet, if he set out to. + </p> + <p> + So the special train from Boston brought the “house-party” down, and our + two-seated buggy brought Beriah and Eben over. They didn't have anything + to do but to look “picturesque” and say “I snum!” and “I swan to man!” and + they could do that to the skipper's taste. The city folks thought they was + “just too dear and odd for anything,” and made 'em bigger fools than ever, + which wa'n't necessary. + </p> + <p> + The second day of the “party” was to be a sailing trip clear down to the + life-saving station on Setuckit Beach. It certainly looked as if 'twas + going to storm, and the Gov'ment predictions said it was, but Beriah said + “No,” and stuck out that 'twould clear up by and by. Peter wanted to know + what I thought about their starting, and I told him that 'twas my + experience that where weather was concerned Beriah was a good, safe + anchorage. So they sailed away, and, sure enough, it cleared up fine. And + the next day the Gov'ment fellers said “clear” and Beriah said “rain,” and + she poured a flood. And, after three or four of such experiences, Beriah + was all hunky with the “house-party,” and they looked at him as a sort of + wonderful freak, like a two-headed calf or the “snake child,” or some such + outrage. + </p> + <p> + So, when the party was over, 'round comes Peter, busting with a new + notion. What he cal'lated to do was to start a weather prophesying bureau + all on his own hook, with Beriah for prophet, and him for manager and + general advertiser, and Jonadab and me to help put up the money to get her + going. He argued that summer folks from Scituate to Provincetown, on both + sides of the Cape, would pay good prices for the real thing in weather + predictions. The Gov'ment bureau, so he said, covered too much ground, but + Beriah was local and hit her right on the head. His idee was to send + Beriah's predictions by telegraph to agents in every Cape town each + morning, and the agents was to hand 'em to susscribers. First week a free + trial; after that, so much per prophecy. + </p> + <p> + And it worked—oh, land, yes! it worked. Peter's letters and + circulars would satisfy anybody that black was white, and the free trial + was a sure bait. I don't know why 'tis, but if you offered the smallpox + free, there'd be a barrel of victims waiting in line to come down with it. + Brown rigged up a little shanty on the bluff in front of the “Old Home,” + and filled it full of barometers and thermometers and chronometers and + charts, and put Beriah and Eben inside to look wise and make b'lieve do + something. That was the office of “The South Shore Weather Bureau,” and + 'twas sort of sacred and holy, and 'twould kill you to see the boarders + tip-toeing up and peeking in the winder to watch them two old coots + squinting through a telescope at the sky or scribbling rubbish on paper. + And Beriah was right 'most every time. I don't know why—my notion is + that he was born that way, same as some folks are born lightning + calculators—but I'll never forget the first time Peter asked him how + he done it. + </p> + <p> + “Wall,” drawls Beriah, “now to-day looks fine and clear, don't it? But + last night my left elbow had rheumatiz in it, and this morning my bones + ache, and my right toe-j'int is sore, so I know we'll have an easterly + wind and rain this evening. If it had been my left toe now, why—” + </p> + <p> + Peter held up both hands. + </p> + <p> + “That'll do,” he says. “I ain't asking any more questions. ONLY, if the + boarders or outsiders ask you how you work it, you cut out the bones and + toe business and talk science and temperature to beat the cars. + Understand, do you? It's science or no eight-fifty in the pay envelope. + Left toe-joint!” And he goes off grinning. + </p> + <p> + We had to have Eben, though he wasn't wuth a green hand's wages as a + prophet. But him and Beriah stuck by each other like two flies in the + glue-pot, and you couldn't hire one without t'other. Peter said 'twas all + right—two prophets looked better'n one, anyhow; and, as + subscriptions kept up pretty well, and the Bureau paid a fair profit, + Jonadab and me didn't kick. + </p> + <p> + In July, Mrs. Freeman—she had charge of the upper decks in the “Old + Home” and was rated head chambermaid—up and quit, and being as we + couldn't get another capable Cape Codder just then, Peter fetched down a + woman from New York; one that a friend of old Dillaway's recommended. She + was able seaman so far's the work was concerned, but she'd been + good-looking once and couldn't forget it, and she was one of them clippers + that ain't happy unless they've got a man in tow. You know the kind: + pretty nigh old enough to be a coal-barge, but all rigged up with bunting + and frills like a yacht. + </p> + <p> + Her name was Kelly, Emma Kelly, and she was a widow—whether from + choice or act of Providence I don't know. The other women servants was all + down on her, of course, 'cause she had city ways and a style of wearing + her togs that made their Sunday gowns and bonnets look like distress + signals. But they couldn't deny that she was a driver so far's her work + was concerned. She'd whoop through the hotel like a no'theaster and have + everything done, and done well, by two o'clock in the afternoon. Then + she'd be ready to dress up and go on parade to astonish the natives. + </p> + <p> + Men—except the boarders, of course—was scarce around Wellmouth + Port. First the Kelly lady begun to flag Cap'n Jonadab and me, but we + sheered off and took to the offing. Jonadab, being a widower, had had his + experience, and I never had the marrying disease and wasn't hankering to + catch it. So Emma had to look for other victims, and the prophet-shop + looked to her like the most likely feeding-ground. + </p> + <p> + And, would you b'lieve it, them two old critters, Beriah and Eben, gobbled + the bait like sculpins. If she'd been a woman like the kind they was used + to—the Cape kind, I mean—I don't s'pose they'd have paid any + attention to her; but she was diff'rent from anything they'd ever run up + against, and the first thing you know, she had 'em both poke-hooked. 'Twas + all in fun on her part first along, I cal'late, but pretty soon some idiot + let out that both of 'em was wuth money, and then the race was on in + earnest. + </p> + <p> + She'd drop in at the weather-factory 'long in the afternoon and pretend to + be terrible interested in the goings on there. + </p> + <p> + “I don't see how you two gentlemen CAN tell whether it's going to rain or + not. I think you are the most WONDERFUL men! Do tell me, Mr. Crocker, will + it be good weather to-morrer? I wanted to take a little walk up to the + village about four o'clock if it was.” + </p> + <p> + And then Beriah'd swell out like a puffing pig and put on airs and look + out of the winder, and crow: + </p> + <p> + “Yes'm, I jedge that we'll have a southerly breeze in the morning with + some fog, but nothing to last, nothing to last. The afternoon, I cal'late, + 'll be fair. I—I—that is to say, I was figgering on goin' to + the village myself to-morrer.” + </p> + <p> + Then Emma would pump up a blush, and smile, and purr that she was SO glad, + 'cause then she'd have comp'ny. And Eben would glower at Beriah and + Beriah'd grin sort of superior-like, and the mutual barometer, so's to + speak, would fall about a foot during the next hour. The brotherly + business between the two prophets was coming to an end fast, and all on + account of Mrs. Kelly. + </p> + <p> + She played 'em even for almost a month; didn't show no preference one way + or the other. First 'twas Eben that seemed to be eating up to wind'ard, + and then Beriah'd catch a puff and gain for a spell. Cap'n Jonadab and me + was uneasy, for we was afraid the Weather Bureau would suffer 'fore the + thing was done with; but Peter was away, and we didn't like to interfere + till he come home. + </p> + <p> + And then, all at once, Emma seemed to make up her mind, and 'twas all Eben + from that time on. The fact is, the widder had learned, somehow or + 'nother, that he had the most money of the two. Beriah didn't give up; he + stuck to it like a good one, but he was falling behind and he knew it. As + for Eben, he couldn't help showing a little joyful pity, so's to speak, + for his partner, and the atmosphere in that rain lab'ratory got so frigid + that I didn't know but we'd have to put up a stove. The two wizards was + hardly on speaking terms. + </p> + <p> + The last of August come and the “Old Home House” was going to close up on + the day after Labor Day. Peter was down again, and so was Ebenezer and + Belle, and there was to be high jinks to celebrate the season's wind-up. + There was to be a grand excursion and clambake at Setuckit Beach and all + hands was going—four catboats full. + </p> + <p> + Of course, the weather must be good or it's no joy job taking females to + Setuckit in a catboat. The night before the big day, Peter came out to the + Weather Bureau and Jonadab and me dropped in likewise. Beriah was there + all alone; Eben was out walking with Emma. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Jeremiah,” says Brown, chipper as a mack'rel gull on a spar-buoy, + “what's the outlook for to-morrer? The Gov'ment sharp says there's a big + storm on the way up from Florida. Is he right, or only an 'also ran,' as + usual?” + </p> + <p> + “Wall,” says Beriah, goin' to the door, “I don't know, Mr. Brown. It don't + look just right; I swan it don't! I can tell you better in the morning. I + hope 'twill be fair, too, 'cause I was cal'lating to get a day off and + borrer your horse and buggy and go over to the Ostable camp-meeting. It's + the big day over there,” he says. + </p> + <p> + Now, I knew of course, that he meant he was going to take the widder with + him, but Peter spoke up and says he: + </p> + <p> + “Sorry, Beriah, but you're too late. Eben asked me for the horse and buggy + this morning. I told him he could have the open buggy; the other one's + being repaired, and I wouldn't lend the new surrey to the Grand Panjandrum + himself. Eben's going to take the fair Emma for a ride,” he says. “Beriah, + I'm afraid our beloved Cobb is, in the innocence of his youth, being roped + in by the sophisticated damsel in the shoo-fly hat,” says he. + </p> + <p> + Me and Jonadab hadn't had time to tell Peter how matters stood betwixt the + prophets, or most likely he wouldn't have said that. It hit Beriah like a + snowslide off a barn roof. I found out afterwards that the widder had + more'n half promised to go with HIM. He slumped down in his chair as if + his mainmast was carried away, and he didn't even rise to blow for the + rest of the time we was in the shanty. Just set there, looking fishy-eyed + at the floor. + </p> + <p> + Next morning I met Eben prancing around in his Sunday clothes and with a + necktie on that would make a rainbow look like a mourning badge. + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” says I. “You seem to be pretty chipper. You ain't going to start + for that fifteen-mile ride through the woods to Ostable, be you? Looks to + me as if 'twas going to rain.” + </p> + <p> + “The predictions for this day,” says he, “is cloudy in the forenoon, but + clearing later on. Wind, sou'east, changing to south and sou'west.” + </p> + <p> + “Did Beriah send that out?” says I, looking doubtful, for if ever it + looked like dirty weather, I thought it did right then. + </p> + <p> + “ME and Beriah sent it out,” he says, jealous-like. But I knew 'twas + Beriah's forecast or he wouldn't have been so sure of it. + </p> + <p> + Pretty soon out comes Peter, looking dubious at the sky. + </p> + <p> + “If it was anybody else but Beriah,” he says, “I'd say this mornings + prophecy ought to be sent to Puck. Where is the seventh son of the seventh + son—the only original American seer?” + </p> + <p> + He wasn't in the weather-shanty, and we finally found him on one of the + seats 'way up on the edge of the bluff. He didn't look 'round when we come + up, but just stared at the water. + </p> + <p> + “Hey, Elijah!” says Brown. He was always calling Beriah “Elijah” or + “Isaiah” or “Jeremiah” or some other prophet name out of Scripture. “Does + this go?” And he held out the telegraph-blank with the morning's + prediction on it. + </p> + <p> + Beriah looked around just for a second. He looked to me sort of sick and + pale—that is, as pale as his sun-burned rhinoceros hide would ever + turn. + </p> + <p> + “The forecast for to-day,” says he, looking at the water again, “is cloudy + in the forenoon, but clearing later on. Wind sou'east, changing to south + and sou'west.” + </p> + <p> + “Right you are!” says Peter, joyful. “We start for Setuckit, then. And + here's where the South Shore Weather Bureau hands another swift jolt to + your Uncle Sam.” + </p> + <p> + So, after breakfast, the catboats loaded up, the girls giggling and + screaming, and the men boarders dressed in what they hoped was sea-togs. + They sailed away 'round the lighthouse and headed up the shore, and the + wind was sou'east sure and sartin, but the “clearing” part wasn't in sight + yet. + </p> + <p> + Beriah didn't watch 'em go. He stayed in the shanty. But by and by, when + Eben drove the buggy out of the barn and Emma come skipping down the + piazza steps, I see him peeking out of the little winder. + </p> + <p> + The Kelly critter had all sail sot and colors flying. Her dress was some + sort of mosquito netting with wall-paper posies on it, and there was more + ribbons flapping than there is reef-p'ints on a mainsail. And her hat! + Great guns! It looked like one of them pictures you see in a flower-seed + catalogue. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” she squeals, when she sees the buggy. “Oh! Mr. Cobb. Ain't you + afraid to go in that open carriage? It looks to me like rain.” + </p> + <p> + But Eben waved his flipper, scornful. “My forecast this morning,” says he, + “is cloudy now, but clearing by and by. You trust to me, Mis' Kelly. + Weather's my business.” + </p> + <p> + “Of COURSE I trust you, Mr. Cobb,” she says, “Of course I trust you, but I + should hate to spile my gown, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + They drove out of the yard, fine as fiddlers, and I watched 'em go. When I + turned around, there was Beriah watching 'em too, and he was smiling for + the first time that morning. But it was one of them kind of smiles that + makes you wish he'd cry. + </p> + <p> + At ha'f-past ten it begun to sprinkle; at eleven 'twas raining hard; at + noon 'twas a pouring, roaring, sou'easter, and looked good for the next + twelve hours at least. + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord! Beriah,” says Cap'n Jonadab, running into the Weather Bureau, + “you've missed stays THIS time, for sure. Has your prophecy-works got + indigestion?” he says. + </p> + <p> + But Beriah wasn't there. The shanty was closed, and we found out + afterwards that he spent that whole day in the store down at the Port. + </p> + <p> + By two o'clock 'twas so bad that I put on my ileskins and went over to + Wellmouth and telephoned to the Setuckit Beach life-saving station to find + out if the clambakers had got there right side up. They'd got there; fact + is, they was in the station then, and the language Peter hove through that + telephone was enough to melt the wires. 'Twas all in the shape of + compliments to the prophet, and I heard Central tell him she'd report it + to the head office. Brown said 'twas blowing so they'd have to come back + by the inside channel, and that meant landing 'way up Harniss way, and + hiring teams to come to the Port with from there. + </p> + <p> + 'Twas nearly eight when they drove into the yard and come slopping up the + steps. And SUCH a passel of drownded rats you never see. The women-folks + made for their rooms, but the men hopped around the parlor, shedding + puddles with every hop, and hollering for us to trot out the head of the + Weather Bureau. + </p> + <p> + “Bring him to me,” orders Peter, stopping to pick his pants loose from his + legs; “I yearn to caress him.” + </p> + <p> + And what old Dillaway said was worse'n that. + </p> + <p> + But Beriah didn't come to be caressed. 'Twas quarter past nine when we + heard wheels in the yard. + </p> + <p> + “By mighty!” yells Cap'n Jonadab; “it's the camp-meeting pilgrims. I + forgot them. Here's a show.” + </p> + <p> + He jumped to open the door, but it opened afore he got there and Beriah + come in. He didn't pay no attention to the welcome he got from the gang, + but just stood on the sill, pale, but grinning the grin that a terrier dog + has on just as you're going to let the rat out of the trap. + </p> + <p> + Somebody outside says: “Whoa, consarn you!” Then there was a thump and a + sloshy stamping on the steps, and in comes Eben and the widder. + </p> + <p> + I had one of them long-haired, foreign cats once that a British skipper + gave me. 'Twas a yeller and black one and it fell overboard. When we + fished it out it looked just like the Kelly woman done then. Everybody but + Beriah just screeched—we couldn't help it. But the prophet didn't + laugh; he only kept on grinning. + </p> + <p> + Emma looked once round the room, and her eyes, as well as you could see + 'em through the snarl of dripping hair and hat-trimming, fairly snapped. + Then she went up the stairs three steps at a time. + </p> + <p> + Eben didn't say a word. He just stood there and leaked. Leaked and smiled. + Yes, sir! his face, over the mess that had been that rainbow necktie, had + the funniest look of idiotic joy on it that ever <i>I</i> see. In a minute + everybody else shut up. We didn't know what to make of it. + </p> + <p> + 'Twas Beriah that spoke first. + </p> + <p> + “He! he! he!” he chuckled. “He! he! he! Wasn't it kind of wet coming + through the woods, Mr. Cobb? What does Mrs. Kelly think of the day her + beau picked out to go to camp-meeting in?” + </p> + <p> + Then Eben came out of his trance. + </p> + <p> + “Beriah,” says he, holding out a dripping flipper, “shake!” + </p> + <p> + But Beriah didn't shake. Just stood still. + </p> + <p> + “I've got a s'prise for you, shipmate,” goes on Eben. “Who did you say + that lady was?” + </p> + <p> + Beriah didn't answer. I begun to think that some of the wet had soaked + through the assistant prophet's skull and had give him water on the brain. + </p> + <p> + “You called her Mis' Kelly, didn't you?” gurgled Eben. “Wall, that ain't + her name. Her and me stopped at the Baptist parsonage over to East Harniss + when we was on the way home and got married. She's Mis' Cobb now,” he + says. + </p> + <p> + Well, the queerest part of it was that 'twas the bad weather was really + what brought things to a head so sudden. Eben hadn't spunked up anywhere + nigh enough courage to propose, but they stopped at Ostable so long, + waiting for the rain to let up, that 'twas after dark when they was half + way home. Then Emma—oh, she was a slick one!—said that her + reputation would be ruined, out that way with a man that wa'n't her + husband. If they was married now, she said—and even a dummy could + take THAT hint. + </p> + <p> + I found Beriah at the weather-shanty about an hour afterwards with his + head on his arms. He looked up when I come in. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Wingate,” he says, “I'm a fool, but for the land's sake don't think + I'm SUCH a fool as not to know that this here storm was bound to strike + to-day. I lied,” he says; “I lied about the weather for the first time in + my life; lied right up and down so as to get her mad with him. My + repertation's gone forever. There's a feller in the Bible that sold his—his + birthday, I think 'twas—for a mess of porridge. I'm him; only,” and + he groaned awful, “they've cheated me out of the porridge.” + </p> + <p> + But you ought to have read the letters Peter got next day from subscribers + that had trusted to the prophecy and had gone on picnics and such like. + The South Shore Weather Bureau went out of business right then. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE DOG STAR + </h2> + <p> + It commenced the day after we took old man Stumpton out codfishing. Me and + Cap'n Jonadab both told Peter T. Brown that cod wa'n't biting much at that + season, but he said cod be jiggered. + </p> + <p> + “What's troubling me just now is landing suckers,” he says. + </p> + <p> + So the four of us got into the Patience M.—she's Jonadab's catboat—and + sot sail for the Crab Ledge. And we hadn't more'n got our lines over the + side than we struck into a school of dogfish. Now, if you know anything + about fishing you know that when the dogfish strike on it's “good-by, + cod!” So when Stumpton hauled a big fat one over the rail I could tell + that Jonadab was ready to swear. But do you think it disturbed your old + friend, Peter Brown? No, sir! He never winked an eye. + </p> + <p> + “By Jove!” he sings out, staring at that dogfish as if 'twas a gold + dollar. “By Jove!” says he, “that's the finest specimen of a Labrador + mack'rel ever I see. Bait up, Stump, and go at 'em again.” + </p> + <p> + So Stumpton, having lived in Montana ever sence he was five years old, and + not having sighted salt water in all that time, he don't know but what + there IS such critters as “Labrador mack'rel,” and he goes at 'em, hammer + and tongs. When we come ashore we had eighteen dogfish, four sculpin and a + skate, and Stumpton was the happiest loon in Ostable County. It was all we + could do to keep him from cooking one of them “mack'rel” with his own + hands. If Jonadab hadn't steered him out of the way while I sneaked down + to the Port and bought a bass, we'd have had to eat dogfish—we + would, as sure as I'm a foot high. + </p> + <p> + Stumpton and his daughter, Maudina, was at the Old Home House. 'Twas late + in September, and the boarders had cleared out. Old Dillaway—Peter's + father-in-law—had decoyed the pair on from Montana because him and + some Wall Street sharks were figgering on buying some copper country out + that way that Stumpton owned. Then Dillaway was took sick, and Peter, who + was just back from his wedding tower, brought the Montana victims down to + the Cape with the excuse to give 'em a good time alongshore, but really to + keep 'em safe and out of the way till Ebenezer got well enough to finish + robbing 'em. Belle—Peter's wife—stayed behind to look after + papa. + </p> + <p> + Stumpton was a great tall man, narrer in the beam, and with a figgerhead + like a henhawk. He enjoyed himself here at the Cape. He fished, and + loafed, and shot at a mark. He sartinly could shoot. The only thing he was + wishing for was something alive to shoot at, and Brown had promised to + take him out duck shooting. 'Twas too early for ducks, but that didn't + worry Peter any; he'd a-had ducks to shoot at if he bought all the poultry + in the township. + </p> + <p> + Maudina was like her name, pretty, but sort of soft and mushy. She had big + blue eyes and a baby face, and her principal cargo was poetry. She had a + deckload of it, and she'd heave it overboard every time the wind changed. + She was forever ordering the ocean to “roll on,” but she didn't mean it; I + had her out sailing once when the bay was a little mite rugged, and I + know. She was just out of a convent school, and you could see she wasn't + used to most things—including men. + </p> + <p> + The first week slipped along, and everything was serene. Bulletins from + Ebenezer more encouraging every day, and no squalls in sight. But 'twas + almost too slick. I was afraid the calm was a weather breeder, and sure + enough, the hurricane struck us the day after that fishing trip. + </p> + <p> + Peter had gone driving with Maudina and her dad, and me and Cap'n Jonadab + was smoking on the front piazza. I was pulling at a pipe, but the cap'n + had the home end of one of Stumpton's cigars harpooned on the little blade + of his jackknife, and was busy pumping the last drop of comfort out of it. + I never see a man who wanted to get his money's wuth more'n Jonadab, I + give you my word, I expected to see him swaller that cigar remnant every + minute. + </p> + <p> + And all to once he gives a gurgle in his throat. + </p> + <p> + “Take a drink of water,” says I, scared like. + </p> + <p> + “Well, by time!” says he, pointing. + </p> + <p> + A feller had just turned the corner of the house and was heading up in our + direction. He was a thin, lengthy craft, with more'n the average amount of + wrists sticking out of his sleeves, and with long black hair trimmed aft + behind his ears and curling on the back of his neck. He had high cheek + bones and kind of sunk-in black eyes, and altogether he looked like “Dr. + Macgoozleum, the Celebrated Blackfoot Medicine Man.” If he'd hollered: + “Sagwa Bitters, only one dollar a bottle!” I wouldn't have been surprised. + </p> + <p> + But his clothes—don't say a word! His coat was long and buttoned up + tight, so's you couldn't tell whether he had a vest on or not—though + 'twas a safe bet he hadn't—and it and his pants was made of the + loudest kind of black-and-white checks. No nice quiet pepper-and-salt, you + understand, but the checkerboard kind, the oilcloth kind, the kind that + looks like the marble floor in the Boston post-office. They was pretty + tolerable seedy, and so was his hat. Oh, he was a last year's bird's nest + NOW, but when them clothes was fresh—whew! the northern lights and a + rainbow mixed wouldn't have been more'n a cloudy day 'longside of him. + </p> + <p> + He run up to the piazza like a clipper coming into port, and he sweeps off + that rusty hat and hails us grand and easy. + </p> + <p> + “Good-morning, gentlemen,” says he. + </p> + <p> + “We don't want none,” says Jonadab, decided. + </p> + <p> + The feller looked surprised. “I beg your pardon,” says he. “You don't want + any—what?” + </p> + <p> + “We don't want any 'Life of King Solomon' nor 'The World's Big + Classifyers.' And we don't want to buy any patent paint, nor sewing + machines, nor clothes washers, nor climbing evergreen roses, nor rheumatiz + salve. And we don't want our pictures painted, neither.” + </p> + <p> + Jonadab was getting excited. Nothing riles him wuss than a peddler, unless + it's a woman selling tickets to a church fair. The feller swelled up until + I thought the top button on that thunderstorm coat would drag anchor, + sure. + </p> + <p> + “You are mistaken,” says he. “I have called to see Mr. Peter Brown; he is—er—a + relative of mine.” + </p> + <p> + Well, you could have blown me and Jonadab over with a cat's-paw. We went + on our beam ends, so's to speak. A relation of Peter T.'s; why, if he'd + been twice the panorama he was we'd have let him in when he said that. + Loud clothes, we figgered, must run in the family. We remembered how Peter + was dressed the first time we met him. + </p> + <p> + “You don't say!” says I. “Come right up and set down, Mr.—Mr.—” + </p> + <p> + “Montague,” says the feller. “Booth Montague. Permit me to present my + card.” + </p> + <p> + He drove into the hatches of his checkerboards and rummaged around, but he + didn't find nothing but holes, I jedge, because he looked dreadful put + out, and begged our pardons five or six times. + </p> + <p> + “Dear me!” says he. “This is embarassing. I've forgot my cardcase.” + </p> + <p> + We told him never mind the card; any of Peter's folks was more'n welcome. + So he come up the steps and set down in a piazza chair like King Edward + perching on his throne. Then he hove out some remarks about its being a + nice morning, all in a condescending sort of way, as if he usually + attended to the weather himself, but had been sort of busy lately, and had + handed the job over to one of the crew. We told him all about Peter, and + Belle, and Ebenezer, and about Stumpton and Maudina. He was a good deal + interested, and asked consider'ble many questions. Pretty soon we heard a + carriage rattling up the road. + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” says I. “I guess that's Peter and the rest coming now.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Montague got off his throne kind of sudden. + </p> + <p> + “Ahem!” says he. “Is there a room here where I may—er—receive + Mr. Brown in a less public manner? It will be rather a—er—surprise + for him, and—” + </p> + <p> + Well, there was a good deal of sense in that. I know 'twould surprise ME + to have such an image as he was sprung on me without any notice. We + steered him into the gents' parlor, and shut the door. In a minute the + horse and wagon come into the yard. Maudina said she'd had a “heavenly” + drive, and unloaded some poetry concerning the music of billows and pine + trees, and such. She and her father went up to their rooms, and when the + decks was clear Jonadab and me tackled Peter T. + </p> + <p> + “Peter,” says Jonadab, “we've got a surprise for you. One of your + relations has come.” + </p> + <p> + Brown, he did look surprised, but he didn't act as he was any too joyful. + </p> + <p> + “Relation of MINE?” says he. “Come off! What's his name?” + </p> + <p> + We told him Montague, Booth Montague. He laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Wake up and turn over,” he says. “They never had anything like that in my + family. Booth Montague! Sure 'twa'n't Algernon Cough-drops?” + </p> + <p> + We said no, 'twas Booth Montague, and that he was waiting in the gents' + parlor. So he laughed again, and said somethin' about sending for Laura + Lean Jibbey, and then we started. + </p> + <p> + The checkerboard feller was standing up when we opened the door. “Hello, + Petey!” says he, cool as a cucumber, and sticking out a foot and a half of + wrist with a hand at the end of it. + </p> + <p> + Now, it takes considerable to upset Peter Theodosius Brown. Up to that + time and hour I'd have bet on him against anything short of an earthquake. + But Booth Montague done it—knocked him plumb out of water. Peter + actually turned white. + </p> + <p> + “Great—” he began, and then stopped and swallered. “HANK!” he says, + and set down in a chair. + </p> + <p> + “The same,” says Montague, waving the starboard extension of the + checkerboard. “Petey, it does me good to set my eyes on you. Especially + now, when you're the real thing.” + </p> + <p> + Brown never answered for a minute. Then he canted over to port and reached + down into his pocket. “Well,” says he, “how much?” + </p> + <p> + But Hank, or Booth, or Montague—whatever his name was—he waved + his flipper disdainful. “Nun-nun-nun-no, Petey, my son,” he says, smiling. + “It ain't 'how much?' this time. When I heard how you'd rung the bell the + first shot out the box and was rolling in coin, I said to myself: 'Here's + where the prod comes back to his own.' I've come to live with you, Petey, + and you pay the freight.” + </p> + <p> + Peter jumped out of the chair. “LIVE with me!” he says. “You Friday + evening amateur night! It's back to 'Ten Nights in a Barroom' for yours!” + he says. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, it ain't!” says Hank, cheerful. “It'll be back to Popper Dillaway + and Belle. When I tell 'em I'm your little cousin Henry and how you and me + worked the territories together—why—well, I guess there'll be + gladness round the dear home nest; hey?” + </p> + <p> + Peter didn't say nothing. Then he fetched a long breath and motioned with + his head to Cap'n Jonadab and me. We see we weren't invited to the family + reunion, so we went out and shut the door. But we did pity Peter; I snum + if we didn't! + </p> + <p> + It was most an hour afore Brown come out of that room. When he did he took + Jonadab and me by the arm and led us out back of the barn. + </p> + <p> + “Fellers,” he says, sad and mournful, “that—that plaster cast in a + crazy-quilt,” he says, referring to Montague, “is a cousin of mine. That's + the living truth,” says he, “and the only excuse I can make is that + 'tain't my fault. He's my cousin, all right, and his name's Hank Schmults, + but the sooner you box that fact up in your forgetory, the smoother 'twill + be for yours drearily, Peter T. Brown. He's to be Mr. Booth Montague, the + celebrated English poet, so long's he hangs out at the Old Home; and he's + to hang out here until—well, until I can dope out a way to get rid + of him.” + </p> + <p> + We didn't say nothing for a minute—just thought. Then Jonadab says, + kind of puzzled: “What makes you call him a poet?” he says. + </p> + <p> + Peter answered pretty snappy: “'Cause there's only two or three jobs that + a long-haired image like him could hold down,” he says. “I'd call him a + musician if he could play 'Bedelia' on a jews'-harp; but he can't, so's + he's got to be a poet.” + </p> + <p> + And a poet he was for the next week or so. Peter drove down to Wellmouth + that night and bought some respectable black clothes, and the follering + morning, when the celebrated Booth Montague come sailing into the dining + room, with his curls brushed back from his forehead, and his new cutaway + on, and his wrists covered up with clean cuffs, blessed if he didn't look + distinguished—at least, that's the only word I can think of that + fills the bill. And he talked beautiful language, not like the slang he + hove at Brown and us in the gents' parlor. + </p> + <p> + Peter done the honors, introducing him to us and the Stumptons as a friend + who'd come from England unexpected, and Hank he bowed and scraped, and + looked absent-minded and crazy-like a poet ought to. Oh, he done well at + it! You could see that 'twas just pie for him. + </p> + <p> + And 'twas pie for Maudina, too. Being, as I said, kind of green concerning + men folks, and likewise taking to poetry like a cat to fish, she just + fairly gushed over this fraud. She'd reel off a couple of fathom of verses + from fellers named Spencer or Waller, or such like, and he'd never turn a + hair, but back he'd come and say they was good, but he preferred + Confucius, or Methuselah, or somebody so antique that she nor nobody else + ever heard of 'em. Oh, he run a safe course, and he had HER in tow afore + they turned the first mark. + </p> + <p> + Jonadab and me got worried. We see how things was going, and we didn't + like it. Stumpton was having too good a time to notice, going after + “Labrador mack'rel” and so on, and Peter T. was too busy steering the + cruises to pay any attention. But one afternoon I come by the summerhouse + unexpected, and there sat Booth Montague and Maudina, him with a clove + hitch round her waist, and she looking up into his eyes like they were + peekholes in the fence 'round paradise. That was enough. It just simply + COULDN'T go any further, so that night me and Jonadab had a confab up in + my room. + </p> + <p> + “Barzilla,” says the cap'n, “if we tell Peter that that relation of his is + figgering to marry Maudina Stumpton for her money, and that he's more'n + likely to elope with her, 'twill pretty nigh kill Pete, won't it? No, sir; + it's up to you and me. We've got to figger out some way to get rid of the + critter ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “It's a wonder to me,” I says, “that Peter puts up with him. Why don't he + order him to clear out, and tell Belle if he wants to? She can't blame + Peter 'cause his uncle was father to an outrage like that.” + </p> + <p> + Jonadab looks at me scornful. “Can't, hey?” he says. “And her high-toned + and chumming in with the bigbugs? It's easy to see you never was married,” + says he. + </p> + <p> + Well, I never was, so I shut up. + </p> + <p> + We set there and thought and thought, and by and by I commenced to sight + an idee in the offing. 'Twas hull down at first, but pretty soon I got it + into speaking distance, and then I broke it gentle to Jonadab. He grabbed + at it like the “Labrador mack'rel” grabbed Stumpton's hook. We set up and + planned until pretty nigh three o'clock, and all the next day we put in + our spare time loading provisions and water aboard the Patience M. We put + grub enough aboard to last a month. + </p> + <p> + Just at daylight the morning after that we knocked at the door of + Montague's bedroom. When he woke up enough to open the door—it took + some time, 'cause eating and sleeping was his mainstay—we told him + that we was planning an early morning fishing trip, and if he wanted to go + with the folks he must come down to the landing quick. He promised to + hurry, and I stayed by the door to see that he didn't get away. In about + ten minutes we had him in the skiff rowing off to the Patience M. + </p> + <p> + “Where's the rest of the crowd?” says he, when he stepped aboard. + </p> + <p> + “They'll be along when we're ready for 'em,” says I. “You go below there, + will you, and stow away the coats and things.” + </p> + <p> + So he crawled into the cabin, and I helped Jonadab get up sail. We + intended towing the skiff, so I made her fast astern. In half a shake we + was under way and headed out of the cove. When that British poet stuck his + nose out of the companion we was abreast the p'int. + </p> + <p> + “Hi!” says he, scrambling into the cockpit. “What's this mean?” + </p> + <p> + I was steering and feeling toler'ble happy over the way things had worked + out. + </p> + <p> + “Nice sailing breeze, ain't it?” says I, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Where's Mau-Miss Stumpton?” he says, wild like. + </p> + <p> + “She's abed, I cal'late,” says I, “getting her beauty sleep. Why don't YOU + turn in? Or are you pretty enough now?” + </p> + <p> + He looked first at me and then at Jonadab, and his face turned a little + yellower than usual. + </p> + <p> + “What kind of a game is this?” he asks, brisk. “Where are you going?” + </p> + <p> + 'Twas Jonadab that answered. “We're bound,” says he, “for the Bermudas. + It's a lovely place to spend the winter, they tell me,” he says. + </p> + <p> + That poet never made no remarks. He jumped to the stern and caught hold of + the skiff's painter. I shoved him out of the way and picked up the boat + hook. Jonadab rolled up his shirt sleeves and laid hands on the + centerboard stick. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't, if I was you,” says the cap'n. + </p> + <p> + Jonadab weighs pretty close to two hundred, and most of it's gristle. I'm + not quite so much, fur's tonnage goes, but I ain't exactly a canary bird. + Montague seemed to size things up in a jiffy. He looked at us, then at the + sail, and then at the shore out over the stern. + </p> + <p> + “Done!” says he. “Done! And by a couple of 'farmers'!” + </p> + <p> + And down he sets on the thwart. + </p> + <p> + Well, we sailed all that day and all that night. 'Course we didn't really + intend to make the Bermudas. What we intended to do was to cruise around + alongshore for a couple of weeks, long enough for the Stumptons to get + back to Dillaway's, settle the copper business and break for Montana. Then + we was going home again and turn Brown's relation over to him to take care + of. We knew Peter'd have some plan thought out by that time. We'd left a + note telling him what we'd done, and saying that we trusted to him to + explain matters to Maudina and her dad. We knew that explaining was + Peter's main holt. + </p> + <p> + The poet was pretty chipper for a spell. He set on the thwart and bragged + about what he'd do when he got back to “Petey” again. He said we couldn't + git rid of him so easy. Then he spun yarns about what him and Brown did + when they was out West together. They was interesting yarns, but we could + see why Peter wa'n't anxious to introduce Cousin Henry to Belle. Then the + Patience M. got out where 'twas pretty rugged, and she rolled consider'ble + and after that we didn't hear much more from friend Booth—he was too + busy to talk. + </p> + <p> + That night me and Jonadab took watch and watch. In the morning it + thickened up and looked squally. I got kind of worried. By nine o'clock + there was every sign of a no'theaster, and we see we'd have to put in + somewheres and ride it out. So we headed for a place we'll call Baytown, + though that wa'n't the name of it. It's a queer, old-fashioned town, and + it's on an island; maybe you can guess it from that. + </p> + <p> + Well, we run into the harbor and let go anchor. Jonadab crawled into the + cabin to get some terbacker, and I was for'ard coiling the throat halyard. + All at once I heard oars rattling, and I turned my head; what I see made + me let out a yell like a siren whistle. + </p> + <p> + There was that everlasting poet in the skiff—you remember we'd been + towing it astern—and he was jest cutting the painter with his + jackknife. Next minute he'd picked up the oars and was heading for the + wharf, doubling up and stretching out like a frog swimming, and with his + curls streaming in the wind like a rooster's tail in a hurricane. He had a + long start 'fore Jonadab and me woke up enough to think of chasing him. + </p> + <p> + But we woke up fin'lly, and the way we flew round that catboat was a + caution. I laid into them halyards, and I had the mainsail up to the peak + afore Jonadab got the anchor clear of the bottom. Then I jumped to the + tiller, and the Patience M. took after that skiff like a pup after a + tomcat. We run alongside the wharf just as Booth Hank climbed over the + stringpiece. + </p> + <p> + “Get after him, Barzilla!” hollers Cap'n Jonadab. “I'll make her fast.” + </p> + <p> + Well, I hadn't took more'n three steps when I see 'twas goin' to be a long + chase. Montague unfurled them thin legs of his and got over the ground + something wonderful. All you could see was a pile of dust and coat tails + flapping. + </p> + <p> + Up on the wharf we went and round the corner into a straggly kind of road + with old-fashioned houses on both sides of it. Nobody in the yards, nobody + at the windows; quiet as could be, except that off ahead, somewheres, + there was music playing. + </p> + <p> + That road was a quarter of a mile long, but we galloped through it so fast + that the scenery was nothing but a blur. Booth was gaining all the time, + but I stuck to it like a good one. We took a short cut through a yard, + piled over a fence and come out into another road, and up at the head of + it was a crowd of folks—men and women and children and dogs. + </p> + <p> + “Stop thief!” I hollers, and 'way astern I heard Jonadab bellering: “Stop + thief!” + </p> + <p> + Montague dives headfirst for the crowd. He fell over a baby carriage, and + I gained a tack 'fore he got up. He wa'n't more'n ten yards ahead when I + come busting through, upsetting children and old women, and landed in what + I guess was the main street of the place and right abreast of a parade + that was marching down the middle of it. + </p> + <p> + First there was the band, four fellers tooting and banging like fo'mast + hands on a fishing smack in a fog. Then there was a big darky toting a + banner with “Jenkins' Unparalleled Double Uncle Tom's Cabin Company, No. + 2,” on it in big letters. Behind him was a boy leading two great, savage + looking dogs—bloodhounds, I found out afterwards—by chains. + Then come a pony cart with Little Eva and Eliza's child in it; Eva was all + gold hair and beautifulness. And astern of her was Marks the Lawyer, on + his donkey. There was lots more behind him, but these was all I had time + to see just then. + </p> + <p> + Now, there was but one way for Booth Hank to get acrost that street, and + that was to bust through the procession. And, as luck would have it, the + place he picked out to cross was just ahead of the bloodhounds. And the + first thing I knew, them dogs stretched out their noses and took a long + sniff, and then bust out howling like all possessed. The boy, he tried to + hold 'em, but 'twas no go. They yanked the chains out of his hands and + took after that poet as if he owed 'em something. And every one of the + four million other dogs that was in the crowd on the sidewalks fell into + line, and such howling and yapping and scampering and screaming you never + heard. + </p> + <p> + Well, 'twas a mixed-up mess. That was the end of the parade. Next minute I + was racing across country with the whole town and the Uncle Tommers astern + of me, and a string of dogs stretched out ahead fur's you could see. 'Way + up in the lead was Booth Montague and the bloodhounds, and away aft I + could hear Jonadab yelling: “Stop thief!” + </p> + <p> + 'Twas lively while it lasted, but it didn't last long. There was a little + hill at the end of the field, and where the poet dove over 'tother side of + it the bloodhounds all but had him. Afore I got to the top of the rise I + heard the awfullest powwow going on in the holler, and thinks I: “THEY'RE + EATING HIM ALIVE!” + </p> + <p> + But they wan't. When I hove in sight Montague was setting up on the ground + at the foot of the sand bank he'd fell into, and the two hounds was + rolling over him, lapping his face and going on as if he was their grandpa + jest home from sea with his wages in his pocket. And round them, in a + double ring, was all the town dogs, crazy mad, and barking and snarling, + but scared to go any closer. + </p> + <p> + In a minute more the folks begun to arrive; boys first, then girls and + men, and then the women. Marks came trotting up, pounding the donkey with + his umbrella. + </p> + <p> + “Here, Lion! Here, Tige!” he yells. “Quit it! Let him alone!” Then he + looks at Montague, and his jaw kind of drops. + </p> + <p> + “Why—why, HANK!” he says. + </p> + <p> + A tall, lean critter, in a black tail coat and a yaller vest and lavender + pants, comes puffing up. He was the manager, we found out afterward. + </p> + <p> + “Have they bit him?” says he. Then he done just the same as Marks; his + mouth opened and his eyes stuck out. “HANK SCHMULTS, by the living jingo!” + says he. + </p> + <p> + Booth Montague looks at the two of 'em kind of sick and lonesome. “Hello, + Barney! How are you, Sullivan?” he says. + </p> + <p> + I thought 'twas about time for me to get prominent. I stepped up, and was + just going to say something when somebody cuts in ahead of me. + </p> + <p> + “Hum!” says a voice, a woman's voice, and tolerable crisp and vinegary. + “Hum! it's you, is it? I've been looking for YOU!” + </p> + <p> + 'Twas Little Eva in the pony cart. Her lovely posy hat was hanging on the + back of her neck, her gold hair had slipped back so's you could see the + black under it, and her beautiful red cheeks was kind of streaky. She + looked some older and likewise mad. + </p> + <p> + “Hum!” says she, getting out of the cart. “It's you, is it, Hank Schmults? + Well, p'r'aps you'll tell me where you've been for the last two weeks? + What do you mean by running away and leaving your—” + </p> + <p> + Montague interrupted her. “Hold on, Maggie, hold on!” he begs. “DON'T make + a row here. It's all a mistake; I'll explain it to you all right. Now, + please—” + </p> + <p> + “Explain!” hollers Eva, kind of curling up her fingers and moving toward + him. “Explain, will you? Why, you miserable, low-down—” + </p> + <p> + But the manager took hold of her arm. He'd been looking at the crowd, and + I cal'late he saw that here was the chance for the best kind of an + advertisement. He whispered in her ear. Next thing I knew she clasped her + hands together, let out a scream and runs up and grabs the celebrated + British poet round the neck. + </p> + <p> + “Booth!” says she. “My husband! Saved! Saved!” + </p> + <p> + And she went all to pieces and cried all over his necktie. And then Marks + trots up the child, and that young one hollers: “Papa! papa!” and tackles + Hank around the legs. And I'm blessed if Montague don't slap his hand to + his forehead, and toss back his curls, and look up at the sky, and sing + out: “My wife and babe! Restored to me after all these years! The heavens + be thanked!” + </p> + <p> + Well, 'twas a sacred sort of time. The town folks tiptoed away, the men + looking solemn but glad, and the women swabbing their deadlights and + saying how affecting 'twas, and so on. Oh, you could see that show would + do business THAT night, if it never did afore. + </p> + <p> + The manager got after Jonadab and me later on, and did his best to pump + us, but he didn't find out much. He told us that Montague belonged to the + Uncle Tom's Cabin Company, and that he'd disappeared a fortni't or so + afore, when they were playing at Hyannis. Eva was his wife, and the child + was their little boy. The bloodhounds knew him, and that's why they chased + him so. + </p> + <p> + “What was you two yelling 'Stop thief!' after him for?” says he. “Has he + stole anything?” + </p> + <p> + We says “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Then what did you want to get him for?” he says. + </p> + <p> + “We didn't,” says Jonadab. “We wanted to get rid of him. We don't want to + see him no more.” + </p> + <p> + You could tell that the manager was puzzled, but he laughed. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” says he. “If I know anything about Maggie—that's Mrs. + Schmults—he won't get loose ag'in.” + </p> + <p> + We only saw Montague to talk to but once that day. Then he peeked out from + under the winder shade at the hotel and asked us if we'd told anybody + where he'd been. When he found we hadn't, he was thankful. + </p> + <p> + “You tell Petey,” says he, “that he's won the whole pot, kitty and all. I + don't think I'll visit him again, nor Belle, neither.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't,” says I. “They might write to Maudina that you was a married + man. And old Stumpton's been praying for something alive to shoot at,” I + says. + </p> + <p> + The manager gave Jonadab and me a couple of tickets, and we went to the + show that night. And when we saw Booth Hank Montague parading about the + stage and defying the slave hunters, and telling 'em he was a free man, + standing on the Lord's free soil, and so on, we realized 'twould have been + a crime to let him do anything else. + </p> + <p> + “As an imitation poet,” says Jonadab, “he was a kind of mildewed article, + but as a play actor—well, there may be some that can beat him, but + <i>I</i> never see 'em!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE MARE AND THE MOTOR + </h2> + <p> + Them Todds had got on my nerves. 'Twas Peter's ad that brought 'em down. + You see, 'twas 'long toward the end of the season at the Old Home, and + Brown had been advertising in the New York and Boston papers to “bag the + leftovers,” as he called it. Besides the reg'lar hogwash about the “breath + of old ocean” and the “simple, cleanly living of the bygone days we dream + about,” there was some new froth concerning hunting and fishing. You'd + think the wild geese roosted on the flagpole nights, and the bluefish + clogged up the bay so's you could walk on their back fins without wetting + your feet—that is, if you wore rubbers and trod light. + </p> + <p> + “There!” says Peter T., waving the advertisement and crowing gladsome; + “they'll take to that like your temp'rance aunt to brandy cough-drops. + We'll have to put up barbed wire to keep 'em off.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” grunts Cap'n Jonadab. “Anybody but a born fool'll know there + ain't any shooting down here this time of year.” + </p> + <p> + Peter looked at him sorrowful. “Pop,” says he, “did you ever hear that + Solomon answered a summer hotel ad? This ain't a Chautauqua, this is the + Old Home House, and its motto is: 'There's a new victim born every minute, + and there's twenty-four hours in a day.' You set back and count the clock + ticks.” + </p> + <p> + Well, that's 'bout all we had to do. We got boarders enough from that + ridiculous advertisement to fill every spare room we had, including + Jonadab's and mine. Me and the cap'n had to bunk in the barn loft; but + there was some satisfaction in that—it give us an excuse to get away + from the “sports” in the smoking room. + </p> + <p> + The Todds was part of the haul. He was a little, dried-up man, single, and + a minister. Nigh's I could find out, he'd given up preaching by the + request of the doctor and his last congregation. He had a notion that he + was a mighty hunter afore the Lord, like Nimrod in the Bible, and he'd + come to the Old Home to bag a few gross of geese and ducks. + </p> + <p> + His sister was an old maid, and slim, neither of which failings was from + choice, I cal'late. She wore eye-glasses and a veil to “preserve her + complexion,” and her idee seemed to be that native Cape Codders lived in + trees and ate cocoanuts. She called 'em “barbarians, utter barbarians.” + Whenever she piped “James” her brother had to drop everything and report + on deck. She was skipper of the Todd craft. + </p> + <p> + Them Todds was what Peter T. called “the limit, and a chip or two over.” + The other would-be gunners and fishermen were satisfied to slam shot after + sandpeeps, or hook a stray sculpin or a hake. But t'wa'n't so with brother + James Todd and sister Clarissa. “Ducks” it was in the advertising, and + nothing BUT ducks they wanted. Clarissa, she commenced to hint middling + p'inted concerning fraud. + </p> + <p> + Finally we lost patience, and Peter T., he said they'd got to be quieted + somehow, or he'd do some shooting on his own hook; said too much Toddy was + going to his head. Then I suggested taking 'em down the beach somewheres + on the chance of seeing a stray coot or loon or something—ANYTHING + that could be shot at. Jonadab and Peter agreed 'twas a good plan, and we + matched to see who'd be guide. And I got stuck, of course; my luck again. + </p> + <p> + So the next morning we started, me and the Reverend James and Clarissa in + the Greased Lightning, Peter's new motor launch. First part of the trip + that Todd man done nothing but ask questions about the launch; I had to + show him how to start it and steer it, and the land knows what all. + Clarissa set around doing the heavy contemptuous and turning up her nose + at creation generally. It must have its drawbacks, this roosting so fur + above the common flock; seems to me I'd be thinking all the time of the + bump that was due me if I got shoved off the perch. + </p> + <p> + Well, by and by Lonesome Huckleberries' shanty hove in sight, and I was + glad to see it, although I had to answer a million questions about + Lonesome and his history. + </p> + <p> + I told the Todds that, so fur as nationality was concerned he was a little + of everything, like a picked-up dinner; principally Eyetalian and + Portugee, I cal'late, with a streak of Gay Head Injun. His real name's + long enough to touch bottom in the ship channel at high tide, so folks got + to calling him “Huckleberries” because he peddles them kind of fruit in + summer. Then he mopes around so with nary a smile on his face, that it + seemed right to tack on the “Lonesome.” So “Lonesome Huckleberries” he's + been for ten years. He lives in the patchwork shanty on the beach down + there, he is deaf and dumb, drives a liver-colored, balky mare that no one + but himself and his daughter Becky can handle, and he has a love for bad + rum and a temper that's landed him in the Wellmouth lock-up more than once + or twice. He's one of the best gunners alongshore and at this time he + owned a flock of live decoys that he'd refused as high as fifteen dollars + apiece for. I told all this and a lot more. + </p> + <p> + When we struck the beach, Clarissa, she took her paint box and umbrella + and mosquito 'intment, and the rest of her cargo, and went off by herself + to “sketch.” She was great on “sketching,” and the way she'd use up good + paint and spile nice clean paper was a sinful waste. Afore she went, she + give me three fathom of sailing orders concerning taking care of “James.” + You'd think he was about four year old; made me feel like a hired nurse. + </p> + <p> + James and me went perusing up and down that beach in the blazing sun + looking for something to shoot. We went 'way beyond Lonesome's shanty, but + there wa'n't nobody to home. Lonesome himself, it turned out afterward, + was up to the village with his horse and wagon, and his daughter Becky was + over in the wood on the mainland berrying. Todd was a cheerful talker, but + limited. His favorite remark was: “Oh, I say, my deah man.” That's what he + kept calling me, “my deah man.” Now, my name ain't exactly a Claude de + Montmorency for prettiness, but “Barzilla” 'll fetch ME alongside a good + deal quicker'n “my deah man,” I'll tell you that. + </p> + <p> + We frogged it up and down all the forenoon, but didn't git a shot at + nothing but one stray “squawk” that had come over from the Cedar Swamp. I + told James 'twas a canvasback, and he blazed away at it, but missed it by + three fathom, as might have been expected. + </p> + <p> + Finally, my game leg—rheumatiz, you understand—begun to give + out. So I flops down in the shade of a sand bank to rest, and the reverend + goes poking off by himself. + </p> + <p> + I cal'late I must have fell asleep, for when I looked at my watch it was + close to one o'clock, and time for us to be getting back to port. I got up + and stretched and took an observation, but further'n Clarissa's umbrella + on the skyline, I didn't see anything stirring. Brother James wa'n't + visible, but I jedged he was within hailing distance. You can't see very + fur on that point, there's too many sand hills and hummocks. + </p> + <p> + I started over toward the Greased Lightning. I'd gone only a little ways, + and was down in a gully between two big hummocks, when “Bang! bang!” goes + both barrels of a shotgun, and that Todd critter busts out hollering like + all possessed. + </p> + <p> + “Hooray!” he squeals, in that squeaky voice of his. “Hooray! I've got 'em! + I've got 'em!” + </p> + <p> + Thinks I, “What in the nation does the lunatic cal'late he's shot?” And I + left my own gun laying where 'twas and piled up over the edge of that sand + bank like a cat over a fence. And then I see a sight. + </p> + <p> + There was James, hopping up and down in the beach grass, squealing like a + Guinea hen with a sore throat, and waving his gun with one wing—arm, + I mean—and there in front of him, in the foam at the edge of the + surf, was two ducks as dead as Nebuchadnezzar—two of Lonesome + Huckleberries' best decoy ducks—ducks he'd tamed and trained, and + thought more of than anything else in this world—except rum, maybe—and + the rest of the flock was digging up the beach for home as if they'd been + telegraped for, and squawking “Fire!” and “Murder!” + </p> + <p> + Well, my mind was in a kind of various state, as you might say, for a + minute. 'Course, I'd known about Lonesome's owning them decoys—told + Todd about 'em, too—but I hadn't seen 'em nowhere alongshore, and I + sort of cal'lated they was locked up in Lonesome's hen house, that being + his usual way when he went to town. I s'pose likely they'd been feeding + among the beach grass somewheres out of sight, but I don't know for sartin + to this day. And I didn't stop to reason it out then, neither. As + Scriptur' or George Washin'ton or somebody says, “'twas a condition, not a + theory,” I was afoul of. + </p> + <p> + “I've got 'em!” hollers Todd, grinning till I thought he'd swaller his own + ears. “I shot 'em all myself!” + </p> + <p> + “You everlasting—” I begun, but I didn't get any further. There was + a rattling noise behind me, and I turned, to see Lonesome Huckleberries + himself, setting on the seat of his old truck wagon and glaring over the + hammer head of that balky mare of his straight at brother Todd and the + dead decoys. + </p> + <p> + For a minute there was a kind of tableau, like them they have at church + fairs—all four of us, including the mare, keeping still, like we was + frozen. But 'twas only for a minute. Then it turned into the liveliest + moving picture that ever <i>I</i> see. Lonesome couldn't swear—being + a dummy—but if ever a man got profane with his eyes, he did right + then. Next thing I knew he tossed both hands into the air, clawed two + handfuls out of the atmosphere, reached down into the cart, grabbed a + pitch-fork and piled out of that wagon and after Todd. There was murder + coming and I could see it. + </p> + <p> + “Run, you loon!” I hollers, desperate. + </p> + <p> + James didn't wait for any advice. He didn't know what he'd done, I + cal'late, but he jedged 'twas his move. He dropped his gun and put down + the shore like a wild man, with Lonesome after him. I tried to foller, but + my rheumatiz was too big a handicap; all I could do was yell. + </p> + <p> + You never'd have picked out Todd for a sprinter—not to look at him, + you wouldn't—but if he didn't beat the record for his class just + then I'll eat my sou'wester. He fairly flew, but Lonesome split tacks with + him every time, and kept to wind'ard, into the bargain. When they went out + of sight amongst the sand hills 'twas anybody's race. + </p> + <p> + I was scart. I knew what Lonesome's temper was, 'specially when it had + been iled with some Wellmouth Port no-license liquor. He'd been took up + once for half killing some boys that tormented him, and I figgered if he + got within pitchfork distance of the Todd critter he'd make him the + leakiest divine that ever picked a text. I commenced to hobble back after + my gun. It looked bad to me. + </p> + <p> + But I'd forgot sister Clarissa. 'Fore I'd limped fur I heard her calling + to me. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Wingate,” says she, “get in here at once.” + </p> + <p> + There she was, setting on the seat of Lonesome's wagon, holdin' the reins + and as cool as a white frost in October. + </p> + <p> + “Get in at once,” says she. I jedged 'twas good advice, and took it. + </p> + <p> + “Proceed,” says she to the mare. “Git dap!” says I, and we started. When + we rounded the sand hill we see the race in the distance. Lonesome had + gained a p'int or two, and Todd wa'n't more'n four pitchforks in the lead. + </p> + <p> + “Make for the launch!” I whooped, between my hands. + </p> + <p> + The parson heard me and come about and broke for the shore. The Greased + Lightning had swung out about the length of her anchor rope, and the water + wa'n't deep. Todd splashed in to his waist and climbed aboard. He cut the + roding just as Lonesome reached tide mark. James, he sees it's a close + call, and he shins back to the engine, reaching it exactly at the time + when the gent with the pitchfork laid hands on the rail. Then the parson + throws over the switch—I'd shown him how, you remember—and + gives the starting wheel a full turn. + </p> + <p> + Well, you know the Greased Lightning? She don't linger to say farewell, + not any to speak of, she don't. And this time she jumped like the cat that + lit on the hot stove. Lonesome, being balanced with his knees on the rail, + pitches headfust into the cockpit. Todd, jumping out of his way, falls + overboard backward. Next thing anybody knew, the launch was scooting for + blue water like a streak of what she was named for, and the hunting + chaplain was churning up foam like a mill wheel. + </p> + <p> + I yelled more orders than second mate on a coaster. Todd bubbled and + bellered. Lonesome hung on to the rail of the cockpit and let his hair + stand up to grow. Nobody was cool but Clarissa, and she was an iceberg. + She had her good p'ints, that old maid did, drat her! + </p> + <p> + “James,” she calls, “get out of that water this minute and come here! This + instant, mind!” + </p> + <p> + James minded. He paddled ashore and hopped, dripping like a dishcloth, + alongside the truck wagon. + </p> + <p> + “Get in!” orders Skipper Clarissa. He done it. “Now,” says the lady, + passing the reins over to me, “drive us home, Mr. Wingate, before that + intoxicated lunatic can catch us.” + </p> + <p> + It seemed about the only thing to do. I knew 'twas no use explaining to + Lonesome for an hour or more yet, even if you can talk finger signs, which + part of my college training has been neglected. 'Twas murder he wanted at + the present time. I had some sort of a foggy notion that I'd drive along, + pick up the guns and then get the Todds over to the hotel, afterward + coming back to get the launch and pay damages to Huckleberries. I + cal'lated he'd be more reasonable by that time. + </p> + <p> + But the mare had made other arrangements. When I slapped her with the end + of the reins she took the bit in her teeth and commenced to gallop. I + hollered “Whoa!” and “Heave to!” and “Belay!” and everything else I could + think of, but she never took in a reef. We bumped over hummocks and + ridges, and every time we done it we spilled something out of that wagon. + First 'twas a lot of huckleberry pails, then a basket of groceries and + such, then a tin pan with some potatoes in it, then a jug done up in a + blanket. We was heaving cargo overboard like a leaky ship in a typhoon. + Out of the tail of my eye I see Lonesome, well out to sea, heading the + Greased Lightning for the beach. + </p> + <p> + Clarissa put in the time soothing James, who had a serious case of the + scart-to-deaths, and calling me an “utter barbarian” for driving so fast. + Lucky for all hands, she had to hold on tight to keep from being jounced + out, 'long with the rest of movables, so she couldn't take the reins. As + for me, I wa'n't paying much attention to her—'twas the Cut-Through + that was disturbing MY mind. + </p> + <p> + When you drive down to Lonesome P'int you have to ford the “Cut-Through.” + It's a strip of water between the bay and the ocean, and 'tain't very wide + nor deep at low tide. But the tide was coming in now, and, more'n that, + the mare wa'n't headed for the ford. She was cuttin' cross-lots on her own + hook, and wouldn't answer the helm. + </p> + <p> + We struck that Cut-Through about a hundred yards east of the ford, and in + two shakes we was hub deep in salt water. 'Fore the Todds could do + anything but holler the wagon was afloat and the mare was all but + swimming. But she kept right on. Bless her, you COULDN'T stop her! + </p> + <p> + We crossed the first channel and come out on a flat where 'twasn't more'n + two foot deep then. I commenced to feel better. There was another channel + ahead of us, but I figured we'd navigate that same as we had the first + one. And then the most outrageous thing happened. + </p> + <p> + If you'll b'lieve it, that pesky mare balked and wouldn't stir another + step. + </p> + <p> + And there we was! I punched and kicked and hollered, but all that stubborn + horse would do was lay her ears back flat, and snarl up her lip, and look + round at us, much as to say: “Now, then, you land sharks, I've got you + between wind and water!” And I swan to man if it didn't look as if she + had! + </p> + <p> + “Drive on!” says Clarissa, pretty average vinegary. “Haven't you made + trouble enough for us already, you dreadful man? Drive on!” + </p> + <p> + Hadn't <i>I</i> made trouble enough! What do you think of that? + </p> + <p> + “You want to drown us!” says Miss Todd, continuing her chatty remarks. “I + see it all! It's a plot between you and that murderer. I give you warning; + if we reach the hotel, my brother and I will commence suit for damages.” + </p> + <p> + My temper's fairly long-suffering, but 'twas raveling some by this time. + </p> + <p> + “Commence suit!” I says. “I don't care WHAT you commence, if you'll + commence to keep quiet now!” And then I give her a few p'ints as to what + her brother had done, heaving in some personal flatteries every once in a + while for good measure. + </p> + <p> + I'd about got to thirdly when James give a screech and p'inted. And, if + there wa'n't Lonesome in the launch, headed right for us, and coming + a-b'iling! He'd run her along abreast of the beach and turned in at the + upper end of the Cut-Through. + </p> + <p> + You never in your life heard such a row as there was in that wagon. + Clarissa and me yelling to Lonesome to keep off—forgitting that he + was stone deef and dumb—and James vowing that he was going to be + slaughtered in cold blood. And the Greased Lightning p'inted just so she'd + split that cart amidships, and coming—well, you know how she can go. + </p> + <p> + She never budged until she was within ten foot of the flat, and then she + sheered off and went past in a wide curve, with Lonesome steering with one + hand and shaking his pitchfork at Todd with t'other. And SUCH faces as he + made-up! They'd have got him hung in any court in the world. + </p> + <p> + He run up the Cut-Through a little ways, and then come about, and back he + comes again, never slacking speed a mite, and running close to the shoal + as he could shave, and all the time going through the bloodiest kind of + pantomimes. And past he goes, to wheel 'round and commence all over again. + </p> + <p> + Thinks I, “Why don't he ease up and lay us aboard? He's got all the + weapons there is. Is he scart?” + </p> + <p> + And then it come to me—the reason why. HE DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO STOP + HER. He could steer first rate, being used to sailboats, but an electric + auto launch was a new ideal for him, and he didn't understand her works. + And he dastn't run her aground at the speed she was making; 'twould have + finished her and, more'n likely, him, too. + </p> + <p> + I don't s'pose there ever was another mess just like it afore or sence. + Here was us, stranded with a horse we couldn't make go, being chased by a + feller who was run away with in a boat he couldn't stop! + </p> + <p> + Just as I'd about give up hope, I heard somebody calling from the beach + behind us. I turned, and there was Becky Huckleberries, Lonesome's + daughter. She had the dead decoys by the legs in one hand. + </p> + <p> + “Hi!” says she. + </p> + <p> + “Hi!” says I. “How do you get this giraffe of yours under way?” + </p> + <p> + She held up the decoys. + </p> + <p> + “Who kill-a dem ducks?” says she. + </p> + <p> + I p'inted to the reverend. “He did,” says I. And then I cal'late I must + have had one of them things they call an inspiration. “And he's willing to + pay for 'em,” I says. + </p> + <p> + “Pay thirty-five dolla?” says she. + </p> + <p> + “You bet!” says I. + </p> + <p> + But I'd forgot Clarissa. She rose up in that waterlogged cart like a + Statue of Liberty. “Never!” says she. “We will never submit to such + extortion. We'll drown first!” + </p> + <p> + Becky heard her. She didn't look disapp'inted nor nothing. Just turned and + begun to walk up the beach. “ALL right,” says she; “GOO'-by.” + </p> + <p> + The Todds stood it for a jiffy. Then James give in. “I'll pay it!” he + hollers. “I'll pay it!” + </p> + <p> + Even then Becky didn't smile. She just come about again and walked back to + the shore. Then she took up that tin pan and one of the potaters we'd + jounced out of the cart. + </p> + <p> + “Hi, Rosa!” she hollers. That mare turned her head and looked. And, for + the first time sence she hove anchor on that flat, the critter unfurled + her ears and histed 'em to the masthead. + </p> + <p> + “Hi, Rosa!” says Becky again, and begun to pound the pan with the potater. + And I give you my word that that mare started up, turned the wagon around + nice as could be, and begun to swim ashore. When we got where the + critter's legs touched bottom, Becky remarks: “Whoa!” + </p> + <p> + “Here!” I yells, “what did you do that for?” + </p> + <p> + “Pay thirty-five dolla NOW,” says she. She was bus'ness, that girl. + </p> + <p> + Todd got his wallet from under hatches and counted out the thirty-five, + keeping one eye on Lonesome, who was swooping up and down in the launch + looking as if he wanted to cut in, but dasn't. I tied the bills to my + jack-knife, to give 'em weight, and tossed the whole thing ashore. Becky, + she counted the cash and stowed it away in her apron pocket. + </p> + <p> + “ALL right,” says she. “Hi, Rosa!” The potater and pan performance begun + again, and Rosa picked up her hoofs and dragged us to dry land. And it + sartinly felt good to the feet. + </p> + <p> + “Say,” I says, “Becky, it's none of my affairs, as I know of, but is that + the way you usually start that horse of yours?” + </p> + <p> + She said it was. And Rosa ate the potater. + </p> + <p> + Becky asked me how to stop the launch, and I told her. She made a lot of + finger signs to Lonesome, and inside of five minutes the Greased Lightning + was anchored in front of us. Old man Huckleberries was still hankering to + interview Todd with the pitchfork, but Becky settled that all right. She + jumped in front of him, and her eyes snapped and her feet stamped and her + fingers flew. And 'twould have done you good to see her dad shrivel up and + get humble. I always had thought that a woman wasn't much good as a boss + of the roost unless she could use her tongue, but Becky showed me my + mistake. Well, it's live and l'arn. + </p> + <p> + Then Miss Huckleberries turned to us and smiled. + </p> + <p> + “ALL right,” says she; “GOO'-by.” + </p> + <p> + Them Todds took the train for the city next morning. I drove 'em to the + depot. James was kind of glum, but Clarissa talked for two. Her opinion of + the Cape and Capers, 'specially me, was decided. The final blast was just + as she was climbing the car steps. + </p> + <p> + “Of all the barbarians,” says she; “utter, uncouth, murdering barbarians + in—” + </p> + <p> + She stopped, thinking for a word, I s'pose. I didn't feel that I could + improve on Becky Huckleberries conversation much, so I says: + </p> + <p> + “ALL right! GOO'-by!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE MARK ON THE DOOR + </h2> + <p> + One nice moonlight evening me and Cap'n Jonadab and Peter T., having, for + a wonder, a little time to ourselves and free from boarders, was setting + on the starboard end of the piazza, smoking, when who should heave in + sight but Cap'n Eri Hedge and Obed Nickerson. They'd come over from Orham + that day on some fish business and had drove down to Wellmouth Port on + purpose to put up at the Old Home for the night and shake hands with me + and Jonadab. We was mighty glad to see 'em, now I tell you. + </p> + <p> + They'd had supper up at the fish man's at the Centre, so after Peter T. + had gone in and fetched out a handful of cigars, we settled back for a + good talk. They wanted to know how business was and we told 'em. After a + spell somebody mentioned the Todds and I spun my yarn about the balky mare + and the Greased Lightning. It tickled 'em most to death, especially Obed. + </p> + <p> + “Ho, ho!” says he. “That's funny, ain't it. Them power boats are great + things, ain't they. I had an experience in one—or, rather, in two—a + spell ago when I was living over to West Bayport. My doings was with + gasoline though, not electricity. 'Twas something of an experience. Maybe + you'd like to hear it.” + </p> + <p> + “'Way I come to be over there on the bay side of the Cape was like this. + West Bayport, where my shanty and the big Davidson summer place and the + Saunders' house was, used to be called Punkhassett—which is Injun + for 'The last place the Almighty made'—and if you've read the + circulars of the land company that's booming Punkhassett this year, you'll + remember that the principal attraction of them diggings is the + 'magnificent water privileges.' 'Twas the water privileges that had hooked + me. Clams was thick on the flats at low tide, and fish was middling plenty + in the bay. I had two weirs set; one a deep-water weir, a half mile beyond + the bar, and t'other just inside of it that I could drive out to at low + water. A two-mile drive 'twas, too; the tide goes out a long ways over + there. I had a powerboat—seven and a half power gasoline—that + I kept anchored back of my nighest-in weir in deep water, and a little + skiff on shore to row off to her in. + </p> + <p> + “The yarn begins one morning when I went down to the shore after clams. + I'd noticed the signs then. They was stuck up right acrost the path: 'No + trespassing on these premises,' and 'All persons are forbidden crossing + this property, under penalty of the law.' But land! I'd used that + short-cut ever sence I'd been in Bayport—which was more'n a year—and + old man Davidson and me was good friends, so I cal'lated the signs was + intended for boys, and hove ahead without paying much attention to 'em. + 'Course I knew that the old man—and, what was more important, the + old lady—had gone abroad and that the son was expected down, but + that didn't come to me at the time, neither. + </p> + <p> + “I was heading for home about eight, with two big dreeners full of clams, + and had just climbed the bluff and swung over the fence into the path, + when somebody remarks: 'Here, you!' I jumped and turned round, and there, + beating across the field in my direction, was an exhibit which, it turned + out later, was ticketed with the name of Alpheus Vandergraff Parker + Davidson—'Allie' for short. + </p> + <p> + “And Allie was a good deal of an exhibit, in his way. His togs were cut to + fit his spars, and he carried 'em well—no wrinkles at the peak or + sag along the boom. His figurehead was more'n average regular, and his + hair was combed real nice—the part in the middle of it looked like + it had been laid out with a plumb-line. Also, he had on white shoes and + glory hallelujah stockings. Altogether, he was alone with the price of + admission, and what some folks, I s'pose, would have called a handsome + enough young feller. But I didn't like his eyes; they looked kind of + tired, as if they'd seen 'bout all there was to see of some kinds of life. + Twenty-four year old eyes hadn't ought to look that way. + </p> + <p> + “But I wasn't interested in eyes jest then. All I could look at was teeth. + There they was, a lovely set of 'em, in the mouth of the ugliest specimen + of a bow-legged bulldog that ever tried to hang itself at the end of a + chain. Allie was holding t'other end of the chain with both hands, and + they were full, at that. The dog stood up on his hind legs and pawed the + air with his front ones, and his tongue hung out and dripped. You could + see he was yearning, just dying, to taste of a middle-aged longshoreman by + the name of Obed Nickerson. I stared at the dog, and he stared at me. I + don't know which of us was the most interested. + </p> + <p> + “'Here, you!' says Allie again. 'What are you crossing this field for?' + </p> + <p> + “I heard him, but I was too busy counting teeth to pay much attention. + 'You ought to feed that dog,' I says, absent-minded like. 'He's hungry.' + </p> + <p> + “'Humph!' says he. 'Well, maybe he'll be fed in a minute. Did you see + those signs?' + </p> + <p> + “'Yes,' says I; 'I saw 'em. They're real neat and pretty.' + </p> + <p> + “'Pretty!' He fairly choked, he was so mad. 'Why, you cheeky, long-legged + jay,' he says, 'I'll—What are you crossing this field for?' + </p> + <p> + “'So's to get to t'other side of it, I guess,' says I. I was riling up a + bit myself. You see, when a feller's been mate of a schooner, like I've + been in my day, it don't come easy to be called names. It looked for a + minute as if Allie was going to have a fit, but he choked it down. + </p> + <p> + “'Look here!' he says. 'I know who you are. Just because the gov'ner has + been soft enough to let you countrymen walk all over him, it don't foller + that I'm going to be. I'm boss here for this summer. My name's—' He + told me his name, and how his dad had turned the place over to him for the + season, and a lot more. 'I put those signs up,' he says, 'to keep just + such fellers as you are off my property. They mean that you ain't to cross + the field. Understand?' + </p> + <p> + “I understood. I was mad clean through, but I'm law-abiding, generally + speaking. 'All right,' I says, picking up my dreeners and starting for the + farther fence; 'I won't cross it again.' + </p> + <p> + “'You won't cross it now,' says he. 'Go back where you come from.' + </p> + <p> + “That was a grain too much. I told him a few things. He didn't wait for + the benediction. 'Take him, Prince!' he says, dropping the chain. + </p> + <p> + “Prince was willing. He fetched a kind of combination hurrah and growl and + let out for me full-tilt. I don't feed good fresh clams to dogs as a usual + thing, but that mouth HAD to be filled. I waited till he was almost on me, + and then I let drive with one of the dreeners. Prince and a couple of + pecks of clams went up in the air like a busted bomb-shell, and I broke + for the fence I'd started for. I hung on to the other dreener, though, + just out of principle. + </p> + <p> + “But I had to let go of it, after all. The dog come out of the collision + looking like a plate of scrambled eggs, and took after me harder'n ever, + shedding shells and clam juice something scandalous. When he was right at + my heels I turned and fired the second dreener. And, by Judas, I missed + him! + </p> + <p> + “Well, principle's all right, but there's times when even the best of us + has to hedge. I simply couldn't reach the farther fence, so I made a quick + jibe and put for the one behind me. And I couldn't make that, either. + Prince was taking mouthfuls of my overalls for appetizers. There was a + little pine-tree in the lot, and I give one jump and landed in the middle + of it. I went up the rest of the way like I'd forgot something, and then I + clung onto the top of that tree and panted and swung round in circles, + while the dog hopped up and down on his hind legs and fairly sobbed with + disapp'intment. + </p> + <p> + “Allie was rolling on the grass. 'Oh, DEAR me!' says he, between spasms. + 'That was the funniest thing I ever saw.' + </p> + <p> + “I'd seen lots funnier things myself, but 'twa'n't worth while to argue. + Besides, I was busy hanging onto that tree. 'Twas an awful little pine and + the bendiest one I ever climbed. Allie rolled around a while longer, and + then he gets up and comes over. + </p> + <p> + “'Well, Reuben,' says he, lookin' up at me on the roost, 'you're a good + deal handsomer up there than you are on the ground. I guess I'll let you + stay there for a while as a lesson to you. Watch him, Prince.' And off he + walks. + </p> + <p> + “'You everlasting clothes-pole,' I yells after him, 'if it wa'n't for that + dog of yours I'd—' + </p> + <p> + “He turns around kind of lazy and says he: 'Oh, you've got no kick + coming,' he says. 'I allow you to—er—ornament my tree, and + 'tain't every hayseed I'd let do that.' + </p> + <p> + “And away he goes; and for an hour that had no less'n sixty thousand + minutes in it I clung to that tree like a green apple, with Prince setting + open-mouthed underneath waiting for me to get ripe and drop. + </p> + <p> + “Just as I was figgering that I was growing fast to the limb, I heard + somebody calling my name. I unglued my eyes from the dog and looked up, + and there, looking over the fence that I'd tried so hard to reach, was + Barbara Saunders, Cap'n Eben Saunders' girl, who lived in the house next + door to mine. + </p> + <p> + “Barbara was always a pretty girl, and that morning she looked prettier + than ever, with her black hair blowing every which way and her black eyes + snapping full of laugh. Barbara Saunders in a white shirt-waist and an + old, mended skirt could give ten lengths in a beauty race to any craft in + silks and satins that ever <i>I</i> see, and beat 'em hull down at that. + </p> + <p> + “'Why, Mr. Nickerson!' she calls. 'What are you doing up in that tree?' + </p> + <p> + “That was kind of a puzzler to answer offhand, and I don't know what I'd + have said if friend Allie hadn't hove in sight just then and saved me the + trouble. He come strolling out of the woods with a cigarette in his mouth, + and when he saw Barbara he stopped short and looked and looked at her. And + for a minute she looked at him, and the red come up in her cheeks like a + sunrise. + </p> + <p> + “'Beg pardon, I'm sure,' says Allie, tossing away the cigarette. 'May I + ask if that—er—deep-sea gentleman in my tree is a friend of + yours?' + </p> + <p> + “Barbara kind of laughed and dropped her eyes, and said why, yes, I was. + </p> + <p> + “'By Jove! he's luckier than I thought,' says Allie, never taking his eyes + from her face. 'And what do they call him, please, when they want him to + answer?' That's what he asked, though, mind you, he'd said he knew who I + was when he first saw me. + </p> + <p> + “'It's Mr. Nickerson,' says Barbara. 'He lives in that house there. The + one this side of ours.' + </p> + <p> + “'Oh, a neighbor! That's different. Awfully sorry, I'm sure. Prince, come + here. Er—Nickerson, for the lady's sake we'll call it off. You may—er—vacate + the perch.' + </p> + <p> + “I waited till he'd got a clove-hitch onto Prince. He had to give him one + or two welts over the head 'fore he could do it; the dog acted like he'd + been cheated. Then I pried myself loose from that blessed limb and shinned + down to solid ground. My! but I was b'iling inside. 'Taint pleasant to be + made a show afore folks, but 'twas the feller's condescending + what-excuse-you-got-for-living manners that riled me most. + </p> + <p> + “I picked up what was left of the dreeners and walked over to the fence. + That field was just sowed, as you might say, with clams. If they ever + sprouted 'twould make a tip-top codfish pasture. + </p> + <p> + “'You see,' says Allie, talking to Barbara; 'the gov'nor told me he'd been + plagued with trespassers, so I thought I'd give 'em a lesson. But + neighbors, when they're scarce as ours are, ought to be friends. Don't you + think so, Miss—? Er—Nickerson,' says he, 'introduce me to our + other neighbor.' + </p> + <p> + “So I had to do it, though I didn't want to. He turned loose some soft + soap about not realizing afore what a beautiful place the Cape was. I + thought 'twas time to go. + </p> + <p> + “'But Miss Saunders hasn't answered my question yet,' says Allie. 'Don't + YOU think neighbors ought to be friends, Miss Saunders?' + </p> + <p> + “Barbara blushed and laughed and said she guessed they had. Then she + walked away. I started to follow, but Allie stopped me. + </p> + <p> + “'Look here, Nickerson,' says he. 'I let you off this time, but don't try + it again; do you hear?' + </p> + <p> + “'I hear,' says I. 'You and that hyena of yours have had all the fun this + morning. Some day, maybe, the boot'll be on t'other leg.' + </p> + <p> + “Barbara was waiting for me. We walked on together without speaking for a + minute. Then I says, to myself like: 'So that's old man Davidson's son, is + it? Well, he's the prize peach in the crate, he is!' + </p> + <p> + “Barbara was thinking, too. 'He's very nice looking, isn't he?' says she. + 'Twas what you'd expect a girl to say, but I hated to hear her say it. I + went home and marked a big chalk-mark on the inside of my shanty door, + signifying that I had a debt so pay some time or other. + </p> + <p> + “So that's how I got acquainted with Allie V. P. Davidson. And, what's + full as important, that's how he got acquainted with Barbara Saunders. + </p> + <p> + “Shutting an innocent canary-bird up in the same room with a healthy cat + is a more or less risky proposition for the bird. Same way, if you take a + pretty country girl who's been to sea with her dad most of the time and + tied to the apron-strings of a deef old aunt in a house three miles from + nowhere—you take that girl, I say, and then fetch along, as + next-door neighbor, a good-looking young shark like Allie, with a hogshead + of money and a blame sight too much experience, and that's a risky + proposition for the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Allie played his cards well; he'd set into a good many similar games + afore, I judge. He begun by doing little favors for Phoebe Ann—she + was the deef aunt I mentioned—and 'twa'n't long afore he was as + solid with the old lady as a kedge-anchor. He had a way of dropping into + the Saunders house for a drink of water or a slab of 'that delicious + apple-pie,' and with every drop he got better acquainted with Barbara. + Cap'n Eben was on a v'yage to Buenos Ayres and wouldn't be home till fall, + 'twa'n't likely. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't see a great deal of what was going on, being too busy with my + fishweirs and clamming to notice. Allie and me wa'n't exactly David and + Jonathan, owing, I judge, to our informal introduction to each other. But + I used to see him scooting 'round in his launch—twenty-five foot, + she was, with a little mahogany cabin and the land knows what—and + the servants at the big house told me yarns about his owning a big + steam-yacht, with a sailing-master and crew, which was cruising round + Newport somewheres. + </p> + <p> + “But, busy as I was, I see enough to make me worried. There was a good + deal of whispering over the Saunders back gate after supper, and once, + when I come up over the bluff from the shore sudden, they was sitting + together on a rock and he had his arm round her waist. I dropped a hint to + Phoebe Ann, but she shut me up quicker'n a snap-hinge match-box. Allie had + charmed 'auntie' all right. And so it drifted along till September. + </p> + <p> + “One Monday evening about the middle of the month I went over to Phoebe + Ann's to borrow some matches. Barbara wasn't in—gone out to lock up + the hens, or some such fool excuse. But Phoebe was busting full of joy. + Cap'n Eben had arrived in New York a good deal sooner'n was expected and + would be home on Thursday morning. + </p> + <p> + “'He's going from Boston to Provincetown on the steamer, Wednesday,' says + Phoebe. 'He's got some business over there. Then he's coming home from + Provincetown on the early train. Ain't that splendid?' + </p> + <p> + “I thought 'twas splendid for more reasons than one, and I went out + feeling good. But as I come round the corner of the house there was + somebody by the back gate, and I heard a girl's voice sayin': 'Oh, no, no! + I can't! I can't!' + </p> + <p> + “If I hadn't trod on a stick maybe I'd have heard more, but the racket + broke up the party. Barbara come hurrying past me into the house, and by + the light from the back door, I see her face. 'Twas white as a clam-shell, + and she looked frightened to death. + </p> + <p> + “Thinks I: 'That's funny! It's a providence Eben's coming home so soon.' + </p> + <p> + “And the next day I saw her again, and she was just as white and wouldn't + look me in the eye. Wednesday, though, I felt better, for the servants on + the Davidson place told me that Allie had gone to Boston on the morning + train to be gone for good, and that they was going to shut up the house + and haul up the launch in a day or so. + </p> + <p> + “Early that afternoon, as I was coming from my shanty to the bluff on my + way to the shore after dinner, I noticed a steam-yacht at anchor two mile + or so off the bar. She must have come there sence I got in, and I wondered + whose she was. Then I see a dingey with three men aboard rowing in, and I + walked down the beach to meet 'em. + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes I think there is such things as what old Parson Danvers used to + call 'dispensations.' This was one of 'em. There was a feller in a uniform + cap steering the dingey, and, b'lieve it or not, I'll be everlastingly + keelhauled if he didn't turn out to be Ben Henry, who was second mate with + me on the old Seafoam. He was surprised enough to see me, and glad, too, + but he looked sort of worried. + </p> + <p> + “'Well, Ben,' says I, after we had shook hands, 'well, Ben,' I says, 'my + shanty ain't exactly the United States Hotel for gilt paint and bill of + fare, but I HAVE got eight or ten gallons of home-made cherry rum and some + terbacker and an extry pipe. You fall into my wake.' + </p> + <p> + “'I'd like to, Obed,' he says; 'I'd like to almighty well, but I've got to + go up to the store, if there is such a thing in this metropolus, and buy + some stuff that I forgot to get in Newport. You see, we got orders to sail + in a tearing hurry, and—' + </p> + <p> + “'Send one of them fo'mast hands to the store,' says I. 'You got to come + with me.' + </p> + <p> + “He hemmed and hawed a while, but he was dry, and I shook the cherry-rum + jug at him, figuratively speaking, so finally he give in. + </p> + <p> + “'You buy so and so,' says he to his men, passing 'em a ten-dollar bill. + 'And mind, you don't know nothing. If anybody asks, remember that yacht's + the Mermaid—M-U-R-M-A-D-E,' he says, 'and she belongs to Mr. Jones, + of Mobile, Georgia.' + </p> + <p> + “So the men went away, and me and Ben headed for my shanty, where we + moored abreast of each other at the table, with a jug between us for a + buoy, so's to speak. We talked old times and spun yarns, and the tide went + out in the jug consider'ble sight faster than 'twas ebbing on the flats. + After a spell I asked him about the man that owned the yacht. + </p> + <p> + “'Who? Oh—er—Brown?' he says. 'Why, he's—' + </p> + <p> + “'Brown?' says I. 'Thought you said 'twas Jones?' + </p> + <p> + “Well, that kind of upset him, and he took some cherry-rum to grease his + memory. Then I asked more questions and he tried to answer 'em, and got + worse tangled than ever. Finally I had to laugh. + </p> + <p> + “'Look here, Ben,' says I. 'You can't fetch port on that tack. The truth's + ten mile astern of you. Who does own that yacht, anyway?' + </p> + <p> + “He looked at me mighty solemn—cherry-rum solemn. 'Obed,' he says, + 'you're a good feller. Don't you give me away, now, or I'll lose my berth. + The man that owns that yacht's named Davidson, and he's got a summer place + right in this town.' + </p> + <p> + “'Davidson!' says I. 'DAVIDSON? Not young Allie Davidson?' + </p> + <p> + “'That's him,' says he. 'And he's the blankety blankest meanest low-down + cub on earth. There! I feel some better. Give me another drink to take the + taste of him out of my mouth.' + </p> + <p> + “'But young Davidson's gone to Boston,' I says. 'Went this morning.' + </p> + <p> + “'That be hanged!' says Ben. 'All I know is that I got a despatch from him + at Newport on Monday afternoon, telling me to have the yacht abreast this + town at twelve o'clock to-night, 'cause he was coming off to her then in + his launch with a friend. Friend!' And he laughed and winked his starboard + eye. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't say much, being too busy thinking, but Ben went on telling about + other cruises with 'friends.' Oh, a steam-yacht can be a first-class + imitation of hell if the right imp owns her. Henry got speaking of one + time down along the Maine coast. + </p> + <p> + “'But,' says I, referring to what he was telling, 'if she was such a nice + girl and come from such nice folks, how—' + </p> + <p> + “'How do I know?' says he. 'Promises to marry and such kind of lies, I + s'pose. And the plain fact is that he's really engaged to marry a swell + girl in Newport.' + </p> + <p> + “He told me her name and a lot more about her. I tried to remember the + most of it, but my head was whirling—and not from cherry rum, + either. All I could think was: 'Obed, it's up to you! You've got to do + something.' + </p> + <p> + “I was mighty glad when the sailors hailed from the shore and Ben had to + go. He 'most cried when he said good-by, and went away stepping high and + bringing his heels down hard. I watched the dingey row off—the tide + was out, so there was barely water for her to get clear—and then I + went back home to think. And I thought all the afternoon. + </p> + <p> + “Two and two made four, anyway I could add it up, but 'twas all suspicion + and no real proof, that was the dickens of it. I couldn't speak to Phoebe + Ann; she wouldn't b'lieve me if I did. I couldn't telegraph Cap'n Eben at + Provincetown to come home that night; I'd have to tell him the whole thing + and I knew his temper, so, for Barbara's sake, 'twouldn't do. I couldn't + be at the shore to stop the launch leaving. What right had I to stop + another man's launch, even— + </p> + <p> + “No, 'twas up to me, and I thought and thought till after supper-time. And + then I had a plan—a risky chance, but a chance, just the same. I + went up to the store and bought four feet of medium-size rubber hose and + some rubber tape, same as they sell to bicycle fellers in the summer. + 'Twas almost dark when I got back in sight of my shanty, and instead of + going to it I jumped that board fence that me and Prince had negotiated + for, hustled along the path past the notice boards, and went down the + bluff on t'other side of Davidson's p'int. And there in the deep hole by + the end of the little pier, out of sight of the house on shore, was + Allie's launch. By what little light there was left I could see the brass + rails shining. + </p> + <p> + “But I didn't stop to admire 'em. I give one look around. Nobody was in + sight. Then I ran down the pier and jumped aboard. Almost the first thing + I put my hand on was what I was looking for—the bilge-pump. 'Twas a + small affair, that you could lug around in one hand, but mighty handy for + keeping a boat of that kind dry. + </p> + <p> + “I fitted one end of my hose to the lower end of that pump and wrapped + rubber tape around the j'int till she sucked when I tried her over the + side. Then I turned on the cocks in the gasoline pipes fore and aft, and + noticed that the carbureter feed cup was chock full. Then I was ready for + business. + </p> + <p> + “I went for'ard, climbing over the little low cabin that was just big + enough for a man to crawl into, till I reached the brass cap in the deck + over the gasoline-tank. Then I unscrewed the cap, run my hose down into + the tank, and commenced to pump good fourteen-cents-a-gallon gasoline + overboard to beat the cars. 'Twas a thirty-gallon tank, and full up. I + begun to think I'd never get her empty, but I did, finally. I pumped her + dry. Then I screwed the cap on again and went home, taking Allie's + bilge-pump with me, for I couldn't stop to unship the hose. The tide was + coming in fast. + </p> + <p> + “At nine o'clock that night I was in my skiff, rowing off to where my + power-boat laid in deep water back of the bar. When I reached her I made + the skiff fast astern, lit a lantern, which I put in a locker under a + thwart, and set still in the pitch-dark, smoking and waiting. + </p> + <p> + “'Twas a long, wearisome wait. There was a no'thwest wind coming up, and + the waves were running pretty choppy on the bar. All I could think of was + that gasoline. Was there enough in the pipes and the feed cup on that + launch to carry her out to where I was? Or was there too much, and would + she make the yacht, after all? + </p> + <p> + “It got to be eleven o'clock. Tide was full at twelve. I was a pretty good + candidate for the crazy house by this time. I'd listened till my ear-drums + felt slack, like they needed reefing. And then at last I heard her coming—CHUFF-chuff! + CHUFF-chuff! CHUFF-chuff! + </p> + <p> + “And HOW she did come! She walked up abreast of me, went past me, a + hundred yards or so off. Thinks I: 'It's all up. He's going to make it.' + </p> + <p> + “And then, all at once, the 'chuff-chuff-ing' stopped. Started up and + stopped again. I gave a hurrah, in my mind, pulled the skiff up alongside + and jumped into her, taking the lantern with me, under my coat. Then I set + the light between my feet, picked up the oars and started rowing. + </p> + <p> + “I rowed quiet as I could, but he heard me 'fore I got to him. I heard a + scrambling noise off ahead, and then a shaky voice hollers: 'Hello! who's + that?' + </p> + <p> + “'It's me,' says I, rowing harder'n ever. 'Who are you? What's the row?' + </p> + <p> + “There was more scrambling and a slam, like a door shutting. In another + two minutes I was alongside the launch and held up my lantern. Allie was + there, fussing with his engine. And he was all alone. + </p> + <p> + “Alone he was, I say, fur's a body could see, but he was mighty shaky and + frightened. Also, 'side of him, on the cushions, was a girl's jacket, and + I thought I'd seen that jacket afore. + </p> + <p> + “'Hello!' says I. 'Is that you, Mr. Davidson? Thought you'd gone to + Boston?' + </p> + <p> + “'Changed my mind,' he says. 'Got any gasoline?' + </p> + <p> + “'What you doing off here this time of night?' I says. + </p> + <p> + “'Going out to my—' He stopped. I s'pose the truth choked him. 'I + was going to Provincetown,' he went on. 'Got any gasoline?' + </p> + <p> + “'What in the nation you starting to Provincetown in the middle of the + night for?' I asks, innocent as could be. + </p> + <p> + “'Oh, thunder! I had business there, that's all. GOT ANY GASOLINE?' + </p> + <p> + “I made my skiff's painter fast to a cleat on the launch and climbed + aboard. 'Gasoline?' says I. 'Gasoline? Why, yes; I've got some gasoline + over on my power-boat out yonder. Has yours give out? I should think you'd + filled your tank 'fore you left home on such a trip as Provincetown. Maybe + the pipe's plugged or something. Have you looked?' And I caught hold of + the handle of the cabin-door. + </p> + <p> + “He jumped and grabbed me by the arm. ''Tain't plugged,' he yells, sharp. + 'The tank's empty, I tell you.' + </p> + <p> + “He kept pulling me away from the cabin, but I hung onto the handle. + </p> + <p> + “'You can't be too sure,' I says. 'This door's locked. Give me the key.' + </p> + <p> + “'I—I left the key at home,' he says. 'Don't waste time. Go over to + your boat and fetch me some gasoline. I'll pay you well for it.' + </p> + <p> + “Then I was sartin of what I suspicioned. The cabin was locked, but not + with the key. THAT was in the keyhole. The door was bolted ON THE INSIDE. + </p> + <p> + “'All right,' says I. 'I'll sell you the gasoline, but you'll have to go + with me in the skiff to get it. Get your anchor over or this craft'll + drift to Eastham. Hurry up.' + </p> + <p> + “He didn't like the idee of leaving the launch, but I wouldn't hear of + anything else. While he was heaving the anchor I commenced to talk to him. + </p> + <p> + “'I didn't know but what you'd started for foreign parts to meet that + Newport girl you're going to marry,' I says, and I spoke good and loud. + </p> + <p> + “He jumped so I thought he'd fall overboard. + </p> + <p> + “'What's that?' he shouts. + </p> + <p> + “'Why, that girl you're engaged to,' says I. 'Miss—' and I yelled + her name, and how she'd gone abroad with his folks, and all. + </p> + <p> + “'Shut up!' he whispers, waving his hands, frantic. 'Don't stop to lie. + Hurry up!' + </p> + <p> + “''Tain't a lie. Oh, I know about it!' I hollers, as if he was deef. I + meant to be heard—by him and anybody else that might be interested. + I give a whole lot more partic'lars, too. He fairly shoved me into the + skiff, after a spell. + </p> + <p> + “'Now,' he says, so mad he could hardly speak, 'stop your lying and row, + will you!' + </p> + <p> + “I was willing to row then. I cal'lated I'd done some missionary work by + this time. Allie's guns was spiked, if I knew Barbara Saunders. I p'inted + the skiff the way she'd ought to go and laid to the oars. + </p> + <p> + “My plan had been to get him aboard the skiff and row somewheres—ashore, + if I could. But 'twas otherwise laid out for me. The wind was blowing + pretty fresh, and the skiff was down by the stern, so's the waves kept + knocking her nose round. 'Twas dark'n a pocket, too. I couldn't tell where + I WAS going. + </p> + <p> + “Allie got more fidgety every minute. 'Ain't we 'most there?' he asks. And + then he gives a screech. 'What's that ahead?' + </p> + <p> + “I turned to see, and as I done it the skiff's bow slid up on something. I + give an awful yank at the port oar; she slewed and tilted; a wave caught + her underneath, and the next thing I knew me and Allie and the skiff was + under water, bound for the bottom. We'd run acrost one of the guy-ropes of + my fish-weir. + </p> + <p> + “This wa'n't in the program. I hit sand with a bump and pawed up for air. + When I got my head out I see a water-wheel doing business close along-side + of me. It was Allie. + </p> + <p> + “'Help!' he howls. 'Help! I'm drowning!' + </p> + <p> + “I got him by the collar, took one stroke and bumped against the + weir-nets. You know what a fish-weir's like, don't you, Mr. Brown?—a + kind of pound, made of nets hung on ropes between poles. + </p> + <p> + “'Help!' yells Allie, clawing the nets. 'I can't swim in rough water!' + </p> + <p> + “You might have known he couldn't. It looked sort of dubious for a jiffy. + Then I had an idee. I dragged him to the nighest weir-pole. 'Climb!' I + hollers in his ear. 'Climb that pole.' + </p> + <p> + “He done it, somehow, digging his toes into the net and going up like a + cat up a tree. When he got to the top he hung acrost the rope and shook. + </p> + <p> + “'Hang on there!' says I. 'I'm going after the boat.' And I struck out. He + yelled to me not to leave him, but the weir had give me my bearings, and I + was bound for my power-boat. 'Twas a tough swim, but I made it, and + climbed aboard, not feeling any too happy. Losing a good skiff was more'n + I'd figgered on. + </p> + <p> + “Soon's I got some breath I hauled anchor, started up my engine and headed + back for the weir. I run along-side of it, keeping a good lookout for + guy-ropes, and when I got abreast of that particular pole I looked for + Allie. He was setting on the rope, a-straddle of the pole, and hanging + onto the top of it like it owed him money. He looked a good deal more + comfortable than I was when he and Prince had treed me. And the + remembrance of that time come back to me, and one of them things they call + inspiration come with it. He was four feet above water, 'twas full tide + then, and if he set still he was safe as a church. + </p> + <p> + “So instead of running in after him, I slowed 'way down and backed off. + </p> + <p> + “'Come here!' he yells. 'Come here, you fool, and take me aboard.' + </p> + <p> + “'Oh, I don't know,' says I. 'You're safe there, and, even if the yacht + folks don't come hunting for you by and by—which I cal'late they + will—the tide'll be low enough in five hours or so, so's you can + walk ashore.' + </p> + <p> + “'What—what do you mean?' he says. 'Ain't you goin' to take me off?' + </p> + <p> + “'I was,' says I, 'but I've changed my plans. And, Mr. Allie + Vander-what's-your-name Davidson, there's other things—low-down, + mean things—planned for this night that ain't going to come off, + either. Understand that, do you?' + </p> + <p> + “He understood, I guess. He didn't answer at all. Only gurgled, like he'd + swallered something the wrong way. + </p> + <p> + “Then the beautiful tit for tat of the whole business come to me, and I + couldn't help rubbing it in a little. 'As a sartin acquaintance of mine + once said to me,' I says, 'you look a good deal handsomer up there than + you do in a boat.' + </p> + <p> + “'You—you—etcetery and so forth, continued in our next!' says + he, or words to that effect. + </p> + <p> + “'That's all right,' says I, putting on the power. 'You've got no kick + coming. I allow you to—er—ornament my weir-pole, and 'tain't + every dude I'd let do that.' + </p> + <p> + “And I went away and, as the Fifth Reader used to say, 'let him alone in + his glory.' + </p> + <p> + “I went back to the launch, pulled up her anchor and took her in tow. I + towed her in to her pier, made her fast and then left her for a while. + When I come back the little cabin-door was open and the girl's jacket was + gone. + </p> + <p> + “Then I walked up the path to the Saunders house and it done me good to + see a light in Barbara's window. I set on the steps of that house until + morning keeping watch. And in the morning the yacht was gone and the + weir-pole was vacant, and Cap'n Eben Saunders come on the first train. + </p> + <p> + “So's that's all there is of it. Allie hasn't come back to Bayport sence, + and the last I heard he'd married that Newport girl; she has my sympathy, + if that's any comfort to her. + </p> + <p> + “And Barbara? Well, for a long time she'd turn white every time I met her. + But, of course, I kept my mouth shut, and she went to sea next v'yage with + her dad. And now I hear she's engaged to a nice feller up to Boston. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes—one thing more. When I got back to my shanty that morning I + wiped the chalkmark off the door. I kind of figgered that I'd paid that + debt, with back interest added.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LOVE OF LOBELIA 'ANKINS + </h2> + <p> + Obed's yarn being done, and friend Davidson done too, and brown at that, + Peter T. passed around another relay of cigars and we lit up. 'Twas Cap'n + Eri that spoke first. + </p> + <p> + “Love's a queer disease, anyway,” says he. “Ain't it, now? 'Twould puzzle + you and me to figger out what that Saunders girl see to like in the + Davidson critter. It must be a dreadful responsible thing to be so + fascinating. I never felt that responsibleness but once—except when + I got married, of course—and that was a good many years ago, when I + was going to sea on long v'yages, and was cruising around the East Indies, + in the latitude of our new troubles, the Philippines. + </p> + <p> + “I put in about three months on one of them little coral islands off that + way once. Hottest corner in the Lord's creation, I cal'late, and the + laziest and sleepiest hole ever I struck. All a feller feels like doing in + them islands is just to lay on his back under a palm tree all day and eat + custard-apples, and such truck. + </p> + <p> + “Way I come to be there was like this: I was fo'mast hand on a Boston + hooker bound to Singapore after rice. The skipper's name was Perkins, + Malachi C. Perkins, and he was the meanest man that ever wore a + sou'-wester. I've had the pleasure of telling him so sence—'twas in + Surinam 'long in '72. Well, anyhow, Perkins fed us on spiled salt junk and + wormy hard-tack all the way out, and if a feller dast to hint that the + same wa'n't precisely what you'd call Parker House fare, why the skipper + would knock him down with a marline-spike and the first mate would kick + him up and down the deck. 'Twan't a pretty performance to look at, but it + beat the world for taking the craving for fancy cooking out of a man. + </p> + <p> + “Well, when I got to Singapore I was nothing but skin and bone, and + considerable of the skin had been knocked off by the marline-spike and the + mate's boots. I'd shipped for the v'yage out and back, but the first night + in port I slipped over the side, swum ashore, and never set eyes on old + Perkins again till that time in Surinam, years afterward. + </p> + <p> + “I knocked round them Singapore docks for much as a month, hoping to get a + berth on some other ship, but 'twan't no go. I fell in with a Britisher + named Hammond, 'Ammond, he called it, and as he was on the same hunt that + I was, we kept each other comp'ny. We done odd jobs now 'n' again, and + slept in sailors' lodging houses when we had the price, and under bridges + or on hemp bales when we hadn't. I was too proud to write home for money, + and Hammond didn't have no home to write to, I cal'late. + </p> + <p> + “But luck 'll turn if you give it time enough. One night Hammond come + hurrying round to my sleeping-room—that is to say, my hemp bale—and + gives me a shake, and says he: + </p> + <p> + “'Turn out, you mud 'ead, I've got you a berth.' + </p> + <p> + “'Aw, go west!' says I, and turned over to go to sleep again. But he + pulled me off the bale by the leg, and that woke me up so I sensed what he + was saying. Seems he'd found a feller that wanted to ship a couple of + fo'mast hands on a little trading schooner for a trip over to the Java + Sea. + </p> + <p> + “Well, to make a long story short, we shipped with this feller, whose name + was Lazarus. I cal'late if the Lazarus in Scriptur' had been up to as many + tricks and had come as nigh being a thief as our Lazarus was, he wouldn't + have been so poor. Ourn was a shrewd rascal and nothing more nor less than + a pearl poacher. He didn't tell us that till after we sot sail, but we was + so desperate I don't know as 'twould have made much diff'rence if he had. + </p> + <p> + “We cruised round for a spell, sort of prospecting, and then we landed at + a little one-horse coral island, where there wa'n't no inhabitants, but + where we was pretty dead sartin there was pearl oyster banks in the + lagoon. There was five of us on the schooner, a Dutchman named + Rhinelander, a Coolie cook and Lazarus and Hammond and me. We put up a + slab shanty on shore and went to work pearl fishing, keeping one eye out + for Dutch gunboats, and always having a sago palm ready to split open + so's, if we got caught, we could say we was after sago. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we done fairly good at the pearl fishing; got together quite a + likely mess of pearls, and, as 'twas part of the agreement that the crew + had a certain share in the stake, why, Hammond and me was figgering that + we was going to make enough to more'n pay us for our long spell of + starving at Singapore. Lazarus was feeling purty middling chipper, the + cook was feeding us high, and everything looked lovely. + </p> + <p> + “Rhinelander and the Coolie and the skipper used to sleep aboard the boat, + but Hammond and me liked to sleep ashore in the shanty. For one thing, the + bunks on the schooner wa'n't none too clean, and the Coolie snored so that + he'd shake the whole cabin, and start me dreaming about cyclones, and + cannons firing, and lions roaring, and all kind of foolishness. I always + did hate a snorer. + </p> + <p> + “One morning me and Hammond come out of the shanty, and, lo and behold + you! there wa'n't no schooner to be seen. That everlasting Lazarus had put + up a job on us, and had sneaked off in the night with the cook and the + Dutchman, and took our share of the pearls with him. I s'pose he'd + cal'lated to do it from the very first. Anyway, there we was, marooned on + that little two-for-a-cent island. + </p> + <p> + “The first day we didn't do much but cuss Lazarus up hill and down dale. + Hammond was the best at that kind of business ever I see. He invented + more'n four hundred new kind of names for the gang on the schooner, and + every one of 'em was brimstone-blue. We had fish lines in the shanty, and + there was plenty of water on the island, so we knew we wouldn't starve to + death nor die of thirst, anyhow. + </p> + <p> + “I've mentioned that 'twas hot in them parts? Well, that island was the + hottest of 'em all. Whew! Don't talk! And, more'n that, the weather was + the kind that makes you feel it's a barrel of work to live. First day we + fished and slept. Next day we fished less and slept more. Third day 'twas + too everlasting hot even to sleep, so we set round in the shade and fought + flies and jawed each other. Main trouble was who was goin' to git the + meals. Land, how we did miss that Coolie cook! + </p> + <p> + “'W'y don't yer get to work and cook something fit to heat?' says Hammond. + ''Ere I broke my bloomin' back 'auling in the fish, and you doing nothing + but 'anging around and letting 'em dry hup in the 'eat. Get to work and + cook. Blimed if I ain't sick of these 'ere custard apples!' + </p> + <p> + “'Go and cook yourself,' says I. 'I didn't sign articles to be cook for no + Johnny Bull!' + </p> + <p> + “Well, we jawed back and forth for an hour, maybe more. Two or three times + we got up to have it out, but 'twas too hot to fight, so we set down + again. Fin'lly we eat some supper, custard apples and water, and turned + in. + </p> + <p> + “But 'twas too hot to sleep much, and I got up about three o'clock in the + morning and went out and set down on the beach in the moonlight. Pretty + soon out comes Hammond and sets down alongside and begins to give the + weather a general overhauling, callin' it everything he could lay tongue + to. Pretty soon he breaks off in the middle of a nine-j'inted swear word + and sings out: + </p> + <p> + “'Am I goin' crazy, or is that a schooner?' + </p> + <p> + “I looked out into the moonlight, and there, sure enough, was a schooner, + about a mile off the island, and coming dead on. First-off we thought + 'twas Lazarus coming back, but pretty soon we see 'twas a considerable + smaller boat than his. + </p> + <p> + “We forgot all about how hot it was and hustled out on the reef right at + the mouth of the lagoon. I had a coat on a stick, and I waved it for a + signal, and Hammond set to work building a bonfire. He got a noble one + blazing and then him and me stood and watched the schooner. + </p> + <p> + “She was acting dreadful queer. First she'd go ahead on one tack and then + give a heave over and come about with a bang, sails flapping and + everything of a shake; then she'd give another slat and go off another + way; but mainly she kept right on toward the island. + </p> + <p> + “'W'at's the matter aboard there?' says Hammond. 'Is hall 'ands drunk?' + </p> + <p> + “'She's abandoned,' says I. 'That's what's the matter. There ain't NOBODY + aboard of her.' + </p> + <p> + “Then we both says, 'Salvage!' and shook hands. + </p> + <p> + “The schooner came nearer and nearer. It begun to look as if she'd smash + against the rocks in front of us, but she didn't. When she got opposite + the mouth of the lagoon she heeled over on a new tack and sailed in + between the rocks as pretty as anything ever you see. Then she run aground + on the beach just about a quarter of a mile from the shanty. + </p> + <p> + “'Twas early morning when we climbed aboard of her. I thought Lazarus' + schooner was dirty, but this one was nothing BUT dirt. Dirty sails, all + patches, dirty deck, dirty everything. + </p> + <p> + “'Won't get much salvage on this bally tub,' says Hammond; 'she's one of + them nigger fish boats, that's w'at she is.' + </p> + <p> + “I was kind of skittish about going below, 'fraid there might be some dead + folks, but Hammond went. In a minute or so up he comes, looking scary. + </p> + <p> + “'There's something mighty queer down there,' says he: 'kind of w'eezing + like a puffing pig.' + </p> + <p> + “'Wheezing your grandmother!' says I, but I went and listened at the + hatch. 'Twas a funny noise I heard, but I knew what it was in a minute; + I'd heard too much of it lately to forget it, right away. + </p> + <p> + “'It's snoring,' says I; 'somebody snoring.' + </p> + <p> + “''Eavens!' says Hammond, 'you don't s'pose it's that 'ere Coolie come + back?' + </p> + <p> + “'No, no!' says I. 'Where's your common sense? The cook snored bass; this + critter's snoring suppraner, and mighty poor suppraner at that.' + </p> + <p> + “'Well,' says he, ''ere goes to wake 'im hup!' And he commenced to holler, + 'Ahoy!' and 'Belay, there!' down the hatch. + </p> + <p> + “First thing we heard was a kind of thump like somebody jumping out er + bed. Then footsteps, running like; then up the hatchway comes a sight I + shan't forget if I live to be a hundred. + </p> + <p> + “'Twas a woman, middling old, with a yeller face all wrinkles, and a chin + and nose like Punch. She was dressed in a gaudy old calico gown, and had + earrings in her ears. She give one look round at the schooner and the + island. Then she see us and let out a whoop like a steam whistle. + </p> + <p> + “'Mulligatawny Sacremento merlasess!' she yells. 'Course that wa'n't what + she said, but that's what it sounded like. Then, 'fore Hammond could stop + her, she run for him and give him a rousing big hug. He was the most + surprised man ever you see, stood there like a wooden image. I commenced + to laff, but the next minute the woman come for me and hugged me, too. + </p> + <p> + “''Fectionate old gal,' says Hammond, grinning. + </p> + <p> + “The critter in the calirco gown was going through the craziest pantomime + ever was; p'intin' off to sea and then down to deck and then up to the + sails. I didn't catch on for a minute, but Hammond did. Says he: + </p> + <p> + “'Showing us w'ere this 'ere palatial yacht come from. 'Ad a rough + passage, it looks like!' + </p> + <p> + “Then the old gal commenced to get excited. She p'inted over the side and + made motions like rowing. Then she p'inted down the hatch and shut her + eyes and purtended to snore. After that she rowed again, all the time + getting madder and madder, with her little black eyes a-snapping like fire + coals and stomping her feet and shaking her fists. Fin'lly she finished up + with a regular howl, you might say, of rage. + </p> + <p> + “'The crew took to the boat and left 'er asleep below,' says Hammond. + ''Oly scissors: they're in for a lively time if old Nutcrackers 'ere ever + catches 'em, 'ey?' + </p> + <p> + “Well, we went over the schooner and examined everything, but there wa'n't + nothing of any value nowheres. 'Twas a reg'lar nigger fishing boat, with + dirt and cockroaches by the pailful. At last we went ashore agin and up to + the shanty, taking the old woman with us. After eating some more of them + tiresome custard apples for breakfast, Hammond and me went down to look + over the schooner agin. We found she'd started a plank running aground on + the beach, and that 'twould take us a week to get her afloat and + watertight. + </p> + <p> + “While we was doing this the woman come down and went aboard. Pretty soon + we see her going back to the shanty with her arms full of bundles and + truck. We didn't think anything of it then, but when we got home at noon, + there was the best dinner ever you see all ready for us. Fried fish, and + some kind of beans cooked up with peppers, and tea—real store tea—and + a lot more things. Land, how we did eat! We kept smacking our lips and + rubbing our vests to show we was enjoying everything, and the old gal kept + bobbing her head and grinning like one of them dummies you wind up with a + key. + </p> + <p> + “'Well,' says Hammond, 'we've got a cook at last. Ain't we, old—old—Blimed + if we've got a name for 'er yet! Here!' says he, pointing to me. 'Looky + here, missis! 'Edge! 'Edge! that's 'im! 'Ammond! 'Ammond! that's me. Now, + 'oo are YOU?' + </p> + <p> + “She rattled off a name that had more double j'ints in it than an eel. + </p> + <p> + “'Lordy!' says I; 'we never can larn that rigamarole. I tell you! She + looks for all the world like old A'nt Lobelia Fosdick at home down on Cape + Cod. Let's call her that.' + </p> + <p> + “'She looks to me like the mother of a oysterman I used to know in + Liverpool. 'Is name was 'Ankins. Let's split the difference and call 'er + Lobelia 'Ankins.' + </p> + <p> + “So we done it. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Hammond and me pounded and patched away at the schooner for the + next three or four days, taking plenty of time off to sleep in, 'count of + the heat, but getting along fairly well. + </p> + <p> + “Lobelia 'Ankins cooked and washed dishes for us. She done some noble + cooking, 'specially as we wa'n't partic'lar, but we could see she had a + temper to beat the Old Scratch. If anything got burned, or if the kittle + upset, she'd howl and stomp and scatter things worse than a cyclone. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon 'twas about the third day that I noticed she was getting sweet + on Hammond. She was giving him the best of all the vittles, and used to + set at the table and look at him, softer'n and sweeter'n a bucket of + molasses. Used to walk 'longside of him, too, and look up in his face and + smile. I could see that he noticed it and that it was worrying him a heap. + One day he says to me: + </p> + <p> + “''Edge,' says he, 'I b'lieve that 'ere chromo of a Lobelia 'Ankins is + getting soft on me.' + </p> + <p> + “''Course she is,' says I; 'I see that a long spell ago.' + </p> + <p> + “'But what'll I DO?' says he. 'A woman like 'er is a desp'rate character. + If we hever git hashore she might be for lugging me to the church and + marrying me by main force.' + </p> + <p> + “'Then you'll have to marry her, for all I see,' says I. 'You shouldn't be + so fascinating.' + </p> + <p> + “That made him mad and he went off jawing to himself. + </p> + <p> + “The next day we got the schooner patched up and off the shoal and + 'longside Lazarus' old landing wharf by the shanty. There was a little + more tinkering to be done 'fore she was ready for sea, and we cal'lated to + do it that afternoon. + </p> + <p> + “After dinner Hammond went down to the spring after some water and Lobelia + 'Ankins went along with him. I laid down in the shade for a snooze, but I + hadn't much more than settled myself comfortably when I heard a yell and + somebody running. I jumped up just in time to see Hammond come busting + through the bushes, lickety smash, with Lobelia after him, yelling like an + Injun. Hammond wa'n't yelling; he was saving his breath for running. + </p> + <p> + “They wa'n't in sight more'n a minute, but went smashing and crashing + through the woods into the distance. 'Twas too hot to run after 'em, so I + waited a spell and then loafed off in a roundabout direction toward where + I see 'em go. After I'd walked pretty nigh a mile I heard Hammond whistle. + I looked, but didn't see him nowheres. Then he whistled again, and I see + his head sticking out of the top of a palm tree. + </p> + <p> + “'Is she gone?' says he. + </p> + <p> + “'Yes, long ago,' says I. 'Come down.' + </p> + <p> + “It took some coaxing to git him down, but he come after a spell, and he + was the scaredest man ever I see. I asked him what the matter was. + </p> + <p> + “''Edge,' says he, 'I'm a lost man. That 'ere 'orrible 'Ankins houtrage is + either going to marry me or kill me. 'Edge,' he says, awful solemn, 'she + tried to kiss me! S'elp me, she did!' + </p> + <p> + “Well, I set back and laughed. 'Is that why you run away?' I says. + </p> + <p> + “'No,' says he. 'When I wouldn't let 'er she hups with a rock as big as my + 'ead and goes for me. There was murder in 'er eyes, 'Edge; I see it.' + </p> + <p> + “Then I laughed more than ever and told him to come back to the shanty, + but he wouldn't. He swore he'd never come back again while Lobelia 'Ankins + was there. + </p> + <p> + “'That's it,' says he, 'larf at a feller critter's sufferings. I honly + wish she'd try to kiss you once, that's all!' + </p> + <p> + “Well, I couldn't make him budge, so I decided to go back and get the lay + of the land. Lobelia was busy inside the shanty when I got there and + looking black as a thundercloud, so I judged 'twa'n't best to say nothing + to her, and I went down and finished the job on the schooner. At night, + when I come in to suppers she met me at the door. She had a big stick in + her hand and looked savage. I was a little nervous. + </p> + <p> + “'Now, Lobelia 'Ankins,' says I, 'put down that and be sociable, there's a + good girl.' + </p> + <p> + “'Course I knew she couldn't understand me, but I was whistling to keep my + courage up, as the saying is. + </p> + <p> + “''Ammond!' says she, p'inting toward the woods. + </p> + <p> + “'Yes,' says I, 'Hammond's taking a walk for his health.' + </p> + <p> + “''Ammond!' says she, louder, and shaking the stick. + </p> + <p> + “'Now, Lobelia,' says I, smiling smooth as butter, 'do put down that + club!' + </p> + <p> + “''AMMOND!' she fairly hollers. Then she went through the most + blood-curdling pantomime ever was, I reckon. First she comes up to me and + taps me on the chest and says, ''Edge.' Then she goes creeping round the + room on tiptoe, p'inting out of the winder all the time as much as to say + she was pertending to walk through the woods. Then she p'ints to one of + the stumps we used for chairs and screeches 'AMMOND!' and fetches the + stump an awful bang with the club. Then she comes over to me and kinder + snuggles up and smiles, and says, ''Edge,' and tried to put the club in my + hand. + </p> + <p> + “My topnot riz up on my head. 'Good Lord!' thinks I, 'she's making love to + me so's to get me to take that club and go and thump Hammond with it!' + </p> + <p> + “I was scared stiff, but Lobelia was between me and the door, so I kept + smiling and backing away. + </p> + <p> + “'Now, Lobelia,' says I, 'don't be—' + </p> + <p> + “''Ammond!' says she. + </p> + <p> + “'Now, Miss 'Ankins, d-o-n't be hasty, I—' + </p> + <p> + “''AMMOND! + </p> + <p> + “Well, I backed faster and faster, and she follered me right up till at + last I begun to run. Round and round the place we went, me scart for my + life and she fairly frothing with rage. Finally I bust through the door + and put for the woods at a rate that beat Hammond's going all holler. I + never stopped till I got close to the palm tree. Then I whistled and + Hammond answered. + </p> + <p> + “When I told him about the rumpus, he set and laughed like an idiot. + </p> + <p> + “''Ow d'you like Miss 'Ankin's love-making?' he says. + </p> + <p> + “'You'll like it less'n I do,' I says, 'if she gets up here with that + club!' + </p> + <p> + “That kind of sobered him down again, and we got to planning. After a + spell, we decided that our only chance was to sneak down to the schooner + in the dark and put to sea, leaving Lobelia alone in her glory. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we waited till twelve o'clock or so and then we crept down to the + beach, tiptoeing past the shanty for fear of waking Lobelia. We got on the + schooner all right, hauled up anchor, h'isted sail and stood out of the + lagoon with a fair wind. When we was fairly to sea we shook hands. + </p> + <p> + “'Lawd!' says Hammond, drawing a long breath, 'I never was so 'appy in my + life. This 'ere lady-killing business ain't in my line.' + </p> + <p> + “He felt so good that he set by the wheel and sung, 'Good-by, sweet'art, + good-by,' for an hour or more. + </p> + <p> + “In the morning we was in sight of another small island, and, out on a + p'int, was a passel of folks jumping up and down and waving a signal. + </p> + <p> + “'Well, if there ain't more castaways!' says I. + </p> + <p> + “'Don't go near 'em!' says Hammond. 'Might come there was more Lobelias + among 'em.' + </p> + <p> + “But pretty quick we see the crowd all pile into a boat and come rowing + off to us. They was all men, and their signal was a red flannel shirt on a + pole. + </p> + <p> + “We put about for 'em and picked 'em up, letting their boat tow behind the + schooner. There was five of 'em, a ragged and dirty lot of Malays and + half-breeds. When they first climbed aboard, I see 'em looking the + schooner over mighty sharp, and in a minute they was all jabbering + together in native lingo. + </p> + <p> + “'What's the matter with 'em?' says Hammond. + </p> + <p> + “A chap with scraggy black whiskers and a sort of worried look on his + face, stepped for'ard and made a bow. He looked like a cross between a + Spaniard and a Malay, and I guess that's what he was. + </p> + <p> + “'Senors,' says he, palavering and scraping, 'boat! my boat!' + </p> + <p> + “'W'at's 'e giving us?' says Hammond. + </p> + <p> + “'Boat! This boat! My boat, senors,' says the feller. All to once I + understood him. + </p> + <p> + “'Hammond,' I says, 'I swan to man if I don't believe we've picked up the + real crew of this craft!' + </p> + <p> + “'Si, senor; boat, my boat! Crew! Crew!' says Whiskers, waving his hands + toward the rest of his gang. + </p> + <p> + “'Hall right, skipper,' says Hammond; 'glad to see yer back haboard. Make + yerselves well at 'ome. 'Ow d' yer lose er in the first place?' + </p> + <p> + “The feller didn't seem to understand much of this, but he looked more + worried than ever. The crew looked frightened, and jabbered. + </p> + <p> + “'Ooman, senors,' says Whiskers, in half a whisper. 'Ooman, she here?' + </p> + <p> + “'Hammond,' says I, 'what's a ooman?' The feller seemed to be thinkin' a + minute; then he began to make signs. He pulled his nose down till it most + touched his chin. Then he put his hands to his ears and made loops of his + fingers to show earrings. Then he took off his coat and wrapped it round + his knees like make-b'lieve skirts. Hammond and me looked at each other. + </p> + <p> + “''Edge,' says Hammond, ''e wants to know w'at's become of Lobelia + 'Ankins.' + </p> + <p> + “'No, senor,' says I to the feller; 'ooman no here. Ooman there!' And I + p'inted in the direction of our island. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, you oughter have seen that Malay gang's faces light up! They + all bust out a grinning and laffing, and Whiskers fairly hugged me and + then Hammond. Then he made one of the Malays take the wheel instead of me, + and sent another one into the fo'castle after something. + </p> + <p> + “But I was curious, and I says, p'inting toward Lobelia's island: + </p> + <p> + “'Ooman your wife?' + </p> + <p> + “'No, no, no,' says he, shaking his head like it would come off, 'ooman no + wife. Wife there,' and he p'inted about directly opposite from my way. + 'Ooman,' he goes on, 'she no wife, she—' + </p> + <p> + “Just here the Malay come up from the fo'castle, grinning like a chessy + cat and hugging a fat jug of this here palm wine that natives make. I + don't know where he got it from—I thought Hammond and me had + rummaged that fo'castle pretty well—but, anyhow, there it was. + </p> + <p> + “Whiskers passed the jug to me and I handed it over to Hammond. He stood + up to make a speech. + </p> + <p> + “'Feller citizens,' says he, 'I rise to drink a toast. 'Ere's to the + beautchous Lobelia 'Ankins, and may she long hornament the lovely island + where she now—' + </p> + <p> + “The Malay at the wheel behind us gave an awful screech. We all turned + sudden, and there, standing on the companion ladder, with her head and + shoulders out of the hatch, was Lobelia 'Ankins, as large as life and + twice as natural. + </p> + <p> + “Hammond dropped the jug and it smashed into finders. We all stood + stock-still for a minute, like folks in a tableau. The half-breed skipper + stood next to me, and I snum if you couldn't see him shrivel up like one + of them things they call a sensitive plant. + </p> + <p> + “The tableau lasted while a feller might count five; then things happened. + Hammond and me dodged around the deckhouse; the Malays broke and run, one + up the main rigging, two down the fo'castle hatch and one out on the + jib-boom. But the poor skipper wa'n't satisfied with any of them places; + he started for the lee rail, and Lobelia 'Ankins started after him. + </p> + <p> + “She caught him as he was going to jump overboard and yanked him back like + he was a bag of meal. She shook him, she boxed his ears, she pulled his + hair, and all the time he was begging and pleading and she was screeching + and jabbering at the top of her lungs. Hammond pulled me by the sleeve. + </p> + <p> + “'It'll be our turn next,' says he; 'get into the boat! Quick!' + </p> + <p> + “The little boat that the crew had come in was towing behind the schooner. + We slid over the stern and dropped into it. Hammond cut the towline and we + laid to the oars. Long as we was in the hearing of the schooner the powwow + and rumpus kept up, but just as we was landing on the little island that + the Malays had left, she come about on the port tack and stood off to sea. + </p> + <p> + “'Lobelia's running things again,' says Hammond. + </p> + <p> + “Three days after this we was took off by a Dutch gunboat. Most of the + time on the island we spent debating how Lobelia come to be on the + schooner. Finally we decided that she must have gone aboard to sleep that + night, suspecting that we'd try to run away in the schooner just as we had + tried to. We talked about Whiskers and his crew and guessed about how they + came to abandon their boat in the first place. One thing we was sartin + sure of, and that was that they'd left Lobelia aboard on purpose. We knew + mighty well that's what we'd a-done. + </p> + <p> + “What puzzled us most was what relation Lobelia was to the skipper. She + wa'n't his wife, 'cause he'd said so, and she didn't look enough like him + to be his mother or sister. But as we was being took off in the Dutchman's + yawl, Hammond thumps the thwart with his fist and says he: + </p> + <p> + “'I've got it!' he says; 'she's 'is mother-in-law!' + </p> + <p> + “''Course she is!' says I. 'We might have known it!'” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE MEANNESS OF ROSY + </h2> + <p> + Cap'n Jonadab said that the South Seas and them islands was full of queer + happenings, anyhow. Said that Eri's yarn reminded him of one that Jule + Sparrow used to tell. There was a Cockney in that yarn, too, and a South + Sea woman and a schooner. But in other respects the stories was different. + </p> + <p> + “You all know Wash Sparrow, here in Wellmouth,” says the Cap'n. “He's the + laziest man in town. It runs in his family. His dad was just the same. The + old man died of creeping paralysis, which was just the disease he'd pick + out TO die of, and even then he took six years to do it in. Washy's + brother Jule, Julius Caesar Sparrow, he was as no-account and lazy as the + rest. When he was around this neighborhood he put in his time swapping sea + lies for heat from the post-office stove, and the only thing that would + get him livened up at all was the mention of a feller named 'Rosy' that he + knew while he was seafaring, way off on t'other side of the world. Jule + used to say that 'twas this Rosy that made him lose faith in human nature. + </p> + <p> + “The first time ever Julius and Rosy met was one afternoon just as the + Emily—that was the little fore-and-aft South Sea trading schooner + Jule was in—was casting off from the ramshackle landing at Hello + Island. Where's Hello Island? Well, I'll tell you. When you get home you + take your boy's geography book and find the map of the world. About + amidships of the sou'western quarter of it you'll see a place where the + Pacific Ocean is all broke out with the measles. Yes; well, one of them + measle spots is Hello Island. + </p> + <p> + “'Course that ain't the real name of it. The real one is spelt with four + o's, three a's, five i's, and a peck measure of h's and x's hove in to + fill up. It looks like a plate of hash and that's the way it's pronounced. + Maybe you might sing it if 'twas set to music, but no white man ever said + the whole of it. Them that tried always broke down on the second fathom or + so and said 'Oh, the hereafter!' or words to that effect. 'Course the + missionaries see that wouldn't do, so they twisted it stern first and it's + been Hello Island to most folks ever since. + </p> + <p> + “Why Jule was at Hello Island is too long a yarn. Biled down it amounts to + a voyage on a bark out of Seattle, and a first mate like yours, Eri, who + was a kind of Christian Science chap and cured sick sailors by the laying + on of hands—likewise feet and belaying pins and ax handles and such. + And, according to Jule's tell, he DID cure 'em, too. After he'd jumped up + and down on your digestion a few times you forgot all about the disease + you started in with and only remembered the complications. Him and Julius + had their final argument one night when the bark was passing abreast one + of the Navigator Islands, close in. Jule hove a marlinespike at the mate's + head and jumped overboard. He swum ashore to the beach and, inside of a + week, he'd shipped aboard the Emily. And 'twas aboard the Emily, and at + Hello Island, as I said afore, that he met Rosy. + </p> + <p> + “George Simmons—a cockney Britisher he was, and skipper—was + standing at the schooner's wheel, swearing at the two Kanaka sailors who + were histing the jib. Julius, who was mate, was roosting on the lee rail + amid-ships, helping him swear. And old Teunis Van Doozen, a Dutchman from + Java or thereabouts, who was cook, was setting on a stool by the galley + door ready to heave in a word whenever 'twas necessary. The Kanakas was + doing the work. That was the usual division of labor aboard the Emily. + </p> + <p> + “Well, just then there comes a yell from the bushes along the shore. Then + another yell and a most tremendous cracking and smashing. Then out of them + bushes comes tearing a little man with spectacles and a black enamel-cloth + carpetbag, heaving sand like a steam-shovel and seemingly trying his best + to fly. And astern of him comes more yells and a big, husky Kanaka woman, + about eight foot high and three foot in the beam, with her hands stretched + out and her fingers crooked. + </p> + <p> + “Julius used to swear that that beach was all of twenty yards wide and + that the little man only lit three times from bush to wharf. And he didn't + stop there. He fired the carpetbag at the schooner's stern and then spread + out his wings and flew after it. His fingers just hooked over the rail and + he managed to haul himself aboard. Then he curled up on the deck and + breathed short but spirited. The Kanaka woman danced to the stringpiece + and whistled distress signals. + </p> + <p> + “Cap'n George Simmons looked down at the wrecked flying machine and + grunted. + </p> + <p> + “'Umph!' says he. 'You don't look like a man the girls would run after. + Lady your wife?' + </p> + <p> + “The little feller bobbed his specs up and down. + </p> + <p> + “'So?' says George. ''Ow can I bear to leave thee, 'ey? Well, ain't you + ashamed of yourself to be running off and leaving a nice, 'andsome, + able-bodied wife that like? Look at 'er now, over there on 'er knees a + praying for you to come back.' + </p> + <p> + “There was a little p'int making out from the beach close by the edge of + the channel and the woman was out on the end of it, down on all fours. Her + husband raised up and looked over the rail. + </p> + <p> + “'She ain't praying,' he pants, ducking down again quick. 'She's a-picking + up stones.' + </p> + <p> + “And so she was. Julius said he thought sure she'd cave in the Emily's + ribs afore she got through with her broadsides. The rocks flew like hail. + Everybody got their share, but Cap'n George got a big one in the middle of + the back. That took his breath so all the way he could express his + feelings was to reach out and give his new passenger half a dozen kicks. + But just as soon as he could he spoke, all right enough. + </p> + <p> + “'You mis'rable four-eyed shrimp!' he says. ''Twould serve you right if I + 'ove to and made you swim back to 'er. Blow me if I don't believe I will!' + </p> + <p> + “'Aw, don't, Cap'n; PLEASE don't!' begs the feller. 'I'll be awful + grateful to you if you won't. And I'll make it right with you, too. I've + got a good thing in that bag of mine. Yes, sir! A beautiful good thing.' + </p> + <p> + “'Oh, well,' says the skipper, bracing up and smiling sweet as he could + for the ache in his back. 'I'll 'elp you out. You trust your Uncle George. + Not on account of what you're going to give me, you understand,' says he. + 'It would be a pity if THAT was the reason for 'elpin' a feller creat—Sparrow, + if you touch that bag I'll break your blooming 'ead. 'Ere! you 'and it to + me. I'll take care of it for the gentleman.' + </p> + <p> + “All the rest of that day the Cap'n couldn't do enough for the passenger. + Give him a big dinner that took Teunis two hours to cook, and let him use + his own pet pipe with the last of Jule's tobacco in it, and all that. And + that evening in the cabin, Rosy told his story. Seems he come from Bombay + originally, where he was born an innocent and trained to be a + photographer. This was in the days when these hand cameras wa'n't so + common as they be now, and Rosy—his full name was Clarence Rosebury, + and he looked it—had a fine one. Also he had some plates and + photograph paper and a jug of 'developer' and bottles of stuff to make + more, wrapped up in an old overcoat and packed away in the carpetbag. He + had landed in the Fijis first-off and had drifted over to Hello Island, + taking pictures of places and natives and so on, intending to use 'em in a + course of lectures he was going to deliver when he got back home. He + boarded with the Kanaka lady at Hello till his money give out, and then he + married her to save board. He wouldn't talk about his married life—just + shivered instead. + </p> + <p> + “'But w'at about this good thing you was mentioning, Mr. Rosebury?' asks + Cap'n George, polite, but staring hard at the bag. Jule and the cook was + in the cabin likewise. The skipper would have liked to keep 'em out, but + they being two to one, he couldn't. + </p> + <p> + “'That's it,' answers Rosy, cheerful. + </p> + <p> + “'W'at's it?' + </p> + <p> + “'Why, the things in the grip; the photograph things. You see,' says Rosy, + getting excited, his innocent, dreamy eyes a-shining behind his specs and + the ridge of red hair around his bald spot waving like a hedge of + sunflowers; 'you see,' he says, 'my experience has convinced me that + there's a fortune right in these islands for a photographer who'll take + pictures of the natives. They're all dying to have their photographs took. + Why, when I was in Hello Island I could have took dozens, only they didn't + have the money to pay for 'em and I couldn't wait till they got some. But + you've got a schooner. You could sail around from one island to another, + me taking pictures and you getting copra and—and pearls and things + from the natives in trade for 'em. And we'd leave a standing order for + more plates to be delivered steady from the steamer at Suva or somewheres, + and—' + </p> + <p> + “''Old on!' Cap'n George had been getting redder and redder in the face + while Rosy was talking, and now he fairly biled over, like a teakettle. + ''Old on!' he roars. 'Do I understand that THIS is the good thing you was + going to let me in on? Me to cruise you around from Dan to Beersheby, + feeding you, and giving you tobacco to smoke—' + </p> + <p> + “''Twas my tobacco,' breaks in Julius. + </p> + <p> + “'Shut up! Cruising you around, and you living on the fat of—of the—the + water, and me trusting to get my pay out of tintypes of Kanakas! Was that + it? Was it?' + </p> + <p> + “'Why—why, yes,' answers Rosy. 'But, cap'n, you don't understand—' + </p> + <p> + “'Then,' says George, standing up and rolling up his pajama sleeves, + 'there's going to be justifiable 'omicide committed right now.' + </p> + <p> + “Jule said that if it hadn't been that the skipper's sore back got to + hurting him he don't know when him and the cook would have had their turn + at Rosy. 'Course they wanted a turn on account of the tobacco and the + dinner, not to mention the stone bruises. When all hands was through, that + photographer was a spiled negative. + </p> + <p> + “And that was only the beginning. They ain't much fun abusing Kanakas + because they don't talk back, but first along Rosy would try to talk back, + and that give 'em a chance. Julius had learned a lot of things from that + mate on the bark, and he tried 'em all on that tintype man. And afterward + they invented more. They made him work his passage, and every mean and + dirty job there was to do, he had to do it. They took his clothes away + from him, and, while they lasted, the skipper had three shirts at once, + which hadn't happened afore since he served his term in the Sydney jail. + And he was such a COMFORT to 'em. Whenever the dinner wa'n't cooked right, + instead of blaming Teunis, they took it out of Rosy. By the time they made + their first port they wouldn't have parted with him for no money, and they + locked him up in the fo'castle and kept him there. And when one of the two + Kanaka boys run away they shipped Rosy in his place by unanimous vote. And + so it went for six months, the Emily trading and stealing all around the + South Seas. + </p> + <p> + “One day the schooner was off in an out-of-the way part of the ocean, and + the skipper come up from down below, bringing one of the photographing + bottles from the carpetbag. + </p> + <p> + “'See 'ere,' says he to Rosy, who was swabbing decks just to keep him out + of mischief, 'w'at kind of a developer stuff is this? It has a mighty + familiar smell.' + </p> + <p> + “'That ain't developer, sir,' answers Rosy, meek as usual. 'That's + alcohol. I use it—' + </p> + <p> + “'Alcohol!' says George. 'Do you mean to tell me that you've 'ad alcohol + aboard all this time and never said a word to one of us? If that ain't + just like you! Of all the ungrateful beasts as ever I—' + </p> + <p> + “When him and the other two got through convincing Rosy that he was + ungrateful, they took that bottle into the cabin and begun experimenting. + Julius had lived a few months in Maine, which is a prohibition State, and + so he knew how to make alcohol 'splits'—one-half wet fire and the + rest water. They 'split' for five days. Then the alcohol was all out and + the Emily was all in, being stove up on a coral reef two mile off shore of + a little island that nobody'd ever seen afore. + </p> + <p> + “They got into the boat—the four white men and the Kanaka—histed + the sail, and headed for the beach. They landed all right and was welcomed + by a reception committee of fifteen husky cannibals with spears, dressed + mainly in bone necklaces and sunshine. The committee was glad to see 'em, + and showed it, particular to Teunis, who was fat. Rosy, being principally + framework by this time, wa'n't nigh so popular; but he didn't seem to + care. + </p> + <p> + “The darkies tied 'em up good and proper and then held a committee + meeting, arguing, so Julius cal'lated, whether to serve 'em plain or with + greens. While the rest was making up the bill of fare, a few set to work + unpacking the bags and things, Rosy's satchel among 'em. Pretty soon there + was an awful jabbering. + </p> + <p> + “'They've settled it,' says George, doleful. 'Well, there's enough of + Teunis to last 'em for one meal, if they ain't 'ogs. You're a tough old + bird, cooky; maybe you'll give 'em dyspepsy, so they won't care for the + rest of us. That's a ray of 'ope, ain't it?' + </p> + <p> + “But the cook didn't seem to get much hope out of it. He was busy telling + the skipper what he thought of him when the natives come up. They was + wildly excited, and two or three of 'em was waving square pieces of + cardboard in their hands. + </p> + <p> + “And here's where the Emily's gang had a streak of luck. The Kanaka sailor + couldn't talk much English, but it seems that his granddad, or some of his + ancestors, must have belonged to the same breed of cats as these + islanders, for he could manage to understand a little of their lingo. + </p> + <p> + “'Picture!' says he, crazy-like with joy. 'Picture, cappy; picture!' + </p> + <p> + “When Rosy was new on board the schooner, afore George and the rest had + played with him till he was an old story, one of their games was to have + him take their photographs. He'd taken the cap'n's picture, and Julius's + and Van Doozen's. The pictures was a Rogues' Gallery that would have got + 'em hung on suspicion anywhere in civilization, but these darkies wa'n't + particular. Anyhow they must have been good likenesses, for the committee + see the resemblance right off. + </p> + <p> + “'They t'ink witchcraft,' says the Kanaka. 'Want to know how make.' + </p> + <p> + “'Lord!' says George. 'You tell 'em we're witches from Witch Center. Tell + 'em we make them kind of things with our eyes shut, and if they eat us + we'll send our tintypes to 'aunt 'em into their graves. Tell 'em that + quick.' + </p> + <p> + “Well, I guess the Kanaka obeyed orders, for the islanders was all shook + up. They jabbered and hurrahed like a parrot-house for ten minutes or so. + Then they untied the feet of their Sunday dinners, got 'em into line, and + marched 'em off across country, prodding 'em with their spears, either to + see which was the tenderest or to make 'em step livelier, I don't know + which. + </p> + <p> + “Julius said that was the most nervous walk ever he took. Said afore 'twas + done he was so leaky with spear holes that he cast a shadder like a + skimmer. Just afore sunset they come to the other side of the island, + where there was a good sized native village, with houses made of grass and + cane, and a big temple-like in the middle, decorated fancy and cheerful + with skulls and spareribs. Jule said there was places where the + decorations needed repairs, and he figgered he was just in time to finish + 'em. But he didn't take no pride in it; none of his folks cared for art. + </p> + <p> + “The population was there to meet 'em, and even the children looked + hungry. Anybody could see that having company drop in for dinner was right + to their taste. There was a great chair arrangement in front of the + temple, and on it was the fattest, ugliest, old liver-colored woman that + Julius ever see. She was rigged up regardless, with a tooth necklace and + similar jewelry; and it turned out that she was the queen of the bunch. + Most of them island tribes have chiefs, but this district was strong for + woman suffrage. + </p> + <p> + “Well, the visitors had made a hit, but Rosy's photographs made a bigger + one. The queen and the head men of the village pawed over 'em and compared + 'em with the originals and powwowed like a sewing circle. Then they called + up the Kanaka sailor, and he preached witchcraft and hoodoos to beat the + cars, lying as only a feller that knows the plates are warming for him on + the back of the stove can lie. Finally the queen wanted to know if the + 'long pigs' could make a witch picture of HER. + </p> + <p> + “'Tell 'er yes,' yells George, when the question was translated to him. + 'Tell 'er we're picture-makers by special app'intment to the Queen and the + Prince of Wales. Tell 'er we'll make 'er look like the sweetest old + chocolate drop in the taffy-shop. Only be sure and say we must 'ave a day + or so to work the spells and put on the kibosh.' + </p> + <p> + “So 'twas settled, and dinner was put off for that night, anyhow. And the + next day being sunny, Rosy took the queen's picture. 'Twas an awful strain + on the camera, but it stood it fine; and the photographs he printed up + that afternoon was the most horrible collection of mince-pie dreams that + ever a sane man run afoul of. Rosy used one of the grass huts for a dark + room; and while he was developing them plates, they could hear him + screaming from sheer fright at being shut up alone with 'em in the dark. + </p> + <p> + “But her majesty thought they was lovely, and set and grinned proud at 'em + for hours at a stretch. And the wizards was untied and fed up and given + the best house in town to live in. And Cap'n George and Julius and the + cook got to feeling so cheerful and happy that they begun to kick Rosy + again, just out of habit. And so it went on for three days. + </p> + <p> + “Then comes the Kanaka interpreter—grinning kind of foolish. + </p> + <p> + “'Cappy,' says he, 'queen, she likes you. She likes you much lot.' + </p> + <p> + “'Well,' says the skipper, modest, 'she'd ought to. She don't see a man + like me every day. She ain't the first woman,' he says. + </p> + <p> + “'She like all you gentlemen,' says the Kanaka. 'She say she want witch + husband. One of you got marry her.” + </p> + <p> + “'HEY?' yells all hands, setting up. + </p> + <p> + “'Yes, sir. She no care which one, but one white man must marry her + to-morrow. Else we all go chop plenty quick.' + </p> + <p> + “'Chop' is Kanaka English for 'eat.' There wa'n't no need for the boy to + explain. + </p> + <p> + “Then there was times. They come pretty nigh to a fight, because Teunis + and Jule argued that the skipper, being such a ladies' man, was the + natural-born choice. Just as things was the warmest; Cap'n George had an + idea. + </p> + <p> + “'ROSY!' says he. + </p> + <p> + “'Hey?' says the others. Then, 'Rosy? Why, of course, Rosy's the man.' + </p> + <p> + “But Rosy wa'n't agreeable. Julius said he never see such a stubborn mule + in his life. They tried every reasonable way they could to convince him, + pounding him on the head and the like of that, but 'twas no go. + </p> + <p> + “'I got a wife already,' he says, whimpering. 'And, besides, cap'n, there + wouldn't be such a contrast in looks between you and her as there would + with me.' + </p> + <p> + “He meant so far as size went, but George took it the other way, and there + was more trouble. Finally Julius come to the rescue. + </p> + <p> + “'I tell you,' says he. 'We'll be square and draw straws!' + </p> + <p> + “'W'at?' hollers George. 'Well, I guess not!' + </p> + <p> + “'And I'll hold the straws,' says Jule, winking on the side. + </p> + <p> + “So they drew straws, and, strange as it may seem, Rosy got stuck. He + cried all night, and though the others tried to comfort him, telling him + what a lucky man he was to marry a queen, he wouldn't cheer up a mite. + </p> + <p> + “And next day the wedding took place in the temple in front of a wood idol + with three rows of teeth, and as ugly almost as the bride, which was + saying a good deal. And when 'twas over, the three shipmates come and + congratulated the groom, wishing him luck and a happy honeymoon and such. + Oh, they had a bully time, and they was still laughing over it that night + after supper, when down comes a file of big darkies with spears, the + Kanaka interpreter leading 'em. + </p> + <p> + “'Cappy,' says he. 'The king say you no stay in this house no more. He say + too good for you. Say, bimeby, when the place been clean up, maybe he use + it himself. You got to go.' + </p> + <p> + “'Who says this?' roars Cap'n George, ugly as could be. + </p> + <p> + “'The king, he say it.' + </p> + <p> + “'The queen, you mean. There ain't no king.' + </p> + <p> + “'Yes, sir. King AND queen now. Mr. Rosy he king. All tribe proud to have + witch king.' + </p> + <p> + “The three looked at each other. + </p> + <p> + “'Do you mean to say,' says the skipper, choking so he could hardly speak, + 'that we've got to take orders from 'IM?' + </p> + <p> + “'Yes, sir. King say you no mind, we make.' + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, the language them three used must have been something awful, + judging by Jule's tell. But when they vowed they wouldn't move, the spears + got busy and out they had to get and into the meanest, dirtiest little hut + in the village, one without hardly any sides and great holes in the roof. + And there they stayed all night in a pouring rain, the kind of rains you + get in them islands. + </p> + <p> + “'Twa'n't a nice night. They tried huddling together to keep dry, but + 'twa'n't a success because there was always a row about who should be in + the middle. Then they kept passing personal remarks to one another. + </p> + <p> + “'If the skipper hadn't been so gay and uppish about choosing Rosy,' says + Julius, 'there wouldn't have been no trouble. I do hate a smart Aleck.' + </p> + <p> + “'Who said draw straws?' sputters George, mad clean through. 'And who 'eld + 'em? 'Ey? Who did?' + </p> + <p> + “'Well,' says Teunis, '<i>I</i> didn't do it. You can't blame me.' + </p> + <p> + “'No. You set there like a bump on a log and let me and the mate put our + feet in it. You old fat 'ead! I—' + </p> + <p> + “They pitched into the cook until he got mad and hit the skipper. Then + there was a fight that lasted till they was all scratched up and tired + out. The only thing they could agree on was that Rosy was what the skipper + called a 'viper' that they'd nourished in their bosoms. + </p> + <p> + “Next morning 'twas worse than ever. Down comes the Kanaka with his spear + gang and routs 'em out and sets 'em to gathering breadfruit all day in the + hot sun. And at night 'twas back to the leaky hut again. + </p> + <p> + “And that wa'n't nothing to what come later. The lives that King Rosy led + them three was something awful. 'Twas dig in and work day in and day out. + Teunis had to get his majesty's meals, and nothing was ever cooked right; + and then the royal army got after the steward with spear handles. Cap'n + George had to clean up the palace every day, and Rosy and the queen—who + was dead gone on her witch husband, and let him do anything he wanted to—stood + over him and found fault and punched him with sharp sticks to see him + jump. And Julius had to fetch and carry and wait, and get on his knees + whenever he spoke to the king, and he helped up again with a kick, like as + not. + </p> + <p> + “Rosy took back all his own clothes that they'd stole, and then he took + theirs for good measure. He made 'em marry the three ugliest old women on + the island—his own bride excepted—and when they undertook to + use a club or anything, he had THEM licked instead. He wore 'em down to + skin and bone. Jule said you wouldn't believe a mortal man could treat his + feller creatures so low down and mean. And the meanest part of it was that + he always called 'em the names that they used to call him aboard ship. + Sometimes he invented new ones, but not often, because 'twa'n't necessary. + </p> + <p> + “For a good six months this went on—just the same length of time + that Rosy was aboard the Emily. Then, one morning early, Julius looks out + of one of the holes in the roof of his house and, off on the horizon, + heading in, he sees a small steamer, a pleasure yacht 'twas. He lets out a + yell that woke up the village, and races head first for the Emily's boat + that had been rowed around from the other side of the island, and laid + there with her oars and sail still in her. And behind him comes Van Doozen + and Cap'n George. + </p> + <p> + “Into the boat they piled, while the islanders were getting their eyes + open and gaping at the steamer. There wa'n't no time to get up sail, so + they grabbed for the oars. She stuck on the sand just a minute; and, in + that minute, down from the palace comes King Rosy, running the way he run + from his first wife over at Hello. He leaped over the stern, picked up the + other oar, and off they put across the lagoon. The rudder was in its place + and so was the tiller, but they couldn't use 'em then. + </p> + <p> + “They had a good start, but afore they'd got very far the natives had + waked up and were after 'em in canoes. + </p> + <p> + “''Ere!' screams Cap'n George. 'This won't do! They'll catch us sure. Get + sail on to 'er lively! Somebody take that tiller.' + </p> + <p> + “Rosy, being nearest, took the tiller and the others got up the sail. Then + 'twas nip and tuck with the canoes for the opening of the barrier reef at + the other side of the lagoon. But they made it first, and, just as they + did, out from behind the cliff comes the big steam-yacht, all white and + shining, with sailors in uniform on her decks, and awnings flapping, and + four mighty pretty women leaning over the side. All of the Emily gang set + up a whoop of joy, and 'twas answered from the yacht. + </p> + <p> + “'Saved!' hollers Cap'n George. 'Saved, by thunder! And now,' says he, + knocking his fists together, 'NOW to get square with that four-eyed thief + in the stern! Come on, boys!' + </p> + <p> + “Him and Julius and Teunis made a flying leap aft to get at Rosy. But Rosy + see 'em coming, jammed the tiller over, the boom swung across and swept + the three overboard pretty as you please. + </p> + <p> + “There was a scream from the yacht. Rosy give one glance at the women. + Then he tossed his arms over his head. + </p> + <p> + “'Courage, comrades!' he shouts. 'I'll save you or die with you!' + </p> + <p> + “And overboard he dives, 'kersplash!' + </p> + <p> + “Julius said him and the skipper could have swum all right if Rosy had + give 'em the chance, but he didn't. He knew a trick worth two of that. He + grabbed 'em round the necks and kept hauling 'em under and splashing and + kicking like a water-mill. All hands was pretty well used up when they was + pulled aboard the yacht. + </p> + <p> + “'Oh, you brave man!' says one of the women, stooping over Rosy, who was + sprawled on the deck with his eyes shut, 'Oh, you HERO!' + </p> + <p> + “'Are they living?' asks Rosy, faint-like and opening one eye. 'Good! Now + I can die content.' + </p> + <p> + “'Living!' yells George, soon's he could get the salt water out of his + mouth. 'Living! By the 'oly Peter! Let me at 'im! I'll show 'im whether + I'm living or not!' + </p> + <p> + “'What ails you, you villain?' says the feller that owned the yacht, a + great big Englishman, Lord Somebody-or-other. 'The man saved your lives.' + </p> + <p> + “'He knocked us overboard!' yells Julius. + </p> + <p> + “'Yes, and he done it a-purpose!' sputters Van Doozen, well as he could + for being so waterlogged. + </p> + <p> + “'Let's kill him!' says all three. + </p> + <p> + “'Did it on purpose!' says the lord, scornful. 'Likely he'd throw you over + and then risk his life to save you. Here!' says he to the mate. 'Take + those ungrateful rascals below. Give 'em dry clothes and then set 'em to + work—hard work; understand? As for this poor, brave chap, take him + to the cabin. I hope he'll pull through,' says he. + </p> + <p> + “And all the rest of the voyage, which was to Melbourne, Julius and his + two chums had to slave and work like common sailors, while Rosy, the hero + invalid, was living on beef tea and jelly and champagne, and being petted + and fanned by the lord's wife and the other women. And 'twas worse toward + the end, when he pretended to be feeling better, and could set in a + steamer-chair on deck and grin and make sarcastic remarks under his breath + to George and the other two when they was holystoning or scrubbing in the + heat. + </p> + <p> + “At Melbourne they hung around the wharf, waiting to lick him, till the + lord had 'em took up for vagrants. When they got out of the lockup they + found Rosy had gone. And his lordship had given him money and clothes, and + I don't know what all. + </p> + <p> + “Julius said that Rosy's meanness sickened him of the sea. Said 'twas time + to retire when such reptiles was afloat. So he come home and married the + scrub-woman at the Bay View House. He lived with her till she lost her + job. I don't know where he is now.” + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + 'Twas purty quiet for a few minutes after Jonadab had unloaded this yarn. + Everybody was busy trying to swaller his share of the statements in it, I + cal'late. Peter T. looked at the Cap'n, admiring but reproachful. + </p> + <p> + “Wixon,” says he. “I didn't know 'twas in you. Why didn't you tell me?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” says Jonadab, “I ain't responsible. 'Twas Jule Sparrow that told it + to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” says Peter. “I wish you knew his address. I'd like to hire him to + write the Old Home ads. I thought MY invention was A 1, but I'm in the + kindergarten. Well, let's go to bed before somebody tries to win the prize + from Sparrow.” + </p> + <p> + 'Twas after eleven by then, so, as his advice looked good, we follered it. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE ANTIQUERS + </h2> + <p> + We've all got a crazy streak in us somewheres, I cal'late, only the + streaks don't all break out in the same place, which is a mercy, when you + come to think of it. One feller starts tooting a fish horn and making + announcements that he's the Angel Gabriel. Another poor sufferer shows his + first symptom by having his wife's relations come and live with him. One + ends in the asylum and t'other in the poorhouse; that's the main + difference in them cases. Jim Jones fiddles with perpetual motion and Sam + Smith develops a sure plan for busting Wall Street and getting rich + sudden. I take summer boarders maybe, and you collect postage stamps. Oh, + we're all looney, more or less, every one of us. + </p> + <p> + Speaking of collecting reminds me of the “Antiquers”—that's what + Peter T. Brown called 'em. They put up at the Old Home House—summer + before last; and at a crank show they'd have tied for the blue ribbon. + There was the Dowager and the Duchess and “My Daughter” and “Irene dear.” + Likewise there was Thompson and Small, but they, being nothing but + husbands and fathers, didn't count for much first along, except when board + was due or “antiques” had to be settled for. + </p> + <p> + The Dowager fetched port first. She hove alongside the Old Home one + morning early in July, and she had “My Daughter” in tow. The names, as + entered on the shipping list, was Mrs. Milo Patrick Thompson and Miss + Barbara Millicent Thompson, but Peter T. Brown he had 'em re-entered as + “The Dowager” and “My Daughter” almost as soon as they dropped anchor. + Thompson himself come poking up to the dock on the following Saturday + night; Peter didn't christen him, except to chuck out something about + Milo's being an “also ran.” + </p> + <p> + The Dowager was skipper of the Thompson craft, with “My daughter”—that's + what her ma always called her—as first mate, and Milo as general + roustabout and purser. + </p> + <p> + 'Twould have done you good to see the fleet run into the breakfast room of + a morning, with the Dowager leading, under full sail, Barbara close up to + her starboard quarter, and Milo tailing out a couple of lengths astern. + The other boarders looked like quahaug dories abreast of the Marblehead + Yacht Club. Oh, the Thompsons won every cup until the Smalls arrived on a + Monday; then 'twas a dead heat. + </p> + <p> + Mamma Small was built on the lines of old lady Thompson, only more so, and + her daughter flew pretty nigh as many pennants as Barbara. Peter T. had + 'em labeled the “Duchess” and “Irene dear” in a jiffy. He didn't nickname + Small any more'n he had Thompson, and for the same reasons. Me and Cap'n + Jonadab called Small “Eddie” behind his back, 'count of his wife's hailing + him as “Edwin.” + </p> + <p> + Well, the Dowager and the Duchess sized each other up, and, recognizing I + jedge, that they was sister ships, set signals and agreed to cruise in + company and watch out for pirates—meaning young men without money + who might want to talk to their daughters. In a week the four women was + thicker than hasty-pudding and had thrones on the piazza where they could + patronize everybody short of the Creator, and criticize the other + boarders. Milo and Eddie got friendly too, and found a harbor behind the + barn where they could smoke and swap sympathy. + </p> + <p> + 'Twas fair weather for pretty near a fortni't, and then she thickened up. + The special brand of craziness in Wellmouth that season was collecting + “antiques,” the same being busted chairs and invalid bureaus and sofys + that your great grandmarm got ashamed of and sent to the sickbay a + thousand year ago. Oh, yes, and dishes! If there was one thing that would + drive a city woman to counting her fingers and cutting paper dolls, 'twas + a nicked blue plate with a Chinese picture on it. And the homelier the + plate the higher the price. Why there was as many as six families that got + enough money for the rubbage in their garrets to furnish their houses all + over with brand new things—real shiny, hand-painted stuff, not + haircloth ruins with music box springs, nor platters that you had to put a + pan under for fear of losing cargo. + </p> + <p> + I don't know who fetched the disease to the Old Home House. All I'm + sartain of is that 'twan't long afore all hands was in that condition + where the doctor'd have passed 'em on to the parson. First along it seemed + as if the Thompson-Small syndicate had been vaccinated—they didn't + develop a symptom. But one noon the Dowager sails into the dining-room and + unfurls a brown paper bundle. + </p> + <p> + “I've captured a prize, my dear,” says she to the Duchess. “A veritable + prize. Just look!” + </p> + <p> + And she dives under the brown paper hatches and resurrects a pink plate, + suffering from yaller jaundice, with the picture of a pink boy, wearing + curls and a monkey-jacket, holding hands with a pink girl with pointed + feet. + </p> + <p> + “Ain't it perfectly lovely?” says she, waving the outrage in front of the + Duchess. “A ginuwine Hall nappy! And in SUCH condition!” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” says the Duchess, “I didn't know you were interested in antiques.” + </p> + <p> + “I dote on 'em,” comes back the Dowager, and “my daughter” owned up that + she “adored” 'em. + </p> + <p> + “If you knew,” continues Mrs. Thompson, “how I've planned and contrived to + get this treasure. I've schemed—My! my! My daughter says she's + actually ashamed of me. Oh, no! I can't tell even you where I got it. + All's fair in love and collecting, you know, and there are more gems where + this came from.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed and “my daughter” laughed, and the Duchess and “Irene dear” + laughed, too, and said the plate was “SO quaint,” and all that, but you + could fairly hear 'em turn green with jealousy. It didn't need a spyglass + to see that they wouldn't ride easy at their own moorings till THEY'D + landed a treasure or two—probably two. + </p> + <p> + And sure enough, in a couple of days they bore down on the Thompsons, all + sail set and colors flying. They had a pair of plates that for ugliness + and price knocked the “ginuwine Hall nappy” higher 'n the main truck. And + the way they crowed and bragged about their “finds” wa'n't fit to put in + the log. The Dowager and “my daughter” left that dinner table trembling + all over. + </p> + <p> + Well, you can see how a v'yage would end that commenced that way. The + Dowager and Barbara would scour the neighborhood and capture more prizes, + and the Duchess and her tribe would get busy and go 'em one better. That's + one sure p'int about the collecting business—it'll stir up a fight + quicker'n anything I know of, except maybe a good looking bachelor + minister. The female Thompsons and Smalls was “my dear-in'” each other + more'n ever, but there was a chill setting in round them piazza thrones, + and some of the sarcastic remarks that was casually hove out by the bosom + friends was pretty nigh sharp enough to shave with. As for Milo and Eddie, + they still smoked together behind the barn, but the atmosphere on the + quarter-deck was affecting the fo'castle and there wa'n't quite so many + “old mans” and “dear boys” as there used to was. There was a general white + frost coming, and you didn't need an Old Farmer's Almanac to prove it. + </p> + <p> + The spell of weather developed sudden. One evening me and Cap'n Jonadab + and Peter T. was having a confab by the steps of the billiard-room, when + Milo beats up from around the corner. He was smiling as a basket of chips. + </p> + <p> + “Hello!” hails Peter T. cordial. “You look as if you'd had money left you. + Any one else remembered in the will?” he says. + </p> + <p> + Milo laughed all over. “Well, well,” says he, “I AM feeling pretty good. + Made a ten-strike with Mrs. T. this afternoon for sure. + </p> + <p> + “That so?” says Peter. “What's up? Hooked a prince?” + </p> + <p> + A friend of “my daughter's” over at Newport had got engaged to a mandarin + or a count or something 'nother, and the Dowager had been preaching kind + of eloquent concerning the shortness of the nobility crop round Wellmouth. + </p> + <p> + “No,” says Milo, laughing again. “Nothing like that. But I have got hold + of that antique davenport she's been dying to capture.” + </p> + <p> + One of the boarders at the hotel over to Harniss had been out antiquing a + week or so afore and had bagged a contraption which answered to the name + of a “ginuwine Sheriton davenport.” The dowager heard of it, and ever + since she'd been remarking that some people had husbands who cared enough + for their wives to find things that pleased 'em. She wished she was lucky + enough to have that kind of a man; but no, SHE had to depend on herself, + and etcetery and so forth. Maybe you've heard sermons similar. + </p> + <p> + So we was glad for Milo and said so. Likewise we wanted to know where he + found the davenport. + </p> + <p> + “Why, up here in the woods,” says Milo, “at the house of a queer old + stick, name of Rogers. I forget his front name—'twas longer'n the + davenport.” + </p> + <p> + “Not Adoniram Rogers?” says Cap'n Jonadab, wondering. + </p> + <p> + “That's him,” says Thompson. + </p> + <p> + Now, I knew Adoniram Rogers. His house was old enough, Lord knows; but + that a feller with a nose for a bargain like his should have hung on to a + salable piece of dunnage so long as this seemed 'most too tough to + believe. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I swan to man!” says I. “Adoniram Rogers! Have you seen the—the + davenport thing?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure I've seen it!” says Milo. “I ain't much of a jedge, and of course I + couldn't question Rogers too much for fear he'd stick on the price. But + it's an old davenport, and it's got Sheriton lines and I've got the + refusal of it till to-morrow, when Mrs. T's going up to inspect.” + </p> + <p> + “Told Small yet?” asked Peter T., winking on the side to me and Jonadab. + </p> + <p> + Milo looked scared. “Goodness! No,” says he. “And don't you tell him + neither. His wife's davenport hunting too.” + </p> + <p> + “You say you've got the refusal of it?” says I. “Well, I know Adoniram + Rogers, and if <i>I</i> was dickering with him I'd buy the thing first and + get the refusal of it afterwards. You hear ME?” + </p> + <p> + “Is that so?” repeats Milo. “Slippery, is he? I'll take my wife up there + first thing in the morning.” + </p> + <p> + He walked off looking worried, and his tops'ls hadn't much more'n sunk in + the offing afore who should walk out of the billiard room behind us but + Eddie Small. + </p> + <p> + “Brown,” says he to Peter T., “I want you to have a horse and buggy + harnessed up for me right off. Mrs. Small and I are going for a little + drive to—to—over to Orham,” he says. + </p> + <p> + 'Twas a mean, black night for a drive as fur as Orham and Peter looked + surprised. He started to say something, then swallered it down, and told + Eddie he'd see to the harnessing. When Small was out of sight, I says: + </p> + <p> + “You don't cal'late he heard what Milo was telling, do you, Peter?” says + I. + </p> + <p> + Peter T. shook his head and winked, first at Jonadab and then at me. + </p> + <p> + And the next day there was the dickens to pay because Eddie and the + Duchess had driven up to Rogers' the night afore and had bought the + davenport, refusal and all, for twenty dollars more'n Milo offered for it. + </p> + <p> + Adoniram brought it down that forenoon and all hands and the cook was on + the hurricane deck to man the yards. 'Twas a wonder them boarders didn't + turn out the band and fire salutes. Such ohs and ahs! 'Twan't nothing but + a ratty old cripple of a sofy, with one leg carried away and most of the + canvas in ribbons, but four men lugged it up the steps and the careful way + they handled it made you think the Old Home House was a receiving tomb and + they was laying in the dear departed. + </p> + <p> + 'Twas set down on the piazza and then the friends had a chance to view the + remains. The Duchess and “Irene dear” gurgled and gushed and received + congratulations. Eddie stood around and tried to look modest as was + possible under the circumstances. The Dowager sailed over, tilted her nose + up to the foretop, remarked “Humph”' through it and come about and stood + at the other end of the porch. “My daughter” follers in her wake, observes + “Humph!” likewise and makes for blue water. Milo comes over and looks at + Eddie. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” says Small. “What do you think of it?” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind what I think of IT,” answers Thompson, through his teeth. + “Shall I tell you what I think of YOU?” + </p> + <p> + I thought for a minute that hostilities was going to begin, but they + didn't. The women was the real battleships in that fleet, the men wa'n't + nothing but transports. Milo and Eddie just glared at each other and + sheered off, and the “ginuwine Sheriton” was lugged into the sepulchre, + meaning the trunk-room aloft in the hotel. + </p> + <p> + And after that the cold around the thrones was so fierce we had to move + the thermometer, and we had to give the families separate tables in the + dining-room so's the milk wouldn't freeze. You see the pitcher set right + between 'em, and—Oh! I didn't expect you'd believe it. + </p> + <p> + The “antiquing” went on harder than ever. Every time the Thompsons landed + a relic, they'd bring it out on the veranda or in to dinner and gloat over + it loud and pointed, while the Smalls would pipe all hands to unload + sarcasm. And the same vicy vercy when 'twas t'other way about. 'Twas + interesting and instructive to listen to and amused the populace on rainy + days, so Peter T. said. + </p> + <p> + Adoniram Rogers had been mighty scurce 'round the Old Home sense the + davenport deal. But one morning he showed up unexpected. A boarder had dug + up an antique somewheres in the shape of a derelict plate, and was + displaying it proud on the piazza. The Thompsons was there and the Smalls + and a whole lot more. All of a sudden Rogers walks up the steps and + reaches over and makes fast to the plate. + </p> + <p> + “Look out!” hollers the prize-winner, frantic. “You'll drop it!” + </p> + <p> + Adoniram grunted. “Huh!” says he. “'Tain't nothing but a blue dish. I've + got a whole closet full of them.” + </p> + <p> + “WHAT?” yells everybody. And then: “Will you sell 'em?” + </p> + <p> + “Sell 'em?” says Rogers, looking round surprised. “Why, I never see + nothing I wouldn't sell if I got money enough for it.” + </p> + <p> + Then for the next few minutes there was what old Parson Danvers used to + call a study in human nature. All hands started for that poor, helpless + plate owner as if they was going to swoop down on him like a passel of + gulls on a dead horse-mack'rel. Then they come to themselves and stopped + and looked at each other, kind of shamefaced but suspicious. The Duchess + and her crowd glared at the Dowager tribe and got the glares back with + compound interest. Everybody wanted to get Adoniram one side and talk with + him, and everybody else was determined they shouldn't. Wherever he moved + the “Antiquers” moved with him. Milo watched from the side lines. Rogers + got scared. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” says he, staring sort of wild-like at the boarders. “What + ails you folks? Are you crazy?” + </p> + <p> + Well, he might have made a good deal worse guess than that. I don't know + how 'twould have ended if Peter T. Brown, cool and sassy as ever, hadn't + come on deck just then and took command. + </p> + <p> + “See here, Rogers,” he says, “let's understand this thing. Have you got a + set of dishes like that?” + </p> + <p> + Adoniram looked at him. “Will I get jailed if I say yes?” he answers. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe you will if you don't,” says Peter. “Now, then, ladies and + gentlemen, this is something we're all interested in, and I think + everybody ought to have a fair show. I jedge from the defendant's + testimony that he HAS got a set of the dishes, and I also jedge, from my + experience and three years' dealings with him, that he's too + public-spirited to keep 'em, provided he's paid four times what they're + worth. Now my idea is this; Rogers will bring those dishes down here + tomorrer and we'll put 'em on exhibition in the hotel parlor. Next day + we'll have an auction and sell 'em to the highest cash bidder. And, + provided there's no objection, I'll sacrifice my reputation and be + auctioneer.” + </p> + <p> + So 'twas agreed to have the auction. + </p> + <p> + Next day Adoniram heaves alongside with the dishes in a truck wagon, and + they was strung out on the tables in the parlor. And such a pawing over + and gabbling you never heard. I'd been suspicious, myself, knowing Rogers, + but there was the set from platters to sassers, and blue enough and ugly + enough to be as antique as Mrs. Methusalem's jet earrings. The “Antiquers” + handled 'em and admired 'em and p'inted to the three holes in the back of + each dish—the same being proof of age—and got more covetous + every minute. But the joy was limited. As one feller said, “I'd like 'em + mighty well, but what chance'll we have bidding against green-back + syndicates like that?” referring to the Dowager and the Duchess. + </p> + <p> + Milo and Eddie was the most worried of all, because each of 'em had been + commissioned by their commanding officers not to let t'other family win. + </p> + <p> + That auction was the biggest thing that ever happened at the Old Home. We + had it on the lawn out back of the billiard room and folks came from + Harniss and Orham and the land knows where. The sheds and barn was filled + with carriages and we served thirty-two extra dinners at a dollar a feed. + The dishes was piled on a table and Peter T. done his auctioneer preaching + from a kind of pulpit made out of two cracker boxes and a tea chest. + </p> + <p> + But there wa'n't any real bidding except from the Smalls and Thompsons. A + few of the boarders and some of the out-of-towners took a shy long at + first, but their bids was only ground bait. Milo and Eddie, backed by the + Dowager and the Duchess, done the real fishing. + </p> + <p> + The price went up and up. Peter T. whooped and pounded and all but shed + tears. If he'd been burying a competition hotel keeper he couldn't have + hove more soul into his work. 'Twas, “Fifty! Do I hear sixty? Sixty do I + hear? Fifty dollars! THINK of it? Why, friends, this ain't a church pound + party. Look at them dishes! LOOK at 'em! Why, the pin feathers on those + blue dicky birds in the corners are worth more'n that for mattress + stuffing. Do I hear sixty? Sixty I'm bid. Who says seventy?” + </p> + <p> + Milo said it, and Eddie was back at him afore he could shake the reefs out + of the last syllable. She went up to a hundred, then to one hundred and + twenty-five, and with every raise Adoniram Roger's smile lengthened out. + After the one-twenty-five mark the tide rose slower. Milo'd raise it a + dollar and Eddie'd jump him fifty cents. + </p> + <p> + And just then two things happened. One was that a servant girl come + running from the Old Home House to tell the Duchess and “Irene dear” that + some swell friends of theirs from the hotel at Harniss had driven over to + call and was waiting for 'em in the parlor. The female Smalls went in, + though they wa'n't joyful over it. They give Eddie his sailing orders + afore they went, too. + </p> + <p> + The other thing that happened was Bill Saltmarsh's arriving in port. Bill + is an “antiquer” for revenue only. He runs an antique store over at + Ostable and the prices he charges are enough to convict him without + hearing the evidence. I knew he'd come. + </p> + <p> + Saltmarsh busts through the crowd and makes for the pulpit. He nods to + Peter T. and picks up one of the plates. He looks at it first ruther + casual; then more and more careful, turning it over and taking up another. + </p> + <p> + “Hold on a minute, Brown,” says he. “Are THESE the dishes you're selling?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure thing,” comes back Peter. “Think we're serving free lunch? No, sir! + Those are the genuine articles, Mr. Saltmarsh, and you're cheating the + widders and orphans if you don't put in a bid quick. One thirty-two fifty, + I'm bid. Now, Saltmarsh!” + </p> + <p> + But Bill only laughed. Then he picks up another plate, looks at it, and + laughs again. + </p> + <p> + “Good day, Brown,” says he. “Sorry I can't stop.” And off he puts towards + his horse and buggy. + </p> + <p> + Eddie Small was watching him. Milo, being on the other side of the pulpit, + hadn't noticed so partic'lar. + </p> + <p> + “Who's that?” asks Eddie, suspicious. “Does he know antiques?” + </p> + <p> + I remarked that if Bill didn't, then nobody did. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Saltmarsh!” says Small, catching Bill by the arm as he shoved + through the crowd. “What's the matter with those dishes—anything?” + </p> + <p> + Bill turned and looked at him. “Why, no,” he says, slow. “They're all + right—of their kind.” And off he put again. + </p> + <p> + But Eddie wa'n't satisfied. He turns to me. “By George!” he says. “What is + it? Does he think they're fakes?” + </p> + <p> + I didn't know, so I shook my head. Small fidgetted, looked at Peter, and + then run after Saltmarsh. Milo had just raised the bid. + </p> + <p> + “One hundred and thirty-three” hollers Peter, fetching the tea chest a + belt. “One thirty-four do I hear? Make it one thirty-three fifty. Fifty + cents do I hear? Come, come! this is highway robbery, gentlemen. Mr. Small—where + are you?” + </p> + <p> + But Eddie was talking to Saltmarsh. In a minute back he comes, looking + more worried than ever. Peter T. bawled and pounded and beckoned at him + with the mallet, but he only fidgetted—didn't know what to do. + </p> + <p> + “One thirty-three!” bellers Peter. “One thirty-three! Oh, how can I look + my grandmother's picture in the face after this? One thirty-three—once! + One thirty-three—twice! Third and last call! One—thirty—” + </p> + <p> + Then Eddie begun to raise his hand, but 'twas too late. + </p> + <p> + “One thirty-three and SOLD! To Mr. Milo Thompson for one hundred and + thirty-three dollars!” + </p> + <p> + And just then come a shriek from the piazza; the Duchess and “Irene dear” + had come out of the parlor. + </p> + <p> + Well! Talk about crowing! The way that Thompson crowd rubbed it in on the + Smalls was enough to make you leave the dinner table. They had the + servants take in them dishes, piece by piece, and every single article, + down to the last butter plate, was steered straight by the Small crowd. + </p> + <p> + As for poor Eddie, when he come up to explain why he hadn't kept on + bidding, his wife put him out like he was a tin lamp. + </p> + <p> + “Don't SPEAK to me!” says she. “Don't you DARE speak to me.” + </p> + <p> + He didn't dare. He just run up a storm sail and beat for harbor back of + the barn. And from the piazza Milo cackled vainglorious. + </p> + <p> + Me and Cap'n Jonadab and Peter T. felt so sorry for Eddie, knowing what he + had coming to him from the Duchess, that we went out to see him. He was + setting on a wrecked hencoop, looking heart-broke but puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “'Twas that Saltmarsh made me lose my nerve,” he says. “I thought when he + wouldn't bid there was something wrong with the dishes. And there WAS + something wrong, too. Now what was it?” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe the price was too high,” says I. + </p> + <p> + “No, 'twa'n't that. I b'lieve yet he thought they were imitations. Oh, if + they only were!” + </p> + <p> + And then, lo and behold you, around the corner comes Adoniram Rogers. I'd + have bet large that whatever conscience Adoniram was born with had dried + up and blown away years ago. But no; he'd resurrected a remnant. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Small,” stammered Mr. Rogers, “I'm sorry you feel bad about not + buying them dishes. I—I thought I'd ought to tell you—that is + to say, I—Well, if you want another set, I cal'late I can get it for + you—that is, if you won't tell nobody.” + </p> + <p> + “ANOTHER set?” hollers Eddie, wide-eyed. “Anoth—Do you mean to say + you've got MORE?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I ain't exactly got 'em now, but my nephew John keeps a furniture + store in South Boston, and he has lots of sets like that. I bought that + one off him.” + </p> + <p> + Peter T. Brown jumps to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you outrageous robber!” he hollers. “Didn't you say those dishes + were old?” + </p> + <p> + “I never said nothing, except that they were like the plate that feller + had on the piazza. And they was, too. YOU folks said they was old, and I + thought you'd ought to know, so—” + </p> + <p> + Eddie Small threw up both hands. “Fakes!” he hollers. “Fakes! AND THOMPSON + PAID ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY-THREE DOLLARS FOR 'EM! Boys, there's times + when life's worth living. Have a drink.” + </p> + <p> + We went into the billard-room and took something; that is, Peter and Eddie + took that kind of something. Me and Jonadab took cigars. + </p> + <p> + “Fellers,” said Eddie, “drink hearty. I'm going in to tell my wife. Fake + dishes! And I beat Thompson on the davenport.” + </p> + <p> + He went away bubbling like a biling spring. After he was gone Rogers + looked thoughtful. + </p> + <p> + “That's funny, too, ain't it?” he says. + </p> + <p> + “What's funny?” we asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why, about that sofy he calls a davenport. You see, I bought that off + John, too,” says Adoniram. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HIS NATIVE HEATH + </h2> + <p> + I never could quite understand why the folks at Wellmouth made me + selectman. I s'pose likely 'twas on account of Jonadab and me and Peter + Brown making such a go of the Old Home House and turning Wellmouth Port + from a sand fleas' paradise into a hospital where city folks could have + their bank accounts amputated and not suffer more'n was necessary. Anyway, + I was elected unanimous at town meeting, and Peter was mighty anxious for + me to take the job. + </p> + <p> + “Barzilla,” says Peter, “I jedge that a selectman is a sort of dwarf + alderman. Now, I've had friends who've been aldermen, and they say it's a + sure thing, like shaking with your own dice. If you're straight, there's + the honor and the advertisement; if you're crooked, there's the graft. + Either way the house wins. Go in, and glory be with you.” + </p> + <p> + So I finally agreed to serve, and the very first meeting I went to, the + question of Asaph Blueworthy and the poorhouse comes up. Zoeth Tiddit—he + was town clerk—he puts it this way: + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen,” he says, “we have here the usual application from Asaph + Blueworthy for aid from the town. I don't know's there's much use for me + to read it—it's tolerable familiar. 'Suffering from lumbago and + rheumatiz'—um, yes. 'Out of work'—um, just so. 'Respectfully + begs that the board will'—etcetery and so forth. Well, gentlemen, + what's your pleasure?” + </p> + <p> + Darius Gott, he speaks first, and dry and drawling as ever. “Out of work, + hey?” says Darius. “Mr. Chairman, I should like to ask if anybody here + remembers the time when Ase was IN work?” + </p> + <p> + Nobody did, and Cap'n Benijah Poundberry—he was chairman at that + time—he fetches the table a welt with his starboard fist and comes + out emphatic. + </p> + <p> + “Feller members,” says he, “I don't know how the rest of you feel, but + it's my opinion that this board has done too much for that lazy loafer + already. Long's his sister, Thankful, lived, we couldn't say nothing, of + course. If she wanted to slave and work so's her brother could live in + idleness and sloth, why, that was her business. There ain't any law + against a body's making a fool of herself, more's the pity. But she's been + dead a year, and he's done nothing since but live on those that'll trust + him, and ask help from the town. He ain't sick—except sick of work. + Now, it's my idea that, long's he's bound to be a pauper, he might's well + be treated as a pauper. Let's send him to the poorhouse.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” says I, “he owns his place down there by the shore, don't he?” + </p> + <p> + All hands laughed—that is, all but Cap'n Benijah. “Own nothing,” + says the cap'n. “The whole rat trap, from the keel to maintruck, ain't + worth more'n three hundred dollars, and I loaned Thankful four hundred on + it years ago, and the mortgage fell due last September. Not a cent of + principal, interest, nor rent have I got since. Whether he goes to the + poorhouse or not, he goes out of that house of mine to-morrer. A man can + smite me on one cheek and maybe I'll turn t'other, but when, after I HAVE + turned it, he finds fault 'cause my face hurts his hand, then I rise up + and quit; you hear ME!” + </p> + <p> + Nobody could help hearing him, unless they was deefer than the feller that + fell out of the balloon and couldn't hear himself strike, so all hands + agreed that sending Asaph Blueworthy to the poorhouse would be a good + thing. 'Twould be a lesson to Ase, and would give the poorhouse one more + excuse for being on earth. Wellmouth's a fairly prosperous town, and the + paupers had died, one after the other, and no new ones had come, until all + there was left in the poorhouse was old Betsy Mullen, who was down with + creeping palsy, and Deborah Badger, who'd been keeper ever since her + husband died. + </p> + <p> + The poorhouse property was valuable, too, specially for a summer cottage, + being out on the end of Robbin's Point, away from the town, and having a + fine view right across the bay. Zoeth Tiddit was a committee of one with + power from the town to sell the place, but he hadn't found a customer yet. + And if he did sell it, what to do with Debby was more or less of a + question. She'd kept poorhouse for years, and had no other home nor no + relations to go to. Everybody liked her, too—that is, everybody but + Cap'n Benijah. He was down on her 'cause she was a Spiritualist and + believed in fortune tellers and such. The cap'n, bein' a deacon of the + Come-Outer persuasion, was naturally down on folks who wasn't broad-minded + enough to see that his partic'lar crack in the roof was the only way to + crawl through to glory. + </p> + <p> + Well, we voted to send Asaph to the poorhouse, and then I was appointed a + delegate to see him and tell him he'd got to go. I wasn't enthusiastic + over the job, but everybody said I was exactly the feller for the place. + </p> + <p> + “To tell you the truth,” drawls Darius, “you, being a stranger, are the + only one that Ase couldn't talk over. He's got a tongue that's buttered on + both sides and runs on ball bearings. If I should see him he'd work on my + sympathies till I'd lend him the last two-cent piece in my baby's bank.” + </p> + <p> + So, as there wa'n't no way out of it, I drove down to Asaph's that + afternoon. He lived off on a side road by the shore, in a little, run-down + shanty that was as no account as he was. When I moored my horse to the + “heavenly-wood” tree by what was left of the fence, I would have bet my + sou'wester that I caught a glimpse of Brother Blueworthy, peeking round + the corner of the house. But when I turned that corner there was nobody in + sight, although the bu'sted wash-bench, with a cranberry crate propping up + its lame end, was shaking a little, as if some one had set on it recent. + </p> + <p> + I knocked on the door, but nobody answered. After knocking three or four + times, I tried kicking, and the second kick raised, from somewheres + inside, a groan that was as lonesome a sound as ever I heard. No human + noise in my experience come within a mile of it for dead, downright misery—unless, + maybe, it's Cap'n Jonadab trying to sing in meeting Sundays. + </p> + <p> + “Who's that?” wails Ase from 'tother side of the door. “Did anybody + knock?” + </p> + <p> + “Knock!” says I. “I all but kicked your everlasting derelict out of water. + It's me, Wingate—one of the selectmen. Tumble up, there! I want to + talk to you.” + </p> + <p> + Blueworthy didn't exactly tumble, so's to speak, but the door opened, and + he comes shuffling and groaning into sight. His face was twisted up and he + had one hand spread-fingered on the small of his back. + </p> + <p> + “Dear, dear!” says he. “I'm dreadful sorry to have kept you waiting, Mr. + Wingate. I've been wrastling with this turrible lumbago, and I'm 'fraid + it's affecting my hearing. I'll tell you—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—well, you needn't mind,” I says; “'cordin' to common tell, you + was born with that same kind of lumbago, and it's been getting no better + fast ever since. Jest drag your sufferings out onto this bench and come to + anchor. I've got considerable to say, and I'm in a hurry.” + </p> + <p> + Well, he grunted, and groaned, and scuffled along. When he'd got planted + on the bench he didn't let up any—kept on with the misery. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” says I, losing patience, “when you get through with the Job + business I'll heave ahead and talk. Don't let me interrupt the + lamentations on no account. Finished? All right. Now, you listen to me.” + </p> + <p> + And then I told him just how matters stood. His house was to be seized on + the mortgage, and he was to move to the poorhouse next day. You never see + a man more surprised or worse cut up. Him to the poorhouse? HIM—one + of the oldest families on the Cape? You'd think he was the Grand + Panjandrum. Well, the dignity didn't work, so he commenced on the lumbago; + and that didn't work, neither. But do you think he give up the ship? Not + much; he commenced to explain why he hadn't been able to earn a living and + the reasons why he'd ought to have another chance. Talk! Well, if I hadn't + been warned he'd have landed ME, all right. I never heard a better sermon + nor one with more long words in it. + </p> + <p> + I actually pitied him. It seemed a shame that a feller who could argue + like that should have to go to the poorhouse; he'd ought to run a summer + hotel—when the boarders kicked 'cause there was yeller-eyed beans in + the coffee he would be the one to explain that they was lucky to get beans + like that without paying extra for 'em. Thinks I, “I'm an idiot, but I'll + make him one more offer.” + </p> + <p> + So I says: “See here, Mr. Blueworthy, I could use another man in the + stable at the Old Home House. If you want the job you can have it. ONLY, + you'll have to work, and work hard.” + </p> + <p> + Well, sir, would you believe it?—his face fell like a cook-book + cake. That kind of chance wa'n't what he was looking for. He shuffled and + hitched around, and finally he says: “I'll—Ill consider your offer,” + he says. + </p> + <p> + That was too many for me. “Well, I'll be yardarmed!” says I, and went off + and left him “considering.” I don't know what his considerations amounted + to. All I know is that next day they took him to the poorhouse. + </p> + <p> + And from now on this yarn has got to be more or less hearsay. I'll have to + put this and that together, like the woman that made the mince meat. Some + of the facts I got from a cousin of Deborah Badger's, some of them I + wormed out of Asaph himself one time when he'd had a jug come down from + the city and was feeling toler'ble philanthropic and conversationy. But I + guess they're straight enough. + </p> + <p> + Seems that, while I was down notifying Blueworthy, Cap'n Poundberry had + gone over to the poorhouse to tell the Widow Badger about her new boarder. + The widow was glad to hear the news. + </p> + <p> + “He'll be somebody to talk to, at any rate,” says she. “Poor old Betsy + Mullen ain't exactly what you'd call company for a sociable body. But I'll + mind what you say, Cap'n Benijah. It takes more than a slick tongue to + come it over me. I'll make that lazy man work or know the reason why.” + </p> + <p> + So when Asaph arrived—per truck wagon—at three o'clock the + next afternoon, Mrs. Badger was ready for him. She didn't wait to shake + hands or say: “Glad to see you.” No, sir! The minute he landed she sent + him out by the barn with orders to chop a couple of cords of oak slabs + that was piled there. He groaned and commenced to develop lumbago + symptoms, but she cured 'em in a hurry by remarking that her doctor's book + said vig'rous exercise was the best physic, for that kind of disease, and + so he must chop hard. She waited till she heard the ax “chunk” once or + twice, and then she went into the house, figgering that she'd gained the + first lap, anyhow. + </p> + <p> + But in an hour or so it come over her all of a sudden that 'twas awful + quiet out by the woodpile. She hurried to the back door, and there was + Ase, setting on the ground in the shade, his eyes shut and his back + against the chopping block, and one poor lonesome slab in front of him + with a couple of splinters knocked off it. That was his afternoon's work. + </p> + <p> + Maybe you think the widow wa'n't mad. She tip-toed out to the wood-pile, + grabbed her new boarder by the coat collar and shook him till his head + played “Johnny Comes Marching Home” against the chopping block. + </p> + <p> + “You lazy thing, you!” says she, with her eyes snapping. “Wake up and tell + me what you mean by sleeping when I told you to work.” + </p> + <p> + “Sleep?” stutters Asaph, kind of reaching out with his mind for a + life-preserver. “I—I wa'n't asleep.” + </p> + <p> + Well, I don't think he had really meant to sleep. I guess he just set down + to think of a good brand new excuse for not working, and kind of drowsed + off. + </p> + <p> + “You wa'n't hey?” says Deborah. “Then 'twas the best imitation ever <i>I</i> + see. What WAS you doing, if 'tain't too personal a question?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I guess I must have fainted. I'm subject to such spells. You see, + ma'am, I ain't been well for—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know. I understand all about that. Now, you march your boots into + that house, where I can keep an eye on you, and help me get supper. + To-morrer morning you'll get up at five o'clock and chop wood till + breakfast time. If I think you've chopped enough, maybe you'll get the + breakfast. If I don't think so you'll keep on chopping. Now, march!” + </p> + <p> + Blueworthy, he marched, but 'twa'n't as joyful a parade as an Odd Fellers' + picnic. He could see he'd made a miscue—a clean miss, and the white + ball in the pocket. He knew, too, that a lot depended on his making a good + impression the first thing, and instead of that he'd gone and “foozled his + approach,” as that city feller said last summer when he ran the catboat + plump into the end of the pier. Deborah, she went out into the kitchen, + but she ordered Ase to stay in the dining room and set the table; told him + to get the dishes out of the closet. + </p> + <p> + All the time he was doing it he kept thinking about the mistake he'd made, + and wondering if there wa'n't some way to square up and get solid with the + widow. Asaph was a good deal of a philosopher, and his motto was—so + he told me afterward, that time I spoke of when he'd been investigating + the jug—his motto was: “Every hard shell has a soft spot somewheres, + and after you find it, it's easy.” If he could only find out something + that Deborah Badger was particular interested in, then he believed he + could make a ten-strike. And, all at once, down in the corner of the + closet, he see a big pile of papers and magazines. The one on top was the + Banner of Light, and underneath that was the Mysterious Magazine. + </p> + <p> + Then he remembered, all of a sudden, the town talk about Debby's believing + in mediums and spooks and fortune tellers and such. And he commenced to + set up and take notice. + </p> + <p> + At the supper table he was as mum as a rundown clock; just set in his + chair and looked at Mrs. Badger. She got nervous and fidgety after a + spell, and fin'lly bu'sts out with: “What are you staring at me like that + for?” + </p> + <p> + Ase kind of jumped and looked surprised. “Staring?” says he. “Was I + staring?” + </p> + <p> + “I should think you was! Is my hair coming down, or what is it?” + </p> + <p> + He didn't answer for a minute, but he looked over her head and then away + acrost the room, as if he was watching something that moved. “Your husband + was a short, kind of fleshy man, as I remember, wa'n't he?” says he, + absent-minded like. + </p> + <p> + “Course he was. But what in the world—” + </p> + <p> + “'Twa'n't him, then. I thought not.” + </p> + <p> + “HIM? My husband? What DO you mean?” + </p> + <p> + And then Asaph begun to put on the fine touches. He leaned acrost the + table and says he, in a sort of mysterious whisper: “Mrs. Badger,” says + he, “do you ever see things? Not common things, but strange—shadders + like?” + </p> + <p> + “Mercy me!” says the widow. “No. Do YOU?” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes seems's if I did. Jest now, as I set here looking at you, it + seemed as if I saw a man come up and put his hand on your shoulder.” + </p> + <p> + Well, you can imagine Debby. She jumped out of her chair and whirled + around like a kitten in a fit. “Good land!” she hollers. “Where? What? Who + was it?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know who 'twas. His face was covered up; but it kind of come to + me—a communication, as you might say—that some day that man + was going to marry you.” + </p> + <p> + “Land of love! Marry ME? You're crazy! I'm scart to death.” + </p> + <p> + Ase shook his head, more mysterious than ever. “I don't know,” says he. + “Maybe I am crazy. But I see that same man this afternoon, when I was in + that trance, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Trance! Do you mean to tell me you was in a TRANCE out there by the + wood-pile? Are you a MEDIUM?” + </p> + <p> + Well, Ase, he wouldn't admit that he was a medium exactly, but he give her + to understand that there wa'n't many mediums in this country that could do + business 'longside of him when he was really working. 'Course he made + believe he didn't want to talk about such things, and, likewise of course, + that made Debby all the more anxious TO talk about 'em. She found out that + her new boarder was subject to trances and had second-sight and could draw + horoscopes, and I don't know what all. Particular she wanted to know more + about that “man” that was going to marry her, but Asaph wouldn't say much + about him. + </p> + <p> + “All I can say is,” says Ase, “that he didn't appear to me like a common + man. He was sort of familiar looking, and yet there was something + distinguished about him, something uncommon, as you might say. But this + much comes to me strong: He's a man any woman would be proud to get, and + some time he's coming to offer you a good home. You won't have to keep + poorhouse all your days.” + </p> + <p> + So the widow went up to her room with what you might call a case of + delightful horrors. She was too scart to sleep and frightened to stay + awake. She kept two lamps burning all night. + </p> + <p> + As for Asaph, he waited till 'twas still, and then he crept downstairs to + the closet, got an armful of Banners of Light and Mysterious Magazines, + and went back to his room to study up. Next morning there was nothing said + about wood chopping—Ase was busy making preparations to draw Debby's + horoscope. + </p> + <p> + You can see how things went after that. Blueworthy was star boarder at + that poorhouse. Mrs Badger was too much interested in spooks and fortunes + to think of asking him to work, and if she did hint at such a thing, he'd + have another “trance” and see that “man,” and 'twas all off. And we poor + fools of selectmen was congratulating ourselves that Ase Blueworthy was + doing something toward earning his keep at last. And then—'long in + July 'twas—Betsy Mullen died. + </p> + <p> + One evening, just after the Fourth, Deborah and Asaph was in the dining + room, figgering out fortunes with a pack of cards, when there comes a + knock at the door. The widow answered it, and there was an old chap, + dressed in a blue suit, and a stunning pretty girl in what these summer + women make believe is a sea-going rig. And both of 'em was sopping wet + through, and as miserable as two hens in a rain barrel. + </p> + <p> + It turned out that the man's name was Lamont, with a colonel's pennant and + a million-dollar mark on the foretop of it, and the girl was his daughter + Mabel. They'd been paying six dollars a day each for sea air and clam soup + over to the Wattagonsett House, in Harniss, and either the soup or the air + had affected the colonel's head till he imagined he could sail a boat all + by his ownty-donty. Well, he'd sailed one acrost the bay and got becalmed, + and then the tide took him in amongst the shoals at the mouth of Wellmouth + Crick, and there, owing to a mixup of tide, shoals, dark, and an overdose + of foolishness, the boat had upset and foundered and the Lamonts had waded + half a mile or so to shore. Once on dry land, they'd headed up the bluff + for the only port in sight, which was the poorhouse—although they + didn't know it. + </p> + <p> + The widow and Asaph made 'em as comfortable as they could; rigged 'em up + in dry clothes which had belonged to departed paupers, and got 'em + something to eat. The Lamonts was what they called “enchanted” with the + whole establishment. + </p> + <p> + “This,” says the colonel, with his mouth full of brown bread, “is + delightful, really delightful. The New England hospitality that we read + about. So free from ostentation and conventionality.” + </p> + <p> + When you stop to think of it, you'd scurcely expect to run acrost much + ostentation at the poorhouse, but, of course, the colonel didn't know, and + he praised everything so like Sam Hill, that the widow was ashamed to + break the news to him. And Ase kept quiet, too, you can be sure of that. + As for Mabel, she was one of them gushy, goo-gooey kind of girls, and she + was as struck with the shebang as her dad. She said the house itself was a + “perfect dear.” + </p> + <p> + And after supper they paired off and got to talking, the colonel with Mrs. + Badger, and Asaph with Mabel. Now, I can just imagine how Ase talked to + that poor, unsuspecting young female. He sartin did love an audience, and + here was one that didn't know him nor his history, nor nothing. He played + the sad and mysterious. You could see that he was a blighted bud, all + right. He was a man with a hidden sorrer, and the way he'd sigh and change + the subject when it come to embarrassing questions was enough to bring + tears to a graven image, let alone a romantic girl just out of boarding + school. + </p> + <p> + Then, after a spell of this, Mabel wanted to be shown the house, so as to + see the “sweet, old-fashioned rooms.” And she wanted papa to see 'em, too, + so Ase led the way, like the talking man in the dime museum. And the way + them Lamonts agonized over every rag mat, and corded bedstead was + something past belief. When they was saying good-night—they HAD to + stay all night because their own clothes wa'n't dry and those they had on + were more picturesque than stylish—Mabel turns to her father and + says she: + </p> + <p> + “Papa, dear,” she says, “I believe that at last we've found the very thing + we've been looking for.” + </p> + <p> + And the colonel said yes, he guessed they had. Next morning they was up + early and out enjoying the view; it IS about the best view alongshore, and + they had a fit over it. When breakfast was done the Lamonts takes Asaph + one side and the colonel says: + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Blueworthy,” he says, “my daughter and I am very much pleased with + the Cape and the Cape people. Some time ago we made up our minds that if + we could find the right spot we would build a summer home here. Preferably + we wish to purchase a typical, old-time, Colonial homestead and remodel + it, retaining, of course, all the original old-fashioned flavor. Cost is + not so much the consideration as location and the house itself. We are—ahem!—well, + frankly, your place here suits us exactly.” + </p> + <p> + “We adore it,” says Mabel, emphatic. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Blueworthy,” goes on the colonel, “will you sell us your home? I am + prepared to pay a liberal price.” + </p> + <p> + Poor Asaph was kind of throwed on his beam ends, so's to speak. He hemmed + and hawed, and finally had to blurt out that he didn't own the place. The + Lamonts was astonished. The colonel wanted to know if it belonged to Mrs. + Badger. + </p> + <p> + “Why, no,” says Ase. “The fact is—that is to say—you see—” + </p> + <p> + And just then the widow opened the kitchen window and called to 'em. + </p> + <p> + “Colonel Lamont,” says she, “there's a sailboat beating up the harbor, and + I think the folks on it are looking for you.” + </p> + <p> + The colonel excused himself, and run off down the hill toward the back + side of the point, and Asaph was left alone with the girl. He see, I + s'pose, that here was his chance to make the best yarn out of what was + bound to come out anyhow in a few minutes. So he fetched a sigh that + sounded as if 'twas racking loose the foundations and commenced. + </p> + <p> + He asked Mabel if she was prepared to hear something that would shock her + turrible, something that would undermine her confidence in human natur'. + She was a good deal upset, and no wonder, but she braced up and let on + that she guessed she could stand it. So then he told her that her dad and + her had been deceived, that that house wa'n't his nor Mrs. Badger's; 'twas + the Wellmouth poor farm, and he was a pauper. + </p> + <p> + She was shocked, all right enough, but afore she had a chance to ask a + question, he begun to tell her the story of his life. 'Twas a fine chance + for him to spread himself, and I cal'late he done it to the skipper's + taste. He told her how him and his sister had lived in their little home, + their own little nest, over there by the shore, for years and years. He + led her out to where she could see the roof of his old shanty over the + sand hills, and he wiped his eyes and raved over it. You'd think that + tumble-down shack was a hunk out of paradise; Adam and Eve's place in the + Garden was a short lobster 'longside of it. Then, he said, he was took + down with an incurable disease. He tried and tried to get along, but 'twas + no go. He mortgaged the shanty to a grasping money lender—meanin' + Poundberry—and that money was spent. Then his sister passed away and + his heart broke; so they took him to the poorhouse. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Lamont,” says he, “good-by. Sometimes in the midst of your + fashionable career, in your gayety and so forth, pause,” he says, “and + give a thought to the broken-hearted pauper who has told you his life + tragedy.” + </p> + <p> + Well, now, you take a green girl, right fresh from novels and music + lessons, and spring that on her—what can you expect? Mabel, she + cried and took on dreadful. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mr. Blueworthy!” says she, grabbing his hand. “I'm SO glad you told + me. I'm SO glad! Cheer up,” she says. “I respect you more than ever, and + my father and I will—” + </p> + <p> + Just then the colonel comes puffing up the hill. He looked as if he'd + heard news. + </p> + <p> + “My child,” he says in a kind of horrified whisper, “can you realize that + we have actually passed the night in the—in the ALMSHOUSE?” + </p> + <p> + Mabel held up her hand. “Hush, papa,” she says. “Hush. I know all about + it. Come away, quick; I've got something very important to say to you.” + </p> + <p> + And she took her dad's arm and went off down the hill, mopping her pretty + eyes with her handkerchief and smiling back, every once in a while, + through her tears, at Asaph. + </p> + <p> + Now, it happened that there was a selectmen's meeting that afternoon at + four o'clock. I was on hand, and so was Zoeth Tiddit and most of the + others. Cap'n Poundberry and Darius Gott were late. Zoeth was as happy as + a clam at high water; he'd sold the poorhouse property that very day to a + Colonel Lamont, from Harniss, who wanted it for a summer place. + </p> + <p> + “And I got the price we set on it, too,” says Zoeth. “But that wa'n't the + funniest part of it. Seems's old man Lamont and his daughter was very much + upset because Debby Badger and Ase Blueworthy would be turned out of house + and home 'count of the place being sold. The colonel was hot foot for + giving 'em a check for five hundred dollars to square things; said his + daughter'd made him promise he would. Says I: 'You can give it to Debby, + if you want to, but don't lay a copper on that Blueworthy fraud.' Then I + told him the truth about Ase. He couldn't hardly believe it, but I finally + convinced him, and he made out the check to Debby. I took it down to her + myself just after dinner. Ase was there, and his eyes pretty nigh popped + out of his head. + </p> + <p> + “'Look here,' I says to him; 'if you'd been worth a continental you might + have had some of this. As it is, you'll be farmed out somewheres—that's + what'll happen to YOU.'” + </p> + <p> + And as Zoeth was telling this, in comes Cap'n Benijah. He was happy, too. + </p> + <p> + “I cal'late the Lamonts must be buying all the property alongshore,” he + says when he heard the news. “I sold that old shack that I took from + Blueworthy to that Lamont girl to-day for three hundred and fifty dollars. + She wouldn't say what she wanted of it, neither, and I didn't care much; + <i>I</i> was glad to get rid of it.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> can tell you what she wanted of it,” says somebody behind us. We + turned round and 'twas Gott; he'd come in. “I just met Squire Foster,” he + says, “and the squire tells me that that Lamont girl come into his office + with the bill of sale for the property you sold her and made him deed it + right over to Ase Blueworthy, as a present from her.” + </p> + <p> + “WHAT?” says all hands, Poundberry loudest of all. + </p> + <p> + “That's right,” said Darius. “She told the squire a long rigamarole about + what a martyr Ase was, and how her dad was going to do some thing for him, + but that she was going to give him his home back again with her own money, + money her father had given her to buy a ring with, she said, though that + ain't reasonable, of course—nobody'd pay that much for a ring. The + squire tried to tell her what a no-good Ase was, but she froze him + quicker'n—Where you going, Cap'n Benije?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going down to that poorhouse,” hollers Poundberry. “I'll find out the + rights and wrongs of this thing mighty quick.” + </p> + <p> + We all said we'd go with him, and we went, six in one carryall. As we hove + in sight of the poorhouse a buggy drove away from it, going in t'other + direction. + </p> + <p> + “That looks like the Baptist minister's buggy,” says Darius. “What on + earth's he been down here for?” + </p> + <p> + Nobody could guess. As we run alongside the poorhouse door, Ase Blueworthy + stepped out, leading Debby Badger. She was as red as an auction flag. + </p> + <p> + “By time, Ase Blueworthy!” hollers Cap'n Benijah, starting to get out of + the carryall, “what do you mean by—Debby, what are you holding that + rascal's hand for?” + </p> + <p> + But Ase cut him short. “Cap'n Poundberry,” says he, dignified as a boy + with a stiff neck, “I might pass over your remarks to me, but when you + address my wife—” + </p> + <p> + “Your WIFE?” hollers everybody—everybody but the cap'n; he only sort + of gurgled. + </p> + <p> + “My wife,” says Asaph. “When you men—church members, too, some of + you—sold the house over her head, I'm proud to say that I, having a + home once more, was able to step for'ard and ask her to share it with me. + We was married a few minutes ago,” he says. + </p> + <p> + “And, oh, Cap'n Poundberry!” cried Debby, looking as if this was the most + wonderful part of it—“oh, Cap'n Poundberry!” she says, “we've known + for a long time that some man—an uncommon kind of man—was + coming to offer me a home some day, but even Asaph didn't know 'twas + himself; did you, Asaph?” + </p> + <p> + We selectmen talked the thing over going home, but Cap'n Benijah didn't + speak till we was turning in at his gate. Then he fetched his knee a thump + with his fist, and says he, in the most disgusted tone ever I heard: + </p> + <p> + “A house and lot for nothing,” he says, “a wife to do the work for him, + and five hundred dollars to spend! Sometimes the way this world's run + gives me moral indigestion.” + </p> + <p> + Which was tolerable radical for a Come-Outer to say, seems to me. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + JONESY + </h2> + <p> + 'Twas Peter T. Brown that suggested it, you might know. And, as likewise + you might know, 'twas Cap'n Jonadab that done the most of the growling. + </p> + <p> + “They ain't no sense in it, Peter,” says he. “Education's all right in its + place, but 'tain't no good out of it. Why, one of my last voyages in the + schooner Samuel Emory, I had a educated cook, feller that had graduated + from one of them correspondence schools. He had his diploma framed and + hung up on the wall of the galley along with tintypes of two or three of + his wives, and pictures cut out of the Police News, and the like of that. + And cook! Why, say! one of the fo'mast hands ate half a dozen of that + cook's saleratus biscuit and fell overboard. If he hadn't been tangled up + in his cod line, so we could haul him up by that, he'd have been down yet. + He'd never have riz of his own accord, not with them biscuits in him. And + as for his pie! the mate ate one of them bakeshop paper plates one time, + thinking 'twas under crust; and he kept sayin' how unusual tender 'twas, + at that. Now, what good was education to that cook? Why—” + </p> + <p> + “Cut it out!” says Peter T., disgusted. “Who's talking about cooks? These + fellers ain't cooks—they're—” + </p> + <p> + “I know. They're waiters. Now, there 'tis again. When I give an order and + there's any back talk, I want to understand it. You take a passel of + college fellers, like you want to hire for waiters. S'pose I tell one of + 'em to do something, and he answers back in Greek or Hindoo, or such. <i>I</i> + can't tell what he says. I sha'n't know whether to bang him over the head + or give him a cigar. What's the matter with the waiters we had last year? + They talked Irish, of course, but I understood the most of that, and when + I didn't 'twas safe to roll up my sleeves and begin arguing. But—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, ring off!” says Peter. “Twenty-three!” + </p> + <p> + And so they had it, back and forth. I didn't say nothing. I knew how + 'twould end. If Peter T. Brown thought 'twas good judgment to hire a mess + of college boys for waiters, fellers who could order up the squab in + pigeon-English and the ham in hog-Latin, I didn't care, so long as the + orders and boarders got filled and the payroll didn't have growing pains. + I had considerable faith in Brown's ideas, and he was as set on this one + as a Brahma hen on a plaster nest-egg. + </p> + <p> + “It'll give tone to the shebang,” says he, referring to the hotel; “and we + want to keep the Old Home House as high-toned as a ten-story organ + factory. And as for education, that's a matter of taste. Me, I'd just as + soon have a waiter that bashfully admitted 'Wee, my dam,' as I would one + that pushed 'Shur-r-e, Moike!' edge-ways out of one corner of his mouth + and served the lettuce on top of the lobster, from principle, to keep the + green above the red. When it comes to tone and tin, Cap'n, you trust your + Uncle Pete; he hasn't been sniffling around the tainted-money bunch all + these days with a cold in his head.” + </p> + <p> + So it went his way finally, as I knew it would, and when the Old Home + opened up on June first, the college waiters was on hand. And they was as + nice a lot of boys as ever handled plates and wiped dishes for their board + and four dollars a week. They was poor, of course, and working their + passage through what they called the “varsity,” but they attended to + business and wa'n't a mite set up by their learning. + </p> + <p> + And they made a hit with the boarders, especially the women folks. Take + the crankiest old battle ship that ever cruised into breakfast with + diamond headlights showing and a pretty daughter in tow, and she would eat + lumpy oatmeal and scorched eggs and never sound a distress signal. How + could she, with one of them nice-looking gentlemanly waiters hanging over + her starboard beam and purring, “Certainly, madam,” and “Two lumps or one, + madam?” into her ear? Then, too, she hadn't much time to find fault with + the grub, having to keep one eye on the daughter. The amount of complaints + that them college boys saved in the first fortnight was worth their + season's wages, pretty nigh. Before June was over the Old Home was full up + and we had to annex a couple of next-door houses for the left-overs. + </p> + <p> + I was skipper for one of them houses, and Jonadab run the other. Each of + us had a cook and a waiter, a housekeeper and an up-stairs girl. My + housekeeper was the boss prize in the package. Her name was Mabel Seabury, + and she was young and quiet and as pretty as the first bunch of Mayflowers + in the spring. And a lady—whew! The first time I set opposite to her + at table I made up my mind I wouldn't drink out of my sasser if I scalded + the lining off my throat. + </p> + <p> + She was city born and brought up, but she wa'n't one of your common “He! + he! ain't you turrible!” lunch-counter princesses, with a head like a + dandelion gone to seed and a fish-net waist. You bet she wa'n't! Her dad + had had money once, afore he tried to beat out Jonah and swallow the stock + exchange whale. After that he was skipper of a little society library up + to Cambridge, and she kept house for him. Then he died and left her his + blessing, and some of Peter Brown's wife's folks, that knew her when she + was well off, got her the job of housekeeper here with us. + </p> + <p> + The only trouble she made was first along, and that wa'n't her fault. I + thought at one time we'd have to put up a wire fence to keep them college + waiters away from her. They hung around her like a passel of gulls around + a herring boat. She was nice to 'em, too, but when you're just so nice to + everybody and not nice enough to any special one, the prospect ain't + encouraging. So they give it up, but there wa'n't a male on the place, + from old Dr. Blatt, mixer of Blatt's Burdock Bitters and Blatt's Balm for + Beauty, down to the boy that emptied the ashes, who wouldn't have humped + himself on all fours and crawled eight miles if she'd asked him to. And + that includes me and Cap'n Jonadab, and we're about as tough a couple of + women-proof old hulks as you'll find afloat. + </p> + <p> + Jonadab took a special interest in her. It pretty nigh broke his heart to + think she was running my house instead of his. He thought she'd ought to + be married and have a home of her own. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” says I, “why don't she get married then? She could drag out and + tie up any single critter of the right sex in this neighborhood with both + hands behind her back.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” says he. “I s'pose you'd have her marry one of these soup-toting + college chaps, wouldn't you? Then they could live on Greek for breakfast + and Latin for dinner and warm over the leavings for supper. No, sir! a + girl hasn't no right to get married unless she gets a man with money. + There's a deck-load of millionaires comes here every summer, and I'm goin' + to help her land one of 'em. It's my duty as a Christian,” says he. + </p> + <p> + One evening, along the second week in July 'twas, I got up from the + supper-table and walked over toward the hotel, smoking, and thinking what + I'd missed in not having a girl like that set opposite me all these years. + And, in the shadder of the big bunch of lilacs by the gate, I see a feller + standing, a feller with a leather bag in his hand, a stranger. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening,” says I. “Looking for the hotel, was you?” + </p> + <p> + He swung round, kind of lazy-like, and looked at me. Then I noticed how + big he was. Seemed to me he was all of seven foot high and broad + according. And rigged up—my soul! He had on a wide, felt hat, with a + whirligig top onto it, and a light checked suit, and gloves, and slung + more style than a barber on Sunday. If I'D wore them kind of duds they'd + have had me down to Danvers, clanking chains and picking straws, but on + this young chap they looked fine. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening,” says the seven-footer, looking down and speaking to me + cheerful. “Is this the Old Ladies' Home—the Old Home House, I should + say?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” says I, looking up reverent at that hat. + </p> + <p> + “Right,” he says. “Will you be good enough to tell me where I can find the + proprietor?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” says I, “I'm him; that is, I'm one of him. But I'm afraid we can't + accommodate you, mister, not now. We ain't got a room nowheres that ain't + full.” + </p> + <p> + He knocked the ashes off his cigarette. “I'm not looking for a room,” says + he, “except as a side issue. I'm looking for a job.” + </p> + <p> + “A job!” I sings out. “A JOB?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I understand you employ college men as waiters. I'm from Harvard, + and—” + </p> + <p> + “A waiter?” I says, so astonished that I could hardly swaller. “Be you a + waiter?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> don't know. I've been told so. Our coach used to say I was the + best waiter on the team. At any rate I'll try the experiment.” + </p> + <p> + Soon's ever I could gather myself together I reached across and took hold + of his arm. + </p> + <p> + “Son,” says I, “you come with me and turn in. You'll feel better in the + morning. I don't know where I'll put you, unless it's the bowling alley, + but I guess that's your size. You oughtn't to get this way at your age.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed a big, hearty laugh, same as I like to hear. “It's straight,” + he says. “I mean it. I want a job.” + </p> + <p> + “But what for? You ain't short of cash?” + </p> + <p> + “You bet!” he says. “Strapped.” + </p> + <p> + “Then,” says I, “you come with me to-night and to-morrer morning you go + somewheres and sell them clothes you've got on. You'll make more out of + that than you will passing pie, if you passed it for a year.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed again, but he said he was bound to be a waiter and if I + couldn't help him he'd have to hunt up the other portion of the + proprietor. So I told him to stay where he was, and I went off and found + Peter T. You'd ought to seen Peter stare when we hove in sight of the + candidate. + </p> + <p> + “Thunder!” says he. “Is this Exhibit One, Barzilla? Where'd you pick up + the Chinese giant?” + </p> + <p> + I done the polite, mentioning Brown's name, hesitating on t'other chap's. + </p> + <p> + “Er-Jones,” says the human lighthouse. “Er-yes; Jones.” + </p> + <p> + “Glad to meet you, Mr. Jones,” says Peter. “So you want to be a waiter, do + you? For how much per?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know. I'll begin at the bottom, being a green hand. Twenty a + week or so; whatever you're accustomed to paying.” + </p> + <p> + Brown choked. “The figure's all right,” he says, “only it covers a month + down here.” + </p> + <p> + “Right!” says Jones, not a bit shook up. “A month goes.” + </p> + <p> + Peter stepped back and looked him over, beginning with the tan shoes and + ending with the whirligig hat. + </p> + <p> + “Jonesy,” says he, finally, “you're on. Take him to the servants' + quarters, Wingate.” + </p> + <p> + A little later, when I had the chance and had Brown alone, I says to him: + </p> + <p> + “Peter,” says I, “for the land sakes what did you hire the emperor for? A + blind man could see HE wa'n't no waiter. And we don't need him anyhow; no + more'n a cat needs three tails. Why—” + </p> + <p> + But he was back at me before I could wink. “Need him?” he says. “Why, + Barzilla, we need him more than the old Harry needs a conscience. Take a + bird's-eye view of him! Size him up! He puts all the rest of the Greek + statues ten miles in the shade. If I could only manage to get his picture + in the papers we'd have all the romantic old maids in Boston down here + inside of a week; and there's enough of THEM to keep one hotel going till + judgment. Need him? Whew!” + </p> + <p> + Next morning we was at the breakfast-table in my branch establishment, me + and Mabel and the five boarders. All hands was doing their best to start a + famine in the fruit market, and Dr. Blatt was waving a banana and cheering + us with a yarn about an old lady that his Burdock Bitters had h'isted + bodily out of the tomb. He was at the most exciting part, the bitters and + the undertaker coming down the last lap neck and neck, and an even bet + who'd win the patient, when the kitchen door opens and in marches the + waiter with the tray full of dishes of “cereal.” Seems to me 'twas chopped + hay we had that morning—either that or shavings; I always get them + breakfast foods mixed up. + </p> + <p> + But 'twa'n't the hay that made everybody set up and take notice. 'Twas the + waiter himself. Our regular steward was a spindling little critter with + curls and eye-glasses who answered to the hail of “Percy.” This fellow + clogged up the scenery like a pet elephant, and was down in the shipping + list as “Jones.” + </p> + <p> + The doc left his invalid hanging on the edge of the grave, and stopped and + stared. Old Mrs. Bounderby h'isted the gold-mounted double spyglass she + had slung round her neck and took an observation. Her daughter “Maizie” + fetched a long breath and shut her eyes, like she'd seen her finish and + was resigned to it. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mr. Jones,” says I, soon's I could get my breath, “this is kind of + unexpected, ain't it? Thought you was booked for the main deck.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” he says, polite as a sewing-machine agent, “I was, but Percy + and I have exchanged. Cereal this morning, madam?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Bounderby took her measure of shavings and Jones's measure at the + same time. She had him labeled “Danger” right off; you could tell that by + the way she spread her wings over “Maizie.” But I wa'n't watching her just + then. I was looking at Mabel Seabury—looking and wondering. + </p> + <p> + The housekeeper was white as the tablecloth. She stared at the Jones man + as if she couldn't believe her eyes, and her breath come short and quick. + I thought sure she was going to cry. And what she ate of that meal + wouldn't have made a lunch for a hearty humming-bird. + </p> + <p> + When 'twas finished I went out on the porch to think things over. The + dining room winder was open and Jonesy was clearing the table. All of a + sudden I heard him say, low and earnest: + </p> + <p> + “Well, aren't you going to speak to me?” + </p> + <p> + The answer was in a girl's voice, and I knew the voice. It said: + </p> + <p> + “You! YOU! How COULD you? Why did you come?” + </p> + <p> + “You didn't think I could stay away, did you?” + </p> + <p> + “But how did you know I was here? I tried so hard to keep it a secret.” + </p> + <p> + “It took me a month, but I worked it out finally. Aren't you glad to see + me?” + </p> + <p> + She burst out crying then, quiet, but as if her heart was broke. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” she sobs. “How could you be so cruel! And they've been so kind to me + here.” + </p> + <p> + I went away then, thinking harder than ever. At dinner Jonesy done the + waiting, but Mabel wa'n't on deck. She had a headache, the cook said, and + was lying down. 'Twas the same way at supper, and after supper Peter Brown + comes to me, all broke up, and says he: + </p> + <p> + “There's merry clink to pay,” he says. “Mabel's going to leave.” + </p> + <p> + “No?” says I. “She ain't neither!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she is. She says she's going to-morrer. She won't tell me why, and + I've argued with her for two hours. She's going to quit, and I'd rather + enough sight quit myself. What'll we do?” says he. + </p> + <p> + I couldn't help him none, and he went away, moping and miserable. All + round the place everybody was talking about the “lovely” new waiter, and + to hear the girls go on you'd think the Prince of Wales had landed. + Jonadab was the only kicker, and he said 'twas bad enough afore, but now + that new dude had shipped, 'twa'n't the place for a decent, + self-respecting man. + </p> + <p> + “How you goin' to order that Grand Panjandrum around?” he says. “Great + land of Goshen! I'd as soon think of telling the Pope of Rome to empty a + pail of swill as I would him. Why don't he stay to home and be a tailor's + sign or something? Not prance around here with his high-toned airs. I'm + glad you've got him, Barzilla, and not me.” + </p> + <p> + Well, most of that was plain jealousy, so I didn't contradict. Besides I + was too busy thinking. By eight o'clock I'd made up my mind and I went + hunting for Jones. + </p> + <p> + I found him, after a while, standing by the back door and staring up at + the chamber winders as if he missed something. I asked him to come along + with me. Told him I had a big cargo of talk aboard, and wouldn't be able + to cruise on an even keel till I'd unloaded some of it. So he fell into my + wake, looking puzzled, and in a jiffy we was planted in the rocking chairs + up in my bedroom. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” says I, “Mr.—Mr.—” + </p> + <p> + “Jones,” says he. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes—Jones. It's a nice name.” + </p> + <p> + “I remember it beautifully,” says he, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “All right, Mr. Jones. Now, to begin with, we'll agree that it ain't none + of my darn business, and I'm an old gray-headed nosey, and the like of + that. But, being that I AM old—old enough to be your dad, though + that's my only recommend for the job—I'm going to preach a little + sermon. My text is found in the Old Home Hotel, Wellmouth, first house on + the left. It's Miss Seabury,” says I. + </p> + <p> + He was surprised, I guess, but he never turned a hair. “Indeed?” he says. + “She is the—the housekeeper, isn't she?” + </p> + <p> + “She was,” says I, “but she leaves to-morrer morning.” + </p> + <p> + THAT hit him between wind and water. + </p> + <p> + “No?” he sings out, setting up straight and staring at me. “Not really?” + </p> + <p> + “You bet,” I says. “Now down in this part of the chart we've come to think + more of that young lady than a cat does of the only kitten left out of the + bag in the water bucket. Let me tell you about her.” + </p> + <p> + So I went ahead, telling him how Mabel had come to us, why she come, how + well she was liked, how much she liked us, and a whole lot more. I guess + he knew the most of it, but he was too polite not to act interested. + </p> + <p> + “And now, all at once,” says I, “she gives up being happy and well and + contented, and won't eat, and cries, and says she's going to leave. + There's a reason, as the advertisement folks say, and I'm going to make a + guess at it. I believe it calls itself Jones.” + </p> + <p> + His under jaw pushed out a little and his eyebrows drew together. But all + he said was, “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I says. “And now, Mr. Jones, I'm old, as I said afore, and nosey + maybe, but I like that girl. Perhaps I might come to like you, too; you + can't tell. Under them circumstances, and with the understanding that it + didn't go no farther, maybe you might give me a glimpse of the lay of the + land. Possibly I might have something to say that would help. I'm fairly + white underneath, if I be sunburned. What do you think about it?” + </p> + <p> + He didn't answer right off; seemed to be chewing it over. After a spell he + spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Wingate,” says he, “with the understanding that you mentioned, I + don't mind supposing a case. Suppose you was a chap in college. Suppose + you met a girl in the vicinity that was—well, was about the best + ever. Suppose you came to find that life wasn't worth a continental + without that girl. Then suppose you had a dad with money, lots of money. + Suppose the old fo—the gov'nor, I mean—without even seeing her + or even knowing her name or a thing about her, said no. Suppose you and + the old gentleman had a devil of a row, and broke off for keeps. Then + suppose the girl wouldn't listen to you under the circumstances. Talked + rot about 'wasted future' and 'throwing your life away' and so on. + Suppose, when you showed her that you didn't care a red for futures, she + ran away from you and wouldn't tell where she'd gone. Suppose—well, + I guess that's enough supposing. I don't know why I'm telling you these + things, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped and scowled at the floor, acting like he was sorry he spoke. I + pulled at my pipe a minute or so and then says I: + </p> + <p> + “Hum!” I says, “I presume likely it's fair to suppose that this break with + the old gent is for good?” + </p> + <p> + He didn't answer, but he didn't need to; the look on his face was enough. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” says I. “Well, it's likewise to be supposed that the idea—the + eventual idea—is marriage, straight marriage, hey?” + </p> + <p> + He jumped out of his chair. “Why, damn you!” he says. “I'll—” + </p> + <p> + “All right. Set down and be nice. I was fairly sure of my soundings, but + it don't do no harm to heave the lead. I ask your pardon. Well, what you + going to support a wife on—her kind of a wife? A summer waiter's job + at twenty a month?” + </p> + <p> + He set down, but he looked more troubled than ever. I was sorry for him; I + couldn't help liking the boy. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose she keeps her word and goes away,” says I. “What then?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll go after her.” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose she still sticks to her principles and won't have you? Where'll + you go, then?” + </p> + <p> + “To the hereafter,” says he, naming the station at the end of the route. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, there's no hurry about that. Most of us are sure of a free + one-way pass to that port some time or other, 'cording to the parson's + tell. See here, Jones; let's look at this thing like a couple of men, not + children. You don't want to keep chasing that girl from pillar to post, + making her more miserable than she is now. And you ain't in no position to + marry her. The way to show a young woman like her that you mean business + and are going to be wuth cooking meals for is to get the best place you + can and start in to earn a living and save money. Now, Mr. Brown's + father-in-law is a man by the name of Dillaway, Dillaway of the + Consolidated Cash Stores. He'll do things for me if I ask him to, and I + happen to know that he's just started a branch up to Providence and is + there now. Suppose I give you a note to him, asking him, as a favor to me, + to give you the best job he can. He'll do it, I know. After that it's up + to you. This is, of course, providing that you start for Providence + to-morrer morning. What d'you say?” + </p> + <p> + He was thinking hard. “Suppose I don't make good?” he says. “I never + worked in my life. And suppose she—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, suppose your granny's pet hen hatched turkeys,” I says, getting + impatient, “I'll risk your making good. I wa'n't a first mate, shipping + fo'mast hands ten years, for nothing. I can generally tell beet greens + from cabbage without waiting to smell 'em cooking. And as for her, it + seems to me that a girl who thinks enough of a feller to run away from him + so's he won't spile his future, won't like him no less for being willing + to work and wait for her. You stay here and think it over. I'm going out + for a spell.” + </p> + <p> + When I come back Jonesy was ready for me. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Wingate,” says he, “it's a deal. I'm going to go you, though I think + you're plunging on a hundred-to-one shot. Some day I'll tell you more + about myself, maybe. But now I'm going to take your advice and the + position. I'll do my best, and I must say you're a brick. Thanks awfully.” + </p> + <p> + “Good enough!” I says. “Now you go and tell her, and I'll write the letter + to Dillaway.” + </p> + <p> + So the next forenoon Peter T. Brown was joyful all up one side because + Mabel had said she'd stay, and mournful all down the other because his pet + college giant had quit almost afore he started. I kept my mouth shut, that + being the best play I know of, nine cases out of ten. + </p> + <p> + I went up to the depot with Jonesy to see him off. + </p> + <p> + “Good-by, old man,” he says, shaking hands. “You'll write me once in a + while, telling me how she is, and—and so on?” + </p> + <p> + “Bet you!” says I. “I'll keep you posted up. And let's hear how you tackle + the Consolidated Cash business.” + </p> + <p> + July and the first two weeks in August moped along and everything at the + Old Home House kept about the same. Mabel was in mighty good spirits, for + her, and she got prettier every day. I had a couple of letters from Jones, + saying that he guessed he could get bookkeeping through his skull in time + without a surgical operation, and old Dillaway was down over one Sunday + and was preaching large concerning the “find” my candidate was for the + Providence branch. So I guessed I hadn't made no mistake. + </p> + <p> + I had considerable fun with Cap'n Jonadab over his not landing a rich + husband for the Seabury girl. Looked like the millionaire crop was going + to be a failure that summer. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, belay!” says he, short as baker's pie crust. “The season ain't over + yet. You better take a bath in the salt mack'rel kag; you're too fresh to + keep this hot weather.” + </p> + <p> + Talking “husband” to him was like rubbing pain-killer on a scalded pup, so + I had something to keep me interested dull days. But one morning he comes + to me, excited as a mouse at a cat show, and says he: + </p> + <p> + “Ah, ha! what did I tell you? I've got one!” + </p> + <p> + “I see you have,” says I. “Want me to send for the doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “Stop your foolishing,” he says. “I mean I've got a millionaire. He's + coming to-night, too. One of the biggest big-bugs there is in New York. + Ah, ha! what did I tell you?” + </p> + <p> + He was fairly boiling over with gloat, but from between the bubbles I + managed to find out that the new boarder was a big banker from New York, + name of Van Wedderburn, with a barrel of cash and a hogshead of dyspepsy. + He was a Wall Street “bear,” and a steady diet of lamb with mint sass had + fetched him to where the doctors said 'twas lay off for two months or be + laid out for keeps. + </p> + <p> + “And I've fixed it that he's to stop at your house, Barzilla,” crows + Jonadab. “And when he sees Mabel—well, you know what she's done to + the other men folks,” he says. + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” says I, “maybe he's got dyspepsy of the heart along with the + other kind. She might disagree with him. What makes you so cock sartin?” + </p> + <p> + “'Cause he's a widower,” he says. “Them's the softest kind.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you ought to know,” I told him. “You're one yourself. But, from + what I've heard, soft things are scarce in Wall Street. Bet you + seventy-five cents to a quarter it don't work.” + </p> + <p> + He wouldn't take me, having scruples against betting—except when he + had the answer in his pocket. But he went away cackling joyful, and that + night Van Wedderburn arrived. + </p> + <p> + Van was a substantial-looking old relic, built on the lines of the Boston + State House, broad in the beam and with a shiny dome on top. But he could + qualify for the nervous dyspepsy class all right, judging by his language + to the depot-wagon driver. When he got through making remarks because one + of his trunks had been forgot, that driver's quotation, according to Peter + T., had “dropped to thirty cents, with a second assessment called.” I + jedged the meals at our table would be as agreeable as a dog-fight. + </p> + <p> + However, 'twas up to me, and I towed him in and made him acquainted with + Mabel. She wa'n't enthusiastic—having heard some of the driver + sermon, I cal'late—until I mentioned his name. Then she gave a + little gasp like. When Van had gone up to his rooms, puffing like a + donkey-engyne and growling 'cause there wa'n't no elevators, she took me + by the arm and says she: + </p> + <p> + “WHAT did you say his name was, Mr. Wingate?” + </p> + <p> + “Van Wedderburn,” says I. “The New York millionaire one.” + </p> + <p> + “Not of Van Wedderburn & Hamilton, the bankers?” she asks, eager. + </p> + <p> + “That's him,” says I. “Why? Do you know him? Did his ma used to do washing + at your house?” + </p> + <p> + She laughed, but her face was all lit up and her eyes fairly shone. I + could have—but there! never mind. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” she says, “I don't know him, but I know of him—everybody + does.” + </p> + <p> + Well, everybody did, that's a fact, and the way Marm Bounderby and Maizie + was togged out at the supper-table was a sin and a shame. And the way they + poured gush over that bald-headed broker was enough to make him slip out + of his chair. Talk about “fishers of men”! them Bounderbys was a whole + seiner's crew in themselves. + </p> + <p> + But what surprised me was Mabel Seabury. She was dressed up, too; not in + the Bounderbys' style—collar-bones and diamonds—but in plain + white with lace fuzz. If she wa'n't peaches and cream, then all you need + is lettuce to make me a lobster salad. + </p> + <p> + And she was as nice to Van as if he was old Deuteronomy out of the Bible. + He set down to that meal with a face on him like a pair of nutcrackers, + and afore 'twas over he was laughing and eating apple pie and telling + funny yarns about robbing his “friends” in the Street. I judged he'd be + sorry for it afore morning, but I didn't care for that. I was kind of + worried myself; didn't understand it. + </p> + <p> + And I understood it less and less as the days went by. If she'd been + Maizie Bounderby, with two lines in each hand and one in her teeth, she + couldn't have done more to hook that old stock-broker. She cooked little + special dishes for his dyspepsy to play with, and set with him on the + piazza evenings, and laughed at his jokes, and the land knows what. Inside + of a fortni't he was a gone goose, which wa'n't surprising—every + other man being in the same fix—but 'TWAS surprising to see her + helping the goneness along. All hands was watching the game, of course, + and it pretty nigh started a mutiny at the Old Home. The Bounderbys packed + up and lit out in ten days, and none of the other women would speak to + Mabel. They didn't blame poor Mr. Van, you understand. 'Twas all her—“low, + designing thing!” + </p> + <p> + And Jonadab! he wa'n't fit to live with. The third forenoon after Van + Wedderburn got there he come around and took the quarter bet. And the way + he crowed over me made my hands itch for a rope's end. Finally I owned up + to myself that I'd made a mistake; the girl was a whitewashed tombstone + and the whitewash was rubbing thin. That night I dropped a line to poor + Jonesy at Providence, telling him that, if he could get a day off, maybe + he'd better come down to Wellmouth, and see to his fences; somebody was + feeding cows in his pasture. + </p> + <p> + The next day was Labor Day, and what was left of the boarders was going + for a final picnic over to Baker's Grove at Ostable. We went, three + catboats full of us, and Van and Mabel Seabury was in the same boat. We + made the grove all right, and me and Jonadab had our hands full, baking + clams and chasing spiders out of the milk, and doing all the chores that + makes a picnic so joyfully miserable. When the dinner dishes was washed I + went off by myself to a quiet bunch of bayberry bushes half a mile from + the grove and laid down to rest, being beat out. + </p> + <p> + I guess I fell asleep, and what woke me was somebody speaking close by. I + was going to get up and clear out, not being in the habit of listening to + other folks' affairs, but the very first words I heard showed me that + 'twas best, for the feelings of all concerned, to lay still and keep on + with my nap. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” says Mabel Seabury, dreadful nervous and hurried-like; “oh, no! + Mr. Van Wedderburn, please don't say any more. I can't listen to you, I'm + so sorry.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that—really mean it?” asks Van, his voice rather shaky + and seemingly a good deal upset. “My dear young lady, I realize that I'm + twice your age and more, and I suppose that I was an old fool to hope; but + I've had trouble lately, and I've been very lonely, and you have been so + kind that I thought—I did hope—I—Can't you?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” says she, more nervous than ever, and shaky, too, but decided. “No! + Oh, NO! It's all my fault. I wanted you to like me; I wanted you to like + me very much. But not this way. I'm—I'm—so sorry. Please + forgive me.” + </p> + <p> + She walked on then, fast, and toward the grove, and he followed, slashing + at the weeds with his cane, and acting a good deal as if he'd like to pick + up his playthings and go home. When they was out of sight I set up and + winked, large and comprehensive, at the scenery. It looked to me like I + was going to collect Jonadab's quarter. + </p> + <p> + That night as I passed the lilac bushes by the gate, somebody steps out + and grabs my arm. I jumped, looked up, and there, glaring down at me out + of the clouds, was friend Jones from Providence, R. I. + </p> + <p> + “Wingate,” he whispers, fierce, “who is the man? And where is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Easy,” I begs. “Easy on that arm. I might want to use it again. What + man?” + </p> + <p> + “That man you wrote me about. I've come down here to interview him. + Confound him! Who is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's all right now,” says I. “There was an old rooster from New York + who was acting too skittish to suit me, but I guess it's all off. His + being a millionaire and a stock-jobber was what scart me fust along. He's + a hundred years old or so; name of Van Wedderburn.” + </p> + <p> + “WHAT?” he says, pinching my arm till I could all but feel his thumb and + finger meet. “What? Stop joking. I'm not funny to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “It's no joke,” says I, trying to put my arm together again. “Van + Wedderburn is his name. 'Course you've heard of him. Why! there he is + now.” + </p> + <p> + Sure enough, there was Van, standing like a statue of misery on the front + porch of the main hotel, the light from the winder shining full on him. + Jonesy stared and stared. + </p> + <p> + “Is that the man?” he says, choking up. “Was HE sweet on Mabel?” + </p> + <p> + “Sweeter'n a molasses stopper,” says I. “But he's going away in a day or + so. You don't need to worry.” + </p> + <p> + He commenced to laugh, and I thought he'd never stop. + </p> + <p> + “What's the joke?” I asks, after a year or so of this foolishness. “Let me + in, won't you? Thought you wa'n't funny to-night.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped long enough to ask one more question. “Tell me, for the Lord's + sake!” says he. “Did she know who he was?” + </p> + <p> + “Sartin,” says I. “So did every other woman round the place. You'd think + so if—” + </p> + <p> + He walked off then, laughing himself into a fit. “Good night, old man,” he + says, between spasms. “See you later. No, I don't think I shall worry + much.” + </p> + <p> + If he hadn't been so big I cal'lated I'd have risked a kick. A man hates + to be made a fool of and not know why. + </p> + <p> + A whole lot of the boarders had gone on the evening train, and at our + house Van Wedderburn was the only one left. He and Mabel and me was the + full crew at the breakfast-table the follering morning. The fruit season + was a quiet one. I done all the talking there was; every time the broker + and the housekeeper looked at each other they turned red. + </p> + <p> + Finally 'twas “chopped-hay” time, and in comes the waiter with the tray. + And again we had a surprise, just like the one back in July. Percy wa'n't + on hand, and Jonesy was. + </p> + <p> + But the other surprise wa'n't nothing to this one. The Seabury girl was + mightily set back, but old Van was paralyzed. His eyes and mouth opened + and kept on opening. + </p> + <p> + “Cereal, sir?” asks Jones, polite as ever. + </p> + <p> + “Why! why, you—you rascal!” hollers Van Wedderburn. “What are you + doing here?” + </p> + <p> + “I have a few days' vacation from my position at Providence, sir,” answers + Jones. “I'm a waiter at present.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, ROBERT!” exclaims Mabel Seabury. + </p> + <p> + Van swung around like he was on a pivot. “Do you know HIM?” he pants, wild + as a coot, and pointing. + </p> + <p> + 'Twas the waiter himself that answered. + </p> + <p> + “She knows me, father,” he says. “In fact she is the young lady I told you + about last spring; the one I intend to marry.” + </p> + <p> + Did you ever see the tide go out over the flats? Well, that's the way the + red slid down off old Van's bald head and across his cheeks. But it came + back again like an earthquake wave. He turned to Mabel once more, and if + ever there was a pleading “Don't tell” in a man's eyes, 'twas in his. + </p> + <p> + “Cereal, sir?” asks Robert Van Wedderburn, alias “Jonesy.” + </p> + <p> + Well, I guess that's about all. Van Senior took it enough sight more + graceful than you'd expect, under the circumstances. He went straight up + to his room and never showed up till suppertime. Then he marches to where + Mabel and his son was, on the porch, and says he: + </p> + <p> + “Bob,” he says, “if you don't marry this young lady within a month I'll + disown you, for good this time. You've got more sense than I thought. + Blessed if I see who you inherit it from!” says he, kind of to himself. + </p> + <p> + Jonadab ain't paid me the quarter yet. He says the bet was that she'd land + a millionaire, and a Van Wedderburn, afore the season ended, and she did; + so he figgers that he won the bet. Him and me got wedding cards a week + ago, so I suppose “Jonesy” and Mabel are on their honeymoon now. I wonder + if she's ever told her husband about what I heard in the bayberry bushes. + Being the gamest sport, for a woman, that ever I see, I'll gamble she + ain't said a word about it. + </p> + <p> + THE END <br /> <br /> + </p> + + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAPE COD STORIES ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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