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diff --git a/5980-h/5980-h.htm b/5980-h/5980-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1201877 --- /dev/null +++ b/5980-h/5980-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,19126 @@ +<!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> + Kent Knowles: Quahaug, 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 Kent Knowles: Quahaug, 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: Kent Knowles: Quahaug</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 #5980]<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 KENT KNOWLES: QUAHAUG ***</div> + + <h1> + KENT KNOWLES: QUAHAUG + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Joseph C. Lincoln <br /> <br /> 1914 + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <big><b>KENT KNOWLES: QUAHAUG</b></big> + </a> <br /><br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> -- Which is Not a Chapter at All<br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> -- Which Repeats, for the Most Part, What Jim Campbell Said to Me and What I Said to Him<br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> -- Which, Although It Is Largely Family History, Should Not Be Skipped by the Reader<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> + CHAPTER IV </a> -- In Which Hephzy and I and the Plutonia Sail Together<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> -- In Which We View, and Even Mingle Slightly with, the Upper Classes<br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> -- In Which We Are Received at Bancroft's Hotel and I Receive a Letter<br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> -- In Which a Dream Becomes a Reality<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> + CHAPTER VIII </a> -- In Which the Pilgrims Become Tenants<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> -- In Which We Make the Acquaintance of Mayberry and a Portion of Burgleston Bogs<br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a> -- In Which I Break All Previous Resolutions and Make a New One<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0011"> + CHAPTER XI </a> -- In Which Complications Become More Complicated<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a> -- In Which the Truth Is Told at Last<br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a> -- In Which Hephzy and I Agree to Live for Each Other<br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a> -- In Which I Play Golf and Cross the Channel<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0015"> + CHAPTER XV </a> -- In Which I Learn that All Abbeys Are Not Churches<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a> -- In Which I Take My Turn at Playing the Invalid<br /><br /> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a> -- In Which I, as Well as Mr. Solomon Cripps, Am Surprised<br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII </a> -- In Which the Pilgrimage Ends Where It Began<br /><br /> <a + href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX </a> -- Which Treats of Quahaugs in General + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + KENT KNOWLES: QUAHAUG + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I + </h2> + <h3> + Which is Not a Chapter at All + </h3> + <p> + It was Asaph Tidditt who told me how to begin this history. Perhaps I + should be very much obliged to Asaph; perhaps I shouldn't. He has gotten + me out of a difficulty—or into one; I am far from certain which. + </p> + <p> + Ordinarily—I am speaking now of the writing of swashbuckling + romances, which is, or was, my trade—I swear I never have called it + a profession—the beginning of a story is the least of the troubles + connected with its manufacture. Given a character or two and a situation, + the beginning of one of those romances is, or was, pretty likely to be + something like this: + </p> + <p> + “It was a black night. Heavy clouds had obscured the setting sun and now, + as the clock in the great stone tower boomed twelve, the darkness was + pitchy.” + </p> + <p> + That is a good safe beginning. Midnight, a stone tower, a booming clock, + and darkness make an appeal to the imagination. On a night like that + almost anything may happen. A reader of one of my romances—and + readers there must be, for the things did, and still do, sell to some + extent—might be fairly certain that something WOULD happen before + the end of the second page. After that the somethings continued to happen + as fast as I could invent them. + </p> + <p> + But this story was different. The weather or the time had nothing to do + with its beginning. There were no solitary horsemen or strange wayfarers + on lonely roads, no unexpected knocks at the doors of taverns, no cloaked + personages landing from boats rowed by black-browed seamen with red + handkerchiefs knotted about their heads and knives in their belts. The + hero was not addressed as “My Lord”; he was not “Sir Somebody-or-other” in + disguise. He was not young and handsome; there was not even “a certain + something in his manner and bearing which hinted of an eventful past.” + Indeed there was not. For, if this particular yarn or history or chronicle + which I had made up my mind to write, and which I am writing now, had or + has a hero, I am he. And I am Hosea Kent Knowles, of Bayport, + Massachusetts, the latter the village in which I was born and in which I + have lived most of the time since I was twenty-seven years old. Nobody + calls me “My Lord.” Hephzy has always called me “Hosy”—a name which + I despise—and the others, most of them, “Kent” to my face and “The + Quahaug” behind my back, a quahaug being a very common form of clam which + is supposed to lead a solitary existence and to keep its shell tightly + shut. If anything in my manner had hinted at a mysterious past no one in + Bayport would have taken the hint. Bayporters know my past and that of my + ancestors only too well. + </p> + <p> + As for being young and handsome—well, I was thirty-eight years old + last March. Which is quite enough on THAT subject. + </p> + <p> + But I had determined to write the story, so I sat down to begin it. And + immediately I got into difficulties. How should I begin? I might begin at + any one of a dozen places—with Hephzy's receiving the Raymond and + Whitcomb circular; with our arrival in London; with Jim Campbell's visit + to me here in Bayport; with the curious way in which the letter reached + us, after crossing the ocean twice. Any one of these might serve as a + beginning—but which? I made I don't know how many attempts, but not + one was satisfactory. I, who had begun I am ashamed to tell you how many + stories—yes, and had finished them and seen them in print as well—was + stumped at the very beginning of this one. Like Sim Phinney I had worked + at my job “a long spell” and “cal'lated” I knew it, but here was something + I didn't know. As Sim said, when he faced his problem, “I couldn't seem to + get steerage way on her.” + </p> + <p> + Simeon, you see—He is Angeline Phinney's second cousin and lives in + the third house beyond the Holiness Bethel on the right-hand side of the + road—Simeon has “done carpentering” here in Bayport all his life. He + built practically every henhouse now gracing or disgracing the backyards + of our village. He is our “henhouse specialist,” so to speak. He has even + been known to boast of his skill. “Henhouses!” snorted Sim; “land of love! + I can build a henhouse with my eyes shut. Nowadays when another one of + them foolheads that's been readin' 'How to Make a Million Poultry Raisin'' + in the Farm Gazette comes to me and says 'Henhouse,' I say, 'Yes sir. + Fifteen dollars if you pay me cash now and a hundred and fifteen if you + want to wait and pay me out of your egg profits. That's all there is to + it.'” + </p> + <p> + And yet, when Captain Darius Nickerson, who made the most of his money + selling fifty-foot lots of sand, beachgrass and ticks to summer people for + bungalow sites—when Captain Darius, grown purse-proud and + vainglorious, expressed a desire for a henhouse with a mansard roof and a + cupola, the latter embellishments to match those surmounting his own + dwelling, Simeon was set aback with his canvas flapping. At the end of a + week he had not driven a nail. “Godfrey's mighty!” he is reported to have + exclaimed. “I don't know whether to build the average cupola and trust to + a hen's fittin' it, or take an average hen and build a cupola round her. + Maybe I'll be all right after I get started, but it's where to start that + beats me.” + </p> + <p> + Where to start beat me, also, and it might be beating me yet, if I hadn't + dropped in at the post-office and heard Asaph Tidditt telling a story to + the group around the stove. After he had finished, and, the mail being + sorted, we were walking homeward together, I asked a question. + </p> + <p> + “Asaph,” said I, “when you start to spin a yarn how do you begin?” + </p> + <p> + “Hey?” he exclaimed. “How do I begin? Why, I just heave to and go to work + and begin, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know, but where do you begin?” + </p> + <p> + “At the beginnin', naturally. If you was cal'latin' to sail a boat race + you wouldn't commence at t'other end of the course, would you?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> might; practical people wouldn't, I suppose. But—what IS + the beginning? Suppose there were a lot of beginnings and you didn't know + which to choose.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we-ll, in that case I'd just sort of—of edge around till I + found one that—that was a beginnin' of SOMETHIN' and I'd start + there. You understand, don't you? Take that yarn I was spinnin' just now—that + one about Josiah Dimick's great uncle's pig on his mother's side. I mean + his uncle on his mother's side, not the pig, of course. Now I hadn't no + intention of tellin' about that hog; hadn't thought of it for a thousand + year, as you might say. I just commenced to tell about Angie Phinney, + about how fast she could talk, and that reminded me of a parrot that + belonged to Sylvanus Cahoon's sister—Violet, the sister's name was—loony + name, too, if you ask ME, 'cause she was a plaguey sight nigher bein' a + sunflower than she was a violet—weighed two hundred and ten and had + a face on her as red as—” + </p> + <p> + “Just a minute, Ase. About that pig?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes! Well, the pig reminded me of Violet's parrot and the parrot + reminded me of a Plymouth Rock rooster I had that used to roost in the + pigpen nights—wouldn't use the henhouse no more'n you nor I would—and + that, naturally, made me think of pigs, and pigs fetched Josiah's uncle's + pig to mind and there I was all ready to start on the yarn. It pretty + often works out that way. When you want to start a yarn and you can't + start—you've forgot it, or somethin'—just begin somewhere, get + goin' somehow. Edge around and keep edgin' around and pretty soon you'll + fetch up at the right place TO start. See, don't you, Kent?” + </p> + <p> + I saw—that is, I saw enough. I came home and this morning I began + the “edging around” process. I don't seem to have “fetched up” anywhere in + particular, but I shall keep on with the edging until I do. As Asaph says, + I must begin somewhere, so I shall begin with the Saturday morning of last + April when Jim Campbell, my publisher and my friend—which is by no + means such an unusual combination as many people think—sat on the + veranda of my boathouse overlooking Cape Cod Bay and discussed my past, + present and, more particularly, my future. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II + </h2> + <h3> + Which Repeats, for the Most Part, What Jim Campbell Said to Me and What I + Said to Him + </h3> + <p> + “Jim,” said I, “what is the matter with me?” + </p> + <p> + Jim, who was seated in the ancient and dilapidated arm-chair which was the + finest piece of furniture in the boathouse and which I always offered to + visitors, looked at me over the collar of my sweater. I used the sweater + as I did the arm-chair when I did not have visitors. He was using it then + because, like an idiot, he had come to Cape Cod in April with nothing + warmer than a very natty suit and a light overcoat. Of course one may go + clamming and fishing in a light overcoat, but—one doesn't. + </p> + <p> + Jim looked at me over the collar of my sweater. Then he crossed his + oilskinned and rubber-booted legs—they were my oilskins and my boots—and + answered promptly. + </p> + <p> + “Indigestion,” he said. “You ate nine of those biscuits this morning; I + saw you.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not,” I retorted, “because you saw them first. MY interior is in + its normal condition. As for yours—” + </p> + <p> + “Mine,” he interrupted, filling his pipe from my tobacco pouch, “being + accustomed to a breakfast, not a gorge, is abnormal but satisfactory, + thank you—quite satisfactory.” + </p> + <p> + “That,” said I, “we will discuss later, when I have you out back of the + bar in my catboat. Judging from present indications there will be some + sea-running. The 'Hephzy' is a good, capable craft, but a bit cranky, like + the lady she is named for. I imagine she will roll.” + </p> + <p> + He didn't like that. You see, I had sailed with him before and I + remembered. + </p> + <p> + “Ho-se-a,” he drawled, “you have a vivid imagination. It is a pity you + don't use more of it in those stories of yours.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! I am obliged to use the most of it on the royalty statements you + send me. If you call me 'Hosea' again I will take the 'Hephzy' across the + Point Rip. The waves there are fifteen feet high at low tide. See here, I + asked you a serious question and I should like a serious answer. Jim, what + IS the matter with me? Have I written out or what is the trouble?” + </p> + <p> + He looked at me again. + </p> + <p> + “Are you in earnest?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I am, very much in earnest.” + </p> + <p> + “And you really want to talk shop after a breakfast like that and on a + morning like this?” + </p> + <p> + “I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Was that why you asked me to come to Bayport and spend the week-end?” + </p> + <p> + “No-o. No, of course not.” + </p> + <p> + “You're another; it was. When you met me at the railroad station yesterday + I could see there was something wrong with you. All this morning you've + had something on your chest. I thought it was the biscuits, of course; but + it wasn't, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “It was not.” + </p> + <p> + “Then what was it? Aren't we paying you a large enough royalty?” + </p> + <p> + “You are paying me a good deal larger one than I deserve. I don't see why + you do it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” with a wave of the hand, “that's all right. The publishing of books + is a pure philanthropy. We are in business for our health, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Shut up. You know as well as I do that the last two yarns of mine which + your house published have not done as well as the others.” + </p> + <p> + I had caught him now. Anything remotely approaching a reflection upon the + business house of which he was the head was sufficient to stir up Jim + Campbell. That business, its methods and its success, were his idols. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know any such thing,” he protested, hotly. “We sold—” + </p> + <p> + “Hang the sale! You sold quite enough. It is an everlasting miracle to me + that you are able to sell a single copy. Why a self-respecting person, + possessed of any intelligence whatever, should wish to read the stuff I + write, to say nothing of paying money for the privilege, I can't + understand.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't have to understand. No one expects an author to understand + anything. All you are expected to do is to write; we'll attend to the rest + of it. And as for sales—why, 'The Black Brig'—that was the + last one, wasn't it?—beat the 'Omelet' by eight thousand or more.” + </p> + <p> + “The Omelet” was our pet name for “The Queen's Amulet,” my first offence + in the literary line. It was a highly seasoned concoction of revolution + and adventure in a mythical kingdom where life was not dull, to say the + least. The humblest character in it was a viscount. Living in Bayport had, + naturally, made me familiar with the doings of viscounts. + </p> + <p> + “Eight thousand more than the last isn't so bad, is it?” demanded Jim + Campbell combatively. + </p> + <p> + “It isn't. It is astonishingly good. It is the books themselves that are + bad. The 'Omelet' was bad enough, but I wrote it more as a joke than + anything else. I didn't take it seriously at all. Every time I called a + duke by his Christian name I grinned. But nowadays I don't grin—I + swear. I hate the things, Jim. They're no good. And the reviewers are + beginning to tumble to the fact that they're no good, too. You saw the + press notices yourself. 'Another Thriller by the Indefatigable Knowles' + 'Barnacles, Buccaneers and Blood, not to Mention Beauty and the Bourbons.' + That's the way two writers headed their articles about 'The Black Brig.' + And a third said that I must be getting tired; I wrote as if I was. THAT + fellow was right. I am tired, Jim. I'm tired and sick of writing slush. I + can't write any more of it. And yet I can't write anything else.” + </p> + <p> + Jim's pipe had gone out. Now he relit it and tossed the match over the + veranda rail. + </p> + <p> + “How do you know you can't?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Can't what?” + </p> + <p> + “Can't write anything but slush?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah ha! Then it is slush. You admit it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't admit anything of the kind. You may not be a William Shakespeare + or even a George Meredith, but you have written some mighty interesting + stories. Why, I know a chap who sits up till morning to finish a book of + yours. Can't sleep until he has finished it.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter with him; insomnia?” + </p> + <p> + “No; he's a night watchman. Does that satisfy you, you crossgrained old + shellfish? Come on, let's dig clams—some of your own blood relations—and + forget it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to forget it and there is plenty of time for clamming. The + tide won't cover the flats for two hours yet. I tell you I'm serious, Jim. + I can't write any more. I know it. The stuff I've been writing makes me + sick. I hate it, I tell you. What the devil I'm going to do for a living I + can't see—but I can't write another story.” + </p> + <p> + Jim put his pipe in his pocket. I think at last he was convinced that I + meant what I said, which I certainly did. The last year had been a year of + torment to me. I had finished the 'Brig,' as a matter of duty, but if that + piratical craft had sunk with all hands, including its creator, I should + not have cared. I drove myself to my desk each day, as a horse might be + driven to a treadmill, but the animal could have taken no less interest in + his work than I had taken in mine. It was bad—bad—bad; + worthless and hateful. There wasn't a new idea in it and I hadn't one in + my head. I, who had taken up writing as a last resort, a gamble which + might, on a hundred-to-one chance, win where everything else had failed, + had now reached the point where that had failed, too. Campbell's surmise + was correct; with the pretence of asking him to the Cape for a week-end of + fishing and sailing I had lured him there to tell him of my discouragement + and my determination to quit. + </p> + <p> + He took his feet from the rail and hitched his chair about until he faced + me. + </p> + <p> + “So you're not going to write any more,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not. I can't.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do; live on back royalties and clams?” + </p> + <p> + “I may have to live on the clams; my back royalties won't keep me very + long.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! I should think they might keep you a good while down here. You + must have something in the stocking. You can't have wasted very much in + riotous living on this sand-heap. What have you done with your money, for + the last ten years; been leading a double life?” + </p> + <p> + “I've found leading a single one hard enough. I have saved something, of + course. It isn't the money that worries me, Jim; I told you that. It's + myself; I'm no good. Every author, sometime or other, reaches the point + where he knows perfectly well he has done all the real work he can ever + do, that he has written himself out. That's what's the matter with me—I'm + written out.” + </p> + <p> + Jim snorted. “For Heaven's sake, Kent Knowles,” he demanded, “how old are + you?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm thirty-eight, according to the almanac, but—” + </p> + <p> + “Thirty-eight! Why, Thackeray wrote—” + </p> + <p> + “Drop it! I know when Thackeray wrote 'Vanity Fair' as well as you do. I'm + no Thackeray to begin with, and, besides, I am older at thirty-eight than + he was when he died—yes, older than he would have been if he had + lived twice as long. So far as feeling and all the rest of it go, I'm a + second Methusaleh.” + </p> + <p> + “My soul! hear the man! And I'm forty-two myself. Well, Grandpa, what do + you expect me to do; get you admitted to the Old Man's Home?” + </p> + <p> + “I expect—” I began, “I expect—” and I concluded with the lame + admission that I didn't expect him to do anything. It was up to me to do + whatever must be done, I imagined. + </p> + <p> + He smiled grimly. + </p> + <p> + “Glad your senility has not affected that remnant of your common-sense,” + he declared. “You're dead right, my boy; it IS up to you. You ought to be + ashamed of yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “I am, but that doesn't help me a whole lot.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing will help you as long as you think and speak as you have this + morning. See here, Kent! answer me a question or two, will you? They may + be personal questions, but will you answer them?” + </p> + <p> + “I guess so. There has been what a disinterested listener might call a + slightly personal flavor to your remarks so far. Do your worst. Fire + away.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. You've lived in Bayport ten years or so, I know that. What + have you done in all that time—besides write?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I've continued to live.” + </p> + <p> + “Doubted. You've continued to exist; but how? I've been here before. This + isn't my first visit, by a good deal. Each time I have been here your + daily routine—leaving out the exciting clam hunts and the excursions + in quest of the ferocious flounder, like the one we're supposed—mind, + I say supposed—to be on at the present moment—you have put in + the day about like this: Get up, bathe, eat, walk to the post-office, walk + home, sit about, talk a little, read some, walk some more, eat again, + smoke, talk, read, eat for the third time, smoke, talk, read and go to + bed. That's the program, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Not exactly. I play tennis in summer—when there is anyone to play + with me—and golf, after a fashion. I used to play both a good deal, + when I was younger. I swim, and I shoot a little, and—and—” + </p> + <p> + “How about society? Have any, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “In the summer, when the city people are here, there is a good deal going + on, if you care for it—picnics and clam bakes and teas and lawn + parties and such.” + </p> + <p> + “Heavens! what reckless dissipation! Do you indulge?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, no—not very much. Hang it all, Jim! you know I'm no society + man. I used to do the usual round of fool stunts when I was younger, but—” + </p> + <p> + “But now you're too antique, I suppose. Wonder that someone hasn't + collected you as a genuine Chippendale or something. So you don't 'tea' + much?” + </p> + <p> + “Not much. I'm not often invited, to tell you the truth. The summer crowd + doesn't take kindly to me, I'm afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “Astonishing! You're such a chatty, entertaining, communicative cuss on + first acquaintance, too. So captivatingly loquacious to strangers. I can + imagine how you'd shine at a 'tea.' Every summer girl that tried to talk + to you would be frost-bitten. Do you accept invitations when they do + come?” + </p> + <p> + “Not often nowadays. You see, I know they don't really want me.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know it?” + </p> + <p> + “Why—well, why should they? Everybody else calls me—” + </p> + <p> + “They call you a clam and so you try to live up to your reputation. I know + you, Kent. You think yourself a tough old bivalve, but the most serious + complaint you suffer from is ingrowing sensitiveness. They do want you. + They'd invite you if you gave them half a chance. Oh, I know you won't, of + course; but if I had my way I'd have you dragged by main strength to every + picnic and tea and feminine talk-fest within twenty miles. You might meet + some persevering female who would propose marriage. YOU never would, but + SHE might.” + </p> + <p> + I rose to my feet in disgust. + </p> + <p> + “We'll go clamming,” said I. + </p> + <p> + He did not move. + </p> + <p> + “We will—later on,” he answered. “We haven't got to the last page of + the catechism yet. I mentioned matrimony because a good, capable, managing + wife would be my first prescription in your case. I have one or two more + up my sleeve. Tell me this: How often do you get away from Bayport? How + often do you get to—well, to Boston, we'll say? How many times have + you been there in the last year?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. A dozen, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you do when you went?” + </p> + <p> + “Various things. Shopped some, went to the theater occasionally, if there + happened to be anything on that I cared to see. Bought a good many books. + Saw the new Sargent pictures at the library. And—and—” + </p> + <p> + “And shook hands with your brother fossils at the museum, I suppose. Wild + life you lead, Kent. Did you visit anybody? Meet any friends or + acquaintances—any live ones?” + </p> + <p> + “Not many. I haven't many friends, Jim; you know that. As for the wild + life—well, I made two visits to New York this year.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” drily; “and we saw Sothern and Marlowe and had dinner at the + Holland. The rest of the time we talked shop. That was the first visit. + The second was more exciting still; we talked shop ALL the time and you + took the six o'clock train home again.” + </p> + <p> + “You're wrong there. I saw the new loan collections at the Metropolitan + and heard Ysaye play at Carnegie Hall. I didn't start for home until the + next day.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that so. That's news to me. You said you were going that afternoon. + That was to put the kibosh on my intention of taking you home to my wife + and her bridge party, I suppose. Was it?” + </p> + <p> + “Well—well, you see, Jim, I—I don't play bridge and I AM such + a stick in a crowd like that. I wanted to stay and you were mighty kind, + but—but—” + </p> + <p> + “All right. All right, my boy. Next time it will be Bustanoby's, the + Winter Garden and a three A. M. cabaret for yours. My time is coming. Now—Well, + now we'll go clamming.” + </p> + <p> + He swung out of the arm-chair and walked to the top of the steps leading + down to the beach. I was surprised, of course; I have known Jim Campbell a + long time, but he can surprise me even yet. + </p> + <p> + “Here! hold on!” I protested. “How about the rest of that catechism?” + </p> + <p> + “You've had it.” + </p> + <p> + “Were those all the questions you wanted to ask?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! And that is all the advice and encouragement I'm to get from you! + How about those prescriptions you had up your sleeve?” + </p> + <p> + “You'll get those by and by. Before I leave this gay and festive scene + to-morrow I'm going to talk to you, Ho-se-a. And you're going to listen. + You'll listen to old Doctor Campbell; HE'LL prescribe for you, don't you + worry. And now,” beginning to descend the steps, “now for clams and + flounders.” + </p> + <p> + “And the Point Rip,” I added, maliciously, for his frivolous treatment of + what was to me a very serious matter, was disappointing and provoking. + “Don't forget the Point Rip.” + </p> + <p> + We dug the clams—they were for bait—we boarded the “Hephzy,” + sailed out to the fishing grounds, and caught flounders. I caught the most + of them; Jim was not interested in fishing during the greater part of the + time. Then we sailed home again and walked up to the house. Hephzibah, for + whom my boat is named, met us at the back door. As usual her greeting was + not to the point and practical. + </p> + <p> + “Leave your rubber boots right outside on the porch,” she said. “Here, + give me those flatfish; I'll take care of 'em. Hosy, you'll find dry + things ready in your room. Here's your shoes; I've been warmin' 'em. Mr. + Campbell I've put a suit of Hosy's and some flannels on your bed. They may + not fit you, but they'll be lots better than the damp ones you've got on. + You needn't hurry; dinner won't be ready till you are.” + </p> + <p> + I did not say anything; I knew Hephzy—had known her all my life. + Jim, who, naturally enough, didn't know her as well, protested. + </p> + <p> + “We're not wet, Miss Cahoon,” he declared. “At least, I'm not, and I don't + see how Kent can be. We both wore oilskins.” + </p> + <p> + “That doesn't make any difference. You ought to change your clothes + anyhow. Been out in that boat, haven't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then! Don't say another word. I'll have a fire in the sittin'-room + and somethin' hot ready when you come down. Hosy, be sure and put on BOTH + the socks I darned for you. Don't get thinkin' of somethin' else and come + down with one whole and one holey, same as you did last time. You must + excuse me, Mr. Campbell. I've got saleratus biscuits in the oven.” + </p> + <p> + She hastened into the kitchen. When Jim and I, having obeyed orders to the + extent of leaving our boots on the porch, passed through that kitchen she + was busy with the tea-kettle. I led the way through the dining-room and up + the front stairs. My visitor did not speak until we reached the second + story. Then he expressed his feelings. + </p> + <p> + “Say, Kent” he demanded, “are you going to change your clothes?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Why? You're no wetter than I am, are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit, but I'm going to change, just the same. It's the easier way.” + </p> + <p> + “It is, is it! What's the other way?” + </p> + <p> + “The other way is to keep on those you're wearing and take the + consequences.” + </p> + <p> + “What consequences?” + </p> + <p> + “Jamaica ginger, hot water bottles and an afternoon's roast in front of + the sitting-room fire. Hephzibah went out sailing with me last October and + caught cold. That was enough; no one else shall have the experience if she + can help it.” + </p> + <p> + “But—but good heavens! Kent, do you mean to say you always have to + change when you come in from sailing?” + </p> + <p> + “Except in summer, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “But why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because Hephzy tells me to.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you always do what she tells you?” + </p> + <p> + “Generally. It's the easiest way, as I said before.” + </p> + <p> + “Good—heavens! And she darns your socks and tells you what—er + lingerie to wear and—does she wash your face and wipe your nose and + scrub behind your ears?” + </p> + <p> + “Not exactly, but she probably would if I didn't do it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll be hanged! And she extends the same treatment to all your + guests?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't have any guests but you. No doubt she would if I did. She mothers + every stray cat and sick chicken in the neighborhood. There, Jim, you trot + along and do as you're told like a nice little boy. I'll join you in the + sitting-room.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! perhaps I'd better. I may be spanked and put to bed if I don't. + Well, well! and you are the author of 'The Black Brig!' 'Buccaneers and + Blood!' 'Bibs and Butterscotch' it should be! Don't stand out here in the + cold hall, Hosy darling; you may get the croup if you do.” + </p> + <p> + I was waiting in the sitting-room when he came down. There was a roaring + fire in the big, old-fashioned fireplace. That fireplace had been bricked + up in the days when people used those abominations, stoves. As a boy I was + well acquainted with the old “gas burner” with the iron urn on top and the + nickeled ornaments and handles which Mother polished so assiduously. But + the gas burner had long since gone to the junk dealer. Among the + improvements which my first royalty checks made possible were steam heat + and the restoration of the fireplace. + </p> + <p> + Jim found me sitting before the fire in one of the two big “wing” chairs + which I had purchased when Darius Barlay's household effects were sold at + auction. I should not have acquired them as cheaply if Captain Cyrus + Whittaker had been at home when the auction took place. Captain Cy loves + old-fashioned things as much as I do and, as he has often told me since, + he meant to land those chairs some day if he had to run his bank account + high and dry in consequence. But the Captain and his wife—who used + to be Phoebe Dawes, our school-teacher here in Bayport—were away + visiting their adopted daughter, Emily, who is married and living in + Boston, and I got the chairs. + </p> + <p> + At the Barclay auction I bought also the oil painting of the bark + “Freedom”—a command of Captain Elkanah Barclay, uncle of the late + Darius—and the set—two volumes missing—of The Spectator, + bound in sheepskin. The “Freedom” is depicted “Entering the Port of Genoa, + July 10th, 1848,” and if the port is somewhat wavy and uncertain, the + bark's canvas and rigging are definite and rigid enough to make up. The + Spectator set is chiefly remarkable for its marginal notes; Captain + Elkanah bought the books in London and read and annotated at spare + intervals during subsequent voyages. His opinions were decided and his + notes nautical and emphatic. Hephzibah read a few pages of the notes when + the books first came into the house and then went to prayer-meeting. As + she had announced her intention of remaining at home that evening I was + surprised—until I read them myself. + </p> + <p> + Jim came downstairs, arrayed in the suit which Hephzy had laid out for + him. I made no comment upon his appearance. To do so would have been + superfluous; he looked all the comments necessary. + </p> + <p> + I waved my hand towards the unoccupied wing chair and he sat down. Two + glasses, one empty and the other half full of a steaming mixture, were on + the little table beside us. + </p> + <p> + “Help yourself, Jim,” I said, indicating the glasses. He took up the one + containing the mixture and regarded it hopefully. + </p> + <p> + “What?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “A Cahoon toddy,” said I. “Warranted to keep off chills, rheumatism, + lumbago and kindred miseries. Good for what ails you. Don't wait; I've had + mine.” + </p> + <p> + He took a sniff and then a very small sip. His face expressed genuine + emotion. + </p> + <p> + “Whew!” he gasped, choking. “What in blazes—?” + </p> + <p> + “Jamaica ginger, sugar and hot water,” I explained blandly. “It won't hurt + you—longer than five minutes. It is Hephzy's invariable + prescription.” + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord! Did you drink yours?” + </p> + <p> + “No—I never do, unless she watches me.” + </p> + <p> + “But your glass is empty. What did you do with it?” + </p> + <p> + “Emptied it behind the back log. Of course, if you prefer to drink it—” + </p> + <p> + “Drink it!” His “toddy” splashed the back log, causing a tremendous + sizzle. + </p> + <p> + Before he could relieve his mind further, Hephzy appeared to announce that + dinner was ready if we were. We were, most emphatically, so we went into + the dining-room. + </p> + <p> + Hephzy and Jim did most of the talking during the meal. I had talked more + that forenoon than I had for a week—I am not a chatty person, + ordinarily, which, in part, explains my nickname—and I was very + willing to eat and listen. Hephzy, who was garbed in her best gown—best + weekday gown, that is; she kept her black silk for Sundays—talked a + good deal, mostly about dreams and presentiments. Susanna Wixon, Tobias + Wixon's oldest daughter, waited on table, when she happened to think of + it, and listened when she did not. Susanna had been hired to do the + waiting and the dish-washing during Campbell's brief visit. It was I who + hired her. If I had had my way she would have been a permanent fixture in + the household, but Hephzy scoffed at the idea. “Pity if I can't do + housework for two folks,” she declared. “I don't care if you can afford + it. Keepin' hired help in a family no bigger than this, is a sinful + extravagance.” As Susanna's services had been already engaged for the + weekend she could not discharge her, but she insisted on doing all the + cooking herself. + </p> + <p> + Her conversation, as I said, dealt mainly with dreams and presentiments. + Hephzibah is not what I should call a superstitious person. She doesn't + believe in “signs,” although she might feel uncomfortable if she broke a + looking-glass or saw the new moon over her left shoulder. She has a most + amazing fund of common-sense and is “down” on Spiritualism to a degree. It + is one of Bayport's pet yarns, that at the Harniss Spiritualist + camp-meeting when the “test medium” announced from the platform that he + had a message for a lady named Hephzibah C—he “seemed to get the + name Hephzibah C”—Hephzy got up and walked out. “Any dead relations + I've got,” she declared, “who send messages through a longhaired idiot + like that one up there”—meaning the medium,—“can't have much + to say that's worth listenin' to. They can talk to themselves if they want + to, but they shan't waste MY time.” + </p> + <p> + In but one particular was Hephzy superstitious. Whenever she dreamed of + “Little Frank” she was certain something was going to happen. She had + dreamed of “Little Frank” the night before and, if she had not been headed + off, she would have talked of nothing else. + </p> + <p> + “I saw him just as plain as I see you this minute, Hosy,” she said to me. + “I was somewhere, in a strange place—a foreign place, I should say + 'twas—and there I saw him. He didn't know me; at least I don't think + he did.” + </p> + <p> + “Considering that he never saw you that isn't so surprising,” I + interrupted. “I think Mr. Campbell would have another cup of coffee if you + urged him. Susanna, take Mr. Campbell's cup.” + </p> + <p> + Jim declined the coffee; said he hadn't finished his first cup yet. I knew + that, of course, but I was trying to head off Hephzy. She refused to be + headed, just then. + </p> + <p> + “But I knew HIM,” she went on. “He looked just the same as he has when + I've seen him before—in the other dreams, you know. The very image + of his mother. Isn't it wonderful, Hosy!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but don't resurrect the family skeletons, Hephzy. Mr. Campbell isn't + interested in anatomy.” + </p> + <p> + “Skeletons! I don't know what you're talkin' about. He wasn't a skeleton. + I saw him just as plain! And I said to myself, 'It's little Frank!' Now + what do you suppose he came to me for? What do you suppose it means? It + means somethin', I know that.” + </p> + <p> + “Means that you weren't sleeping well, probably,” I answered. “Jim, here, + will dream of cross-seas and the Point Rip to-night, I have no doubt.” + </p> + <p> + Jim promptly declared that if he thought that likely he shouldn't mind so + much. What he feared most was a nightmare session with an author. + </p> + <p> + Hephzibah was interested at once. “Oh, do you dream about authors, Mr. + Campbell?” she demanded. “I presume likely you do, they're so mixed up + with your business. Do your dreams ever come true?” + </p> + <p> + “Not often,” was the solemn reply. “Most of my dream-authors are rational + and almost human.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy, of course, did not understand this, but it did have the effect for + which I had been striving, that of driving “Little Frank” from her mind + for the time. + </p> + <p> + “I don't care,” she declared, “I s'pose it's awful foolish and silly of + me, but it does seem sometimes as if there was somethin' in dreams, some + kind of dreams. Hosy laughs at me and maybe I ought to laugh at myself, + but some dreams come true, or awfully near to true; now don't they. + Angeline Phinney was in here the other day and she was tellin' about her + second cousin that was—he's dead now—Abednego Small. He was + constable here in Bayport for years; everybody called him 'Uncle Bedny.' + Uncle Bedny had been keepin' company with a woman named Dimick—Josiah + Dimick's niece—lots younger than he, she was. He'd been thinkin' of + marryin' her, so Angie said, but his folks had been talkin' to him, + tellin' him he was too old to take such a young woman for his third wife, + so he had made up his mind to throw her over, to write a letter sayin' it + was all off between 'em. Well, he'd begun the letter but he never finished + it, for three nights runnin' he dreamed that awful trouble was hangin' + over him. That dream made such an impression on him that he tore the + letter up and married the Dimick woman after all. And then—I didn't + know this until Angie told me—it turned out that she had heard he + was goin' to give her the go-by and had made all her arrangements to sue + him for breach of promise if he did. That was the awful trouble, you see, + and the dream saved him from it.” + </p> + <p> + I smiled. “The fault there was in the interpretation of the dream,” I + said. “The 'awful trouble' of the breach of promise suit wouldn't have + been a circumstance to the trouble poor Uncle Bedny got into by marrying + Ann Dimick. THAT trouble lasted till he died.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzibah laughed and said she guessed that was so, she hadn't thought of + it in that way. + </p> + <p> + “Probably dreams are all nonsense,” she admitted. “Usually, I don't pay + much attention to 'em. But when I dream of poor 'Little Frank,' away off + there, I—” + </p> + <p> + “Come into the sitting-room, Jim,” I put in hastily. “I have a cigar or + two there. I don't buy them in Bayport, either.” + </p> + <p> + “And who,” asked Jim, as we sat smoking by the fire, “is Little Frank?” + </p> + <p> + “He is a mythical relative of ours,” I explained, shortly. “He was born + twenty years ago or so—at least we heard that he was; and we haven't + heard anything of him since, except by the dream route, which is not + entirely convincing. He is Hephzy's pet obsession. Kindly forget him, to + oblige me.” + </p> + <p> + He looked puzzled, but he did not mention “Little Frank” again, for which + I was thankful. + </p> + <p> + That afternoon we walked up to the village, stopping in at Simmons's + store, which is also the post-office, for the mail. Captain Cyrus + Whittaker happened to be there, also Asaph Tidditt and Bailey Bangs and + Sylvanus Cahoon and several others. I introduced Campbell to the crowd and + he seemed to be enjoying himself. When we came out and were walking home + again, he observed: + </p> + <p> + “That Whittaker is an interesting chap, isn't he?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said. “He is all right. Been everywhere and seen everything.” + </p> + <p> + “And that,” with an odd significance in his tone, “may possibly help to + make him interesting, don't you think?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so. He lives here in Bayport now, though.” + </p> + <p> + “So I gathered. Popular, is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Very.” + </p> + <p> + “Satisfied with life?” + </p> + <p> + “Seems to be.” + </p> + <p> + “Hum! No one calls HIM a—what is it—quahaug?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm the only human clam in this neighborhood.” + </p> + <p> + He did not say any more, nor did I. My fit of the blues was on again and + his silence on the subject in which I was interested, my work and my + future, troubled me and made me more despondent. I began to lose faith in + the “prescription” which he had promised so emphatically. How could he, or + anyone else, help me? No one could write my stories but myself, and I + knew, only too well, that I could not write them. + </p> + <p> + The only mail matter in our box was a letter addressed to Hephzibah. I + forgot it until after supper and then I gave it to her. Jim retired early; + the salt air made him sleepy, so he said, and he went upstairs shortly + after nine. He had not mentioned our talk of the morning, nor did he until + I left him at the door of his room. Then he said: + </p> + <p> + “Kent, I've got one of the answers to your conundrum. I've diagnosed one + of your troubles. You're blind.” + </p> + <p> + “Blind?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, blind. Or, if not blind altogether you're suffering from the worse + case of far-sightedness I ever saw. All your literary—we'll call it + that for compliment's sake—all your literary life you've spent + writing about people and things so far off you don't know anything about + them. You and your dukes and your earls and your titled ladies! What do + you know of that crowd? You never saw a lord in your life. Why don't you + write of something near by, something or somebody you are acquainted + with?” + </p> + <p> + “Acquainted with! You're crazy, man. What am I acquainted with, except + this house, and myself and my books and—and Bayport?” + </p> + <p> + “That's enough. Why, there is material in that gang at the post-office to + make a dozen books. Write about them.” + </p> + <p> + “Tut! tut! tut! You ARE crazy. What shall I write; the life of Ase Tidditt + in four volumes, beginning with 'I swan to man' and ending with 'By + godfrey'?” + </p> + <p> + “You might do worse. If the book were as funny as its hero I'd undertake + to sell a few copies.” + </p> + <p> + “Funny! <i>I</i> couldn't write a funny book.” + </p> + <p> + “Not an intentionally funny one, you mean. But there! There's no use to + talk to you.” + </p> + <p> + “There is not, if you talk like an imbecile. Is this your brilliant + 'prescription'?” + </p> + <p> + “No. It might be; it would be, if you would take it, but you won't—not + now. You need something else first and I'll give it to you. But I'll tell + you this, and I mean it: Downstairs, in that dining-room of yours, there's + one mighty good story, at least.” + </p> + <p> + “The dining-room? A story in the dining-room?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Or it was there when we passed the door just now.” + </p> + <p> + I looked at him. He seemed to be serious, but I knew he was not. I hate + riddles. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, go to blazes!” I retorted, and turned away. + </p> + <p> + I looked into the dining-room as I went by. There was no story in sight + there, so far as I could see. Hephzy was seated by the table, mending + something, something of mine, of course. She looked up. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Hosy,” she said, “that letter you brought was a travel book from the + Raymond and Whitcomb folks. I sent a stamp for it. It's awfully + interesting! All about tours through England and France and Switzerland + and everywhere. So cheap they are! I'm pickin' out the ones I'm goin' on + some day. The pictures are lovely. Don't you want to see 'em?” + </p> + <p> + “Not now,” I replied. Another obsession of Hephzy's was travel. She, who + had never been further from Bayport than Hartford, Connecticut, was + forever dreaming of globe-trotting. It was not a new disease with her, by + any means; she had been dreaming the same things ever since I had known + her, and that is since I knew anything. Some day, SOME day she was going + to this, that and the other place. She knew all about these places, + because she had read about them over and over again. Her knowledge, + derived as it was from so many sources, was curiously mixed, but it was + comprehensive, of its kind. She was continually sending for Cook's + circulars and booklets advertising personally conducted excursions. And, + with the arrival of each new circular or booklet, she picked out, as she + had just done, the particular tours she would go on when her “some day” + came. It was funny, this queer habit of hers, but not half as funny as the + thought of her really going would have been. I would have as soon thought + of our front door leaving home and starting on its travels as of Hephzy's + doing it. The door was no more a part and fixture of that home than she + was. + </p> + <p> + I went into my study, which adjoins the sitting-room, and sat down at my + desk. Not with the intention of writing anything, or even of considering + something to write about. That I made up my mind to forget for this night, + at least. My desk chair was my usual seat in that room and I took that + seat as a matter of habit. + </p> + <p> + As a matter of habit also I looked about for a book. I did not have to + look far. Books were my extravagance—almost my only one. They filled + the shelves to the ceiling on three sides of the study and overflowed in + untidy heaps on the floor. They were Hephzy's bugbear, for I refused to + permit their being “straightened out” or arranged. + </p> + <p> + I looked about for a book and selected several, but, although they were + old favorites, I could not interest myself in any of them. I tried and + tried, but even Mr. Pepys, that dependable solace of a lonely hour, failed + to interest me with his chatter. Perhaps Campbell's pointed remarks + concerning lords and ladies had its effect here. Old Samuel loved to write + of such people, having a wide acquaintance with them, and perhaps that + very acquaintance made me jealous. At any rate I threw the volume back + upon its pile and began to think of myself, and of my work, the very thing + I had expressly determined not to do when I came into the room. + </p> + <p> + Jim's foolish and impossible advice to write of places and people I knew + haunted and irritated me. I did know Bayport—yes, and it might be + true that the group at the post-office contained possible material for + many books; but, if so, it was material for the other man, not for me. + “Write of what you know,” said Jim. And I knew so little. There was at + least one good yarn in the dining-room at that moment, he had declared. He + must have meant Hephzibah, but, if he did, what was there in Hephzibah's + dull, gray life-story to interest an outside reader? Her story and mine + were interwoven and neither contained anything worth writing about. His + fancy had been caught, probably, by her odd combination of the romantic + and the practical, and in her dream of “Little Frank” he had scented a + mystery. There was no mystery there, nothing but the most commonplace + record of misplaced trust and ingratitude. Similar things happen in so + many families. + </p> + <p> + However, I began to think of Hephzy and, as I said, of myself, and to + review my life since Ardelia Cahoon and Strickland Morley changed its + course so completely. And now it seems to me that, in the course of my + “edging around” for the beginning of this present chronicle—so + different from anything I have ever written before or ever expected to + write—the time has come when the reader—provided, of course, + the said chronicle is ever finished or ever reaches a reader—should + know something of that life; should know a little of the family history of + the Knowles and the Cahoons and the Morleys. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III + </h2> + <h3> + Which, Although It Is Largely Family History, Should Not Be Skipped by the + Reader + </h3> + <p> + Let us take the Knowleses first. My name is Hosea Kent Knowles—I + said that before—and my father was Captain Philander Kent Knowles. + He was lost in the wreck of the steamer “Monarch of the Sea,” off + Hatteras. The steamer caught fire in the middle of the night, a howling + gale blowing and the thermometer a few degrees above zero. The passengers + and crew took to the boats and were saved. My father stuck by his ship and + went down with her, as did also her first mate, another Cape-Codder. I was + a baby at the time, and was at Bayport with my mother, Emily Knowles, + formerly Emily Cahoon, Captain Barnabas Cahoon's niece. Mother had a + little money of her own and Father's life was insured for a moderate sum. + Her small fortune was invested for her by her uncle, Captain Barnabas, who + was the Bayport magnate and man of affairs in those days. Mother and I + continued to live in the old house in Bayport and I went to school in the + village until I was fourteen, when I went away to a preparatory school + near Boston. Mother died a year later. I was an only child, but Hephzibah, + who had always seemed like an older sister to me, now began to “mother” + me, the process which she has kept up ever since. + </p> + <p> + Hephzibah was the daughter of Captain Barnabas by his first wife. Hephzy + was born in 1859, so she is well over fifty now, although no one would + guess it. Her mother died when she was a little girl and ten years later + Captain Barnabas married again. His second wife was Susan Hammond, of + Ostable, and by her he had one daughter, Ardelia. Hephzy has always + declared “Ardelia” to be a pretty name. I have my own opinion on that + subject, but I keep it to myself. + </p> + <p> + At any rate, Ardelia herself was pretty enough. She was pretty when a baby + and prettier still as a schoolgirl. Her mother—while she lived, + which was not long—spoiled her, and her half-sister, Hephzy, + assisted in the petting and spoiling. Ardelia grew up with the idea that + most things in this world were hers for the asking. Whatever took her + fancy she asked for and, if Captain Barnabas did not give it to her, she + considered herself ill-used. She was the young lady of the family and + Hephzibah was the housekeeper and drudge, an uncomplaining one, be it + understood. For her, as for the Captain, the business of life was keeping + Ardelia contented and happy, and they gloried in the task. Hephzy might + have married well at least twice, but she wouldn't think of such a thing. + “Pa and Ardelia need me,” she said; that was reason sufficient. + </p> + <p> + In 1888 Captain Barnabas went to Philadelphia on business. He had retired + from active sea-going years before, but he retained an interest in a + certain line of coasting schooners. The Captain, as I said, went to + Philadelphia on business connected with these schooners and Ardelia went + with him. Hephzibah stayed at home, of course; she always stayed at home, + never expected to do anything else, although even then her favorite + reading were books of travel, and pictures of the Alps, and of St. Peter's + at Rome, and the Tower of London were tacked up about her room. She, too, + might have gone to Philadelphia, doubtless, if she had asked, but she did + not ask. Her father did not think of inviting her. He loved his oldest + daughter, although he did not worship her as he did Ardelia, but it never + occurred to him that she, too, might enjoy the trip. Hephzy was always at + home, she WAS home; so at home she remained. + </p> + <p> + In Philadelphia Ardelia met Strickland Morley. + </p> + <p> + I give that statement a line all by itself, for it is by far the most + important I have set down so far. The whole story of the Cahoons and the + Knowleses—that is, all of their story which is the foundation of + this history of mine—hinges on just that. If those two had not met I + should not be writing this to-day, I might not be writing at all; instead + of having become a Bayport “quahaug” I might have been the Lord knows + what. + </p> + <p> + However, they did meet, at the home of a wealthy shipping merchant named + Osgood who was a lifelong friend of Captain Barnabas. This shipping + merchant had a daughter and that daughter was giving a party at her + father's home. Barnabas and Ardelia were invited. Strickland Morley was + invited also. + </p> + <p> + Morley, at that time—I saw a good deal of him afterward, when he was + at Bayport and when I was at the Cahoon house on holidays and vacations—was + a handsome, aristocratic young Englishman. He was twenty-eight, but he + looked younger. He was the second son in a Leicestershire family which had + once been wealthy and influential but which had, in its later generations, + gone to seed. He was educated, in a general sort of way, was a good + dancer, played the violin fairly well, sang fairly well, had an attractive + presence, and was one of the most plausible and fascinating talkers I ever + listened to. He had studied medicine—studied it after a fashion, + that is; he never applied himself to anything—and was then, in '88, + “ship's doctor” aboard a British steamer, which ran between Philadelphia + and Glasgow. Miss Osgood had met him at the home of a friend of hers who + had traveled on that steamer. + </p> + <p> + Hephzy and I do not agree as to whether or not he actually fell in love + with Ardelia Cahoon. Hephzy, of course, to whom Ardelia was the most + wonderfully beautiful creature on earth, is certain that he did—he + could not help it, she says. I am not so sure. It is very hard for me to + believe that Strickland Morley was ever in love with anyone but himself. + Captain Barnabas was well-to-do and had the reputation of being much + richer than he really was. And Ardelia WAS beautiful, there is no doubt of + that. At all events, Ardelia fell in love, with him, violently, + desperately, head over heels in love, the very moment the two were + introduced. They danced practically every dance together that evening, met + surreptitiously the next day and for five days thereafter, and on the + sixth day Captain Barnabas received a letter from his daughter announcing + that she and Morley were married and had gone to New York together. “We + will meet you there, Pa,” wrote Ardelia. “I know you will forgive me for + marrying Strickland. He is the most wonderful man in the wide world. You + will love him, Pa, as I do.” + </p> + <p> + There was very little love expressed by the Captain when he read the note. + According to Mr. Osgood's account, Barnabas's language was a throwback + from the days when he was first mate on a Liverpool packet. That his + idolized daughter had married without asking his consent was bad enough; + that she had married an Englishman was worse. Captain Barnabas hated all + Englishmen. A ship of his had been captured and burned, in the war time, + by the “Alabama,” a British built privateer, and the very mildest of the + terms he applied to a “John Bull” will not bear repetition in respectable + society. He would not forgive Ardelia. She and her “Cockney husband” might + sail together to the most tropical of tropics, or words to that effect. + </p> + <p> + But he did forgive her, of course. Likewise he forgave his son-in-law. + When the Captain returned to Bayport he brought the newly wedded pair with + him. I was not present at that homecoming. I was away at prep school, + digging at my examinations, trying hard to forget that I was an orphan, + but with the dull ache caused by my mother's death always grinding at my + heart. Many years ago she died, but the ache comes back now, as I think of + her. There is more self-reproach in it than there used to be, more vain + regrets for impatient words and wasted opportunities. Ah, if some of us—boys + grown older—might have our mothers back again, would we be as + impatient and selfish now? Would we neglect the opportunities? I think + not; I hope not. + </p> + <p> + Hephzibah, after she got over the shock of the surprise and the pain of + sharing her beloved sister with another, welcomed that other for Ardelia's + sake. She determined to like him very much indeed. This wasn't so hard, at + first. Everyone liked and trusted Strickland Morley at first sight. + Afterward, when they came to know him better, they were not—if they + were as wise and discerning as Hephzy—so sure of the trust. The wise + and discerning were not, I say; Captain Barnabas, though wise and shrewd + enough in other things, trusted him to the end. + </p> + <p> + Morley made it a point to win the affection and goodwill of his + father-in-law. For the first month or two after the return to Bayport the + new member of the family was always speaking of his plans for the future, + of his profession and how he intended soon, very soon, to look up a good + location and settle down to practice. Whenever he spoke thus, Captain + Barnabas and Ardelia begged him not to do it yet, to wait awhile. “I am so + happy with you and Pa and Hephzy,” declared Ardelia. “I can't bear to go + away yet, Strickland. And Pa doesn't want us to; do you, Pa?” + </p> + <p> + Of course Captain Barnabas agreed with her, he always did, and so the + Morleys remained at Bayport in the old house. Then came the first of the + paralytic shocks—a very slight one—which rendered Captain + Barnabas, the hitherto hale, active old seaman, unfit for exertion or the + cares of business. He was not bedridden by any means; he could still take + short walks, attend town meetings and those of the parish committee, but + he must not, so Dr. Parker said, be allowed to worry about anything. + </p> + <p> + And Morley took it upon himself to prevent that worry. He spoke no more of + leaving Bayport and settling down to practice his profession. Instead he + settled down in Bayport and took the Captain's business cares upon his own + shoulders. Little by little he increased his influence over the old man. + He attended to the latter's investments, took charge of his bank account, + collected his dividends, became, so to speak, his financial guardian. + Captain Barnabas, at first rebellious—“I've always bossed my own + ship,” he declared, “and I ain't so darned feeble-headed that I can't do + it yet”—gradually grew reconciled and then contented. He, too, began + to worship his daughter's husband as the daughter herself did. + </p> + <p> + “He's a wonder,” said the Captain. “I never saw such a fellow for money + matters. He's handled my stocks and things a whole lot better'n I ever + did. I used to cal'late if I got six per cent. interest I was doin' well. + He ain't satisfied with anything short of eight, and he gets it, too. + Whatever that boy wants and I own he can have. Sometimes I think this + consarned palsy of mine is a judgment on me for bein' so sot against him + in the beginnin'. Why, just look at how he runs this house, to say nothing + of the rest of it! He's a skipper here; the rest of us ain't anything but + fo'most hands.” + </p> + <p> + Which was not the exact truth. Morley was skipper of the Cahoon house, + Ardelia first mate, her father a passenger, and the foremast hand was + Hephzy. And yet, so far as “running” that house was concerned the foremast + hand ran it, as she always had done. The Captain and Ardelia were Morley's + willing slaves; Hephzy was, and continued to be, a free woman. She worked + from morning until night, but she obeyed only such orders as she saw fit. + </p> + <p> + She alone did not take the new skipper at his face value. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what there was about him that made me uneasy,” she has told + me since. “Maybe there wasn't anything; perhaps that was just the reason. + When a person is SO good and SO smart and SO polite—maybe the + average sinful common mortal like me gets jealous; I don't know. But I do + know that, to save my life, I couldn't swallow him whole the way Ardelia + and Father did. I wanted to look him over first; and the more I looked him + over, and the smoother and smoother he looked, the more sure I felt he'd + give us all dyspepsy before he got through. Unreasonable, wasn't it?” + </p> + <p> + For Ardelia's sake she concealed her distrust and did her best to get on + with the new head of the family. Only one thing she did, and that against + Motley's and her father's protest. She withdrew her own little fortune, + left her by her mother, from Captain Barnabas's care and deposited it in + the Ostable savings bank and in equally secure places. Of course she told + the Captain of her determination to do this before she did it and the + telling was the cause of the only disagreement, almost a quarrel, which + she and her father ever had. The Captain was very angry and demanded + reasons. Hephzibah declared she didn't know that she had any reasons, but + she was going to do it, nevertheless. And she did do it. For months + thereafter relations between the two were strained; Barnabas scarcely + spoke to his older daughter and Hephzy shed tears in the solitude of her + bedroom. They were hard months for her. + </p> + <p> + At the end of them came the crash. Morley had developed a habit of running + up to Boston on business trips connected with his father-in-law's + investments. Of late these little trips had become more frequent. Also, so + it seemed to Hephzy, he was losing something of his genial sweetness and + suavity, and becoming more moody and less entertaining. Telegrams and + letters came frequently and these he read and destroyed at once. He seldom + played the violin now unless Captain Barnabas—who was fond of music + of the simpler sort—requested him to do so and he seemed uneasy and, + for him, surprisingly disinclined to talk. + </p> + <p> + Hephzy was not the only one who noticed the change in him. Ardelia noticed + it also and, as she always did when troubled or perplexed, sought her + sister's advice. + </p> + <p> + “I sha'n't ever forget that night when she came to me for the last time,” + Hephzy has told me over and over again. “She came up to my room, poor + thing, and set down on the side of my bed and told me how worried she was + about her husband. Father had turned in and HE was out, gone to the + post-office or somewheres. I had Ardelia all to myself, for a wonder, and + we sat and talked just the same as we used to before she was married. I'm + glad it happened so. I shall always have that to remember, anyhow. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, all her worry was about Strickland. She was afraid he was + makin' himself sick. He worked so hard; didn't I think so? Well, so far as + that was concerned, I had come to believe that almost any kind of work was + liable to make HIM sick, but of course I didn't say that to her. That + somethin' was troublin' him was plain, though I was far enough from + guessin' what that somethin' was. + </p> + <p> + “We set and talked, about Strickland and about Father and about ourselves. + Mainly Ardelia's talk was a praise service with her husband for the + subject of worship; she was so happy with him and idolized him so that she + couldn't spare time for much else. But she did speak a little about + herself and, before she went away, she whispered somethin' in my ear which + was a dead secret. Even Father didn't know it yet, she said. Of course I + was as pleased as she was, almost—and a little frightened too, + although I didn't say so to her. She was always a frail little thing, + delicate as she was pretty; not a strapping, rugged, homely body like me. + We wasn't a bit alike. + </p> + <p> + “So we talked and when she went away to bed she gave me an extra hug and + kiss; came back to give 'em to me, just as she used to when she was a + little girl. I wondered since if she had any inklin' of what was goin' to + happen. I'm sure she didn't; I'm sure of it as I am that it did happen. + She couldn't have kept it from me if she had known—not that night. + She went away to bed and I went to bed, too. I was a long while gettin' to + sleep and after I did I dreamed my first dream about 'Little Frank.' I + didn't call him 'Little Frank' then, though. I don't seem to remember what + I did call him or just how he looked except that he looked like Ardelia. + And the next afternoon she and Strickland went away—to Boston, he + told us.” + </p> + <p> + From that trip they never returned. Morley's influence over his wife must + have been greater even than any of us thought to induce her to desert her + father and Hephzy without even a written word of explanation or farewell. + It is possible that she did write and that her husband destroyed the + letter. I am as sure as Hephzy is that Ardelia did not know what Morley + had done. But, at all events, they never came back to Bayport and within + the week the truth became known. Morley had speculated, had lost and lost + again and again. All of Captain Barnabas's own money and all intrusted to + his care, including my little nest-egg, had gone as margins to the brokers + who had bought for Morley his worthless eight per cent. wildcats. Hephzy's + few thousands in the savings bank and elsewhere were all that was left. + </p> + <p> + I shall condense the rest of the miserable business as much as I can. + Captain Barnabas traced his daughter and her husband as far as the steamer + which sailed for England. Farther he would not trace them, although he + might easily have cabled and caused his son-in-law's arrest. For a month + he went about in a sort of daze, speaking to almost no one and sitting for + hours alone in his room. The doctor feared for his sanity, but when the + breakdown came it was in the form of a second paralytic stroke which left + him a helpless, crippled dependent, weak and shattered in body and mind. + </p> + <p> + He lived nine years longer. Meanwhile various things happened. I managed + to finish my preparatory school term and, then, instead of entering + college as Mother and I had planned, I went into business—save the + mark—taking the exalted position of entry clerk in a wholesale + drygoods house in Boston. As entry clerk I did not shine, but I continued + to keep the place until the firm failed—whether or not because of my + connection with it I am not sure, though I doubt if my services were + sufficiently important to contribute toward even this result. A month + later I obtained another position and, after that, another. I was never + discharged; I declare that with a sort of negative pride; but when I + announced to my second employer my intention of resigning he bore the + shock with—to say the least—philosophic fortitude. + </p> + <p> + “We shall miss you, Knowles,” he observed. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, sir,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “I doubt if we ever have another bookkeeper just like you.” + </p> + <p> + I thanked him again, fighting down my blushes with heroic modesty. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I guess you can find one if you try,” I said, lightly, wishing to + comfort him. + </p> + <p> + He shook his head. “I sha'n't try,” he declared. “I am not as young and as + strong as I was and—well, there is always the chance that we might + succeed.” + </p> + <p> + It was a mean thing to say—to a boy, for I was scarcely more than + that. And yet, looking back at it now, I am much more disposed to smile + and forgive than I was then. My bookkeeping must have been a trial to his + orderly, pigeon-holed soul. Why in the world he and his partner put up + with it so long is a miracle. When, after my first novel appeared, he + wrote me to say that the consciousness of having had a part, small though + it might be, in training my young mind upward toward the success it had + achieved would always be a great gratification to him, I did not send the + letter I wrote in answer. Instead I tore up my letter and his and grinned. + I WAS a bad bookkeeper; I was, and still am, a bad business man. Now I + don't care so much; that is the difference. + </p> + <p> + Then I cared a great deal, but I kept on at my hated task. What else was + there for me to do? My salary was so small that, as Charlie Burns, one of + my fellow-clerks, said of his, I was afraid to count it over a bare floor + for fear that it might drop in a crack and be lost. It was my only + revenue, however, and I continued to live upon it somehow. I had a small + room in a boarding-house on Shawmut Avenue and I spent most of my evenings + there or in the reading-room at the public library. I was not popular at + the boarding-house. Most of the young fellows there went out a good deal, + to call upon young ladies or to dance or to go to the theater. I had + learned to dance when I was at school and I was fond of the theater, but I + did not dance well and on the rare occasions when I did accompany the + other fellows to the play and they laughed and applauded and tried to + flirt with the chorus girls, I fidgeted in my seat and was uncomfortable. + Not that I disapproved of their conduct; I rather envied them, in fact. + But if I laughed too heartily I was sure that everyone was looking at me, + and though I should have liked to flirt, I didn't know how. + </p> + <p> + The few attempts I made were not encouraging. One evening—I was + nineteen then, or thereabouts—Charlie Burns, the clerk whom I have + mentioned, suggested that we get dinner downtown at a restaurant and “go + somewhere” afterward. I agreed—it happened to be Saturday night and + I had my pay in my pocket—so we feasted on oyster stew and ice cream + and then started for what my companion called a “variety show.” Burns, who + cherished the fond hope that he was a true sport, ordered beer with his + oyster stew and insisted that I should do the same. My acquaintance with + beer was limited and I never did like the stuff, but I drank it with + reckless abandon, following each sip with a mouthful of something else to + get rid of the taste. On the way to the “show” we met two young women of + Burns' acquaintance and stopped to converse with them. Charlie offered his + arm to one, the best looking; I offered mine to the discard, and we + proceeded to stroll two by two along the Tremont Street mall of the + Common. We had strolled for perhaps ten minutes, most of which time I had + spent trying to think of something to say, when Burns' charmer—she + was a waitress in one of Mr. Wyman's celebrated “sandwich depots,” I + believe—turned and, looking back at my fair one and myself, observed + with some sarcasm: “What's the matter with your silent partner, Mame? Got + the lock-jaw, has he?” + </p> + <p> + I left them soon after that. There was no “variety show” for me that + night. Humiliated and disgusted with myself I returned to my room at the + boarding-house, realizing in bitterness of spirit that the gentlemanly + dissipations of a true sport were never to be mine. + </p> + <p> + As I grew older I kept more and more to myself. My work at the office must + have been a little better done, I fancy, for my salary was raised twice in + four years, but I detested the work and the office and all connected with + it. I read more and more at the public library and began to spend the few + dollars I could spare for luxuries on books. Among my acquaintances at the + boarding-house and elsewhere I had the reputation of being “queer.” + </p> + <p> + My only periods of real pleasure were my annual vacations in summer. These + glorious fortnights were spent at Bayport. There, at our old home, for + Hephzibah had sold the big Cahoon house and she and her father were living + in mine, for which they paid a very small rent, I was happy. I spent the + two weeks in sailing and fishing, and tramping along the waved-washed + beaches and over the pine-sprinkled hills. Even in Bayport I had few + associates of my own age. Even then they began to call me “The Quahaug.” + Hephzy hugged me when I came and wept over me when I went away and mended + my clothes and cooked my favorite dishes in the interval. Captain Barnabas + sat in the big arm-chair by the sitting-room window, looking out or + sleeping. He took little interest in me or anyone else and spoke but + seldom. Occasionally I spent the Fourth of July or Christmas at Bayport; + not often, but as often as I could. + </p> + <p> + One morning—I was twenty-five at the time, and the day was Sunday—I + read a story in one of the low-priced magazines. It was not much of a + story, and, as I read it, I kept thinking that I could write as good a + one. I had had such ideas before, but nothing had come of them. This time, + however, I determined to try. In half an hour I had evolved a plot, such + as it was, and at a quarter to twelve that night the story was finished. A + highwayman was its hero and its scene the great North Road in England. My + conceptions of highwaymen and the North Road—of England, too, for + that matter—were derived from something I had read at some time or + other, I suppose; they must have been. At any rate, I finished that story, + addressed the envelope to the editor of the magazine and dropped the + envelope and its inclosure in the corner mail-box before I went to bed. + Next morning I went to the office as usual. I had not the faintest hope + that the story would be accepted. The writing of it had been fun and the + sending it to the magazine a joke. + </p> + <p> + But the story was accepted and the check which I received—forty + dollars—was far from a joke to a man whose weekly wage was half that + amount. The encouraging letter which accompanied the check was best of + all. Before the week ended I had written another thriller and this, too, + was accepted. + </p> + <p> + Thereafter, for a year or more, my Sundays and the most of my evenings + were riots of ink and blood. The ink was real enough and the blood purely + imaginary. My heroes spilled the latter and I the former. Sometimes my + yarns were refused, but the most of them were accepted and paid for. + Editors of other periodicals began to write to me requesting + contributions. My price rose. For one particularly harrowing and romantic + tale I was paid seventy-five dollars. I dressed in my best that evening, + dined at the Adams House, gave the waiter a quarter, and saw Joseph + Jefferson from an orchestra seat. + </p> + <p> + Then came the letter from Jim Campbell requesting me to come to New York + and see him concerning a possible book, a romance, to be written by me and + published by the firm of which he was the head. I saw my employer, + obtained a Saturday off, and spent that Saturday and Sunday in New York, + my first visit. + </p> + <p> + As a result of that visit began my friendship with Campbell and my first + long story, “The Queen's Amulet.” The “Amulet,” or the “Omelet,” just as + you like, was a financial success. It sold a good many thousand copies. + Six months later I broke to my employers the distressing news that their + business must henceforth worry on as best it could without my aid; I was + going to devote my valuable time and effort to literature. + </p> + <p> + My fellow-clerks were surprised. Charlie Burns, head bookkeeper now, and a + married man and a father, was much concerned. + </p> + <p> + “But, great Scott, Kent!” he protested, “you're going to do something + besides write books, ain't you? You ain't going to make your whole living + that way?” + </p> + <p> + “I am going to try,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Great Scott! Why, you'll starve! All those fellows live in garrets and + starve to death, don't they?” + </p> + <p> + “Not all,” I told him. “Only real geniuses do that.” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head and his good-by was anything but cheerful. + </p> + <p> + My plans were made and I put them into execution at once. I shipped my + goods and chattels, the latter for the most part books, to Bayport and + went there to live and write in the old house where I was born. Hephzy was + engaged as my housekeeper. She was alone now; Captain Barnabas had died + nearly two years before. + </p> + <p> + Among the Captain's papers and discovered by his daughter after his death + was a letter from Strickland Morley. It was written from a town in France + and was dated six years after Morley's flight and the disclosure of his + crookedness. Captain Barnabas had never, apparently, answered the letter; + certainly he had never told anyone of its receipt by him. The old man + never mentioned Morley's name and only spoke of Ardelia during his last + hours, when his mind was wandering. Then he spoke of and asked for her + continually, driving poor Hephzibah to distraction, for her love for her + lost sister was as great as his. + </p> + <p> + The letter was the complaining whine of a thoroughly selfish man. I can + scarcely refer to it without losing patience, even now when I understand + more completely the circumstances under which it was written. It was not + too plainly written or coherent and seemed to imply that other letters had + preceded it. Morley begged for money. He was in “pitiful straits,” he + declared, compelled to live as no gentleman of birth and breeding should + live. As a matter of fact, the remnant of his resources, the little cash + left from the Captain's fortune which he had taken with him had gone and + he was earning a precarious living by playing the violin in a second-rate + orchestra. “For poor dead Ardelia's sake,” he wrote, “and for the sake of + little Francis, your grandchild, I ask you to extend the financial help + which I, as your heir-in-law, might demand. You may consider that I have + wronged you, but, as you should know and must know, the wrong was + unintentional and due solely to the sudden collapse of the worthless + American investments which the scoundrelly Yankee brokers inveigled me + into making.” + </p> + <p> + If the money was sent at once, he added, it might reach him in time to + prevent his yielding to despondency and committing suicide. + </p> + <p> + “Suicide! HE commit suicide!” sniffed Hephzy when she read me the letter. + “He thinks too much of his miserable self ever to hurt it. But, oh dear! I + wish Pa had told me of this letter instead of hidin' it away. I might have + sent somethin', not to him, but to poor, motherless Little Frank.” + </p> + <p> + She had tried; that is, she had written to the French address, but her + letter had been returned. Morley and the child of whom this letter + furnished the only information were no longer in that locality. Hephzy had + talked of “Little Frank” and dreamed about him at intervals ever since. He + had come to be a reality to her, and she even cut a child's picture from a + magazine and fastened it to the wall of her room beneath the engraving of + Westminster Abbey, because there was something about the child in the + picture which reminded her of “Little Frank” as he looked in her dreams. + </p> + <p> + She and I had lived together ever since, I continuing to turn out, each + with less enthusiasm and more labor, my stories of persons and places of + which, as Campbell said but too truly, I knew nothing whatever. Finally I + had reached my determination to write no more “slush,” profitable though + it might be. I invited Jim to visit me; he had come and the conversation + at the boathouse and his remarks at the bedroom door were all the + satisfaction that visit had brought me so far. + </p> + <p> + I sat there in my study, going over all this, not so fully as I have set + it down here, but fully nevertheless, and the possibility of finding even + a glimmer of interest or a hint of fictional foundation in Hephzibah or + her life or mine was as remote at the end of my thinking as it had been at + the beginning. There might be a story there, or a part of a story, but I + could not write it. The real trouble was that I could not write anything. + With which, conclusion, exactly what I started with, I blew out the lamp + and went upstairs to bed. + </p> + <p> + Next morning Jim and I went for another sail from which we did not return + until nearly dinner-time. During that whole forenoon he did not mention + the promised “prescription,” although I offered him plenty of + opportunities and threw out various hints by way of bait. + </p> + <p> + He ignored the bait altogether and, though he talked a great deal and + asked a good many questions, both talk and questions had no bearing on the + all-important problem which had been my real reason for inviting him to + Bayport. He questioned me again concerning my way of spending my time, + about my savings, how much money I had put by, and the like, but I was not + particularly interested in these matters and they were not his business, + to put it plainly. At least, I could not see that they were. + </p> + <p> + I answered him as briefly as possible and, I am afraid, behaved rather + boorishly to one, who next to Hephzy, was perhaps the best friend I had in + the world. His apparent lack of interest hurt and disappointed me and I + did not care if he knew it. My impatience must have been apparent enough, + but if so it did not trouble him; he chatted and laughed and told stories + all the way from the landing to the house and announced to Hephzy, who had + stayed at home from church in order to prepare and cook clam chowder and + chicken pie and a “Queen pudding,” that he had an appetite like a starved + shark. + </p> + <p> + When, at last, that appetite was satisfied, he and I adjourned to the + sitting-room for a farewell smoke. His train left at three-thirty and it + lacked but an hour of that time. He had worn my suit, the one which + Hephzibah had laid out for him the day before, but had changed to his own + again and packed his bag before dinner. + </p> + <p> + We camped in the wing chairs and he lighted his cigar. Then, to my + astonishment, he rose and shut the door. + </p> + <p> + “What did you do that for?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + He came back to his chair. + </p> + <p> + “Because I'm going to talk to you like a Dutch uncle,” he replied, “and I + don't want anyone, not even a Cape Cod cousin, butting in. Kent, I told + you that before I went I was going to prescribe for you, didn't I? Well, + I'm going to do it now. Are you ready for the prescription?” + </p> + <p> + “I have been ready for it for some time,” I retorted. “I began to think + you had forgotten it altogether.” + </p> + <p> + “I hadn't. But I wanted it to be the last word you should hear from me and + I didn't want to give you time to think up a lot of fool objections to + spring on me before I left. Look here, I'm your doctor now; do you + understand? You called me in as a specialist and what I say goes. Is that + understood?” + </p> + <p> + “I hear you.” + </p> + <p> + “You've got to do more than hear me. You've got to do what I tell you. I + know what ails you. You've buried yourself in the mud down here. Wake up, + you clam! Come out of your shell. Stir around. Stop thinking about + yourself and think of something worth while.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear! dear! hark to the voice of the oracle. And what is the something + worth while I am to think about; you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, by George! me! Me and the dear public! Here are thirty-five thousand + seekers after the—the higher literature, panting open-mouthed for + another Knowles classic. And you sit back here and cover yourself with + sand and seaweed and say you won't give it to them.” + </p> + <p> + “You're wrong. I say I can't.” + </p> + <p> + “You will, though.” + </p> + <p> + “I won't. You can bet high on that.” + </p> + <p> + “You will, and I'll bet higher. YOU write no more stories! You! Why, + confound you, you couldn't help it if you tried. You needn't write another + 'Black Brig' unless you want to. You needn't—you mustn't write + anything UNTIL you want to. But, by George! you'll get up and open your + eyes and stir around, and keep stirring until the time comes when you've + found something or someone you DO want to write about. THEN you'll write; + you will, for I know you. It may turn out to be what you call 'slush,' or + it may not, but you'll write it, mark my words.” + </p> + <p> + He was serious now, serious enough even to suit me. But what he had said + did not suit me. + </p> + <p> + “Don't talk nonsense, Jim,” I said. “Don't you suppose I have thought—” + </p> + <p> + “Thought! that's just it; you do nothing but think. Stop thinking. Stop + being a quahaug—a dead one, anyway. Drop the whole business, drop + Bayport, drop America, if you like. Get up, clear out, go to China, go to + Europe, go to—Well, never mind, but go somewhere. Go somewhere and + forget it. Travel, take a long trip, start for one place and, if you + change your mind before you get there, go somewhere else. It doesn't make + much difference where, so that you go, and see different things. I'm + talking now, Kent Knowles, and it isn't altogether because it pays us to + publish your books, either. You drop Bayport and drop writing. Go out and + pick up and go. Stay six months, stay a year, stay two years, but keep + alive and meet people and give what you flatter yourself is a brain + house-cleaning. Confound you, you've kept it shut like one of these best + front parlors down here. Open the windows and air out. Let the outside + light in. An idea may come with it; it is barely possible, even to you!” + </p> + <p> + He was out of breath by this time. I was in a somewhat similar condition + for his tirade had taken mine away. However, I managed to express my + feelings. + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” I grunted. “And so this is your wonderful prescription. I am to + travel, am I?” + </p> + <p> + “You are. You can afford it, and I'll see that you do.” + </p> + <p> + “And just what port would you recommend?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't care, I tell you, except that it ought to be a long way off. I'm + not joking, Kent; this is straight. A good long jaunt around the world + would do you a barrel of good. Don't stop to think about it, just start, + that's all. Will you?” + </p> + <p> + I laughed. The idea of my starting on a pleasure trip was ridiculous. If + ever there was a home-loving and home-staying person it was I. The bare + thought of leaving my comfort and my books and Hephzy made me shudder. I + hadn't the least desire to see other countries and meet other people. I + hated sleeping cars and railway trains and traveling acquaintances. So I + laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Sorry, Jim,” I said, “but I'm afraid I can't take your prescription.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “For one reason because I don't want to.” + </p> + <p> + “That's no reason at all. It doesn't make any difference what you want. + Anything else?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I would no more wander about creation all alone than—” + </p> + <p> + “Take someone with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Who? Will you go, yourself?” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I could,” he said, and I think he meant it. “I'd like nothing + better. I'D keep you alive, you can bet on that. But I can't leave the + literature works just now. I'll do my best to find someone who will, + though. I know a lot of good fellows who travel—” + </p> + <p> + I held up my hand. “That's enough,” I interrupted. “They can't travel with + me. They wouldn't be good fellows long if they did.” + </p> + <p> + He struck the chair arm with his fist. + </p> + <p> + “You're as near impossible as you can be, aren't you,” he exclaimed. + “Never mind; you're going to do as I tell you. I never gave you bad advice + yet, now did I?” + </p> + <p> + “No—o. No, but—” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not giving it to you now. You'll go and you'll go in a hurry. I'll + give you a week to think the idea over. At the end of that time if I don't + hear from you I'll be down here again, and I'll worry you every minute + until you'll go anywhere to get rid of me. Kent, you must do it. You + aren't written out, as you call it, but you are rusting out, fast. If you + don't get away and polish up you'll never do a thing worth while. You'll + be another what's-his-name—Ase Tidditt; that's what you'll be. I can + see it coming on. You're ossifying; you're narrowing; you're—” + </p> + <p> + I broke in here. I didn't like to be called narrow and I did not like to + be paired with Asaph Tidditt, although our venerable town clerk is a good + citizen and all right, in his way. But I had flattered myself that way was + not mine. + </p> + <p> + “Stop it, Jim!” I ordered. “Don't blow off any more steam in this + ridiculous fashion. If this is all you have to say to me, you may as well + stop.” + </p> + <p> + “Stop! I've only begun. I'll stop when you start, and not before. Will you + go?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't, Jim. You know I can't.” + </p> + <p> + “I know you can and I know you're going to. There!” rising and laying a + hand on my shoulder, “it is time for ME to be starting. Kent, old man, I + want you to promise me that you will do as I tell you. Will you?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't, Jim. I would if I could, but—” + </p> + <p> + “Will you promise me to think the idea over? Think it over carefully; + don't think of anything else for the rest of the week? Will you promise me + to do that?” + </p> + <p> + I hesitated. I was perfectly sure that all my thinking would but + strengthen my determination to remain at home, but I did not like to + appear too stubborn. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, Jim,” I said, doubtfully, “I promise so much, if that is any + satisfaction to you.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. I'll give you until Friday to make up your mind. If I don't + hear from you by that time I shall take it for granted that you have made + it up in the wrong way and I'll be here on Saturday. I'll keep the process + up week in and week out until you give in. That's MY promise. Come on. We + must be moving.” + </p> + <p> + He said good-by to Hephzy and we walked together to the station. His last + words as we shook hands by the car steps were: “Remember—think. But + don't you dare think of anything else.” My answer was a dubious shake of + the head. Then the train pulled out. + </p> + <p> + I believe that afternoon and evening to have been the “bluest” of all my + blue periods, and I had had some blue ones prior to Jim's visit. I was + dreadfully disappointed. Of course I should have realized that no advice + or “prescription” could help me. As Campbell had said, “It was up to me;” + I must help myself; but I had been trying to help myself for months and I + had not succeeded. I had—foolishly, I admit—relied upon him to + give me a new idea, a fresh inspiration, and he had not done it. I was + disappointed and more discouraged than ever. + </p> + <p> + My state of mind may seem ridiculous. Perhaps it was. I was in good + health, not very old—except in my feelings—and my stories, + even the “Black Brig,” had not been failures, by any means. But I am sure + that every man or woman who writes, or paints, or does creative work of + any kind, will understand and sympathize with me. I had “gone stale,” that + is the technical name for my disease, and to “go stale” is no joke. If you + doubt it ask the writer or painter of your acquaintance. Ask him if he + ever has felt that he could write or paint no more, and then ask him how + he liked the feeling. The fact that he has written or painted a great deal + since has no bearing on the matter. “Staleness” is purely a mental + ailment, and the confident assurance of would-be doctors that its attacks + are seldom fatal doesn't help the sufferer at the time. He knows he is + dead, and that is no better, then, than being dead in earnest. + </p> + <p> + I knew I was dead, so far as my writing was concerned, and the advice to + go away and bury myself in a strange country did not appeal to me. It + might be true that I was already buried in Bayport, but that was my home + cemetery, at all events. The more I thought of Jim Campbell's prescription + the less I felt like taking it. + </p> + <p> + However, I kept on with the thinking; I had promised to do that. On + Wednesday came a postcard from Jim, himself, demanding information. “When + and where are you going?” he wrote. “Wire answer.” I did not wire answer. + I was not going anywhere. + </p> + <p> + I thrust the card into my pocket and, turning away from the frame of + letter boxes, faced Captain Cyrus Whittaker, who, like myself, had come to + Simmons's for his mail. He greeted me cordially. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Kent,” he hailed. “How are you?” + </p> + <p> + “About the same as usual, Captain,” I answered, shortly. + </p> + <p> + “That's pretty fair, by the looks. You don't look too happy, though, come + to notice it. What's the matter; got bad news?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I haven't any news, good or bad.” + </p> + <p> + “That so? Then I'll give you some. Phoebe and I are going to start for + California to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “You are? To California? Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, just for instance, that's all. Time's come when I have to go + somewhere, and the Yosemite and the big trees look good to me. It's this + way, Kent; I like Bayport, you know that. Nobody's more in love with this + old town than I am; it's my home and I mean to live and die here, if I + have luck. But it don't do for me to stay here all the time. If I do I + begin to be no good, like a strawberry plant that's been kept in one place + too long and has quit bearin.' The only thing to do with that plant is to + transplant it and let it get nourishment in a new spot. Then you can move + it back by and by and it's all right. Same way with me. Every once in a + while I have to be transplanted so's to freshen up. My brains need + somethin' besides post-office talk and sewin'-circle gossip to keep them + from shrivelin'. I was commencin' to feel the shrivel, so it's California + for Phoebe and me. Better come along, Kent. You're beginnin' to shrivel a + little, ain't you?” + </p> + <p> + Was it as apparent as all that? I was indignant. + </p> + <p> + “Do I look it?” I demanded. + </p> + <p> + “No—o, but I ain't sure that you don't act it. No offence, you + understand. Just a little ground bait to coax you to come on the + California cruise along with Phoebe and me, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + It was not likely that I should accept. Two are company and three a crowd, + and if ever two were company Captain Cy and his wife were those two. I + thanked him and declined, but I asked a question. + </p> + <p> + “You believe in travel as a restorative, you do?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Hey? I sartin do. Change your course once in awhile, same as you change + your clothes. Wearin' the same suit and cruisin' in the same puddle all + the time ain't healthy. You're too apt to get sick of the clothes and + puddle both.” + </p> + <p> + “But you don't believe in traveling alone, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” emphatically, “I don't, generally speakin.' If you go off by + yourself you're too likely to keep thinkin' ABOUT yourself. Take somebody + with you; somebody you're used to and know well and like, though. + Travelin' with strangers is a little mite worse than travelin' alone. You + want to be mighty sure of your shipmate.” + </p> + <p> + I walked home. Hephzibah was in the sitting-room, reading and knitting a + stocking, a stocking for me. She did not need to use her eyes for the + knitting; I am quite sure she could have knit in her sleep. + </p> + <p> + “Hello, Hosy,” she said, “been up to the office, have you? Any mail?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing much. Humph! Still reading that Raymond and Whitcomb circular?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not that one. This is one I got last year. I've been sittin' here + plannin' out just where I'd go and what I'd see if I could. It's the next + best thing to really goin'.” + </p> + <p> + I looked at her. All at once a new idea began to crystallize in my mind. + It was a curious idea, a ridiculous idea, and yet—and yet it seemed— + </p> + <p> + “Hephzy,” said I, suddenly, “would you really like to go abroad?” + </p> + <p> + “WOULD I? Hosy, how you talk! You know I've been crazy to go ever since I + was a little girl. I don't know what makes me so. Perhaps it's the salt + water in my blood. All our folks were sailors and ship captains. They went + everywhere. I presume likely it takes more than one generation to kill off + that sort of thing.” + </p> + <p> + “And you really want to go?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I do.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why haven't you gone? You could afford to take a moderate-priced + tour.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy laughed over her knitting. + </p> + <p> + “I guess,” she said, “I haven't gone for the reason you haven't, Hosy. You + could afford, it, too—you know you could. But how could I go and + leave you? Why, I shouldn't sleep a minute wonderin' if you were wearin' + clothes without holes in 'em and if you changed your flannels when the + weather changed and ate what you ought to, and all that. You've been so—so + sort of dependent on me and I've been so used to takin' care of you that I + don't believe either of us would be happy anywhere without the other. I + know certain sure <i>I</i> shouldn't.” + </p> + <p> + I did not answer immediately. The idea, the amazing, ridiculous idea which + had burst upon me suddenly began to lose something of its absurdity. + Somehow it began to look like the answer to my riddle. I realized that my + main objection to the Campbell prescription had been that I must take it + alone or with strangers. And now— + </p> + <p> + “Hephzy,” I demanded, “would you go away—on a trip abroad—with + me?” + </p> + <p> + She put down the knitting. + </p> + <p> + “Hosy Knowles!” she exclaimed. “WHAT are you talkin' about?” + </p> + <p> + “But would you?” + </p> + <p> + “I presume likely I would, if I had the chance; but it isn't likely that—where + are you goin'?” + </p> + <p> + I did not answer. I hurried out of the sitting-room and out of the house. + </p> + <p> + When I returned I found her still knitting. The circular lay on the floor + at her feet. She regarded me anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Hosy,” she demanded, “where—” + </p> + <p> + I interrupted. “Hephzy,” said I, “I have been to the station to send a + telegram.” + </p> + <p> + “A telegram? A TELEGRAM! For mercy sakes, who's dead?” + </p> + <p> + Telegrams in Bayport usually mean death or desperate illness. I laughed. + </p> + <p> + “No one is dead, Hephzy,” I replied. “In fact it is barely possible that + someone is coming to life. I telegraphed Mr. Campbell to engage passage + for you and me on some steamer leaving for Europe next week.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzibah turned pale. The partially knitted sock dropped beside the + circular. + </p> + <p> + “Why—why—what—?” she gasped. + </p> + <p> + “On a steamer leaving next week,” I repeated. “You want to travel, Hephzy. + Jim says I must. So we'll travel together.” + </p> + <p> + She did not believe I meant it, of course, and it took a long time to + convince her. But when at last she began to believe—at least to the + extent of believing that I had sent the telegram—her next remark was + characteristic. + </p> + <p> + “But I—I can't go, Hosy,” declared Hephzibah. “I CAN'T. Who—who + would take care of the cat and the hens?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV + </h2> + <h3> + In Which Hephzy and I and the Plutonia Sail Together + </h3> + <p> + The week which began that Wednesday afternoon seems, as I look back to it + now, a bit of the remote past, instead of seven days of a year ago. Its + happenings, important and wonderful as they were, seem trivial and tame + compared with those which came afterward. And yet, at the time, that week + was a season of wild excitement and delightful anticipation for Hephzibah, + and of excitement not unmingled with doubts and misgivings for me. For us + both it was a busy week, to put it mildly. + </p> + <p> + Once convinced that I meant what I said and that I was not “raving + distracted,” which I think was her first diagnosis of my case, Hephzy's + practical mind began to unearth objections, first to her going at all and, + second, to going on such short notice. + </p> + <p> + “I don't think I'd better, Hosy,” she said. “You're awful good to ask me + and I know you think you mean it, but I don't believe I ought to do it, + even if I felt as if I could leave the house and everything alone. You + see, I've lived here in Bayport so long that I'm old-fashioned and funny + and countrified, I guess. You'd be ashamed of me.” + </p> + <p> + I smiled. “When I am ashamed of you, Hephzy,” I replied, “I shall be on my + way to the insane asylum, not to Europe. You are much more likely to be + ashamed of me.” + </p> + <p> + “The idea! And you the pride of this town! The only author that ever lived + in it—unless you call Joshua Snow an author, and he lived in the + poorhouse and nobody but himself was proud of HIM.” + </p> + <p> + Josh Snow was Bayport's Homer, its only native poet. He wrote the immortal + ballad of the scallop industry, which begins: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “On a fine morning at break of day, + When the ice has all gone out of the bay, + And the sun is shining nice and it is like spring, + Then all hands start to go scallop-ING.” + </pre> + <p> + In order to get the fullest measure of music from this lyric gem you + should put a strong emphasis on the final “ing.” Joshua always did and the + summer people never seemed to tire of hearing him recite it. There are + eighteen more verses. + </p> + <p> + “I shall not be ashamed of you, Hephzy,” I repeated. “You know it + perfectly well. And I shall not go unless you go.” + </p> + <p> + “But I can't go, Hosy. I couldn't leave the hens and the cat. They'd + starve; you know they would.” + </p> + <p> + “Susanna will look after them. I'll leave money for their provender. And I + will pay Susanna for taking care of them. She has fallen in love with the + cat; she'll be only too glad to adopt it.” + </p> + <p> + “And I haven't got a single thing fit to wear.” + </p> + <p> + “Neither have I. We will buy complete fit-outs in Boston or New York.” + </p> + <p> + “But—” + </p> + <p> + There were innumerable “buts.” I answered them as best I could. Also I + reiterated my determination not to go unless she did. I told of Campbell's + advice and laid strong emphasis on the fact that he had said travel was my + only hope. Unless she wished me to die of despair she must agree to travel + with me. + </p> + <p> + “And you have said over and over again that your one desire was to go + abroad,” I added, as a final clincher. + </p> + <p> + “I know it. I know I have. But—but now when it comes to really goin' + I'm not so sure. Uncle Bedny Small was always declarin' in prayer-meetin' + that he wanted to die so as to get to Heaven, but when he was taken down + with influenza he made his folks call both doctors here in town and one + from Harniss. I don't know whether I want to go or not, Hosy. I—I'm + frightened, I guess.” + </p> + <p> + Jim's answer to my telegram arrived the very next day. + </p> + <p> + “Have engaged two staterooms for ship sailing Wednesday the tenth,” it + read. “Hearty congratulations on your good sense. Who is your companion? + Write particulars.” + </p> + <p> + The telegram quashed the last of Hephzy's objections. The fares had been + paid and she was certain they must be “dreadful expensive.” All that money + could not be wasted, so she accepted the inevitable and began + preparations. + </p> + <p> + I did not write the “particulars” requested. I had a feeling that Campbell + might consider my choice of a traveling companion a queer one and, + although my mind was made up and his opinion could not change it, I + thought it just as well to wait until our arrival in New York before + telling him. So I wrote a brief note stating that my friend and I would + reach New York on the morning of the tenth and that I would see him there. + Also I asked, for my part, the name of the steamer he had selected. + </p> + <p> + His answer was as vague as mine. He congratulated me once more upon my + decision, prophesied great things as the result of what he called my + “foreign junket,” and gave some valuable advice concerning the necessary + outfit, clothes, trunks and the like. “Travel light,” he wrote. “You can + buy whatever else you may need on the other side. 'Phone as soon as you + reach New York.” But he did not tell me the name of the ship, nor for what + port she was to sail. + </p> + <p> + So Hephzy and I were obliged to turn to the newspapers for information + upon those more or less important subjects, and we speculated and guessed + not a little. The New York dailies were not obtainable in Bayport except + during the summer months and the Boston publications did not give the New + York sailings. I wrote to a friend in Boston and he sent me the leading + journals of the former city and, as soon as they arrived, Hephzy sat down + upon the sitting-room carpet—which she had insisted upon having + taken up to be packed away in moth balls—to look at the maritime + advertisements. I am quite certain it was the only time she sat down, + except at meals, that day. + </p> + <p> + I selected one of the papers and she another. We reached the same + conclusion simultaneously. + </p> + <p> + “Why, it must be—” she began. + </p> + <p> + “The Princess Eulalie,” I finished. + </p> + <p> + “It is the only one that sails on the tenth. There is one on the eleventh, + though.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but that one is the 'Plutonia,' one of the fastest and most + expensive liners afloat. It isn't likely that Jim had booked us for the + 'Plutonia.' She would scarcely be in our—in my class.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! I guess she isn't any too good for a famous man like you, Hosy. + But I would look funny on her, I give in. I've read about her. She's + always full of lords and ladies and millionaires and things. Just the sort + of folks you write about. She'd be just the one for you.” + </p> + <p> + I shook my head. “My lords and ladies are only paper dolls, Hephzy,” I + said, ruefully. “I should be as lost as you among the flesh and blood + variety. No, the 'Princess Eulalie' must be ours. She runs to Amsterdam, + though. Odd that Jim should send me to Holland.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy nodded and then offered a solution. + </p> + <p> + “I don't doubt he did it on purpose,” she declared. “He knew neither you + nor I was anxious to go to England. He knows we don't think much of the + English, after our experience with that Morley brute.” + </p> + <p> + “No, he doesn't know any such thing. I've never told him a word about + Morley. And he doesn't know you're going, Hephzy. I've kept that as a—as + a surprise for him.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, never mind. I'd rather go to Amsterdam than England. It's nearer to + France.” + </p> + <p> + I was surprised. “Nearer to France?” I repeated. “What difference does + that make? We don't know anyone in France.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzibah was plainly shocked. “Why, Hosy!” she protested. “Have you + forgotten Little Frank? He is in France somewhere, or he was at last + accounts.” + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord!” I groaned. Then I got up and went out. I had forgotten + “Little Frank” and hoped that she had. If she was to flit about Europe + seeing “Little Frank” on every corner I foresaw trouble. “Little Frank” + was likely to be the bane of my existence. + </p> + <p> + We left Bayport on Monday morning. The house was cleaned and swept and + scoured and moth-proofed from top to bottom. Every door was double-locked + and every window nailed. Burglars are unknown in Bayport, but that didn't + make any difference. “You can't be too careful,” said Hephzy. I was of the + opinion that you could. + </p> + <p> + The cat had been “farmed out” with Susanna's people and Susanna herself + was to feed the hens twice a day, lock them in each night and let them out + each morning. Their keeper had a carefully prepared schedule as to + quantity and quality of food; Hephzy had prepared and furnished it. + </p> + <p> + “And don't you give 'em any fish,” ordered Hephzy. “I ate a chicken once + that had been fed on fish, and—my soul!” + </p> + <p> + There was quite an assemblage at the station to see us off. Captain + Whittaker and his wife were not there, of course; they were near + California by this time. But Mr. Partridge, the minister, was there and so + was his wife; and Asaph Tidditt and Mr. and Mrs. Bailey Bangs and Captain + Josiah Dimick and HIS wife, and several others. Oh, yes! and Angeline + Phinney. Angeline was there, of course. If anything happened in Bayport + and Angeline was not there to help it happen, then—I don't know what + then; the experiment had never been tried in my lifetime. + </p> + <p> + Everyone said pleasant things to us. They really seemed sorry to have us + leave Bayport, but for our sakes they expressed themselves as glad. It + would be such a glorious trip; we would have so much to tell when we got + back. Mr. Partridge said he should plan for me to give a little talk to + the Sunday school upon my return. It would be a wonderful thing for the + children. To my mind the most wonderful part of the idea was that he + should take my consent for granted. <i>I</i> talk to the Sunday school! I, + the Quahaug! My knees shook even at the thought. + </p> + <p> + Keturah Bangs hoped we would have a “lovely time.” She declared that it + had been the one ambition of her life to go sight-seeing. But she should + never do it—no, no! Such things wasn't for her. If she had a husband + like some women it might be, but not as 'twas. She had long ago given up + hopin' to do anything but keep boarders, and she had to do that all by + herself. + </p> + <p> + Bailey, her husband, grinned sheepishly but, for a wonder, he did not + attempt defence. I gathered that Bailey was learning wisdom. It was time; + he had attended his wife's academy a long while. + </p> + <p> + Captain Dimick brought a bag of apples, greenings, some he had kept in the + cellar over winter. “Nice to eat on the cars,” he told us. Everyone asked + us to send postcards. Miss Phinney was especially solicitous. + </p> + <p> + “It'll be just lovely to know where you be and what you're doin,” she + declared. + </p> + <p> + When the train had started and we had waved the last good-bys from the + window Hephzibah expressed her opinion concerning Angeline's request. + </p> + <p> + “I send HER postcards!” she snapped. “I think I see myself doin' it! All + she cares about 'em is so she can run from Dan to Beersheba showin' 'em to + everybody and talkin' about how extravagant we are and wonderin' if we + borrowed the money. But there! it won't make any difference. If I don't + send 'em to her she'll read all I send to other folks. She and Rebecca + Simmons are close as two peas in a pod and Becky reads everything that + comes through her husband's post-office. All that aren't sealed, that is—yes, + and some that are, I shouldn't wonder, if they're not sealed tight.” + </p> + <p> + Her next remark was a surprising one. + </p> + <p> + “Hosy,” she said, “how much they all think of you, don't they. Isn't it + nice to know you're so popular.” + </p> + <p> + I turned in the seat to stare at her. + </p> + <p> + “Popular!” I repeated. “Hephzy, I have a good deal of respect for your + brain, generally speaking, but there are times when I think it shows signs + of softening.” + </p> + <p> + She did not resent my candor; she paid absolutely no attention to it. + </p> + <p> + “I don't mean popular with everybody, rag, tag and bobtail and all, like—well, + Eben Salters,” she went on. “But the folks that count all respect and like + you, Hosy. I know they do.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Salters is our leading local statesman—since the departure of + the Honorable Heman Atkins. He has filled every office in his native + village and he has served one term as representative in the State House at + Boston. He IS popular. + </p> + <p> + “It is marvelous how affection can be concealed,” I observed, with + sarcasm. Hephzy was back at me like a flash. + </p> + <p> + “Of course they don't tell you of it,” she said. “If they did you'd + probably tell 'em to their faces that they were fibbin' and not speak to + 'em again. But they do like you, and I know it.” + </p> + <p> + It was useless to carry the argument further. When Hephzy begins chanting + my praises I find it easier to surrender—and change the subject. + </p> + <p> + In Boston we shopped. It seems to me that we did nothing else. I bought + what I needed the very first day, clothes, hat, steamer coat and traveling + cap included. It did not take me long; fortunately I am of the average + height and shape and the salesmen found me easy to please. My shopping + tour was ended by three o'clock and I spent the remainder of the afternoon + at a bookseller's. There was a set of “Early English Poets” there, + nineteen little, fat, chunky volumes, not new and shiny and grand, but + middle-aged and shabby and comfortable, which appealed to me. The price, + however, was high; I had the uneasy feeling that I ought not to afford it. + Then the bookseller himself, who also was fat and comfortably shabby, and + who had beguiled from me the information that I was about to travel, + suggested that the “Poets” would make very pleasant reading en route. + </p> + <p> + “I have found,” he said, beaming over his spectacles, “that a little book + of this kind,” patting one of the volumes, “which may be carried in the + pocket, is a rare traveling companion. When you wish his society he is + there, and when you tire of him you can shut him up. You can't do that + with all traveling companions, you know. Ha! ha!” + </p> + <p> + He chuckled over his joke and I chuckled with him. Humor of that kind is + expensive, for I bought the “English Poets” and ordered them sent to my + hotel. It was not until they were delivered, an hour later, that I began + to wonder what I should do with them. Our trunks were likely to be crowded + and I could not carry all of the nineteen volumes in my pockets. + </p> + <p> + Hephzibah, who had been shopping on her own hook, did not return until + nearly seven. She returned weary and almost empty-handed. + </p> + <p> + “But didn't you buy ANYTHING?” I asked. “Where in the world have you + been?” + </p> + <p> + She had been everywhere, so she said. This wasn't entirely true, but I + gathered that she had visited about every department store in the city. + She had found ever so many things she liked, but oh dear! they did cost so + much. + </p> + <p> + “There was one traveling coat that I did want dreadfully,” she said. “It + was a dark brown, not too dark, but just light enough so it wouldn't show + water spots. I've been out sailing enough times to know how your things + get water-spotted. It fitted me real nice; there wouldn't have to be a + thing done to it. But it cost thirty-one dollars! 'My soul!' says I, 'I + can't afford THAT!' But they didn't have anything cheaper that wouldn't + have made me look like one of those awful play-actin' girls that came to + Bayport with the Uncle Tom's Cabin show. And I tried everywhere and + nothin' pleased me so well.” + </p> + <p> + “So you didn't buy the coat?” + </p> + <p> + “BUY it? My soul Hosy, didn't I tell you it cost—” + </p> + <p> + “I know. What else did you see that you didn't buy?” + </p> + <p> + “Hey? Oh, I saw a suit, a nice lady-like suit, and I tried it on. That + fitted me, too, only the sleeves would have to be shortened. And it would + have gone SO well with that coat. But the suit cost FORTY dollars. 'Good + land!' I said, 'haven't you got ANYTHING for poor folks?' And you ought to + have seen the look that girl gave me! And a hat—oh, yes, I saw a + hat! It was—” + </p> + <p> + There was a great deal more. Summed up it amounted to something like this: + All that suited her had been too high-priced and all that she considered + within her means hadn't suited her at all. So she had bought practically + nothing but a few non-essentials. And we were to leave for New York the + following night and sail for Europe the day after. + </p> + <p> + “Hephzy,” said I, “you will go shopping again to-morrow morning and I'll + go with you.” + </p> + <p> + Go we did, and we bought the coat and the hat and the suit and various + other things. With each purchase Hephzy's groans and protests at my + reckless extravagance grew louder. At last I had an inspiration. + </p> + <p> + “Hephzy,” said I, “when we meet Little Frank over there in France, or + wherever he may be, you will want him to be favorably impressed with your + appearance, won't you? These things cost money of course, but we must + think of Little Frank. He has never seen his American relatives and so + much depends on a first impression.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy regarded me with suspicion. “Humph!” she sniffed, “that's the first + time I ever knew you to give in that there WAS a Little Frank. All right, + I sha'n't say any more, but I hope the foreign poorhouses are more + comfortable than ours, that's all. If you make me keep on this way, I'll + fetch up in one before the first month's over.” + </p> + <p> + We left for New York on the five o'clock train. Packing those “Early + English Poets” was a confounded nuisance. They had to be stuffed here, + there and everywhere amid my wearing apparel and Hephzibah prophesied evil + to come. + </p> + <p> + “Books are the worse things goin' to make creases,” she declared. “They're + all sharp edges.” + </p> + <p> + I had to carry two of the volumes in my pockets, even then, at the very + start. They might prove delightful traveling companions, as the bookman + had said, but they were most uncomfortable things to sit on. + </p> + <p> + We reached the Grand Central station on time and went to a nearby hotel. I + should have sent the heavier baggage directly to the steamer, but I was + not sure—absolutely sure—which steamer it was to be. The + “Princess Eulalie” almost certainly, but I did not dare take the risk. + </p> + <p> + Hephzy called to me from the room adjoining mine at twelve that night. + </p> + <p> + “Just think, Hosy!” she cried, “this is the last night either of us will + spend on dry land.” + </p> + <p> + “Heavens! I hope it won't be as bad as that,” I retorted. “Holland is + pretty wet, so they say, but we should be able to find some dry spots.” + </p> + <p> + She did not laugh. “You know what I mean,” she observed. “To-morrow night + at twelve o'clock we shall be far out on the vasty deep.” + </p> + <p> + “We shall be on the 'Princess Eulalie,'” I answered. “Go to sleep.” + </p> + <p> + Neither of us spoke the truth. At twelve the following night we were + neither “far out on the vasty deep” nor on the “Princess Eulalie.” + </p> + <p> + My first move after breakfast was to telephone Campbell at his city home. + He hailed me joyfully and ordered me to stay where I was, that is, at the + hotel. He would be there in an hour, he said. + </p> + <p> + He was five minutes ahead of his promise. We shook hands heartily. + </p> + <p> + “You are going to take my prescription, after all,” he crowed. “Didn't I + tell you I was the only real doctor for sick authors? Bully for you! Wish + I was going with you. Who is?” + </p> + <p> + “Come to my room and I'll show you,” said I. “You may be surprised.” + </p> + <p> + “See here! you haven't gone and dug up another fossilized bookworm like + yourself, have you? If you have, I refuse—” + </p> + <p> + “Come and see.” + </p> + <p> + We took the elevator to the fourth floor and walked to my room. I opened + the door. + </p> + <p> + “Hephzy,” said I, “here is someone you know.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy, who had been looking out of the window of her room, hurried in. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mr. Campbell!” she exclaimed, holding out her hand, “how do you do? + We got here all right, you see. But the way Hosy has been wastin' money, + his and mine, buyin' things we didn't need, I began to think one spell + we'd never get any further. Is it time to start for the steamer yet?” + </p> + <p> + Jim's face was worth looking at. He shook Hephzibah's hand mechanically, + but he did not speak. Instead he looked at her and at me. I didn't speak + either; I was having a thoroughly good time. + </p> + <p> + “Had we ought to start now?” repeated Hephzibah. “I'm all ready but + puttin' on my things.” + </p> + <p> + Jim came out of his trance. He dropped the hand and came to me. + </p> + <p> + “Are you—is she—” he stammered. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said I. “Miss Cahoon is going with me. I wrote you I had selected a + good traveling companion. I have, haven't I?” + </p> + <p> + “He would have it so, Mr. Campbell,” put in Hephzy. “I said no and kept on + sayin' it, but he vowed and declared he wouldn't go unless I did. I know + you must think it's queer my taggin' along, but it isn't any queerer to + you than it is to me.” + </p> + <p> + Jim behaved very well, considering. He did not laugh. For a moment I + thought he was going to; if he had I don't know what I should have done, + said things for which I might have been sorry later on, probably. But he + did not laugh. He didn't even express the tremendous surprise which he + must have felt. Instead he shook hands again with both of us and said it + was fine, bully, just the thing. + </p> + <p> + “To tell the truth, Miss Cahoon,” he declared, “I have been rather fearful + of this pet infant of ours. I didn't know what sort of helpless creature + he might have coaxed into roaming loose with him in the wilds of Europe. I + expected another babe in the woods and I was contemplating cabling the + police to look out for them and shoo away the wolves. But he'll be all + right now. Yes, indeed! he'll be looked out for now.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you approve?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + He shot a side-long glance at me. “Approve!” he repeated. “I'm crazy about + the whole business.” + </p> + <p> + I judged he considered me crazy, hopelessly so. I did not care. I agreed + with him in this—the whole business was insane and Hephzibah's going + was the only sensible thing about it, so far. + </p> + <p> + His next question was concerning our baggage. I told him I had left it at + the railway station because I was not sure where it should be sent. + </p> + <p> + “What time does the 'Princess Eulalie' sail?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + He looked at me oddly. “What?” he queried. “The 'Princess Eulalie'? Twelve + o'clock, I believe, I'm not sure.” + </p> + <p> + “You're not sure! And it is after nine now. It strikes me that—” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind what strikes you. So long as it isn't lightning you shouldn't + complain. Have you the baggage checks? Give them to me.” + </p> + <p> + I handed him the checks, obediently, and he stepped to the telephone and + gave a number. A short conversation followed. Then he hung up the + receiver. + </p> + <p> + “One of the men from the office will be here soon,” he said. “He will + attend to all your baggage, get it aboard the ship and see that it is put + in your staterooms. Now, then, tell me all about it. What have you been + doing since I saw you? When did you arrive? How did you happen to think of + taking—er—Miss Cahoon with you? Tell me the whole.” + </p> + <p> + I told him. Hephzy assisted, sitting on the edge of a rocking chair and + asking me what time it was at intervals of ten minutes. She was decidedly + fidgety. When she went to Boston she usually reached the station half an + hour before train time, and to sit calmly in a hotel room, when the ship + that was to take us to the ends of the earth was to sail in two hours, was + a reckless gamble with Fate, to her mind. + </p> + <p> + The man from the office came and the baggage checks were turned over to + him. So also were our bags and our umbrellas. Campbell stepped into the + hall and the pair held a whispered conversation. Hephzy seized the + opportunity to express to me her perturbation. + </p> + <p> + “My soul, Hosy!” she whispered. “Mr. Campbell's out of his head, ain't he? + Here we are a sittin' and sittin' and time's goin' by. We'll be too late. + Can't you make him hurry?” + </p> + <p> + I was almost as nervous as she was, but I would not have let our guardian + know it for the world. If we lost a dozen steamers I shouldn't call his + attention to the fact. I might be a “Babe in the Wood,” but he should not + have the satisfaction of hearing me whimper. + </p> + <p> + He came back to the room a moment later and began asking more questions. + Our answers, particularly Hephzy's, seemed to please him a great deal. At + some of them he laughed uproariously. At last he looked at his watch. + </p> + <p> + “Almost eleven,” he observed. “I must be getting around to the office. + Miss Cahoon will you excuse Kent and me for an hour or so? I have his + letters of credit and the tickets in our safe and he had better come + around with me and get them. If you have any last bits of shopping to do, + now is your opportunity. Or you might wait here if you prefer. We will be + back at half-past twelve and lunch together.” + </p> + <p> + I started. Hephzy sprang from the chair. + </p> + <p> + “Half-past twelve!” I cried. + </p> + <p> + “Lunch together!” gasped Hephzy. “Why, Mr. Campbell! the 'Princess + Eulalie' sails at noon. You said so yourself!” + </p> + <p> + Jim smiled. “I know I did,” he replied, “but that is immaterial. You are + not concerned with the 'Princess Eulalie.' Your passages are booked on the + 'Plutonia' and she doesn't leave her dock until one o'clock to-morrow + morning. We will meet here for lunch at twelve-thirty. Come, Kent.” + </p> + <p> + I didn't attempt an answer. I am not exactly sure what I did. A few + minutes later I walked out of that room with Campbell and I have a hazy + recollection of leaving Hephzy seated in the rocker and of hearing her + voice, as the door closed, repeating over and over: + </p> + <p> + “The 'Plutonia'! My soul and body! The 'Plutonia'! Me—ME on the + 'Plutonia'!” + </p> + <p> + What I said and did afterwards doesn't make much difference. I know I + called my publisher a number of disrespectful names not one of which he + deserved. + </p> + <p> + “Confound you!” I cried. “You know I wouldn't have dreamed of taking a + passage on a ship like that. She's a floating Waldorf, everyone says so. + Dress and swagger society and—Oh, you idiot! I wanted quiet! I + wanted to be alone! I wanted—” + </p> + <p> + Jim interrupted me. + </p> + <p> + “I know you did,” he said. “But you're not going to have them. You've been + alone too much. You need a change. If I know the 'Plutonia'—and I've + crossed on her four times—you're going to have it.” + </p> + <p> + He burst into a roar of laughter. We were in a cab, fortunately, or his + behavior would have attracted attention. I could have choked him. + </p> + <p> + “You imbecile!” I cried. “I have a good mind to throw the whole thing up + and go home to Bayport. By George, I will!” + </p> + <p> + He continued to chuckle. + </p> + <p> + “I see you doing it!” he observed. “How about your—what's her name?—Hephzibah? + Going to tell her that it's all off, are you? Going to tell her that you + will forfeit your passage money and hers? Why, man, haven't you a heart? + If she was booked for Paradise instead of Paris she couldn't be any + happier. Don't be foolish! Your trunks are on the 'Plutonia' and on the + 'Plutonia' you'll be to-night. It's the best thing that can happen to you. + I did it on purpose. You'll thank me come day.” + </p> + <p> + I didn't thank him then. + </p> + <p> + We returned to the hotel at twelve-thirty, my pocket-book loaded with + tickets and letters of credit and unfamiliar white paper notes bearing the + name of the Bank of England. Hephzibah was still in the rocking chair. I + am sure she had not left it. + </p> + <p> + We lunched in the hotel dining-room. Campbell ordered the luncheon and + paid for it while Hephzibah exclaimed at his extravagance. She was too + excited to eat much and too worried concerning the extent of her wardrobe + to talk of less important matters. + </p> + <p> + “Oh dear, Hosy!” she wailed, “WHY didn't I buy another best dress. DO you + suppose my black one will be good enough? All those lords and ladies and + millionaires on the 'Plutonia'! Won't they think I'm dreadful + poverty-stricken. I saw a dress I wanted awfully—in one of those + Boston stores it was; but I didn't buy it because it was so dear. And I + didn't tell you I wanted it because I knew if I did you'd buy it. You're + so reckless with money. But now I wish I'd bought it myself. What WILL all + those rich people think of me?” + </p> + <p> + “About what they think of me, Hephzy, I imagine,” I answered, ruefully. + “Jim here has put up a joke on us. He is the only one who is getting any + fun out of it.” + </p> + <p> + Jim, for a wonder, was serious. “Miss Cahoon,” he declared, earnestly, + “don't worry. I'm sure the black silk is all right; but if it wasn't it + wouldn't make any difference. On the 'Plutonia' nobody notices other + people's clothes. Most of them are too busy noticing their own. If Kent + has his evening togs and you have the black silk you'll pass muster. + You'll have a gorgeous time. I only wish I was going with you.” + </p> + <p> + He repeated the wish several times during the afternoon. He insisted on + taking us to a matinee and Hephzy's comments on the performance seemed to + amuse him hugely. It had been eleven years, so she said, since she went to + the theater. + </p> + <p> + “Unless you count 'Uncle Tom' or 'Ten Nights in a Barroom,' or some of + those other plays that come to Bayport,” she added. “I suppose I'm making + a perfect fool of myself laughin' and cryin' over what's nothin' but + make-believe, but I can't help it. Isn't it splendid, Hosy! I wonder what + Father would say if he could know that his daughter was really travelin'—just + goin' to Europe! He used to worry a good deal, in his last years, about + me. Seemed to feel that he hadn't taken me around and done as much for me + as he ought to in the days when he could. 'Twas just nonsense, his feelin' + that way, and I told him so. But I wonder if he knows now how happy I am. + I hope he does. My goodness! I can't realize it myself. Oh, there goes the + curtain up again! Oh, ain't that pretty! I AM actin' ridiculous, I know, + Mr. Campbell,' but you mustn't mind. Laugh at me all you want to; I + sha'n't care a bit.” + </p> + <p> + Jim didn't laugh—then. Neither did I. He and I looked at each other + and I think the same thought was in both our minds. Good, kind, + whole-souled, self-sacrificing Hephzibah! The last misgiving, the last + doubt as to the wisdom of my choice of a traveling companion vanished from + my thoughts. For the first time I was actually glad I was going, glad + because of the happiness it would mean to her. + </p> + <p> + When we came out of the theater Campbell reached down in the crowd to + shake my hand. + </p> + <p> + “Congratulations, old man,” he whispered; “you did exactly the right + thing. You surprised me, I admit, but you were dead right. She's a brick. + But don't I wish I was going along! Oh my! oh my! to think of you two + wandering about Europe together! If only I might be there to see and hear! + Kent, keep a diary; for my sake, promise me you'll keep a diary. Put down + everything she says and read it to me when you get home.” + </p> + <p> + He left us soon afterward. He had given up the entire day to me and would, + I know, have cheerfully given the evening as well, but I would not hear of + it. A messenger from the office had brought him word of the presence in + New York of a distinguished scientist who was preparing a manuscript for + publication and the scientist had requested an interview that night. + Campbell was very anxious to obtain that manuscript and I knew it. + Therefore I insisted that he leave us. He was loathe to do so. + </p> + <p> + “I hate to, Kent,” he declared. “I had set my heart on seeing you on board + and seeing you safely started. But I do want to nail Scheinfeldt, I must + admit. The book is one that he has been at work on for years and two other + publishing houses are as anxious as ours to get it. To-night is my chance, + and to-morrow may be too late.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you must not miss the chance. You must go, and go now.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't like to. Sure you've got everything you need? Your tickets and + your letters of credit and all? Sure you have money enough to carry you + across comfortably?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and more than enough, even on the 'Plutonia.'” + </p> + <p> + “Well, all right, then. When you reach London go to our English branch—you + have the address, Camford Street, just off the Strand—and whatever + help you may need they'll give you. I've cabled them instructions. Think + you can get down to the ship all right?” + </p> + <p> + I laughed. “I think it fairly possible,” I said. “If I lose my way, or + Hephzy is kidnapped, I'll speak to the police or telephone you.” + </p> + <p> + “The latter would be safer and much less expensive. Well, good-by, Kent. + Remember now, you're going for a good time and you're to forget + literature. Write often and keep in touch with me. Good-by, Miss Cahoon. + Take care of this—er—clam of ours, won't you. Don't let anyone + eat him on the half-shell, or anything like that.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy smiled. “They'd have to eat me first,” she said, “and I'm pretty + old and tough. I'll look after him, Mr. Campbell, don't you worry.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't. Good luck to you both—and good-by.” + </p> + <p> + A final handshake and he was gone. Hephzy looked after him. + </p> + <p> + “There!” she exclaimed; “I really begin to believe I'm goin'. Somehow I + feel as if the last rope had been cast off. We've got to depend on + ourselves now, Hosy, dear. Mercy! how silly I am talkin'. A body would + think I was homesick before I started.” + </p> + <p> + I did not answer, for I WAS homesick. We dined together at the hotel. + There remained three long hours before it would be time for us to take the + cab for the 'Plutonia's' wharf. I suggested another theater, but Hephzy, + to my surprise, declined the invitation. + </p> + <p> + “If you don't mind, Hosy,” she said, “I guess I'd rather stay right here + in the room. I—I feel sort of solemn and as if I wanted to sit still + and think. Perhaps it's just as well. After waitin' eleven years to go to + one theater, maybe two in the same day would be more than I could stand.” + </p> + <p> + So we sat together in the room at the hotel—sat and thought. The + minutes dragged by. Outside beneath the windows, New York blazed and + roared. I looked down at the hurrying little black manikins on the + sidewalks, each, apparently, bound somewhere on business or pleasure of + its own, and I wondered vaguely what that business or pleasure might be + and why they hurried so. There were many single ones, of course, and + occasionally groups of three or four, but couples were the most numerous. + Husbands and wives, lovers and sweethearts, each with his or her life and + interests bound up in the life and interests of the other. I envied them. + Mine had been a solitary life, an unusual, abnormal kind of life. No one + had shared its interests and ambitions with me, no one had spurred me on + to higher endeavor, had loved with me and suffered with me, helping me + through the shadows and laughing with me in the sunshine. No one, since + Mother's death, except Hephzy and Hephzy's love and care and sacrifice, + fine as they were, were different. I had missed something, I had missed a + great deal, and now it was too late. Youth and high endeavor and ambition + had gone by; I had left them behind. I was a solitary, queer, + self-centered old bachelor, a “quahaug,” as my fellow-Bayporters called + me. And to ship a quahaug around the world is not likely to do the + creature a great deal of good. If he lives through it he is likely to be + shipped home again tougher and drier and more useless to the rest of + creation than ever. + </p> + <p> + Hephzibah, too, had evidently been thinking, for she interrupted my dismal + meditations with a long sigh. I started and turned toward her. + </p> + <p> + “What's the matter?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothin',” was the solemn answer. “I was wonderin', that's all. Just + wonderin' if he would talk English. It would be a terrible thing if he + could speak nothin' but French or a foreign language and I couldn't + understand him. But Ardelia was American and that brute of a Morley spoke + plain enough, so I suppose—” + </p> + <p> + I judged it high time to interrupt. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Hephzy,” said I. “It is half-past ten. We may as well start at + once.” + </p> + <p> + Broadway, seen through the cab windows, was bright enough, a blaze of + flashing signs and illuminated shop windows. But —th street, at the + foot of which the wharves of the Trans-Atlantic Steamship Company were + located, was black and dismal. It was by no means deserted, however. + Before and behind and beside us were other cabs and automobiles bound in + the same direction. Hephzy peered out at them in amazement. + </p> + <p> + “Mercy on us, Hosy!” she exclaimed. “I never saw such a procession of + carriages. They're as far ahead and as far back of us as you can see. It + is like the biggest funeral that ever was, except that they don't crawl + along the way a funeral does. I'm glad of that, anyhow. I wish I didn't + FEEL so much as if I was goin' to be buried. I don't know why I do. I hope + it isn't a presentiment.” + </p> + <p> + If it was she forgot it a few minutes later. The cab stopped before a + mammoth doorway in a long, low building and a person in uniform opened the + door. The wide street was crowded with vehicles and from them were + descending people attired as if for a party rather than an ocean voyage. I + helped Hephzy to alight and, while I was paying the cab driver, she looked + about her. + </p> + <p> + “Hosy! Hosy!” she whispered, seizing my arm tight, “we've made a mistake. + This isn't the steamboat; this is—is a weddin' or somethin'. Look! + look!” + </p> + <p> + I looked, looked at the silk hats, the opera cloaks, the jewels and those + who wore them. For a moment I, too, was certain there must be a mistake. + Then I looked upward and saw above the big doorway the flashing electric + sign of the “Trans-Atlantic Navigation Company.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Hephzy,” said I; “I guess it is the right place. Come.” + </p> + <p> + I gave her my arm—that is, she continued to clutch it with both + hands—and we moved forward with the crowd, through the doorway, past + a long, moving inclined plane up which bags, valises, bundles of golf + sticks and all sorts of lighter baggage were gliding, and faced another + and smaller door. + </p> + <p> + “Lift this way! This way to the lift!” bawled a voice. + </p> + <p> + “What's a lift?” whispered Hephzy, tremulously, “Hosy, what's a lift?” + </p> + <p> + “An elevator,” I whispered in reply. + </p> + <p> + “But we can't go on board a steamboat in an elevator, can we? I never + heard—” + </p> + <p> + I don't know what she never heard. The sentence was not finished. Into the + lift we went. On either side of us were men in evening dress and directly + in front was a large woman, hatless and opera-cloaked, with diamonds in + her ears and a rustle of silk at every point of her persons. The car + reeked with perfume. + </p> + <p> + The large woman wriggled uneasily. + </p> + <p> + “George,” she said, in a loud whisper, “why do they crowd these lifts in + this disgusting way? And WHY,” with another wriggle, “do they permit + PERSONS with packages to use them?” + </p> + <p> + As we emerged from the elevator Hephzy whispered again. + </p> + <p> + “She meant us, Hosy,” she said. “I've got three of those books of yours in + this bundle under my arm. I COULDN'T squeeze 'em into either of the + valises. But she needn't have been so disagreeable about it, need she.” + </p> + <p> + Still following the crowd, we passed through more wide doorways and into a + huge loft where, through mammoth openings at our left, the cool air from + the river blew upon our faces. Beyond these openings loomed an enormous + something with rows of railed walks leading up its sides. Hephzibah and I, + moving in a sort of bewildered dream, found ourselves ascending one of + these walks. At its end was another doorway and, beyond, a great room, + with more elevators and a mosaic floor, and mahogany and gilt and + gorgeousness, and silk and broadcloth and satin. + </p> + <p> + Hephzy gasped and stopped short. + </p> + <p> + “It IS a mistake, Hosy!” she cried. “Where is the steamer?” + </p> + <p> + I smiled. I felt almost as “green” and bewildered as she, but I tried not + to show my feelings. + </p> + <p> + “It is all right, Hephzy,” I answered. “This is the steamer. I know it + doesn't look like one, but it is. This is the 'Plutonia' and we are on + board at last.” + </p> + <p> + Two hours later we leaned together over the rail and watched the lights of + New York grow fainter behind us. + </p> + <p> + Hephzibah drew a deep breath. + </p> + <p> + “It is so,” she said. “It is really so. We ARE, aren't we, Hosy.” + </p> + <p> + “We are,” said I. “There is no doubt of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what will happen to us before we see those lights again.” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think HE—Do you think Little Frank—” + </p> + <p> + “Hephzy,” I interrupted, “if we are going to bed at all before morning, we + had better start now.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, Hosy. But you mustn't say 'go to bed.' Say 'turn in.' Everyone + calls going to bed 'turning in' aboard a vessel.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V + </h2> + <h3> + In Which We View, and Even Mingle Slightly with, the Upper Classes + </h3> + <p> + It is astonishing—the ease with which the human mind can accustom + itself to the unfamiliar and hitherto strange. Nothing could have been + more unfamiliar or strange to Hephzibah and me than an ocean voyage and + the “Plutonia.” And yet before three days of that voyage were at an end we + were accustomed to both—to a degree. We had learned to do certain + things and not to do others. Some pet illusions had been shattered, and + new and, at first, surprising items of information had lost their newness + and come to be accepted as everyday facts. + </p> + <p> + For example, we learned that people in real life actually wore monocles, + something, which I, of course, had known to be true but which had seemed + nevertheless an unreality, part of a stage play, a “dress-up” game for + children and amateur actors. The “English swell” in the performances of + the Bayport Dramatic Society always wore a single eyeglass, but he also + wore Dundreary whiskers and clothes which would have won him admittance to + the Home for Feeble-Minded Youth without the formality of an examination. + His “English accent” was a combination of the East Bayport twang and an + Irish brogue and he was a blithering idiot in appearance and behavior. No + one in his senses could have accepted him as anything human and the + eyeglass had been but a part of his unreal absurdity. + </p> + <p> + And yet, here on the “Plutonia,” were at least a dozen men, men of dignity + and manner, who sported monocles and acted as if they were used to them. + The first evening before we left port, one or two were in evidence; the + next afternoon, in the Lounge, there were more. The fact that they were on + an English ship, bound for England, brought the monocles out of their + concealment, as Hephzy said, “like hoptoads after the first spring thaw.” + Her amazed comments were unique. + </p> + <p> + “But what good are they, Hosy?” she demanded. “Can they see with 'em?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose they can,” I answered. “You can see better with your spectacles + than you can without them.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! I can see better with two eyes than I can with one, as far as that + goes. I don't believe they wear 'em for seein' at all. Take that man + there,” pointing to a long, lank Canadian in a yellow ulster, whom the + irreverent smoking-room had already christened “The Duke of Labrador.” + “Look at him! He didn't wear a sign of one until this mornin'. If he + needed it to see with he'd have worn it before, wouldn't he? Don't tell + me! He wears it because he wants people to think he's a regular boarder at + Windsor Castle. And he isn't; he comes from Toronto, and that's only a few + miles from the United States. Ugh! You foolish thing!” as the “Duke of + Labrador” strutted by our deck-chairs; “I suppose you think you're pretty, + don't you? Well, you're not. You look for all the world like a lighthouse + with one window in it and the lamp out.” + </p> + <p> + I laughed. “Hephzy,” said I, “every nation has its peculiarities and the + monocle is an English national institution, like—well, like tea, for + instance.” + </p> + <p> + “Institution! Don't talk to me about institutions! I know the institution + I'd put HIM in.” + </p> + <p> + She didn't fancy the “Duke of Labrador.” Neither did she fancy tea at + breakfast and coffee at dinner. But she learned to accept the first. Two + sessions with the “Plutonia's” breakfast coffee completed her education. + </p> + <p> + “Bring me tea,” she said to our table steward on the third morning. “I've + tried most every kind of coffee and lived through it, but I'm gettin' too + old to keep on experimentin' with my health. Bring me tea and I'll try to + forget what time it is.” + </p> + <p> + We had tea at breakfast, therefore, and tea at four in the afternoon. + Hephzibah and I learned to take it with the rest. She watched her + fellow-passengers, however, and as usual had something to say concerning + their behavior. + </p> + <p> + “Did you hear that, Hosy?” she whispered, as we sat together in the + “Lounge,” sipping tea and nibbling thin bread and butter and the + inevitable plum cake. “Did you hear what that woman said about her + husband?” + </p> + <p> + I had not heard, and said so. + </p> + <p> + “Well, judgin' by her actions, I thought her husband was lost and she was + sure he had been washed overboard. 'Where is Edward?' she kept askin'. + 'Poor Edward! What WILL he do? Where is he?' I was gettin' real anxious, + and then it turned out that she was afraid that, if he didn't come soon, + he'd miss his tea. My soul! Hosy, I've been thinkin' and do you know the + conclusion I've come to?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I replied. “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it sounds awfully irreverent, but I've come to the conclusion that + the first part of the Genesis in the English scriptures must be different + than ours. I'm sure they think that the earth was created in six days and, + on the seventh, Adam and Eve had tea. I believe it for an absolute fact.” + </p> + <p> + The pet illusion, the loss of which caused her the most severe shock, was + that concerning the nobility. On the morning of our first day afloat the + passenger lists were distributed. Hephzibah was early on deck. Fortunately + neither she nor I were in the least discomfited by the motion of the ship, + then or at any time. We proved to be good sailors; Hephzibah declared it + was in the blood. + </p> + <p> + “For a Knowles or a Cahoon to be seasick,” she announced, “would be a + disgrace. Our men folks for four generations would turn over in their + graves.” + </p> + <p> + She was early on deck that first morning and, at breakfast she and I had + the table to ourselves. She had the passenger list propped against the + sugar bowl and was reading the names. + </p> + <p> + “My gracious, Hosy!” she exclaimed. “What, do you think! There are five + 'Sirs' on board and one 'Lord'! Just think of it! Where do you suppose + they are?” + </p> + <p> + “In their berths, probably, at this hour,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Then I'm goin' to stay right here till they come out. I'm goin' to see + 'em and know what they look like if I sit at this table all day.” + </p> + <p> + I smiled. “I wouldn't do that, Hephzy,” said I. “We can see them at + lunch.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! O—Oh! And there's a Princess here! Princess + B-e-r-g-e-n-s-t-e-i-n—Bergenstein. Princess Bergenstein. What do you + suppose she's Princess of?” + </p> + <p> + “Princess of Jerusalem, I should imagine,” I answered. “Oh, I see! You've + skipped a line, Hephzy. Bergenstein belongs to another person. The + Princess's name is Berkovitchky. Russian or Polish, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't care if she's Chinese; I mean to see her. I never expected to + look at a live Princess in MY life.” + </p> + <p> + We stopped in the hall at the entrance to the dining-saloon to examine the + table chart. Hephzibah made careful notes of the tables at which the + knights and the lord and the Princess were seated and their locations. At + lunch she consulted the notes. + </p> + <p> + “The lord sits right behind us at that little table there,” she said, + excitedly. “That table for two is marked 'Lord and Lady Erkskine.' Now we + must watch when they come in.” + </p> + <p> + A few minutes later a gray-haired little man, accompanied by a middle-aged + woman entered the saloon and were seated at the small table by an + obsequious steward. Hephzy gasped. + </p> + <p> + “Why—why, Hosy!” she exclaimed. “That isn't the lord, is it? THAT?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it must be,” I answered. When our own Steward came I asked him. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” he answered, with unction. “Yes, sir, that is Lord and Lady + Erkskine, sir, thank you, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy stared at Lord and Lady Erkskine. I gave our luncheon order, and + the steward departed. Then her indignant disgust and disappointment burst + forth. + </p> + <p> + “Well! well!” she exclaimed. “And that is a real live lord! That is! Why, + Hosy, he's the livin' image of Asaph Tidditt back in Bayport. If Ase could + afford clothes like that he might be his twin brother. Well! I guess + that's enough. I don't want to see that Princess any more. Just as like as + not she'd look like Susanna Wixon.” + </p> + <p> + Her criticisms were not confined to passengers of other nationalities. + Some of our own came in for comment quite as severe. + </p> + <p> + “Look at those girls at that table over there,” she whispered. “The two in + red, I mean. One of 'em has got a little flag pinned on her dress. What do + you suppose that is for?” + </p> + <p> + I looked at the young ladies in red. They were vivacious damsels and their + conversation and laughter were by no means subdued. A middle-aged man and + woman and two young fellows were their table-mates and the group attracted + a great deal of attention. + </p> + <p> + “What has she got that flag pinned on her for?” repeated Hephzy. + </p> + <p> + “She wishes everyone to know she's an American exportation, I suppose,” I + answered. “She is evidently proud of her country.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! Her country wouldn't be proud of her, if it had to listen to her + the way we do. There's some exports it doesn't pay to advertise, I guess, + and she and her sister are that kind. Every time they laugh I can see that + Lady Erkskine shrivel up like a sensitive plant. I hope she don't think + all American girls are like those two.” + </p> + <p> + “She probably does.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, IF she does she's makin' a big mistake. I might as well believe all + Englishmen were like this specimen comin' now, and I don't believe that, + even if I do hail from Bayport.” + </p> + <p> + The specimen was the “Duke of Labrador,” who sauntered by, monocle in eye, + hands in pockets and an elaborate affection of the “Oxford stoop” which he + must have spent time and effort in acquiring. Hephzibah shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “I wish Toronto was further from home than it is,” she declared. “But + there! I shan't worry about him. I'll leave him for Lord Erkskine and his + wife to be ashamed of. He's their countryman, or he hopes he is. I've got + enough to do bein' ashamed of those two American girls.” + </p> + <p> + It may be gathered from these conversations that Hephzy and I had been so + fortunate as to obtain a table by ourselves. This was not the case. There + were four seats at our table and, according to the chart of the + dining-saloon, one of them should be occupied by a “Miss Rutledge of New + York” and the other by “A. Carleton Heathcroft of London.” Miss Rutledge + we had not seen at all. Our table steward informed us that the lady was + “hindisposed” and confined to her room. She was an actress, he added. + Hephzy, whose New England training had imbued her with the conviction that + all people connected with the stage must be highly undesirable as + acquaintances, was quite satisfied. “Of course I'm sorry she isn't well,” + she confided to me “but I'm awfully glad she won't be at our table. I + shouldn't want to hurt her feelin's, but I couldn't talk to her as I would + to an ordinary person. I COULDN'T! All I should be able to think of was + what she wore, or didn't wear, when she was actin' her parts. I expect I'm + old-fashioned, but when I think of those girls in the pictures outside + that theater—the one we didn't go to—I—well—mercy!” + </p> + <p> + The “pictures” were the posters advertising a popular musical comedy which + Campbell had at first suggested our witnessing the afternoon of our stay + in New York. Hephzibah's shocked expression and my whispered advice had + brought about a change of plans. We saw a perfectly respectable, though + thrilling, melodrama instead. I might have relieved my relative's mind by + assuring her that all actresses were not necessarily attired as “merry + villagers,” but the probable result of my assurance seemed scarcely worth + the effort. + </p> + <p> + A. Carleton Heathcroft, Esquire, was not acquainted with the stage, in a + professional way, at any rate. He was a slim and elegant gentleman, + dressed with elaborate care, who appeared profoundly bored with life in + general and our society in particular. He sported one of Hephzibah's + detestations, a monocle, and spoke, when he spoke at all, with a languid + drawl and what I learned later was a Piccadilly accent. He favored us with + his company during our first day afloat; after that we saw him amid the + select group at that much sought—by some—center of shipboard + prominence, “the Captain's table.” + </p> + <p> + Oddly enough Hephzibah did not resent the Heathcroft condescension and + single eyeglass as much as I had expected. She explained her feeling in + this way. + </p> + <p> + “I know he's dreadfully high and mighty and all that,” she said. “And the + way he said 'Really?' when you and I spoke to him was enough to squelch + even an Angelina Phinney. But I didn't care so much. Anybody, even a body + as green as I am, can see that he actually IS somebody when he's at home, + not a make-believe, like that Toronto man. And I'm glad for our waiter's + sake that he's gone somewhere else. The poor thing bowed so low when he + came in and was so terribly humble every time Mr. Heathcroft spoke to him. + I should hate to feel I must say 'Thank you' when I was told that the food + was 'rotten bad.' I never thought 'rotten' was a nice word, but all these + English folks say it. I heard that pretty English girl over there tell her + father that it was a 'jolly rotten mornin',' and she's as nice and sweet + as she can be. Well, I'm learnin' fast, Hosy. I can see a woman smoke a + cigarette now and not shiver—much. Old Bridget Doyle up in West + Bayport, used to smoke a pipe and the whole town talked about it. She'd be + right at home in that sittin'-room they call a 'Lounge' after dinner, + wouldn't she?” + </p> + <p> + My acquaintance with A. Carleton Heathcroft, which appeared to have ended + almost as soon as it began, was renewed in an odd way. I was in the + “Smoke-Room” after dinner the third evening out, enjoying a cigar and idly + listening to the bidding for pools on the ship's run, that time-honored + custom which helps the traveling gentleman of sporting proclivities to + kill time and lose money. On board the “Plutonia,” with its unusually + large quota of millionaires and personages, the bidding was lively and the + prices paid for favored numbers high. Needless to say I was not one of the + bidders. My interest was merely casual. + </p> + <p> + The auctioneer that evening was a famous comedian with an international + reputation and his chatter, as he urged his hearers to higher bids, was + clever and amusing. I was listening to it and smiling at the jokes when a + voice at my elbow said: + </p> + <p> + “Five pounds.” + </p> + <p> + I turned and saw that the speaker was Heathcroft. His monocle was in his + eye, a cigarette was between his fingers and he looked as if he had been + newly washed and ironed and pressed from head to foot. He nodded + carelessly and I bowed in return. + </p> + <p> + “Five pounds,” repeated Mr. Heathcroft. + </p> + <p> + The auctioneer acknowledged the bid and proceeded to urge his audience on + to higher flights. The flights were made and my companion capped each with + one more lofty. Eight, nine, ten pounds were bid. Heathcroft bid eleven. + Someone at the opposite side of the room bid twelve. It seemed ridiculous + to me. Possibly my face expressed my feeling; at any rate something caused + the immaculate gentleman in the next chair to address me instead of the + auctioneer. + </p> + <p> + “I say,” he said, “that's running a bit high, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “It seems so to me,” I replied. “The number is five hundred and eighty-six + and I think we shall do better than that.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, do you! Really! And why do you think so, may I ask?” + </p> + <p> + “Because we are having a remarkably smooth sea and a favorable wind.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but you forget the fog. There's quite a bit of fog about us now, + isn't there.” + </p> + <p> + I wish I could describe the Heathcroft manner of saying “Isn't there.” I + can't, however; there is no use trying. + </p> + <p> + “It will amount to nothing,” I answered. “The glass is high and there is + no indication of bad weather. Our run this noon was five hundred and + ninety-one, you remember.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But we did have extraordinarily good weather for that.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, not particularly good. We slowed down about midnight. There was a + real fog then and the glass was low. The second officer told me it dropped + very suddenly and there was a heavy sea running. For an hour between + twelve and one we were making not much more than half our usual speed.” + </p> + <p> + “Really! That's interesting. May I ask if you and the second officer are + friends?” + </p> + <p> + “Scarcely that. He and I exchanged a few words on deck this morning, + that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “But he told you about the fog and the—what is it—the glass, + and all that. Fancy! that's extremely odd. I'm acquainted with the captain + in a trifling sort of way; I sit at his table, I mean to say. And I assure + you he doesn't tell us a word. And, by Jove, we cross-question him, too! + Rather!” + </p> + <p> + I smiled. I could imagine the cross-questioning. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose the captain is obliged to be non-committal,” I observed. + “That's part of his job. The second officer meant to be, I have no doubt, + but perhaps my remarks showed that I was really interested in ships and + the sea. My father and grandfather, too, for that matter were seafaring + men, both captains. That may have made the second officer more + communicative. Not that he said anything of importance, of course.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Heathcroft seemed very interested. He actually removed his eyeglass. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” he exclaimed. “You know something about it, then. I thought it was + extraordinary, but now I see. And you think our run will be better than + five hundred and eighty?” + </p> + <p> + “It should be, unless there is a remarkable change. This ship makes over + six hundred, day after day, in good weather. She should do at least six + hundred by to-morrow noon, unless there is a sudden change, as I said.” + </p> + <p> + “But six hundred would be—it would be the high field, by Jove!” + </p> + <p> + “Anything over five hundred and ninety-four would be that. The numbers are + very low to-night. Far too low, I should say.” + </p> + <p> + Heathcroft was silent. The auctioneer, having forced the bid on number + five hundred and eighty-six up to thirteen pounds ten, was imploring his + hearers not to permit a certain winner to be sacrificed at this absurd + figure. + </p> + <p> + “Fourteen pounds, gentlemen,” he begged. “For the sake of the wife and + children, for the honor of the star spangled banner and the union jack,—DON'T + hesitate—don't even stammer—below fourteen pounds.” + </p> + <p> + He looked in our direction as he said it. Mr. Heathcroft made no sign. He + produced a gold cigarette box and extended it in my direction. + </p> + <p> + “Will you?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you,” I replied. “I will smoke a cigar, if you don't mind.” + </p> + <p> + He did not appear to mind. He lighted his cigarette, readjusted his + monocle, and stared stonily at the gesticulating auctioneer. + </p> + <p> + The bidding went on. One by one the numbers were sold until all were gone. + Then the auctioneer announced that bids for the “high field,” that is, any + number above five hundred and ninety-four, were in order. My companion + suddenly came to life. + </p> + <p> + “Ten pounds,” he called. + </p> + <p> + I started. “For mercy sake, Mr. Heathcroft,” I protested, “don't let + anything I have said influence your bidding. I may be entirely wrong.” + </p> + <p> + He turned and surveyed me through the eyeglass. + </p> + <p> + “You may wish to bid yourself,” he drawled. “Careless of me. So sorry. + Shall I withdraw the bid?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no. I'm not going to bid. I only—” + </p> + <p> + “Eleven pounds I am offered, gentlemen,” shouted the auctioneer. “Eleven + pounds! It would be like robbing an orphan asylum. Do I hear twelve?” + </p> + <p> + He heard twelve immediately—from Mr. Heathcroft. + </p> + <p> + Thirteen pounds were bid. Evidently others shared my opinion concerning + the value of the “high field.” Heathcroft promptly raised it to fourteen. + I ventured another protest. So far as effect was concerned I might as well + have been talking to one of the smoke-stacks. The bidding was lively and + lengthy. At last the “high field” went to Mr. A. Carleton Heathcroft for + twenty-one pounds, approximately one hundred and five dollars. I thought + it time for me to make my escape. I was wondering where I should hide next + day, when the run was announced. + </p> + <p> + “Greatly obliged to you, I'm sure,” drawled the fortunate bidder. “Won't + you join me in a whisky and soda or something?” + </p> + <p> + I declined the whisky and soda. + </p> + <p> + “Sorry,” said Mr. Heathcroft. “Jolly grateful for putting me right, Mr.—er—” + </p> + <p> + “Knowles is my name,” I said. He might have remembered it; I remembered + his perfectly. + </p> + <p> + “Of course—Knowles. Thank you so much, Knowles. Thank you and the + second officer. Nothing like having professional information—eh, + what? Rather!” + </p> + <p> + There seemed to be no doubt in his mind that he was going to win. There + was more than a doubt in mine. I told Hephzy of my experience when I + joined her in the Lounge. My attempts to say “Really” and “Isn't it” and + “Rather” in the Heathcroft manner and with the Heathcroft accent pleased + her very much. As to the result of my unpremeditated “tip” she was quite + indifferent. + </p> + <p> + “If he loses it will serve him good and right,” she declared. “Gamblin's + poor business and I sha'n't care if he does lose.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall,” I observed. “I feel responsible in a way and I shall be sorry.” + </p> + <p> + “'SO sorry,' you mean, Hosy. That's what that blunderin' steward said when + he stepped on my skirt and tore the gatherin' all loose. I told him he + wasn't half as sorry as I was.” + </p> + <p> + But at noon next day, when the observation was taken and the run posted on + the bulletin board the figure was six hundred and two. My “tip” had been a + good one after all and A. Carleton Heathcroft, Esquire, was richer by some + seven hundred dollars, even after the expenses of treating the + “smoke-room” and feeing the smoke-room steward had been deducted. I did + not visit the smoke-room to share in the treat. I feared I might be + expected to furnish more professional information. But that evening a + bottle of vintage champagne was produced by our obsequious table steward. + “With Mr. 'Eathcroft's compliments, sir, thank you, sir,” announced the + latter. + </p> + <p> + Hephzibah looked at the gilt-topped bottle. + </p> + <p> + “WHAT in the world will we do with it, Hosy?” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Why, drink it, I suppose,” I answered. “It is the only thing we can do. + We can't send it back.” + </p> + <p> + “But you can't drink the whole of it, and I'm sure I sha'n't start in to + be a drunkard at my age. I'll take the least little bit of a drop, just to + see what it tastes like. I've read about champagne, just as I've read + about lords and ladies, all my life, but I never expected to see either of + 'em. Well there!” after a very small sip from the glass, “there's another + pet idea gone to smash. A lord looks like Ase Tidditt, and champagne + tastes like vinegar and soda. Tut! tut! tut! if I had to drink that sour + stuff all my life I'd probably look like Asaph, too. No wonder that + Erkskine man is such a shriveled-up thing.” + </p> + <p> + I glanced toward the captain's table. Mr. Heathcroft raised his glass. I + bowed and raised mine. The group at that table, the captain included, were + looking in my direction. I judged that my smoke-room acquaintance had told + them of my wonderful “tip.” I imagined I could see the sarcastic smile + upon the captain's face. I did not care for that kind of celebrity. + </p> + <p> + But the affair had one quite unexpected result. The next forenoon as + Hephzibah and I were reclining in our deck-chairs the captain himself, + florid-faced, gray-bearded, gold-laced and grand, halted before us. + </p> + <p> + “I believe your name is Knowles, sir,” he said, raising his cap. + </p> + <p> + “It is,” I replied. I wondered what in the world was coming next. Was he + going to take me to task for talking with his second officer? + </p> + <p> + “Your home is in Bayport, Massachusetts, I see by the passenger list,” he + went on. “Is that Bayport on Cape Cod, may I ask?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I replied, more puzzled than ever. + </p> + <p> + “I once knew a Knowles from your town, sir. He was a seafaring man like + myself. His name was Philander Knowles, and when I knew him he was + commander of the bark 'Ranger.'” + </p> + <p> + “He was my father,” I said. + </p> + <p> + Captain Stone extended his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Knowles,” he declared, “this is a great pleasure, sir. I knew your + father years ago when I was a young man, mate of one of our ships engaged + in the Italian fruit trade. He was very kind to me at that time. I have + never forgotten it. May I sit down?” + </p> + <p> + The chair next to ours happened to be unoccupied at the moment and he took + it. I introduced Hephzibah and we chatted for some time. The captain + appeared delighted to meet the son of his old acquaintance. Father and he + had met in Messina—Father's ship was in the fruit trade also at that + time—and something or other he had done to help young Stone had made + a great impression on the latter. I don't know what the something was, + whether it was monetary help or assistance in getting out of a serious + scrape; Stone did not tell me and I didn't ask. But, at any rate, the pair + had become very friendly there and at subsequent meetings in the + Mediterranean ports. The captain asked all sorts of questions about + Father, his life, his family and his death aboard the sinking “Monarch of + the Seas.” Hephzibah furnished most of the particulars. She remembered + them well. + </p> + <p> + Captain Stone nodded solemnly. + </p> + <p> + “That is the way the master of a ship should die,” he declared. “Your + father, Mr. Knowles, was a man and he died like one. He was my first + American acquaintance and he gave me a new idea of Yankees—if you'll + excuse my calling them that, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy had a comment to make. + </p> + <p> + “There are SOME pretty fair Yankees,” she observed, drily. “ALL the good + folks haven't moved back to England yet.” + </p> + <p> + The captain solemnly assured her that he was certain of it. + </p> + <p> + “Though two of the best are on their way,” I added, with a wink at Hephzy. + This attempt at humor was entirely lost. Our companion said he presumed I + referred to Mr. and Mrs. Van Hook, who sat next him at table. + </p> + <p> + “And that leads me to ask if Miss Cahoon and yourself will not join us,” + he went on. “I could easily arrange for two places.” + </p> + <p> + I looked at Hephzy. Her face expressed decided disapproval and she shook + her head. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Captain Stone,” I said; “but we have a table to ourselves and + are very comfortable. We should not think of troubling you to that + extent.” + </p> + <p> + He assured us it would not be a trouble, but a pleasure. We were firm in + our refusal, however, and he ceased to urge. He declared his intention of + seeing that our quarters were adequate, offered to accompany us through + the engine-rooms and the working portions of the ship whenever we wished, + ordered the deck steward, who was all but standing on his head in + obsequious desire to oblige, to take good care of us, shook hands once + more, and went away. Hephzibah drew a long breath. + </p> + <p> + “My goodness!” she exclaimed; “sit at HIS table! I guess not! There's + another lord and his wife there, to say nothin' of the Van Hooks. I'd look + pretty, in my Cape Cod clothes, perched up there, wouldn't I! A hen is all + right in her place, but she don't belong in a peacock cage. And they drink + champagne ALL the time there; I've watched 'em. No thank you, I'll stay in + the henyard along with the everyday fowls.” + </p> + <p> + “Odd that he should have known Father,” I observed. “Well, I suppose the + proper remark to make, under the circumstances, is that this is a small + world. That is what nine-tenths of Bayport would say.” + </p> + <p> + “It's what I say, too,” declared Hephzy, with emphasis. “Well, it's awful + encouraging for us, isn't it.” + </p> + <p> + “Encouraging? What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I mean about Little Frank. It makes me feel surer than ever that we + shall run across him.” + </p> + <p> + I suppressed a groan. “Hephzy,” said I, “why on earth should the fact that + Captain Stone knew my father encourage you to believe that we shall meet a + person we never knew at all?” + </p> + <p> + “Hosy, how you do talk! If you and I, just cruisin' this way across the + broadside of creation, run across a man that knew Cousin Philander + thirty-nine years ago, isn't it just as reasonable to suppose we'll meet a + child who was born twenty-one years ago? I should say 'twas! Hosy, I've + had a presentiment about this cruise of ours: We're SENT on it; that's + what I think—we're sent. Oh, you can laugh! You'll see by and by. + THEN you won't laugh.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Hephzy,” I admitted, resignedly, “I won't laugh then, I promise you. + If <i>I</i> ever reach the stage where I see a Little Frank I promise you + I sha'n't laugh. I'll believe diseases of the brain are contagious, like + the measles, and I'll send for a doctor.” + </p> + <p> + The captain met us again in the dining-room that evening. He came over to + our table and chatted for some time. His visit caused quite a sensation. + Shipboard society is a little world by itself and the ship's captain is + the head of it. Persons who would, very likely, have passed Captain Stone + on Fifth Avenue or Piccadilly without recognizing him now toadied to him + as if he were a Czar, which, in a way, I suppose he is when afloat. His + familiarity with us shed a sort of reflected glory upon Hephzy and me. + Several of our fellow-passengers spoke to us that evening for the first + time. + </p> + <p> + A. Carleton Heathcroft, Esquire, was not among the Lounge habitues; the + smoke-room was his accustomed haunt. But the next forenoon as I leaned + over the rail of the after promenade deck watching the antics of the + “Stokers' Band” which was performing for the benefit of the second-class + with an eye toward pennies and small silver from all classes, Heathcroft + sauntered up and leaned beside me. We exchanged good-mornings. I thanked + him for the wine. + </p> + <p> + “Quite unnecessary, Knowles,” he said. “Least I could do, it seems to me. + I pulled quite a tidy bit from that inside information of yours; I did + really. Awfully obliged, and all that. You seem to have a wide + acquaintance among the officers. That captain chap tells us he knew your + father—the sailor one you told me of, you understand.” + </p> + <p> + Having had but one father I understood perfectly. We chatted in a + inconsequential way for a short time. In the course of our conversation I + happened to mention that I wrote, professionally. To my surprise + Heathcroft was impressed. + </p> + <p> + “Do you, really!” he exclaimed. “That's interesting, isn't it now! I have + a cousin who writes. Don't know why she does it; she doesn't get her + writings printed, but she keeps on. It is a habit of hers. Curious + dissipation—eh, what? Does that—er—Miss—that + companion of yours, write also?” + </p> + <p> + I laughed and informed him that writing was not one of Hephzibah's bad + habits. + </p> + <p> + “Extraordinary woman, isn't she,” he said. “I met her just now, walking + about, and I happened to mention that I was taking the air. She said she + wouldn't quarrel with me because of that. The more I took the better she + would like it; she could spare about a gale and a quarter and not feel—What + did she call it? Oh yes, 'scrimped.' What is 'scrimped,' may I ask?” + </p> + <p> + I explained the meaning of “scrimped.” Heathcroft was much amused. + </p> + <p> + “It WAS blowing a bit strong up forward there,” he declared. “That was a + clever way of putting it, wasn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “She is a clever woman,” I said, shortly. + </p> + <p> + Heathcroft did not enthuse. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” he said dubiously. “A relative of yours, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “A cousin, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “One's relatives, particularly the feminine relatives, incline toward + eccentricity as they grow older, don't you think. I have an aunt down in + Sussex, who is queer. A good sort, too, no end of money, a big place and + all that, but odd. She and I get on well together—I am her pet, I + suppose I may say—but, by Jove, she has quarreled with everyone else + in the family. I let her have her own way and it has convinced her that I + am the only rational Heathcroft in existence. Do you golf, Knowles?” + </p> + <p> + “I attempt something in that line. I doubt if my efforts should be called + golf.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a rotten game when one is off form, isn't it. If you are down in + Sussex and I chance to be there I should be glad to have you play an + eighteen with me. Burglestone Bogs is the village. Anyone will direct you + to the Manor. If I'm not there, introduce yourself to my aunt. Lady Kent + Carey is the name. She'll be jolly glad to welcome you if you tell her you + know me. I'm her sole interest in life, the greenhouses excepted, of + course. Cultivating roses and rearing me are her hobbies.” + </p> + <p> + I thought it improbable that the golfers of Burglestone Bogs would ever be + put to shame by the brilliancy of my game. I thanked him, however. I was + surprised at the invitation. I had been under the impression, derived from + my reading, that the average Englishman required an acquaintance of + several months before proffering hospitality. No doubt Mr. Heathcroft was + not an average Englishman. + </p> + <p> + “Will you be in London long?” he asked. “I suppose not. You're probably + off on a hurricane jaunt from one end of the Continent to the other. Two + hours at Stratford, bowing before Shakespeare's tomb, a Derby through the + cathedral towns, and then the Channel boat, eh? That's the American way, + isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “It is not our way,” I replied. “We have no itinerary. I don't know where + we may go or how long we shall stay.” + </p> + <p> + Evidently I rose again in his estimation. + </p> + <p> + “Have you picked your hotel in London?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “No. I shall be glad of any help you may be kind enough to give along that + line.” + </p> + <p> + He reflected. “There's a decent little hotel in Mayfair,” he said, after a + moment. “A private sort of shop. I don't use it myself; generally put up + at the club, I mean to say. But my aunt and my sisters do. They're quite + mad about it. It is—Ah—Bancroft's—that's it, Bancroft's + Hotel. I'll give you the address before I leave.” + </p> + <p> + I thanked him again. He was certainly trying to be kind. No doubt the + kindness was due to his sense of obligation engendered by what he called + my “professional information,” but it was kindness all the same. + </p> + <p> + The first bugle for luncheon sounded. Mr. Heathcroft turned to go. + </p> + <p> + “I'll see you again, Knowles,” he said, “and give you the hotel street and + number and all that. Hope you'll like it. If you shouldn't the Langham is + not bad—quiet and old-fashioned, but really very fair. And if you + care for something more public and—Ah—American, there are + always the Savoy and the Cecil. Here is my card. If I can be of any + service to you while you are in town drop me a line at my clubs, either of + them. I must be toddling. By, by.” + </p> + <p> + He “toddled” and I sought my room to prepare for luncheon. + </p> + <p> + Two days more and our voyage was at an end. We saw more of our friend the + captain during those days and of Heathcroft as well. The former fulfilled + his promise of showing us through the ship, and Hephzy and I, descending + greasy iron stairways and twisting through narrow passages, saw great + rooms full of mighty machinery, and a cavern where perspiring, grimy men, + looking but half-human in the red light from the furnace mouths, toiled + ceaselessly with pokers and shovels. + </p> + <p> + We stood at the forward end of the promenade deck at night, looking out + into the blackness, and heard the clang of four bells from the shadows at + the bow, the answering clang from the crow's-nest on the foremast, and the + weird cry of “All's well” from the lookouts. This experience made a great + impression on us both. Hephzy expressed my feeling exactly when she said + in a hushed whisper: + </p> + <p> + “There, Hosy! for the first time I feel as if I really was on board a ship + at sea. My father and your father and all our men-folks for ever so far + back have heard that 'All's well'—yes, and called it, too, when they + first went as sailors. Just think of it! Why Father was only sixteen when + he shipped; just a boy, that's all. I've heard him say 'All's well' over + and over again; 'twas a kind of byword with him. This whole thing seems + like somethin' callin' to me out of the past and gone. Don't you feel it?” + </p> + <p> + I felt it, as she did. The black night, the quiet, the loneliness, the + salt spray on our faces and the wash of the waves alongside, the high + singsong wail from lookout to lookout—it WAS a voice from the past, + the call of generations of sea-beaten, weather-worn, brave old Cape + Codders to their descendants, reminding the latter of a dead and gone + profession and of thousands of fine, old ships which had plowed the ocean + in the days when “Plutonias” were unknown. + </p> + <p> + We attended the concert in the Lounge, and the ball on the promenade deck + which followed. Mr. Heathcroft, who seemed to have made the acquaintance + of most of the pretty girls on board, informed us in the intervals between + a two-step and a tango, that he had been “dancing madly.” + </p> + <p> + “You Americans are extraordinary people,” he added. “Your dances are as + extraordinary as your food. That Mrs. Van Hook, who sits near me at table, + was indulging in—what do you call them?—oh, yes, griddle cakes—this + morning. Begged me to try them. I declined. Horrid things they were. + Round, like a—like a washing-flannel, and swimming in treacle. + Frightful!” + </p> + <p> + “And that man,” commented Hephzy, “eats cold toast and strawberry + preserves for breakfast and washes 'em down with three cups of tea. And he + calls nice hot pancakes frightful!” + </p> + <p> + At ten o'clock in the morning of the sixth day we sighted the Irish coast + through the dripping haze which shrouded it and at four we dropped anchor + abreast the breakwater of the little Welsh village which was to be our + landing place. The sun was shining dimly by this time and the rounded + hills and the mountains beyond them, the green slopes dotted with farms + and checkered with hedges and stone walls, the gray stone fort with its + white-washed barrack buildings, the spires and chimneys of the village in + the hollow—all these combined to make a picture which was homelike + and yet not like home, foreign and yet strangely familiar. + </p> + <p> + We leaned over the rail and watched the trunks and boxes and bags and + bundles shoot down the slide into the baggage and mail-boat which lay + alongside. Hephzy was nervous. + </p> + <p> + “They'll smash everything to pieces—they surely will!” she declared. + “Either that or smash themselves, I don't know which is liable to happen + first. Mercy on us! Did you see that? That box hit the man right in the + back!” + </p> + <p> + “It didn't hurt him,” I said, reassuringly. “It was nothing but a + hat-box.” + </p> + <p> + “Hurt HIM—no! But I guess likely it didn't do the hat much good. I + thought baggage smashin' was an American institution, but they've got some + experts over here. Oh, my soul and body! there goes MY trunk—end + over end, of course. Well, I'm glad there's no eggs in it, anyway. Josiah + Dimick always used to carry two dozen eggs to his daughter-in-law every + time he went to Boston. He had 'em in a box once and put the box on the + seat alongside of him and a big fat woman came and sat—Oh! that was + your trunk, Hosy! Did you hear it hit? I expect every one of those + 'English Poets' went from top to bottom then, right through all your + clothes. Never mind, I suppose it's all part of travelin'.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Heathcroft, looking more English than ever in his natty top coat, and + hat at the back of his head, sauntered up. He was, for him, almost + enthusiastic. + </p> + <p> + “Looking at the water, were you?” he queried. “Glorious color, isn't it. + One never sees a sea like that or a sky like that anywhere but here at + home.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy looked at the sea and sky. It was plain that she wished to admire, + for his sake, but her admiration was qualified. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think if they were a little brighter and bluer they'd be + prettier?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Heathcroft stared at her through his monocle. + </p> + <p> + “Bluer?” he repeated. “My dear woman, there are no skies as blue as the + English skies. They are quite celebrated—really.” + </p> + <p> + He sauntered on again, evidently disgusted at our lack of appreciation. + </p> + <p> + “He must be color-blind,” I observed. Hephzy was more charitable. + </p> + <p> + “I guess likely everybody's home things are best,” she said. “I suppose + this green-streaked water and those gray clouds do look bright and blue to + him. We must make allowances, Hosy. He never saw an August mornin' at + Bayport, with a northwest wind blowin' and the bay white and blue to the + edge of all creation. That's been denied him. He means well, poor thing; + he don't know any better.” + </p> + <p> + An hour later we landed from the passenger tender at a stone pier covered + with substantial stone buildings. Uniformed custom officers and uniformed + policemen stood in line as we came up the gang-plank. Behind them, funny + little locomotives attached to queer cars which appeared to be all doors, + puffed and panted. + </p> + <p> + Hephzibah looked about her. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, with conviction. “I'm believin' it more and more all the + time. It is England, just like the pictures. How many times I've seen + engines like that in pictures, and cars like that, too. I never thought + I'd ride in 'em. My goodness me? Hephzibah Jane Cahoon, you're in England—YOU + are! You needn't be afraid to turn over for fear of wakin' up, either. + You're awake and alive and in England! Hosy,” with a sudden burst of + exuberance, “hold on to me tight. I'm just as likely to wave my hat and + hurrah as I am to do anything. Hold on to me—tight.” + </p> + <p> + We got through the perfunctory customs examination without trouble. Our + tickets provided by Campbell, included those for the railway journey to + London. I secured a first-class compartment at the booking-office and a + guard conducted us to it and closed the door. Another short delay and + then, with a whistle as queer and unfamiliar as its own appearance, the + little locomotive began to pull our train out of the station. + </p> + <p> + Hephzy leaned back against the cushions with a sigh of supreme content. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” said I, “for London. London! think of it, Hephzy!” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “I'm thinkin' of it,” she said. “London—the biggest city in the + world! Who knows, Hosy? France is such a little ways off; probably Little + Frank has been to London a hundred times. He may even be there now. Who + knows? I shouldn't be surprised if we met him right in London. I sha'n't + be surprised at anything anymore. I'm in England and on my way to London; + that's surprise enough. NOTHIN' could be more wonderful than that.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI + </h2> + <h3> + In Which We Are Received at Bancroft's Hotel and I Receive a Letter + </h3> + <p> + It was late when we reached London, nearly eleven o'clock. The long train + journey was a delight. During the few hours of daylight and dusk we peered + through the car windows at the scenery flying past; at the villages, the + green fields, the hedges, the neat, trim farms. + </p> + <p> + “Everything looks as if it has been swept and dusted,” declared Hephzy. + “There aren't any waste places at all. What do they do with their spare + land?” + </p> + <p> + “They haven't any,” I answered. “Land is too valuable to waste. There's + another thatched roof. It looks like those in the pictures, doesn't it.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy nodded. “Just exactly,” she said. “Everything looks like the + pictures. I feel as if I'd seen it all before. If that engine didn't toot + so much like a tin whistle I should almost think it was a picture. But it + isn't—it isn't; it's real, and you and I are part of it.” + </p> + <p> + We dined on the train. Night came and our window-pictures changed to + glimpses of flashing lights interspersed with shadowy blotches of + darkness. At length the lights became more and more frequent and began to + string out in long lines marking suburban streets. Then the little + locomotive tooted its tin whistle frantically and we rolled slowly under a + great train shed—Paddington Station and London itself. + </p> + <p> + Amid the crowd on the platform Hephzy and I stood, two lone wanderers not + exactly sure what we should do next. About us the busy crowd jostled and + pushed. Relatives met relatives and fathers and mothers met sons and + daughters returning home after long separations. No one met us, no one was + interested in us at all, except the porters and the cabmen. I selected a + red-faced chunky porter who was a decidedly able person, apparently + capable of managing anything except the letter h. The acrobatics which he + performed with that defenceless consonant were marvelous. I have said that + I selected him; that he selected me would be nearer the truth. + </p> + <p> + “Cab, sir. Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” he said. “Leave that to me, sir. + Will you 'ave a fourwheeler or a hordinary cab, sir?” + </p> + <p> + I wasn't exactly certain what a fourwheeler might be. I had read about + them often enough, but I had never seen one pictured and properly labeled. + For the matter of that, all the vehicles in sight appeared to have four + wheels. So I said, at a venture, that I thought an ordinary cab would do. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir; 'ere you are, sir. Your boxes are in the luggage van, I + suppose, sir.” + </p> + <p> + I took it for granted he meant my trunks and those were in what I, in my + ignorance, would have called a baggage car: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” said the porter. “If the lidy will be good enough to wait + 'ere, sir, you and I will go hafter the boxes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Cautioning Hephzy not to stir from her moorings on any account I followed + my guide to the “luggage van.” This crowded car disgorged our two steamer + trunks and, my particular porter having corraled a fellow-craftsman to + help him, the trunks were dragged to the waiting cab. + </p> + <p> + I found Hephzy waiting, outwardly calm, but inwardly excited. + </p> + <p> + “I saw one at last,” she declared. “I'd about come to believe there wasn't + such a thing, but there is; I just saw one.” + </p> + <p> + “One—what?” I asked, puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “An Englishman with side-whiskers. They wasn't as big and long as those in + the pictures, but they were side-whiskers. I feel better. When you've been + brought up to believe every Englishman wore 'em, it was kind of + humiliatin' not to see one single set.” + </p> + <p> + I paid my porters—I learned afterward that, like most Americans, I + had given them altogether too much—and we climbed into the cab with + our bags. The “boxes,” or trunks, were on the driver's seat and on the + roof. + </p> + <p> + “Where to, sir?” asked the driver. + </p> + <p> + I hesitated. Even at this late date I had not made up my mind exactly + “where to.” My decision was a hasty one. + </p> + <p> + “Why—er—to—to Bancroft's Hotel,” I said. “Blithe Street, + just off Piccadilly.” + </p> + <p> + I think the driver was somewhat astonished. Very few of his American + passengers selected Bancroft's as a stopping place, I imagine. However, + his answer was prompt. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, thank you, sir,” he said. The cab rolled out of the station. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” said Hephzy, reflectively, “if you had told him or that + porter man that they were everlastin' idiots they'd have thanked you just + the same and called you 'sir' four times besides.” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt they would.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, I'm perfectly sure they would—thank you, sir. So this is + London. It doesn't look such an awful lot different from Boston or New + York so far.” + </p> + <p> + But Bancroft's, when we reached it, was as unlike a Boston or New York + hotel as anything could be. A short, quiet, eminently respectable street, + leading from Piccadilly; a street fenced in, on both sides, by + three-story, solid, eminently respectable houses of brick and stone. No + signs, no street cars, no crowds, no glaring lights. Merely a gas lamp + burning over the fanlight of a spotless white door, and the words + “Bancroft's Hotel” in mosaic lettering set in a white stone slab in the + pavement. + </p> + <p> + The cab pulled up before the white door and Hephzy and I looked out of the + window. The same thought was in both our minds. + </p> + <p> + “This can't be the place,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “This isn't a hotel, is it, Hosy?” asked Hephzy. + </p> + <p> + The white door opened and a brisk, red-cheeked English boy in uniform + hastened to the cab. Before he reached it I had seen the lettering in the + pavement and knew that, in spite of appearances, we had reached our + destination. + </p> + <p> + “This is it, Hephzy,” I said. “Come.” + </p> + <p> + The boy opened the cab door and we alighted. Then in the doorway of + “Bancroft's” appeared a stout, red-faced and very dignified person, also + in uniform. This person wore short “mutton-chop” whiskers and had the air + of a member of the Royal Family; that is to say, the air which a member of + the Royal Family might be expected to have. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening, sir,” said the personage, bowing respectfully. The bow was + a triumph in itself; not too low, not abject in the least, not familiar; a + bow which implied much, but promised nothing; a bow which seemed to demand + references, but was far from repellant or bullying. Altogether a wonderful + bow. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening,” said I. “This is Bancroft's Hotel, is it not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish to secure rooms for this lady and myself, if possible.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. This way, sir, if you please. Richard,” this to the boy and in + a tone entirely different—the tone of a commanding officer to a + private—“see to the gentleman's luggage. This way, sir; thank you, + sir.” + </p> + <p> + I hesitated. “The cabman has not been paid,” I stammered. I was a trifle + overawed by the grandeur of the mutton-chops and the “sir.” + </p> + <p> + “I will attend to that, sir. If you will be good enough to come in, sir.” + </p> + <p> + We entered and found ourselves in a narrow hall, old-fashioned, homelike + and as spotless as the white door. Two more uniforms bowed before us. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, sir,” said the member of the Royal Family. It was with + difficulty that I repressed the desire to tell him he was quite welcome. + His manner of thanking me seemed to imply that we had conferred a favor. + </p> + <p> + “I will speak to Mr. Jameson,” he went on, with another bow. Then he left + us. + </p> + <p> + “Is—is that Mr. Bancroft?” whispered Hephzy. + </p> + <p> + I shook my head. “It must be the Prince of Wales, at least,” I whispered + in return. “I infer that there is no Mr. Bancroft.” + </p> + <p> + It developed that I was right. Mr. Jameson was the proprietor of the + hotel, and Mr. Jameson was a pleasant, refined, quiet man of middle age. + He appeared from somewhere or other, ascertained our wants, stated that he + had a few vacant rooms and could accommodate us. + </p> + <p> + “Do you wish a sitting-room?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + I was not sure. I wanted comfort, that I knew, and I said so. I mentioned, + as an afterthought, that Mr. Heathcroft had recommended Bancroft's to me. + </p> + <p> + The Heathcroft name seemed to settle everything. Mr. Jameson summoned the + representative of royalty and spoke to him in a low tone. The + representative—his name, I learned later, was Henry and he was + butler and major-domo at Bancroft's—bowed once more. A few minutes + later we were shown to an apartment on the second floor front, a room + large, old-fashioned, furnished with easy-chairs, tables and a big, + comfortable sofa. Sofa and easy-chairs were covered with figured, glazed + chintz. + </p> + <p> + “Your sitting-room, sir,” said Henry. “Your bedrooms open hoff it, sir. + The chambermaid will 'ave them ready in a moment, sir. Richard and the + porter will bring up your luggage and the boxes. Will you and the lady + wish supper, sir? Thank you, sir. Very good, sir. Will you require a fire, + sir?” + </p> + <p> + The room was a trifle chilly. There was a small iron grate at its end, and + a coal fire ready to kindle. I answered that a fire might be enjoyable. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” said Henry. “Himmediately, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Soon Hephzy and I were drinking hot tea and eating bread and butter and + plum cake before a snapping fire. George, the waiter, had brought us the + tea and accessories and set the table; the chambermaid had prepared the + bedrooms; Henry had supervised everything. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” observed Hephzy, with a sigh of content, “I feel better satisfied + every minute. When we were in the hack—cab, I mean—I couldn't + realize we weren't ridin' through an American city. The houses and + sidewalks and everything—what I could see of 'em—looked so + much like Boston that I was sort of disappointed. I wanted it to be more + different, some way. But this IS different. This may be a hotel—I + suppose likely 'tis—but it don't seem like one, does it? If it + wasn't for the Henry and that Richard and that—what's his name? + George—and all the rest, I should think I was in Cap'n Cyrus + Whittaker's settin-room back home. The furniture looks like Cap'n Cy's and + the pictures look like those he has, and—and everything looks as + stiff and starched and old-fashioned as can be. But the Cap'n never had a + Henry. No, sirree, Henry don't belong on Cape Cod! Hosy,” with a sudden + burst of confidence, “it's a good thing I saw that Lord Erskine first. If + I hadn't found out what a live lord looked like I'd have thought Henry was + one sure. Do you really think it's right for me to call him by his + Christian name? It seems sort of—sort of irreverent, somehow.” + </p> + <p> + I wish it were possible for me to describe in detail our first days at + Bancroft's. If it were not for the fact that so many really important + events and happenings remain to be described—if it were not that the + most momentous event of my life, the event that was the beginning of the + great change in that life—if that event were not so close at hand, I + should be tempted to linger upon those first few days. They were strange + and wonderful and funny to Hephzibah and me. The strangeness and the + wonder wore off gradually; the fun still sticks in my memory. + </p> + <p> + To have one's bedroom invaded at an early hour by a chambermaid who, + apparently quite oblivious of the fact that the bed was still occupied by + a male, proceeded to draw the curtains, bring the hot water and fill the + tin tub for my bath, was astonishing and funny enough, Hephzibah's + comments on the proceeding were funnier still. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to tell me,” she demanded, “that that hussy was brazen enough + to march right in here before you got up?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said. “I am only thankful that I HADN'T got up.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! I must say! Did she fetch the water in a garden waterin'-pot, same + as she did to me?” + </p> + <p> + “Just the same.” + </p> + <p> + “And did she pour it into that—that flat dishpan on the floor and + tell you your 'bawth' was ready?” + </p> + <p> + “She did.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! Of all the—I hope she cleared out THEN?” + </p> + <p> + “She did.” + </p> + <p> + “That's a mercy, anyhow. Did you take a bath in that dishpan?” + </p> + <p> + “I tried.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I didn't. I'd as soon try to bathe in a saucer. I'd have felt as if + I'd needed a teaspoon to dip up the half pint of water and pour it over + me. Don't these English folks have real bathtubs for grown-up people?” + </p> + <p> + I did not know, then. Later I learned that Bancroft's Hotel possessed + several bathrooms, and that I might use one if I preferred. Being an + American I did so prefer. Most of the guests, being English, preferred the + “dishpans.” + </p> + <p> + We learned to accept the early morning visits of the chambermaid as + matters of course. We learned to order breakfast the night before and to + eat it in our sitting-room. We tasted a “grilled sole” for the first time, + and although Hephzy persisted in referring to it as “fried flatfish” we + liked the taste. We became accustomed to being waited upon, to do next to + nothing for ourselves, and I found that a valet who laid out my evening + clothes, put the studs in my shirts, selected my neckties, and saw that my + shoes were polished, was a rather convenient person to have about. Hephzy + fumed a good deal at first; she declared that she felt ashamed, an + able-bodied woman like her, to sit around with her hands folded and do + nothing. She asked her maid a great many questions, and the answers she + received explained some of her puzzles. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what that poor thing gets a week?” she observed, referring to + the maid. “Eight shillin's—two dollars a week, that's what she gets. + And your valet man doesn't get any more. I can see now how Mr. Jameson can + afford to keep so much help at the board he charges. I pay that Susanna + Wixon thing at Bayport three dollars and she doesn't know enough to boil + water without burnin' it on, scarcely. And Peters—why in the world + do they call women by their last names?—Peters, she's the maid, says + it's a real nice place and she's quite satisfied. Well, where ignorance is + bliss it's foolish to be sensible, I suppose; but <i>I</i> wouldn't fetch + and carry for the President's wife, to say nothin' of an everyday body + like me, for two dollars a week.” + </p> + <p> + We learned that the hotel dining-room was a “Coffee Room.” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody with sense would take coffee there—not more'n once, they + wouldn't,” declared Hephzy. “I asked Peters why they didn't call it the + 'Tea Room' and be done with it. She said because it was the Coffee Room. I + suppose likely that was an answer, but I felt a good deal as if I'd come + out of the same hole I went in at. She thanked me for askin' her, though; + she never forgets that.” + </p> + <p> + We became accustomed to addressing the lordly Henry by his Christian name + and found him a most obliging person. He, like everyone else, had + instantly recognized us as Americans, and, consequently, was + condescendingly kind to strangers from a distant and barbarous country. + </p> + <p> + “What SORT of place do they think the States are?” asked Hephzy. “That's + what they always call home—'the States'—and they seem to think + it's about as big as a pocket handkerchief. That Henry asked me if the red + Indians were numerous where we lived. I said no—as soon as I could + say anything; I told him there was only one tribe of Red Men in town and + they were white. I guess he thought I was crazy, but it don't make any + difference. And Peters said she had a cousin in a place called Chicago and + did I know him. What do you think of that?” + </p> + <p> + “What did you tell her?” I inquired. + </p> + <p> + “Hey? Oh, I told her that, bein' as Chicago was a thousand miles from + Bayport, I hadn't had time to do much visitin' there. I told her the + truth, but she didn't believe it. I could see she didn't. She thinks + Chicago and San Francisco and New York and Boston are nests of wigwams in + the same patch of woods and all hands that live there have been scalped at + least once. SUCH ignorance!” + </p> + <p> + Henry, at my request, procured seats for us at one of the London theaters. + There we saw a good play, splendidly acted, and Hephzy laughed and wept at + the performance. As usual, however, she had a characteristic comment to + make. + </p> + <p> + “Why do they call the front seats the 'stalls'?” she whispered to me + between the acts. “Stalls! The idea! I'm no horse. Perhaps they call 'em + that because folks are donkeys enough to pay two dollars and a half for + the privilege of sittin' in 'em. Don't YOU be so extravagant again, Hosy.” + </p> + <p> + One of the characters in the play was supposed to be an American + gentleman, and his behavior and dress and speech stirred me to + indignation. I asked the question which every American asks under similar + circumstances. + </p> + <p> + “Why on earth,” I demanded, “do they permit that fellow to make such a + fool of himself? He yells and drawls and whines through his nose and wears + clothes which would make an American cry. That last scene was supposed to + be a reception and he wore an outing suit and no waistcoat. Do they + suppose such a fellow would be tolerated in respectable society in the + United States?” + </p> + <p> + And now it was Hephzy's turn to be philosophical. + </p> + <p> + “I guess likely the answer to that is simple enough,” she said. “He's what + they think an American ought to be, even if he isn't. If he behaved like a + human bein' he wouldn't be the kind of American they expect on the stage. + After all, he isn't any worse than the Englishmen we have in the Dramatic + Society's plays at home. I haven't seen one of that kind since I got here; + and I've given up expectin' to—unless you and I go to some crazy + asylum—which isn't likely.” + </p> + <p> + We rode on the tops of busses, we visited the Tower, and Westminster + Abbey, and Saint Paul's. We saw the Horse Guard sentinels on duty in + Whitehall, and watched the ceremony of guard changing at St. James's. + Hephzy was impressed, in her own way, by the uniforms of the “Cold + Streams.” + </p> + <p> + “There!” she exclaimed, “I've seen 'em walk. Now I feel better. When they + stood there, with those red jackets and with the fur hats on their heads, + I couldn't make myself believe they hadn't been taken out of a box for + children to play with. I wanted to get up close so as to see if their feet + were glued to round pieces of wood like Noah's and Ham's and Japhet's in + the Ark. But they aren't wood, they're alive. They're men, not toys. I'm + glad I've seen 'em. THEY are satisfyin'. They make me more reconciled to a + King with a Derby hat on.” + </p> + <p> + She and I had stood in the crowd fringing the park mall and seen King + George trot by on horseback. His Majesty's lack of crown and robes and + scepter had been a great disappointment to Hephzy; I think she expected + the crown at least. + </p> + <p> + I had, of course, visited the London office of my publishers, in Camford + Street and had found Mr. Matthews, the manager, expecting me. Jim Campbell + had cabled and written of my coming and Matthews' welcome was a warm one. + He was kindness itself. All my financial responsibilities were to be + shifted to his shoulders. I was to use the office as a bank, as a tourist + agency, even as a guide's headquarters. He put his clerks at my disposal; + they would conduct us on sight-seeing expeditions whenever and wherever we + wished. He even made out a list of places in and about London which we, as + strangers, should see. + </p> + <p> + His cordiality and thoughtfulness were appreciated. They made me feel less + alone and less dependent upon my own resources. Campbell had arranged that + all letters addressed to me in America should be forwarded to the Camford + Street office, and Matthews insisted that I should write my own letters + there. I began to make it a practice to drop in at the office almost every + morning before starting on the day's round of sight-seeing. + </p> + <p> + Bancroft's Hotel also began to seem less strange and more homelike. Mr. + Jameson, the proprietor, was a fine fellow—quiet, refined, and + pleasant. He, too, tried to help us in every possible way. His wife, a + sweet-faced Englishwoman, made Hephzy's acquaintance and Hephzy liked her + extremely. + </p> + <p> + “She's as nice as she can be,” declared Hephzy. “If it wasn't that she + says 'Fancy!' and 'Really!' instead of 'My gracious!' and 'I want to + know!' I should think I was talking to a Cape Codder, the best kind of + one. She's got sense, too. SHE don't ask about 'red Indians' in Bayport.” + </p> + <p> + Among the multitude of our new experiences we learned the value of a + judicious “tip.” We had learned something concerning tips on the + “Plutonia”; Campbell had coached us concerning those, and we were provided + with a schedule of rates—so much to the bedroom steward, so much to + the stewardess, to the deck steward, to the “boots,” and all the rest. But + tipping in London we were obliged to adjust for ourselves, and the result + of our education was surprising. + </p> + <p> + At Saint Paul's an elderly and impressively haughty person in a black robe + showed us through the Crypt and delivered learned lectures before the + tombs of Nelson and Wellington. His appearance and manner were somewhat + awe-inspiring, especially to Hephzy, who asked me, in a whisper, if I + thought likely he was a bishop or a canon or something. When the round was + ended and we were leaving the Crypt she saw me put a hand in my pocket. + </p> + <p> + “Mercy sakes, Hosy,” she whispered. “You aren't goin' to offer him money, + are you? He'll be insulted. I'd as soon think of givin' Mr. Partridge, our + minister, money for takin' us to the cemetery to see the first settlers' + gravestones. Don't you do it. He'll throw it back at you. I'll be so + ashamed.” + </p> + <p> + But I had been watching our fellow-sight-seers as they filed out, and when + our time came I dropped two shillings in the hand of the black-robed + dignitary. The hand did not spurn the coins, which I—rather timidly, + I confess—dropped into it. Instead it closed upon them tightly and + the haughty lips thanked me, not profusely, not even smilingly, but + thanked me, nevertheless. + </p> + <p> + At our visit to the Law Courts a similar experience awaited us. Another + dignified and elderly person, who, judging by his appearance, should have + been a judge at least, not only accepted the shilling I gave him, but + bowed, smiled and offered to conduct us to the divorce court. + </p> + <p> + “A very interesting case there, sir, just now,” he murmured, confidingly. + “Very interesting and sensational indeed, sir. You and the lady will enjoy + it, I'm sure, sir. All Americans do.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy was indignant. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” she exclaimed, as we emerged upon the Strand. “Well! I must say! + What sort of folks does he think we are, I'd like to know. Divorce case! + I'd be ashamed to hear one. And that old man bein' so wicked and + ridiculous for twenty-five cents! Hosy, I do believe if you'd given him + another shillin' he'd have introduced us to that man in the red robe and + cotton wool wig—What did he call him?—Oh, yes, the Lord Chief + Justice. And I suppose you'd have had to tip HIM, too.” + </p> + <p> + The first two weeks of our stay in London came to an end. Our plans were + still as indefinite as ever. How long we should stay, where we should go + next, what we should do when we decided where that “next” was to be—all + these questions we had not considered at all. I, for my part, was + curiously uninterested in the future. I was enjoying myself in an idle, + irresponsible way, and I could not seem to concentrate my thoughts upon a + definite course of action. If I did permit myself to think I found my + thoughts straying to my work and there they faced the same impassable + wall. I felt no inclination to write; I was just as certain as ever that I + should never write again. Thinking along this line only brought back the + old feeling of despondency. So I refused to think and, taking Jim's + advice, put work and responsibility from my mind. We would remain in + London as long as we were contented there. When the spirit moved we would + move with it—somewhere—either about England or to the + Continent. I did not know which and I did not care; I did not seem to care + much about anything. + </p> + <p> + Hephzy was perfectly happy. London to her was as wonderful as ever. She + never tired of sight-seeing, and on occasions when I felt disinclined to + leave the hotel she went out alone, shopping or wandering about the + streets. + </p> + <p> + She scarcely mentioned “Little Frank” and I took care not to remind her of + that mythical youth. I had expected her to see him on every street corner, + to be brought face to face with unsuspecting young Englishmen and made to + ask ridiculous questions which might lead to our being taken in charge as + a pair of demented foreigners. But my forebodings were not realized. + London was so huge and the crowds so great that even Hephzy's courage + faltered. To select Little Frank from the multitude was a task too great, + even for her, I imagine. At any rate, she did not make the attempt, and + the belief that we were “sent” upon our pilgrimage for that express + purpose she had not expressed since our evening on the train. + </p> + <p> + The third week passed. I was growing tired of trotting about. Not tired of + London in particular. The gray, dingy, historic, wonderful old city was + still fascinating. It is hard to conceive of an intelligent person's ever + growing weary of the narrow streets with the familiar names—Fleet + Street, Fetter Lane, Pudding Lane and all the rest—names as familiar + to a reader of history or English fiction as that of his own town. To + wander into an unknown street and to learn that it is Shoreditch, or to + look up at an ancient building and discover it to be the Charterhouse, + were ever fresh miracles to me, as I am sure they must be to every + book-loving American. No, I was not tired of London. Had I come there + under other circumstances I should have been as happy and content as + Hephzy herself. But, now that the novelty was wearing off, I was beginning + to think again, to think of myself—the very thing I had determined, + and still meant, not to do. + </p> + <p> + One afternoon I drifted into the Camford Street office. Hephzy had left me + at Piccadilly Circus and was now, it was safe to presume, enjoying a + delightful sojourn amid the shops of Regent and Oxford Streets. When she + returned she would have a half-dozen purchases to display, a two-and-six + glove bargain from Robinson's, a bit of lace from Selfridge's, a + knick-knack from Liberty's—“All so MUCH cheaper than you can get 'em + in Boston, Hosy.” She would have had a glorious time. + </p> + <p> + Matthews, the manager at Camford Street, was out, but Holton, the head + clerk—I was learning to speak of him as a “clark”—was in. + </p> + <p> + “There are some American letters for you, sir,” he said. “I was about to + send them to your hotel.” + </p> + <p> + He gave me the letters—four of them altogether—and I went into + the private office to look them over. My first batch of mail from home; it + gave me a small thrill to see two-cent stamps in the corners of the + envelopes. + </p> + <p> + One of the letters was from Campbell. I opened it first of all. Jim wrote + a rambling, good-humored letter, a mixture of business, news, advice and + nonsense. “The Black Brig” had gone into another edition. Considering my + opinion of such “slush” I should be ashamed to accept the royalties, but + he would continue to give my account credit for them until I cabled to the + contrary. He trusted we were behaving ourselves in a manner which would + reflect credit upon our country. I was to be sure not to let Hephzy marry + a title. And so on, for six pages. The letter was almost like a chat with + Jim himself, and I read it with chuckles and a pang of homesickness. + </p> + <p> + One of the envelopes bore Hephzy's name and I, of course, did not open it. + It was postmarked “Bayport” and I thought I recognized the handwriting as + Susanna Wixon's. The third letter turned out to be not a letter at all, + but a bill from Sylvanus Cahoon, who took care of our “lots” in the + Bayport cemetery. It had been my intention to pay all bills before leaving + home, but, somehow or other, Sylvanus's had been overlooked. I must send + him a check at once. + </p> + <p> + The fourth and last envelope was stained and crumpled. It had traveled a + long way. To my surprise I noticed that the stamp in the corner was + English and the postmark “London.” The address, moreover, was “Captain + Barnabas Cahoon, Bayport, Massachusetts, U. S. A.” The letter had + obviously been mailed in London, had journeyed to Bayport, from there to + New York, and had then been forwarded to London again. Someone, presumably + Simmons, the postmaster, had written “Care Hosea Knowles” and my + publisher's New York address in the lower corner. This had been scratched + out and “28 Camford Street, London, England,” added. + </p> + <p> + I looked at the envelope. Who in the world, or in England, could have + written Captain Barnabas—Captain Barnabas Cahoon, my great-uncle, + dead so many years? At first I was inclined to hand the letter, unopened, + to Hephzy. She was Captain Barnabas's daughter and it belonged to her by + right. But I knew Hephzy had no secrets from me and, besides, my curiosity + was great. At length I yielded to it and tore open the envelope. + </p> + <p> + Inside was a sheet of thin foreign paper, both sides covered with writing. + I read the first line. + </p> + <p> + “Captain Barnabas Cahoon. + </p> + <p> + “Sir: + </p> + <p> + “You are my nearest relative, my mother's father, and I—” + </p> + <p> + “I uttered an exclamation. Then I stepped to the door of the private + office, made sure that it was shut, came back, sat down in the chair + before the desk which Mr. Matthews had put at my disposal, and read the + letter from beginning to end. This is what I read: + </p> + <p> + “Captain Barnabas Cahoon. + </p> + <p> + “Sir: + </p> + <p> + “You are my nearest relative, my mother's father, and I, therefore, + address this letter to you. I know little concerning you. I do not know + even that you are still living in Bayport, or that you are living at all. + (N.B. In case Captain Cahoon is not living this letter is to be read and + acted upon by his heirs, upon whose estate I have an equal claim.) My + mother, Ardelia Cahoon Morley, died in Liverpool in 1896. My father, + Strickland Morley, died in Paris in December, 1908. I, as their only + child, am their heir, and I am writing to you asking what I might demand—that + is, a portion of the money which was my mother's and which you kept from + her and from my father all these years. My father told me the whole story + before he died, and he also told me that he had written you several times, + but that his letters had been ignored. My father was an English gentleman + and he was proud; that is why he did not take legal steps against you for + the recovery of what was his by law in England OR ANY CIVILISED COUNTRY, + one may presume. He would not STOOP to such measures even against those + who, as you know well, so meanly and fraudulently deprived him and his of + their inheritance. He is dead now. He died lacking the comforts and + luxuries with which you might and SHOULD have provided him. His + forbearance was wonderful and characteristic, but had I known of it sooner + I should have insisted upon demanding from you the money which was his. I + am now demanding it myself. Not BEGGING; that I wish THOROUGHLY + understood. I am giving you the opportunity to make a partial restitution, + that is all. It is what he would have wished, and his wish ALONE prevents + my putting the whole matter in my solicitor's hands. If I do not hear from + you within a reasonable time I shall know what to do. You may address me + care Mrs. Briggs, 218 —— Street, London, England. + </p> + <p> + “Awaiting your reply, I am, sir, + </p> + <p> + “Yours, + </p> + <p> + “FRANCIS STRICKLAND MORLEY. “P. S. + </p> + <p> + “I am not to be considered under ANY circumstances a subject for charity. + I am NOT begging. You, I am given to understand, are a wealthy man. I + demand my share of that wealth—that is all.” + </p> + <p> + I read this amazing epistle through once. Then, after rising and walking + about the office to make sure that I was thoroughly awake, I sat down and + read it again. There was no mistake. I had read it correctly. The writing + was somewhat illegible in spots and the signature was blotted, but it was + from Francis Strickland Morley. From “Little Frank!” I think my first and + greatest sensation was of tremendous surprise that there really was a + “Little Frank.” Hephzy had been right. Once more I should have to take off + my hat to Hephzy. + </p> + <p> + The surprise remained, but other sensations came to keep it company. The + extraordinary fact of the letter's reaching me when and where it did, in + London, the city from which it was written and where, doubtless, the + writer still was. If I chose I might, perhaps, that very afternoon, meet + and talk with Ardelia Cahoon's son, with “Little Frank” himself. I could + scarcely realize it. Hephzy had declared that our coming to London was the + result of a special dispensation—we had been “sent” there. In the + face of this miracle I was not disposed to contradict her. + </p> + <p> + The letter itself was more extraordinary than all else. It was that of a + young person, of a hot-headed boy. But WHAT a boy he must be! What an + unlicked, impudent, arrogant young cub! The boyishness was evident in + every line, in the underscored words, the pitiful attempt at dignity and + the silly veiled threats. He was so insistent upon the statement that he + was not a beggar. And yet he could write a begging letter like this. He + did not ask for charity, not he, he demanded it. Demanded it—he, the + son of a thief, demanded, from those whom his father had robbed, his + “rights.” He should have his rights; I would see to that. + </p> + <p> + I was angry enough but, as I read the letter for the third time, the + pitifulness of it became more apparent. I imagined Francis Strickland + Morley to be the replica of the Strickland Morley whom I remembered, the + useless, incompetent, inadequate son of a good-for-nothing father. No + doubt the father was responsible for such a letter as this having been + written. Doubtless he HAD told the boy all sorts of tales; perhaps he HAD + declared himself to be the defrauded instead of the defrauder; he was + quite capable of it. Possibly the youngster did believe he had a claim + upon the wealthy relatives in that “uncivilized” country, America. The + wealthy relatives! I thought of Captain Barnabas's last years, of + Hephzibah's plucky fight against poverty, of my own lost opportunities, of + the college course which I had been obliged to forego. My indignation + returned. I would not go back at once to Hephzy with the letter. I would, + myself, seek out the writer of that letter, and, if I found him, he and I + would have a heart to heart talk which should disabuse his mind of a few + illusions. We would have a full and complete understanding. + </p> + <p> + I hastily made a memorandum of the address, “Care Mrs. Briggs,” thrust the + letter back into the envelope, put it and my other mail into my pocket, + and walked out into the main office. Holton, the clerk, looked up from his + desk. Probably my feelings showed in my face, for he said: + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Mr. Knowles? No bad news, I trust, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I answered, shortly. “Where is —— Street? Is it far from + here?” + </p> + <p> + It was rather far from there, in Camberwell, on the Surrey side of the + river. I might take a bus at such a corner and change again at so and so. + It sounded like a journey and I was impatient. I suggested that I might + take a cab. Certainly I could do that. William, the boy, would call a cab + at once. + </p> + <p> + William did so and I gave the driver the address from my memoranda. + Through the Strand I was whirled, across Blackfriars Bridge and on through + the intricate web of avenues and streets on the Surrey side. The locality + did not impress me favorably. There was an abundance of “pubs” and of + fried-fish shops where “jellied eels” seemed to be a viand much in demand. + </p> + <p> + —— Street, when I reached it, was dingy and third rate. + Three-storied old brick houses, with shops on their first floors, + predominated. Number 218 was one of these. The signs “Lodgings” over the + tarnished bell-pull and the name “Briggs” on the plate beside it proved + that I had located the house from which the letter had been sent. + </p> + <p> + I paid my cabman, dismissed him, and rang the bell. A slouchy maid-servant + answered the ring. + </p> + <p> + “Is Mr. Francis Morley in?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + The maid looked at me. + </p> + <p> + “Wat, sir?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Does Mr. Francis Morley live here?” I asked, raising my voice. “Is he + in?” + </p> + <p> + The maid's face was as wooden as the door-post. Her mouth, already open, + opened still wider and she continued to stare. A step sounded in the dark + hall behind her and another voice said, sharply: + </p> + <p> + “'Oo is it, 'Arriet? And w'at does 'e want?” + </p> + <p> + The maid grinned. “'E wants to see MISTER Morley, ma'am,” she said, with a + giggle. + </p> + <p> + She was pushed aside and a red-faced woman, with thin lips and scowl, took + her place. + </p> + <p> + “'OO do you want to see?” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Francis Morley. Does he live here?” + </p> + <p> + “'OO?” + </p> + <p> + “Francis Morley.” My answer was sharp enough this time. I began to think I + had invaded a colony of imbeciles—or owls; their conversation seemed + limited to “oos.” + </p> + <p> + “W'at do you want to see—to see Morley for?” demanded the red-faced + female. + </p> + <p> + “On business. Is Mrs. Briggs in?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm Mrs. Briggs.” + </p> + <p> + “Good! I'm glad of that. Now will you tell me if Mr. Morley is in?” + </p> + <p> + “There ain't no Mr. Morley. There's a—” + </p> + <p> + She was interrupted. From the hall, apparently from the top of the flight + of stairs, another was heard, a feminine voice like the others, but unlike + them—decidedly unlike. + </p> + <p> + “Who is it, Mrs. Briggs?” said this voice. “Does the gentleman wish to see + me?” + </p> + <p> + “No, 'e don't,” declared Mrs. Briggs, with emphasis. “'E wants to see + Mister Morley and I'm telling 'im there ain't none such.” + </p> + <p> + “But are you sure he doesn't mean Miss Morley? Ask him, please.” + </p> + <p> + Before the Briggs woman could reply I spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “I want to see a Francis Morley,” I repeated, loudly. “I have come here in + answer to a letter. The letter gave this as his address. If he isn't here, + will you be good enough to tell me where he is? I—” + </p> + <p> + There was another interruption, an exclamation from the darkness behind + Mrs. Briggs and the maid. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” said the third voice, with a little catch in it. “Who is it, please? + Who is it? What is the person's name?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Briggs scowled at me. + </p> + <p> + “Wat's your name?” she snapped. + </p> + <p> + “My name is Knowles. I am an American relative of Mr. Morley's and I'm + here in answer to a letter written by Mr. Morley himself.” + </p> + <p> + There was a moment's silence. Then the third voice said: + </p> + <p> + “Ask—ask him to come up. Show him up, Mrs. Briggs, if you please.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Briggs grunted and stepped aside. I entered the hall. + </p> + <p> + “First floor back,” mumbled the landlady. “Straight as you go. You won't + need any showin'.” + </p> + <p> + I mounted the stairs. The landing at the top was dark, but the door at the + rear was ajar. I knocked. A voice, the same voice I had heard before, bade + me come in. I entered the room. + </p> + <p> + It was a dingy little room, sparely furnished, with a bed and two chairs, + a dilapidated washstand and a battered bureau. I noticed these afterwards. + Just then my attention was centered upon the occupant of the room, a young + woman, scarcely more than a girl, dark-haired, dark-eyed, slender and + graceful. She was standing by the bureau, resting one hand upon it, and + gazing at me, with a strange expression, a curious compound of fright, + surprise and defiance. She did not speak. I was embarrassed. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” I stammered. “I am afraid there is some mistake. I + came here in answer to a letter written by a Francis Morley, who is—well, + I suppose he is a distant relative of mine.” + </p> + <p> + She stepped forward and closed the door by which I had entered. Then she + turned and faced me. + </p> + <p> + “You are an American,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am an American. I—” + </p> + <p> + She interrupted me. + </p> + <p> + “Do you—do you come from—from Bayport, Massachusetts?” she + faltered. + </p> + <p> + I stared at her. “Why, yes,” I admitted. “I do come from Bayport. How in + the world did you—” + </p> + <p> + “Was the letter you speak of addressed to Captain Barnabas Cahoon?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then—then there isn't any mistake. I wrote it.” + </p> + <p> + I imagine that my mouth opened as wide as the maid's had done. + </p> + <p> + “You!” I exclaimed. “Why—why—it was written by Francis Morley—Francis + Strickland Morley.” + </p> + <p> + “I am Frances Strickland Morley.” + </p> + <p> + I heard this, of course, but I did not comprehend it. I had been working + along the lines of a fixed idea. Now that idea had been knocked into a + cocked hat, and my intellect had been knocked with it. + </p> + <p> + “Why—why, no,” I repeated, stupidly. “Francis Morley is the son of + Strickland Morley.” + </p> + <p> + “There was no son,” impatiently. “I am Frances Morley, I tell you. I am + Strickland Morley's daughter. I wrote that letter.” + </p> + <p> + I sat down upon the nearest of the two chairs. I was obliged to sit. I + could not stand and face the fact which, at least, even my benumbed brain + was beginning to comprehend. The mistake was a simple one, merely the + difference between an “i” and an “e” in a name, that was all. And yet that + mistake—that slight difference between “Francis” and “Frances”—explained + the amazing difference between the Little Frank of Hephzibah's fancy and + the reality before me. + </p> + <p> + The real Little Frank was a girl. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII + </h2> + <h3> + In Which a Dream Becomes a Reality + </h3> + <p> + I said nothing immediately. I could not. It was “Little Frank” who resumed + the conversation. “Who are you?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Who—I beg your pardon? I am rather upset, I'm afraid. I didn't + expect—that is, I expected.... Well, I didn't expect THIS! What was + it you asked me?” + </p> + <p> + “I asked you who you were.” + </p> + <p> + “My name is Knowles—Kent Knowles. I am Captain Cahoon's + grand-nephew.” + </p> + <p> + “His grand-nephew. Then—Did Captain Cahoon send you to me?” + </p> + <p> + “Send me! I beg your pardon once more. No.... No. Captain Cahoon is dead. + He has been dead nearly ten years. No one sent me.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why did you come? You have my letter; you said so.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I—I have your letter. I received it about an hour ago. It was + forwarded to me—to my cousin and me—here in London.” + </p> + <p> + “Here in London! Then you did not come to London in answer to that + letter?” + </p> + <p> + “No. My cousin and I—” + </p> + <p> + “What cousin? What is his name?” + </p> + <p> + “His name? It isn't a—That is, the cousin is a woman. She is Miss + Hephzibah Cahoon, your—your mother's half-sister. She is—Why, + she is your aunt!” + </p> + <p> + It was a fact; Hephzibah was this young lady's aunt. I don't know why that + seemed so impossible and ridiculous, but it did. The young lady herself + seemed to find it so. + </p> + <p> + “My aunt?” she repeated. “I didn't know—But—but, why is my—my + aunt here with you?” + </p> + <p> + “We are on a pleasure trip. We—I beg your pardon. What have I been + thinking of? Don't stand. Please sit down.” + </p> + <p> + She accepted the invitation. As she walked toward the chair it seemed to + me that she staggered a little. I noticed then for the first time, how + very slender she was, almost emaciated. There were dark hollows beneath + her eyes and her face was as white as the bed-linen—No, I am wrong; + it was whiter than Mrs. Briggs' bed-linen. + </p> + <p> + “Are you ill?” I asked involuntarily. + </p> + <p> + She did not answer. She seated herself in the chair and fixed her dark + eyes upon me. They were large eyes and very dark. Hephzy said, when she + first saw them, that they looked like “burnt holes in a blanket.” Perhaps + they did; that simile did not occur to me. + </p> + <p> + “You have read my letter?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + It was evident that I must have read the letter or I should not have + learned where to find her, but I did not call attention to this. I said + simply that I had read the letter. + </p> + <p> + “Then what do you propose?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Propose?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” impatiently. “What proposition do you make me? If you have read the + letter you must know what I mean. You must have come here for the purpose + of saying something, of making some offer. What is it?” + </p> + <p> + I was speechless. I had come there to find an impudent young blackguard + and tell him what I thought of him. That was as near a definite reason for + my coming as any. If I had not acted upon impulse, if I had stopped to + consider, it is quite likely that I should not have come at all. But the + blackguard was—was—well, he was not and never had been. In his + place was this white-faced, frail girl. I couldn't tell her what I thought + of her. I didn't know what to think. + </p> + <p> + She waited for me to answer and, as I continued to play the dumb idiot, + her impatience grew. Her brows—very dark brown they were, almost + black against the pallor of her face—drew together and her foot + began to pat the faded carpet. “I am waiting,” she said. + </p> + <p> + I realized that I must say something, so I said the only thing which + occurred to me. It was a question. + </p> + <p> + “Your father is dead?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + She nodded. “My letter told you that,” she answered. “He died in Paris + three years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “And—and had he no relatives here in England?” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated before replying. “No near relatives whom he cared to + recognize,” she answered haughtily. “My father, Mr. Knowles was a + gentleman and, having been most unjustly treated by his own family, as + well as by OTHERS”—with a marked emphasis on the word—“he did + not stoop, even in his illness and distress, to beg where he should have + commanded.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Oh, I see,” I said, feebly. + </p> + <p> + “There is no reason why you should see. My father was the second son and—But + this is quite irrelevant. You, an American, can scarcely be expected to + understand English family customs. It is sufficient that, for reasons of + his own, my father had for years been estranged from his own people.” + </p> + <p> + The air with which this was delivered was quite overwhelming. If I had not + known Strickland Morley, and a little of his history, I should have been + crushed. + </p> + <p> + “Then you have been quite alone since his death?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + Again she hesitated. “For a time,” she said, after a moment. “I lived with + a married cousin of his in one of the London suburbs. Then I—But + really, Mr. Knowles, I cannot see that my private affairs need interest + you. As I understand it, this interview of ours is quite impersonal, in a + sense. You understand, of course—you must understand—that in + writing as I did I was not seeking the acquaintance of my mother's + relatives. I do not desire their friendship. I am not asking them for + anything. I am giving them the opportunity to do justice, to give me what + is my own—my OWN. If you don't understand this I—I—Oh, + you MUST understand it!” + </p> + <p> + She rose from the chair. Her eyes were flashing and she was trembling from + head to foot. Again I realized how weak and frail she was. + </p> + <p> + “You must understand,” she repeated. “You MUST!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” I said hastily. “I think I—I suppose I understand your + feelings. But—” + </p> + <p> + “There are no buts. Don't pretend there are. Do you think for one instant + that I am begging, asking you for HELP? YOU—of all the world!” + </p> + <p> + This seemed personal enough, in spite of her protestations. + </p> + <p> + “But you never met me before,” I said, involuntarily. + </p> + <p> + “You never knew of my existence.” + </p> + <p> + She stamped her foot. “I knew of my American relatives,” she cried, + scornfully. “I knew of them and their—Oh, I cannot say the word!” + </p> + <p> + “Your father told you—” I began. She burst out at me like a flame. + </p> + <p> + “My father,” she declared, “was a brave, kind, noble man. Don't mention + his name to me. I won't have you speak of him. If it were not for his + forbearance and self-sacrifice you—all of you—would be—would + be—Oh, don't speak of my father! Don't!” + </p> + <p> + To my amazement and utter discomfort she sank into the chair and burst + into tears. I was completely demoralized. + </p> + <p> + “Don't, Miss Morley,” I begged. “Please don't.” + </p> + <p> + She continued to sob hysterically. To make matters worse sounds from + behind the closed door led me to think that someone—presumably that + confounded Mrs. Briggs—was listening at the keyhole. + </p> + <p> + “Don't, Miss Morley,” I pleaded. “Don't!” + </p> + <p> + My pleas were unavailing. The young lady sobbed and sobbed. I fidgeted on + the edge of my chair in an agony of mortified embarrassment. “Don'ts” were + quite useless and I could think of nothing else to say except “Compose + yourself” and that, somehow or other, was too ridiculously reminiscent of + Mr. Pickwick and Mrs. Bardell. It was an idiotic situation for me to be + in. Some men—men of experience with woman-kind—might have + known how to handle it, but I had had no such experience. It was all my + fault, of course; I should not have mentioned her father. But how was I to + know that Strickland Morley was a persecuted saint? I should have called + him everything but that. + </p> + <p> + At last I had an inspiration. + </p> + <p> + “You are ill,” I said, rising. “I will call someone.” + </p> + <p> + That had the desired effect. My newly found third—or was it fourth + or fifth—cousin made a move in protest. She fought down her emotion, + her sobs ceased, and she leaned back in her chair looking paler and weaker + than ever. I should have pitied her if she had not been so superior and + insultingly scornful in her manner toward me. I—Well, yes, I did + pity her, even as it was. + </p> + <p> + “Don't,” she said, in her turn. “Don't call anyone. I am not ill—not + now.” + </p> + <p> + “But you have been,” I put in, I don't know why. + </p> + <p> + “I have not been well for some time. But I am not ill. I am quite strong + enough to hear what you have to say.” + </p> + <p> + This might have been satisfactory if I had had anything to say. I had not. + She evidently expected me to express repentance for something or other and + make some sort of proposition. I was not repentant and I had no + proposition to make. But how was I to tell her that without bringing on + another storm? Oh, if I had had time to consider. If I had not come alone. + If Hephzy,—cool-headed, sensible Hephzy—were only with me. + </p> + <p> + “I—I—” I began. Then desperately: “I scarcely know what to + say, Miss Morley,” I faltered. “I came here, as I told you, expecting to + find a—a—” + </p> + <p> + “What, pray?” with a haughty lift of the dark eyebrows. “What did you + expect to find, may I ask?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing—that is, I—Well, never mind that. I came on the spur + of the moment, immediately after receiving your letter. I have had no time + to think, to consult my—your aunt—” + </p> + <p> + “What has my—AUNT” with withering emphasis, “to do with it? Why + should you consult her?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, she is your mother's nearest relative, I suppose. She is Captain + Cahoon's daughter and at least as much interested as I. I must consult + her, of course. But, frankly, Miss Morley, I think I ought to tell you + that you are under a misapprehension. There are matters which you don't + understand.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand everything. I understand only too well. What do you mean by + a misapprehension? Do you mean—do you dare to insinuate that my + father did not tell me the truth?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, no,” I interrupted. That was exactly what I did mean, but I was + not going to let the shade of the departed Strickland appear again until I + was out of that room and house. “I am not insinuating anything.” + </p> + <p> + “I am very glad to hear it. I wish you to know that I perfectly understand + EVERYTHING.” + </p> + <p> + That seemed to settle it; at any rate it settled me for the time. I took + up my hat. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Morley,” I said, “I can't discuss this matter further just now. I + must consult my cousin first. She and I will call upon you to-morrow at + any hour you may name.” + </p> + <p> + She was disappointed; that was plain. I thought for the moment that she + was going to break down again. But she did not; she controlled her + feelings and faced me firmly and pluckily. + </p> + <p> + “At nine—no, at ten to-morrow, then,” she said. “I shall expect your + final answer then.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well.” + </p> + <p> + “You will come? Of course; I am forgetting. You said you would.” + </p> + <p> + “We will be here at ten. Here is my address.” + </p> + <p> + I gave her my card, scribbling the street and number of Bancroft's in + pencil in the corner. She took the card. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. Good afternoon,” she said. + </p> + <p> + I said “Good afternoon” and opened the door. The hall outside was empty, + but someone was descending the stairs in a great hurry. I descended also. + At the top step I glanced once more into the room I had just left. Frances + Strickland Morley—Little Frank—was seated in the chair, one + hand before her eyes. Her attitude expressed complete weariness and utter + collapse. She had said she was not sick, but she looked sick—she did + indeed. + </p> + <p> + Harriet, the slouchy maid, was not in evidence, so I opened the street + door for myself. As I reached the sidewalk—I suppose, as this was + England, I should call it the “pavement”—I was accosted by Mrs. + Briggs. She was out of breath; I am quite sure she had reached that + pavement but the moment before. + </p> + <p> + “'Ow is she?” demanded Mrs. Briggs. + </p> + <p> + “Who?” I asked, not too politely. + </p> + <p> + “That Morley one. Is she goin' to be hill again?” + </p> + <p> + “How do I know? Has she been sick—ill, I mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Huh! Hill! 'Er? Now, now, sir! I give you my word she's been hill hever + since she came 'ere. I thought one time she was goin' to die on my 'ands. + And 'oo was to pay for 'er buryin', I'd like to know? That's w'at it is! + 'Oo's goin' to pay for 'er buryin' and the food she eats; to say nothin' + of 'er room money, and that's been owin' me for a matter of three weeks?” + </p> + <p> + “How should I know who is going to pay for it? She will, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “She! W'at with? She ain't got a bob to bless 'erself with, she ain't. + She's broke, stony broke. Honly for my kind 'eart she'd a been out on the + street afore this. That and 'er tellin' me she was expectin' money from + 'er rich friends in the States. You're from the States, ain't you, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. But do you mean to tell me that Miss Morley has no money of her + own?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I mean it. W'en she come 'ere she told me she was on the stage. + A hopera singer, she said she was. She 'ad money then, enough to pay 'er + way, she 'ad. She was expectin' to go with some troupe or other, but she + never 'as. Oh, them stage people! Don't I know 'em? Ain't I 'ad experience + of 'em? A woman as 'as let lodgin's as long as me? If it wasn't for them + rich friends in the States I 'ave never put up with 'er the way I 'ave. + You're from the States, ain't you, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, I'm from the States. Now, see here, Mrs. Briggs; I'm coming + back here to-morrow. If—Well, if Miss Morley needs anything, food or + medicines or anything, in the meantime, you see that she has them. I'll + pay you when I come.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Briggs actually smiled. She would have patted my arm if I had not + jerked it out of the way. + </p> + <p> + “You trust me, sir,” she whispered, confidingly. “You trust my kind 'eart. + I'll look after 'er like she was my own daughter.” + </p> + <p> + I should have hated to trust even my worst enemy—if I had one—to + Mrs. Briggs' “kind heart.” I walked off in disgust. I found a cab at the + next corner and, bidding the driver take me to Bancroft's, threw myself + back on the cushions. This was a lovely mess! This was a beautiful climax + to the first act—no, merely the prologue—of the drama of + Hephzy's and my pilgrimage. What would Jim Campbell say to this? I was to + be absolutely care-free; I was not to worry about myself or anyone else. + That was the essential part of his famous “prescription.” And now, here I + was, with this impossible situation and more impossible young woman on my + hands. If Little Frank had been a boy, a healthy boy, it would be bad + enough. But Little Frank was a girl—a sick girl, without a penny. + And a girl thoroughly convinced that she was the rightful heir to goodness + knows how much wealth—wealth of which we, the uncivilized, + unprincipled natives of an unprincipled, uncivilized country, had robbed + her parents and herself. Little Frank had been a dream before; now he—she, + I mean—was a nightmare; worse than that, for one wakes from a + nightmare. And I was on my way to tell Hephzy! + </p> + <p> + Well, I told her. She was in our sitting-room when I reached the hotel and + I told her the whole story. I began by reading the letter. Before she had + recovered from the shock of the reading, I told her that I had actually + met and talked with Little Frank; and while this astounding bit of news + was, so to speak, soaking into her bewildered brain, I went on to impart + the crowning item of information—namely, that Little Frank was Miss + Frances. Then I sat back and awaited what might follow. + </p> + <p> + Her first coherent remark was one which I had not expected—and I had + expected almost anything. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Hosy,” gasped Hephzy, “tell me—tell me before you say anything + else. Does he—she, I mean—look like Ardelia?” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? What?” I stammered. “Look like—look like what?” + </p> + <p> + “Not what—who. Does she look like Ardelia? Like her mother? Oh, I + HOPE she doesn't favor her father's side! I did so want our Little Frank + to look like his—her—I CAN'T get used to it—like my poor + Ardelia. Does she?” + </p> + <p> + “Goodness knows! I don't know who she looks like. I didn't notice.” + </p> + <p> + “You didn't! I should have noticed that before anything else. What kind of + a girl is she? Is she pretty?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. She isn't ugly, I should say. I wasn't particularly + interested in her looks. The fact that she was at all was enough; I + haven't gotten over that yet. What are we going to do with her? Or are we + going to do anything? Those are the questions I should like to have + answered. For heaven's sake, Hephzy, don't talk about her personal + appearance. There she is and here are we. What are we going to do?” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy shook her head. “I don't know, Hosy,” she admitted. “I don't know, + I'm sure. This is—this is—Oh, didn't I tell you we were SENT—sent + by Providence!” + </p> + <p> + I was silent. If we had been “sent,” as she called it, I was far from + certain that Providence was responsible. I was more inclined to place the + responsibility in a totally different quarter. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” she continued, “I think you'd better tell me the whole thing + all over again, Hosy. Tell it slow and don't leave out a word. Tell me + what sort of place she was in and what she said and how she looked, as + near as you can remember. I'll try and pay attention; I'll try as hard as + I can. It'll be a job. All I can think of now is that to-morrow mornin'—only + to-morrow mornin'—I'm going to see Little Frank—Ardelia's + Little Frank.” + </p> + <p> + I complied with her request, giving every detail of my afternoon's + experience. I reread the letter, and handed it to her, that she might read + it herself. I described Mrs. Briggs and what I had seen of Mrs. Briggs' + lodging-house. I described Miss Morley as best I could, dark eyes, dark + hair and the look of weakness and frailty. I repeated our conversation + word for word; I had forgotten nothing of that. Hephzy listened in + silence. When I had finished she sighed. + </p> + <p> + “The poor thing,” she said. “I do pity her so.” + </p> + <p> + “Pity her!” I exclaimed. “Well, perhaps I pity her, too, in a way. But my + pity and yours don't alter the situation. She doesn't want pity. She + doesn't want help. She flew at me like a wildcat when I asked if she was + ill. Her personal affairs, she says, are not ours; she doesn't want our + acquaintance or our friendship. She has gotten some crazy notion in her + head that you and I and Uncle Barnabas have cheated her out of an + inheritance, and she wants that! Inheritance! Good Lord! A fine + inheritance hers is! Daughter of the man who robbed us of everything we + had.” + </p> + <p> + “I know—I know. But SHE doesn't know, does she, Hosy. Her father + must have told her—” + </p> + <p> + “He told her a barrel of lies, of course. What they were I can't imagine, + but that fellow was capable of anything. Know! No, she doesn't know now, + but she will have to know.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you goin' to tell her, Hosy?” + </p> + <p> + I stared in amazement. + </p> + <p> + “Tell her!” I repeated. “What do you mean? You don't intend letting her + think that WE are the thieves, do you? That's what she thinks now. Of + course I shall tell her.” + </p> + <p> + “It will be awful hard to tell. She worshipped her father, I guess. He was + a dreadful fascinatin' man, when he wanted to be. He could make a body + believe black was white. Poor Ardelia thought he was—” + </p> + <p> + “I can't help that. I'm not Ardelia.” + </p> + <p> + “I know, but she is Ardelia's child. Hosy, if you are so set on tellin' + her why didn't you tell her this afternoon? It would have been just as + easy then as to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + This was a staggerer. A truthful answer would be so humiliating. I had not + told Frances Morley that her father was a thief and a liar because I + couldn't muster courage to do it. She had seemed so alone and friendless + and ill. I lacked the pluck to face the situation. But I could not tell + Hephzy this. + </p> + <p> + “Why didn't you tell her?” she repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, bosh!” I exclaimed, impatiently. “This is nonsense and you know it, + Hephzy. She'll have to be told and you and I must tell her. DON'T look at + me like that. What else are we to do?” + </p> + <p> + Another shake of the head. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. I can't decide any more than you can, Hosy. What do YOU + think we should do?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + With which unsatisfactory remark this particular conversation ended. I + went to my room to dress for dinner. I had no appetite and dinner was not + appealing; but I did not want to discuss Little Frank any longer. I + mentally cursed Jim Campbell a good many times that evening and during the + better part of a sleepless night. If it were not for him I should be in + Bayport instead of London. From a distance of three thousand miles I + could, without the least hesitancy, have told Strickland Morley's “heir” + what to do. + </p> + <p> + Hephzy did not come down to dinner at all. From behind the door of her + room she told me, in a peculiar tone, that she could not eat. I could not + eat, either, but I made the pretence of doing so. The next morning, at + breakfast in the sitting-room, we were a silent pair. I don't know what + George, the waiter, thought of us. + </p> + <p> + At a quarter after nine I turned away from the window through which I had + been moodily regarding the donkey cart of a flower huckster in the street + below. + </p> + <p> + “You'd better get on your things,” I said. “It is time for us to go.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy donned her hat and wrap. Then she came over to me. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be cross, Hosy,” she pleaded. “I've been thinkin' it over all night + long and I've come to the conclusion that you are probably right. She + hasn't any real claim on us, of course; it's the other way around, if + anything. You do just as you think best and I'll back you up.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you agree that we should tell her the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if you think so. I'm goin' to leave it all in your hands. Whatever + you do will be right. I'll trust you as I always have.” + </p> + <p> + It was a big responsibility, it seemed to me. I did wish she had been more + emphatic. However, I set my teeth and resolved upon a course of action. + Pity and charity and all the rest of it I would not consider. Right was + right, and justice was justice. I would end a disagreeable business as + quickly as I could. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Briggs' lodging-house, viewed from the outside, was no more inviting + at ten in the morning than it had been at four in the afternoon. I + expected Hephzy to make some comment upon the dirty steps and the still + dirtier front door. She did neither. We stood together upon the steps and + I rang the bell. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Briggs herself opened the door. I think she had been watching from + behind the curtains and had seen our cab draw up at the curb. She was in a + state of great agitation, a combination of relieved anxiety, excitement + and overdone politeness. + </p> + <p> + “Good mornin', sir,” she said; “and good mornin', lady. I've been + expectin' you, and so 'as she, poor dear. I thought one w'ile she was that + hill she couldn't see you, but Lor' bless you, I've nursed 'er same as if + she was my own daughter. I told you I would sir, now didn't I.” + </p> + <p> + One word in this harangue caught my attention. + </p> + <p> + “Ill?” I repeated. “What do you mean? Is she worse than she was + yesterday?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Briggs held up her hands. “Worse!” she cried. “Why, bless your 'art, + sir, she was quite well yesterday. Quite 'erself, she was, when you come. + But after you went away she seemed to go all to pieces like. W'en I went + hup to 'er, to carry 'er 'er tea—She always 'as 'er tea; I've been a + mother to 'er, I 'ave—she'll tell you so. W'en I went hup with the + tea there she was in a faint. W'ite as if she was dead. My word, sir, I + was frightened. And all night she's been tossin' about, a-cryin' out and—” + </p> + <p> + “Where is she now?” put in Hephzy, sharply. + </p> + <p> + “She's in 'er room ma'am. Dressed she is; she would dress, knowin' of your + comin', though I told 'er she shouldn't. She's dressed, but she's lyin' + down. She would 'ave tried to sit hup, but THAT I wouldn't 'ave, ma'am. + 'Now, dearie,' I told 'er—” + </p> + <p> + But I would not hear any more. As for Hephzy she was in the dingy front + hall already. + </p> + <p> + “Shall we go up?” I asked, impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “Of COURSE you're to go hup. She's a-waitin' for you. But sir—sir,” + she caught my sleeve; “if you think she's goin' to be ill and needin' the + doctor, just pass the word to me. A doctor she shall 'ave, the best there + is in London. All I ask you is to pay—” + </p> + <p> + I heard no more. Hephzy was on her way up the stairs and I followed. The + door of the first floor back was closed. I rapped upon it. + </p> + <p> + “Come in,” said the voice I remembered, but now it sounded weaker than + before. + </p> + <p> + Hephzy looked at me. I nodded. + </p> + <p> + “You go first,” I whispered. “You can call me when you are ready.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy opened the door and entered the room. I closed the door behind her. + </p> + <p> + Silence for what seemed a long, long time. Then the door opened again and + Hephzy appeared. Her cheeks were wet with tears. She put her arms about my + neck. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Hosy,” she whispered, “she's real sick. And—and—Oh, Hosy, + how COULD you see her and not see! She's the very image of Ardelia. The + very image! Come.” + </p> + <p> + I followed her into the room. It was no brighter now, in the middle of a—for + London—bright forenoon, than it had been on my previous visit. Just + as dingy and forbidding and forlorn as ever. But now there was no defiant + figure erect to meet me. The figure was lying upon the bed, and the pale + cheeks of yesterday were flushed with fever. Miss Morley had looked far + from well when I first saw her; now she looked very ill indeed. + </p> + <p> + She acknowledged my good-morning with a distant bow. Her illness had not + quenched her spirit, that was plain. She attempted to rise, but Hephzy + gently pushed her back upon the pillow. + </p> + <p> + “You stay right there,” she urged. “Stay right there. We can talk just as + well, and Mr. Knowles won't mind; will you, Hosy.” + </p> + <p> + I stammered something or other. My errand, difficult as it had been from + the first, now seemed impossible. I had come there to say certain things—I + had made up my mind to say them; but how was I to say such things to a + girl as ill as this one was. I would not have said them to Strickland + Morley himself, under such circumstances. + </p> + <p> + “I—I am very sorry you are not well, Miss Morley,” I faltered. + </p> + <p> + She thanked me, but there was no warmth in the thanks. + </p> + <p> + “I am not well,” she said; “but that need make no difference. I presume + you and this—this lady are prepared to make a definite proposition + to me. I am well enough to hear it.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy and I looked at each other. I looked for help, but Hephzy's + expression was not helpful at all. It might have meant anything—or + nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Morley,” I began. “Miss Morley, I—I—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Morley, I—I don't know what to say to you.” + </p> + <p> + She rose to a sitting posture. Hephzy again tried to restrain her, but + this time she would not be restrained. + </p> + <p> + “Don't know what to say?” she repeated. “Don't know what to say? Then why + did you come here?” + </p> + <p> + “I came—we came because—because I promised we would come.” + </p> + <p> + “But WHY did you come?” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy leaned toward her. + </p> + <p> + “Please, please,” she begged. “Don't get all excited like this. You + mustn't. You'll make yourself sicker, you know. You must lie down and be + quiet. Hosy—oh, please, Hosy, be careful.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Morley paid no attention. She was regarding me with eyes which looked + me through and through. Her thin hands clutched the bedclothes. + </p> + <p> + “WHY did you come?” she demanded. “My letter was plain enough, certainly. + What I said yesterday was perfectly plain. I told you I did not wish your + acquaintance or your friendship. Friendship—” with a blaze of scorn, + “from YOU! I—I told you—I—” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! hush! please don't,” begged Hephzy. “You mustn't. You're too weak + and sick. Oh, Hosy, do be careful.” + </p> + <p> + I was quite willing to be careful—if I had known how. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” I said, “that this interview had better be postponed. Really, + Miss Morley, you are not in a condition to—” + </p> + <p> + She sprang to her feet and stood there trembling. + </p> + <p> + “My condition has nothing to do with it,” she cried. “Oh, CAN'T I make you + understand! I am trying to be lenient, to be—to be—And you + come here, you and this woman, and try to—to—You MUST + understand! I don't want to know you. I don't want your pity! After your + treatment of my mother and my father, I—I—I... Oh!” + </p> + <p> + She staggered, put her hands to her head, sank upon the bed, and then + collapsed in a dead faint. + </p> + <p> + Hephzy was at her side in a moment. She knew what to do if I did not. + </p> + <p> + “Quick!” she cried, turning to me. “Send for the doctor; she has fainted. + Hurry! And send that—that Briggs woman to me. Don't stand there like + that. HURRY!” + </p> + <p> + I found the Briggs woman in the lower hall. From her I learned the name + and address of the nearest physician, also the nearest public telephone. + Mrs. Briggs went up to Hephzy and I hastened out to telephone. + </p> + <p> + Oh, those London telephones! After innumerable rings and “Hellos” from me, + and “Are you theres” from Central, I, at last, was connected with the + doctor's office and, by great good luck, with the doctor himself. He + promised to come at once. In ten minutes I met him at the door and + conducted him to the room above. + </p> + <p> + He was in that room a long time. Meanwhile, I waited in the hall, pacing + up and down, trying to think my way through this maze. I had succeeded in + thinking myself still deeper into it when the physician reappeared. + </p> + <p> + “How is she?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “She is conscious again, but weak, of course. If she can be kept quiet and + have proper care and nourishment and freedom from worry she will, + probably, gain strength and health. There is nothing seriously wrong + physically, so far as I can see.” + </p> + <p> + I was glad to hear that and said so. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” he went on, “her nerves are completely unstrung. She seems to + have been under a great mental strain and her surroundings are not—” + He paused, and then added, “Is the young lady a relative of yours?” + </p> + <p> + “Ye—es, I suppose—She is a distant relative, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! Has she no near relatives? Here in England, I mean. You and the + lady with you are Americans, I judge.” + </p> + <p> + I ignored the last sentence. I could not see that our being Americans + concerned him. + </p> + <p> + “She has no near relatives in England, so far as I know,” I answered. “Why + do you ask?” + </p> + <p> + “Merely because—Well, to be frank, because if she had such relatives + I should strongly recommend their taking charge of her. She is very weak + and in a condition where she knight become seriously ill.” + </p> + <p> + “I see. You mean that she should not remain here.” + </p> + <p> + “I do mean that, decidedly. This,” with a wave of the hand and a glance + about the bare, dirty, dark hall, “is not—Well, she seems to be a + young person of some refinement and—” + </p> + <p> + He did not finish the sentence, but I understood. + </p> + <p> + “I see,” I interrupted. “And yet she is not seriously ill.” + </p> + <p> + “Not now—no. Her weakness is due to mental strain and—well, to + a lack of nutrition as much as anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Lack of nutrition? You mean she hasn't had enough to eat!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Of course I can't be certain, but that would be my opinion if I were + forced to give one. At all events, she should be taken from here as soon + as possible.” + </p> + <p> + I reflected. “A hospital?” I suggested. + </p> + <p> + “She might be taken to a hospital, of course. But she is scarcely ill + enough for that. A good, comfortable home would be better. Somewhere where + she might have quiet and rest. If she had relatives I should strongly urge + her going to them. She should not be left to herself; I would not be + responsible for the consequences if she were. A person in her condition + might—might be capable of any rash act.” + </p> + <p> + This was plain enough, but it did not make my course of action plainer to + me. + </p> + <p> + “Is she well enough to be moved—now?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. If she is not moved she is likely to be less well.” + </p> + <p> + I paid him for the visit; he gave me a prescription—“To quiet the + nerves,” he explained—and went away. I was to send for him whenever + his services were needed. Then I entered the room. + </p> + <p> + Hephzy and Mrs. Briggs were sitting beside the bed. The face upon the + pillow looked whiter and more pitiful than ever. The dark eyes were + closed. + </p> + <p> + Hephzy signaled me to silence. She rose and tiptoed over to me. I led her + out into the hall. + </p> + <p> + “She's sort of dozin' now,” she whispered. “The poor thing is worn out. + What did the doctor say?” + </p> + <p> + I told her what the doctor had said. + </p> + <p> + “He's just right,” she declared. “She's half starved, that's what's the + matter with her. That and frettin' and worryin' have just about killed + her. What are you goin' to do, Hosy?” + </p> + <p> + “How do I know!” I answered, impatiently. “I don't see exactly why we are + called upon to do anything. Do you?” + </p> + <p> + “No—o, I—I don't know as we are called on. No—o. I—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, do you?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I know how you feel, Hosy. Considerin' how her father treated us, I + won't blame you no matter what you do.” + </p> + <p> + “Confound her father! I only wish it were he we had to deal with.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy was silent. I took a turn up and down the hall. + </p> + <p> + “The doctor says she should be taken away from here at once,” I observed. + </p> + <p> + Hephzy nodded. “There's no doubt about that,” she declared with emphasis. + “I wouldn't trust a sick cat to that Briggs woman. She's a—well, + she's what she is.” + </p> + <p> + “I suggested a hospital, but he didn't approve,” I went on. “He + recommended some comfortable home with care and quiet and all the rest of + it. Her relatives should look after her, he said. She hasn't any relatives + that we know of, or any home to go to.” + </p> + <p> + Again Hephzy was silent. I waited, growing momentarily more nervous and + fretful. Of all impossible situations this was the most impossible. And to + make it worse, Hephzy, the usually prompt, reliable Hephzy, was of no use + at all. + </p> + <p> + “Do say something,” I snapped. “What shall we do?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know, Hosy, dear. Why!... Where are you going?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to the drug-store to get this prescription filled. I'll be back + soon.” + </p> + <p> + The drug-store—it was a “chemist's shop” of course—was at the + corner. It was the chemist's telephone that I had used when I called the + doctor. I gave the clerk the prescription and, while he was busy with it, + I paced up and down the floor of the shop. At length I sat down before the + telephone and demanded a number. + </p> + <p> + When I returned to the lodging-house I gave Hephzy the powders which the + chemist's clerk had prepared. + </p> + <p> + “Is she any better?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “She's just about the same.” + </p> + <p> + “What does she say?” + </p> + <p> + “She's too weak and sick to say anything. I don't imagine she knows or + cares what is happening to her.” + </p> + <p> + “Is she strong enough to get downstairs to a cab, or to ride in one + afterward?” + </p> + <p> + “I guess so. We could help her, you know. But, Hosy, what cab? What do you + mean? What are you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what I'm going to do. I'm going to take her away from this + hole. I must. I don't want to; there's no reason why I should and every + reason why I shouldn't; but—Oh, well, confound it! I've got to. We + CAN'T let her starve and die here.” + </p> + <p> + “But where are you going to take her?” + </p> + <p> + “There's only one place to take her; that's to Bancroft's. I've 'phoned + and engaged a room next to ours. She'll have to stay with us for the + present. Oh, I don't like it any better than you do.” + </p> + <p> + To my intense surprise, Hephzy threw her arms about my neck and hugged me. + </p> + <p> + “I knew you would, Hosy!” she sobbed. “I knew you would. I was dyin' to + have you, but I wouldn't have asked for the world. You're the best man + that ever lived. I knew you wouldn't leave poor Ardelia's little girl to—to—Oh, + I'm so grateful. You're the best man in the world.” + </p> + <p> + I freed myself from the embrace as soon as I could. I didn't feel like the + best man in the world. I felt like a Quixotic fool. + </p> + <p> + Fortunately I was too busy for the next hour to think of my feelings. + Hephzy went in to arrange for the transfer of the invalid to the cab and + to collect and pack her most necessary belongings. I spent my time in a + financial wrangle with Mrs. Briggs. The number of items which that woman + wished included in her bill was surprising. Candles and soap—the + bill itself was the sole evidence of soap's ever having made its + appearance in that house—and washing and tea and food and goodness + knows what. The total was amazing. I verified the addition, or, rather, + corrected it, and then offered half of the sum demanded. This offer was + received with protestations, tears and voluble demands to know if I 'ad + the 'art to rob a lone widow who couldn't protect herself. Finally we + compromised on a three-quarter basis and Mrs. Briggs receipted the bill. + She said her kind disposition would be the undoing of her and she knew it. + She was too silly and soft-'arted to let lodgings. + </p> + <p> + We had very little trouble in carrying or leading Little Frank to the cab. + The effect of the doctor's powders—they must have contained some + sort of opiate—was to render the girl only partially conscious of + what was going on and we got her to and into the vehicle without + difficulty. During the drive to Bancroft's she dozed on Hephzy's shoulder. + </p> + <p> + Her room—it was next to Hephzy's, with a connecting door—was + ready and we led her up the stairs. Mr. and Mrs. Jameson were very kind + and sympathetic. They asked surprisingly few questions. + </p> + <p> + “Poor young lady,” said Mr. Jameson, when he and I were together in our + sitting-room. “She is quite ill, isn't she.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I admitted. “It is not a serious illness, however. She needs quiet + and care more than anything else.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. We will do our best to see that she has both. A relative of + yours, sir, I think you said.” + </p> + <p> + “A—a—my niece,” I answered, on the spur of the moment. She was + Hephzy's niece, of course. As a matter of fact, she was scarcely related + to me. However, it seemed useless to explain. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know you had English relatives, Mr. Knowles. I had been under + the impression that you and Miss Cahoon were strangers here.” + </p> + <p> + So had I, but I did not explain that, either. Mrs. Jameson joined us. + </p> + <p> + “She will sleep now, I think,” she said. “She is quite quiet and peaceful. + A near relative of yours, Mr. Knowles?” + </p> + <p> + “She is Mr. Knowles's niece,” explained her husband. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes. A sweet girl she seems. And very pretty, isn't she.” + </p> + <p> + I did not answer. Mr. Jameson and his wife turned to go. + </p> + <p> + “I presume you will wish to communicate with her people,” said the former. + “Shall I send you telegram forms?” + </p> + <p> + “Not now,” I stammered. Telegrams! Her people! She had no people. We were + her people. We had taken her in charge and were responsible. And how and + when would that responsibility be shifted! + </p> + <p> + What on earth should we do with her? + </p> + <p> + Hephzy tiptoed in. Her expression was a curious one. She was very solemn, + but not sad; the solemnity was not that of sorrow, but appeared to be a + sort of spiritual uplift, a kind of reverent joy. + </p> + <p> + “She's asleep,” she said, gravely; “she's asleep, Hosy.” + </p> + <p> + There was precious little comfort in that. + </p> + <p> + “She'll wake up by and by,” I said. “And then—what?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “Neither do I—now. But we shall have to know pretty soon.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose we shall, but I can't—I can't seem to think of anything + that's ahead of us. All I can think is that my Little Frank—my + Ardelia's Little Frank—is here, here with us, at last.” + </p> + <p> + “And TO last, so far as I can see. Hephzy, for heaven's sake, do try to be + sensible. Do you realize what this means? As soon as she is well enough to + understand what has happened she will want to know what 'proposition' we + have to make. And when we tell her we have none to make, she'll probably + collapse again. And then—and then—what shall we do?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know, Hosy. I declare I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + I strode into my own room and slammed the door. + </p> + <p> + “Damn!” said I, with enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + “What?” queried Hephzy, from the sitting-room. “What did you say, Hosy?” + </p> + <p> + I did not tell her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII + </h2> + <h3> + In Which the Pilgrims Become Tenants + </h3> + <p> + Two weeks later we left Bancroft's and went to Mayberry. Two weeks only, + and yet in that two weeks all our plans—if our indefinite visions of + irresponsible flitting about Great Britain and the continent might be + called plans—had changed utterly. Our pilgrimage was, apparently, + ended—it had become an indefinite stay. We were no longer pilgrims, + but tenants, tenants in an English rectory, of all places in the world. I, + the Cape Cod quahaug, had become an English country gentleman—or a + country gentleman in England—for the summer, at least. + </p> + <p> + Little Frank—Miss Frances Morley—was responsible for the + change, of course. Her sudden materialization and the freak of fortune + which had thrown her, weak and ill, upon our hands, were responsible for + everything. For how much more, how many other changes, she would be + responsible the future only could answer. And the future would answer in + its own good, or bad, time. My conundrum “What are we going to do with + her?” was as much of a puzzle as ever. For my part I gave it up. + Sufficient unto the day was the evil thereof—much more than + sufficient. + </p> + <p> + For the first twenty-four hours following the arrival of “my niece” at + Bancroft's Hotel the situation regarding that niece remained as it was. + Miss Morley—or Frances—or Frank as Hephzy persisted in calling + her—was too ill to care what had happened, or, at least, to speak of + it. She spoke very little, was confined to her room and bed and slept the + greater part of the time. The doctor whom I called, on Mr. Jameson's + recommendation, confirmed his fellow practitioner's diagnosis; the young + lady, he said, was suffering from general weakness and the effect of + nervous strain. She needed absolute rest, care and quiet. There was no + organic disease. + </p> + <p> + But on the morning of the second day she was much better and willing, even + anxious to talk. She assailed Hephzy with questions and Hephzy, although + she tried to avoid answering most, was obliged to answer some of them. She + reported the interview to me during luncheon. + </p> + <p> + “She didn't seem to remember much about comin' here, or what happened + before or afterward,” said Hephzy. “But she wanted to know it all. I told + her the best I could. 'You couldn't stay there,' I said. 'That Briggs + hyena wasn't fit to take care of any human bein' and neither Hosy nor I + could leave you in her hands. So we brought you here to the hotel where + we're stoppin'.' She thought this over a spell and then she wanted to know + whose idea bringin' her here was, yours or mine. I said 'twas yours, and + just like you, too; you were the kindest-hearted man in the world, I said. + Oh, you needn't look at me like that, Hosy. It's the plain truth, and you + know it.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” I grunted. “If the young lady were a mind-reader she might—well, + never mind. What else did she say?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, a good many things. Wanted to know if her bill at Mrs. Briggs' was + paid. I said it was. She thought about that and then she gave me orders + that you and I were to keep account of every cent—no, penny—we + spent for her. She should insist upon that. If we had the idea that she + was a subject of charity we were mistaken. She fairly withered me with a + look from those big eyes of hers. Ardelia's eyes all over again! Or they + would be if they were blue instead of brown. I remember—” + </p> + <p> + I cut short the reminiscence. I was in no mood to listen to the praises of + any Morley. + </p> + <p> + “What answer did you make to that?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “What could I say? I didn't want any more faintin' spells or hysterics, + either. I said we weren't thinkin' of offerin' charity and if it would + please her to have us run an expense book we'd do it, of course. She asked + what the doctor said about her condition. I told her he said she must keep + absolutely quiet and not fret about anything or she'd have an awful + relapse. That was pretty strong but I meant it that way. Answerin' + questions that haven't got any answer to 'em is too much of a strain for + ME. You try it some time yourself and see.” + </p> + <p> + “I have tried it, thank you. Well, is that all? Did she tell you anything + about herself; where she has been or what she has been or what she has + been doing since her precious father died?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not a word. I was dyin' to ask her, but I didn't. She says she wants + to talk with the doctor next time he comes, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + She did talk with the doctor, although not during his next call. Several + days passed before he would permit her to talk with him. Meanwhile he and + I had several talks. What he told me brought my conundrum no nearer its + answer. + </p> + <p> + She was recovering rapidly, he said, but for weeks at least her delicate + nervous organism must be handled with care. The slightest set-back would + be disastrous. He asked if we intended remaining at Bancroft's + indefinitely. I had no intentions—those I had had were wiped off my + mental slate—so I said I did not know, our future plans were vague. + He suggested a sojourn in the country, in some pleasant retired spot in + the rural districts. + </p> + <p> + “An out-of-door life, walks, rides and sports of all sorts would do your + niece a world of good, Mr. Knowles,” he declared. “She needs just that. A + very attractive young lady, sir, if you'll pardon my saying so,” he went + on. “Were her people Londoners, may I ask?” + </p> + <p> + He might ask but I had no intention of telling him. What I knew concerning + my “niece's” people were things not usually told to strangers. I evaded + the question. + </p> + <p> + “Has she had a recent bereavement?” he queried. “I hope you'll not think + me merely idly inquisitive. I cannot understand how a young woman, + normally healthy and well, should have been brought to such a strait. Our + English girls, Mr. Knowles, do not suffer from nerves, as I am told your + American young women so frequently do. Has your niece been in the States + with you?” + </p> + <p> + I said she had not. Incidentally I informed him that American young women + did NOT frequently suffer from nerves. He said “Really,” but he did not + believe me, I'm certain. He was a good fellow, and intelligent, but his + ideas of “the States” had been gathered, largely, I think, from newspapers + and novels. He was convinced that most Americans were confirmed neurotics + and dyspeptics, just as Hephzy had believed all Englishmen wore + side-whiskers. + </p> + <p> + I changed the conversation as soon as I could. I could tell him so little + concerning my newly found “niece.” I knew about as much concerning her + life as he did. It is distinctly unpleasant to be uncle to someone you + know nothing at all about. I devoutly wished I had not said she was my + niece. I repeated that wish many times afterward. + </p> + <p> + Miss Morley's talk with the physician had definite results, surprising + results. Following that talk she sent word by the doctor that she wished + to see Hephzy and me. We went into her room. She was sitting in a chair by + the window, and was wearing a rather pretty wrapper, or kimono, or + whatever that sort of garment is called. At any rate, it was becoming. I + was obliged to admit that the general opinion expressed by the Jamesons + and Hephzy and the doctor—that she was pretty, was correct enough. + She was pretty, but that did not help matters any. + </p> + <p> + She asked us—no, she commanded us to sit down. Her manner was + decidedly business-like. She wasted no time in preliminaries, but came + straight to the point, and that point was the one which I had dreaded. She + asked us what decision we had reached concerning her. + </p> + <p> + “Have you decided what your offer is to be?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + I looked at Hephzy and she at me. Neither of us derived comfort from the + exchange of looks. However, something must be done, or said, and I braced + myself to say it. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Morley,” I began, “before I answer that question I should like to + ask you one. What do you expect us to do?” + </p> + <p> + She regarded me coldly. “I expect,” she said, “that you and this—that + you and Miss Cahoon will arrange to pay me the money which was my mother's + and which my grandfather should have turned over to her while he lived.” + </p> + <p> + Again I looked at Hephzy and again I braced myself for the scene which I + was certain would follow. + </p> + <p> + “It is your impression then,” I said, “that your mother had money of her + own and that Captain Barnabas, your grandfather, kept that money for his + own use.” + </p> + <p> + “It is not an impression,” haughtily; “I know it to be a fact.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know it?” + </p> + <p> + “My father told me so, during his last illness.” + </p> + <p> + “Was—pardon me—was your father himself at the time? Was he—er—rational?” + </p> + <p> + “Rational! My father?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean—I mean was he himself—mentally? He was not delirious + when he told you?” + </p> + <p> + “Delirious! Mr. Knowles, I am trying to be patient, but for the last time + I warn you that I will not listen to insinuations against my father.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not insinuating anything. I am seeking information. Were you and + your father together a great deal? Did you know him well? Just what did he + tell you?” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated before replying. When she spoke it was with an exaggerated + air of patient toleration, as if she were addressing an unreasonable + child. + </p> + <p> + “I will answer you,” she said. “I will answer you because, so far, I have + no fault to find with your behavior toward me. You and my—and my + aunt have been as reasonable as I, perhaps, should expect, everything + considered. Your bringing me here and providing for me was even kind, I + suppose. So I will answer your questions. My father and I were not + together a great deal. I attended a convent school in France and saw + Father only at intervals. I supposed him to possess an independent income. + It was only when he was—was unable to work,” with a quiver in her + voice, “that I learned how he lived. He had been obliged to depend upon + his music, upon his violin playing, to earn money enough to keep us both + alive. Then he told me of—of his life in America and how my mother + and he had been—been cheated and defrauded by those who—who—Oh, + DON'T ask me any more! Don't!” + </p> + <p> + “I must ask you. I must ask you to tell me this: How was he defrauded, as + you call it?” + </p> + <p> + “I have told you, already. My mother's fortune—” + </p> + <p> + “But your mother had no fortune.” + </p> + <p> + The anticipated scene was imminent. She sprang to her feet, but being too + weak to stand, sank back again. Hephzy looked appealingly at me. + </p> + <p> + “Hosy,” she cautioned; “Oh, Hosy, be careful! Think how sick she has + been.” + </p> + <p> + “I am thinking, Hephzy. I mean to be careful. But what I said is the + truth, and you know it.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy would have replied, but Little Frank motioned her to be silent. + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” she commanded. “Mr. Knowles, what do you mean? My mother had + money, a great deal of money. I don't know the exact sum, but my father + said—You know it! You MUST know it. It was in my grandfather's care + and—” + </p> + <p> + “Your grandfather had no money. He—well, he lost every dollar he + had. He died as poor as a church rat.” + </p> + <p> + Another interval of silence, during which I endured a piercing scrutiny + from the dark eyes. Then Miss Morley's tone changed. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” she said, sarcastically. “You surprise me, Mr. Knowles. What + became of the money, may I ask? I understand that my grandfather was a + wealthy man.” + </p> + <p> + “He was fairly well-to-do at one time, but he lost his money and died + poor.” + </p> + <p> + “How did he lose it?” + </p> + <p> + The question was a plain one and demanded a plain and satisfying answer. + But how could I give that answer—then? Hephzy was shaking her head + violently. I stammered and faltered and looked guilty, I have no doubt. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said Miss Morley. + </p> + <p> + “He—he lost it, that is sufficient. You must take my word for it. + Captain Cahoon died without a dollar of his own.” + </p> + <p> + “When did he LOSE his wealth?” with sarcastic emphasis. + </p> + <p> + “Years ago. About the time your parents left the United States. There, + there, Hephzy! I know. I'm doing my best.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed! When did he die?” + </p> + <p> + “Long ago—more than ten years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “But my parents left America long before that. If my grandfather was + penniless how did he manage to live all those years? What supported him?” + </p> + <p> + “Your aunt—Miss Cahoon here—had money in her own right.” + </p> + <p> + “SHE had money and my mother had not. Yet both were Captain Cahoon's + daughters. How did that happen?” + </p> + <p> + It seemed to me that it was Hephzy's time to play the target. I turned to + her. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Cahoon will probably answer that herself,” I observed, maliciously. + </p> + <p> + Hephzibah appeared more embarrassed than I. + </p> + <p> + “I—I—Oh, what difference does all this make?” she faltered. + “Hosy has told you the truth, Frances. Really and truly he has. Father was + poor as poverty when he died and all his last years, too. All his money + had gone.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, so I have heard Mr. Knowles say. But how did it go?” + </p> + <p> + “In—in—well, it was invested in stocks and things and—and—” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean that he speculated in shares?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, not—not—” + </p> + <p> + “I see. Oh, I see. Father told me a little concerning those speculations. + He warned Captain Cahoon before he left the States, but his warnings were + not heeded, I presume. And you wish me to believe that ALL the money was + lost—my mother's and all. Is that what you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Your mother HAD no money,” I put in, desperately, “I have told you—” + </p> + <p> + “You have told me many things, Mr. Knowles. Even admitting that my + grandfather lost his money, as you say, why should I suffer because of his + folly? I am not asking for HIS money. I am demanding money that was my + mother's and is now mine. That I expected from him and now I expect it + from you, his heirs.” + </p> + <p> + “But your mother had no—” + </p> + <p> + “I do not care to hear that again. I know she had money.” + </p> + <p> + “But how do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “Because my father told me she had, and my father did not lie.” + </p> + <p> + There we were again—just where we started. The doctor re-entered the + room and insisted upon his patient's being left to herself. She must lie + down and rest, he said. His manner was one of distinct disapproval. It was + evident that he considered Hephzy and me disturbers of the peace; in fact + he intimated as much when he joined us in the sitting-room in a few + minutes. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid I made a mistake in permitting the conference,” he said. “The + young lady seems much agitated, Mr. Knowles. If she is, complete nervous + prostration may follow. She may be an invalid for months or even years. I + strongly recommend her being taken into the country as soon as possible.” + </p> + <p> + This speech and the manner in which it was made were impressive and + alarming. The possibilities at which it hinted were more alarming still. + We made no attempt to discuss family matters with Little Frank that day + nor the next. + </p> + <p> + But on the day following, when I returned from my morning visit to Camford + Street, I found Hephzy awaiting me in the sitting-room. She was very + solemn. + </p> + <p> + “Hosy,” she said, “sit down. I've got somethin' to tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “About her?” I asked, apprehensively. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. She's just been talkin' to me.” + </p> + <p> + “She has! I thought we agreed not to talk with her at all.” + </p> + <p> + “We did, and I tried not to. But when I went in to see her just now she + was waitin' for me. She had somethin' to say, she said, and she said it—Oh, + my goodness, yes! she said it.” + </p> + <p> + “What did she say? Has she sent for her lawyer—her solicitor, or + whatever he is?” + </p> + <p> + “No, she hasn't done that. I don't know but I 'most wish she had. He + wouldn't be any harder to talk to than she is. Hosy, she's made up her + mind.” + </p> + <p> + “Made up her mind! I thought HER mind was already made up.” + </p> + <p> + “It was, but she's made it up again. That doctor has been talkin' to her + and she's really frightened about her health, I think. Anyhow, she has + decided that her principal business just now is to get well. She told me + she had decided not to press her claim upon us for the present. If we + wished to make an offer of what she calls restitution, she'll listen to + it; but she judges we are not ready to make one.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! her judgment is correct so far.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but that isn't all. While she is waitin' for that offer she expects + us to take care of her. She has been thinkin', she says, and she has come + to the conclusion that our providin' for her as we have done isn't charity—or + needn't be considered as charity—at all. She is willin' to consider + it a part of that precious restitution she's forever talkin' about. We are + to take care of her, and pay her doctor's bills, and take her into the + country as he recommends, and—” + </p> + <p> + I interrupted. “Great Scott!” I cried, “does she expect us to ADOPT her?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what she expects; I'm tryin' to tell you what she said. + We're to do all this and keep a strict account of all it costs, and then + when we are ready to make a—a proposition, as she calls it, this + account can be subtracted from the money she thinks we've got that belongs + to her.” + </p> + <p> + “But there isn't any money belonging to her. I told her so, and so did + you.” + </p> + <p> + “I know, but we might tell her a thousand times and it wouldn't affect her + father's tellin' her once. Oh, that Strickland Morley! If only—” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! hush, Hephzy... Well, by George! of all the—this thing has + gone far enough. It has gone too far. We made a great mistake in bringing + her here, in having anything to do with her at all—but we shan't go + on making mistakes. We must stop where we are. She must be told the truth + now—to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “I know—I know, Hosy; but who'll tell her?” + </p> + <p> + “I will.” + </p> + <p> + “She won't believe you.” + </p> + <p> + “Then she must disbelieve. She can call in her solicitor and I'll make him + believe.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy was silent. Her silence annoyed me. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you say something?” I demanded. “You know what I say is plain + common-sense.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it is—I suppose 'tis. But, Hosy, if you start in tellin' + her again you know what'll happen. The doctor said the least little thing + would bring on nervous prostration. And if she has that, WHAT will become + of her?” + </p> + <p> + It was my turn to hesitate. + </p> + <p> + “You couldn't—we couldn't turn her out into the street if she was + nervous prostrated, could we,” pleaded Hephzy. “After all, she's Ardelia's + daughter and—” + </p> + <p> + “She's Strickland Morley's daughter. There is no doubt of that. Hereditary + influence is plain enough in her case.” + </p> + <p> + “I know, but she is Ardelia's daughter, too. I don't see how we can tell + her, Hosy; not until she's well and strong again.” + </p> + <p> + I was never more thoroughly angry in my life. My patience was exhausted. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Hephzy,” I cried: “what is it you are leading up to? You're + not proposing—actually proposing that we adopt this girl, are you?” + </p> + <p> + “No—no—o. Not exactly that, of course. But we might take her + into the country somewhere and—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, DO be sensible! Do you realize what that would mean? We should have + to give up our trip, stop sightseeing, stop everything we had planned to + do, and turn ourselves into nurses running a sanitarium for the benefit of + a girl whose father's rascality made your father a pauper. And, not only + do this, but be treated by her as if—as if—” + </p> + <p> + “There, there, Hosy! I know what it will mean. I know what it would mean + to you and I don't mean for you to do it. You've done enough and more than + enough. But with me it's different. <i>I</i> could do it.” + </p> + <p> + “You?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I've got some money of my own. I could find a nice, cheap, quiet + boardin'-house in the country round here somewhere and she and I could go + there and stay until she got well. You needn't go at all; you could go off + travelin' by yourself and—” + </p> + <p> + “Hephzy, what are you talking about?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean it. I've thought it all out, Hosy. Ever since Ardelia and I had + that last talk together and she whispered to me that—that—well, + especially ever since I knew there was a Little Frank I've been thinkin' + and plannin' about that Little Frank; you know I have. He—she isn't + the kind of Little Frank I expected, but she's, my sister's baby and I + can't—I CAN'T, turn her away to be sick and die. I can't do it. I + shouldn't dare face Ardelia in—on the other side if I did. No, I + guess it's my duty and I'm goin' to go on with it. But with you it's + different. She isn't any real relation to you. You've done enough—and + more than enough—as it is.” + </p> + <p> + This was the climax. Of course I might have expected it, but of course I + didn't. As soon as I recovered, or partially recovered, from my + stupefaction I expostulated and scolded and argued. Hephzy was quiet but + firm. She hated to part from me—she couldn't bear to think of it; + but on the other hand she couldn't abandon her Ardelia's little girl. The + interview ended by my walking out of the room and out of Bancroft's in + disgust. + </p> + <p> + I did not return until late in the afternoon. I was in better humor then. + Hephzy was still in the sitting-room; she looked as if she had been + crying. + </p> + <p> + “Hosy,” she said, as I entered, “I—I hope you don't think I'm too + ungrateful. I'm not. Really I'm not. And I care as much for you as if you + was my own boy. I can't leave you; I sha'n't. If you say for us to—” + </p> + <p> + I interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “Hephzy,” I said, “I shan't say anything. I know perfectly well that you + couldn't leave me any more than I could leave you. I have arranged with + Matthews to set about house-hunting at once. As soon as rural England is + ready for us, we shall be ready for it. After all, what difference does it + make? I was ordered to get fresh experience. I might as well get it by + becoming keeper of a sanitarium as any other way.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy looked at me. She rose from her chair. + </p> + <p> + “Hosy,” she cried, “what—a sanitarium?” + </p> + <p> + “We'll keep it together,” I said, smiling. “You and I and Little Frank. + And it is likely to be a wonderful establishment.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy said—she said a great deal, principally concerning my + generosity and goodness and kindness and self-sacrifice. I tried to shut + off the flow, but it was not until I began to laugh that it ceased. + </p> + <p> + “Why!” cried Hephzy. “You're laughin'! What in the world? I don't see + anything to laugh at.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you? I do. Oh, dear me! I—I, the Bayport quahaug to—Ho! + ho! Hephzy, let me laugh. If there is any fun in this perfectly devilish + situation let me enjoy it while I can.” + </p> + <p> + And that is how and why I decided to become a country gentleman instead of + a traveler. When I told Matthews of my intention he had been petrified + with astonishment. I had written Campbell of that intention. I devoutly + wished I might see his face when he read my letter. + </p> + <p> + For days and days Hephzy and I “house-hunted.” We engaged a nurse to look + after the future patient of the “sanitarium” while we did our best to look + for the sanitarium itself. Mr. Matthews gave us the addresses of real + estate agents and we journeyed from suburb to suburb and from seashore to + hills. We saw several “semi-detached villas.” The name “semi-detached + villa” had an appealing sound, especially to Hephzy, but the villas + themselves did not appeal. They turned out to be what we, in America, + would have called “two-family houses.” + </p> + <p> + “And I never did like the idea of livin' in a two-family house,” declared + Hephzy. “I've known plenty of real nice folks who did live in 'em, or + one-half of one of 'em, but it usually happened that the folks in the + other half was a dreadful mean set. They let their dog chase your cat and + if your hens scratched up their flower garden they were real unlikely + about it. I've heard Father tell about Cap'n Noah Doane and Cap'n Elkanah + Howes who used to live in Bayport. They'd been chums all their lives and + when they retired from the sea they thought 'twould be lovely to build a + double house so's they would be right close together all the time. Well, + they did it and they hadn't been settled more'n a month when they began + quarrelin'. Cap'n Noah's wife wanted the house painted yellow and Mrs. + Cap'n Elkanah, she wanted it green. They started the fuss and it ended by + one-half bein' yellow and t'other half green—such an outrage you + never saw—and a big fence down the middle of the front yard, and the + two families not speakin', and law-suits and land knows what all. They + wouldn't even go to the same church nor be buried in the same graveyard. + No sir-ee! no two-family house for us if I can help it. We've got troubles + enough inside the family without fightin' the neighbors.” + </p> + <p> + “But think of the beautiful names,” I observed. “Those names ought to + appeal to your poetic soul, Hephzy. We haven't seen a villa yet, no matter + how dingy, or small, that wasn't christened 'Rosemary Terrace' or + 'Sunnylawn' or something. That last one—the shack with the broken + windows—was labeled 'Broadview' and it faced an alley ending at a + brick stable.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it,” she said. “If they'd called it 'Narrowview' or 'Cow Prospect' + 'twould have been more fittin', I should say. But I think givin' names to + homes is sort of pretty, just the same. We might call our house at home + 'Writer's Rest.' A writer lives in it, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “And he has rested more than he has written of late,” I observed. + “'Quahaug Stew' or 'The Tureen' would be better, I should say.” + </p> + <p> + When we expressed disapproval of the semi-detached villas our real estate + brokers flew to the other extremity and proceeded to show us “estates.” + These estates comprised acres of ground, mansions, game-keepers' and + lodge-keepers' houses, and goodness knows what. Some, so the brokers were + particular to inform us, were celebrated for their “shooting.” + </p> + <p> + The villas were not good enough; the estates were altogether too good. We + inspected but one and then declined to see more. + </p> + <p> + “Shootin'!” sniffed Hephzy. “I should feel like shootin' myself every time + I paid the rent. I'd HAVE to do it the second time. 'Twould be a quicker + end than starvin', 'and the first month would bring us to that.” + </p> + <p> + We found one pleasant cottage in a suburb bearing the euphonious name of + “Leatherhead”—that is, the village was named “Leatherhead”; the + cottage was “Ash Clump.” I teased Hephzy by referring to it as “Ash Dump,” + but it really was a pretty, roomy house, with gardens and flowers. For the + matter of that, every cottage we visited, even the smallest, was bowered + in flowers. + </p> + <p> + Hephzy's romantic spirit objected strongly to “Leatherhead,” but I told + her nothing could be more appropriate. + </p> + <p> + “This whole proposition—Beg pardon; I didn't mean to use that word; + we've heard enough concerning 'propositions'—but really, Hephzy, + 'Leatherhead' is very appropriate for us. If we weren't leather-headed and + deserving of leather medals we should not be hunting houses at all. We + should have left Little Frank and her affairs in a lawyer's hands and be + enjoying ourselves as we intended. Leatherhead for the leather-heads; it's + another dispensation of Providence.” + </p> + <p> + “Ash Dump”—“Clump,” I mean—was owned by a person named Cripps, + Solomon Cripps. Mr. Cripps was a stout, mutton-chopped individual, + strongly suggestive of Bancroft's “Henry.” He was rather pompous and surly + when I first knocked at the door of his residence, but when he learned we + were house-hunting and had our eyes upon the “Clump,” he became very + polite indeed. “A 'eavenly spot,” he declared it to be. “A beautiful + neighborhood. Near the shops and not far from the Primitive Wesleyan + chapel.” He and Mrs. Cripps attended the chapel, he informed us. + </p> + <p> + I did not fancy Mr. Cripps; he was too—too something, I was not sure + what. And Mrs. Cripps, whom we met later, was of a similar type. They, + like everyone else, recognized us as Americans at once and they spoke + highly of the “States.” + </p> + <p> + “A very fine country, I am informed,” said Mr. Cripps. “New, of course, + but very fine indeed. Young men make money there. Much money—yes.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cripps wished to know if Americans were a religious people, as a + rule. Religion, true spiritual religion was on the wane in England. + </p> + <p> + I gathered that she and her husband were doing their best to keep it up to + the standard. I had read, in books by English writers, of the British + middle-class Pharisee. I judged the Crippses to be Pharisees. + </p> + <p> + Hephzy's opinion was like mine. + </p> + <p> + “If ever there was a sanctimonious hypocrite it's that Mrs. Cripps,” she + declared. “And her husband ain't any better. They remind me of Deacon + Hardy and his wife back home. He always passed the plate in church and she + was head of the sewin' circle, but when it came to lettin' go of an extry + cent for the minister's salary they had glue on their fingers. Father used + to say that the Deacon passed the plate himself so nobody could see how + little he put in it. They were the ones that always brought a stick of + salt herrin' to the donation parties.” + </p> + <p> + We didn't like the Crippses, but we did like “Ash Clump.” We had almost + decided to take it when our plans were quashed by the member of our party + on whose account we had planned solely. Miss Morley flatly refused to go + to Leatherhead. + </p> + <p> + “Don't ask ME why,” said Hephzy, to whom the refusal had been made. “I + don't know. All I know is that the very name 'Leatherhead' turned her + whiter than she has been for a week. She just put that little foot of hers + down and said no. I said 'Why not?' and she said 'Never mind.' So I guess + we sha'n't be Leatherheaded—in that way—this summer.” + </p> + <p> + I was angry and impatient, but when I tried to reason with the young lady + I met a crushing refusal and a decided snub. + </p> + <p> + “I do not care,” said Little Frank, calmly and coldly, “to explain my + reasons. I have them, and that is sufficient. I shall not go to—that + town or that place.” + </p> + <p> + “But why?” I begged, restraining my desire to shake her. + </p> + <p> + “I have my reasons. You may go there, if you wish. That is your right. But + I shall not. And before you go I shall insist upon a settlement of my + claim.” + </p> + <p> + The “claim” could neither be settled nor discussed; the doctor's warning + was no less insistent although his patient was steadily improving. I faced + the alternative of my compliance or her nervous prostration and I chose + the former. My desire to shake her remained. + </p> + <p> + So “Ash Clump” was given up. Hephzy and I speculated much concerning + Little Frank's aversion to Leatherhead. + </p> + <p> + “It must be,” said Hephzy, “that she knows somebody there, or somethin' + like that. That's likely, I suppose. You know we don't know much about her + or what she's done since her father died, Hosy. I've tried to ask her but + she won't tell. I wish we did know.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't,” I snarled. “I wish to heaven we had never known her at all.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy sighed. “It IS awful hard for you,” she said. “And yet, if we had + come to know her in another way you—we might have been glad. I—I + think she could be as sweet as she is pretty to folks she didn't consider + thieves—and Americans. She does hate Americans. That's her precious + pa's doin's, I suppose likely.” + </p> + <p> + The next afternoon we saw the advertisement in the Standard. George, the + waiter, brought two of the London dailies to our room each day. The + advertisement read as follows: + </p> + <p> + “To Let for the Summer Months—Furnished. A Rectory in Mayberry, + Sussex. Ten rooms, servants' quarters, vegetable gardens, small fruit, + tennis court, etc., etc. Water and gas laid on. Golf near by. Terms low. + Rector—Mayberry, Sussex.” + </p> + <p> + “I answered it, Hosy,” said Hephzy. + </p> + <p> + “You did!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. It sounded so nice I couldn't help it. It would be lovely to live in + a rectory, wouldn't it.” + </p> + <p> + “Lovely—and expensive,” I answered. “I'm afraid a rectory with + tennis courts and servants' quarters and all the rest of it will prove too + grand for a pair of Bayporters like you and me. However, your answering + the ad does no harm; it doesn't commit us to anything.” + </p> + <p> + But when the answer to the answer came it was even more appealing than the + advertisement itself. And the terms, although a trifle higher than we had + planned to pay, were not entirely beyond our means. The rector—his + name was Cole—urged us to visit Mayberry and see the place for + ourselves. We were to take the train for Haddington on Hill where the trap + would meet us. Mayberry was two miles from Haddington on Hill, it + appeared. + </p> + <p> + We decided to go, but before writing of our intention, Hephzy consulted + the most particular member of our party. + </p> + <p> + “It's no use doing anything until we ask her,” she said. “She may be as + down on Mayberry as she was on Leatherhead.” + </p> + <p> + But she was not. She had no objections to Mayberry. So, after writing and + making the necessary arrangements, we took the train one bright, sunny + morning, and after a ride of an hour or more, alighted at Haddington on + Hill. + </p> + <p> + Haddington on Hill was not on a hill at all, unless a knoll in the middle + of a wide flat meadow be called that. There were no houses near the + railway station, either rectories or any other sort. We were the only + passengers to leave the train there. + </p> + <p> + The trap, however, was waiting. The horse which drew it was a black, plump + little animal, and the driver was a neat English lad who touched his hat + and assisted Hephzy to the back seat of the vehicle. I climbed up beside + her. + </p> + <p> + The road wound over the knoll and away across the meadow. On either side + were farm lands, fields of young grain, or pastures with flocks of sheep + grazing contentedly. In the distance, in every direction, one caught + glimpses of little villages with gray church towers rising amid the + foliage. Each field and pasture was bordered with a hedge instead of a + fence, and over all hung the soft, light blue haze which is so + characteristic of good weather in England. + </p> + <p> + Birds which we took to be crows, but which we learned afterward were + rooks, whirled and circled. As we turned a corner a smaller bird rose from + the grass beside the road and soared upward, singing with all its little + might until it was a fluttering speck against the sky. Hephzy watched it, + her eyes shining. + </p> + <p> + “I believe,” she cried, excitedly, “I do believe that is a skylark. Do you + suppose it is?” + </p> + <p> + “A lark, yes, lady,” said our driver. + </p> + <p> + “A lark, a real skylark! Just think of it, Hosy. I've heard a real lark. + Well, Hephzibah Cahoon, you may never get into a book, but you're livin' + among book things every day of your life. 'And singin' ever soars and + soarin' ever singest.' I'd sing, too, if I knew how. You needn't be + frightened—I sha'n't try.” + </p> + <p> + The meadows ended at the foot of another hill, a real one this time. At + our left, crowning the hill, a big house, a mansion with towers and + turrets, rose above the trees. Hephzy whispered to me. + </p> + <p> + “You don't suppose THAT is the rectory, do you, Hosy?” she asked, in an + awestricken tone. + </p> + <p> + “If it is we may as well go back to London,” I answered. “But it isn't. + Nothing lower in churchly rank than a bishop could keep up that + establishment.” + </p> + <p> + The driver settled our doubts for us. + </p> + <p> + “The Manor House, sir,” he said, pointing with his whip. “The estate + begins here, sir.” + </p> + <p> + The “estate” was bordered by a high iron fence, stretching as far as we + could see. Beside that fence we rode for some distance. Then another turn + in the road and we entered the street of a little village, a village of + picturesque little houses, brick or stone always—not a frame house + among them. Many of the roofs were thatched. Flowers and climbing vines + and little gardens everywhere. The village looked as if it had been there, + just as it was, for centuries. + </p> + <p> + “This is Mayberry, sir,” said our driver. “That is the rectory, next the + church.” + </p> + <p> + We could see the church tower and the roof, but the rectory was not yet + visible to our eyes. We turned in between two of the houses, larger and + more pretentious than the rest. The driver alighted and opened a big + wooden gate. Before us was a driveway, shaded by great elms and bordered + by rose hedges. At the end of the driveway was an old-fashioned, + comfortable looking, brick house. Vines hid the most of the bricks. Flower + beds covered its foundations. A gray-haired old gentleman stood in the + doorway. + </p> + <p> + This was the rectory we had come to see and the gray-haired gentleman was + the Reverend Mr. Cole, the rector. + </p> + <p> + “My soul!” whispered Hephzy, looking aghast at the spacious grounds, “we + can never hire THIS. This is too expensive and grand for us, Hosy. Look at + the grass to cut and the flowers to attend to, and the house to run. No + wonder the servants have 'quarters.' My soul and body! I thought a rector + was a kind of minister, and a rectory was a sort of parsonage, but I guess + I'm off my course, as Father used to say. Either that or ministers' wages + are higher than they are in Bayport. No, this place isn't for you and me, + Hosy.” + </p> + <p> + But it was. Before we left that rectory in the afternoon I had agreed to + lease it until the middle of September, servants—there were five of + them, groom and gardener included—horse and trap, tennis court, + vegetable garden, fruit, flowers and all. It developed that the terms, + which I had considered rather too high for my purse, included the + servants' wages, vegetables from the garden, strawberries and other “small + fruit”—everything. Even food for the horse was included in that + all-embracing rent. + </p> + <p> + As Hephzy said, everything considered, the rent of Mayberry Rectory was + lower than that of a fair-sized summer cottage at Bayport. + </p> + <p> + The Reverend Mr. Cole was a delightful gentleman. His wife was equally + kind and agreeable. I think they were, at first, rather unpleasantly + surprised to find that their prospective tenants were from the “States”; + but Hephzy and I managed to behave as unlike savages as we could, and the + Cole manner grew less and less reserved. Mr. Cole and his wife were + planning to spend a long vacation in Switzerland and his “living,” or + parish, was to be left in charge of his two curates. There was a son at + Oxford who was to join them on their vacation. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Cole and I walked about the grounds and visited the church, the yard + of which, with its weather-beaten gravestones and fine old trees, adjoined + the rectory on the western side, behind the tall hedge. + </p> + <p> + The church was built of stone, of course, and a portion of it was older + than the Norman conquest. Before the altar steps were two ancient effigies + of knights in armor, with crossed gauntlets and their feet supported by + crouching lions. These old fellows were scratched and scarred and + initialed. Upon one noble nose were the letters “A. H. N. 1694.” I decided + that vandalism was not a modern innovation. + </p> + <p> + While the rector and I were inspecting the church, Mrs. Cole and Hephzy + were making a tour of the house. They met us at the door. Mrs. Cole's eyes + were twinkling; I judged that she had found Hephzy amusing. If this was + true it had not warped her judgment, however, for, a moment later when she + and I were alone, she said: + </p> + <p> + “Your cousin, Miss Cahoon, is a good housekeeper, I imagine.” + </p> + <p> + “She is all of that,” I said, decidedly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she was very particular concerning the kitchen and scullery and the + maids' rooms. Are all American housekeepers as particular?” + </p> + <p> + “Not all. Miss Cahoon is unique in many ways; but she is a remarkable + woman in all.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I am sure of it. And she has such a typical American accent, hasn't + she.” + </p> + <p> + We were to take possession on the following Monday. We lunched at the “Red + Cow,” the village inn, where the meal was served in the parlor and the + landlord's daughter waited upon us. The plump black horse drew us to the + railway station, and we took the train for London. + </p> + <p> + We have learned, by this time, that second, or even third-class travel was + quite good enough for short journeys and that very few English people paid + for first-class compartments. We were fortunate enough to have a + second-class compartment to ourselves this time, and, when we were seated, + Hephzy asked a question. + </p> + <p> + “Did you think to speak about the golf, Hosy?” she said. “You will want to + play some, won't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said I. “I did ask about it. It seems that the golf course is a + private one, on the big estate we passed on the way from the station. + Permission is always given the rectory tenants.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! my gracious, isn't that grand! That estate isn't in Mayberry. The + Mayberry bounds—that's what Mrs. Cole called them—and just + this side. The estate is in the village of—of Burgleston Bogs. + Burgleston Bogs—it's a funny name. Seem's if I'd heard it before.” + </p> + <p> + “You have,” said I, in surprise. “Burgleston Bogs is where that Heathcroft + chap whom we met on the steamer visits occasionally. His aunt has a big + place there. By George! you don't suppose that estate belongs to his aunt, + do you?” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy gasped. “I wouldn't wonder,” she cried. “I wouldn't wonder if it + did. And his aunt was Lady Somebody, wasn't she. Maybe you'll meet him + there. Goodness sakes! just think of your playin' golf with a Lady's + nephew.” + </p> + <p> + “I doubt if we need to think of it,” I observed. “Mr. Carleton Heathcroft + on board ship may be friendly with American plebeians, but on shore, and + when visiting his aunt, he may be quite different. I fancy he and I will + not play many holes together.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy laughed. “You 'fancy,'” she repeated. “You'll be sayin' 'My word' + next. My! Hosy, you ARE gettin' English.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I'm not!” I declared, with emphasis. “My experience with an + English relative is sufficient of itself to prevent that. Miss Frances + Morley and I are compatriots for the summer only.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX + </h2> + <h3> + In Which We Make the Acquaintance of Mayberry and a Portion of Burgleston + Bogs + </h3> + <p> + We migrated to Mayberry the following Monday, as we had agreed to do. Miss + Morley went with us, of course. I secured a first-class apartment for our + party and the journey was a comfortable and quiet one. Our invalid was too + weak to talk a great deal even if she had wished, which she apparently did + not. Johnson, the groom, met us at Haddington on Hill and we drove to the + rectory. There Miss Morley, very tired and worn out, was escorted to her + room by Hephzy and Charlotte, the housemaid. She was perfectly willing to + remain in that room, in fact she did not leave it for several days. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Hephzy and I were doing our best to become acquainted with our + new and novel mode of life. Hephzy took charge of the household and was, + in a way, quite in her element; in another way she was distinctly out of + it. + </p> + <p> + “I did think I was gettin' used to bein' waited on, Hosy,” she confided, + “but it looks as if I'll have to begin all over again. Managin' one hired + girl like Susanna was a job and I tell you I thought managin' three, same + as we've got here, would be a staggerer. But it isn't. Somehow the kind of + help over here don't seem to need managin'. They manage me more than I do + them. There's Mrs. Wigham, the cook. Mrs. Cole told me she was a + 'superior' person and I guess she is—at any rate, she's superior to + me in some things. She knows what a 'gooseberry fool' is and I'm sure I + don't. I felt like another kind of fool when she told me she was goin' to + make one, as a 'sweet,' for dinner to-night. As nigh as I can make out + it's a sort of gooseberry pie, but <i>I</i> should never have called a + gooseberry pie a 'sweet'; a 'sour' would have been better, accordin' to my + reckonin'. However, all desserts over here are 'sweets' and fruit is + dessert. Then there's Charlotte, the housemaid, and Baker, the + 'between-maid'—between upstairs and down, I suppose that means—and + Grimmer, the gardener, and Johnson, the boy that takes care of the horse. + Each one of 'em seems to know exactly what their own job is and just as + exactly where it leaves off and t'other's job begins. I never saw such + obligin' but independent folks in my life. As for my own job, that seems + to be settin' still with my hands folded. Well, it's a brand new one and + it's goin' to take me one spell to get used to it.” + </p> + <p> + It seemed likely to be a “spell” before I became accustomed to my own + “job,” that of being a country gentleman with nothing to do but play the + part. When I went out to walk about the rectory garden, Grimmer touched + his hat. When, however, I ventured to pick a few flowers in that garden, + his expression of shocked disapproval was so marked that I felt I must + have made a dreadful mistake. I had, of course. Grimmer was in charge of + those flowers and if I wished any picked I was expected to tell him to + pick them. Picking them myself was equivalent to admitting that I was not + accustomed to having a gardener in my employ, in other words that I was + not a real gentleman at all. I might wait an hour for Johnson to return + from some errand or other and harness the horse; but I must on no account + save time by harnessing the animal myself. That sort of labor was not done + by the “gentry.” I should have lost caste with the servants a dozen times + during my first few days in the rectory were it not for one saving grace; + I was an American, and almost any peculiar thing was expected of an + American. + </p> + <p> + When I strolled along the village street the male villagers, especially + the older ones, touched their hats to me. The old women bowed or + courtesied. Also they invariably paused, when I had passed, to stare after + me. The group at the blacksmith shop—where the stone coping of the + low wall was worn in hollows by the generations of idlers who had sat upon + it, just as their descendants were sitting upon it now—turned, after + I had passed, to stare. There would be a pause in the conversation, then + an outburst of talk and laughter. They were talking about the “foreigner” + of course, and laughing at him. At the tailor's, where I sent my clothes + to be pressed, the tailor himself, a gray-haired, round-shouldered + antique, ventured an opinion concerning those clothes. “That coat was not + made in England, sir,” he said. “We don't make 'em that way 'ere, sir. + That's a bit foreign, that coat, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Yes, I was a foreigner. It was hard to realize. In a way everything was so + homelike; the people looked like people I had known at home, their faces + were New England faces quite as much as they were old England. But their + clothes were just a little different, and their ways were different, and a + dry-goods store was a “draper's shop,” and a drug-store was a “chemist's,” + and candies were “sweeties” and a public school was a “board school” and a + boarding-school was a “public school.” And I might be polite and pleasant + to these people—persons out of my “class”—but I must not be + too cordial, for if I did, in the eyes of these very people, I lost caste + and they would despise me. + </p> + <p> + Yes, I was a foreigner; it was a queer feeling. + </p> + <p> + Coming from America and particularly from democratic Bayport, where + everyone is as good as anyone else provided he behaves himself, the class + distinction in Mayberry was strange at first. I do not mean that there was + not independence there; there was, among the poorest as well as the richer + element. Every male Mayberryite voted as he thought, I am sure; and was + self-respecting and independent. He would have resented any infringement + of his rights just as Englishmen have resented such infringements and + fought against them since history began. But what I am trying to make + plain is that political equality and social equality were by no means + synonymous. A man was a man for 'a' that, but when he was a gentleman he + was 'a' that' and more. And when he was possessed of a title he was + revered because of that title, or the title itself was revered. The hatter + in London where I purchased a new “bowler,” had a row of shelves upon + which were boxes containing, so I was told, the spare titles of eminent + customers. And those hat-boxes were lettered like this: “The Right Hon. + Col. Wainwright, V.C.,” “His Grace the Duke of Leicester,” “Sir George + Tupman, K.C.B.,” etc., etc. It was my first impression that the hatter was + responsible for thus proclaiming his customers' titles, but one day I saw + Richard, convoyed by Henry, reverently bearing a suitcase into Bancroft's + Hotel. And that suitcase bore upon its side the inscription, in very large + letters, “Lord Eustace Stairs.” Then I realized that Lord Eustace, like + the owners of the hat-boxes, recognizing the value of a title, advertised + it accordingly. + </p> + <p> + I laughed when I saw the suitcase and the hat-boxes. When I told Hephzy + about the latter she laughed, too. + </p> + <p> + “That's funny, isn't it,” she said. “Suppose the folks that have their + names on the mugs in the barber shop back home had 'em lettered 'Cap'n + Elkanah Crowell,' 'Judge the Hon. Ezra Salters,' 'The Grand Exalted Sachem + Order of Red Men George Kendrick.' How everybody would laugh, wouldn't + they. Why they'd laugh Cap'n Elkanah and Ezra and Kendrick out of town.” + </p> + <p> + So they would have done—in Bayport—but not in Mayberry or + London. Titles and rank and class in England are established and accepted + institutions, and are not laughed at, for where institutions of that kind + are laughed at they soon cease to be. Hephzy summed it up pretty well when + she said: + </p> + <p> + “After all, it all depends on what you've been brought up to, doesn't it, + Hosy. Your coat don't look funny to you because you've always worn that + kind of coat, but that tailor man thought 'twas funny because he never saw + one made like it. And a lord takin' his lordship seriously seems funny to + us, but it doesn't seem so to him or to the tailor. They've been brought + up to it, same as you have to the coat.” + </p> + <p> + On one point she and I had agreed before coming to Mayberry, that was that + we must not expect calls from the neighbors or social intercourse with the + people of Mayberry. + </p> + <p> + “They don't know anything about us,” said I, “except that we are + Americans, and that may or may not be a recommendation, according to the + kind of Americans they have previously met. The Englishman, so all the + books tell us, is reserved and distant at first. He requires a long + acquaintance before admitting strangers to his home life and we shall + probably have no opportunity to make that acquaintance. If we were to stay + in Mayberry a year, and behaved ourselves, we might in time be accepted as + desirable, but not during the first summer. So if they leave us to + ourselves we must make the best of it.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy agreed thoroughly. “You're right,” she said. “And, after all, it's + just what would happen anywhere. You remember when that Portygee family + came to Bayport and lived in the Solon Blodgett house. Nobody would have + anything to do with 'em for a long time because they were foreigners, but + they turned out to be real nice folks after all. We're foreigners here and + you can't blame the Mayberry people for not takin' chances; it looks as if + nobody in it ever had taken a chance, as if it had been just the way it is + since Noah came out of the Ark. I never felt so new and shiny in my life + as I do around this old rectory and this old town.” + </p> + <p> + Which was all perfectly true and yet the fact remains that, “new and + shiny” as we were, the Mayberry people—those of our “class”—began + to call upon us almost immediately, to invite us to their homes, to show + us little kindnesses, and to be whole-souled and hospitable and friendly + as if we had known them and they us for years. It was one of the greatest + surprises, and remains one of the most pleasant recollections, of my brief + career as a resident in England, the kindly cordiality of these neighbors + in Mayberry. + </p> + <p> + The first caller was Dr. Bayliss, who occupied “Jasmine Gables,” the + pretty house next door. He dropped in one morning, introduced himself, + shook hands and chatted for an hour. That afternoon his wife called upon + Hephzy. The next day I played a round of golf upon the private course on + the Manor House grounds, the Burgleston Bogs grounds—with the doctor + and his son, young Herbert Bayliss, just through Cambridge and the medical + college at London. Young Bayliss was a pleasant, good-looking young chap + and I liked him as I did his father. He was at present acting as his + father's assistant in caring for the former's practice, a practice which + embraced three or four villages and a ten-mile stretch of country. + </p> + <p> + Naturally I was interested in the Manor estate and its owner. The grounds + were beautiful, three square miles in extent and cared for, so Bayliss, + Senior, told me, by some hundred and fifty men, seventy of whom were + gardeners. Of the Manor House itself I caught a glimpse, gray-turreted and + huge, set at the end of lawns and flower beds, with fountains playing and + statues gleaming white amid the foliage. I asked some questions concerning + its owner. Yes, she was Lady Kent Carey and she had a nephew named + Heathcroft. So there was a chance, after all, that I might again meet my + ship acquaintance who abhorred “griddle cakes.” I imagined he would be + somewhat surprised at that meeting. It was an odd coincidence. + </p> + <p> + As for the game of golf, my part of it, the least said the better. Doctor + Bayliss, who, it developed, was an enthusiast at the game, was kind enough + to tell me I had a “topping” drive. I thanked him, but there was + altogether too much “topping” connected with my play that forenoon to make + my thanks enthusiastic. I determined to practice assiduously before + attempting another match. Somehow I felt responsible for the golfing honor + of my country. + </p> + <p> + Other callers came to the rectory. The two curates, their names were + Judson and Worcester, visited us; young men, both of them, and good + fellows, Worcester particularly. Although they wore clerical garb they + were not in the least “preachy.” Hephzy, although she liked them, + expressed surprise. + </p> + <p> + “They didn't act a bit like ministers,” she said. “They didn't ask us to + come to meetin' nor hint at prayin' with the family or anything, yet they + looked for all the while like two Methodist parsons, young ones. A curate + is a kind of new-hatched rector, isn't he?” + </p> + <p> + “Not exactly,” I answered. “He is only partially hatched. But, whatever + you do, don't tell them they look like Methodists; they wouldn't consider + it a compliment.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy was a Methodist herself and she resented the slur. “Well, I guess a + Methodist is as good as an Episcopalian,” she declared. “And they don't + ACT like Methodists. Why, one of 'em smoked a pipe. Just imagine Mr. + Partridge smokin' a pipe!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Judson and I played eighteen holes of golf together. He played a + little worse than I did and I felt better. The honor of Bayport's golf had + been partially vindicated. + </p> + <p> + While all this was going on our patient remained, for the greater part of + the time, in her room. She was improving steadily. Doctor Bayliss, whom I + had asked to attend her, declared, as his London associates had done, that + all she needed was rest, quiet and the good air and food which she was + certain to get in Mayberry. He, too, like the physician at Bancroft's, + seemed impressed by her appearance and manner. And he also asked similar + embarrassing questions. + </p> + <p> + “Delightful young lady, Miss Morley,” he observed. “One of our English + girls, Knowles. She informs me that she IS English.” + </p> + <p> + “Partly English,” I could not help saying. “Her mother was an American.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, indeed! You know she didn't tell me that, now did she.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps not.” + </p> + <p> + “No, by Jove, she didn't. But she has lived all her life in England?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—in England and France.” + </p> + <p> + “Your niece, I think you said.” + </p> + <p> + I had said it, unfortunately, and it could not be unsaid now without many + explanations. So I nodded. + </p> + <p> + “She doesn't—er—behave like an American. She hasn't the + American manner, I mean to say. Now Miss Cahoon has—er—she has—” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Cahoon's manner is American. So is mine; we ARE Americans, you see.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, of course,” hastily. “When are you and I to have the nine holes + you promised, Knowles?” + </p> + <p> + One fine afternoon the invalid came downstairs. The “between-maid” had + arranged chairs and the table on the lawn. We were to have tea there; we + had tea every day, of course—were getting quite accustomed to it. + </p> + <p> + Frances—I may as well begin calling her that—looked in better + health then than at any time since our meeting. She was becomingly, + although simply gowned, and there was a dash of color in her cheeks. + Hephzibah escorted her to the tea table. I rose to meet them. + </p> + <p> + “Frank—Frances, I mean—is goin' to join us to-day,” said + Hephzy. “She's beginnin' to look real well again, isn't she.” + </p> + <p> + I said she was. Frances nodded to me and took one of the chairs, the most + comfortable one. She appeared perfectly self-possessed, which I was sure I + did not. I was embarrassed, of course. Each time I met the girl the + impossible situation in which she had placed us became more impossible, to + my mind. And the question, “What on earth shall we do with her?” more + insistent. + </p> + <p> + Hephzy poured the tea. Frances, cup in hand, looked about her. + </p> + <p> + “This is rather a nice place, after all,” she observed, “isn't it.” + </p> + <p> + “It's a real lovely place,” declared Hephzy with enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + The young lady cast another appraising glance at our surroundings. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she repeated, “it's a jolly old house and the grounds are not bad + at all.” + </p> + <p> + Her tone nettled me. Everything considered I thought she might have shown + a little more enthusiasm. + </p> + <p> + “I infer that you expected something much worse,” I observed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of course I didn't know what to expect. How should I? I had no hand + in selecting it, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “She's hardly seen it,” put in Hephzy. “She was too sick when she came to + notice much, I guess, and this is the first time she has been out doors.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad you approve,” I observed, drily. + </p> + <p> + My sarcasm was wasted. Miss Morley said again that she did approve, of + what she had seen, and added that we seemed to have chosen very well. + </p> + <p> + “I don't suppose,” said Hephzy, complacently, “that there are many much + prettier places in England than this one.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, indeed there are. But all England is beautiful, of course.” + </p> + <p> + I thought of Mrs. Briggs' lodging-house, but I did not refer to it. Our + guest—or my “niece”—or our ward—it was hard to classify + her—changed the subject. + </p> + <p> + “Have you met any of the people about here?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Hephzy burst into enthusiastic praise of the Baylisses and the curates and + the Coles. + </p> + <p> + “They're all just as nice as they can be,” she declared. “I never met + nicer folks, at home or anywhere.” + </p> + <p> + Frances nodded. “All English people are nice,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Again I thought of Mrs. Briggs and again I kept my thoughts to myself. + Hephzy went on rhapsodizing. I paid little attention until I heard her + speak my name. + </p> + <p> + “And Hosy thinks so, too. Don't you, Hosy?” she said. + </p> + <p> + I answered yes, on the chance. Frances regarded me oddly. + </p> + <p> + “I thought—I understood that your name was Kent, Mr. Knowles,” she + said. + </p> + <p> + “It is.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why does Miss Cahoon always—” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy interrupted. “Oh, I always call him Hosy,” she explained. “It's a + kind of pet name of mine. It's short for Hosea. His whole name is Hosea + Kent Knowles, but 'most everybody but me does call him Kent. I don't think + he likes Hosea very well.” + </p> + <p> + Our companion looked very much as if she did not wonder at my dislike. Her + eyes twinkled. + </p> + <p> + “Hosea,” she repeated. “That is an odd name. The original Hosea was a + prophet, wasn't he? Are you a prophet, Mr. Knowles?” + </p> + <p> + “Far from it,” I answered, with decision. If I had been a prophet I should + have been forewarned and, consequently, forearmed. + </p> + <p> + She smiled and against my will I was forced to admit that her smile was + attractive; she was prettier than ever when she smiled. + </p> + <p> + “I remember now,” she said; “all Americans have Scriptural names. I have + read about them in books.” + </p> + <p> + “Hosy writes books,” said Hephzy, proudly. “That's his profession; he's an + author.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, really, is he! How interesting!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he is. He has written ever so many books; haven't you, Hosy.” + </p> + <p> + I didn't answer. My self and my “profession” were the last subjects I + cared to discuss. The young lady's smile broadened. + </p> + <p> + “And where do you write your books, Mr. Knowles?” she asked. “In—er—Bayport?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I answered, shortly. “Hephzy, Miss Morley will have another cup of + tea, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, thank you. But tell me about your books, Mr. Knowles. Are they + stories of Bayport?” + </p> + <p> + “No indeed!” Hephzy would do my talking for me, and I could not order her + to be quiet. “No indeed!” she declared. “He writes about lords and ladies + and counts and such. He hardly ever writes about everyday people like the + ones in Bayport. You would like his books, Frances. You would enjoy + readin' 'em, I know.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure I should. They must be delightful. I do hope you brought some + with you, Mr. Knowles.” + </p> + <p> + “He didn't, but I did. I'll lend you some, Frances. I'll lend you 'The + Queen's Amulet.' That's a splendid story.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure it must be. So you write about queens, too, Mr. Knowles. I + thought Americans scorned royalty. And what is his queen's name, Miss + Cahoon? Is it Scriptural?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no indeed! Besides, all Americans' names aren't out of the Bible, any + more than the names in England are. That man who wanted to let us his + house in Copperhead—no, Leatherhead—funny I should forget THAT + awful name—he was named Solomon—Solomon Cripps... Why, what is + it?” + </p> + <p> + Miss Morley's smile and the mischievous twinkle had vanished. She looked + startled, and even frightened, it seemed to me. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Frances?” repeated Hephzy, anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing—nothing. Solomon—what was it? Solomon Cripps. That is + an odd name. And you met this Mr.—er—Cripps?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we met him. He had a house he wanted to let us, and I guess we'd + have taken it, too, only you seemed to hate the name of Leatherhead so. + Don't you remember you did? I don't blame you. Of the things to call a + pretty town that's about the worst.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is rather frightful. But this, Mr.—er—Cripps; was he + as bad as his name? Did you talk with him?” + </p> + <p> + “Only about the house. Hosy and I didn't like him well enough to talk + about anything else, except religion. He and his wife gave us to + understand they were awful pious. I'm afraid we wouldn't have been churchy + enough to suit them, anyway. Hosy, here, doesn't go to meetin' as often as + he ought to.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad of it.” The young lady's tone was emphatic and she looked as if + she meant it. We were surprised. + </p> + <p> + “You're glad of it!” repeated Hephzy, in amazement. “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I hate persons who go to church all the time and boast of it, who + do all sorts of mean things, but preach, preach, preach continually. They + are hypocritical and false and cruel. I HATE them.” + </p> + <p> + She looked now as she had in the room at Mrs. Briggs's when I had + questioned her concerning her father. I could not imagine the reason for + this sudden squall from a clear sky. Hephzy drew a long breath. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” she said, after a moment, “then Hosy and you ought to get along + first-rate together. He's down on hypocrites and make-believe piety as bad + as you are. The only time he and Mr. Partridge, our minister in Bayport, + ever quarreled—'twasn't a real quarrel, but more of a disagreement—was + over what sort of a place Heaven was. Mr. Partridge was certain sure that + nobody but church members would be there, and Hosy said if some of the + church members in Bayport were sure of a ticket, the other place had + strong recommendations. 'Twas an awful thing to say, and I was almost as + shocked as the minister was; that is I should have been if I hadn't known + he didn't mean it.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Morley regarded me with a new interest, or at least I thought she + did. + </p> + <p> + “Did you mean it?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + I smiled. “Yes,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Hosy,” cried Hephzy. “What a way that is to talk! What do you know + about the hereafter?” + </p> + <p> + “Not much, but,” remembering the old story, “I know Bayport. Humph! + speaking of ministers, here is one now.” + </p> + <p> + Judson, the curate, was approaching across the lawn. Hephzy hastily + removed the lid of the teapot. “Yes,” she said, with a sigh of relief, + “there's enough tea left, though you mustn't have any more, Hosy. Mr. + Judson always takes three cups.” + </p> + <p> + Judson was introduced and, the “between-maid” having brought another + chair, he joined our party. He accepted the first of the three cups and + observed. + </p> + <p> + “I hope I haven't interrupted an important conversation. You appeared to + be talking very earnestly.” + </p> + <p> + I should have answered, but Hephzy's look of horrified expostulation + warned me to be silent. Frances, although she must have seen the look, + answered instead. + </p> + <p> + “We were discussing Heaven,” she said, calmly. “Mr. Knowles doesn't + approve of it.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy bounced on her chair. “Why!” she cried; “why, what a—why, + WHAT will Mr. Judson think! Now, Frances, you know—” + </p> + <p> + “That was what you said, Mr. Knowles, wasn't it. You said if Paradise was + exclusively for church members you preferred—well, another locality. + That was what I understood you to say.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Judson looked at me. He was a very good and very orthodox and a very + young man and his feelings showed in his face. + </p> + <p> + “I—I can scarcely think Mr. Knowles said that, Miss Morley,” he + protested. “You must have misunderstood him.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but I didn't misunderstand. That was what he said.” + </p> + <p> + Again Mr. Judson looked at me. It seemed time for me to say something. + </p> + <p> + “What I said, or meant to say, was that I doubted if the future life, the—er—pleasant + part of it, was confined exclusively to—er—professed church + members,” I explained. + </p> + <p> + The curate's ruffled feelings were evidently not soothed by this + explanation. + </p> + <p> + “But—but, Mr. Knowles,” he stammered, “really, I—I am at a + loss to understand your meaning. Surely you do not mean that—that—” + </p> + <p> + “Of course he didn't mean that,” put in Hephzy. “What he said was that + some of the ones who talk the loudest and oftenest in prayer-meetin' at + our Methodist church in Bayport weren't as good as they pretended to be. + And that's so, too.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Judson seemed relieved. “Oh,” he exclaimed. “Oh, yes, I quite + comprehend. Methodists—er—dissenters—that is quite + different—quite.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Judson knows that no one except communicants in the Church of England + are certain of happiness,” observed Frances, very gravely. + </p> + <p> + Our caller turned his attention to her. He was not a joker, but I think he + was a trifle suspicious. The young lady met his gaze with one of serene + simplicity and, although he reddened, he returned to the charge. + </p> + <p> + “I should—I should scarcely go as far as that, Miss Morley,” he + said. “But I understand Mr. Knowles to refer to—er—church + members; and—er—dissenters—Methodists and others—are + not—are not—” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” broke in Hephzibah, with decision, “I'm a Methodist, myself, and + <i>I</i> don't expect to go to perdition.” + </p> + <p> + Judson's guns were spiked. He turned redder than ever and changed the + subject to the weather. + </p> + <p> + The remainder of the conversation was confined for the most part to + Frances and the curate. They discussed the village and the people in it + and the church and its activities. At length Judson mentioned golf. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Knowles and I are to have another round shortly, I trust,” he said. + “You owe me a revenge, you know, Mr. Knowles.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” exclaimed the young lady, in apparent surprise, “does Mr. Knowles + play golf?” + </p> + <p> + “Not real golf,” I observed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but he does,” protested Mr. Judson, “he does. Rather! He plays a very + good game indeed. He beat me quite badly the other day.” + </p> + <p> + Which, according to my reckoning, was by no means a proof of extraordinary + ability. Frances seemed amused, for some unexplained reason. + </p> + <p> + “I should never have thought it,” she observed. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” asked Judson. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know. Golf is a game, and Mr. Knowles doesn't look as if he + played games. I should have expected nothing so frivolous from him.” + </p> + <p> + “My golf is anything but frivolous,” I said. “It's too seriously bad.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you golf, Miss Morley, may I ask?” inquired the curate. + </p> + <p> + “I have occasionally, after a fashion. I am sure I should like to learn.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be delighted to teach you. It would be a great pleasure, really.” + </p> + <p> + He looked as if it would be a pleasure. Frances smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you so much,” she said. “You and I and Mr. Knowles will have a + threesome.” + </p> + <p> + Judson's joy at her acceptance was tempered, it seemed to me. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of course,” he said. “It will be a great pleasure to have your uncle + with us. A great pleasure, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “My—uncle?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes—Mr. Knowles, you know. By the way, Miss Morley—excuse + my mentioning it, but I notice you always address your uncle as Mr. + Knowles. That seems a bit curious, if you'll pardon my saying so. A bit + distant and—er—formal to our English habit. Do all nieces and + nephews in your country do that? Is it an American custom?” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy and I looked at each other and my “niece” looked at both of us. I + could feel the blood tingling in my cheeks and forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Is it an American custom?” repeated Mr. Judson. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” with chilling deliberation. “I am NOT an American.” + </p> + <p> + The curate said “Indeed!” and had the astonishing good sense not to say + any more. Shortly afterward he said good-by. + </p> + <p> + “But I shall look forward to our threesome, Miss Morley,” he declared. “I + shall count upon it in the near future.” + </p> + <p> + After his departure there was a most embarrassing interval of silence. + Hephzy spoke first. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think you had better go in now, Frances,” she said. “Seems to + me you had. It's the first time you've been out at all, you know.” + </p> + <p> + The young lady rose. “I am going,” she said. “I am going, if you and—my + uncle—will excuse me.” + </p> + <p> + That evening, after dinner, Hephzy joined me in the drawing-room. It was a + beautiful summer evening, but every shade was drawn and every shutter + tightly closed. We had, on our second evening in the rectory, suggested + leaving them open, but the housemaid had shown such shocked surprise and + disapproval that we had not pressed the point. By this time we had learned + that “privacy” was another sacred and inviolable English custom. The + rectory sat in its own ground, surrounded by high hedges; no one, without + extraordinary pains, could spy upon its inmates, but, nevertheless, the + privacy of those inmates must be guaranteed. So the shutters were closed + and the shades drawn. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said I to Hephzy. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Hephzy, “it's better than I was afraid it was goin' to be. I + explained that you told the folks at Bancroft's she was your niece because + 'twas the handiest thing to tell 'em, and you HAD to tell 'em somethin'. + And down here in Mayberry the same way. She understood, I guess; at any + rate she didn't make any great objection. I thought at the last that she + was laughin', but I guess she wasn't. Only what she said sounded funny.” + </p> + <p> + “What did she say?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, she wanted to know if she should call you 'Uncle Hosea.' She + supposed it should be that—'Uncle Hosy' sounded a little + irreverent.” + </p> + <p> + I did not answer. “Uncle Hosea!” a beautiful title, truly. + </p> + <p> + “She acted so different to-day, didn't she,” observed Hephzy. “It's + because she's gettin' well, I suppose. She was real full of fun, wasn't + she.” + </p> + <p> + “Confound her—yes,” I snarled. “All the fun is on her side. Well, + she should make the best of it while it lasts. When she learns the truth + she may not find it so amusing.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy sighed. “Yes,” she said, slowly, “I'm afraid that's so, poor thing. + When—when are you goin' to tell her?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” I answered. “But pretty soon, that's certain.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X + </h2> + <h3> + In Which I Break All Previous Resolutions and Make a New One + </h3> + <p> + That afternoon tea on the lawn was the beginning of the great change in + our life at the rectory. Prior to that Hephzy and I had, golfly speaking, + been playing it as a twosome. Now it became a threesome, with other + players added at frequent intervals. At luncheon next day our invalid, a + real invalid no longer, joined us at table in the pleasant dining-room, + the broad window of which opened upon the formal garden with the sundial + in the center. She was in good spirits, and, as Hephzy confided to me + afterward, was “gettin' a real nice appetite.” In gaining this appetite + she appeared to have lost some of her dignity and chilling condescension; + at all events, she treated her American relatives as if she considered + them human beings. She addressed most of her conversation to Hephzy, + always speaking of and to her as “Miss Cahoon.” She still addressed me as + “Mr. Knowles,” and I was duly thankful; I had feared being hailed as + “Uncle Hosy.” + </p> + <p> + After lunch Mr. Judson called again. He was passing, he explained, on his + round of parish calls, and had dropped in casually. Mr. Worcester also + came; his really was a casual stop, I think. He and his brother curate + were very brotherly indeed, but I noticed an apparent reluctance on the + part of each to leave before the other. They left together, but Mr. Judson + again hinted at the promised golf game, and Mr. Worcester, having learned + from Miss Morley that she played and sang, expressed great interest in + music and begged permission to bring some “favorite songs,” which he felt + sure Miss Morley might like to run over. + </p> + <p> + Miss Morley herself was impartially gracious and affable to both the + clerical gentlemen; she was looking forward to the golf, she said, and the + songs she was certain would be jolly. Hephzy and I had very little to say, + and no one seemed particularly anxious to hear that little. + </p> + <p> + The curates had scarcely disappeared down the driveway when Doctor Bayliss + and his son strolled in from next door. Doctor Bayliss, Senior, was much + pleased to find his patient up and about, and Herbert, the son, even more + pleased to find her at all, I judge. Young Bayliss was evidently very + favorably impressed with his new neighbor. He was a big, healthy, + broad-shouldered fellow, a grown-up boy, whose laugh was a pleasure to + hear, and who possessed the faculty, envied by me, the quahaug, of + chatting entertainingly on all subjects from tennis and the new American + dances to Lloyd-George and old-age pensions. Frances declared a strong + aversion to the dances, principally because they were American, I + suspected. + </p> + <p> + Doctor Bayliss, the old gentleman, then turned to me. + </p> + <p> + “What is the American opinion of the Liberal measures?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I should say,” I answered, “that, so far as they are understood in + America, opinion concerning them is divided, much as it is here.” + </p> + <p> + “Really! But you haven't the Liberal and Conservative parties as we have, + you know.” + </p> + <p> + “We have liberals and conservatives, however, although our political + parties are not so named.” + </p> + <p> + “We call 'em Republicans and Democrats,” explained Hephzy. “Hosy is a + Republican,” she added, proudly. + </p> + <p> + “I am not certain what I am,” I observed. “I have voted a split ticket of + late.” + </p> + <p> + Young Bayliss asked a question. + </p> + <p> + “Are you a—what is it—Republican, Miss Morley?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + Miss Morley's eyes dropped disdainfully. + </p> + <p> + “I am neither,” she said. “My father was a Conservative, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say! That's odd, isn't it. Your uncle here is—” + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Hosea, you mean?” sweetly. “Oh, Uncle Hosea is an American. I am + English.” + </p> + <p> + She did not add “Thank heaven,” but she might as well. “Uncle Hosea” + shuddered at the name. Young Bayliss grinned behind his blonde mustache. + When he left, in company with his father, Hephzy invited him to “run in + any time.” + </p> + <p> + “We're next-door neighbors,” she said, “so we mustn't be formal.” + </p> + <p> + I was fairly certain that the invitation was superfluous. If I knew human + nature at all I knew that Bayliss, Junior, did not intend to let formality + stand in the way of frequent calls at the rectory. + </p> + <p> + My intuition was correct. The following afternoon he called again. So did + Mr. Judson. Both calls were casual, of course. So was Mr. Worcester's that + evening. He came to bring the “favorite songs” and was much surprised to + find Miss Morley in the drawing-room. He said so. + </p> + <p> + Hephzy and I knew little of our relative's history. She had volunteered no + particulars other than those given on the occasion of our first meeting, + but we did know, because Mrs. Briggs had told us, that she had been a + member of an opera troupe. This evening we heard her sing for the first + time. She sang well; her voice was not a strong one, but it was clear and + sweet and she knew how to use it. Worcester sang well also, and the little + concert was very enjoyable. + </p> + <p> + It was the first of many. Almost every evening after dinner Frances sat + down at the old-fashioned piano, with the candle brackets at each side of + the music rack, and sang. Occasionally we were her only auditors, but more + often one or both of the curates or Doctor and Mrs. Bayliss or Bayliss, + Junior, dropped in. We made other acquaintances—Mrs. Griggson, the + widow in “reduced circumstances,” whose husband had been killed in the + Boer war, and who occupied the little cottage next to the draper's shop; + Mr. and Mrs. Samson, of Burgleston Bogs, friends of the Baylisses, and + others. They were pleasant, kindly, unaffected people and we enjoyed their + society. + </p> + <p> + Each day Frances gained in health and strength. The care-free, wholesome, + out-of-door life at Mayberry seemed to suit her. She seemed to consider + herself a member of the family now; at all events she did not speak of + leaving nor hint at the prompt settlement of her preposterous “claim.” + Hephzy and I did not mention it, even to each other. Hephzy, I think, was + quite satisfied with things as they were, and I, in spite of my threats + and repeated declarations that the present state of affairs was ridiculous + and could not last, put off telling “my niece” the truth. I, too, was + growing more accustomed to the “threesome.” + </p> + <p> + The cloud was always there, hanging over our heads and threatening a storm + at any moment, but I was learning to forget it. The situation had its + pleasant side; it was not all bad. For instance, meals in the pleasant + dining-room, with Hephzy at one end of the table, I at the other, and + Frances between us, were more social and chatty than they had been. To + have the young lady come down to breakfast, her hair prettily arranged, + her cheeks rosy with health, and her eyes shining with youth and the joy + of life, was almost a tonic. I found myself taking more pains with my + morning toilet, choosing my tie with greater care and being more careful + concerning the condition of my boots. I even began to dress for dinner, a + concession to English custom which was odd enough in one of my easy-going + habits and Bayport rearing. I imagine that the immaculate appearance of + young Bayliss, when he dropped in for the “sing” in the drawing-room, was + responsible for the resurrection of my dinner coat. He did look so + disgustingly young and handsome and at ease. I was conscious of each one + of my thirty-eight years whenever I looked at him. + </p> + <p> + I was rejuvenating in other ways. It had been my custom at Bayport to + retire to my study and my books each evening. Here, where callers were so + frequent, I found it difficult to do this and, although the temptation was + to sit quietly in a corner and let the others do the talking, I was not + allowed to yield. The younger callers, particularly the masculine portion, + would not have objected to my silence, I am sure, but “my niece” seemed to + take mischievous pleasure in drawing the quahaug out of his shell. She had + a disconcerting habit of asking me unexpected questions at times when my + attention was wandering, and, if I happened to state a definite opinion, + taking the opposite side with promptness. After a time I decided not to + express opinions, but to agree with whatever was said as the simplest way + of avoiding controversy and being left to myself. + </p> + <p> + This procedure should, it seemed to me, have satisfied her, but apparently + it did not. On one occasion, Judson and Herbert Bayliss being present, the + conversation turned to the subject of American athletic sports. The curate + and Bayliss took the ground, the prevailing thought in England apparently, + that all American games were not games, but fights in which the true + sporting spirit was sacrificed to the desire to win at any cost. I had + said nothing, keeping silent for two reasons. First, that I had given my + views on the subject before, and, second, because argument from me was, in + that company, fruitless effort. The simplest way to end discussion of a + disagreeable topic was to pay no attention to it. + </p> + <p> + But I was not allowed to escape so easily. Bayliss asked me a question. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it true, Mr. Knowles,” he asked, “that the American football player + wears a sort of armor to prevent his being killed?” + </p> + <p> + My thoughts had been drifting anywhere and everywhere. Just then they were + centered about “my niece's” hands. She had very pretty hands and a most + graceful way of using them. At the moment they were idly turning some + sheets of music, but the way the slim fingers moved in and out between the + pages was pretty and fascinating. Her foot, glimpsed beneath her skirt, + was slender and graceful, too. She had an attractive trick of swinging it + as she sat upon the piano stool. + </p> + <p> + Recalled from these and other pleasing observations by Bayliss's mention + of my name, I looked up. + </p> + <p> + “I beg pardon?” said I. + </p> + <p> + Bayliss repeated his question. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” said I, and looked down again at the foot. + </p> + <p> + “So I have been told,” said the questioner, triumphantly. “And without + that—er—armor many of the players would be killed, would they + not?” + </p> + <p> + “What? Oh, yes; yes, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “And many are killed or badly injured as it is?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “How many during a season, may I ask?” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? Oh—I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “A hundred?” + </p> + <p> + The foot was swinging more rapidly now. It was such a small foot. My own + looked so enormous and clumsy and uncouth by comparison. + </p> + <p> + “A—oh, thousands,” said I, at random. If the number were large + enough to satisfy him he might cease to worry me. + </p> + <p> + “A beastly game,” declared Judson, with conviction. “How can a civilized + country countenance such brutality! Do you countenance it, Mr. Knowles?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—er—that is, no.” + </p> + <p> + “You agree, then, that it is brutal?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, certainly.” Would the fellow never stop? + </p> + <p> + “Then—” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” It was Frances who spoke and her tone was emphatic and + impatient. We all looked at her; her cheeks were flushed and she appeared + highly indignant. “Nonsense!” she said again. “He doesn't agree to any + such thing. I've heard him say that American football was not as brutal as + our fox-hunting and that fewer people were killed or injured. We play polo + and we ride in steeplechases and the papers are full of accidents. I don't + believe Americans are more brutal or less civilized in their sports than + we are, not in the least.” + </p> + <p> + Considering that she had at the beginning of the conversation apparently + agreed with all that had been said, and, moreover, had often, in speaking + to Hephzy and me, referred to the “States” as an uncivilized country, this + declaration was astonishing. I was astonished for one. Hephzy clapped her + hands. + </p> + <p> + “Of course they aren't,” she declared. “Hosy—Mr. Knowles—didn't + mean that they were, either.” + </p> + <p> + Our callers looked at each other and Herbert Bayliss hastily changed the + subject. After they had gone I ventured to thank my champion for coming to + the rescue of my sporting countrymen. She flashed an indignant glance at + me. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you say such things?” she demanded. “You know they weren't true.” + </p> + <p> + “What was the use of saying anything else? They have read the accounts of + football games which American penny-a-line correspondents send to the + London papers and nothing I could say would change their convictions.” + </p> + <p> + “It doesn't make any difference. You should say what you think. To sit + there and let them—Oh, it is ridiculous!” + </p> + <p> + “My feelings were not hurt. Their ideas will broaden by and by, when they + are as old as I am. They're young now.” + </p> + <p> + This charitable remark seemed to have the effect of making her more + indignant than ever. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” she cried. “You speak as if you were an Old Testament + patriarch.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy put in a word. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Frances,” she said, “I thought you didn't like America.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't. Of course I don't. But it makes me lose patience to have him sit + there and agree to everything those boys say. Why didn't he answer them as + he should? If I were an American no one—NO one should rag me about + my country without getting as good as they gave.” + </p> + <p> + I was amused. “What would you have me do?” I asked. “Rise and sing the + 'Star Spangled Banner'?” + </p> + <p> + “I would have you speak your mind like a man. Not sit there like a—like + a rabbit. And I wouldn't act and think like a Methusaleh until I was one.” + </p> + <p> + It was quite evident that “my niece” was a young person of whims. The next + time the “States” were mentioned and I ventured to speak in their defence, + she calmly espoused the other side and “ragged” as mercilessly as the + rest. I found myself continually on the defensive, and this state of + affairs had one good effect at least—that of waking me up. + </p> + <p> + Toward Hephzy her manner was quite different. She now, especially when we + three were alone, occasionally addressed her as “Auntie.” And she would + not permit “Auntie” to be made fun of. At the least hint of such a thing + she snubbed the would-be humorist thoroughly. She and Hephzy were becoming + really friendly. I felt certain she was beginning to like her—to + discern the real woman beneath the odd exterior. But when I expressed this + thought to Hephzy herself she shook her head doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes I've almost thought so, Hosy,” she said, “but only this mornin' + when I said somethin' about her mother and how much she looked like her, + she almost took my head off. And she's got her pa's picture right in the + middle of her bureau. No, Hosy, she's nicer to us than she was at first + because it's her nature to be nice. So long as she forgets who and what we + are, or what her scamp of a father told her we were, she treats us like + her own folks. But when she remembers we're receivers of stolen goods, + livin' on money that belongs to her, then it's different. You can't blame + her for that, I suppose. But—but how is it all goin' to end? <i>I</i> + don't know.” + </p> + <p> + I didn't know either. + </p> + <p> + “I had hoped,” I said, “that, living with us as she does, she might come + to know and understand us—to learn that we couldn't be the sort she + has believed us to be. Then it seems to me we might tell her and she would + listen to reason.” + </p> + <p> + “I—I'm afraid we can't wait long. You see, there's another thing, + Hosy. She needs clothes and—and lots of things. She realizes it. + Yesterday she told me she must go up to London, shopping, pretty soon. She + asked me to go with her. I put her off; said I was awful busy around the + house just now, but she'll ask me again, and if I don't go she'll go by + herself.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! I don't see how she can do much shopping. She hasn't a penny, so + far as I know.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't understand. She thinks she has got a good many pennies, or + we've got 'em for her. She's just as liable to buy all creation and send + us the bills.” + </p> + <p> + I whistled. “Well,” I said, decidedly, “when that happens we must put our + foot down. Neither you nor I are millionaires, Hephzy, and she must + understand that regardless of consequences.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean you'll tell her—everything?” + </p> + <p> + “I shall have to. Why do you look at me like that? Are we to use + common-sense or aren't we? Are we in a position to adopt a young woman of + expensive tastes—actually adopt her? And not only that, but give her + carte blanche—let her buy whatever she pleases and charge it to us?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose not. But—” + </p> + <p> + “But what?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I—I don't see how we can stop her buying whatever she pleases + with what she thinks is her own money.” + </p> + <p> + “I do. We can tell her she has no money. I shall do it. My mind is made + up.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy said nothing, but her expression was one of doubt. I stalked off in + a bad temper. Discussions of the kind always ended in just this way. + However, I swore a solemn oath to keep my word this time. There were + limits and they had been reached. Besides, as I had said, the situation + was changed in one way; we no longer had an invalid to deal with. No, my + mind was made up. True, this was at least the tenth time I had made it up, + but this time I meant it. + </p> + <p> + The test came two days later and was the result of a call on the Samsons. + The Samsons lived at Burgleston Bogs, and we drove to their house in the + trap behind “Pet,” the plump black horse. Mrs. Samson seemed very glad to + see us, urged us to remain for tea, and invited us to attend a tennis + tournament on their lawn the following week. She asked if Miss Morley + played tennis. Frances said she had played, but not recently. She intended + to practice, however, and would be delighted to witness the tournament, + although, of course, she could not take part in it. + </p> + <p> + “Hosy—Mr. Knowles, I mean—plays tennis,” observed Hephzy, + seizing the opportunity, as usual, to speak a good word for me. “He used + to play real well.” + </p> + <p> + “Really!” exclaimed Mrs. Samson, “how interesting. If we had only known. + No doubt Mr. Knowles would have liked to enter. I'm so sorry.” + </p> + <p> + I hastened to protest. “My tennis is decidedly rusty,” I said. “I + shouldn't think of displaying it in public. In fact, I don't play at all + now.” + </p> + <p> + On the way home Frances was rather quiet. The next morning she announced + that she intended going to Wrayton that afternoon. “Johnson will drive me + over,” she said. “I shall be glad if Auntie will go with me.” + </p> + <p> + Wrayton was the county-seat, a good-sized town five miles from Mayberry. + Hephzy declined the invitation. She had promised to “tea” with Mrs. + Griggson that afternoon. + </p> + <p> + “Then I must go alone,” said Frances. “That is unless—er—Uncle + Hosea cares to go.” + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Hosea” declined. The name of itself was sufficient to make him + decline; besides Worcester and I were scheduled for golf. + </p> + <p> + “I shall go alone then,” said “my niece,” with decision. “Johnson will + look after me.” + </p> + <p> + But after luncheon, when I visited the stable to order Johnson to harness + “Pet,” I met with an unexpected difficulty. Johnson, it appeared, was ill, + had been indisposed the day before and was now at home in bed. I + hesitated. If this were Bayport I should have bade the gardener harness + “Pet” or have harnessed him myself. But this was Mayberry, not Bayport. + </p> + <p> + The gardener, deprived of his assistant's help—Johnson worked about + the garden when not driving—was not in good humor. I decided not to + ask him to harness, but to risk a fall in the estimation of the servants + by doing it myself. + </p> + <p> + The gardener watched me for a moment in shocked disapproval. Then he + interfered. + </p> + <p> + “If you please, Mr. Knowles, sir,” he said, “I'll 'arness, but I can't + drive, sir. I am netting the gooseberries. Perhaps you might get a man + from the Inn stables, unless you or the young lady might wish to drive + yourselves.” + </p> + <p> + I did not wish to drive, having the golf engagement; but when I walked to + the Inn I found no driver available. So, rather than be disagreeable, I + sent word to the curate that our match was postponed, and accepted the + alternative. + </p> + <p> + Frances, rather to my surprise, seemed more pleased than otherwise to find + that I was to be her coachman. Instead of occupying the rear seat she + climbed to that beside me. + </p> + <p> + “Good-by, Auntie,” she called to Hephzy, who was standing in the doorway. + “Sorry you're not going. I'll take good care of Mr. Knowles—Uncle + Hosea, I mean. I'll see that he behaves himself and,” with a glance at my, + I fear, not too radiant visage, “doesn't break any of his venerable + bones.” + </p> + <p> + The road, like all English roads which I traveled, was as firm and smooth + as a table, the day was fine, the hedges were green and fragrant, the + larks sang, and the flocks of sheep in the wayside pastures were + picturesque as always. “Pet,” who had led an easy life since we came to + the rectory, was in high spirits and stepped along in lively fashion. My + companion, too, was in good spirits and chatted and laughed as she had not + done with me since I knew her. + </p> + <p> + Altogether it was a delightful ride. I found myself emerging from my shell + and chatting and joking quite unlike the elderly quahaug I was supposed to + be. We passed a party of young fellows on a walking tour, knapsacked and + knickerbockered, and the admiring glances they passed at my passenger were + flattering. They envied me, that was plain. Well, under different + circumstances, I could conceive myself an object of envy. A dozen years + younger, with the heart of youth and the comeliness of youth, I might have + thought myself lucky to be driving along such a road with such a vision by + my side. And, the best of it was, the vision treated me as if I really + were her own age. I squared my shoulders and as Hephzy would have said, + “perked up” amazingly. + </p> + <p> + We entered Wrayton and moved along the main street between the rows of + ancient buildings, past the old stone church with its inevitable and + always welcome gray, ivy-draped tower, to the quaint old square with the + statue of William Pitt in its center. My companion, all at once, seemed to + become aware of her surroundings. + </p> + <p> + “Why!” she exclaimed, “we are here, aren't we? Fancy! I expected a longer + drive.” + </p> + <p> + “So did I,” I agreed. “We haven't hurried, either. Where has the time + gone.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. We have been so busy talking that I have thought of nothing + else. Really, I didn't know you could be so entertaining—Uncle + Hosea.” + </p> + <p> + The detested title brought me to myself. + </p> + <p> + “We are here,” I said, shortly. “And now where shall we go? Have you any + stopping place in particular?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, “I want to stop now. Please pull up over there, in front + of that shop with the cricket bats in the window.” + </p> + <p> + The shop was what we, in America, would have called a “sporting-goods + store.” I piloted “Pet” to the curb and pulled up. + </p> + <p> + “I am going in,” said Miss Morley. “Oh, don't trouble to help me. I can + get down quite well.” + </p> + <p> + She was down, springing from the step as lightly as a dandelion fluff + before I could scramble down on the other side. + </p> + <p> + “I won't be long,” she said, and went into the shop. I, not being invited, + remained on the pavement. Two or three small boys appeared from somewhere + and, scenting possible pennies, volunteered to hold the horse. I declined + their services. + </p> + <p> + Five minutes passed, then ten. My passenger was still in the shop. I could + not imagine what she was doing there. If it had been a shop of a different + kind, and in view of Hephzy's recent statement concerning the buying of + clothes, I might have been suspicious. But no clothes were on sale at that + shop and, besides, it never occurred to me that she would buy anything of + importance without mentioning her intention to me beforehand. I had taken + it for granted that she would mention the subject and, when she did, I + intended to be firm. But as the minutes went by my suspicions grew. She + must be buying something—or contemplating buying, at least. But she + had said nothing to me concerning money; HAD she money of her own after + all? It might be possible that she had a very little, and was making some + trifling purchase. + </p> + <p> + She reappeared in the doorway of the shop, followed by a very polite young + man with a blonde mustache. The young man was bowing and smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, miss,” he said, “I'll have them wrapped immediately. They shall be + ready when you return, miss. Thank you, miss.” + </p> + <p> + Frances nodded acknowledgment of the thanks. Then she favored me with + another nod and a most bewitching smile. + </p> + <p> + “That's over,” she announced, “and now I'm going to the draper's for a + moment. It is near here, you say?” + </p> + <p> + The young man bowed again. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, miss, on the next corner, next the chemist's.” + </p> + <p> + She turned to me. “You may wait here, Mr. Knowles,” she said. “I shall be + back very soon.” + </p> + <p> + She hurried away. I looked after her, and then, with all sorts of + forebodings surging in my brain, strode into that “sporting-goods store.” + </p> + <p> + The blond young man was at my elbow. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” he said, ingratiatingly. + </p> + <p> + “Did—did that young lady make some purchases here?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. Here they are, sir.” + </p> + <p> + There on the counter lay a tennis racket, a racket press and waterproof + case, a pair of canvas tennis shoes and a jaunty white felt hat. I stared + at the collection. The clerk took up the racket. + </p> + <p> + “Not a Slazenger,” he observed, regretfully. “I did my best to persuade + her to buy a Slazenger; that is the best racket we have. But she decided + the Slazenger was a bit high in price, sir. However, sir, this one is not + bad. A very fine racket for lady's use; very light and strong, sir, + considering the cost—only sixteen and six, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Sixteen and six. Four dollars and—Did she pay for it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, sir. She said you would do that, sir. The total is two pound eight + and thruppence, sir. Shall I give you a bill, sir? Thank you, sir.” + </p> + <p> + His thanks were wasted. I pushed him to one side and walked out of that + shop. I could not answer; if I answered as I felt I might be sorry later. + After all, it wasn't his fault. My business was not with him, but with + her. + </p> + <p> + It was not the amount of the purchase that angered and alarmed me. Two + pounds eight—twelve dollars—was not so much. If she had asked + me, if she had said she desired the racket and the rest of it during the + drive over, I think, feeling as I did during that drive, I should have + bought them for her. But she had not asked; she had calmly bought them + without consulting me at all. She had come to Wrayton for that very + purpose. And then had told the clerk that I would pay. + </p> + <p> + The brazen presumption of it! I was merely a convenience, a sort of + walking bank account, to be drawn upon as she saw fit, at her imperial + will, if you please. It made no difference, to her mind, whether I liked + it or not—whether I could afford it or not. I could, of course, + afford this trifling sum, but this was only the beginning. If I permitted + this there was no telling to what extent she might go on, buying and + buying and buying. This was a precedent—that was what it was, a + precedent; and a precedent once established... It should not be + established. I had vowed to Hephzy that it should not. I would prove to + this girl that I had a will of my own. The time had come. + </p> + <p> + One of the boys who had been so anxious to hold the horse was performing + that entirely unnecessary duty. + </p> + <p> + “Stay here until I come back,” I ordered and hurried to the draper's. + </p> + <p> + She was there standing before the counter, and an elderly man was + displaying cloths—white flannels and serges they appeared to be. She + was not in the least perturbed at my entrance. + </p> + <p> + “So you came, after all,” she said. “I wondered if you would. Now you must + help me. I don't know what your taste in tennis flannels may be, but I + hope it is good. I shall have these made up at Mayberry, of course. My + other frocks—and I need so many of them—I shall buy in London. + Do you fancy this, now?” + </p> + <p> + I don't know whether I fancied it or not. I am quite sure I could not + remember what it was if I were asked. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” she asked, after an instant. “Do you?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I don't know,” I said. “May I ask you to step outside one moment. + I—I have something I wish to say.” + </p> + <p> + She regarded me curiously. + </p> + <p> + “Something you wish to say?” she repeated. “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I can't tell you here.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not, pray?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I can't.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at me still more intently. I was conscious of the salesman's + regard also. My tone, I am sure, was anything but gracious, and I imagine + I appeared as disgusted and embarrassed as I felt. She turned away. + </p> + <p> + “I think I will choose this one,” she said, addressing the clerk. “You may + give me five yards. Oh, yes; and I may as well take the same amount of the + other. You may wrap it for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, miss, yes. Thank you, miss. Is there anything else?” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated. Then, after another sidelong glance at me, she said: “Yes, + I believe there is. I wish to see some buttons, some braid, and—oh, + ever so many things. Please show them to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, miss, certainly. This way, if you please.” + </p> + <p> + She turned to me. + </p> + <p> + “Will you assist in the selection, Uncle Hosea?” she inquired, with + suspicious sweetness. “I am sure your opinion will be invaluable. No? Then + I must ask you to wait.” + </p> + <p> + And wait I did, for I could do nothing else. That draper's shop was not + the place for a scene, with a half-dozen clerks to enjoy it. I waited, + fuming, while she wandered about, taking a great deal of time, and + lingering over each purchase in a maddening manner. At last she seemed + able to think of no more possibilities and strolled to where I was + standing, followed by the salesman, whose hands were full. + </p> + <p> + “You may wrap these with the others,” she said. “I have my trap here and + will take them with me. The trap is here, isn't it—er—Uncle + Hosea?” + </p> + <p> + “It is just above here,” I answered, sulkily. “But—” + </p> + <p> + “But you will get it. Thank you so much.” + </p> + <p> + The salesman noticed my hesitation, put his own interpretation upon it and + hastened to oblige. + </p> + <p> + “I shall be glad to have the purchases carried there,” he said. “Our boy + will do it, miss. It will be no trouble.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Morley thanked him so much. I was hoping she might leave the shop + then, but she did not. The various packages were wrapped, handed to the + boy, and she accompanied the latter to the door and showed him our + equipage standing before the sporting-goods dealer's. Then she sauntered + back. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” she said, addressing the clerk. “That is all, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + The clerk looked at her and at me. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, miss, thank you,” he said, in return. “I—I—would you be + wishing to pay at once, miss, or shall I—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, this gentleman will pay. Do you wish to pay now—Uncle Hosea?” + </p> + <p> + Again I was stumped. The salesman was regarding me expectantly; the other + clerks were near by; if I made a scene there—No, I could not do it. + I would pay this time. But this should be the end. + </p> + <p> + Fortunately, I had money in my pocket—two five-pound notes and some + silver. I paid the bill. Then, and at last, my niece led the way to the + pavement. We walked together a few steps in silence. The sporting-goods + shop was just ahead, and if ever I was determined not to do a thing that + thing was to pay for the tennis racket and the rest. + </p> + <p> + “Frances,” I began. + </p> + <p> + “Well—Mr. Knowles?” calmly. + </p> + <p> + “Frances, I have decided to speak with you frankly. You appear to take + certain things for granted in your—your dealings with Miss Cahoon + and myself, things which—which I cannot countenance or permit.” + </p> + <p> + She had been walking slowly. Now she stopped short. I stopped, too, + because she did. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” she asked. “What things?” + </p> + <p> + She was looking me through and through. Again I hesitated, and my + hesitation did not help matters. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” she repeated. “What is it you cannot countenance or”—scornfully—“permit + concerning me?” + </p> + <p> + “I—well, I cannot permit you to do as you have done to-day. You did + not tell your aunt or me your purpose in coming to Wrayton. You did not + tell us you were coming here to buy—to buy various things for + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should I tell you? They were for myself. Is it your idea that I + should ask YOUR permission before buying what I choose?” + </p> + <p> + “Considering that you ask me to pay, I—” + </p> + <p> + “I most distinctly did NOT ask you. I TOLD you to pay. Certainly you will + pay. Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, why not. So this was what you wished to speak to me about. This was + why you were so—so boorish and disagreeable in that shop. Tell me—was + that the reason? Was that why you followed me there? Did you think—did + you presume to think of preventing my buying what I pleased with my + money?” + </p> + <p> + “If it had been your money I should not have presumed, certainly. If you + had mentioned your intention to me beforehand I might even have paid for + your purchases and said nothing. I should—I should have been glad to + do so. I am not unreasonable.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed! Indeed! Do you mean that you would have condescended to make me a + present of them? And was it your idea that I would accept presents from + you?” + </p> + <p> + It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her that she had already accepted a + good deal; but somehow the place, a public sidewalk, seemed hardly fitting + for the discussion of weighty personal matters. Passers-by were regarding + us curiously, and in the door of the draper's shop which we had just left + I noticed the elderly clerk standing and looking in our direction. I + temporized. + </p> + <p> + “You don't understand, Miss Morley,” I said. “Neither your aunt nor I are + wealthy. Surely, it is not too much to ask that you consult us before—before—” + </p> + <p> + She interrupted me. “I shall not consult you at all,” she declared, + fiercely. “Wealthy! Am <i>I</i> wealthy? Was my father wealthy? He should + have been and so should I. Oh, WHAT do you mean? Are you trying to tell me + that you cannot afford to pay for the few trifles I have bought this + afternoon?” + </p> + <p> + “I can afford those, of course. But you don't understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Understand? YOU do not understand. The agreement under which I came to + Mayberry was that you were to provide for me. I consented to forego + pressing my claim against you until—until you were ready to—to—Oh, + but why should we go into this again? I thought—I thought you + understood. I thought you understood and appreciated my forbearance. You + seemed to understand and to be grateful and kind. I am all alone in the + world. I haven't a friend. I have been almost happy for a little while. I + was beginning to—” + </p> + <p> + She stopped. The dark eyes which had been flashing lightnings in my + direction suddenly filled with tears. My heart smote me. After all, she + did not understand. Another plea of that kind and I should have—Well, + I'm not sure what I should have done. But the plea was not spoken. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what a fool I am!” she cried, fiercely. “Mr. Knowles,” pointing to + the sporting-goods store, “I have made some purchases in that shop also. I + expect you to pay for those as well. Will you or will you not?” + </p> + <p> + I was hesitating, weakly. She did not wait for me to reply. + </p> + <p> + “You WILL pay for them,” she declared, “and you will pay for others that I + may make. I shall buy what I please and do what I please with my money + which you are keeping from me. You will pay or take the consequences.” + </p> + <p> + That was enough. “I will not pay,” I said, firmly, “under any such + arrangement.” + </p> + <p> + “You will NOT?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I will not.” + </p> + <p> + She looked as if—Well, if she had been a man I should have expected + a blow. Her breast heaved and her fingers clenched. Then she turned and + walked toward the shop with the cricket bats in the window. + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to tell the man to send the things I have bought to Mayberry + by carrier and I shall tell him to send the bill to you.” + </p> + <p> + “If you do I shall tell him to do nothing of the kind. Miss Morley, I + don't mean to be ungenerous or unreasonable, but—” + </p> + <p> + “Stop! Stop! Oh!” with a sobbing breath, “how I hate you!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry. When I explain, as I mean to, you will understand, I think. If + you will go back to the rectory with me now—” + </p> + <p> + “I shall not go back with you. I shall never speak to you again.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Morley, be reasonable. You must go back with me. There is no other + way.” + </p> + <p> + “I will not.” + </p> + <p> + Here was more cheer in an already cheerful situation. She could not get to + Mayberry that night unless she rode with me. She had no money to take her + there or anywhere else. I could hardly carry her to the trap by main + strength. And the curiosity of the passers-by was more marked than ever; + two or three of them had stopped to watch us. + </p> + <p> + I don't know how it might have ended, but the end came in an unexpected + manner. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Miss Morley,” cried a voice from the street behind me. “Oh, I say, + it IS you, isn't it. How do you do?” + </p> + <p> + I turned. A trim little motor car was standing there and Herbert Bayliss + was at the wheel. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Knowles, how do you do?” said Bayliss. + </p> + <p> + I acknowledged the greeting in an embarrassed fashion. I wondered how long + he had been there and what he had heard. He alighted from the car and + shook hands with us. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't see you, Knowles, at first,” he said. “Saw Miss Morley here and + thought she was alone. Was going to beg the privilege of taking her home + in my car.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Morley answered promptly. “You may have the privilege, Doctor + Bayliss,” she said. “I accept with pleasure.” + </p> + <p> + Young Bayliss looked pleased, but rather puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, awfully,” he said. “But my car holds but two and your uncle—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he has the dogcart. It is quite all right, really. I should love the + motor ride. May I get in?” + </p> + <p> + He helped her into the car. “Sure you don't mind, Knowles,” he asked. + “Sorry there's not more room; but you couldn't leave the horse, though, + could you? Quite comfy, Miss Morley? Then we're off.” + </p> + <p> + The car turned from the curb. I caught Miss Morley's eye for an instant; + there was withering contempt in its look—also triumph. + </p> + <p> + Left alone, I walked to the trap, gave the horse-holding boy sixpence, + climbed to the seat and took up the reins. “Pet” jogged lazily up the + street. The ride over had been very, very pleasant; the homeward journey + was likely to be anything but that. + </p> + <p> + To begin with, I was thoroughly dissatisfied with myself. I had bungled + the affair dreadfully. This was not the time for explanations; I should + not have attempted them. It would have been better, much better, to have + accepted the inevitable as gracefully as I could, paid the bills, and + then, after we reached home, have made the situation plain and “have put + my foot down” once and for all. But I had not done that. I had lost my + temper and acted like an eighteen-year-old boy instead of a middle-aged + man. + </p> + <p> + She did not understand, of course. In her eyes I must have appeared stingy + and mean and—and goodness knows what. The money I had refused to pay + she did consider hers, of course. It was not hers, and some day she would + know that it was not, but the town square at Wrayton was not the place in + which to impart knowledge of that kind. + </p> + <p> + She was so young, too, and so charming—that is, she could be when + she chose. And she had chosen to be so during our drive together. And I + had enjoyed that drive; I had enjoyed nothing as thoroughly since our + arrival in England. She had enjoyed it, too; she had said so. + </p> + <p> + Well, there would be no more enjoyment of that kind. This was the end, of + course. And all because I had refused to pay for a tennis racket and a few + other things. They were things she wanted—yes, needed, if she were + to remain at the rectory. And, expecting to remain as she did, it was but + natural that she should wish to play tennis and dress as did other young + players of her sex. Her life had not been a pleasant one; after all, a + little happiness added, even though it did cost me some money, was not + much. And it must end soon. It seemed a pity to end it in order to save + two pounds eight and threepence. + </p> + <p> + There is no use cataloguing all my thoughts. Some I have catalogued and + the others were similar. The memory of her face and of the choke in her + voice as she said she had been almost happy haunted me. My reason told me + that, so far as principle and precedent went, I had acted rightly; but my + conscience, which was quite unreasonable, told me I had acted like a boor. + I stood it as long as I could, then I shouted at “Pet,” who was jogging + on, apparently half asleep. + </p> + <p> + “Whoa!” I shouted. + </p> + <p> + “Pet” stopped short in the middle of the road. I hesitated. The principle + of the thing— + </p> + <p> + “Hang the principle!” said I, aloud. Then I turned the trap around and + drove back to Wrayton. The blond young man in the sporting-goods store was + evidently glad to see me. He must have seen me drive away and have judged + that his sale was canceled. His judgment had been very near to right, but + now I proved it wrong. + </p> + <p> + I paid for the racket and the press and the shoes and the rest. They were + wrapped and ready. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, sir,” said the clerk. “I trust everything will be quite + satisfactory. I'm sorry the young lady did not take the Slazenger, but the + one she chose is not at all bad.” + </p> + <p> + I was on my way to the door. I stopped and turned. + </p> + <p> + “Is the—the what is it—'Slazenger' so much better?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very much so, sir. Infinitely better, sir. Here it is; judge for + yourself. The very best racket made. And only thirty-two shillings, sir.” + </p> + <p> + It was a better racket, much better. And, after all, when one is hanging + principle the execution may as well be complete. + </p> + <p> + “You may give me that one instead of the other,” I said, and paid the + difference. + </p> + <p> + On my arrival at the rectory Hephzy met me at the door. The between-maid + took the packages from the trap. I entered the drawing-room and Hephzy + followed me. She looked very grave. + </p> + <p> + “Frances is here, I suppose,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she came an hour ago. Doctor Bayliss, the younger one, brought her + in his auto. She hardly spoke to me, Hosy, and went straight to her room. + Hosy, what happened? What is the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” said I, curtly. “Nothing unusual, that is. I made a fool of + myself once more, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + The between-maid knocked and entered. “Where would you wish the parcels, + sir?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “These are Miss Morley's. Take them to her room.” + </p> + <p> + The maid retired to obey orders. Hephzy again turned to me. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Hosy, what is it?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + I told her the whole story. When I had finished Hephzy nodded + understandingly. She did not say “I told you so,” but if she had it would + have been quite excusable. + </p> + <p> + “I think—I think, perhaps, I had better go up and see her,” she + said. + </p> + <p> + “All right. I have no objection.” + </p> + <p> + “But she'll ask questions, of course. What shall I tell her?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell her I changed my mind. Tell her—oh, tell her anything you + like. Don't bother me. I'm sick of the whole business.” + </p> + <p> + She left me and I went into the Reverend Cole's study and closed the door. + There were books enough there, but the majority of them were theological + works or bulky volumes dealing with questions of religion. Most of my own + books were in my room. These did not appeal to me; I was not religiously + inclined just then. + </p> + <p> + So I sat dumbly in the rector's desk chair and looked out of the window. + After a time there was a knock at the door. + </p> + <p> + “Come in,” said I, expecting Hephzy. It was not Hephzy who came, however, + but Miss Morley herself. And she closed the door behind her. + </p> + <p> + I did not speak. She walked over and stood beside me. I did not know what + she was going to say and the expression did not help me to guess. + </p> + <p> + For a moment she did not say anything. Then: + </p> + <p> + “So you changed your mind,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't know. Yet you changed it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Oh yes, I changed it.” + </p> + <p> + “But why? Was it—was it because you were ashamed of yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “I guess so. As much that as anything.” + </p> + <p> + “You realize that you treated me shamefully. You realize that?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” wearily. “Yes, I realize everything.” + </p> + <p> + “And you felt sorry, after I had gone, and so you changed your mind. Was + that it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + There was no use in attempting justification. For the absolute surrender I + had made there was no justification. I might as well agree to everything. + </p> + <p> + “And you will never, never treat me in that way again?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “And you realize that I was right and understand that I am to do as I + please with my money?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And you beg my pardon?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well. Then I beg yours. I'm sorry, too.” + </p> + <p> + Now I WAS surprised. I turned in my chair and looked at her. + </p> + <p> + “You beg my pardon?” I repeated. “For what?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, for everything. I suppose I should have spoken to you before buying + those things. You might not have been prepared to pay then and—and + that would have been unpleasant for you. But—well, you see, I didn't + think, and you were so queer and cross when you followed me to the + draper's shop, that—that I—well, I was disagreeable, too. I am + sorry.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. Is there anything else you wish to say?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “You're sure?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you buy the Slazenger racket instead of the other one?” + </p> + <p> + I had forgotten the “Slazenger” for the moment. She had caught me + unawares. + </p> + <p> + “Oh—oh,” I stammered, “well, it was a much better racket and—and, + as you were buying one, it seemed foolish not to get the best.” + </p> + <p> + “I know. I wanted the better one very much, but I thought it too + expensive. I did not feel that I should spend so much money.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right. The difference wasn't so much and I made the change on + my own responsibility. I—well, just consider that I bought the + racket and you bought none.” + </p> + <p> + She regarded me intently. “You mean that you bought it as a present for + me?” she said slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; yes, if you will accept it as such.” + </p> + <p> + She was silent. I remembered perfectly well what she had said concerning + presents from me and I wondered what I should do with that racket when she + threw it back on my hands. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” she said. “I will accept it. Thank you very much.” + </p> + <p> + I was staggered, but I recovered sufficiently to tell her she was quite + welcome. + </p> + <p> + She turned to go. Then she turned back. + </p> + <p> + “Doctor Bayliss asked me to play tennis with him tomorrow morning,” she + said. “May I?” + </p> + <p> + “May you? Why, of course you may, if you wish, I suppose. Why in the world + do you ask my permission?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't you wish me to ask? I inferred from what you said at Wrayton + that you did wish me to ask permission concerning many things.” + </p> + <p> + “I wished—I said—oh, don't be silly, please! Haven't we had + silliness enough for one afternoon, Miss Morley.” + </p> + <p> + “My Christian name is Frances. May I play tennis with Doctor Bayliss + to-morrow morning, Uncle Hosea?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you may. How could I prevent it, even if I wished, which I + don't.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Uncle Hosea. Mr. Worcester is going to play also. We need a + fourth. I can borrow another racket. Will you be my partner, Uncle Hosea?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i>? Your partner?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. You play tennis; Auntie says so. Will you play to-morrow morning as + my partner?” + </p> + <p> + “But I play an atrocious game and—” + </p> + <p> + “So do I. We shall match beautifully. Thank you, Uncle Hosea.” + </p> + <p> + Once more she turned to go, and again she turned. + </p> + <p> + “Is there anything else you wish me to do, Uncle Hosea?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + The repetition repeated was too much. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I declared. “Stop calling me Uncle Hosea. I'm not your uncle.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know that; but you have told everyone that you were, haven't you?” + </p> + <p> + I had, unfortunately, so I could make no better reply than to state + emphatically that I didn't like the title. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very well,” she said. “But 'Mr. Knowles' sounds so formal, don't you + think. What shall I call you? Never mind, perhaps I can think while I am + dressing for dinner. I will see you at dinner, won't I. Au revoir, and + thank you again for the racket—Cousin Hosy.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not your cousin, either—at least not more than a nineteenth + cousin. And if you begin calling me 'Hosy' I shall—I don't know what + I shall do.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear me, how particular you are! Well then, au revoir—Kent.” + </p> + <p> + When Hephzy came to the study I was still seated in the rector's chair. + She was brimful full of curiosity, I know, and ready to ask a dozen + questions at once. But I headed off the first of the dozen. + </p> + <p> + “Hephzy,” I observed, “I have made no less than fifty solemn resolutions + since we met that girl—that Little Frank of yours. You've heard me + make them, haven't you.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, I suppose I have. If you mean resolutions to tell her the truth + about her father and put an end to the scrape we're in, I have, certain.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; well, I've made another one now. Never, no matter what happens, will + I attempt to tell her a word concerning Strickland Morley or her + 'inheritance' or anything else. Every time I've tried I've made a blessed + idiot of myself and now I'm through. She can stay with us forever and run + us into debt to her heart's desire—I don't care. If she ever learns + the truth she sha'n't learn it from me. I'm incapable of telling it. I + haven't the sand of a yellow dog and I'm not going to worry about it. I'm + through, do you hear—through.” + </p> + <p> + That was my newest resolution. It was a comfort to realize that THIS + resolution I should probably stick to. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI + </h2> + <h3> + In Which Complications Become More Complicated + </h3> + <p> + And stick to it I did. From that day—the day of our drive to Wrayton—on + through those wonderful summer days in which she and Hephzy and I were + together at the rectory, not once did I attempt to remonstrate with my + “niece” concerning her presumption in inflicting her presence upon us or + in spending her money, as she thought it—our money as I knew it to + be—as she saw fit. Having learned and relearned my lesson—namely, + that I lacked the courage to tell her the truth I had so often declared + must be told, having shifted the responsibility to Hephzy's shoulders, + having admitted and proclaimed myself, in that respect at least, a yellow + dog, I proceeded to take life as I found it, as yellow dogs are supposed + to do. + </p> + <p> + And, having thus weakly rid myself of care and responsibility, I began to + enjoy that life. To enjoy the freedom of it, and the novelty of the + surroundings, and the friendship of the good people who were our + neighbors. Yes, and to enjoy the home life, the afternoons on the tennis + court or the golf course, the evenings in the drawing-room, the “teas” on + the lawn—either our lawn or someone else's—the chats together + across the dinner-table; to enjoy it all; and, more astonishing still, to + accept the companionship of the young person who was responsible for our + living in that way as a regular and understood part of that life. + </p> + <p> + Not that I understood the young person herself; no Bayport quahaug, who + had shunned female companionship as I had for so long, could be expected + to understand the whims and changing moods of a girl like Frances Morley. + At times she charmed and attracted me, at others she tormented and + irritated me. She argued with me one moment and disagreed the next. She + laughed at Hephzy's and my American accent and idioms, but when Bayliss, + Junior, or one of the curates ventured to criticize an “Americanism” she + was quite as likely to declare that she thought it “jolly” and “so + expressive.” Against my will I was obliged to join in conversations, to + take sides in arguments, to be present when callers came, to make calls. + I, who had avoided the society of young people because, being no longer + young, I felt out of place among them, was now dragged into such society + every day and almost every evening. I did not want to be, but Little Frank + seemed to find mischievous pleasure in keeping me there. + </p> + <p> + “It is good for you,” she said, on one occasion, when I had sneaked off to + my room and the company of the “British Poets.” “Auntie says you started + on your travels in order to find something new to write about. You'll + never find it in those musty books; every poem in them is at least seventy + years old. If you are going to write of England and my people you must + know something about those that are alive.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear young lady,” I said, “I have no intention of writing of your + people, as you call them.” + </p> + <p> + “You write of knights and lords and ladies and queens. You do—or you + did—and you certainly know nothing about THEM.” + </p> + <p> + I was quite a bit ruffled. “Indeed!” said I. “You are quite sure of that, + are you?” + </p> + <p> + “I am,” decidedly. “I have read 'The Queen's Amulet' and no queen on earth—in + England, surely—ever acted or spoke like that one. An American queen + might, if there was such a thing.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed and, provoked as I was, I could not help laughing with her. + She had a most infectious laugh. + </p> + <p> + “My dear young lady—” I began again, but she interrupted me. + </p> + <p> + “Don't call me that,” she protested. “You're not the Archbishop of + Canterbury visiting a girl's school and making a speech. You asked me not + to call you 'Uncle Hosea.' If you say 'dear young lady' to me again I + shall address you publicly as 'dear old Nunky.' Don't be silly.” + </p> + <p> + I laughed again. “But you ARE young,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what of it. Perhaps neither of us likes to be reminded of our age. + I'm sure you don't; I never saw anyone more sensitive on the subject. + There! there! put away those silly old books and come down to the + drawing-room. I'm going to sing. Mr. Worcester has brought in a lot of new + music.” + </p> + <p> + Reluctantly I closed the volume I had in my hand. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” I said; “I'll come if you wish. But I shall only be in the + way, as I always am. Mr. Worcester didn't plead for my company, did he? Do + you know I think he will bear up manfully if I don't appear.” + </p> + <p> + She regarded me with disapproval. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be childish in your old age,” she snapped, “Are you coming?” + </p> + <p> + I went, of course, and—it may have been by way of reward—she + sang several old-fashioned, simple ballads which I had found in a + dog's-eared portfolio in the music cabinet and which I liked because my + mother used to sing them when I was a little chap. I had asked for them + before and she had ignored the request. + </p> + <p> + This time she sang them and Hephzy, sitting beside me in the darkest + corner reached over and laid a hand on mine. + </p> + <p> + “Her mother all over again,” she whispered. “Ardelia used to sing those.” + </p> + <p> + Next day, on the tennis court, she played with Herbert Bayliss against + Worcester and me, and seemed to enjoy beating us six to one. The only + regret she expressed was that she and her partner had not made it a “love + set.” + </p> + <p> + Altogether she was a decidedly vitalizing influence, an influence that + was, I began to admit to myself, a good one for me. I needed to be kept + alive and active, and here, in this wide-awake household, I couldn't be + anything else. The future did not look as dull and hopeless as it had when + I left Bayport. I even began to consider the possibilities of another + novel, to hope that I might write one. Jim Campbell's “prescription,” + although working in quite a different way from that which he and I had + planned, was working nevertheless. + </p> + <p> + Matthews, at the Camford Street office, was forwarding my letters and + honoring my drafts with promptness. I received a note each week from + Campbell. I had written him all particulars concerning Little Frank and + our move to the rectory, and he professed to see in it only a huge joke. + </p> + <p> + “Tell your Miss Cahoon,” he wrote, “that I am going to turn Spiritualist + right away. I believe in dreams now, and presentiments and all sorts of + things. I am trying to dream out a plot for a novel by you. Had a + roof-garden supper the other night and that gave me a fine start, but I'll + have to tackle another one before I get sufficient thrills to furnish + forth one of your gems. Seriously though, old man, this whole thing will + do you a world of good. Nothing short of an earthquake would have shaken + you out of your Cape Cod dumps and it looks to me as if you and—what's + her name—Hephzibah, had had the quake. What are you going to do with + the Little Frank person in the end? Can't you marry her off to a wealthy + Englishman? Or, if not that, why not marry her yourself? She'd turn a dead + quahaug into a live lobster, I should imagine, if anyone could. Great + idea! What?” + </p> + <p> + His “great idea” was received with the contempt it deserved. I tore up the + letter and threw it into the waste basket. + </p> + <p> + But Hephzy herself spoke of matrimony and Little Frank soon after this. We + were alone together; Frances had gone on a horseback ride with Herbert + Bayliss and a female cousin who was spending the day at “Jasmine Gables.” + </p> + <p> + “Hosy,” said Hephzy, “do you realize the summer is half over? It's the + middle of July now.” + </p> + <p> + So it was, although it seemed scarcely possible. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she went on. “Our lease of this place is up the first of October. + We shall be startin' for home then, I presume likely, sha'n't we.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so. We can't stay over here indefinitely. Life isn't all + skittles and—and tea.” + </p> + <p> + “That's so. I don't know what skittles are, but I know what tea is. Land + sakes! I should say I did. They tell me the English national flower is a + rose. It ought to be a tea-plant blossom, if there is such a thing. Hosy,” + with a sudden return to seriousness, “what are we goin' to do with—with + HER when the time comes for us to go?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to take her to America with us?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! Well, we'll have to know then.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose we shall; but,” defiantly, “I'm not going to worry about it + till the time comes.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! Well, you've changed, that's all I've got to say. 'Twan't so long + ago that you did nothin' BUT worry. I never saw anybody change the way you + have anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “In what way?” + </p> + <p> + “In every way. You aren't like the same person you used to be. Why, + through that last year of ours in Bayport I used to think sometimes you + were older than I was—older in the way you thought and acted, I + mean. Now you act as if you were twenty-one. Cavortin' around, playin' + tennis and golf and everything! What has got into you?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. Jim Campbell's prescription is taking effect, I guess. He + said the change of air and environment would do me good. I tell you, + Hephzy, I have made up my mind to enjoy life while I can. I realize as + well as you do that the trouble is bound to come, but I'm not going to let + it trouble me beforehand. And I advise you to do the same.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I've been tryin' to, but sometimes I can't help wonderin' and + dreadin'. Perhaps I'm havin' my dread for nothin'. It may be that, by the + time we're ready to start for Bayport, Little Frank will be provided for.” + </p> + <p> + “Provided for? What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean provided for by somebody else. There's at least two candidates for + the job: Don't you think so?” + </p> + <p> + “You mean—” + </p> + <p> + “I mean Mr. Worcester and Herbert Bayliss. That Worcester man is a gone + case, or I'm no judge. He's keepin' company with Frances, or would, if + she'd let him. 'Twould be funny if she married a curate, wouldn't it.” + </p> + <p> + “Not very,” I answered. “Married life on a curate's salary is not my idea + of humor.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose likely that's so. And I can't imagine her a minister's wife, + can you?” + </p> + <p> + I could not; nor, unless I was greatly mistaken, could the young lady + herself. In fact, anything as serious as marriage was far from her + thoughts at present, I judged. But Hephzy did not seem so sure. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she went on, “I don't think the curate's got much chance. But young + Doctor Bayliss is different. He's good-lookin' and smart and he's got + prospects. I like him first-rate and I think Frances likes him, too. I + shouldn't wonder if THAT affair came to somethin'. Wouldn't it be splendid + if it did!” + </p> + <p> + I said that it would. And yet, even as I said it, I was conscious of a + peculiar feeling of insincerity. I liked young Bayliss. He was all that + Hephzy had said, and more. He would, doubtless, make a good husband for + any girl. And his engagement to Frances Morley might make easier the + explanation which was bound to come. I believed I could tell Herbert + Bayliss the truth concerning the ridiculous “claim.” A man would be + susceptible to reason and proof; I could convince him. I should have + welcomed the possibility, but, somehow or other, I did not. Somehow or + other, the idea of her marrying anyone was repugnant to me. I did not like + to think of it. + </p> + <p> + “Oh dear!” sighed Hephzy; “if only things were different. If only she knew + all about her father and his rascality and was livin' with us because she + wanted to—if that was the way of it, it would be so different. If + you and I had really adopted her! If she only was your niece.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” I snapped. “She isn't my niece.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it. That's what makes your goodness to her seem so wonderful to + me. You treat her as if you cared as much as I do. And of course you + don't. It isn't natural you should. She's my sister's child, and she's + hardly any relation to you at all. You're awful good, Hosy. She's noticed + it, too. I think she likes you now a lot better than she did; she as much + as said so. She's beginning to understand you.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” I said again. Understand me! I didn't understand myself. + Nevertheless I was foolishly pleased to hear that she liked me. It was + pleasant to be liked even by one who was destined to hate me later on. + </p> + <p> + “I hope she won't feel too hard against us,” continued Hephzy. “I can't + bear to think of her doin' that. She—she seems so near and dear to + me now. We—I shall miss her dreadfully when it's all over.” + </p> + <p> + I think she hoped that I might say that I should miss her, also. But I did + not say anything of the kind. + </p> + <p> + I was resolved not to permit myself to miss her. Hadn't I been scheming + and planning to get rid of her ever since she thrust herself upon us? To + be sorry when she, at last, was gotten rid of would be too idiotic. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” observed Hephzy, in conclusion, “perhaps she and Doctor Bayliss + will make a match after all. We ought to help it all we can, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + This conversation had various effects upon me. One was to make me + unaccountably “blue” for the rest of that day. Another was that I regarded + the visits of Worcester and Herbert Bayliss with a different eye. I + speculated foolishly concerning those visits and watched both young + gentlemen more closely. + </p> + <p> + I did not have to watch the curate long. Suddenly he ceased calling at the + rectory. Not altogether, of course, but he called only occasionally and + his manner toward my “niece” was oddly formal and constrained. She was + very kind to him, kinder than before, I thought, but there was a + difference in their manner. Hephzy, of course, had an explanation ready. + </p> + <p> + “She's given him his clearance papers,” was her way of expressing it. + “She's told him that it's no use so far as he's concerned. Well, I never + did think she cared for him. And that leaves the course clear for the + doctor, doesn't it.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor took advantage of the clear course. His calls and invitations + for rides and tennis and golf were more frequent than ever. She must have + understood; but, being a normal young woman, as well as a very, very + pretty one, she was a bit of a coquette and kept the boy—for, after + all, he was scarcely more than that—at arm's length and in a state + of alternate hope and despair. I shared his varying moods. If he could not + be sure of her feelings toward him, neither could I, and I found myself + wondering, wondering constantly. It was foolish for me to wonder, of + course. Why should I waste time in speculation on that subject? Why should + I care whether she married or not? What difference did it make to me whom + she married? I resolved not to think of her at all. And that resolution, + like so many I had made, amounted to nothing, for I did think of her + constantly. + </p> + <p> + And then to add a new complication to the already over-complicated + situation, came A. Carleton Heathcroft, Esquire. + </p> + <p> + Frances and Herbert Bayliss were scheduled for nine holes of golf on the + Manor House course that morning. I had had no intention of playing. My + projected novel had reached the stage where, plot building completed, I + had really begun the writing. The first chapter was finished and I had + intended beginning the second one that day. But, just as I seated myself + at the desk in the Reverend Cole's study, the young lady appeared and + insisted that the twosome become a threesome, that I leave my “stupid old + papers and pencils” and come for a round on the links. I protested, of + course, but she was in one of her wilful moods that morning and declared + that she would not play unless I did. + </p> + <p> + “It will do you good,” she said. “You'll write all the better this + afternoon. Now, come along.” + </p> + <p> + “Is Doctor Bayliss as anxious for my company as you seem to be?” I asked + maliciously. + </p> + <p> + She tossed her head. “Of course he is,” she retorted. “Besides it doesn't + make any difference whether he is or not. <i>I</i> want you to play, and + that is enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! he may not agree with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he can play by himself. It will do him good, too. He takes + altogether too much for granted. Come! I am waiting.” + </p> + <p> + So, after a few more fruitless protests, I reluctantly laid aside the + paper and pencils, changed to golfing regalia and, with my bag of clubs on + my shoulder, joined the two young people on the lawn. + </p> + <p> + Frances greeted me very cordially indeed. Her clubs—I had bought + them myself on one of my trips to London: having once yielded, in the + matter of the tennis outfit, I now bought various little things which I + thought would please her—were carried by Herbert Bayliss, who, of + course, also carried his own. His greeting was not as enthusiastic. He + seemed rather glum and out of sorts. Frances addressed most of her + conversation to me and I was inclined to think the pair had had some sort + of disagreement, what Hephzy would have called a “lover's quarrel,” + perhaps. + </p> + <p> + We walked across the main street of Mayberry, through the lane past the + cricket field, on by the path over the pastures, and entered the great + gate of the Manor, the gate with the Carey arms emblazoned above it. Then + a quarter of a mile over rolling hills, with rare shrubs and flowers + everywhere, brought us to the top of the hill at the edge of the little + wood which these English people persisted in calling a “forest.” The first + tee was there. You drove—if you were skillful or lucky—down + the long slope to the green two hundred yards away. If you were neither + skillful nor lucky you were quite as likely to drive into the long grass + on either side of the fair green. Then you hunted for your ball and, + having found it, wasted more or less labor and temper in pounding it out + of the “rough.” + </p> + <p> + At the first tee a man arrayed in the perfection of natty golfing togs was + practicing his “swing.” A caddy was carrying his bag. This of itself + argued the swinger a person of privilege and consequence, for caddies on + those links were strictly forbidden by the Lady of the Manor. Why they + were forbidden she alone knew. + </p> + <p> + As we approached the tee the player turned to look at us. He was not a + Mayberryite and yet there was something familiar in his appearance. He + regarded us for a moment and then, dropping his driver, lounged toward me + and extended his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say!” he exclaimed. “It is you, isn't it! How do you do?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Mr. Heathcroft!” I said. “This is a surprise.” + </p> + <p> + We shook hands. He, apparently, was not at all surprised. + </p> + <p> + “Heard about your being here, Knowles,” he drawled. “My aunt told me; that + is, she said there were Americans at the rectory and when she mentioned + the name I knew, of course, it must be you. Odd you should have located + here, isn't it! Jolly glad to see you.” + </p> + <p> + I said I was glad to see him. Then I introduced my companions. + </p> + <p> + “Bayliss and I have met before,” observed Heathcroft. “Played a round with + him in the tournament last year. How do, Bayliss? Don't think Miss Morley + and I have met, though. Great pleasure, really. Are you a resident of + Mayberry, Miss Morley?” + </p> + <p> + Frances said that she was a temporary resident. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! visiting here, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Yes, I am visiting. I am living at the rectory, also.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Morley is Mr. Knowles's niece,” explained Bayliss. + </p> + <p> + Heathcroft seemed surprised. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” he drawled. “Didn't know you had a niece, Knowles. She wasn't + with you on the ship, now was she.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Morley had been living in England—here and on the Continent,” + I answered. I could have kicked Bayliss for his officious explanation of + kinship. Now I should have that ridiculous “uncle” business to contend + with, in our acquaintance with Heathcroft as with the Baylisses and the + rest. Frances, I am sure, read my thoughts, for the corners of her mouth + twitched and she looked away over the course. + </p> + <p> + “Won't you ask Mr. Heathcroft to join our game—Uncle?” she said. She + had dropped the hated “Hosea,” I am happy to say, but in the presence of + those outside the family she still addressed me as “Uncle.” Of course she + could not do otherwise without arousing comment, but I did not like it. + Uncle! there was a venerable, antique quality in the term which I resented + more and more each time I heard it. It emphasized the difference in our + ages—and that difference needed no emphasis. + </p> + <p> + Heathcroft looked pleased at the invitation, but he hesitated in accepting + it. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I shouldn't do that, really,” he declared. “I should be in the way, + now shouldn't I.” + </p> + <p> + Bayliss, to whom the remark was addressed, made no answer. I judged that + he did not care for the honor of the Heathcroft company. But Frances, + after a glance in his direction, answered for him. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, not in the least,” she said. “A foursome is ever so much more + sporting than a threesome. Mr. Heathcroft, you and I will play Doctor + Bayliss and—Uncle. Shall we?” + </p> + <p> + Heathcroft declared himself delighted and honored. He looked the former. + He had scarcely taken his eyes from Miss Morley since their introduction. + </p> + <p> + That match was hard fought. Our new acquaintance was a fair player and he + played to win. Frances was learning to play and had a natural aptitude for + the game. I played better than my usual form and I needed to, for Bayliss + played wretchedly. He “dubbed” his approaches and missed easy putts. If he + had kept his eye on the ball instead of on his opponents he might have + done better, but that he would not do. He watched Heathcroft and Miss + Morley continually, and the more he watched the less he seemed to like + what he saw. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps he was not altogether to blame, everything considered. Frances was + quite aware of the scrutiny and apparently enjoyed his discomfiture. She—well, + perhaps she did not precisely flirt with A. Carleton Heathcroft, but she + was very, very agreeable to him and exulted over the winning of each hole + without regard to the feelings of the losers. As for Heathcroft, himself, + he was quite as agreeable to her, complimented her on her playing, + insisted on his caddy's carrying her clubs, assisted her over the rough + places on the course, and generally acted the gallant in a most polished + manner. Bayliss and I were beaten three down. + </p> + <p> + Heathcroft walked with us as far as the lodge gate. Then he said good-by + with evident reluctance. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you so much for the game, Miss Morley,” he said. “Enjoyed it + hugely. You play remarkably well, if you don't mind my saying so.” + </p> + <p> + Frances was pleased. “Thank you,” she answered. “I know it isn't true—that + about my playing—but it is awfully nice of you to say it. I hope we + may play together again. Are you staying here long?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't know, I'm sure. I am visiting my aunt and she will keep me as long + as she can. Seems to think I have neglected her of late. Of course we must + play again. By the way, Knowles, why don't you run over and meet Lady + Carey? She'll be awfully pleased to meet any friends of mine. Bring Miss + Morley with you. Perhaps she would care to see the greenhouses. They're + quite worth looking over, really. Like to have you, too, Bayliss, of + course.” + </p> + <p> + Bayliss's thanks were not effusive. Frances, however, declared that she + should love to see the greenhouses. For my part, common politeness + demanded my asking Mr. Heathcroft to call at the rectory. He accepted the + invitation at once and heartily. + </p> + <p> + He called the very next day and joined us at tea. The following afternoon + we, Hephzy, Frances and I, visited the greenhouses. On this occasion we + met, for the first time, the lady of the Manor herself. Lady Kent Carey + was a stout, gray-haired person, of very decided manner and a mannish + taste in dress. She was gracious and affable, although I suspected that + much of her affability toward the American visitors was assumed because + she wished to please her nephew. A. Carleton Heathcroft, Esquire, was + plainly her ladyship's pride and pet. She called him “Carleton, dear,” and + “Carleton, dear” was, in his aunt's estimation, the model of everything + desirable in man. + </p> + <p> + The greenhouses were spacious and the display of rare plants and flowers + more varied and beautiful than any I had ever seen. We walked through the + grounds surrounding the mansion, and viewed with becoming reverence the + trees planted by various distinguished personages, His Royal Highness the + Prince of Wales, Her late Majesty Queen Victoria, Ex-President Carnot of + France, and others. Hephzy whispered to me as we were standing before the + Queen Victoria specimen: + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe Queen Victoria ever planted that in the world, do you, + Hosy. She'd look pretty, a fleshy old lady like her, puffin' away diggin' + holes with a spade, now would she!” + </p> + <p> + I hastily explained the probability that the hole was dug by someone else. + </p> + <p> + Hephzy nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I guess so,” she added. “And the tree was put in by someone else and the + dirt put back by the same one. Queen Victoria planted that tree the way + Susanna Wixon said she broke my best platter, by not doin' a single thing + to it. I could plant a whole grove that way and not get a bit tired.” + </p> + <p> + Lady Carey bade us farewell at the fish-ponds and asked us to come again. + Her nephew, however, accompanied us all the way home—that is, he + accompanied Frances, while Hephzy and I made up the rear guard. The next + day he dropped in for some tennis. Herbert Bayliss was there before him, + so the tennis was abandoned, and a three-cornered chat on the lawn + substituted. Heathcroft treated the young doctor with a polite + condescension which would have irritated me exceedingly. + </p> + <p> + From then on, during the fortnight which followed, there was a great deal + of Heathcroft in the rectory social circle. And when he was not there, it + was fairly certain that he and Frances were together somewhere, golfing, + walking or riding. Sometimes I accompanied them, sometimes Herbert Bayliss + made one of the party. Frances' behavior to the young doctor was + tantalizingly contradictory. At times she was very cordial and kind, at + others almost cold and repellent. She kept the young fellow in a state of + uncertainty most of the time. She treated Heathcroft much the same, but + there was this difference between them—Heathcroft didn't seem to + mind; her whims appeared to amuse rather than to annoy him. Bayliss, on + the contrary, was either in the seventh heaven of bliss or the subcellar + of despair. I sympathized with him, to an extent; the young lady's + attitude toward me had an effect which, in my case, was ridiculous. My + reason told me that I should not care at all whether she liked me or + whether she didn't, whether I pleased or displeased her. But I did care, I + couldn't help it, I cared altogether too much. A middle-aged quahaug + should be phlegmatic and philosophical; I once had a reputation for both + qualities, but I seemed to possess neither now. + </p> + <p> + I found myself speculating and wondering more than ever concerning the + outcome of all this. Was there anything serious in the wind at all? + Herbert Bayliss was in love with Frances Morley, that was obvious now. But + was she in love with him? I doubted it. Did she care in the least for him? + I did not know. She seemed to enjoy his society. I did not want her to + fall in love with A. Carleton Heathcroft, certainly. Nor, to be perfectly + honest, did I wish her to marry Bayliss, although I like him much better + than I did Lady Carey's blasé nephew. Somehow, I didn't like the idea of + her falling in love with anyone. The present state of affairs in our + household was pleasant enough. We three were happy together. Why could not + that happiness continue just as it was? + </p> + <p> + The answer was obvious: It could not continue. Each day that passed + brought the inevitable end nearer. My determination to put the thought of + that end from my mind and enjoy the present was shaken. In the solitude of + the study, in the midst of my writing, after I had gone to my room for the + night, I found my thoughts drifting toward the day in October when, our + lease of the rectory ended, we must pack up and go somewhere. And when we + went, would she go with us? Hardly. She would demand the promised + “settlement,” and then—What then? Explanations—quarrels—parting. + A parting for all time. I had reached a point where, like Hephzy, I would + have gladly suggested a real “adoption,” the permanent addition to our + family of Strickland Morley's daughter, but she would not consent to that. + She was proud—very proud. And she idolized her father's memory. No, + she would not remain under any such conditions—I knew it. And the + certainty of that knowledge brought with it a pang which I could not + analyze. A man of my age and temperament should not have such feelings. + </p> + <p> + Hephzy did not fancy Heathcroft. She had liked him well enough during our + first acquaintance aboard the steamer, but now, when she knew him better, + she did not fancy him. His lofty, condescending manner irritated her and, + as he seemed to enjoy joking at her expense, the pair had some amusing + set-tos. I will say this for Hephzy: In the most of these she gave at + least as good as she received. + </p> + <p> + For example: we were sitting about the tea-table on the lawn, Hephzy, + Frances, Doctor and Mrs. Bayliss, their son, and Heathcroft. The + conversation had drifted to the subject of eatables, a topic suggested, + doubtless, by the plum cake and cookies on the table. Mr. Heathcroft was + amusing himself by poking fun at the American custom of serving cereals at + breakfast. + </p> + <p> + “And the variety is amazing,” he declared. “Oats and wheat and corn! My + word! I felt like some sort of animal—a horse, by Jove! We feed our + horses that sort of thing over here, Miss Cahoon.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy sniffed. “So do we,” she admitted, “but we eat 'em ourselves, + sometimes, when they're cooked as they ought to be. I think some breakfast + foods are fine.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you indeed? What an extraordinary taste! Do you eat hay as well, may I + ask?” + </p> + <p> + “No, of course we don't.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? Why draw the line? I should think a bit of hay might be the—ah—the + crowning tit-bit to a breakfasting American. Your horses and donkeys enjoy + it quite as much as they do oats, don't they?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't know, I'm sure. I'm neither a horse nor a donkey, I hope.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Oh, yes. But I assure you, Miss Morley, I had extraordinary + experiences on the other side. I visited in a place called Milwaukee and + my host there insisted on my trying a new cereal each morning. We did the + oats and the corn and all the rest and, upon my word, I expected the hay. + It was the only donkey food he didn't have in the house, and I don't see + why he hadn't provided a supply of that.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps he didn't know you were comin',” observed Hephzy, cheerfully. + “Won't you have another cup, Mrs. Bayliss? Or a cooky or somethin'?” + </p> + <p> + The doctor's wife consented to the refilling of her cup. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose—what do you call them?—cereals, are an American + custom,” she said, evidently aware that her hostess's feelings were + ruffled. “Every country has its customs, so travelers say. Even our own + has some, doubtless, though I can't recall any at the moment.” + </p> + <p> + Heathcroft stroked his mustache. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” he drawled, “we have some, possibly; but our breakfasts are not as + queer as the American breakfasts. You mustn't mind my fun, Miss Cahoon, I + hope you're not offended.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit,” was the calm reply. “We humans ARE animals, after all, I + suppose, and some like one kind of food and some another. Donkeys like hay + and pigs like sweets, and I don't know as I hadn't just as soon live in a + stable as a sty. Do help yourself to the cake, Mr. Heathcroft.” + </p> + <p> + No, our aristocratic acquaintance did not, as a general rule, come out + ahead in these little encounters and I more than once was obliged to + suppress a chuckle at my plucky relative's spirited retorts. Frances, too, + seemed to appreciate and enjoy the Yankee victories. Her prejudice against + America had, so far as outward expression went, almost disappeared. She + was more likely to champion than criticize our ways and habits now. + </p> + <p> + But, in spite of all this, she seemed to enjoy the Heathcroft society. The + two were together a great deal. The village people noticed the intimacy + and comments reached my ears which were not intended for them. Hephzy and + I had some discussions on the subject. + </p> + <p> + “You don't suppose he means anything serious, do you, Hosy?” she asked. + “Or that she thinks he does?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” I answered. I didn't like the idea any better than she + did. + </p> + <p> + “I hope not. Of course he's a big man around here. When his aunt dies + he'll come in for the estate and the money, so everybody says. And if + Frances should marry him she'd be—I don't know whether she'd be a + 'Lady' or not, but she'd have an awful high place in society.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose she would. But I hope she won't do it.” + </p> + <p> + “So do I, for poor young Doctor Bayliss's sake, if nothin' else. He's so + good and so patient with it all. And he's just eaten up with jealousy; + anybody can see that. I'm scared to death that he and this Heathcroft man + will have some sort of—of a fight or somethin'. That would be awful, + wouldn't it!” + </p> + <p> + I did not answer. My apprehensions were not on Herbert Bayliss's account. + He could look out for himself. It was Frances' happiness I was thinking + of. + </p> + <p> + “Hosy,” said Hephzy, very seriously indeed, “there's somethin' else. I'm + not sure that Mr. Heathcroft is serious at all. Somethin' Mrs. Bayliss + said to me makes me feel a little mite anxious. She said Carleton + Heathcroft was a great lady's man. She told me some things about him that—that—Well, + I wish Frances wasn't so friendly with him, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + I shrugged my shoulders, pretending more indifference than I felt. + </p> + <p> + “She's a sensible girl,” said I. “She doesn't need a guardian.” + </p> + <p> + “I know, but—but he's way up in society, Lady Carey's heir and all + that. She can't help bein' flattered by his attentions to her. Any girl + would be, especially an English girl that thinks as much of class and all + that as they do over here and as she does. I wish I knew how she did feel + toward him.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you ask her?” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy shook her head. “I wouldn't dare,” she said. “She'd take my head + off. We're on awful thin ice, you and I, with her, as it is. She treats us + real nicely now, but that's because we don't interfere. If I should try + just once to tell her what she ought to do she'd flare up like a bonfire. + And then do the other thing to show her independence.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose she would,” I admitted, gloomily. + </p> + <p> + “I know she would. No, we mustn't say anything to her. But—but you + might say somethin' to him, mightn't you. Just hint around and find out + what he does mean by bein' with her so much. Couldn't you do that, Hosy?” + </p> + <p> + I smiled. “Possibly I could, but I sha'n't,” I answered. “He would tell me + to go to perdition, probably, and I shouldn't blame him.” + </p> + <p> + “Why no, he wouldn't. He thinks you're her uncle, her guardian, you know. + You'd have a right to do it.” + </p> + <p> + I did not propose to exercise that right, and I said so, emphatically. And + yet, before that week was ended, I did do what amounted to that very + thing. The reason which led to this rash act on my part was a talk I had + with Lady Kent Carey. + </p> + <p> + I met her ladyship on the putting green of the ninth hole of the golf + course. I was playing a round alone. She came strolling over the green, + dressed as mannishly as usual, but carrying a very feminine parasol, which + by comparison with the rest of her get-up, looked as out of place as a + silk hat on the head of a girl in a ball dress. She greeted me very + affably, waited until I putted out, and then sat beside me on the bench + under the big oak and chatted for some time. + </p> + <p> + The subject of her conversation was her nephew. She was, apparently, only + too glad to talk about him at any time. He was her dead sister's child and + practically the only relative she had. He seemed like a son to her. Such a + charming fellow, wasn't he, now? And so considerate and kind to her. + Everyone liked him; he was a great favorite. + </p> + <p> + “And he is very fond of you, Mr. Knowles,” she said. “He enjoys your + acquaintance so much. He says that there is a freshness and novelty about + you Americans which is quite delightfully amusing. This Miss—ah—Cahoon—your + cousin, I think she is—is a constant joy to him. He never tires of + repeating her speeches. He does it very well, don't you think. He mimics + the American accent wonderfully.” + </p> + <p> + I agreed that the Heathcroft American accent was wonderful indeed. It was + all that and more. Lady Carey went on. + </p> + <p> + “And this Miss Morley, your niece,” she said, poking holes in the turf + with the tip of her parasol, “she is a charming girl, isn't she. She and + Carleton are quite friendly, really.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I admitted, “they seem to be.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Tell me about your niece, Mr. Knowles. Has she lived in England long? + Who were her parents?” + </p> + <p> + I dodged the ticklish subject as best I could, told her that Frances' + father was an Englishman, her mother an American, and that most of the + young lady's life had been spent in France. I feared more searching + questions, but she did not ask them. + </p> + <p> + “I see,” she said, nodding, and was silent for a moment. Then she changed + the subject, returning once more to her beloved Carleton. + </p> + <p> + “He's a dear boy,” she declared. “I am planning great things for him. Some + day he will have the estate here, of course. And I am hoping to get him + the seat in Parliament when our party returns to power, as it is sure to + do before long. He will marry then; in fact everything is arranged, so far + as that goes. Of course there is no actual engagement as yet, but we all + understand.” + </p> + <p> + I had been rather bored, now I was interested. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” said I. “And may I ask who is the fortunate young lady?” + </p> + <p> + “A daughter of an old friend of ours in Warwickshire—a fine family, + one of the oldest in England. She and Carleton have always been so fond of + each other. Her parents and I have considered the affair settled for + years. The young people will be so happy together.” + </p> + <p> + Here was news. I offered congratulations. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you so much,” she said. “It is pleasant to know that his future is + provided for. Margaret will make him a good wife. She worships him. If + anything should happen to—ah—disturb the arrangement her heart + would break, I am sure. Of course nothing will happen. I should not permit + it.” + </p> + <p> + I made some comment, I don't remember what. She rose from the bench. + </p> + <p> + “I have been chatting about family affairs and matchmaking like a + garrulous old woman, haven't I,” she observed, smiling. “So silly of me. + You have been charmingly kind to listen, Mr. Knowles. Forgive me, won't + you. Carleton dear is my one interest in life and I talk of him on the + least excuse, or without any. So sorry to have inflicted my garrulity upon + you. I may count upon you entering our invitation golf tournament next + month, may I not? Oh, do say yes. Thank you so much. Au revoir.” + </p> + <p> + She moved off, as imposing and majestic as a frigate under full sail. I + walked slowly toward home, thinking hard. + </p> + <p> + I should have been flattered, perhaps, at her taking me into confidence + concerning her nephew's matrimonial projects. If I had believed the + “garrulity,” as she called it, to have been unintentional, I might have + been flattered. But I did not so believe. I was pretty certain there was + intention in it and that she expected Frances and Hephzy and me to take it + as a warning. Carleton dear was, in her eyes, altogether too friendly with + the youngest tenant in Mayberry rectory. The “garrulity” was a notice to + keep hands off. + </p> + <p> + I was not incensed at her; she amused me, rather. But with Heathcroft I + was growing more incensed every moment. Engaged to be married, was he! He + and this Warwickshire girl of “fine family” had been “so fond” of each + other for years. Everything was understood, was it? Then what did he mean + by his attentions to Frances, attentions which half of Mayberry was + probably discussing at the moment? The more I considered his conduct the + angrier I became. It was the worst time possible for a meeting with A. + Carleton Heathcroft, and yet meet him I did at the loneliest and most + secluded spot in the hedged lane leading to the lodge gate. + </p> + <p> + He greeted me cordially enough, if his languid drawl could be called + cordial. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Knowles,” he said. “Been doing the round I see. A bit stupid by + oneself, I should think. What? Miss Morley and I have been riding. Had a + ripping canter together.” + </p> + <p> + It was an unfortunate remark, just at that time. It had the effect of + spurring my determination to the striking point. I would have it out with + him then and there. + </p> + <p> + “Heathcroft,” I said, bluntly, “I am not sure that I approve of Miss + Morley's riding with you so often.” + </p> + <p> + He regarded me with astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “You don't approve!” he repeated. “And why not? There's no danger. She + rides extremely well.” + </p> + <p> + “It's not a question of danger. It is one of proprieties, if I must put it + that way. She is a young woman, hardly more than a girl, and she probably + does not realize that being seen in your company so frequently is likely + to cause comment and gossip. Her aunt and I realize it, however.” + </p> + <p> + His expression of surprise was changing to one of languid amusement. + </p> + <p> + “Really!” he drawled. “By Jove! I say, Knowles, am I such a dangerously + fascinating character? You flatter me.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know anything concerning your character. I do know that there is + gossip. I am not accusing you of anything. I have no doubt you have been + merely careless. Your intentions may have been—” + </p> + <p> + He interrupted me. “My intentions?” he repeated. “My dear fellow, I have + no intentions. None whatever concerning your niece, if that is what you + mean. She is a jolly pretty girl and jolly good company. I like her and + she seems to like me. That is all, upon my word it is.” + </p> + <p> + He was quite sincere, I was convinced of it. But I had gone too far to + back out. + </p> + <p> + “Then you have been thoughtless—or careless,” I said. “It seems to + me that you should have considered her.” + </p> + <p> + “Considered her! Oh, I say now! Why should I consider her pray?” + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn't you? You are much older than she is and a man of the world + besides. And you are engaged to be married, or so I am told.” + </p> + <p> + His smile disappeared. + </p> + <p> + “Now who the devil told you that?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I was told, by one who should know, that you were engaged, or what + amounts to the same thing. It is true, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course it's true! But—but—why, good God, man! you weren't + under the impression that I was planning to marry your niece, were you? + Oh, I say! that would be TOO good!” + </p> + <p> + He laughed heartily. He did not appear in the least annoyed or angry, but + seemed to consider the whole affair a huge joke. I failed to see the joke, + myself. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” he went on, before I could reply, “not that, I assure you. One + can't afford luxuries of that kind, unless one is a luckier beggar than I + am. Auntie is attending to all that sort of thing. She has me booked, you + know, and I can't afford to play the high-spirited independent with her. I + should say not! Rather!” + </p> + <p> + He laughed again. + </p> + <p> + “So you think I've been a bit too prevalent in your niece's neighborhood, + do you?” he observed. “Sorry. I'd best keep off the lawn a bit, you mean + to say, I suppose. Very well! I'll mind the notice boards, of course. Very + glad you spoke. Possibly I have been a bit careless. No offence meant, + Knowles, and none taken, I trust.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I said, with some reluctance. “I'm glad you understand my—our + position, and take my—my hint so well. I disliked to give it, but I + thought it best that we have a clear understanding.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course! Stern uncle and pretty niece, and all that sort of thing. You + Americans are queer beggars. You don't strike me as the usual type of + stern uncle at all, Knowles. Oh, by the way, does the niece know that + uncle is putting up the notice boards?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course she doesn't,” I replied, hastily. + </p> + <p> + His smile broadened. “I wonder what she'll say when she finds it out,” he + observed. “She has never struck me as being greatly in awe of her + relatives. I should call HER independent, if I was asked. Well, farewell. + You and I may have some golf together still, I presume? Good! By-by.” + </p> + <p> + He sauntered on, his serene coolness and calm condescension apparently + unruffled. I continued on my way also. But my serenity had vanished. I had + the feeling that I had come off second-best in the encounter. I had made a + fool of myself, I feared. And more than all, I wondered, as he did, what + Frances Morley would say when she learned of my interference in her + personal affairs. + </p> + <p> + I foresaw trouble—more trouble. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII + </h2> + <h3> + In Which the Truth Is Told at Last + </h3> + <p> + I said nothing to Hephzibah or Frances of my talk with Lady Carey or with + Heathcroft. I was not proud of my share in the putting up of “the notice + boards.” I did not mention meeting either the titled aunt or the favored + nephew. I kept quiet concerning them both and nervously awaited + developments. + </p> + <p> + There were none immediately. That day and the next passed and nothing of + importance happened. It did seem to me, however, that Frances was rather + quiet during luncheon on the third day. She said very little and several + times I found her regarding me with an odd expression. My guilty + conscience smote me and I expected to be asked questions answering which + would be difficult. But the questions were not asked—then. I went to + my study and attempted to write; the attempt was a failure. + </p> + <p> + For an hour or so I stared hopelessly at the blank paper. I hadn't an idea + in my head, apparently. At last I threw down the pencil and gave up the + battle for the day. I was not in a writing mood. I lit my pipe, and, + moving to the arm-chair by the window, sat there, looking out at the lawn + and flower beds. No one was in sight except Grimmer, the gardener, who was + trimming a hedge. + </p> + <p> + I sat there for some time, smoking and thinking. Hephzy dressed in her + best, passed the window on her way to the gate. She was going for a call + in the village and had asked me to accompany her, but I declined. I did + not feel like calling. + </p> + <p> + My pipe, smoked out, I put in my pocket. If I could have gotten rid of my + thoughts as easily I should have been happier, but that I could not do. + They were strange thoughts, hopeless thoughts, ridiculous, unavailing + thoughts. For me, Kent Knowles, quahaug, to permit myself to think in that + way was worse than ridiculous; it was pitiful. This was a stern reality, + this summer of mine in England, not a chapter in one of my romances. They + ended happily; it was easy to make them end in that way. But this—this + was no romance, or, if it was, I was but the comic relief in the story, + the queer old bachelor who had made a fool of himself. That was what I + was, an old fool. Well, I must stop being a fool before it was too late. + No one knew I was such a fool. No one should know—now or ever. + </p> + <p> + And having reached this philosophical conclusion I proceeded to dream of + dark eyes looking into mine across a breakfast table—our table; of a + home in Bayport—our home; of someone always with me, to share my + life, my hopes, to spur me on to a work worth while, to glory in my + triumphs and comfort me in my reverses; to dream of what might have been + if—if it were not absolutely impossible. Oh, fool, fool, fool! + </p> + <p> + A quick step sounded on the gravel walk outside the window. I knew the + step, should have recognized it anywhere. She was walking rapidly toward + the house, her head bent and her eyes fixed upon the path before her. + Grimmer touched his hat and said “Good afternoon, miss,” but she + apparently did not hear him. She passed on and I heard her enter the hall. + A moment later she knocked at the study door. + </p> + <p> + She entered the room in answer to my invitation and closed the door behind + her. She was dressed in her golfing costume, a plain white shirtwaist—blouse, + she would have called it—a short, dark skirt and stout boots. The + light garden hat was set upon her dark hair and her cheeks were flushed + from rapid walking. The hat and waist and skirt were extremely becoming. + She was pretty—yes, beautiful—and young. I was far from + beautiful and far from young. I make this obvious statement because it was + my thought at the moment. + </p> + <p> + She did not apologize for interrupting me, as she usually did when she + entered the study during my supposed working periods. This was strange, of + itself, and my sense of guilt caused me to fear all sorts of things. But + she smiled and answered my greeting pleasantly enough and, for the moment, + I experienced relief. Perhaps, after all, she had not learned of my + interview with Heathcroft. + </p> + <p> + “I have come to talk with you,” she began. “May I sit down?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. Of course you may,” I answered, smiling as cheerfully as I + could. “Was it necessary to ask permission?” + </p> + <p> + She took a chair and I seated myself in the one from which I had just + risen. For a moment she was silent. I ventured a remark. + </p> + <p> + “This begins very solemnly,” I said. “Is the talk to be so very serious?” + </p> + <p> + She was serious enough and my apprehensions returned. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” she answered. “I hope it may not be serious at all, Mr. + Knowles.” + </p> + <p> + I interrupted. “Mr. Knowles!” I repeated. “Whew! this IS a formal + interview. I thought the 'Mr. Knowles' had been banished along with 'Uncle + Hosea'.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled slightly then. “Perhaps it has,” she said. “I am just a little + troubled—or puzzled—and I have come to you for advice.” + </p> + <p> + “Advice?” I repeated. “I'm afraid my advice isn't worth much. What sort of + advice do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “I wanted to know what I should do in regard to an invitation I have + received to motor with Doctor Bayliss—Doctor Herbert Bayliss. He has + asked me to go with him to Edgeboro to-morrow. Should I accept?” + </p> + <p> + I hesitated. Then: “Alone?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “No. His cousin, Miss Tomlinson, will go also.” + </p> + <p> + “I see no reason why you should not, if you wish to go.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. But suppose it was alone?” + </p> + <p> + “Then—Well, I presume that would be all right, too. You have motored + with him before, you know.” + </p> + <p> + As a matter of fact, I couldn't see why she asked my opinion in such a + matter. She had never asked it before. Her next remark was more puzzling + still. + </p> + <p> + “You approve of Doctor Bayliss, don't you,” she said. It did seem to me + there was a hint of sarcasm in her tone. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—certainly,” I answered. I did approve of young Bayliss, + generally speaking; there was no sane reason why I should not have + approved of him absolutely. + </p> + <p> + “And you trust me? You believe me capable of judging what is right or + wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I do.” + </p> + <p> + “If you didn't you would not presume to interfere in my personal affairs? + You would not think of doing that, of course?” + </p> + <p> + “No—o,” more slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Why do you hesitate? Of course you realize that you have no shadow of + right to interfere. You know perfectly well why I consented to remain here + for the present and why I have remained?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, I know that.” + </p> + <p> + “And you wouldn't presume to interfere?” + </p> + <p> + “Doctor Herbert Bayliss is—” + </p> + <p> + She sprang to her feet. She was not smiling now. + </p> + <p> + “Stop!” she interrupted, sharply. “Stop! I did not come to discuss Doctor + Bayliss. I have asked you a question. I ask you if you would presume to + interfere in my personal affairs. Would you?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, no. That is, I—” + </p> + <p> + “You say that to me! YOU!” + </p> + <p> + “Frances, if you mean that I have interfered between you and the Doctor, I—” + </p> + <p> + She stamped her foot. + </p> + <p> + “Stop! Oh, stop!” she cried. “You know what I mean. What did you say to + Mr. Heathcroft? Do you dare tell me you have not interfered there?” + </p> + <p> + It had come, the expected. Her smile and the asking for “advice” had been + apparently but traps to catch me off my guard. I had been prepared for + some such scene as this, but, in spite of my preparations, I hesitated and + faltered. I must have looked like the meanest of pickpockets caught in the + act. + </p> + <p> + “Frances,” I stammered, “Frances—” + </p> + <p> + Her fury took my breath away. + </p> + <p> + “Don't call me Frances,” she cried. “How dare you call me that?” + </p> + <p> + Perturbed as I was I couldn't resist making the obvious retort. + </p> + <p> + “You asked me to,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “I asked you! Yes, I did. You had been kind to me, or I thought you had, + and I—I was foolish. Oh, how I hate myself for doing it! But I was + beginning to think you a gentleman. In spite of everything, I was + beginning to—And now! Oh, at least I thought you wouldn't LIE to + me.” + </p> + <p> + I rose now. + </p> + <p> + “Frances—Miss Morley,” I said, “do you realize what you are saying?” + </p> + <p> + “Realize it! Oh,” with a scornful laugh, “I realize it quite well; you may + be sure of that. Don't you like the word? What else do you call a denial + of what we both know to be the truth. You did see Mr. Heathcroft. You did + speak with him.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I did.” + </p> + <p> + “You did! You admit it!” + </p> + <p> + “I admit it. But did he tell you what I said?” + </p> + <p> + “He did not. Mr. Heathcroft IS a gentleman. He told me very little and + that only in answer to my questions. I knew you and he met the other day. + You did not mention it, but you were seen together, and when he did not + come for the ride to which he had invited me I thought it strange. And his + note to me was stranger still. I began to suspect then, and when we next + met I asked him some questions. He told me next to nothing, but he is + honorable and he does not LIE. I learned enough, quite enough.” + </p> + <p> + I wondered if she had learned of the essential thing, of Heathcroft's + engagement. + </p> + <p> + “Did he tell you why I objected to his intimacy with you?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “He told me nothing! Nothing! The very fact that you had objected, as you + call it, was sufficient. Object! YOU object to my doing as I please! YOU + meddle with my affairs! And humiliate me in the eyes of my friends! I + could—I could die of shame! I... And as if I did not know your + reasons. As if they were not perfectly plain.” + </p> + <p> + The real reason could not be plain to her. Heathcroft evidently had not + told her of the Warwickshire heiress. + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand,” I said, trying my hardest to speak calmly. “What + reasons?” + </p> + <p> + “Must I tell you? Did you OBJECT to my friendship with Doctor Bayliss, + pray?” + </p> + <p> + “Doctor Bayliss! Why, Doctor Bayliss is quite different. He is a fine + young fellow, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” with scornful sarcasm, “so it would appear. You and my aunt and he + have the most evident of understandings. You need not praise him for my + benefit. It is quite apparent how you both feel toward Doctor Bayliss. I + am not blind. I have seen how you have thrown him in my company, and made + opportunities for me to meet him. Oh, of course, I can see! I did not + believe it at first. It was too absurd, too outrageously impertinent. I + COULDN'T believe it. But now I know.” + </p> + <p> + This was a little too much. The idea that I—<i>I</i> had been + playing the matchmaker for Bayliss's benefit made me almost as angry as + she was. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” I declared. “Miss Morley, this is too ridiculous to go on. I + did speak to Mr. Heathcroft. There was a reason, a good reason, for my + doing so.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not wish to hear your reason, as you call it. The fact that you did + speak to him concerning me is enough. Mr. Knowles, this arrangement of + ours, my living here with you, has gone on too long. I should have known + it was impossible in the beginning. But I did not know. I was alone—and + ill—and I did need friends—I was SO alone. I had been through + so much. I had struggled and suffered and—” + </p> + <p> + Again, as in our quarrel at Wrayton, she was on the verge of tears. And + again that unreasonable conscience of mine smote me. I longed to—Well, + to prove myself the fool I was. + </p> + <p> + But she did not give me the opportunity. Before I could speak or move she + was on her way to the door. + </p> + <p> + “This ends it,” she said. “I shall go away from here at once. I shall put + the whole matter in my solicitor's hands. This is an end of forbearance + and all the rest. I am going. You have made me hate you and despise you. I + only hope that—that some day you will despise yourself as much. But + you won't,” scornfully. “You are not that sort.” + </p> + <p> + The door closed. She was gone. Gone! And soon—the next day at the + latest—she would have been gone for good. This WAS the end. + </p> + <p> + I walked many miles that day, how many I do not know. Dinner was waiting + for me when I returned, but I could not eat. I rose from the table, went + to the study and sat there, alone with my misery. I was torn with the + wildest longings and desires. One, I think, was to kill Heathcroft + forthwith. Another was to kill myself. + </p> + <p> + There came another knock at the door. This time I made no answer. I did + not want to see anyone. + </p> + <p> + But the door opened, nevertheless, and Hephzy came in. She crossed the + room and stood by my chair. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Hosy?” she said, gently. “You must tell me all about it.” + </p> + <p> + I made some answer, told her to go away and leave me, I think. If that was + it she did not heed. She put her hand upon my shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “You must tell me, Hosy,” she said. “What has happened? You and Frances + have had some fallin' out, I know. She wouldn't come to dinner, either, + and she won't see me. She's up in her room with the door shut. Tell me, + Hosy; you and I have fought each other's battles for a good many years. + You can't fight this one alone; I've got to do my share. Tell me, dearie, + please.” + </p> + <p> + And tell her I did. I did not mean to, and yet somehow the thought that + she was there, so strong and quiet and big-hearted and sensible, was, if + not a comfort to me, at least a marvelous help. I began by telling her a + little and then went on to tell her all, of my talk with Lady Carey, my + meeting with Heathcroft, the scene with Frances—everything, word for + word. + </p> + <p> + When it was over she patted my shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “You did just right, Hosy,” she said. “There was nothin' else you could + do. I never liked that Heathcroft man. And to think of him, engaged to + another girl, trottin' around with Frances the way he has. I'D like to + talk with him. He'd get a piece of MY mind.” + </p> + <p> + “He's all right enough,” I admitted grudgingly. “He took my warning in a + very good sort, I must say. He has never meant anything serious. It was + just his way, that's all. He was amusing himself in her company, and + doubtless thought she would be flattered with his aristocratic + attentions.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! Well, I guess she wouldn't be if she'd known of that other girl. + You didn't tell her that, you say.” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't. I think I should, perhaps, if she would have listened. I'm + glad I didn't. It isn't a thing for me to tell her.” + </p> + <p> + “I understand. But she ought to know it, just the same. And she ought to + know how good you've been to her. Nobody could be better. She must know + it. Whether she goes or whether she doesn't she must know that.” + </p> + <p> + I seized her arm. “You mustn't tell her a word,” I cried. “She mustn't + know. It is better she should go. Better for her and for me—My God, + yes! so much better for me.” + </p> + <p> + I could feel the arm on my shoulder start. Hephzy bent down and looked + into my face. I tried to avoid the scrutiny, but she looked and looked. + Then she drew a long breath. + </p> + <p> + “Hosy!” she exclaimed. “Hosy!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't speak to me. Oh, Hephzy,” with a bitter laugh, “did you ever dream + there could be such a hopeless lunatic as I am! You needn't say it. I know + the answer.” + </p> + <p> + “Hosy! Hosy! you poor boy!” + </p> + <p> + She kissed me, soothing me as she had when I came home to our empty house + at the time of my mother's death. That memory came back to me even then. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me, Hephzy,” I said. “I am ashamed of myself, of course. And + don't worry. Nobody knows this but you and I, and nobody else shall. I'm + going to behave and I'm going to be sensible. Just forget all this for my + sake. I mean to forget it, too.” + </p> + <p> + But Hephzy shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “It's all my fault,” she said. “I'm to blame more than anybody else. It + was me that brought her here in the first place and me that kept you from + tellin' her the truth in the beginnin'. So it's me who must tell her now.” + </p> + <p> + “Hephzy!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't mean the truth about—about what you and I have just + said, Hosy. She'll never know that, perhaps. Certainly she'll never know + it from me. But the rest of it she must know. This has gone far enough. + She sha'n't go away from this house misjudgin' you, thinkin' you're a + thief, as well as all the rest of it. That she sha'n't do. I shall see to + that—now.” + </p> + <p> + “Hephzy, I forbid you to—” + </p> + <p> + “You can't forbid me, Hosy. It's my duty, and I've been a silly, wicked + old woman and shirked that duty long enough. Now don't worry any more. Go + to your room, dearie, and lay down. If you get to sleep so much the + better. Though I guess,” with a sigh, “we sha'n't either of us sleep much + this night.” + </p> + <p> + Before I could prevent her she had left the room. I sprang after her, to + call her back, to order her not to do the thing she had threatened. But, + in the drawing-room, Charlotte, the housemaid, met me with an + announcement. + </p> + <p> + “Doctor Bayliss—Doctor Herbert Bayliss—is here, sir,” she + said. “He has called to see you.” + </p> + <p> + “To see me?” I repeated, trying hard to recover some measure of composure. + “To see Miss Frances, you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir. He says he wants to see you alone. He's in the hall now, sir.” + </p> + <p> + He was; I could hear him. Certainly I never wished to see anyone less, but + I could not refuse. + </p> + <p> + “Ask him to come into the study, Charlotte,” said I. + </p> + <p> + The young doctor found me sitting in the chair by the desk. The long + English twilight was almost over and the room was in deep shadow. + Charlotte entered and lighted the lamp. I was strongly tempted to order + her to desist, but I could scarcely ask my visitor to sit in the dark, + however much I might prefer to do so. I compromised by moving to a seat + farther from the lamp where my face would be less plainly visible. Then, + Bayliss having, on my invitation, also taken a chair, I waited for him to + state his business. + </p> + <p> + It was not easy to state, that was plain. Ordinarily Herbert Bayliss was + cool and self-possessed. I had never before seen him as embarrassed as he + seemed to be now. He fidgeted on the edge of the chair, crossed and + recrossed his legs, and, finally, offered the original remark that it had + been an extremely pleasant day. I admitted the fact and again there was an + interval of silence. I should have helped him, I suppose. It was quite + apparent that his was no casual call and, under ordinary circumstances, I + should have been interested and curious. Now I did not care. If he would + say his say and go away and leave me I should be grateful. + </p> + <p> + And, at last, he said it. His next speech was very much nearer the point. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Knowles,” he said, “I have called to—to see you concerning your + niece, Miss Morley. I—I have come to ask your consent to my asking + her to marry me.” + </p> + <p> + I was not greatly surprised. I had vaguely suspected his purpose when he + entered the room. I had long foreseen the likelihood of some such + interview as this, had considered what I should say when the time came. + But now it had come, I could say nothing. I sat in silence, looking at + him. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps he thought I did not understand. At any rate he hastened to + explain. + </p> + <p> + “I wish your permission to marry your niece,” he repeated. “I have no + doubt you are surprised. Perhaps you fancy I am a bit hasty. I suppose you + do. But I—I care a great deal for her, Mr. Knowles. I will try to + make her a good husband. Not that I am good enough for her, of course—no + one could be that, you know; but I'll try and—and—” + </p> + <p> + He was very red in the face and floundered, amid his jerky sentences, like + a newly-landed fish, but he stuck to it manfully. I could not help + admiring the young fellow. He was so young and handsome and so honest and + boyishly eager in his embarrassment. I admired him—yes, but I hated + him, too, hated him for his youth and all that it meant, I was jealous—bitterly, + wickedly jealous, and of all jealousy, hopeless, unreasonable jealousy is + the worst, I imagine. + </p> + <p> + He went on to speak of his ambitions and prospects. He did not intend to + remain always in Mayberry as his father's assistant, not he. He should + remain for a time, of course, but then he intended to go back to London. + There were opportunities there. A fellow with the right stuff in him could + get on there. He had friends in the London hospitals and they had promised + to put chances his way. He should not presume to marry Frances at once, of + course. He would not be such a selfish goat as that. All he asked was + that, my permission granted, she would be patient and wait a bit until he + got on his feet, professionally he meant to say, and then— + </p> + <p> + I interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “One moment,” said I, trying to appear calm and succeeding remarkably + well, considering the turmoil in my brain; “just a moment, Bayliss, if you + please. Have you spoken to Miss Morley yet? Do you know her feelings + toward you?” + </p> + <p> + No, he had not. Of course he wouldn't do that until he and I had had our + understanding. He had tried to be honorable and all that. But—but he + thought she did not object to him. She—well, she had seemed to like + him well enough. There had been times when he thought she—she— + </p> + <p> + “Well, you see, sir,” he said, “she's a girl, of course, and a fellow + never knows just what a girl is going to say or do. There are times when + one is sure everything is quite right and then that it is all wrong. But I + have hoped—I believe—She's such a ripping girl, you know. She + would not flirt with a chap and—I don't mean flirt exactly, she + isn't a flirt, of course—but—don't you think she likes me, + now?” + </p> + <p> + “I have no reason to suppose she doesn't,” I answered grudgingly. After + all, he was acting very honorably; I could scarcely do less. + </p> + <p> + He seemed to find much comfort in my equivocal reply. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, thanks awfully,” he exclaimed. “I—I—by Jove, you + know, I can't tell you how I like to hear you say that! I'm awfully + grateful to you, Knowles, I am really. And you'll give me permission to + speak to her?” + </p> + <p> + I smiled; it was not a happy smile, but there was a certain ironic humor + in the situation. The idea of anyone's seeking my “permission” in any + matter concerning Frances Morley. He noticed the smile and was, I think, + inclined to be offended. + </p> + <p> + “Is it a joke?” he asked. “I say, now! it isn't a joke to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor to me, I assure you,” I answered, seriously. “If I gave that + impression it was a mistaken one. I never felt less like joking.” + </p> + <p> + He put his own interpretation on the last sentence. “I'm sorry,” he said, + quickly. “I beg your pardon. I understand, of course. You're very fond of + her; no one could help being that, could they. And she is your niece.” + </p> + <p> + I hesitated. I was minded to blurt out the fact that she was not my niece + at all; that I had no authority over her in any way. But what would be the + use? It would lead only to explanations and I did not wish to make + explanations. I wanted to get through with the whole inane business and be + left alone. + </p> + <p> + “But you haven't said yes, have you,” he urged. “You will say it, won't + you?” + </p> + <p> + I nodded. “You have my permission, so far as that goes,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + He sprang to his feet and seized my hand. + </p> + <p> + “That's topping!” he cried, his face radiant. “I can't thank you enough.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right. But there is one thing more. Perhaps it isn't my + affair, and you needn't answer unless you wish. Have you consulted your + parents? How do they feel about your—your intentions?” + </p> + <p> + His expression changed. My question was answered before he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he admitted, “I haven't told them yet. I—Well, you see, the + Mater and Father have been making plans about my future, naturally. They + have some silly ideas about a friend of the family that—Oh, she's a + nice enough girl; I like her jolly well, but she isn't Miss Morley. Well, + hardly! They'll take it quite well. By Jove!” excitedly, “they must. + They've GOT to. Oh, they will. And they're very fond of—of Frances.” + </p> + <p> + There seemed nothing more for me to say, nothing at that time, at any + rate. I, too, rose. He shook my hand again. + </p> + <p> + “You've been a trump to me, Knowles,” he declared. “I appreciate it, you + know; I do indeed. I'm jolly grateful.” + </p> + <p> + “You needn't be. It is all right. I—I suppose I should wish you luck + and happiness. I do. Yes, why shouldn't you be happy, even if—” + </p> + <p> + “Even if—what? Oh, but you don't think she will turn me off, do you? + You don't think that?” + </p> + <p> + “I've told you that I see no reason why she should.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. Thank you so much. Is there anything else that you might wish + to say to me?” + </p> + <p> + “Not now. Perhaps some day I—But not now. No, there's nothing else. + Good night, Bayliss; good night and—and good luck.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night. I—She's not in now, I suppose, is she?” + </p> + <p> + “She is in, but—Well, I scarcely think you had better see her + to-night. She has gone to her room.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say! it's very early. She's not ill, is she?” + </p> + <p> + “No, but I think you had best not see her to-night.” + </p> + <p> + He was disappointed, that was plain, but he yielded. He would have agreed, + doubtless, with any opinion of mine just then. + </p> + <p> + “No doubt you're right,” he said. “Good night. And thank you again.” + </p> + <p> + He left the room. I did not accompany him to the door. Instead I returned + to my chair. I did not occupy it long, I could not. I could not sit still. + I rose and went out on the lawn. There, in the night mist, I paced up and + down, up and down. I had longed to be alone; now that I was alone I was + more miserable than ever. + </p> + <p> + Charlotte, the maid, called to me from the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Would you wish the light in the study any longer, sir?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said I, curtly. “You may put it out.” + </p> + <p> + “And shall I lock up, sir; all but this door, I mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Where is Miss Cahoon?” + </p> + <p> + “She's above, sir. With Miss Morley, I think, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, Charlotte. That is all. Good night.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night, sir.” + </p> + <p> + She went into the house. The lamp in the study was extinguished. I + continued my pacing up and down. Occasionally I glanced at the upper story + of the rectory. There was a lighted window there, the window of Frances' + room. She and Hephzy were together in that room. What was going on there? + What had Hephzy said to her? What—Oh, WHAT would happen next? + </p> + <p> + Some time later—I don't know how much later it may have been—I + heard someone calling me again. + </p> + <p> + “Hosy!” called Hephzy in a loud whisper; “Hosy, where are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Here I am,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + She came to me across the lawn. I could not, of course, see her face, but + her tone was very anxious. + </p> + <p> + “Hosy,” she whispered, putting her hand on my arm, “what are you doin' out + here all alone?” + </p> + <p> + I laughed. “I'm taking the air,” I answered. “It is good for me. I am + enjoying the glorious English air old Doctor Bayliss is always talking + about. Fresh air and exercise—those will cure anything, so he says. + Perhaps they will cure me. God knows I need curing.” + </p> + <p> + “Sshh! shh, Hosy! Don't talk that way. I don't like to hear you. Out here + bareheaded and in all this damp! You'll get your death.” + </p> + <p> + “Will I? Well, that will be a complete cure, then.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! I tell you. Come in the house with me. I want to talk to you. + Come!” + </p> + <p> + Still holding my arm she led me toward the house. I hung back. + </p> + <p> + “You have been up there with her?” I said, with a nod toward the lighted + window of the room above. “What has happened? What have you said and + done?” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! I'll tell you; I'll tell you all about it. Only come in now. I + sha'n't feel safe until I get you inside. Oh, Hosy, DON'T act this way! Do + you want to frighten me to death?” + </p> + <p> + That appeal had an effect. I was ashamed of myself. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me, Hephzy,” I said. “I'll try to be decent. You needn't worry + about me. I'm a fool, of course, but now that I realize it I shall try to + stop behaving like one. Come along; I'm ready.” + </p> + <p> + In the drawing-room she closed the door. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I light the lamp?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “No. Oh, for heaven's sake, can't you see that I'm crazy to know what you + said to that girl and what she said to you? Tell me, and hurry up, will + you!” + </p> + <p> + She did not resent my sudden burst of temper and impatience. Instead she + put her arm about me. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, Hosy,” she pleaded. “Sit down and I'll tell you all about it. + Do sit down.” + </p> + <p> + I refused to sit. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me now,” I commanded. “What did you say to her? You didn't—you + didn't—” + </p> + <p> + “I did. I told her everything.” + </p> + <p> + “EVERYTHING! You don't mean—” + </p> + <p> + “I mean everything. 'Twas time she knew it. I went to that room meanin' to + tell her and I did. At first she didn't want to listen, didn't want to see + me at all or even let me in. But I made her let me in and then she and I + had it out.” + </p> + <p> + “Hephzy!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't say it that way, Hosy. The good Lord knows I hate myself for doin' + it, hated myself while I was doin' it, but it had to be done. Every word I + spoke cut me as bad as it must have cut her. I kept thinkin', 'This is + Little Frank I'm talkin' to. This is Ardelia's daughter I'm makin' + miserable.' A dozen times I stopped and thought I couldn't go on, but + every time I thought of you and what you'd put up with and been through, + and I went on.” + </p> + <p> + “Hephzy! you told her—” + </p> + <p> + “I said it was time she understood just the plain truth about her father + and mother and grandfather and the money, and everything. She must know + it, I said; things couldn't go on as they have been. I told it all. At + first she wouldn't listen, said I was—well, everything that was mean + and lyin' and bad. If she could she'd have put me out of her room, I + presume likely, but I wouldn't go. And, of course, at first she wouldn't + believe, but I made her believe.” + </p> + <p> + “Made her believe! Made her believe her father was a thief! How could you + do that! No one could.” + </p> + <p> + “I did it. I don't know how exactly. I just went on tellin' it all + straight from the beginnin', and pretty soon I could see she was + commencin' to believe. And she believes now, Hosy; she does, I know it.” + </p> + <p> + “Did she say so?” + </p> + <p> + “No, she didn't say anything, scarcely—not at the last. She didn't + cry, either; I almost wish she had. Oh, Hosy, don't ask me any more + questions than you have to. I can't bear to answer 'em.” + </p> + <p> + She paused and turned away. + </p> + <p> + “How she must hate us!” I said, after a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Why, no—why, no, Hosy, I don't think she does; at least I'm tryin' + to hope she doesn't. I softened it all I could. I told her why we took her + with us in the first place; how we couldn't tell her the truth at first, + or leave her, either, when she was so sick and alone. I told her why we + brought her here, hopin' it would make her well and strong, and how, after + she got that way, we put off tellin' her because it was such a dreadful + hard thing to do. Hard! When I think of her sittin' there, white as a + sheet, and lookin' at me with those big eyes of hers, her fingers twistin' + and untwistin' in her lap—a way her mother used to have when she was + troubled—and every word I spoke soundin' so cruel and—and—” + </p> + <p> + She paused once more. I did not speak. Soon she recovered and went on. + </p> + <p> + “I told her that I was tellin' her these things now because the + misunderstandin's and all the rest had to stop and there was no use + puttin' off any longer. I told her I loved her as if she was my very own + and that this needn't make the least bit of difference unless she wanted + it to. I said you felt just the same. I told her your speakin' to that + Heathcroft man was only for her good and for no other reason. You'd + learned that he was engaged to be married—” + </p> + <p> + “You told her that?” I interrupted, involuntarily. “What did she say?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothin', nothin' at all. I think she heard me and understood, but she + didn't say anything. Just sat there, white and trembling and crushed, sort + of, and looked and looked at me. I wanted to put my arms around her and + ask her pardon and beg her to love me as I did her, but I didn't dare—I + didn't dare. I did say that you and I would be only too glad to have her + stay with us always, as one of the family, you know. If she'd only forget + all the bad part that had gone and do that, I said—but she + interrupted me. She said 'Forget!' and the way she said it made me sure + she never would forget. And then—and then she asked me if I would + please go away and leave her. Would I PLEASE not say any more now, but + just leave her, only leave her alone. So I came away and—and that's + all.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all,” I repeated. “It is enough, I should say. Oh, Hephzy, why did + you do it? Why couldn't it have gone on as it has been going? Why did you + do it?” + </p> + <p> + It was an unthinking, wicked speech. But Hephzy did not resent it. Her + reply was as patient and kind as if she had been answering a child. + </p> + <p> + “I had to do it, Hosy,” she said. “After our talk this evenin' there was + only one thing to do. It had to be done—for your sake, if nothin' + else—and so I did it. But—but—” with a choking sob, “it + was SO hard to do! My Ardelia's baby!” + </p> + <p> + And at last, I am glad to say, I began to realize how very hard it had + been for her. To understand what she had gone through for my sake and what + a selfish brute I had been. I put my hands on her shoulders and kissed her + almost reverently. + </p> + <p> + “Hephzy,” said I, “you're a saint and a martyr and I am—what I am. + Please forgive me.” + </p> + <p> + “There isn't anything to forgive, Hosy. And,” with a shake of the head, + “I'm an awful poor kind of saint, I guess. They'd never put my image up in + the churches over here—not if they knew how I felt this minute. And + a saint from Cape Cod wouldn't be very welcome anyway, I'm afraid. I meant + well, but that's a poor sort of recommendation. Oh, Hosy, you DO think I + did for the best, don't you?” + </p> + <p> + “You did the only thing to be done,” I answered, with decision. “You did + what I lacked the courage to do. Of course it was best.” + </p> + <p> + “You're awful good to say so, but I don't know. What'll come of it + goodness knows. When I think of you and—and—” + </p> + <p> + “Don't think of me. I'm going to be a man if I can—a quahaug, if I + can't. At least I'm not going to be what I have been for the last month.” + </p> + <p> + “I know. But when I think of to-morrow and what she'll say to me, then, I—” + </p> + <p> + “You mustn't think. You must go to bed and so must I. To-morrow will take + care of itself. Come. Let's both sleep and forget it.” + </p> + <p> + Which was the very best of advice, but, like much good advice, impossible + to follow. I did not sleep at all that night, nor did I forget. God help + me! I was realizing that I never could forget. + </p> + <p> + At six o'clock I came downstairs, made a pretence at eating some biscuits + and cheese which I found on the sideboard, scribbled a brief note to + Hephzy stating that I had gone for a walk and should not be back to + breakfast, and started out. The walk developed into a long one and I did + not return to the rectory until nearly eleven in the forenoon. By that + time I was in a better mood, more reconciled to the inevitable—or I + thought I was. I believed I could play the man, could even see her married + to Herbert Bayliss and still behave like a man. I vowed and revowed it. No + one—no one but Hephzy and I should ever know what we knew. + </p> + <p> + Charlotte, the maid, seemed greatly relieved to see me. She hastened to + the drawing-room. + </p> + <p> + “Here he is, Miss Cahoon,” she said. “He's come back, ma'am. He's here.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I'm here, Charlotte,” I said. “You didn't suppose I had run + away, did you?... Why—why, Hephzy, what is the matter?” + </p> + <p> + For Hephzy was coming to meet me, her hands outstretched and on her face + an expression which I did not understand—sorrow, agitation—yes, + and pity—were in that expression, or so it seemed to me. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Hosy!” she cried, “I'm so glad you've come. I wanted you so.” + </p> + <p> + “Wanted me?” I repeated. “Why, what do you mean? Has anything happened?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded, solemnly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, “somethin' has happened. Somethin' we might have + expected, perhaps, but—but—Hosy, read that.” + </p> + <p> + I took what she handed me. It was a sheet of note paper, folded across, + and with Hephzibah's name written upon one side. I recognized the writing + and, with a sinking heart, unfolded it. Upon the other side was written in + pencil this: + </p> + <p> + “I am going away. I could not stay, of course. When I think how I have + stayed and how I have treated you both, who have been so very, very kind + to me, I feel—I can't tell you how I feel. You must not think me + ungrateful. You must not think of me at all. And you must not try to find + me, even if you should wish to do such a thing. I have the money which I + intended using for my new frocks and I shall use it to pay my expenses and + my fare to the place I am going. It is your money, of course, and some day + I shall send it to you. And someday, if I can, I shall repay all that you + have spent on my account. But you must not follow me and you must not + think of asking me to come back. That I shall never do. I do thank you for + all that you have done for me, both of you. I cannot understand why you + did it, but I shall always remember. Don't worry about me. I know what I + am going to do and I shall not starve or be in want. Good-by. Please try + to forget me. + </p> + <p> + “FRANCES MORLEY. + </p> + <p> + “Please tell Mr. Knowles that I am sorry for what I said to him this + afternoon and so many times before. How he could have been so kind and + patient I can't understand. I shall always remember it—always. + Perhaps he may forgive me some day. I shall try and hope that he may.” + </p> + <p> + I read to the end. Then, without speaking, I looked at Hephzy. Her eyes + were brimming with tears. + </p> + <p> + “She has gone,” she said, in answer to my unspoken question. “She must + have gone some time in the night. The man at the inn stable drove her to + the depot at Haddington on Hill. She took the early train for London. That + is all we know.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII + </h2> + <h3> + In Which Hephzy and I Agree to Live for Each Other + </h3> + <p> + I shall condense the record of that day as much as possible. I should omit + it altogether, if I could. We tried to trace her, of course. That is, I + tried and Hephzy did not dissuade me, although she realized, I am sure, + the hopelessness of the quest. Frances had left the rectory very early in + the morning. The hostler at the inn had been much surprised to find her + awaiting him when he came down to the yard at five o'clock. She was + obliged to go to London, she said, and must take the very first train: + Would he drive her to Haddington on Hill at once? He did so—probably + she had offered him a great deal more than the regular fare—and she + had taken the train. + </p> + <p> + Questioning the hostler, who was a surly, uncommunicative lout, resulted + in my learning very little in addition to this. The young lady seemed + about as usual, so far as he could see. She might 'ave been a bit nervous, + impatient like, but he attributed that to her anxiety to make the train. + Yes, she had a bag with her, but no other luggage. No, she didn't talk on + the way to the station: Why should she? He wasn't the man to ask a lady + questions about what wasn't his affair. She minded her own business and he + minded his. No, he didn't know nothin' more about it. What was I a-pumpin' + him for, anyway? + </p> + <p> + I gave up the “pumping” and hurried back to the rectory. There Hephzy told + me a few additional facts. Frances had taken with her only the barest + necessities, for the most part those which she had when she came to us. + Her new frocks, those which she had bought with what she considered her + money, she had left behind. All the presents which we had given her were + in her room, or so we thought at the time. As she came, so she had gone, + and the thought that she had gone, that I should never see her again, was + driving me insane. + </p> + <p> + And like an insane man I must have behaved, at first. The things I did and + said, and the way in which I treated Hephzy shame me now, as I remember + them. I was going to London at once. I would find her and bring her back. + I would seek help from the police, I would employ detectives, I would do + anything—everything. She was almost without money; so far as I knew + without friends. What would she do? What would become of her? I must find + her. I must bring her back. + </p> + <p> + I stormed up and down the room, incoherently declaring my intentions and + upbraiding Hephzy for not having sent the groom or the gardener to find + me, for allowing all the precious time to elapse. Hephzy offered no + excuse. She did not attempt justification. Instead she brought the railway + time-table, gave orders that the horse be harnessed, helped me in every + way. She would have prepared a meal for me with her own hands, would have + fed me like a baby, if I had permitted it. One thing she did insist upon. + </p> + <p> + “You must rest a few minutes, Hosy,” she said. “You must, or you'll be + down sick. You haven't slept a wink all night. You haven't eaten anything + to speak of since yesterday noon. You can't go this way. You must go to + your room and rest a few minutes. Lie down and rest, if you can.” + </p> + <p> + “Rest!” + </p> + <p> + “You must. The train doesn't leave Haddington for pretty nigh two hours, + and we've got lots of time. I'll fetch you up some tea and toast or + somethin' by and by and I'll be all ready to start when you are. Now go + and lie down, Hosy dear, to please me.” + </p> + <p> + I ignored the last sentence. “You will be ready?” I repeated. “Do you mean + you're going with me?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I am. It isn't likely I'll let you start off all alone, when + you're in a state like this. Of course I'm goin' with you. Now go and lie + down. You're so worn out, poor boy.” + </p> + <p> + I must have had a glimmer of reason then, a trace of decency and + unselfishness. For the first time I thought of her. I remembered that she, + too, had loved Little Frank; that she, too, must be suffering. + </p> + <p> + “I am no more tired than you are,” I said. “You have slept and eaten no + more than I. You are the one who must rest. I sha'n't let you go with me.” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't a question of lettin'. I shall go if you do, Hosy. And a woman + don't need rest like a man. Please go upstairs and lie down, Hosy. Oh,” + with a sudden burst of feeling, “don't you see I've got about all I can + bear as it is? I can't—I can't have YOU to worry about too.” + </p> + <p> + My conscience smote me. “I'll go, Hephzy,” said I. “I'll do whatever you + wish; it is the least I can do.” + </p> + <p> + She thanked me. Then she said, hesitatingly: + </p> + <p> + “Here is—here is her letter, Hosy. You may like to read it again. + Perhaps it may help you to decide what is best to do.” + </p> + <p> + She handed me the letter. I took it and went to my room. There I read it + again and again. And, as I read, the meaning of Hephzy's last sentence, + that the letter might help me to decide what was best to do, began to + force itself upon my overwrought brain. I began to understand what she had + understood from the first, that my trip to London was hopeless, absolutely + useless—yes, worse than useless. + </p> + <p> + “You must not try to find me... You must not follow me or think of asking + me to come back. That I shall never do.” + </p> + <p> + I was understanding, at last. I might go to London; I might even, through + the help of the police, or by other means, find Frances Morley. But, + having found her, what then? What claim had I upon her? What right had I + to pursue her and force my presence upon her? I knew the shock she had + undergone, the shattering of her belief in her father, the knowledge that + she had—as she must feel—forced herself upon our kindness and + charity. I knew how proud she was and how fiercely she had relented the + slightest hint that she was in any way dependent upon us or under the + least obligation to us. I knew all this and I was beginning to comprehend + what her feelings toward us and toward herself must be—now. + </p> + <p> + I might find her—yes; but as for convincing her that she should + return to Mayberry, to live with us as she had been doing, that was so + clearly impossible as to seem ridiculous even to me. My following her, my + hunting her down against her expressed wish, would almost surely make + matters worse. She would probably refuse to see me. She would consider my + following her a persecution and the result might be to drive her still + further away. I must not do it, for her sake I must not. She had gone and, + because I loved her, I must not follow her; I must not add to her misery. + No, against my will I was forcing myself to realize that my duty was to + make no attempt to see her again, but to face the situation as it was, to + cover the running away with a lie, to pretend she had gone—gone + somewhere or other with our permission and understanding; to protect her + name from scandal and to conceal my own feelings from all the world. That + was my duty; that was the situation I must face. But how could I face it! + </p> + <p> + That hour was the worst I have ever spent and I trust I may never be + called upon to face such another. But, at last, I am glad to say, I had + made up my mind, and when Hephzy came with the tea and toast I was + measurably composed and ready to express my determination. + </p> + <p> + “Hephzy,” said I, “I am not going to London. I have been thinking, and I'm + not going.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy put down the tray she was carrying. She did seem surprised, but I + am sure she was relieved. + </p> + <p> + “You're not goin'!” she exclaimed. “Why, Hosy!” + </p> + <p> + “No, I am not going. I've been crazy, Hephzy, I think, but I am fairly + sane now. I have reached the conclusion that you reached sometime ago, I + am certain. We have no right to follow her. Our finding her would only + make it harder for her and no good could come of it. She went, of her own + accord, and we must let her go.” + </p> + <p> + “Let her go? And not try—” + </p> + <p> + “No. We have no right to try. You know it as well as I do. Now, be honest, + won't you?” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy hesitated. + </p> + <p> + “Why,” she faltered; “well, I—Oh, Hosy, I guess likely you're right. + At first I was all for goin' after her right away and bringin' her back by + main strength, if I had to. But the more I thought of it the more I—I—” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” I interrupted. “It is the only thing we can do. You must have + been ashamed of me this morning. Well, I'll try and give you no cause to + be ashamed again. That part of our lives is over. Now we'll start afresh.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy, after a long look at my face, covered her own with her hands and + began to cry. I stepped to her side, but she recovered almost immediately. + </p> + <p> + “There! there!” she said, “don't mind me, Hosy. I've been holdin' that cry + back for a long spell. Now I've had it and it's over and done with. After + all, you and I have got each other left and we'll start fresh, just as you + say. And the first thing is for you to eat that toast and drink that tea.” + </p> + <p> + I smiled, or tried to smile. + </p> + <p> + “The first thing,” I declared, “is for us to decide what story we shall + tell young Bayliss and the rest of the people to account for her leaving + so suddenly. I expect Herbert Bayliss here any moment. He came to see me + about—about her last evening.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I guessed as much,” she said. “I knew he came and I guessed what 'twas + about. Poor fellow, 'twill be dreadful hard for him, too. He was here this + mornin' and I said Frances had been called away sudden and wouldn't be + back to-day. And I said you would be away all day, too, Hosy. It was a + fib, I guess, but I can't help it if it was. You mustn't see him now and + you mustn't talk with me either. You must clear off that tray the first + thing. We'll have our talk to-morrow, maybe. We'll—we'll see the + course plainer then, perhaps. Now be a good boy and mind me. You ARE my + boy, you know, and always will be, no matter how old and famous you get.” + </p> + <p> + Herbert Bayliss called again that afternoon. I did not see him, but Hephzy + did. The young fellow was frightfully disappointed at Frances' sudden + departure and asked all sorts of questions as to when she would return, + her London address and the like. Hephzy dodged the questions as best she + could, but we both foresaw that soon he would have to be told some portion + of the truth—not the whole truth; he need never know that, but + something—and that something would be very hard to tell. + </p> + <p> + The servants, too, must not know or surmise what had happened or the + reason for it. Hephzy had already given them some excuse, fabricated on + the spur of the moment. They knew Miss Morley had gone away and might not + return for some time. But we realized that upon our behavior depended a + great deal and so we agreed to appear as much like our ordinary selves as + possible. + </p> + <p> + It was a hard task. I shall never forget those first meals when we two + were alone. We did not mention her name, but the shadow was always there—the + vacant place at the table where she used to sit, the roses she had picked + the morning before; and, afterward, in the drawing-room, the piano with + her music upon the rack—the hundred and one little reminders that + were like so many poisoned needles to aggravate my suffering and to remind + me of the torture of the days to come. She had bade me forget her. Forget! + I might forget when I was dead, but not before. If I could only die then + and there it would seem so easy by comparison. + </p> + <p> + The next forenoon Hephzy and I had our talk. We discussed our future. + Should we leave the rectory and England and go back to Bayport where we + belonged? I was in favor of this, but Hephzy seemed reluctant. She, + apparently, had some reason which made her wish to remain for a time, at + least. At last the reason was disclosed. + </p> + <p> + “I supposed you'll laugh at me when I say it, Hosy,” she said; “or at any + rate you'll think I'm awful silly. But I know—I just KNOW that this + isn't the end. We shall see her again, you and I. She'll come to us again + or we'll go to her. I know it; somethin' inside me tells me so.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I shook my head. +</pre> + <p> + “It's true,” she went on. “You don't believe it, but it's true. It's a + presentiment and you haven't believed in my presentiments before, but + they've come true. Why, you didn't believe we'd ever find Little Frank at + all, but we did. And do you suppose all that has happened so far has been + just for nothin'? Indeed and indeed it hasn't. No, this isn't the end; + it's only the beginnin'.” + </p> + <p> + Her conviction was so strong that I hadn't the heart to contradict her. I + said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “And that's why,” she went on, “I don't like to have us leave here right + away. She knows we're here, here in England, and if—if she ever + should be in trouble and need our help she could find us here waitin' to + give it. If we was away off on the Cape, way on the other side of the + ocean, she couldn't reach us, or not until 'twas too late anyhow. That's + why I'd like to stay here a while longer, Hosy. But,” she hastened to add, + “I wouldn't stay a minute if you really wanted to go.” + </p> + <p> + I was silent for a moment. The temptation was to go, to get as far from + the scene of my trouble as I could; but, after all, what did it matter? I + could never flee from that trouble. + </p> + <p> + “All right, Hephzy,” I said. “I'll stay, if it pleases you.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Hosy. It may be foolish, our stayin', but I don't believe it + is. And—and there's somethin' else. I don't know whether I ought to + tell you or not. I don't know whether it will make you feel better or + worse. But I've heard you say that she must hate you. She doesn't—I + know she doesn't. I've been lookin' over her things, those she left in her + room. Everythin' we've given her or bought for her since she's been here, + she left behind—every single thing except one. That little pin you + bought for her in London the last time you was there and gave her to wear + at the Samsons' lawn party, I can't find it anywhere. She must have taken + it with her. Now why should she take that and leave all the rest?” + </p> + <p> + “Probably she forgot it,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Humph! Queer she should forget that and nothin' else. I don't believe she + forgot it. <i>I</i> think she took it because you gave it to her and she + wanted to keep it to remind her of you.” + </p> + <p> + I dismissed the idea as absurd, but I found a ray of comfort in it which I + should have been ashamed to confess. The idea that she wished to be + reminded of me was foolish, but—but I was glad she had forgotten to + leave the pin. It MIGHT remind her of me, even against her will. + </p> + <p> + A day or two later Herbert Bayliss and I had our delayed interview. He had + called several times, but Hephzy had kept him out of my way. This time our + meeting was in the main street of Mayberry, when dodging him was an + impossibility. He hurried up to me and seized my hand. + </p> + <p> + “So you're back, Knowles,” he said. “When did you return?” + </p> + <p> + For the moment I was at a loss to understand his meaning. I had forgotten + Hephzy's “fib” concerning my going away. Fortunately he did not wait for + an answer. + </p> + <p> + “Did Frances—did Miss Morley return with you?” he asked eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said I. + </p> + <p> + His smile vanished. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” he said, soberly. “She is still in London, then?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I presume she is.” + </p> + <p> + “You presume—? Why, I say! don't you know?” + </p> + <p> + “I am not sure.” + </p> + <p> + He seemed puzzled and troubled, but he was too well bred to ask why I was + not sure. Instead he asked when she would return. I announced that I did + not know that either. + </p> + <p> + “You don't know when she is coming back?” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + He regarded me keenly. There was a change in the tone of his next remark. + </p> + <p> + “You are not sure that she is in London and you don't know when she is + coming back,” he said, slowly. “Would you mind telling me why she left + Mayberry so suddenly? She had not intended going; at least she did not + mention her intention to me.” + </p> + <p> + “She did not mention it to anyone,” I answered. “It was a very sudden + determination on her part.” + </p> + <p> + He considered this. + </p> + <p> + “It would seem so,” he said. “Knowles, you'll excuse my saying it, but + this whole matter seems deucedly odd to me. There is something which I + don't understand. You haven't answered my question. Under the + circumstances, considering our talk the other evening, I think I have a + right to ask it. Why did she leave so suddenly?” + </p> + <p> + I hesitated. Mayberry's principal thoroughfare was far from crowded, but + it was scarcely the place for an interview like this. + </p> + <p> + “She had a reason for leaving,” I answered, slowly. “I will tell you + later, perhaps, what it was. Just now I cannot.” + </p> + <p> + “You cannot!” he repeated. He was evidently struggling with his impatience + and growing suspicious. “You cannot! But I think I have a right to know.” + </p> + <p> + “I appreciate your feelings, but I cannot tell you now.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Because—Well, because I don't think it would be fair to her. She + would not wish me to tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “She would not wish it? Was it because of me she left?” + </p> + <p> + “No; not in the least.” + </p> + <p> + “Was it—was it because of someone else? By Jove! it wasn't because + of that Heathcroft cad? Don't tell me that! My God! she—she didn't—” + </p> + <p> + I interrupted. His suspicion angered me. I should have understood his + feelings, should have realized that he had been and was disappointed and + agitated and that my answers to his questions must have aroused all sorts + of fears and forebodings in his mind. I should have pitied him, but just + then I had little pity for others. + </p> + <p> + “She did nothing but what she considered right,” I said sharply. “Her + leaving had nothing to do with Heathcroft or with you. I doubt if she + thought of either of you at all.” + </p> + <p> + It was a brutal speech, and he took it like a man. I saw him turn pale and + bite his lips, but when he next spoke it was in a calmer tone. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry,” he said. “I was a silly ass even to think such a thing. But—but + you see, Knowles, I—I—this means so much to me. I'm sorry, + though. I ask her pardon and yours.” + </p> + <p> + I was sorry, too. “Of course I didn't mean that, exactly,” I said. “Her + feelings toward you are of the kindest, I have no doubt, but her reason + for leaving was a purely personal one. You were not concerned in it.” + </p> + <p> + He reflected. He was far from satisfied, naturally, and his next speech + showed it. + </p> + <p> + “It is extraordinary, all this,” he said. “You are quite sure you don't + know when she is coming back?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you mind giving me her London address?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know it.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't KNOW it! Oh, I say! that's damned nonsense! You don't know when + she is coming back and you don't know her address! Do you mean you don't + know where she has gone?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “What—? Are you trying to tell me she is not coming back at all?” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid not.” + </p> + <p> + He was very pale. He seized my arm. + </p> + <p> + “What is all this?” he demanded, fiercely. “What has happened? Tell me; I + want to know. Where is she? Why did she go? Tell me!” + </p> + <p> + “I can tell you nothing,” I said, as calmly as I could. “She left us very + suddenly and she is not coming back. Her reason for leaving I can't tell + you, now. I don't know where she is and I have no right to try and find + out. She has asked that no one follow her or interfere with her in any + way. I respect her wish and I advise you, if you wish to remain her + friend, to do the same, for the present, at least. That is all I can tell + you.” + </p> + <p> + He shook my arm savagely. + </p> + <p> + “By George!” he cried, “you must tell me. I'll make you! I—I—Do + you think me a fool? Do you suppose I believe such rot as that? You tell + me she has gone—has left Mayberry—and you don't know where she + has gone and don't intend trying to find out. Why—” + </p> + <p> + “There, Bayliss! that is enough. This is not the place for us to quarrel. + And there is no reason why we should quarrel at all. I have told you all + that I can tell you now. Some day I may tell you more, but until then you + must be patient, for her sake. Her leaving Mayberry had no connection with + you whatever. You must be contented with that.” + </p> + <p> + “Contented! Why, man, you're mad. She is your niece. You are her guardian + and—” + </p> + <p> + “I am not her guardian. Neither is she my niece.” + </p> + <p> + I had spoken involuntarily. Certainly I had not intended telling him that. + The speech had the effect of causing him to drop my arm and step back. He + stared at me blankly. No doubt he did think me crazy, then. + </p> + <p> + “I have no authority over her in any way,” I went on. “She is Miss + Cahoon's niece, but we are not her guardians. She has left our home of her + own free will and neither I nor you nor anyone else shall follow her if I + can help it. I am sorry to have deceived you. The deceit was unavoidable, + or seemed to be. I am very, very sorry for you. That is all I can say now. + Good morning.” + </p> + <p> + I left him standing there in the street and walked away. He called after + me, but I did not turn back. He would have followed me, of course, but + when I did look back I saw that the landlord of the inn was trying to talk + with him and was detaining him. I was glad that the landlord had appeared + so opportunely. I had said too much already. I had bungled this interview + as I had that with Heathcroft. + </p> + <p> + I told Hephzy all about it. She appeared to think that, after all, perhaps + it was best. + </p> + <p> + “When you've got a toothache,” she said, “you might as well go to the + dentist's right off. The old thing will go on growlin' and grumblin' and + it's always there to keep you in misery. You'd have had to tell him some + time. Well, you've told him now, the worst of it, anyhow. The tooth's out; + though,” with a one-sided smile, “I must say you didn't give the poor chap + any ether to help along.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid it isn't out,” I said, truthfully. “He won't be satisfied with + one operation.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll be on hand to help with the next one. And, between us, I + cal'late we can make that final. Poor boy! Well, he's young, that's one + comfort. You get over things quicker when you're young.” + </p> + <p> + I nodded. “That is true,” I said, “but there is something else, Hephzy. + You say I have acted for the best. Have I? I don't know. We know he cares + for her, but—but does she—” + </p> + <p> + “Does she care for him, you mean? I don't think so, Hosy. For a spell I + thought she did, but now I doubt it. I think—Well, never mind what I + think. I think a lot of foolish things. My brain's softenin' up, I + shouldn't wonder. It's a longshore brain, anyhow, and it needs the salt to + keep it from spoilin'. I wish you and I could go clammin'. When you're + diggin' clams you're too full of backache to worry about toothaches—or + heartaches, either.” + </p> + <p> + I expected a visit from young Bayliss that very evening, but he did not + come to the rectory. Instead Doctor Bayliss, Senior, came and requested an + interview with me. Hephzy announced the visitor. + </p> + <p> + “He acts pretty solemn, Hosy,” she said. “I wouldn't wonder if his son had + told him. I guess it's another toothache. Would you like to have me stay + and help?” + </p> + <p> + I said I should be glad of her help. So, when the old gentleman was shown + into the study, he found her there with me. The doctor was very grave and + his usually ruddy, pleasant face was haggard and careworn. He took the + chair which I offered him and, without preliminaries, began to speak of + the subject which had brought him there. + </p> + <p> + It was as Hephzy had surmised. His son had told him everything, of his + love for Frances, of his asking my permission to marry her, and of our + talk before the inn. + </p> + <p> + “I am sure I don't need to tell you, Knowles,” he said, “that all this has + shaken the boy's mother and me dreadfully. We knew, of course, that the + young people liked each other, were together a great deal, and all that. + But we had not dreamed of any serious attachment between them.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy put in a word. + </p> + <p> + “We don't know as there has been any attachment between them,” she said. + “Your boy cared for her—we know that—but whether she cared for + him or not we don't know.” + </p> + <p> + Our visitor straightened in his chair. The idea that his son could love + anyone and not be loved in return was plainly quite inconceivable. + </p> + <p> + “I think we may take that for granted, madame,” he said. “The news was, as + I say, a great shock to my wife and myself. Herbert is our only child and + we had, naturally, planned somewhat concerning his future. The—the + overthrow of our plans was and is a great grief and disappointment to us. + Not, please understand, that we question your niece's worth or anything of + that sort. She is a very attractive young woman and would doubtless make + my son a good wife. But, if you will pardon my saying so, we know very + little about her or her family. You are comparative strangers to us and + although we have enjoyed your—ah—society and—ah—” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon for saying it, Doctor Bayliss,” she said, “but you know + as much about us as we do about you.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor's composure was ruffled still more. He regarded Hephzy through + his spectacles and then said, with dignity. + </p> + <p> + “Madame, I have resided in this vicinity for nearly forty years. I think + my record and that of my family will bear inspection.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't doubt it a bit. But, as far as that goes, I have lived in Bayport + for fifty-odd years myself and our folks have lived there for a hundred + and fifty. I'm not questionin' you or your family, Doctor Bayliss. If I + had questioned 'em I could easily have looked up the record. All I'm + sayin' is that I haven't thought of questionin', and I don't just see why + you shouldn't take as much for granted as I have.” + </p> + <p> + The old gentleman was a bit disconcerted. He cleared his throat and + fidgeted in his seat. + </p> + <p> + “I do—I do, Miss Cahoon, of course,” he said. “But—ah—Well, + to return to the subject of my son and Miss Morley. The boy is dreadfully + agitated, Mr. Knowles. He is quite mad about the girl and his mother and I + are much concerned about him. We would—I assure you we would do + anything and sacrifice anything for his sake. We like your niece, and, + although, as I say, we had planned otherwise, nevertheless we will—provided + all is as it should be—give our consent to—to the arrangement, + for his sake.” + </p> + <p> + I did not answer. The idea that marrying Frances Morley would entail a + sacrifice upon anyone's part except hers angered me and I did not trust + myself to speak. But Hephzy spoke for me. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by providin' everything is as it should be?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I mean—I mean provided we learn that she is—is—That + is,—Well, one naturally likes to know something concerning his + prospective daughter-in-law's history, you know. That is to be expected, + now isn't it.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy looked at me and I looked at her. + </p> + <p> + “Doctor,” she said. “I wonder if your son told you about some things Hosy—Mr. + Knowles, I mean—told him this mornin'. Did he tell you that?” + </p> + <p> + The doctor colored slightly. “Yes—yes, he did,” he admitted. “He + said he had a most extraordinary sort of interview with Mr. Knowles and + was told by him some quite extraordinary things. Of course, we could + scarcely believe that he had heard aright. There was some mistake, of + course.” + </p> + <p> + “There was no mistake, Doctor Bayliss,” said I. “I told your son the + truth, a very little of the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “The truth! But it couldn't be true, you know, as Herbert reported it to + me. He said Miss Morley had left Mayberry, had gone away for some + unexplained reason, and was not coming back—that you did not know + where she had gone, that she had asked not to be hindered or followed or + something. And he said—My word! he even said you, Knowles, had + declared yourself to be neither her uncle nor her guardian. THAT couldn't + be true, now could it!” + </p> + <p> + Again Hephzy and I looked at each other. Without speaking we reached the + same conclusion. Hephzy voiced that conclusion. + </p> + <p> + “I guess, Doctor Bayliss,” she said, “that the time has come when you had + better be told the whole truth, or as much of the whole truth about + Frances as Hosy and I know. I'm goin' to tell it to you. It's a kind of + long story, but I guess likely you ought to know it.” + </p> + <p> + She began to tell that story, beginning at the very beginning, with + Ardelia and Strickland Morley and continuing on, through the history of + the latter's rascality and the fleeing of the pair from America, to our + own pilgrimage, the finding of Little Frank and the astonishing happenings + since. + </p> + <p> + “She's gone,” she said. “She found out what sort of man her father really + was and, bein' a high-spirited, proud girl—as proud and + high-spirited as she is clever and pretty and good—she ran away and + left us. We don't blame her, Hosy and I. We understand just how she feels + and we've made up our minds to do as she asks and not try to follow her or + try to bring her back to us against her will. We think the world of her. + We haven't known her but a little while, but we've come—that is,” + with a sudden glance in my direction, “I've come to love her as if she was + my own. It pretty nigh kills me to have her go. When I think of her + strugglin' along tryin' to earn her own way by singin' and—and all, + I have to hold myself by main strength to keep from goin' after her and + beggin' her on my knees to come back. But I sha'n't do it, because she + doesn't want me to. Of course I hope and believe that some day she will + come back, but until she does and of her own accord, I'm goin' to wait. + And, if your son really cares for her as much as we—as I do, he'll + wait, too.” + </p> + <p> + She paused and hastily dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. I turned + in order that the Doctor might not see my face. It was an unnecessary + precaution. Doctor Bayliss' mind was busy, apparently, with but one + thought. + </p> + <p> + “An opera singer!” he exclaimed, under his breath. “An opera singer! + Herbert to marry an opera singer! The granddaughter of a Yankee sailor and—and—” + </p> + <p> + “And the daughter of an English thief,” put in Hephzy, sharply. “Maybe + we'd better leave nationalities out, Doctor Bayliss. The Yankees have the + best end of it, 'cordin' to my notion.” + </p> + <p> + He paid no attention to this. + </p> + <p> + He was greatly upset. “It is impossible!” he declared. “Absolutely + impossible! Why haven't we known of this before? Why did not Herbert know + of it? Mr. Knowles, I must say that—that you have been most + unthinking in this matter.” + </p> + <p> + “I have been thinking of her,” I answered, curtly. “It was and is her + secret and we rely upon you to keep it as such. We trust to your honor to + tell no one, not even your son.” + </p> + <p> + “My son! Herbert? Why I must tell him! I must tell my wife.” + </p> + <p> + “You may tell your wife. And your son as much as you think necessary. + Further than that it must not go.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, of course. I understand. But an opera singer!” + </p> + <p> + “She isn't a real opera singer,” said Hephzy. “That is, not one of those + great ones. And she told me once that she realized now that she never + could be. She has a real sweet voice, a beautiful voice, but it isn't + powerful enough to make her a place in the big companies. She tried and + tried, she said, but all the managers said the same thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Hephzy,” I said, “when did she tell you this? I didn't know of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I know you didn't, Hosy. She told me one day when we were alone. It was + the only time she ever spoke of herself and she didn't say much then. She + spoke about her livin' with her relatives here in England and what awful, + mean, hard people they were. She didn't say who they were nor where they + lived, but she did say she ran away from them to go on the stage as a + singer and what trials and troubles she went through afterward. She told + me that much and then she seemed sorry that she had. She made me promise + not to tell anyone, not even you. I haven't, until now.” + </p> + <p> + Doctor Bayliss was sitting with a hand to his forehead. + </p> + <p> + “A provincial opera singer,” he repeated. “Oh, impossible! Quite + impossible!” + </p> + <p> + “It may seem impossible to you,” I couldn't help observing, “but I + question if it will seem so to your son. I doubt if her being an opera + singer will make much difference to him.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor groaned. “The boy is mad about her, quite mad,” he admitted. + </p> + <p> + I was sorry for him. Perhaps if I were in his position I might feel as he + did. + </p> + <p> + “I will say this,” I said: “In no way, so far as I know, has Miss Morley + given your son encouragement. He told me himself that he had never spoken + to her of his feelings and we have no reason to think that she regards him + as anything more than a friend. She left no message for him when she went + away.” + </p> + <p> + He seemed to find some ground for hope in this. He rose from the chair and + extended his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Knowles,” he said, “if I have said anything to hurt your feelings or + those of Miss Cahoon I am very sorry. I trust it will make no difference + in our friendship. My wife and I respect and like you both and I think I + understand how deeply you must feel the loss of your—of Miss Morley. + I hope she—I hope you may be reunited some day. No doubt you will + be. As for Herbert—he is our son and if you ever have a son of your + own, Mr. Knowles, you may appreciate his mother's feelings and mine. We + have planned and—and—Even now I should not stand in the way of + his happiness if—if I believed happiness could come of it. But such + marriages are never happy. And,” with a sudden burst of hope, “as you say, + she may not be aware of his attachment. The boy is young. He may forget.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said I, with a sigh. “He IS young, and he may forget.” + </p> + <p> + After he had gone Hephzy turned to me. + </p> + <p> + “If I hadn't understood that old man's feelin's,” she declared, “I'd have + given him one talkin' to. The idea of his speakin' as if Frances wouldn't + be a wife anybody, a lord or anybody else, might be proud of! But he + didn't know. He's been brought up that way, and he doesn't know. And, of + course, his son IS the only person on earth to him. Well, that's over! We + haven't got to worry about them any more. We'll begin to live for each + other now, Hosy, same as we used to do. And we'll wait for the rest. It'll + come and come right for all of us. Just you see.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV + </h2> + <h3> + In Which I Play Golf and Cross the Channel + </h3> + <p> + And so we began “to live for each other again,” Hephzy and I. This meant, + of course, that Hephzy forgot herself entirely and spent the greater part + of her time trying to find ways to make my living more comfortable, just + as she had always done. And I—well, I did my best to appear, if not + happy, at least reasonably calm and companionable. It was a hard job for + both of us; certainly my part of it was hard enough. + </p> + <p> + Appearances had to be considered and so we invented a tale of a visit to + relatives in another part of England to account for the unannounced + departure of Miss Morley. This excuse served with the neighbors and + friends not in the secret and, for the benefit of the servants, Hephzy + elaborated the deceit by pretending eagerness at the arrival of the mails + and by certain vague remarks at table concerning letters she was writing. + </p> + <p> + “I AM writing 'em, too, Hosy,” she said. “I write to her every few days. + Of course I don't mail the letters, but it sort of squares things with my + conscience to really write after talking so much about it. As for her + visitin' relatives—well, she's got relatives somewhere in England, + we know that much, and she MAY be visitin' 'em. At any rate I try to think + she is. Oh, dear, I 'most wish I'd had more experience in tellin' lies; + then I wouldn't have to invent so many extra ones to make me believe those + I told at the beginnin'. I wish I'd been brought up a book agent or a + weather prophet or somethin' like that; then I'd have been in trainin'.” + </p> + <p> + Without any definite agreement we had fallen into the habit of not + mentioning the name of Little Frank, even when we were alone together. In + consequence, on these occasions, there would be long intervals of silence + suddenly broken by Hephzy's bursting out with a surmise concerning what + was happening in Bayport, whether they had painted the public library + building yet, or how Susanna was getting on with the cat and hens. She had + received three letters from Miss Wixon and, as news bearers, they were far + from satisfactory. + </p> + <p> + “That girl makes me so provoked,” sniffed Hephzy, dropping the most recent + letter in her lap with a gesture of disgust. “She says she's got a cold in + the head and she's scared to death for fear it'll get 'set onto her,' + whatever that is. Two pages of this letter is nothin' but cold in the head + and t'other two is about a new hat she's goin' to have and she don't know + whether to trim it with roses or forget-me-nots. If she trimmed it with + cabbage 'twould match her head better'n anything else. I declare! she + ought to be thankful she's got a cold in a head like hers; it must be + comfortin' to know there's SOMETHIN' there. You've got a letter, too, + Hosy. Who is it from?” + </p> + <p> + “From Campbell,” I answered, wearily. “He wants to know how the novel is + getting on, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! Well, you write him that it's gettin' on the way a squid gets + ahead—by goin' backwards. Don't let him pester you one bit, Hosy. + You write that novel just as fast or slow as you feel like. He told you to + take a vacation, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + I smiled. Mine was a delightful vacation. + </p> + <p> + The summer dragged on. The days passed. Pleasant days they were, so far as + the weather was concerned. I spent them somehow, walking, riding, golfing, + reading. I gave up trying to work; the half-written novel remained half + written. I could not concentrate my thoughts upon it and I lacked the + courage to force myself to try. I wrote Campbell that he must be patient, + I was doing the best I could. He answered by telling me not to worry, to + enjoy myself. “Why do you stay there in England?” he wrote. “I ordered you + to travel, not to plant yourself in one place and die of dry rot. A + British oyster is mighty little improvement on a Cape Cod quahaug. You + have been in that rectory about long enough. Go to Monte Carlo for change. + You'll find it there—or lose it.” + </p> + <p> + It may have been good advice—or bad—according to the way in + which it was understood, but, good or bad, it didn't appeal to me. I had + no desire to travel, unless it were to travel back to Bayport, where I + belonged. I felt no interest in Monte Carlo—for the matter of that, + I felt no interest in Mayberry or anywhere else. I was not interested in + anything or anybody—except one, and that one had gone out of my + life. Night after night I went to sleep determining to forget and morning + after morning I awoke only to remember, and with the same dull, hopeless + heartache and longing. + </p> + <p> + July passed, August was half gone. Still we remained at the rectory. Our + lease was up on the first of October. The Coles would return then and we + should be obliged to go elsewhere, whether we wished to or not. Hephzy, + although she did not say much about it, was willing to go, I think. Her + “presentiment” had remained only a presentiment so far; no word came from + Little Frank. We had heard or learned nothing concerning her or her + whereabouts. + </p> + <p> + Our neighbors and friends in Mayberry were as kind and neighborly as ever. + For the first few days after our interview with Doctor Bayliss, Senior, + Hephzy and I saw nothing of him or his family. Then the doctor called + again. He seemed in better spirits. His son had yielded to his parents' + entreaties and had departed for a walking tour through the Black Forest + with some friends. + </p> + <p> + “The invitation came at exactly the right time,” said the old gentleman. + “Herbert was ready to go anywhere or do anything. The poor boy was in the + depths and when his mother and I urged him to accept he did so. We are + hoping that when he returns he will have forgotten, or, if not that, at + least be more reconciled.” + </p> + <p> + Heathcroft came and went at various times during the summer. I met him on + the golf course and he was condescendingly friendly as ever. Our talk + concerning Frances, which had brought such momentous consequences to her + and to Hephzy and to me, had, apparently, not disturbed him in the least. + He greeted me blandly and cheerfully, asked how we all were, said he had + been given to understand that “my charming little niece” was no longer + with us, and proceeded to beat me two down in eighteen holes. I played + several times with him afterward and, under different circumstances, + should have enjoyed doing so, for we were pretty evenly matched. + </p> + <p> + His aunt, the Lady of the Manor, I also met. She went out of her way to be + as sweetly gracious as possible. I presume she inferred from Frances' + departure that I had taken her hint and had removed the disturbing + influence from her nephew's primrose-bordered path. At each of our + meetings she spoke of the “invitation golf tournament,” several times + postponed and now to be played within a fortnight. She insisted that I + must take part in it. At last, having done everything except decline + absolutely, I finally consented to enter the tournament. It is not easy to + refuse to obey an imperial decree and Lady Carey was Empress of Mayberry. + </p> + <p> + After accepting I returned to the rectory to find that Hephzy also had + received an invitation. Not to play golf, of course; her invitation was of + a totally different kind. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think, Hosy!” she cried. “I've got a letter and you can't + guess who it's from.” + </p> + <p> + “From Susanna?” I ventured. + </p> + <p> + “Susanna! You don't suppose I'd be as excited as all this over a letter + from Susanna Wixon, do you? No indeed! I've got a letter from Mrs. Hepton, + who had the Nickerson cottage last summer. She and her husband are in + Paris and they want us to meet 'em there in a couple of weeks and go for a + short trip through Switzerland. They got our address from Mr. Campbell + before they left home. Mrs. Hepton writes that they're countin' on our + company. They're goin' to Lake Lucerne and to Mont Blanc and everywhere. + Wouldn't it be splendid!” + </p> + <p> + The Heptons had been summer neighbors of ours on the Cape for several + seasons. They were friends of Jim Campbell's and had first come to Bayport + on his recommendation. I liked them very well, and, oddly enough, for I + was not popular with the summer colony, they had seemed to like me. + </p> + <p> + “It was very kind of them to think of us,” I said. “Campbell shouldn't + have given them our address, of course, but their invitation was well + meant. You must write them at once. Make our refusal as polite as + possible.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy seemed disappointed, I thought. + </p> + <p> + “Then you think I'd better say no?” she observed. + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course. You weren't thinking of accepting, were you?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I didn't know. I'm not sure that our goin' wouldn't be the right + thing. I've been considerin' for some time, Hosy, and I've about come to + the conclusion that stayin' here is bad for you. Maybe it's bad for both + of us. Perhaps a change would do us both good.” + </p> + <p> + I was astonished. “Humph!” I exclaimed; “this is a change of heart, + Hephzy. A while ago, when I suggested going back to Bayport, you wouldn't + hear of it. You wanted to stay here and—and wait.” + </p> + <p> + “I know I did. And I've been waitin', but nothin' has come of it. I've + still got my presentiment, Hosy. I believe just as strong as I ever did + that some time or other she and you and I will be together again. But + stayin' here and seein' nobody but each other and broodin' don't do us any + good. It's doin' you harm; that's plain enough. You don't write and you + don't eat—that is, not much—and you're gettin' bluer and more + thin and peaked every day. You have just got to go away from here, no + matter whether I do or not. And I've reached the point where I'm willin' + to go, too. Not for good, maybe. We'll come back here again. Our lease + isn't up until October and we can leave the servants here and give them + our address to have mail forwarded. If—if she—that is, if a + letter or—or anything—SHOULD come we could hurry right back. + The Heptons are real nice folks; you always liked 'em, Hosy. And you + always wanted to see Switzerland; you used to say so. Why don't we say yes + and go along?” + </p> + <p> + I did not answer. I believed I understood the reason for Campbell's giving + our address to the Heptons; also the reason for the invitation. Jim was + very anxious to have me leave Mayberry; he believed travel and change of + scene were what I needed. Doubtless he had put the Heptons up to asking us + to join them on their trip. It was merely an addition to his precious + prescription. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't we go?” urged Hephzy. + </p> + <p> + “Not much!” I answered, decidedly. “I should be poor company on a pleasure + trip like that. But you might go, Hephzy. There is no reason in the world + why you shouldn't go. I'll stay here until you return. Go, by all means, + and enjoy yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “I'd do a lot of enjoyin' without you, wouldn't I,” she observed. “While I + was lookin' at the scenery I'd be wonderin' what you had for breakfast. + Every mite of rain would set me to thinkin' of your gettin' your feet wet + and when I laid eyes on a snow peak I'd wonder if you had blankets enough + on your bed. I'd be like that yellow cat we used to have back in the time + when Father was alive. That cat had kittens and Father had 'em all drowned + but one. After that you never saw the cat anywhere unless the kitten was + there, too. She wouldn't eat unless it were with her and between bites + she'd sit down on it so it couldn't run off. She lugged it around in her + mouth until Father used to vow he'd have eyelet holes punched in the + scruff of its neck for her teeth to fit into and make it easier for both + of 'em. It died, finally; she wore it out, I guess likely. Then she + adopted a chicken and started luggin' that around. She had the habit, you + see. I'm a good deal like her, Hosy. I've took care of you so long that + I've got the habit. No, I shouldn't go unless you did.” + </p> + <p> + No amount of urging moved her, so we dropped the subject. + </p> + <p> + The morning of the golf tournament was clear and fine. I shouldered my bag + of clubs and walked through the lane toward the first tee. I never felt + less like playing or more inclined to feign illness and remain at home. + But I had promised Lady Carey and the promise must be kept. + </p> + <p> + There was a group of people, players and guests, awaiting me at the tee. + Her ladyship was there, of course; so also was her nephew, Mr. Carleton + Heathcroft, whom I had not seen for some time. Heathcroft was in + conversation with a young fellow who, when he turned in my direction, I + recognized as Herbert Bayliss. I was surprised to see him; I had not heard + of his return from the Black Forest trip. + </p> + <p> + Lady Carey was affable and gracious, also very important and busy. She + welcomed me absent-mindedly, introduced me to several of her guests, + ladies and gentlemen from London down for the week-end, and then bustled + away to confer with Mr. Handliss, steward of the estate, concerning the + arrangements for the tournament. I felt a touch on my arm and, turning, + found Doctor Bayliss standing beside me. He was smiling and in apparent + good humor. + </p> + <p> + “The boy is back, Knowles,” he said. “Have you seen him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said I, “I have seen him, although we haven't met yet. I was + surprised to find him here. When did he return?” + </p> + <p> + “Only yesterday. His mother and I were surprised also. We hadn't expected + him so soon. He's looking very fit, don't you think?” + </p> + <p> + “Very.” I had not noticed that young Bayliss was looking either more or + less fit than usual, but I answered as I did because the old gentleman + seemed so very anxious that I should. He was evidently gratified. “Yes,” + he said, “he's looking very fit indeed. I think his trip has benefited him + hugely. And I think—Yes, I think he is beginning to forget his—that + is to say, I believe he does not dwell upon the—the recent + happenings as he did. I think he is forgetting; I really think he is.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed,” said I. It struck me that, if Herbert Bayliss was forgetting, + his memory must be remarkably short. I imagined that his father's wish was + parent to the thought. + </p> + <p> + “He has—ah—scarcely mentioned our—our young friend's + name since his return,” went on the doctor. “He did ask if you had heard—ah—by + the way, Knowles, you haven't heard, have you?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear me! dear me! That's very odd, now isn't it.” + </p> + <p> + He did not say he was sorry. If he had said it I should not have believed + him. If ever anything was plain it was that the longer we remained without + news of Frances Morley the better pleased Herbert Bayliss's parents would + be. + </p> + <p> + “But I say, Knowles,” he added, “you and he must meet, you know. He + doesn't hold any ill-feeling or—or resentment toward you. Really he + doesn't. Herbert! Oh, I say, Herbert! Come here, will you.” + </p> + <p> + Young Bayliss turned. The doctor whispered in my ear. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it would be just as well not to refer to—to—You + understand me, Knowles. Better let sleeping dogs lie, eh? Oh, Herbert, + here is Knowles waiting to shake hands with you.” + </p> + <p> + We shook hands. The shake, on his part, was cordial enough, perhaps, but + not too cordial. It struck me that young Bayliss was neither as “fit” nor + as forgetful as his fond parents wished to believe. He looked rather worn + and nervous, it seemed to me. I asked him about his tramping trip and we + chatted for a few moments. Then Bayliss, Senior, was called by Lady Carey + and Handliss to join the discussion concerning the tournament rules and + the young man and I were left alone together. + </p> + <p> + “Knowles,” he asked, the moment after his father's departure, “have you + heard anything? Anything concerning—her?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “You're sure? You're not—” + </p> + <p> + “I am quite sure. We haven't heard nor do we expect to.” + </p> + <p> + He looked away across the course and I heard him draw a long breath. + </p> + <p> + “It's deucedly odd, this,” he said. “How she could disappear so entirely I + don't understand. And you have no idea where she may be?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “But—but, confound it, man, aren't you trying to find her?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “You're not! Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “You know why not as well as I. She left us of her own free will and her + parting request was that we should not follow her. That is sufficient for + us. Pardon me, but I think it should be for all her friends.” + </p> + <p> + He was silent for a moment. Then his teeth snapped together. + </p> + <p> + “I'll find her,” he declared, fiercely. “I'll find her some day.” + </p> + <p> + “In spite of her request?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. In spite of the devil.” + </p> + <p> + He turned on his heel and walked off. Mr. Handliss stepped to the first + tee, clapped his hands to attract attention and began a little speech. + </p> + <p> + The tournament, he said, was about to begin. Play would be, owing to the + length and difficulty of the course, but eighteen holes instead of the + usual thirty-six. This meant that each pair of contestants would play the + nine holes twice. Handicaps had been fixed as equitably as possible + according to each player's previous record, and players having similar + handicaps were to play against each other. A light lunch and refreshments + would be served after the first round had been completed by all. Prizes + would be distributed by her ladyship when the final round was finished. + Her ladyship bade us all welcome and was gratified by our acceptance of + her invitation. He would now proceed to read the names of those who were + to play against each other, stating handicaps and the like. He read + accordingly, and I learned that my opponent was to be Mr. Heathcroft, each + of us having a handicap of two. + </p> + <p> + Considering everything I thought my particular handicap a stiff one. + Heathcroft had been in the habit of beating me in two out of three of our + matches. However, I determined to play my best. Being the only outlander + on the course I couldn't help feeling that the sporting reputation of + Yankeeland rested, for this day at least, upon my shoulders. + </p> + <p> + The players were sent off in pairs, the less skilled first. Heathcroft and + I were next to the last. A London attorney by the name of Jaynes and a + Wrayton divine named Wilson followed us. Their rating was one plus and, + judging by the conversation of the “gallery,” they were looked upon as + winners of the first and second prizes respectively. The Reverend Mr. + Wilson was called, behind his back, “the sporting curate.” In gorgeous + tweeds and a shepherd's plaid cap he looked the part. + </p> + <p> + The first nine went to me. An usually long drive and a lucky putt on the + eighth gave me the round by one. I played with care and tried my hardest + to keep my mind on the game. Heathcroft was, as always, calm and careful, + but between tees he was pleased to be chatty and affable. + </p> + <p> + “And how is the aunt with the odd name, Knowles?” he inquired. “Does she + still devour her—er—washing flannels and treacle for + breakfast?” + </p> + <p> + “She does when she cares to,” I replied. “She is an independent lady, as I + think you know.” + </p> + <p> + “My word! I believe you. And how are the literary labors progressing? I + had my bookselling fellow look up a novel of yours the other day. Began it + that same night, by Jove! It was quite interesting, really. I should have + finished it, I think, but some of the chaps at the club telephoned me to + join them for a bit of bridge and of course that ended literature for the + time. My respected aunt tells me I'm quite dotty on bridge. She foresees a + gambler's end for me, stony broke, languishing in dungeons and all that + sort of thing. I am to die of starvation, I think. Is it starvation + gamblers die of? 'Pon my soul, I should say most of those I know would be + more likely to die of thirst. Rather!” + </p> + <p> + Later on he asked another question. + </p> + <p> + “And how is the pretty niece, Knowles?” he inquired. “When is she coming + back to the monastery or the nunnery or rectory, or whatever it is?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” I replied, curtly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say! Isn't she coming at all? That would be a calamity, now + wouldn't it? Not to me in particular. I should mind your notice boards, of + course. But if I were condemned, as you are, to spend a summer among the + feminine beauties of Mayberry, a face like hers would be like a whisky and + soda in a thirsty land, as a chap I know is fond of saying. Oh, and by the + way, speaking of your niece, I had a curious experience in Paris a week + ago. Most extraordinary thing. For the moment I began to believe I really + was going dotty, as Auntie fears. I... Your drive, Knowles. I'll tell you + the story later.” + </p> + <p> + He did not tell it during that round, forgot it probably. I did not remind + him. The longer he kept clear of the subject of my “niece” the more + satisfied I was. We lunched in the pavilion by the first tee. There were + sandwiches and biscuits—crackers, of course—and cakes and + sweets galore. Also thirst-quenching materials sufficient to satisfy even + the gamblers of Mr. Heathcroft's acquaintance. The “sporting curate,” + behind a huge Scotch and soda, was relating his mishaps in approaching the + seventh hole for the benefit of his brother churchmen, Messrs. Judson and + Worcester. Lady Carey was dilating upon her pet subject, the talents and + virtues of “Carleton, dear,” for the benefit of the London attorney, who + was pretending to listen with the respectful interest due blood and title, + but who was thinking of something else, I am sure. “Carleton, dear,” + himself, was chatting languidly with young Bayliss. The latter seemed + greatly interested. There was a curious expression on his face. I was + surprised to see him so cordial to Heathcroft; I knew he did not like Lady + Carey's nephew. + </p> + <p> + The second and final round of the tournament began. For six holes + Heathcroft and I broke even. The seventh he won, making us square for the + match so far and, with an equal number of strokes. The eighth we halved. + All depended on the ninth. Halving there would mean a drawn match between + us and a drawing for choice of prizes, provided we were in the + prize-winning class. A win for either of us meant the match itself. + </p> + <p> + Heathcroft, in spite of the close play, was as bland and unconcerned as + ever. I tried to appear likewise. As a matter of fact, I wanted to win. + Not because of the possible prize, I cared little for that, but for the + pleasure of winning against him. We drove from the ninth tee, each got a + long brassy shot which put us on the edge of the green, and then strolled + up the hill together. + </p> + <p> + “I say, Knowles,” he observed; “I haven't finished telling you of my Paris + experience, have I. Odd coincidence, by Jove! I was telling young Bayliss + about it just now and he thought it odd, too. I was—some other chaps + and I drifted into the Abbey over in Paris a week or so ago and while we + were there a girl came out and sang. She was an extremely pretty girl, you + understand, but that wasn't the extraordinary part of it. She was the + image—my word! the very picture of your niece, Miss Morley. It quite + staggered me for the moment. Upon my soul I thought it was she! She sang + extremely well, but not for long. I tried to get near her—meant to + speak to her, you know, but she had gone before I reached her. Eh! What + did you say?” + </p> + <p> + I had not said anything—at least I think I had not. He + misinterpreted my silence. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you mustn't be offended,” he said, laughing. “Of course I knew it + wasn't she—that is, I should have known it if I hadn't been so + staggered by the resemblance. It was amazing, that resemblance. The face, + the voice—everything was like hers. I was so dotty about it that I + even hunted up one of the chaps in charge and asked him who the girl was. + He said she was an Austrian—Mademoiselle Juno or Junotte or + something. That ended it, of course. I was a fool to imagine anything + else, of course. But you would have been a bit staggered if you had seen + her. And she didn't look Austrian, either. She looked English or American—rather! + I say, I hope I haven't hurt your feelings, old chap. I apologize to you + and Miss Morley, you understand. I couldn't help telling you; it was + extraordinary now, wasn't it.” + </p> + <p> + I made some answer. He rattled on about that sort of thing making one + believe in the Prisoner of Zenda stuff, doubles and all that. We reached + the green. My ball lay nearest the pin and it was his putt. He made it, a + beauty, the ball halting just at the edge of the cup. My putt was wild. He + holed out on the next shot. It took me two and I had to concentrate my + thought by main strength even then. The hole and match were his. + </p> + <p> + He was very decent about it, proclaimed himself lucky, declared I had, + generally speaking, played much the better game and should have won + easily. I paid little attention to what he said although I did, of course, + congratulate him and laughed at the idea that luck had anything to do with + the result. I no longer cared about the match or the tournament in general + or anything connected with them. His story of the girl who was singing in + Paris was what I was interested in now. I wanted him to tell me more, to + give me particulars. I wanted to ask him a dozen questions; and, yet, + excited as I was, I realized that those questions must be asked carefully. + His suspicions must not be aroused. + </p> + <p> + Before I could ask the first of the dozen Mr. Handliss bustled over to us + to learn the result of our play and to announce that the distribution of + prizes would take place in a few moments; also that Lady Carey wished to + speak with her nephew. The latter sauntered off to join the group by the + pavilion and my opportunity for questioning had gone, for the time. + </p> + <p> + Of the distribution of prizes, with its accompanying ceremony, I seem to + recall very little. Lady Carey made a little speech, I remember that, but + just what she said I have forgotten. “Much pleasure in rewarding skill,” + “Dear old Scottish game,” “English sportsmanship,” “Race not to the swift”—I + must have been splashed with these drops from the fountain of oratory, for + they stick in my memory. Then, in turn, the winners were called up to + select their prizes. Wilson, the London attorney, headed the list; the + sporting curate came next; Heathcroft next; and then I. It had not + occurred to me that I should win a prize. In fact I had not thought + anything about it. My thoughts were far from the golf course just then. + They were in Paris, in a cathedral—Heathcroft had called it an + abbey, but cathedral he must have meant—where a girl who looked like + Frances Morley was singing. + </p> + <p> + However, when Mr. Handliss called my name I answered and stepped forward. + Her Ladyship said something or other about “our cousin from across the + sea” and “Anglo-Saxon blood” and her especial pleasure in awarding the + prize. I stammered thanks, rather incoherently expressed they were, I + fear, selected the first article that came to hand—it happened to be + a cigarette case; I never smoke cigarettes—and retired to the outer + circle. The other winners—Herbert Bayliss and Worcester among them—selected + their prizes and then Mr. Wilson, winner of the tournament, speaking in + behalf of us all, thanked the hostess for her kindness and hospitality. + </p> + <p> + Her gracious invitation to play upon the Manor-House course Mr. Wilson + mentioned feelingly. Also the gracious condescension in presenting the + prizes with her own hand. They would be cherished, not only for their own + sake, but for that of the donor. He begged the liberty of proposing her + ladyship's health. + </p> + <p> + The “liberty” was, apparently, expected, for Mr. Handliss had full glasses + ready and waiting. The health was drunk. Lady Carey drank ours in return, + and the ceremony was over. + </p> + <p> + I tried in vain to get another word with Heathcroft. He was in + conversation with his aunt and several of the feminine friends and, + although I waited for some time, I, at last, gave up the attempt and + walked home. The Reverend Judson would have accompanied me, but I avoided + him. I did not wish to listen to Mayberry gossip; I wanted to be alone. + </p> + <p> + Heathcroft's tale had made a great impression upon me—a most + unreasonable impression, unwarranted by the scant facts as he related + them. The girl whom he had seen resembled Frances—yes; but she was + an Austrian, her name was not Morley. And resemblances were common enough. + That Frances should be singing in a Paris church was most improbable; but, + so far as that went, the fact of A. Carleton Heathcroft's attending a + church service I should, ordinarily, have considered improbable. + Improbable things did happen. Suppose the girl he had seen was Frances. My + heart leaped at the thought. + </p> + <p> + But even supposing it was she, what difference did it make—to me? + None, of course. She had asked us not to follow her, to make no attempt to + find her. I had preached compliance with her wish to Hephzy, to Doctor + Bayliss—yes, to Herbert Bayliss that very afternoon. But Herbert + Bayliss was sworn to find her, in spite of me, in spite of the Evil One. + And Heathcroft had told young Bayliss the same story he had told me. HE + would not be deterred by scruples; her wish would not prevent his going to + Paris in search of her. + </p> + <p> + I reached the rectory, to be welcomed by Hephzy with questions concerning + the outcome of the tournament and triumphant gloatings over my perfectly + useless prize. I did not tell her of Heathcroft's story. I merely said I + had met that gentleman and that Herbert Bayliss had returned to Mayberry. + And I asked a question. + </p> + <p> + “Hephzy,” I asked, “when do the Heptons leave Paris for their trip through + Switzerland?” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy considered. “Let me see,” she said. “Today is the eighteenth, isn't + it. They start on the twenty-second; that's four days from now.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you have written them that we cannot accept their invitation to + go along?” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated. “Why, no,” she admitted, “I haven't. That is, I have + written 'em, but I haven't posted the letter. Humph! did you notice that + 'posted'? Shows what livin' in a different place'll do even to as settled + a body as I am. In Bayport I should have said 'mailed' the letter, same as + anybody else. I must be careful or I'll go back home and call the + expressman a 'carrier' and a pie a 'tart' and a cracker a 'biscuit.' Land + sakes! I remember readin' how David Copperfield's aunt always used to eat + biscuits soaked in port wine before she went to bed. I used to think 'twas + dreadful dissipated business and that the old lady must have been ready + for bed by the time she got through. You see I always had riz biscuits in + mind. A cracker's different; crackers don't soak up much. We'd ought to be + careful how we judge folks, hadn't we, Hosy.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said I, absently. “So you haven't posted the letter to the Heptons. + Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Well—well, to tell you the truth, Hosy, I was kind of hopin' you + might change your mind and decide to go, after all. I wish you would; + 'twould do you good. And,” wistfully, “Switzerland must be lovely. But + there! I know just how you feel, you poor boy. I'll mail the letter + to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Give it to me,” said I. “I'll—I'll see to it.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy handed me the letter. I put it in my pocket, but I did not post it + that evening. A plan—or the possible beginning of a plan—was + forming in my mind. + </p> + <p> + That night was another of my bad ones. The little sleep I had was filled + with dreams, dreams from which I awoke to toss restlessly. I rose and + walked the floor, calling myself a fool, a silly old fool, over and over + again. But when morning came my plan, a ridiculous, wild plan from which, + even if it succeeded—which was most unlikely—nothing but added + trouble and despair could possibly come, my plan was nearer its ultimate + formation. + </p> + <p> + At eleven o'clock that forenoon I walked up the marble steps of the Manor + House and rang the bell. The butler, an exalted personage in livery, + answered my ring. Mr. Heathcroft? No, sir. Mr. Heathcroft had left for + London by the morning train. Her ladyship was in her boudoir. She did not + see anyone in the morning, sir. I had no wish to see her ladyship, but + Heathcroft's departure was a distinct disappointment. I thanked the butler + and, remembering that even cathedral ushers accepted tips, slipped a + shilling into his hand. His dignity thawed at the silver touch, and he + expressed regret at Mr. Heathcroft's absence. + </p> + <p> + “You're not the only gentleman who has been here to see him this morning, + sir,” he said. “Doctor Bayliss, the younger one, called about an hour ago. + He seemed quite as sorry to find him gone as you are, sir.” + </p> + <p> + I think that settled it. When I again entered the rectory my mind was made + up. The decision was foolish, insane, even dishonorable perhaps, but the + decision was made. + </p> + <p> + “Hephzy,” said I, “I have changed my mind. Travel may do me good. I have + telegraphed the Heptons that we will join them in Paris on the evening of + the twenty-first. After that—Well, we'll see.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy's delight was as great as her surprise. She said I was a dear, + unselfish boy. Considering what I intended doing I felt decidedly mean; + but I did not tell her what that intention was. + </p> + <p> + We took the two-twenty train from Charing Cross on the afternoon of the + twenty-first. The servants had been left in charge of the rectory. We + would return in a fortnight, so we told them. + </p> + <p> + It was a beautiful day, bright and sunshiny, but, after smoky, grimy + London had been left behind and we were whizzing through the Kentish + countryside, between the hop fields and the pastures where the sheep were + feeding, we noticed that a stiff breeze was blowing. Further on, as we + wound amid the downs near Folkestone, the bending trees and shrubs proved + that the breeze was a miniature gale. And when we came in sight of the + Channel, it was thickly sprinkled with whitecaps from beach to horizon. + </p> + <p> + “I imagine we shall have a rather rough passage, Hephzy,” said I. + </p> + <p> + Hephzy's attention was otherwise engaged. + </p> + <p> + “Why do they call a hill a 'down' over here?” she asked. “I should think + an 'up' would be better. What did you say, Hosy? A rough passage? I guess + that won't bother you and me much. This little mite of water can't seem + very much stirred up to folks who have sailed clear across the Atlantic + Ocean. But there! I mustn't put on airs. I used to think Cape Cod Bay was + about all the water there was. Travelin' does make such a difference in a + person's ideas. Do you remember the Englishwoman at Bancroft's who told me + that she supposed the Thames must remind us of our own Mississippi?” + </p> + <p> + “So that's the famous English Channel, is it,” she observed, a moment + later. “How wide is it, Hosy?” + </p> + <p> + “About twenty miles at the narrowest point, I believe,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Twenty miles! About as far as Bayport to Provincetown. Well, I don't know + whether any of your ancestors or mine came over with William the Conquerer + or not, but if they did, they didn't have far to come. I cal'late I'll be + contented with having my folks cross in the Mayflower. They came three + thousand miles anyway.” + </p> + <p> + She was inclined to regard the Channel rather contemptuously just then. A + half hour later she was more respectful. + </p> + <p> + The steamer was awaiting us at the pier. As the throng of passengers filed + up the gang-plank she suddenly squeezed my arm. + </p> + <p> + “Look! Hosy!” she cried. “Look! Isn't that him?” + </p> + <p> + I looked where she was pointing. + </p> + <p> + “Him? Who?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Look! There he goes now. No, he's gone. I can't see him any more. And yet + I was almost certain 'twas him.” + </p> + <p> + “Who?” I asked again. “Did you see someone you knew?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought I did, but I guess I was mistaken. He's just got home; he + wouldn't be startin' off again so soon. No, it couldn't have been him, but + I did think—” + </p> + <p> + I stopped short. “Who did you think you saw?” I demanded. + </p> + <p> + “I thought I saw Doctor Herbert Bayliss goin' up those stairs to the + steamboat. It looked like him enough to be his twin brother, if he had + one.” + </p> + <p> + I did not answer. I looked about as we stepped aboard the boat, but if + young Bayliss was there he was not in sight. Hephzy rattled on excitedly. + </p> + <p> + “You can't tell much by seein' folks's backs,” she declared. “I remember + one time your cousin Hezekiah Knowles—You don't remember him, Hosy; + he died when you was little—One time Cousin Hezzy was up to Boston + with his wife and they was shoppin' in one of the big stores. That is, + Martha Ann—the wife—was shoppin' and he was taggin' along and + complainin', same as men generally do. He was kind of nearsighted, Hezzy + was, and when Martha was fightin' to get a place in front of a bargain + counter he stayed astern and kept his eyes fixed on a hat she was wearin'. + 'Twas a new hat with blue and yellow flowers on it. Hezzy always said, + when he told the yarn afterward, that he never once figured that there + could be another hat like that one. I saw it myself and, if I'd been in + his place, I'd have HOPED there wasn't anyway. Well, he followed that hat + from one counter to another and, at last, he stepped up and said, 'Look + here, dearie,' he says—They hadn't been married very long, not long + enough to get out of the mushy stage—'Look here, dearie,' he says, + 'hadn't we better be gettin' on home? You'll tire those little feet of + yours all out trottin' around this way.' And when the hat turned around + there was a face under it as black as a crow. He'd been followin' a darkey + woman for ten minutes. She thought he was makin' fun of her feet and was + awful mad, and when Martha came along and found who he'd taken for her she + was madder still. Hezzy said, 'I couldn't help it, Martha. Nobody could. I + never saw two craft look more alike from twenty foot astern. And she wears + that hat just the way you do.' That didn't help matters any, of course, + and—Why, Hosy, where are you goin'? Why don't you say somethin'? + Hadn't we better sit down? All the good seats will be gone if we don't.” + </p> + <p> + I had been struggling through the crowd, trying my best to get a glimpse + of the man she had thought to be Herbert Bayliss. If it was he then my + suspicions were confirmed. Heathcroft's story of the girl who sang in + Paris had impressed him as it had me and he was on his way to see for + himself. But the man, whoever he might be, had disappeared. + </p> + <p> + “How the wind does blow,” said Hephzy. “What are the people doin' with + those black tarpaulins?” + </p> + <p> + Sailors in uniform were passing among the seated passengers distributing + large squares of black waterproof canvas. I watched the use to which the + tarpaulins were put and I understood. I beckoned to the nearest sailor and + rented two of the canvases for use during the voyage. + </p> + <p> + “How much?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “One franc each,” said the man, curtly. + </p> + <p> + I had visited the money-changers near the Charing Cross station and was + prepared. Hephzy's eyes opened. + </p> + <p> + “A franc,” she repeated. “That's French money, isn't it. Is he a + Frenchman?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said I. “This is a French boat, I think.” + </p> + <p> + She watched the sailor for a moment. Then she sighed. + </p> + <p> + “And he's a Frenchman,” she said. “I thought Frenchmen wore mustaches and + goatees and were awful polite. He was about as polite as a pig. And all he + needs is a hand-organ and a monkey to be an Italian. A body couldn't tell + the difference without specs. What did you get those tarpaulins for, + Hosy?” + </p> + <p> + I covered our traveling bags with one of the tarpaulins, as I saw our + fellow-passengers doing, and the other I tucked about Hephzy, enveloping + her from her waist down. + </p> + <p> + “I don't need that,” she protested. “It isn't cold and it isn't rainin', + either. I tell you I don't need it, Hosy. Don't tuck me in any more. I + feel as if I was goin' to France in a baby carriage, not a steamboat. And + what are they passin' round those—those tin dippers for?” + </p> + <p> + “They may be useful later on,” I said, watching the seas leap and foam + against the stone breakwater. “You'll probably understand later, Hephzy.” + </p> + <p> + She understood. The breakwater was scarcely passed when our boat, which + had seemed so large and steady and substantial, began to manifest a desire + to stand on both ends at once and to roll like a log in a rapid. The sun + was shining brightly overhead, the verandas of the hotels along the beach + were crowded with gaily dressed people, the surf fringing that beach was + dotted with bathers, everything on shore wore a look of holiday and joy—and + yet out here, on the edge of the Channel, there was anything but calm and + anything but joy. + </p> + <p> + How that blessed boat did toss and rock and dip and leap and pitch! And + how the spray began to fly as we pushed farther and farther from land! It + came over the bows in sheets; it swept before the wind in showers, in + torrents. Hephzy hastily removed her hat and thrust it beneath the + tarpaulin. I turned up the collar of my steamer coat and slid as far down + into that collar as I could. + </p> + <p> + “My soul!” exclaimed Hephzy, the salt water running down her face. “My + soul and body!” + </p> + <p> + “I agree with you,” said I. + </p> + <p> + On we went, over the waves or through them. Our fellow-passengers curled + up beneath their tarpaulins, smiled stoically or groaned dismally, + according to their dispositions—or digestions. A huge wave—the + upper third of it, at least—swept across the deck and spilled a + gallon or two of cold water upon us. A sturdy, red-faced Englishman, + sitting next me, grinned cheerfully and observed: + </p> + <p> + “Trickles down one's neck a bit, doesn't it, sir.” + </p> + <p> + I agreed that it did. Hephzy, huddled under the lee of my shoulder, + sputtered. + </p> + <p> + “Trickles!” she whispered. “My heavens and earth! If this is a trickle + then Noah's flood couldn't have been more than a splash. Trickles! There's + a Niagara Falls back of both of my ears this minute.” + </p> + <p> + Another passenger, also English, but gray-haired and elderly, came tacking + down the deck, bound somewhere or other. His was a zig-zag transit. He + dove for the rail, caught it, steadied himself, took a fresh start, + swooped to the row of chairs by the deck house, carromed from them, and, + in company with a barrel or two of flying brine, came head first into my + lap. I expected profanity and temper. I did get a little of the former. + </p> + <p> + “This damned French boat!” he observed, rising with difficulty. “She + absolutely WON'T be still.” + </p> + <p> + “The sea is pretty rough.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the sea is all right. A bit damp, that's all. It's the blessed boat. + Foreigners are such wretched sailors.” + </p> + <p> + He was off on another tack. Hephzy watched him wonderingly. + </p> + <p> + “A bit damp,” she repeated. “Yes, I shouldn't wonder if 'twas. I suppose + likely he wouldn't call it wet if he fell overboard.” + </p> + <p> + “Not on this side of the Channel,” I answered. “This side is English + water, therefore it is all right.” + </p> + <p> + A few minutes later Hephzy spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “Look at those poor women,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Opposite us were two English ladies, middle-aged, wretchedly ill and so + wet that the feathers on their hats hung down in strings. + </p> + <p> + “Just like drowned cats' tails,” observed Hephzy. “Ain't it awful! And + they're too miserable to care. You poor thing,” she said, leaning forward + and addressing the nearest, “can't I fix you so you're more comfortable?” + </p> + <p> + The woman addressed looked up and tried her best to smile. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, thank you,” she said, weakly but cheerfully. “We're doing quite + well. It will soon be over.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “Did you hear that, Hosy?” she whispered. “I declare! if it wasn't off + already, and that's a mercy, I'd take off my hat to England and the + English people. Not a whimper, not a complaint, just sit still and soak + and tumble around and grin and say it's 'a bit damp.' Whenever I read + about the grumblin', fault-findin' Englishman I'll think of the folks on + this boat. It may be patriotism or it may be the race pride and reserve we + hear so much about—but, whatever it is, it's fine. They've all got + it, men and women and children. I presume likely the boy that stood on the + burnin' deck would have said 'twas a bit sultry, and that's all.... What + is it, Hosy?” + </p> + <p> + I had uttered an exclamation. A young man had just reeled by us on his way + forward. His cap was pulled down over his eyes and his coat collar was + turned up, but I recognized him. He was Herbert Bayliss. + </p> + <p> + We were three hours crossing from Folkestone to Boulogne, instead of the + usual scant two. We entered the harbor, where the great crucifix on the + hill above the town attracted Hephzy's attention and the French signs over + the doors of hotels and shops by the quay made her realize, so she said, + that we really were in a foreign country. + </p> + <p> + “Somehow England never did seem so very foreign,” she said. “And the + Mayberry folks were so nice and homey and kind I've come to think of 'em + as, not just neighbors, but friends. But this—THIS is foreign + enough, goodness knows! Let go of my arm!” to the smiling, gesticulating + porter who was proffering his services. “DON'T wave your hands like that; + you make me dizzy. Keep 'em still, man! I could understand you just as + well if they was tied. Hosy, you'll have to be skipper from now on. Now I + KNOW Cape Cod is three thousand miles off.” + </p> + <p> + We got through the customs without trouble, found our places in the train, + and the train, after backing and fussing and fidgeting and tooting in a + manner thoroughly French, rolled out of the station. + </p> + <p> + We ate our dinner, and a very good dinner it was, in the dining-car. + Hephzy, having asked me to translate the heading “Compagnie Internationale + des Wagon Lits” on the bill of fare, declared she couldn't see why a + dining-car should be called a “wagon bed.” “There's enough to eat to put + you to sleep,” she declared, “but you couldn't stay asleep any more than + you could in the nail factory up to Tremont. I never heard such a rattlin' + and slambangin' in my life.” + </p> + <p> + We whizzed through the French country, catching glimpses of little towns, + with red-roofed cottages clustered about the inevitable church and + chateau, until night came and looking out of the window was no longer + profitable. At nine, or thereabouts, we alighted from the train at Paris. + </p> + <p> + In the cab, on the way to the hotel where we were to meet the Heptons, + Hephzy talked incessantly. + </p> + <p> + “Paris!” she said, over and over again. “Paris! where they had the Three + Musketeers and Notre Dame and Henry of Navarre and Saint Bartholomew and + Napoleon and the guillotine and Innocents Abroad and—and everything. + Paris! And I'm in it!” + </p> + <p> + At the door of the hotel Mr. Hepton met us. + </p> + <p> + Before we retired that night I told Hephzy what I had deferred telling + until then, namely, that I did not intend leaving for Switzerland with her + and with the Heptons the following day. I did not tell her my real reason + for staying; I had invented a reason and told her that instead. + </p> + <p> + “I want to be alone here in Paris for a few days,” I said. “I think I may + find some material here which will help me with my novel. You and the + Heptons must go, just as you have planned, and I will join you at Lucerne + or Interlaken.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy stared at me. + </p> + <p> + “I sha'n't stir one step without you,” she declared. “If I'd known you had + such an idea as that in your head I—” + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn't have come,” I interrupted. “I know that; that's why I didn't + tell you. Of course you will go and of course you will leave me here. We + will be separated only two or three days. I'll ask Hepton to give me an + itinerary of the trip and I will wire when and where I will join you. You + must go, Hephzy; I insist upon it.” + </p> + <p> + In spite of my insisting Hephzy still declared she should not go. It was + nearly midnight before she gave in. + </p> + <p> + “And if you DON'T come in three days at the longest,” she said, “you'll + find me back here huntin' you up. I mean that, Hosy, so you'd better + understand it. And now,” rising from her chair, “I'm goin' to see about + the things you're to wear while we're separated. If I don't you're liable + to keep on wet stockin's and shoes and things all the time and forget to + change 'em. You needn't say you won't, for I know you too well. Mercy + sakes! do you suppose I've taken care of you all these years and DON'T + know?” + </p> + <p> + The next forenoon I said good-by to her and the Heptons at the railway + station. Hephzy's last words to me were these: + </p> + <p> + “Remember,” she said, “if you do get caught in the rain, there's dry + things in the lower tray of your trunk. Collars and neckties and shirts + are in the upper tray. I've hung your dress suit in the closet in case you + want it, though that isn't likely. And be careful what you eat, and don't + smoke too much, and—Yes, Mr. Hepton, I'm comin'—and don't + spend ALL your money in book-stores; you'll need some of it in + Switzerland. And—Oh, dear, Hosy! do be a good boy. I know you're + always good, but, from all I've heard, this Paris is an awful place and—good-by. + Good-by. In Lucerne in two days or Interlaken in three. It's got to be + that, or back I come, remember. I HATE to leave you all alone amongst + these jabberin' foreigners. I'm glad you can jabber, too, that's one + comfort. If it was me, all I could do would be to holler United States + language at 'em, and if they didn't understand that, just holler louder. I—Yes, + Mr. Hepton, I AM comin' now. Good-by, Hosy, dear.” + </p> + <p> + The train rolled out of the station. I watched it go. Then I turned and + walked to the street. So far my scheme had worked well. I was alone in + Paris as I had planned to be. And now—and now to find where a girl + sang, a girl who looked like Frances Morley. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV + </h2> + <h3> + In Which I Learn that All Abbeys Are Not Churches + </h3> + <p> + And that, now that I really stopped to consider it, began to appear more + and more of a task. Paris must be full of churches; to visit each of them + in turn would take weeks at least. Hephzy had given me three days. I must + join her at Interlaken in three days or there would be trouble. And how + was I to make even the most superficial search in three days? + </p> + <p> + Of course I had realized something of this before. Even in the state of + mind which Heathcroft's story had left me, I had realized that my errand + in Paris was a difficult one. I realized that I had set out on the wildest + of wild goose chases and that, even in the improbable event of the + singer's being Frances, my finding her was most unlikely. The chances of + success were a hundred to one against me. But I was in the mood to take + the hundredth chance. I should have taken it if the odds were higher + still. My plan—if it could be called a plan—was first of all + to buy a Paris Baedeker and look over the list of churches. This I did, + and, back in the hotel room, I consulted that list. It staggered me. There + were churches enough—there were far too many. Cathedrals and chapels + and churches galore—Catholic and Protestant. But there was no church + calling itself an abbey. I closed the Baedeker, lit a cigar, and settled + myself for further reflection. + </p> + <p> + The girl was singing somewhere and she called herself Mademoiselle Juno or + Junotte, so Heathcroft had said. So much I knew and that was all. It was + very, very little. But Herbert Bayliss had come to Paris, I believed, + because of what Heathcroft had told him. Did he know more than I? It was + possible. At any rate he had come. I had seen him on the steamer, and I + believed he had seen and recognized me. Of course he might not be in Paris + now; he might have gone elsewhere. I did not believe it, however. I + believed he had crossed the Channel on the same errand as I. There was a + possible chance. I might, if the other means proved profitless, discover + at which hotel Bayliss was staying and question him. He might tell me + nothing, even if he knew, but I could keep him in sight, I could follow + him and discover where he went. It would be dishonorable, perhaps, but I + was desperate and doggedly regardless of scruples. I was set upon one + thing—to find her, to see her and speak with her again. + </p> + <p> + Shadowing Bayliss, however, I set aside as a last resort. Before that I + would search on my own hook. And, tossing aside the useless Baedeker, I + tried to think of someone whose advice might be of value. At last, I + resolved to question the concierge of the hotel. Concierges, I knew, were + the ever present helps of travelers in trouble. They knew everything, + spoke all languages, and expected to be asked all sorts of unreasonable + questions. + </p> + <p> + The concierge at my hotel was a transcendant specimen of his talented + class. His name and title was Monsieur Louis—at least that is what I + had heard the other guests call him. And the questions which he had been + called upon to answer, in my hearing, ranged in subject from the hour of + closing the Luxemburg galleries to that of opening the Bal Tabarin, with + various interruptions during which he settled squabbles over cab fares, + took orders for theater and opera tickets, and explained why fruit at the + tables of the Cafe des Ambassadeurs was so very expensive. + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Louis received me politely, listened, with every appearance of + interest, to my tale of a young lady, a relative, who was singing at one + of the Paris churches and whose name was Juno or Junotte, but, when I had + finished, reluctantly shook his head. There were many, many churches in + Paris—yes, and, at some of them, young ladies sang; but these were, + for the most part, the Protestant churches. At the larger churches, the + Catholic churches, most of the singers were men or boys. He could recall + none where a lady of that name sang. Monsieur had not been told the name + of the church? + </p> + <p> + “The person who told me referred to it as an abbey,” I said. + </p> + <p> + Louis raised his shoulders. “I am sorry, Monsieur,” he said, “but there is + no abbey, where ladies sing, in Paris. It is, alas, regrettable, but it is + so.” + </p> + <p> + He announced it as he might have broken to me the news of the death of a + friend. Incidentally, having heard a few sentences of my French, he spoke + in English, very good English. + </p> + <p> + “I will, however, make inquiries, Monsieur,” he went on. “Possibly I may + discover something which will be of help to Monsieur in his difficulty.” + In the meantime there was to be a parade of troops at the Champ de Mars at + four, and the evening performance at the Folies Bergeres was unusually + good and English and American gentlemen always enjoyed it. It would give + him pleasure to book a place for me. + </p> + <p> + I thanked him but I declined the offer, so far as the Folies were + concerned. I did ask him, however, to give me the name of a few churches + at which ladies sang. This he did and I set out to find them, in a cab + which whizzed through the Paris streets as if the driver was bent upon + suicide and manslaughter. + </p> + <p> + I visited four places of worship that afternoon and two more that evening. + Those in charge—for I attended no services—knew nothing of + Mademoiselle Junotte or Juno. I retired at ten, somewhat discouraged, but + stubbornly determined to keep on, for my three days at least. + </p> + <p> + The next morning I consulted Baedeker again, this time for the list of + hotels, a list which I found quite as lengthy as that of the churches. + Then I once more sought the help of Monsieur Louis. Could he tell me a few + of the hotels where English visitors were most likely to stay. + </p> + <p> + He could do more than that, apparently. Would I be so good as to inform + him if the lady or gentleman—being Parisian he put the lady first—whom + I wished to find had recently arrived in Paris. I told him that the + gentleman had arrived the same evening as I. Whereupon he produced a list + of guests at all the prominent hotels. Herbert Bayliss was registered at + the Continental. + </p> + <p> + To the Continental I went and made inquiries of the concierge there. Mr. + Bayliss was there, he was in his room, so the concierge believed. He would + be pleased to ascertain. Would I give my name? I declined to give the + name, saying that I did not wish to disturb Mr. Bayliss. If he was in his + room I would wait until he came down. He was in his room, had not yet + breakfasted, although it was nearly ten in the forenoon. I sat down in a + chair from which I could command a good view of the elevators, and waited. + </p> + <p> + The concierge strolled over and chatted. Was I a friend of Mr. Bayliss? + Ah, a charming young gentleman, was he not. This was not his first visit + to Paris, no indeed; he came frequently—though not as frequently of + late—and he invariably stayed at the Continental. He had been out + late the evening before, which doubtless explained his non-appearance. Ah, + he was breakfasting now; had ordered his “cafe complete.” Doubtless he + would be down very soon? Would I wish to send up my name now? + </p> + <p> + Again I declined, to the polite astonishment of the concierge, who + evidently considered me a queer sort of a friend. He was called to his + desk by a guest, who wished to ask questions, of course, and I waited + where I was. At a quarter to eleven Herbert Bayliss emerged from the + elevator. + </p> + <p> + His appearance almost shocked me. Out late the night before! He looked as + if he had been out all night for many nights. He was pale and solemn. I + stepped forward to greet him and the start he gave when he saw me was + evidence of the state of his nerves. I had never thought of him as + possessing any nerves. + </p> + <p> + “Eh? Why, Knowles!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Bayliss,” said I. + </p> + <p> + We both were embarrassed, he more than I, for I had expected to see him + and he had not expected to see me. I made a move to shake hands but he did + not respond. His manner toward me was formal and, I thought, colder than + it had been at our meeting the day of the golf tournament. + </p> + <p> + “I called,” I said, “to see you, Bayliss. If you are not engaged I should + like to talk with you for a few moments.” + </p> + <p> + His answer was a question. + </p> + <p> + “How did you know I was here?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I saw your name in the list of recent arrivals at the Continental,” I + answered. + </p> + <p> + “I mean how did you know I was in Paris?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know. I thought I caught a glimpse of you on the boat. I was + almost sure it was you, but you did not appear to recognize me and I had + no opportunity to speak then.” + </p> + <p> + He did not speak at once, he did not even attempt denial of having seen + and recognized me during the Channel crossing. He regarded me intently + and, I thought, suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + “Who sent you here?” he asked, suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Sent me! No one sent me. I don't understand you.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you follow me?” + </p> + <p> + “Follow you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Why did you follow me to Paris? No one knew I was coming here, not + even my own people. They think I am—Well, they don't know that I am + here.” + </p> + <p> + His speech and his manner were decidedly irritating. I had made a firm + resolve to keep my temper, no matter what the result of this interview + might be, but I could not help answering rather sharply. + </p> + <p> + “I had no intention of following you—here or anywhere else,” I said. + “Your action and whereabouts, generally speaking, are of no particular + interest to me. I did not follow you to Paris, Doctor Bayliss.” + </p> + <p> + He reddened and hesitated. Then he led the way to a divan in a retired + corner of the lobby and motioned to me to be seated. There he sat down + beside me and waited for me to speak. I, in turn, waited for him to speak. + </p> + <p> + At last he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry, Knowles,” he said. “I am not myself today. I've had a devil of + a night and I feel like a beast this morning. I should probably have + insulted my own father, had he appeared suddenly, as you did. Of course I + should have known you did not follow me to Paris. But—but why did + you come?” + </p> + <p> + I hesitated now. “I came,” I said, “to—to—Well, to be + perfectly honest with you, I came because of something I heard concerning—concerning—” + </p> + <p> + He interrupted me. “Then Heathcroft did tell you!” he exclaimed. “I + thought as much.” + </p> + <p> + “He told you, I know. He said he did.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. He did. My God, man, isn't it awful! Have you seen her?” + </p> + <p> + His manner convinced me that he had seen her. In my eagerness I forgot to + be careful. + </p> + <p> + “No,” I answered, breathlessly; “I have not seen her. Where is she?” + </p> + <p> + He turned and stared at me. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you know where she is?” he asked, slowly. + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing. I have been told that she—or someone very like her—is + singing in a Paris church. Heathcroft told me that and then we were + interrupted. I—What is the matter?” + </p> + <p> + He was staring at me more oddly than ever. There was the strangest + expression on his face. + </p> + <p> + “In a church!” he repeated. “Heathcroft told you—” + </p> + <p> + “He told me that he had seen a girl, whose resemblance to Miss Morley was + so striking as to be marvelous, singing in a Paris church. He called it an + abbey, but of course it couldn't be that. Do you know anything more + definite? What did he tell you?” + </p> + <p> + He did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “In a church!” he said again. “You thought—Oh, good heavens!” + </p> + <p> + He began to laugh. It was not a pleasant laugh to hear. Moreover, it + angered me. + </p> + <p> + “This may be very humorous,” I said, brusquely. “Perhaps it is—to + you. But—Bayliss, you know more of this than I. I am certain now + that you do. I want you to tell me what you know. Is that girl Frances + Morley? Have you seen her? Where is she?” + </p> + <p> + He had stopped laughing. Now he seemed to be considering. + </p> + <p> + “Then you did come over here to find her,” he said, more slowly still. + “You were following her, why?” + </p> + <p> + “WHY?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, why. She is nothing to you. You told my father that. You told me + that she was not your niece. You told Father that you had no claim upon + her whatever and that she had asked you not to try to trace her or to + learn where she was. You said all that and preached about respecting her + wish and all that sort of thing. And yet you are here now trying to find + her.” + </p> + <p> + The only answer I could make to this was a rather childish retort. + </p> + <p> + “And so are you,” I said. + </p> + <p> + His fists clinched. + </p> + <p> + “I!” he cried, fiercely. “I! Did <i>I</i> ever say she was nothing to me? + Did <i>I</i> ever tell anyone I should not try to find her? I told you, + only the other day, that I would find her in spite of the devil. I meant + it. Knowles, I don't understand you. When I came to you thinking you her + uncle and guardian, and asked your permission to ask her to marry me, you + gave that permission. You did. You didn't tell me that she was nothing to + you. I don't understand you at all. You told my father a lot of rot—” + </p> + <p> + “I told your father the truth. And, when I told you that she had left no + message for you, that was the truth also. I have no reason to believe she + cares for you—” + </p> + <p> + “And none to think that she doesn't. At all events she did not tell ME not + to follow her. She did tell you. Why are you following her?” + </p> + <p> + It was a question I could not answer—to him. That reason no one + should know. And yet what excuse could I give, after all my protestations? + </p> + <p> + “I—I feel that I have the right, everything considered,” I + stammered. “She is not my niece, but she is Miss Cahoon's.” + </p> + <p> + “And she ran away from both of you, asking, as a last request, that you + both make no attempt to learn where she was. The whole affair is beyond + understanding. What the truth may be—” + </p> + <p> + “Are you hinting that I have lied to you?” + </p> + <p> + “I am not hinting at anything. All I can say is that it is deuced queer, + all of it. And I sha'n't say more.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you tell me—” + </p> + <p> + “I shall tell you nothing. That would be her wish, according to your own + statement and I will respect that wish, if you don't.” + </p> + <p> + I rose to my feet. There was little use in an open quarrel between us and + I was by far the older man. Yes, and his position was infinitely stronger + than mine, as he understood it. But I never was more strongly tempted. He + knew where she was. He had seen her. The thought was maddening. + </p> + <p> + He had risen also and was facing me defiantly. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Doctor Bayliss,” said I, and walked away. I turned as I + reached the entrance of the hotel and looked back. He was still standing + there, staring at me. + </p> + <p> + That afternoon I spent in my room. There is little use describing my + feelings. That she was in Paris I was sure now. That Bayliss had seen her + I was equally sure. But why had he spoken and looked as he did when I + first spoke of Heathcroft's story? What had he meant by saying something + or other was “awful?” And why had he seemed so astonished, why had he + laughed in that strange way when I had said she was singing in a church? + </p> + <p> + That evening I sought Monsieur Louis, the concierge, once more. + </p> + <p> + “Is there any building here in Paris,” I asked, “a building in which + people sing, which is called an abbey? One that is not a church or an + abbey, but is called that?” + </p> + <p> + Louis looked at me in an odd way. He seemed a bit embarrassed, an + embarrassment I should not have expected from him. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur asks the question,” he said, smiling. “It was in my mind last + night, the thought, but Monsieur asked for a church. There is a place + called L'Abbaye and there young women sing, but—” he hesitated, + shrugged and then added, “but L'Abbaye is not a church. No, it is not + that.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “A restaurant, Monsieur. A cafe chantant at Montmartre.” + </p> + <p> + Montmartre at ten that evening was just beginning to awaken. At the hour + when respectable Paris, home-loving, domestic Paris, the Paris of which + the tourist sees so little, is thinking of retiring, Montmartre—or + that section of it in which L'Abbaye is situated—begins to open its + eyes. At ten-thirty, as my cab buzzed into the square and pulled up at the + curb, the electric signs were blazing, the sidewalks were, if not yet + crowded, at least well filled, and the sounds of music from the open + windows of The Dead Rat and the other cafes with the cheerful names were + mingling with noises of the street. + </p> + <p> + Monsieur Louis had given me my sailing orders, so to speak. He had told me + that arriving at L'Abbaye before ten-thirty was quite useless. Midnight + was the accepted hour, he said; prior to that I would find it rather dull, + triste. But after that—Ah, Monsieur would, at least, be entertained. + </p> + <p> + “But of course Monsieur does not expect to find the young lady of whom he + is in search there,” he said. “A relative is she not?” + </p> + <p> + Remembering that I had, when I first mentioned the object of my quest to + him, referred to her as a relative, I nodded. + </p> + <p> + He smiled and shrugged. + </p> + <p> + “A relative of Monsieur's would scarcely be found singing at L'Abbaye,” he + said. “But it is a most interesting place, entertaining and chic. Many + English and American gentlemen sup there after the theater.” + </p> + <p> + I smiled and intimated that the desire to pass a pleasant evening was my + sole reason for visiting the place. He was certain I would be pleased. + </p> + <p> + The doorway of L'Abbaye was not deserted, even at the “triste” hour of + ten-thirty. Other cabs were drawn up at the curb and, upon the stairs + leading to the upper floors, were several gaily dressed couples bound, as + I had proclaimed myself to be, in search of supper and entertainment. I + had, acting upon the concierge's hint, arrayed myself in my evening + clothes and I handed my silk hat, purchased in London—where, as + Hephzy said, “a man without a tall hat is like a rooster without tail + feathers”—to a polite and busy attendant. Then a personage with a + very straight beard and a very curly mustache, ushered me into the main + dining-room. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur would wish seats for how many?” he asked, in French. + </p> + <p> + “For myself only,” I answered, also in French. His next remark was in + English. I was beginning to notice that when I addressed a Parisian in his + native language, he usually answered in mine. This may have been because + of a desire to please me, or in self-defence; I am inclined to think the + latter. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, for one only. This way, Monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + I was given a seat at one end of a long table, and in a corner. There were + plenty of small tables yet unoccupied, but my guide was apparently + reserving these for couples or quartettes; at any rate he did not offer + one to me. I took the seat indicated. + </p> + <p> + “I shall wish to remain here for some time?” I said. “Probably the entire—” + I hesitated; considering the hour I scarcely knew whether to say “evening” + or “morning.” At last I said “night” as a compromise. + </p> + <p> + The bearded person seemed doubtful. + </p> + <p> + “There will be a great demand later,” he said. “To oblige Monsieur is of + course our desire, but.... Ah, merci, Monsieur, I will see that Monsieur + is not disturbed.” + </p> + <p> + The reason for his change of heart was the universal one in restaurants. + He put the reason in his pocket and summoned a waiter to take my order. + </p> + <p> + I gave the order, a modest one, which dropped me a mile or two in the + waiter's estimation. However, after a glance at my fellow-diners at nearby + tables, I achieved a partial uplift by ordering a bottle of extremely + expensive wine. I had had the idea that, being in France, the home of + champagne, that beverage would be cheap or, at least, moderately priced. + But in L'Abbaye the idea seemed to be erroneous. + </p> + <p> + The wine was brought immediately; the supper was somewhat delayed. I did + not care. I had not come there to eat—or to drink, either, for that + matter. I had come—I scarcely knew why I had come. That Frances + Morley would be singing in a place like this I did not believe. This was + the sort of “abbey” that A. Carleton Heathcroft would be most likely to + visit, that was true, but that he had seen her here was most improbable. + The coincidence of the “abbey” name would not have brought me there, of + itself. Herbert Bayliss had given me to understand, although he had not + said it, that she was not singing in a church and he had found the idea of + her being where she was “awful.” It was because of what he had said that I + had come, as a sort of last chance, a forlorn hope. Of course she would + not be here, a hired singer in a Paris night restaurant; that was + impossible. + </p> + <p> + How impossible it was likely to be I realized more fully during the next + hour. There was nothing particularly “awful” about L'Abbaye of itself—at + first, nor, perhaps, even later; at least the awfulness was well covered. + The program of entertainment was awful enough, if deadly mediocrity is + awful. A big darkey, dressed in a suit which reminded me of the “end man” + at an old-time minstrel show, sang “My Alabama Coon,” accompanying + himself, more or less intimately, on the banjo. I could have heard the + same thing, better done, at a ten cent theater in the States, where this + chap had doubtless served an apprenticeship. However, the audience, which + was growing larger every minute, seemed to find the bellowing enjoyable + and applauded loudly. Then a feminine person did a Castilian dance between + the tables. I was ready to declare a second war with Spain when she had + finished. Then there was an orchestral interval, during which the tables + filled. + </p> + <p> + The impossibility of Frances singing in a place like this became more + certain each minute, to my mind. I called the waiter. + </p> + <p> + “Does Mademoiselle Juno sing here this evening?” I asked, in my lame + French. + </p> + <p> + He shook his head. “Non, Monsieur,” he answered, absently, and hastened on + with the bottle he was carrying. + </p> + <p> + Apparently that settled it. I might as well go. Then I decided to remain a + little longer. After all, I was there, and I, or Heathcroft, might have + misunderstood the name. I would stay for a while. + </p> + <p> + The long table at which I sat was now occupied from end to end. There were + several couples, male and female, and a number of unattached young ladies, + well-dressed, pretty for the most part, and vivacious and inclined to be + companionable. They chatted with their neighbors and would have chatted + with me if I had been in the mood. For the matter of that everyone talked + with everyone else, in French or English, good, bad and indifferent, and + there was much laughter and gaiety. L'Abbaye was wide awake by this time. + </p> + <p> + The bearded personage who had shown me to my seat, appeared, followed by a + dozen attendants bearing paper parasols and bags containing little + celluloid balls, red, white, and blue. They were distributed among the + feminine guests. The parasols, it developed, were to be waved and the + balls to be thrown. You were supposed to catch as many as were thrown at + you and throw them back. It was wonderful fun—or would have been for + children—and very, very amusing—after the second bottle. + </p> + <p> + For my part I found it very stupid. As I have said at least once in this + history I am not what is called a “good mixer” and in an assemblage like + this I was as out of place as a piece of ice on a hot stove. Worse than + that, for the ice would have melted and I congealed the more. My bottle of + champagne remained almost untouched and when a celluloid ball bounced on + the top of my head I did not scream “Whoopee! Bullseye!” as my American + neighbors did or “Voila! Touche!” like the French. There were plenty of + Americans and English there, and they seemed to be having a good time, but + their good time was incomprehensible to me. This was “gay Paris,” of + course, but somehow the gaiety seemed forced and artificial and silly, + except to the proprietors of L'Abbaye. If I had been getting the price for + food and liquids which they received I might, perhaps, have been gay. + </p> + <p> + The young Frenchman at my right was gay enough. He had early discovered my + nationality and did his best to be entertaining. When a performer from the + Olympia, the music hall on the Boulevard des Italiens, sang a distressing + love ballad in a series of shrieks like those of a circular saw in a + lumber mill, this person shouted his “Bravos” with the rest and then, + waving his hands before my face, called for, “De cheer Americain! One, + two, tree—Heep! Heep! Heep! Oo—ray-y-y!” I did not join in + “the cheer Americain,” but I did burst out laughing, a proceeding which + caused the young lady at my left to pat my arm and nod delighted approval. + She evidently thought I was becoming gay and lighthearted at last. She was + never more mistaken. + </p> + <p> + It was nearly two o'clock and I had had quite enough of L'Abbaye. I had + not enjoyed myself—had not expected to, so far as that went. I hope + I am not a prig, and, whatever I am or am not, priggishness had no part in + my feelings then. Under ordinary circumstances I should not have enjoyed + myself in a place like that. Mine is not the temperament—I shouldn't + know how. I must have appeared the most solemn ass in creation, and if I + had come there with the idea of amusement, I should have felt like one. As + it was, my feeling was not disgust, but unreasonable disappointment. + Certainly I did not wish—now that I had seen L'Abbaye—to find + Frances Morley there; but just as certainly I was disappointed. + </p> + <p> + I called for my bill, paid it, and stood up. I gave one look about the + crowded, noisy place, and then I started violently and sat down again. I + had seen Herbert Bayliss. He had, apparently, just entered and a waiter + was finding a seat for him at a table some distance away and on the + opposite side of the great room. + </p> + <p> + There was no doubt about it; it was he. My heart gave a bound that almost + choked me and all sorts of possibilities surged through my brain. He had + come to Paris to find her, he had found her—in our conversation he + had intimated as much. And now, he was here at the “Abbey.” Why? Was it + here that he had found her? Was she singing here after all? + </p> + <p> + Bayliss glanced in my direction and I sank lower in my chair. I did not + wish him to see me. Fortunately the lady opposite waved her paper parasol + just then and I went into eclipse, so far as he was concerned. When the + eclipse was over he was looking elsewhere. + </p> + <p> + The black-bearded Frenchman, who seemed to be, if not one of the + proprietors, at least one of the managers of L'Abbaye, appeared in the + clear space at the center of the room between the tables and waved his + hands. He was either much excited or wished to seem so. He shouted + something in French which I could not understand. There was a buzz of + interest all about me; then the place grew still—or stiller. + Something was going to happen, that was evident. I leaned toward my + voluble neighbor, the French gentleman who had called for “de cheer + Americain.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” I asked. “What is the matter?” + </p> + <p> + He ignored, or did not hear, my question. The bearded person was still + waving his hands. The orchestra burst into a sort of triumphal march and + then into the open space between the tables came—Frances Morley. + </p> + <p> + She was dressed in a simple evening gown, she was not painted or powdered + to the extent that women who had sung before her had been, her hair was + simply dressed. She looked thinner than she had when I last saw her, but + otherwise she was unchanged. In that place, amid the lights and the riot + of color, the silks and satins and jewels, the flushed faces of the crowd, + she stood and bowed, a white rose in a bed of tiger lilies, and the crowd + rose and shouted at her. + </p> + <p> + The orchestra broke off its triumphal march and the leader stood up, his + violin at his shoulder. He played a bar or two and she began to sing. + </p> + <p> + She sang a simple, almost childish, love song in French. There was nothing + sensational about it, nothing risque, certainly nothing which should have + appealed to the frequenters of L'Abbaye. And her voice, although sweet and + clear and pure, was not extraordinary. And yet, when she had finished, + there was a perfect storm of “Bravos.” Parasols waved, flowers were + thrown, and a roar of applause lasted for minutes. Why this should have + been is a puzzle to me even now. Perhaps it was because of her clean, + girlish beauty; perhaps because it was so unexpected and so different; + perhaps because of the mystery concerning her. I don't know. Then I did + not ask. I sat in my chair at the table, trembling from head to foot, and + looking at her. I had never expected to see her again and now she was + before my eyes—here in this place. + </p> + <p> + She sang again; this time a jolly little ballad of soldiers and glory and + the victory of the Tri-Color. And again she swept them off their feet. She + bowed and smiled in answer to their applause and, motioning to the + orchestra leader, began without accompaniment, “Loch Lomond,” in English. + It was one of the songs I had asked her to sing at the rectory, one I had + found in the music cabinet, one that her mother and mine had sung years + before. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Ye'll take the high road + And I'll take the low road, + And I'll be in Scotland afore ye—” + </pre> + <p> + I was on my feet. I have no remembrance of having risen, but I was + standing, leaning across the table, looking at her. There were cries of + “Sit down” in English and other cries in French. There were tugs at my + coat tails. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “But me and my true love + Shall never meet again, + By the bonny, bonny banks + Of Loch—” + </pre> + <p> + She saw me. The song stopped. I saw her turn white, so white that the + rouge on her cheeks looked like fever spots. She looked at me and I at + her. Then she raised her hand to her throat, turned and almost ran from + the room. + </p> + <p> + I should have followed her, then and there, I think. I was on my way + around the end of the table, regardless of masculine boots and feminine + skirts. But a stout Englishman got in my way and detained me and the crowd + was so dense that I could not push through it. It was an excited crowd, + too. For a moment there had been a surprised silence, but now everyone was + exclaiming and talking in his or her native language. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say! What happened? What made her do that?” demanded the stout + Englishman. Then he politely requested me to get off his foot. + </p> + <p> + The bearded manager—or proprietor—was waving his hands once + more and begging attention and silence. He got both, in a measure. Then he + made his announcement. + </p> + <p> + He begged ten thousand pardons, but Mademoiselle Guinot—That was it, + Guinot, not Juno or Junotte—had been seized with a most regrettable + illness. She had been unable to continue her performance. It was not + serious, but she could sing no more that evening. To-morrow evening—ah, + yes. Most certainly. But to-night—no. Monsieur Hairee Opkins, the + most famous Engleesh comedy artiste would now entertain the patrons of + L'Abbaye. He begged, he entreated attention for Monsieur Opkins. + </p> + <p> + I did not wait for “Monsieur Hairee.” I forced my way to the door. As I + passed out I cast a glance in the direction of young Bayliss. He was on + his feet, loudly shouting for a waiter and his bill. I had so much start, + at all events. + </p> + <p> + Through the waiters and uniformed attendants I elbowed. Another man with a + beard—he looked enough like the other to be his brother, and perhaps + he was—got in my way at last. A million or more pardons, but + Monsieur could not go in that direction. The exit was there, pointing. + </p> + <p> + As patiently and carefully as I could, considering my agitation, I + explained that I did not wish to find the exit. I was a friend, a—yes, + a—er—relative of the young lady who had just sung and who had + been taken ill. I wanted to go to her. + </p> + <p> + Another million pardons, but that was impossible. I did not understand, + Mademoiselle was—well, she did not see gentlemen. She was—with + the most expressive of shrugs—peculiar. She desired no friends. It + was—ah—quite impossible. + </p> + <p> + I found my pocketbook and pressed my card into his hand. Would he give + Mademoiselle my card? Would he tell her that I must see her, if only for a + minute? Just give her the card and tell her that. + </p> + <p> + He shook his head, smiling but firm. I could have punched him for the + smile, but instead I took other measures. I reached into my pocket, found + some gold pieces—I have no idea how many or of what denomination—and + squeezed them in the hand with the card. He still smiled and shook his + head, but his firmness was shaken. + </p> + <p> + “I will give the card,” he said, “but I warn Monsieur it is quite useless. + She will not see him.” + </p> + <p> + The waiter with whom I had seen Herbert Bayliss in altercation was + hurrying by me. I caught his arm. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon, Monsieur,” he protested, “but I must go. The gentleman yonder + desires his bill.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't give it to him,” I whispered, trying hard to think of the French + words. “Don't give it to him yet. Keep him where he is for a time.” + </p> + <p> + I backed the demand with another gold piece, the last in my pocket. The + waiter seemed surprised. + </p> + <p> + “Not give the bill?” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + “No, not yet.” I did my best to look wicked and knowing—“He and I + wish to meet the same young lady and I prefer to be first.” + </p> + <p> + That was sufficient—in Paris. The waiter bowed low. + </p> + <p> + “Rest in peace, Monsieur,” he said. “The gentleman shall wait.” + </p> + <p> + I waited also, for what seemed a long time. Then the bearded one + reappeared. He looked surprised but pleased. + </p> + <p> + “Bon, Monsieur,” he whispered, patting my arm. “She will see you. You are + to wait at the private door. I will conduct you there. It is most unusual. + Monsieur is a most fortunate gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + At the door, at the foot of a narrow staircase—decidedly lacking in + the white and gold of the other, the public one—I waited, for + another age. The staircase was lighted by one sickly gas jet and the + street outside was dark and dirty. I waited on the narrow sidewalk, + listening to the roar of nocturnal Montmartre around the corner, to the + beating of my own heart, and for her footstep on the stairs. + </p> + <p> + At last I heard it. The door opened and she came out. She wore a cloak + over her street costume and her hat was one that she had bought in London + with my money. She wore a veil and I could not see her face. + </p> + <p> + I seized her hands with both of mine. + </p> + <p> + “Frances!” I cried, chokingly. “Oh, Frances!” + </p> + <p> + She withdrew her hands. When she spoke her tone was quiet but very firm. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you come here?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why did I come? Why—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Why did you come? Was it to find me? Did you know I was here?” + </p> + <p> + “I did not know. I had heard—” + </p> + <p> + “Did Doctor Bayliss tell you?” + </p> + <p> + I hesitated. So she HAD seen Bayliss and spoken with him. + </p> + <p> + “No,” I answered, after a moment, “he did not tell me, exactly. But I had + heard that someone who resembled you was singing here in Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “And you followed me. In spite of my letter begging you, for my sake, not + to try to find me. Did you get that letter?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I got it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why did you do it? Oh, WHY did you?” + </p> + <p> + For the first time there was a break in her voice. We were standing before + the door. The street, it was little more than an alley, was almost + deserted, but I felt it was not the place for explanations. I wanted to + get her away from there, as far from that dreadful “Abbey” as possible. I + took her arm. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” I said, “I will tell you as we go. Come with me now.” + </p> + <p> + She freed her arm. + </p> + <p> + “I am not coming with you,” she said. “Why did you come here?” + </p> + <p> + “I came—I came—Why did YOU come? Why did you leave us as you + did? Without a word!” + </p> + <p> + She turned and faced me. + </p> + <p> + “You know why I left you,” she said. “You know. You knew all the time. And + yet you let me believe—You let me think—I lived upon your + money—I—I—Oh, don't speak of it! Go away! please go away + and leave me.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not going away—without you. I came to get you to go back with + me. You don't understand. Your aunt and I want you to come with us. We + want you to come and live with us again. We—” + </p> + <p> + She interrupted. I doubt if she had comprehended more than the first few + words of what I was saying. + </p> + <p> + “Please go away,” she begged. “I know I owe you money, so much money. I + shall pay it. I mean to pay it all. At first I could not. I could not earn + it. I tried. Oh, I tried SO hard! In London I tried and tried, but all the + companies were filled, it was late in the season and I—no one would + have me. Then I got this chance through an agency. I am succeeding here. I + am earning the money at last. I am saving—I have saved—And now + you come to—Oh, PLEASE go and leave me!” + </p> + <p> + Her firmness had gone. She was on the verge of tears. I tried to take her + hands again, but she would not permit it. + </p> + <p> + “I shall not go,” I persisted, as gently as I could. “Or when I go you + must go with me. You don't understand.” + </p> + <p> + “But I do understand. My aunt—Miss Cahoon told me. I understand it + all. Oh, if I had only understood at first.” + </p> + <p> + “But you don't understand—now. Your aunt and I knew the truth from + the beginning. That made no difference. We were glad to have you with us. + We want you to come back. You are our relative—” + </p> + <p> + “I am not. I am not really related to you in any way. You know I am not.” + </p> + <p> + “You are related to Miss Cahoon. You are her sister's daughter. She wants + you to come. She wants you to live with us again, just as you did before.” + </p> + <p> + “She wants that! She—But it was your money that paid for the very + clothes I wore. Your money—not hers; she said so.” + </p> + <p> + “That doesn't make any difference. She wants you and—” + </p> + <p> + I was about to add “and so do I,” but she did not permit me to finish the + sentence. She interrupted again, and there was a change in her tone. + </p> + <p> + “Stop! Oh, stop!” she cried. “She wanted me and—and so you—Did + you think I would consent? To live upon your charity?” + </p> + <p> + “There is no charity about it.” + </p> + <p> + “There is. You know there is. And you believed that I—knowing what I + know—that my father—my own father—” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! hush! That is all past and done with.” + </p> + <p> + “It may be for you, but not for me. Mr. Knowles, your opinion of me must + be a very poor one. Or your desire to please your aunt as great as your—your + charity to me. I thank you both, but I shall stay here. You must go and + you must not try to see me again.” + </p> + <p> + There was firmness enough in this speech; altogether too much. But I was + as firm as she was. + </p> + <p> + “I shall not go,” I reiterated. “I shall not leave you—in a place + like this. It isn't a fit place for you to be in. You know it is not. Good + heavens! you MUST know it?” + </p> + <p> + “I know what the place is,” she said quietly. + </p> + <p> + “You know! And yet you stay here! Why? You can't like it!” + </p> + <p> + It was a foolish speech, and I blurted it without thought. She did not + answer. Instead she began to walk toward the corner. I followed her. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” I stammered, contritely. “I did not mean that, of + course. But I cannot think of your singing night after night in such a + place—before those men and women. It isn't right; it isn't—you + shall not do it.” + </p> + <p> + She answered without halting in her walk. + </p> + <p> + “I shall do it,” she said. “They pay me well, very well, and I—I + need the money. When I have earned and saved what I need I shall give it + up, of course. As for liking the work—Like it! Oh, how can you!” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon. Forgive me. I ought to be shot for saying that. I know + you can't like it. But you must not stay here. You must come with me.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Mr. Knowles, I am not coming with you. And you must leave me and + never come back. My sole reason for seeing you to-night was to tell you + that. But—” she hesitated and then said, with quiet emphasis, “you + may tell my aunt not to worry about me. In spite of my singing in a cafe + chantant I shall keep my self-respect. I shall not be—like those + others. And when I have paid my debt—I can't pay my father's; I wish + I could—I shall send you the money. When I do that you will know + that I have resigned my present position and am trying to find a more + respectable one. Good-by.” + </p> + <p> + We had reached the corner. Beyond was the square, with its lights and its + crowds of people and vehicles. I seized her arm. + </p> + <p> + “It shall not be good-by,” I cried, desperately. “I shall not let you go.” + </p> + <p> + “You must.” + </p> + <p> + “I sha'n't. I shall come here night after night until you consent to come + back to Mayberry.” + </p> + <p> + She stopped then. But when she spoke her tone was firmer than ever. + </p> + <p> + “Then you will force me to give it up,” she said. “Before I came here I + was very close to—There were days when I had little or nothing to + eat, and, with no prospects, no hope, I—if you don't leave me, Mr. + Knowles, if you do come here night after night, as you say, you may force + me to that again. You can, of course, if you choose; I can't prevent you. + But I shall NOT go back to Mayberry. Now, will you say good-by?” + </p> + <p> + She meant it. If I persisted in my determination she would do as she said; + I was sure of it. + </p> + <p> + “I am sure my aunt would not wish you to continue to see me, against my + will,” she went on. “If she cares for me at all she would not wish that. + You have done your best to please her. I—I thank you both. Good-by.” + </p> + <p> + What could I do, or say? + </p> + <p> + “Good-by,” I faltered. + </p> + <p> + She turned and started across the square. A flying cab shut her from my + view. And then I realized what was happening, realized it and realized, + too, what it meant. She should not go; I would not let her leave me nor + would I leave her. I sprang after her. + </p> + <p> + The square was thronged with cabs and motor cars. The Abbey and The Dead + Rat and all the rest were emptying their patrons into the street. Paris + traffic regulations are lax and uncertain. I dodged between a limousine + and a hansom and caught a glimpse of her just as she reached the opposite + sidewalk. + </p> + <p> + “Frances!” I called. “Frances!” + </p> + <p> + She turned and saw me. Then I heard my own name shouted from the sidewalk + I had just left. + </p> + <p> + “Knowles! Knowles!” + </p> + <p> + I looked over my shoulder. Herbert Bayliss was at the curb. He was shaking + a hand, it may have been a fist, in my direction. + </p> + <p> + “Knowles!” he shouted. “Stop! I want to see you.” + </p> + <p> + I did not reply. Instead I ran on. I saw her face among the crowd and upon + it was a curious expression, of fear, of frantic entreaty. + </p> + <p> + “Kent! Kent!” she cried. “Oh, be careful! KENT!” + </p> + <p> + There was a roar, a shout; I have a jumbled recollection of being thrown + into the air, and rolling over and over upon the stones of the street. And + there my recollections end, for the time. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI + </h2> + <h3> + In Which I Take My Turn at Playing the Invalid + </h3> + <p> + Not for a very long time. They begin again—those recollections—a + few minutes later, break off once more, and then return and break off + alternately, over and over again. + </p> + <p> + The first thing I remember, after my whirligig flight over the Paris + pavement, is a crowd of faces above me and someone pawing at my collar and + holding my wrist. This someone, a man, a stranger, said in French: + </p> + <p> + “He is not dead, Mademoiselle.” + </p> + <p> + And then a voice, a voice that I seemed to recognize, said: + </p> + <p> + “You are sure, Doctor? You are sure? Oh, thank God!” + </p> + <p> + I tried to turn my head toward the last speaker—whom I decided, for + some unexplainable reason, must be Hephzy—and to tell her that of + course I wasn't dead, and then all faded away and there was another blank. + </p> + <p> + The next interval of remembrance begins with a sense of pain, a throbbing, + savage pain, in my head and chest principally, and a wish that the buzzing + in my ears would stop. It did not stop, on the contrary it grew louder and + there was a squeak and rumble and rattle along with it. A head—particularly + a head bumped as hard as mine had been—might be expected to buzz, + but it should not rattle, or squeak either. Gradually I began to + understand that the rattle and squeak were external and I was in some sort + of vehicle, a sleeping car apparently, for I seemed to be lying down. I + tried to rise and ask a question and a hand was laid on my forehead and a + voice—the voice which I had decided was Hephzy's—said, gently: + </p> + <p> + “Lie still. You mustn't move. Lie still, please. We shall be there soon.” + </p> + <p> + Where “there” might be I had no idea and it was too much trouble to ask, + so I drifted off again. + </p> + <p> + Next I was being lifted out of the car; men were lifting me—or + trying to. And, being wider awake by this time, I protested. + </p> + <p> + “Here! What are you doing?” I asked. “I am all right. Let go of me. Let + go, I tell you.” + </p> + <p> + Again the voice—it sounded less and less like Hephzy's—saying: + </p> + <p> + “Don't! Please don't! You mustn't move.” + </p> + <p> + But I kept on moving, although moving was a decidedly uncomfortable + process. + </p> + <p> + “What are they doing to me?” I asked. “Where am I? Hephzy, where am I?” + </p> + <p> + “You are at the hospital. You have been hurt and we are taking you to the + hospital. Lie still and they will carry you in.” + </p> + <p> + That woke me more thoroughly. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” I said, as forcefully as I could. “Nonsense! I'm not badly + hurt. I am all right now. I don't want to go to a hospital. I won't go + there. Take me to the hotel. I am all right, I tell you.” + </p> + <p> + The man's voice—the doctor's, I learned afterward—broke in, + ordering me to be quiet. But I refused to be quiet. I was not going to be + taken to any hospital. + </p> + <p> + “I am all right,” I declared. “Or I shall be in a little while. Take me to + my hotel. I will be looked after, there. Hephzy will look after me.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor continued to protest—in French—and I to affirm—in + English. Also I tried to stand. At length my declarations of independence + seemed to have some effect, for they ceased trying to lift me. A dialogue + in French followed. I heard it with growing impatience. + </p> + <p> + “Hephzy,” I said, fretfully. “Hephzy, make them take me to my hotel. I + insist upon it.” + </p> + <p> + “Which hotel is it? Kent—Kent, answer me. What is the name of the + hotel?” + </p> + <p> + I gave the name; goodness knows how I remembered it. There was more + argument, and, after a time, the rattle and buzz and squeak began again. + The next thing I remember distinctly is being carried to my room and + hearing the voice of Monsieur Louis in excited questioning and command. + </p> + <p> + After that my recollections are clearer. But it was broad daylight when I + became my normal self and realized thoroughly where I was. I was in my + room at the hotel, the sunlight was streaming in at the window and Hephzy—I + still supposed it was Hephzy—was sitting by that window. And for the + first time it occurred to me that she should not have been there; by all + that was right and proper she should be waiting for me in Interlaken. + </p> + <p> + “Hephzy,” I said, weakly, “when did you get here?” + </p> + <p> + The figure at the window rose and came to the bedside. It was not Hephzy. + With a thrill I realized who it was. + </p> + <p> + “Frances!” I cried. “Frances! Why—what—” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! You mustn't talk. You mustn't. You must be quiet and keep perfectly + still. The doctor said so.” + </p> + <p> + “But what happened? How did I get here? What—?” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! There was an accident; you were hurt. We brought you here in a + carriage. Don't you remember?” + </p> + <p> + What I remembered was provokingly little. + </p> + <p> + “I seem to remember something,” I said. “Something about a hospital. + Someone was going to take me to a hospital and I wouldn't go. Hephzy—No, + it couldn't have been Hephzy. Was it—was it you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. We were taking you to the hospital. We did take you there, but as + they were taking you from the ambulance you—” + </p> + <p> + “Ambulance! Was I in an ambulance? What happened to me? What sort of an + accident was it?” + </p> + <p> + “Please don't try to talk. You must not talk.” + </p> + <p> + “I won't if you tell me that. What happened?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you remember? I left you and crossed the street. You followed me + and then—and then you stopped. And then—Oh, don't ask me! + Don't!” + </p> + <p> + “I know. Now I do remember. It was that big motor car. I saw it coming. + But who brought me here? You—I remember you; I thought you were + Hephzy. And there was someone else.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the doctor—the doctor they called—and Doctor Bayliss.” + </p> + <p> + “Doctor Bayliss! Herbert Bayliss, do you mean? Yes, I saw him at the + 'Abbey'—and afterward. Did he come here with me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. He was very kind. I don't know what I should have done if it had not + been for him. Now you MUST not speak another word.” + </p> + <p> + I did not, for a few moments. I lay there, feebly trying to think, and + looking at her. I was grateful to young Bayliss, of course, but I wished—even + then I wished someone else and not he had helped me. I did not like to be + under obligations to him. I liked him, too; he was a good fellow and I had + always liked him, but I did not like THAT. + </p> + <p> + She rose from the chair by the bed and walked across the room. + </p> + <p> + “Don't go,” I said. + </p> + <p> + She came back almost immediately. + </p> + <p> + “It is time for your medicine,” she said. + </p> + <p> + I took the medicine. She turned away once more. + </p> + <p> + “Don't go,” I repeated. + </p> + <p> + “I am not going. Not for the present.” + </p> + <p> + I was quite contented with the present. The future had no charms just + then. I lay there, looking at her. She was paler and thinner than she had + been when she left Mayberry, almost as pale and thin as when I first met + her in the back room of Mrs. Briggs' lodging house. And there was another + change, a subtle, undefinable change in her manner and appearance that + puzzled me. Then I realized what it was; she had grown older, more mature. + In Mayberry she had been an extraordinarily pretty girl. Now she was a + beautiful woman. These last weeks had worked the change. And I began to + understand what she had undergone during those weeks. + </p> + <p> + “Have you been with me ever since it happened—since I was hurt?” I + asked, suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “All night?” + </p> + <p> + She smiled. “There was very little of the night left,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “But you have had no rest at all. You must be worn out.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no; I am used to it. My—” with a slight pause before the word—“work + of late has accustomed me to resting in the daytime. And I shall rest by + and by, when my aunt—when Miss Cahoon comes.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Cahoon? Hephzy? Have you sent for her?” + </p> + <p> + My tone of surprise startled her, I think. She looked at me. + </p> + <p> + “Sent for her?” she repeated. “Isn't she here—in Paris?” + </p> + <p> + “She is in Interlaken, at the Victoria. Didn't the concierge tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “He told us she was not here, at this hotel, at present. He said she had + gone away with some friends. But we took it for granted she was in Paris. + I told them I would stay until she came. I—” + </p> + <p> + I interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “Stay until she comes!” I repeated. “Stay—! Why you can't do that! + You can't! You must not!” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! hush! Remember you are ill. Think of yourself!” + </p> + <p> + “Of myself! I am thinking of you. You mustn't stay here—with me. + What will they think? What—” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! hush, please. Think! It makes no difference what they think. If I + had cared what people thought I should not be singing at—Hush! you + must not excite yourself in this way.” + </p> + <p> + But I refused to hush. + </p> + <p> + “You must not!” I cried. “You shall not! Why did you do it? They could + have found a nurse, if one was needed. Bayliss—” + </p> + <p> + “Doctor Bayliss does not know. If he did I should not care. As for the + others—” she colored, slightly, + </p> + <p> + “Well, I told the concierge that you were my uncle. It was only a white + lie; you used to say you were, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Say! Oh, Frances, for your own sake, please—” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! Do you suppose,” her cheeks reddened and her eyes flashed as I had + seen them flash before, “do you suppose I would go away and leave you now? + Now, when you are hurt and ill and—and—after all that you have + done! After I treated you as I did! Oh, let me do something! Let me do a + little, the veriest little in return. I—Oh, stop! stop! What are you + doing?” + </p> + <p> + I suppose I was trying to sit up; I remember raising myself on my elbow. + Then came the pain again, the throbbing in my head and the agonizing pain + in my side. And after that there is another long interval in my + recollections. + </p> + <p> + For a week—of course I did not know it was a week then—my + memories consist only of a series of flashes like the memory of the hours + immediately following the accident. I remember people talking, but not + what they said; I remember her voice, or I think I do, and the touch of + her hand on my forehead. And afterward, other voices, Hephzy's in + particular. But when I came to myself, weak and shaky, but to remain + myself for good and all, Hephzy—the real Hephzy—was in the + room with me. + </p> + <p> + Even then they would not let me ask questions. Another day dragged by + before I was permitted to do that. Then Hephzy told me I had a cracked rib + and a variety of assorted bruises, that I had suffered slight concussion + of the brain, and that my immediate job was to behave myself and get well. + </p> + <p> + “Land sakes!” she exclaimed, “there was a time when I thought you never + was goin' to get well. Hour after hour I've set here and listened to your + gabblin' away about everything under the sun and nothin' in particular, as + crazy as a kitten in a patch of catnip, and thought and thought, what + should I do, what SHOULD I do. And now I KNOW what I'm goin' to do. I'm + goin' to keep you in that bed till you're strong and well enough to get + out of it, if I have to sit on you to hold you down. And I'm no + hummin'-bird when it comes to perchin', either.” + </p> + <p> + She had received the telegram which Frances sent and had come from + Interlaken post haste. + </p> + <p> + “And I don't know,” she declared, “which part of that telegram upset me + most—what there was in it or the name signed at the bottom of it. + HER name! I couldn't believe my eyes. I didn't stop to believe 'em long. I + just came. And then I found you like this.” + </p> + <p> + “Was she here?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Who—Frances! My, yes, she was here. So pale and tired lookin' that + I thought she was goin' to collapse. But she wouldn't give in to it. She + told me all about how it happened and what the doctor said and everything. + I didn't pay much attention to it then. All I could think of was you. Oh, + Hosy! my poor boy! I—I—” + </p> + <p> + “There! there!” I broke in, gently. “I'm all right now, or I'm going to + be. You will have the quahaug on your hands for a while longer. But,” + returning to the subject which interested me most, “what else did she tell + you? Did she tell you how I met her—and where?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes. She's singin' somewhere—she didn't say where exactly, but + it is in some kind of opera-house, I judged. There's a perfectly beautiful + opera-house a little ways from here on the Avenue de L'Opera, right by the + Boulevard des Italiens, though there's precious few Italians there, far's + I can see. And why an opera is a l'opera I—” + </p> + <p> + “Wait a moment, Hephzy. Did she tell you of our meeting? And how I found + her?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, not so dreadful much, Hosy. She's acted kind of queer about that, + seemed to me. She said you went to this opera-house, wherever it was, and + saw her there. Then you and she were crossin' the road and one of these + dreadful French automobiles—the way they let the things tear round + is a disgrace—ran into you. I declare! It almost made ME sick to + hear about it. And to think of me away off amongst those mountains, + enjoyin' myself and not knowin' a thing! Oh, it makes me ashamed to look + in the glass. I NEVER ought to have left you alone, and I knew it. It's a + judgment on me, what's happened is.” + </p> + <p> + “Or on me, I should rather say,” I added. Frances had not told Hephzy of + L'Abbaye, that was evident. Well, I would keep silence also. + </p> + <p> + “Where is she now?” I asked. I asked it with as much indifference as I + could assume, but Hephzy smiled and patted my hand. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, she comes every day to ask about you,” she said. “And Doctor Bayliss + comes too. He's been real kind.” + </p> + <p> + “Bayliss!” I exclaimed. “Is he with—Does he come here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he comes real often, mostly about the time she does. He hasn't been + here for two days now, though. Hosy, do you suppose he has spoken to her + about—about what he spoke to you?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know,” I answered, curtly. Then I changed the subject. + </p> + <p> + “Has she said anything to you about coming back to Mayberry?” I asked. + “Have you told her how we feel toward her?” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy's manner changed. “Yes,” she said, reluctantly, “I've told her. + I've told her everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Not everything? Hephzy, you haven't told her—” + </p> + <p> + “No, no. Of course I didn't tell her THAT. You know I wouldn't, Hosy. But + I told her that her money havin' turned out to be our money didn't make a + mite of difference. I told her how much we come to think of her and how we + wanted her to come with us and be the same as she had always been. I + begged her to come. I said everything I could say.” + </p> + <p> + “And she said?” + </p> + <p> + “She said no, Hosy. She wouldn't consider it at all. She asked me not to + talk about it. It was settled, she said. She must go her way and we ours + and we must forget her. She was more grateful than she could tell—she + most cried when she said that—but she won't come back and if I asked + her again she declared she should have to go away for good.” + </p> + <p> + “I know. That is what she said to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I can't make it out exactly. It's her pride, I suppose. Her mother + was just as proud. Oh, dear! When I saw her here for the first time, after + I raced back from Interlaken, I thought—I almost hoped—but I + guess it can't be.” + </p> + <p> + I did not answer. I knew only too well that it could not be. + </p> + <p> + “Does she seem happy?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why, no; I don't think she is happy. There are times, especially when you + began to get better, when she seemed happier, but the last few times she + was here she was—well, different.” + </p> + <p> + “How different?” + </p> + <p> + “It's hard to tell you. She looked sort of worn and sad and discouraged. + Hosy, what sort of a place is it she is singin' in?” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you ask that?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don't know. Some things you said when you were out of your head + made me wonder. That, and some talk I overheard her and Doctor Bayliss + havin' one time when they were in the other room—my room—together. + I had stepped out for a minute and when I came back, I came in this door + instead of the other. They were in the other room talkin' and he was + beggin' her not to stay somewhere any more. It wasn't a fit place for her + to be, he said; her reputation would be ruined. She cut him short by + sayin' that her reputation was her own and that she should do as she + thought best, or somethin' like that. Then I coughed, so they would know I + was around, and they commenced talkin' of somethin' else. But it set me + thinkin' and when you said—” + </p> + <p> + She paused. “What did I say?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why, 'twas when she and I were here. You had been quiet for a while and + all at once you broke out—delirious you was—beggin' somebody + or other not to do somethin'. For your sake, for their own sake, they + mustn't do it. 'Twas awful to hear you. A mixed-up jumble about Abbie, + whoever she is—not much, by the way you went on about her—and + please, please, please, for the Lord's sake, give it up. I tried to quiet + you, but you wouldn't be quieted. And finally you said: 'Frances! Oh, + Frances! don't! Say that you won't any more.' I gave you your sleepin' + drops then; I thought 'twas time. I was afraid you'd say somethin' that + you wouldn't want her to hear. You understand, don't you, Hosy?” + </p> + <p> + “I understand. Thank you, Hephzy.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Well, <i>I</i> didn't understand and I asked her if she did. She + said no, but she was dreadfully upset and I think she did understand, in + spite of her sayin' it. What sort of a place is it, this opera-house where + she sings?” + </p> + <p> + I dodged the question as best I could. I doubt if Hephzy's suspicions were + allayed, but she did not press the subject. Instead she told me I had + talked enough for that afternoon and must rest. + </p> + <p> + That evening I saw Bayliss for the first time since the accident. He + congratulated me on my recovery and I thanked him for his help in bringing + me to the hotel. He waved my thanks aside. + </p> + <p> + “Quite unnecessary, thanking me,” he said, shortly. “I couldn't do + anything else, of course. Well, I must be going. Glad you're feeling more + fit, Knowles, I'm sure.” + </p> + <p> + “And you?” I asked. “How are you?” + </p> + <p> + “I? Oh, I'm fit enough, I suppose. Good-by.” + </p> + <p> + He didn't look fit. He looked more haggard and worn and moody than ever. + And his manner was absent and distrait. Hephzy noticed it; there were few + things she did not notice. + </p> + <p> + “Either that boy's meals don't agree with him,” she announced, “or + somethin's weighin' on his mind. He looks as if he'd lost his last friend. + Hosy, do you suppose he's spoken to—to her about what he spoke of to + you?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. I suppose he has. He was only too anxious to speak, there + in Mayberry.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! Well, IF he has, then—Hosy, sometimes I think this, all this + pilgrimage of ours—that's what you used to call it, a pilgrimage—is + goin' to turn out right, after all. Don't it remind you of a book, this + last part of it?” + </p> + <p> + “A dismal sort of book,” I said, gloomily. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't know. Here are you, the hero, and here's she, the heroine. + And the hero is sick and the heroine comes to take care of him—she + WAS takin' care of you afore I came, you know; and she falls in love with + him and—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I observed, sarcastically. “She always does—in books. But in + those books the hero is not a middle-aged quahaug. Suppose we stick to + real life and possibilities, Hephzy.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy was unconvinced. “I don't care,” she said. “She ought to even if + she doesn't. <i>I</i> fell in love with you long ago, Hosy. And she DID + bring you here after you were hurt and took care of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! hush!” I broke in. “She took care of me, as you call it, because + she thought it was her duty. She thinks she is under great obligation to + us because we did not pitch her into the street when we first met her. She + insists that she owes us money and gratitude. Her kindness to me and her + care are part payment of the debt. She told me so, herself.” + </p> + <p> + “But—” + </p> + <p> + “There aren't any 'buts.' You mustn't be an idiot because I have been one, + Hephzy. We agreed not to speak of that again. Don't remind me of it.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy sighed. “All right,” she said. “I suppose you are right, Hosy. But—but + how is all this goin' to end? She won't go with us. Are we goin' to leave + her here alone?” + </p> + <p> + I was silent. The same question was in my mind, but I had answered it. I + was NOT going to leave her there alone. And yet— + </p> + <p> + “If I was sure,” mused Hephzy, “that she was in love with Herbert Bayliss, + then 'twould be all right, I suppose. They would get married and it would + be all right—or near right—wouldn't it, Hosy.” + </p> + <p> + I said nothing. + </p> + <p> + The next morning I saw her. She came to inquire for me and Hephzy brought + her into my room for a stay of a minute or two. She seemed glad to find me + so much improved in health and well on the road to recovery. I tried to + thank her for her care of me, for her sending for Hephzy and all the rest + of it, but she would not listen. She chatted about Paris and the French + people, about Monsieur Louis, the concierge, and joked with Hephzy about + that gentleman's admiration for “the wonderful American lady,” meaning + Hephzy herself. + </p> + <p> + “He calls you 'Madame Cay-hoo-on,'” she said, “and he thinks you a miracle + of decision and management. I think he is almost afraid of you, I really + do.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy smiled, grimly. “He'd better be,” she declared. “The way everybody + was flyin' around when I first got here after comin' from Interlaken, and + the way the help jabbered and hunched up their shoulders when I asked + questions made me so fidgety I couldn't keep still. I wanted an egg for + breakfast, that first mornin' and when the waiter brought it, it was in + the shell, the way they eat eggs over here. I can't eat 'em that way—I'm + no weasel—and I told the waiter I wanted an egg cup. Nigh as I could + make out from his pigeon English he was tellin' me there was a cup there. + Well, there was, one of those little, two-for-a-cent contraptions, just + big enough to stick one end of the egg into. 'I want a big one,' says I. + 'We, Madame,' says he, and off he trotted. When he came back he brought me + a big EGG, a duck's egg, I guess 'twas. Then I scolded and he jabbered + some more and by and by he went and fetched this Monsieur Louis man. He + could speak English, thank goodness, and he was real nice, in his French + way. He begged my pardon for the waiter's stupidness, said he was a new + hand, and the like of that, and went on apologizin' and bowin' and smilin' + till I almost had a fit. + </p> + <p> + “'For mercy sakes!' I says, 'don't say any more about it. If that last egg + hadn't been boiled 'twould have hatched out an—an ostrich, or + somethin' or other, by this time. And it's stone cold, of course. Have + this—this jumpin'-jack of yours bring me a hot egg—a hen's egg—opened, + in a cup big enough to see without spectacles, and tell him to bring some + cream with the coffee. At any rate, if there isn't any cream, have him + bring some real milk instead of this watery stuff. I might wash clothes + with that, for I declare I think there's bluin' in it, but I sha'n't drink + it; I'd be afraid of swallowin' a fish by accident. And do hurry!' + </p> + <p> + “He went away then, hurryin' accordin' to orders, and ever since then he's + been bobbin' up to ask if 'Madame finds everything satisfactory.' I + suppose likely I shouldn't have spoken as I did, he means well—it + isn't his fault, or the waiter's either, that they can't talk without + wavin' their hands as if they were givin' three cheers—but I was + terribly nervous that mornin' and I barked like a tied-up dog. Oh dear, + Hosy! if ever I missed you and your help it's in this blessed country.” + </p> + <p> + Frances laughed at all this; she seemed just then to be in high spirits; + but I thought, or imagined, that her high spirits were assumed for our + benefit. At the first hint of questioning concerning her own life, where + she lodged or what her plans might be, she rose and announced that she + must go. + </p> + <p> + Each morning of that week she came, remaining but a short time, and always + refusing to speak of herself or her plans. Hephzy and I, finding that a + reference to those plans meant the abrupt termination of the call, ceased + trying to question. And we did not mention our life at the rectory, + either; that, too, she seemed unwilling to discuss. Once, when I spoke of + our drive to Wrayton, she began a reply, stopped in the middle of a + sentence, and then left the room. + </p> + <p> + Hephzy hastened after her. She returned alone. + </p> + <p> + “She was cryin', Hosy,” she said. “She said she wasn't, but she was. The + poor thing! she's unhappy and I know it; she's miserable. But she's so + proud she won't own it and, although I'm dyin' to put my arms around her + and comfort her, I know if I did she'd go away and never come back. Do you + notice she hasn't called me 'Auntie' once. And she always used to—at + the rectory. I'm afraid—I'm afraid she's just as determined as she + was when she ran away, never to live with us again. What SHALL we do?” + </p> + <p> + I did not know and I did not dare to think. I was as certain that these + visits would cease very soon as I was that they were the only things which + made my life bearable. How I did look forward to them! And while she was + there, with us, how short the time seemed and how it dragged when she had + gone. The worst thing possible for me, this seeing her and being with her; + I knew it. I knew it perfectly well. But, knowing it, and realizing that + it could not last and that it was but the prelude to a worse loneliness + which was sure to come, made no difference. I dreaded to be well again, + fearing that would mean the end of those visits. + </p> + <p> + But I was getting well and rapidly. I sat up for longer and longer periods + each day. I began to read my letters now, instead of having Hephzy read + them to me, letters from Matthews at the London office and from Jim + Campbell at home. Matthews had cabled Jim of the accident and later that I + was recovering. So Jim wrote, professing to find material gain in the + affair. + </p> + <p> + “Great stuff,” he wrote. “Two chapters at least. The hero, pursuing the + villain through the streets of Paris at midnight, is run down by an auto + driven by said villain. 'Ah ha!' says the villain: 'Now will you be good?' + or words to that effect. 'Desmond,' says the hero, unflinchingly, as they + extract the cobble-stones from his cuticle, 'you triumph for the moment, + but beware! there will be something doing later on.' See? If it wasn't for + the cracked rib and the rest I should be almost glad it happened. All you + need is the beautiful heroine nursing you to recovery. Can't you find + her?” + </p> + <p> + He did not know that I had found her, or that the hoped-for novel was less + likely to be finished than ever. + </p> + <p> + Hephzy was now able to leave me occasionally, to take the walks which I + insisted upon. She had some queer experiences in these walks. + </p> + <p> + “Lost again to-day, Hosy,” she said, cheerfully, removing her bonnet. “I + went cruisin' through the streets over to the south'ard and they were so + narrow and so crooked—to say nothin' of bein' dirty and smelly—that + I thought I never should get out. Of course I could have hired a hack and + let it bring me to the hotel but I wouldn't do that. I was set on findin' + my own way. I'd walked in and I was goin' to walk out, that was all there + was to it. 'Twasn't the first time I'd been lost in this Paris place and + I've got a system of my own. When I get to the square 'Place delay + Concorde,' they call it, I know where I am. And 'Concorde' is enough like + Concord, Mass., to make me remember the name. So I walk up to a nice + appearin' Frenchman with a tall hat and whiskers—I didn't know there + was so many chin whiskers outside of East Harniss, or some other back + number place—and I say, 'Pardon, Monseer. Place delay Concorde?' + Just like that with a question mark after it. After I say it two or three + times he begins to get a floatin' sniff of what I'm drivin' at and says + he: 'Place delay Concorde? Oh, we, we, we, Madame!' Then a whole string of + jabber and arm wavin', with some countin' in the middle of it. Now I've + learned 'one, two, three' in French and I know he means for me to keep on + for two or three more streets in the way he's pointin'. So I keep on, and, + when I get there, I go through the whole rigamarole with another + Frenchman. About the third session and I'm back on the Concord Place. + THERE I am all right. No, I don't propose to stay lost long. My father and + grandfather and all my men folks spent their lives cruisin' through + crooked passages and crowded shoals and I guess I've inherited some of the + knack.” + </p> + <p> + At last I was strong enough to take a short outing in Hephzy's company. I + returned to the hotel, where Hephzy left me. She was going to do a little + shopping by herself. I went to my room and sat down to rest. A bell boy—at + least that is what we should have called him in the States—knocked + at the door. + </p> + <p> + “A lady to see Monsieur,” he said. + </p> + <p> + The lady was Frances. + </p> + <p> + She entered the room and I rose to greet her. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you are alone!” she exclaimed. “Where is Miss Cahoon?” + </p> + <p> + “She is out, on a shopping expedition,” I explained. “She will be back + soon. I have been out too. We have been driving together. What do you + think of that!” + </p> + <p> + She seemed pleased at the news but when I urged her to sit and wait for + Hephzy's return she hesitated. Her hesitation, however, was only + momentary. She took the chair by the window and we chatted together, of my + newly-gained strength, of Hephzy's adventures as a pathfinder in Paris, of + the weather, of a dozen inconsequential things. I found it difficult to + sustain my part in the conversation. There was so much of real importance + which I wanted to say. I wanted to ask her about herself, where she + lodged, if she was still singing at L'Abbaye, what her plans for the + future might be. And I did not dare. + </p> + <p> + My remarks became more and more disjointed and she, too, seemed uneasy and + absent-minded. At length there was an interval of silence. She broke that + silence. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose,” she said, “you will be going back to Mayberry soon.” + </p> + <p> + “Back to Mayberry?” I repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. You and Miss Cahoon will go back there, of course, now that you are + strong enough to travel. She told me that the American friends with whom + you and she were to visit Switzerland had changed their plans and were + going on to Italy. She said that she had written them that your proposed + Continental trip was abandoned.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Yes, that was given up, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you will go back to England, will you not?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. We have made no plans as yet.” + </p> + <p> + “But you will go back. Miss Cahoon said you would. And, when your lease of + the rectory expires, you will sail for America.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “But you must know,” with a momentary impatience. “Surely you don't intend + to remain here in Paris.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know that, either. I haven't considered what I shall do. It + depends—that is—” + </p> + <p> + I did not finish the sentence. I had said more than I intended and it was + high time I stopped. But I had said too much, as it was. She asked more + questions. + </p> + <p> + “Upon what does it depend?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothing. I did not mean that it depended upon anything in particular. + I—” + </p> + <p> + “You must have meant something. Tell me—answer me truthfully, + please: Does it depend upon me?” + </p> + <p> + Of course that was just what it did depend upon. And suddenly I determined + to tell her so. + </p> + <p> + “Frances,” I demanded, “are you still there—at that place?” + </p> + <p> + “At L'Abbaye. Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “You sing there every night?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you do it? You know—” + </p> + <p> + “I know everything. But you know, too. I told you I sang there because I + must earn my living in some way and that seems to be the only place where + I can earn it. They pay me well there, and the people—the + proprietors—are considerate and kind, in their way.” + </p> + <p> + “But it isn't a fit place for you. And you don't like it; I know you + don't.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” quietly. “I don't like it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then don't do it. Give it up.” + </p> + <p> + “If I give it up what shall I do?” + </p> + <p> + “You know. Come back with us and live with us as you did before. I want + you; Hephzy is crazy to have you. We—she has missed you dreadfully. + She grieves for you and worries about you. We offer you a home and—” + </p> + <p> + She interrupted. “Please don't,” she said. “I have told you that that is + impossible. It is. I shall never go back to Mayberry.” + </p> + <p> + “But why? Your aunt—” + </p> + <p> + “Don't! My aunt is very kind—she has been so kind that I cannot bear + to speak of her. Her kindness and—and yours are the few pleasant + memories that I have—of this last dreadful year. To please you both + I would do anything—anything—except—” + </p> + <p> + “Don't make any exceptions. Come with us. If not to Mayberry, then + somewhere else. Come to America with us.” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Frances—” + </p> + <p> + “Don't! My mind is made up. Please don't speak of that again.” + </p> + <p> + Again I realized the finality in her tone. The same finality was in mine + as I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Then I shall stay here,” I declared. “I shall not leave you alone, + without friends or a protector of any kind, to sing night after night in + that place. I shall not do it. I shall stay here as long as you do.” + </p> + <p> + She was silent. I wondered what was coming next. I expected her to say, as + she had said before, that I was forcing her to give up her one + opportunity. I expected reproaches and was doggedly prepared to meet them. + But she did not reproach me. She said nothing; instead she seemed to be + thinking, to be making up her mind. + </p> + <p> + “Don't do it, Frances,” I pleaded. “Don't sing there any longer. Give it + up. You don't like the work; it isn't fit work for you. Give it up.” + </p> + <p> + She rose from her chair and standing by the window looked out into the + street. Suddenly she turned and looked at me. + </p> + <p> + “Would it please you if I gave up singing at L'Abbaye?” she asked quietly. + “You know it would.” + </p> + <p> + “And if I did would you and Miss Cahoon go back to England—at once?” + </p> + <p> + Here was another question, one that I found very hard to answer. I tried + to temporize. + </p> + <p> + “We want you to come with us,” I said, earnestly. “We want you. Hephzy—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't, don't, don't! Why will you persist? Can't you understand that + you hurt me? I am trying to believe I have some self-respect left, even + after all that has happened. And you—What CAN you think of me! No, I + tell you! NO!” + </p> + <p> + “But for Hephzy's sake. She is your only relative.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at me oddly. And when she spoke her answer surprised me. + </p> + <p> + “You are mistaken,” she said. “I have other—relatives. Good-by, Mr. + Knowles.” + </p> + <p> + She was on her way to the door. + </p> + <p> + “But, Frances,” I cried, “you are not going. Wait. Hephzy will be here any + moment. Don't go.” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “I must go,” she said. At the door she turned and looked back. + </p> + <p> + “Good-by,” she said, again. “Good-by, Kent.” + </p> + <p> + She had gone and when I reached the door she had turned the corner of the + corridor. + </p> + <p> + When Hephzy came I told her of the visit and what had taken place. + </p> + <p> + “That's queer,” said Hephzy. “I can't think what she meant. I don't know + of any other relatives she's got except Strickland Morley's tribe. And + they threw him overboard long, long ago. I can't understand who she meant; + can you, Hosy?” + </p> + <p> + I had been thinking. + </p> + <p> + “Wasn't there someone else—some English cousins of hers with whom + she lived for a time after her father's death? Didn't she tell you about + them?” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy nodded vigorously. “That's so,” she declared. “There was. And she + did live with 'em, too. She never told me their names or where they lived, + but I know she despised and hated 'em. She gave me to understand that. And + she ran away from 'em, too, just as she did from us. I don't see why she + should have meant them. I don't believe she did. Perhaps she'll tell us + more next time she comes. That'll be tomorrow, most likely.” + </p> + <p> + I hoped that it might be to-morrow, but I was fearful. The way in which + she had said good-by made me so. Her look, her manner, seemed to imply + more than a good-by for a day. And, though this I did not tell Hephzy, she + had called me “Kent” for the first time since the happy days at the + rectory. I feared—all sorts of things. + </p> + <p> + She did not come on the morrow, or the following day, or the day after + that. Another week passed and she did not come, nor had we received any + word from her. By that time Hephzy was as anxious and fretful as I. And, + when I proposed going in search of her, Hephzy, for a wonder, considering + how very, very careful she was of my precious health, did not say no. + </p> + <p> + “You're pretty close to bein' as well as ever you was, Hosy,” she said. + “And I know how terribly worried you are. If you do go out at night you + may be sick again, but if you don't go and lay awake frettin' and frettin' + about her I KNOW you'll be sick. So perhaps you'd better do it. Shall I—Sha'n't + I go with you?” + </p> + <p> + “I think you had better not,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Well, perhaps you're right. You never would tell me much about this + opera-house, or whatever 'tis, but I shouldn't wonder if, bein' a Yankee, + I'd guessed considerable. Go, Hosy, and bring her back if you can. Find + her anyhow. There! there run along. The hack's down at the door waitin'. + Is your head feelin' all right? You're sure? And you haven't any pain? And + you'll keep wrapped up? All right? Good-by, dearie. Hurry back! Do hurry + back, for my sake. And I hope—Oh, I do hope you'll bring no bad + news.” + </p> + <p> + L'Abbaye, at eight-thirty in the evening was a deserted place compared to + what it had been when I visited it at midnight. The waiters and attendants + were there, of course, and a few early bird patrons, but not many. The + bearded proprietors, or managers, were flying about, and I caught one of + them in the middle of a flight. + </p> + <p> + He did not recognize me at first, but when I stated my errand, he did. Out + went his hands and up went his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “The Mademoiselle,” he said. “Ah, yes! You are her friend, Monsieur; I + remember perfectly. Oh, no, no, no! she is not here any more. She has left + us. She sings no longer at L'Abbaye. We are desolate; we are inconsolable. + We pleaded, but she was firm. She has gone. Where? Ah, Monsieur, so many + ask that; but alas! we do not know.” + </p> + <p> + “But you do know where she lives,” I urged. “You must know her home + address. Give me that. It is of the greatest importance that I see her at + once.” + </p> + <p> + At first he declared that he did not know her address, the address where + she lodged. I persisted and, at last, he admitted that he did know it, but + that he was bound by the most solemn promise to reveal it to no one. + </p> + <p> + “It was her wish, Monsieur. It was a part of the agreement under which she + sang for us. No one should know who she was or where she lived. And I—I + am an honorable man, Monsieur. I have promised and—” the business of + shoulders and hands again—“my pledged word to a lady, how shall it + be broken?” + </p> + <p> + I found a way to break it, nevertheless. A trio of gold pieces and the + statement that I was her uncle did the trick. An uncle! Ah, that was + different. And, Mademoiselle had consented to see me when I came before, + that was true. She had seen the young English gentleman also—but we + two only. Was the young English Monsieur—“the Doctor Baylees”—was + he a relative also? + </p> + <p> + I did not answer that question. It was not his business and, beside, I did + not wish to speak of Herbert Bayliss. + </p> + <p> + The address which the manager of L'Abbaye gave me, penciled on a card, was + a number in a street in Montmartre, and not far away. I might easily have + walked there, I was quite strong enough for walking now, but I preferred a + cab. Paris motor cabs, as I knew from experience, moved rapidly. This one + bore me to my destination in a few minutes. + </p> + <p> + A stout middle-aged French woman answered my ring. But her answer to my + inquiries was most unsatisfactory. And, worse than all, I was certain she + was telling me the truth. + </p> + <p> + The Mademoiselle was no longer there, she said. She had given up her room + three days ago and had gone away. Where? That, alas, was a question. She + had told no one. She had gone and she was not coming back. Was it not a + pity, a great pity! Such a beautiful Mademoiselle! such an artiste! who + sang so sweetly! Ah, the success she had made. And such a good young lady, + too! Not like the others—oh, no, no, no! No one was to know she + lodged there; she would see no one. Ah, a good girl, Monsieur, if ever one + lived. + </p> + <p> + “Did she—did she go alone?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + The stout lady hesitated. Was Monsieur a very close friend? Perhaps a + relative? + </p> + <p> + “An uncle,” I said, telling the old lie once more. + </p> + <p> + Ah, an uncle! It was all right then. No, Mademoiselle had not gone alone. + A young gentleman, a young English gentleman had gone with her, or, at + least, had brought the cab in which she went and had driven off in it with + her. A young English gentleman with a yellow mustache. Perhaps I knew him. + </p> + <p> + I recognized the description. She had left the house with Herbert Bayliss. + What did that mean? Had she said yes to him? Were they married? I dreaded + to know, but know I must. + </p> + <p> + And, as the one possible chance of settling the question, I bade my cab + driver take me to the Hotel Continental. There, at the desk, I asked if + Doctor Bayliss was still in the hotel. They said he was. I think I must + have appeared strange or the gasp of relief with which I received the news + was audible, for the concierge asked me if I was ill. I said no, and then + he told me that Bayliss was planning to leave the next day, but was just + then in his room. Did I wish to see him? I said I did and gave them my + card. + </p> + <p> + He came down soon afterward. I had not seen him for a fortnight, for his + calls had ceased even before Frances' last visit. Hephzy had said that, in + her opinion, his meals must be disagreeing with him. Judging by his + appearance his digestion was still very much impaired. He was in evening + dress, of course; being an English gentleman he would have dressed for his + own execution, if it was scheduled to take place after six o'clock. But + his tie was carelessly arranged, his shirt bosom was slightly crumpled and + there was a general “don't care” look about his raiment which was, for + him, most unusual. And he was very solemn. I decided at once, whatever + might have happened, it was not what I surmised. He was neither a happy + bridegroom nor a prospective one. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening, Bayliss,” said I, and extended my hand. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening, Knowles,” he said, but he kept his own hands in his + pockets. And he did not ask me to be seated. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” he said, after a moment. + </p> + <p> + “I came to you,” I began—mine was a delicate errand and hard to + state—“I came to you to ask if you could tell me where Miss Morley + has gone. She has left L'Abbaye and has given up her room at her lodgings. + She has gone—somewhere. Do you know where she is?” + </p> + <p> + It was quite evident that he did know. I could see it in his face. He did + not answer, however. Instead he glanced about uneasily and then, turning, + led the way toward a small reception room adjoining the lobby. This room + was, save for ourselves, unoccupied. + </p> + <p> + “We can be more private here,” he explained, briefly. “What did you ask?” + </p> + <p> + “I asked if you knew where Miss Morley had gone and where she was at the + present time?” + </p> + <p> + He hesitated, pulling at his mustache, and frowning. “I don't see why you + should ask me that?” he said, after a moment. + </p> + <p> + “But I do ask it. Do you know where she is?” + </p> + <p> + Another pause. “Well, if I did,” he said, stiffly, “I see no reason why I + should tell you. To be perfectly frank, and as I have said to you before, + I don't consider myself bound to tell you anything concerning her.” + </p> + <p> + His manner was most offensive. Again, as at the time I came to him at that + very hotel on a similar errand, after my arrival in Paris, I found it hard + to keep my temper. + </p> + <p> + “Don't misunderstand me,” I said, as calmly as I could. “I am not + pretending now to have a claim upon Miss Morley. I am not asking you to + tell me just where she is, if you don't wish to tell. And it is not for my + sake—that is, not primarily for that—that I am anxious about + her. It is for hers. I wish you might tell me this: Is she safe? Is she + among friends? Is she—is she quite safe and in a respectable place + and likely to be happy? Will you tell me that?” + </p> + <p> + He hesitated again. “She is quite safe,” he said, after a moment. “And she + is among friends, or I suppose they are friends. As to her being happy—well, + you ought to know that better than I, it seems to me.” + </p> + <p> + I was puzzled. “<i>I</i> ought to know?” I repeated. “I ought to know + whether she is happy or not? I don't understand.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at me intently. “Don't you?” he asked. “You are certain you + don't? Humph! Well, if I were in your place I would jolly well find out; + you may be sure of that.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you driving at, Bayliss? I tell you I don't know what you mean.” + </p> + <p> + He did not answer. He was frowning and kicking the corner of a rug with + his foot. + </p> + <p> + “I don't understand what you mean,” I repeated. “You are saying too much + or too little for my comprehension.” + </p> + <p> + “I've said too much,” he muttered. “At all events, I have said all I shall + say. Was there any other subject you wished to see me about, Knowles? If + not I must be going. I'm rather busy this evening.” + </p> + <p> + “There was no subject but that one. And you will tell me nothing more + concerning Miss Morley?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Good night,” I said, and turned away. Then I turned back. + </p> + <p> + “Bayliss,” said I, “I think perhaps I had better say this: I have only the + kindest feelings toward you. You may have misunderstood my attitude in all + this. I have said nothing to prejudice her—Miss Morley against you. + I never shall. You care for her, I know. If she cares for you that is + enough, so far as I am concerned. Her happiness is my sole wish. I want + you to consider me your friend—and hers.” + </p> + <p> + Once more I extended my hand. For an instant I thought he was going to + take it, but he did not. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said, sullenly. “I won't shake hands with you. Why should I? You + don't mean what you say. At least I don't think you do. I—I—By + Jove! you can't!” + </p> + <p> + “But I do,” I said, patiently. + </p> + <p> + “You can't! Look here! you say I care for her. God knows I do! But you—suppose + you knew where she was, what would you do? Would you go to her?” + </p> + <p> + I had been considering this very thing, during my ride to the lodgings and + on the way to the hotel; and I had reached a conclusion. + </p> + <p> + “No,” I answered, slowly. “I think I should not. I know she does not wish + me to follow her. I suppose she went away to avoid me. If I were convinced + that she was among friends, in a respectable place, and quite safe, I + should try to respect her wish. I think I should not follow her there.” + </p> + <p> + He stared at me, wide-eyed. + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn't!” he repeated. “You wouldn't! And you—Oh, I say! And + you talked of her happiness!” + </p> + <p> + “It is her happiness I am thinking of. If it were my own I should—” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, nothing. She will be happier if I do not follow her, I suppose. + That is enough for me.” + </p> + <p> + He regarded me with the same intent stare. + </p> + <p> + “Knowles,” he said, suddenly, “she is at the home of a relative of hers—Cripps + is the name—in Leatherhead, England. There! I have told you. Why I + should be such a fool I don't know. And now you will go there, I suppose. + What?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I answered. “No. I thank you for telling me, Bayliss, but it shall + make no difference. I will respect her wish. I will not go there.” + </p> + <p> + “You won't!” + </p> + <p> + “No, I will not trouble her again.” + </p> + <p> + To my surprise he laughed. It was not a pleasant laugh, there was more + sarcasm than mirth in it, or so it seemed, but why he should laugh at all + I could not understand. + </p> + <p> + “Knowles,” he said, “you're a good fellow, but—” + </p> + <p> + “But what?” I asked, stiffly. + </p> + <p> + “You're no end of a silly ass in some ways. Good night.” + </p> + <p> + He turned on his heel and walked off. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII + </h2> + <h3> + In Which I, as Well as Mr. Solomon Cripps, Am Surprised + </h3> + <p> + “And to think,” cried Hephzy, for at least the fifth time since I told + her, “that those Crippses are her people, the cousins she lived with after + her pa's death! No wonder she was surprised when I told her how you and I + went to Leatherhead and looked at their 'Ash Dump'—'Ash Chump,' I + mean. And we came just as near hirin' it, too; we would have hired it if + she hadn't put her foot down and said she wouldn't go there. A good many + queer things have happened on this pilgrimage of ours, Hosy, but I do + believe our goin' straight to those Crippses, of all the folks in England, + is about the strangest. Seems as if we was sent there with a purpose, + don't it?” + </p> + <p> + “It is a strange coincidence,” I admitted. + </p> + <p> + “It's more'n that. And her goin' back to them is queerer still. She hates + 'em, I know she does. She as much as said so, not mention' their names, of + course. Why did she do it?” + </p> + <p> + I knew why she had done it, or I believed I did. + </p> + <p> + “She did it to please you and me, Hephzy,” I said. “And to get rid of us. + She said she would do anything to please us, and she knew I did not want + her to remain here in Paris. I told her I should stay here as long as she + did, or at least as long as she sang at—at the place where she was + singing. And she asked if, provided she gave up singing there, you and I + would go back to England—or America?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know; you told me that, Hosy. But you said you didn't promise to + do it.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't promise anything. I couldn't promise not to follow her. I didn't + believe I could keep the promise. But I sha'n't follow her, Hephzy. I + shall not go to Leatherhead.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy was silent for a moment. Then she said: “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “You know why. That night when I first met her, the night after you had + gone to Lucerne, she told me that if I persisted in following her and + trying to see her I would force her to give up the only means of earning a + living she had been able to find. Well, I have forced her to do that. She + has been obliged to run away once more in order to get rid of us. I am not + going to persecute her further. I am going to try and be unselfish and + decent, if I can. Now that we know she is safe and among friends—” + </p> + <p> + “Friends! A healthy lot of friends they are—that Solomon Cripps and + his wife! If ever I ran afoul of a sanctimonious pair of hypocrites + they're the pair. Oh, they were sweet and buttery enough to us, I give in, + but that was because they thought we was goin' to hire their Dump or + Chump, or whatever 'twas. I'll bet they could be hard as nails to anybody + they had under their thumbs. Whenever I see a woman or a man with a mouth + that shuts up like a crack in a plate, the way theirs do, it takes more + than Scriptur' texts from that mouth to make me believe it won't bite when + it has the chance. Safe! poor Little Frank may be safe enough at + Leatherhead, but I'll bet she's miserable. WHAT made her go there?” + </p> + <p> + “Because she had no other place to go, I suppose,” I said. “And there, + among her relatives, she thought she would be free from our persecution.” + </p> + <p> + “There's some things worse than persecution,” Hephzy declared; “and, so + far as that goes, there are different kinds of persecution. But what makes + those Crippses willin' to take her in and look after her is what <i>I</i> + can't understand. They MAY be generous and forgivin' and kind, but, if + they are, then I miss my guess. The whole business is awful queer. Tell me + all about your talk with Doctor Bayliss, Hosy. What did he say? And how + did he look when he said it?” + </p> + <p> + I told her, repeating our conversation word for word, as near as I could + remember it. She listened intently and when I had finished there was an + odd expression on her face. + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” she exclaimed. “He seemed surprised to think you weren't goin' to + Leatherhead, you say?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. At least I thought he was surprised. He knew I had chased her from + Mayberry to Paris and was there at the hotel trying to learn from him + where she was. And he knows you are her aunt. I suppose he thought it + strange that we were not going to follow her any further.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe so... maybe so. But why did he call you a—what was it?—a + silly donkey?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I am one, I imagine,” I answered, bitterly. “It's my natural + state. I was born one.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! Well, 'twould take more than that boy's word to make me believe + it. No there's something!—I wish I could see that young fellow + myself. He's at the Continental Hotel, you say?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but he leaves to-morrow. There, Hephzy, that's enough. Don't talk + about it. Change the subject. I am ready to go back to England—yes, + or America either, whenever you say the word. The sooner the better for + me.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy obediently changed the subject and we decided to leave Paris the + following afternoon. We would go back to the rectory, of course, and leave + there for home as soon as the necessary arrangements could be made. Hephzy + agreed to everything, she offered no objections, in fact it seemed to me + that she was paying very little attention. Her lack of interest—yes, + and apparent lack of sympathy, for I knew she must know what my decision + meant to me—hurt and irritated me. + </p> + <p> + I rose. + </p> + <p> + “Good night,” I said, curtly. “I'm going to bed.” + </p> + <p> + “That's right, Hosy. You ought to go. You'll be sick again if you sit up + any longer. Good night, dearie.” + </p> + <p> + “And you?” I asked. “What are you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to set up a spell longer. I want to think.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't. I wish I might never think again. Or dream, either. I am awake + at last. God knows I wish I wasn't!” + </p> + <p> + She moved toward me. There was the same odd expression on her face and a + queer, excited look in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you aren't really awake, Hosy,” she said, gently. “Perhaps this + is the final dream and when you do wake you'll find—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, bosh!” I interrupted. “Don't tell me you have another presentiment. + If you have keep it to yourself. Good night.” + </p> + <p> + I was weak from my recent illness and I had been under a great nervous + strain all that evening. These are my only excuses and they are poor ones. + I spoke and acted abominably and I was sorry for it afterward. I have told + Hephzy so a good many times since, but I think she understood without my + telling her. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” she said, quietly, “dreams are somethin', after all. It's + somethin' to have had dreams. I sha'n't forget mine. Good night, Hosy.” + </p> + <p> + The next morning after breakfast she announced that she had an errand or + two to do. She would run out and do them, she said, but she would be gone + only a little while. She was gone nearly two hours during which I paced + the floor or sat by the window looking out. The crowded boulevard was + below me, but I did not see it. All I saw was a future as desolate and + blank as the Bayport flats at low tide, and I, a quahaug on those flats, + doomed to live, or exist, forever and ever and ever, with nothing to live + for. + </p> + <p> + Hephzy, when she did return to the hotel, was surprisingly chatty and + good-humored. She talked, talked, talked all the time, about nothing in + particular, laughed a good deal, and flew about, packing our belongings + and humming to herself. She acted more like the Hephzy of old than she had + for weeks. There was an air of suppressed excitement about her which I + could not understand. I attributed it to the fact of our leaving for + America in the near future and her good humor irritated me. My spirits + were lower than ever. + </p> + <p> + “You seem to be remarkably happy,” I observed, fretfully. + </p> + <p> + “What makes you think so, Hosy? Because I was singin'? Father used to say + my singin' was the most doleful noise he ever heard, except a fog-horn on + a lee shore. I'm glad if you think it's a proof of happiness: I'm much + obliged for the compliment.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you are happy, or you are trying to appear so. If you are + pretending for my benefit, don't. I'M not happy.” + </p> + <p> + “I know, Hosy; I know. Well, perhaps you—” + </p> + <p> + She didn't finish the sentence. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps what?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothin', nothin'. How many shirts did you bring with you? is this + all?” + </p> + <p> + She sang no more, probably because she saw that the “fog-horn” annoyed me, + but her manner was just as strange and her nervous energy as pronounced. I + began to doubt if my surmise, that her excitement and exaltation were due + to the anticipation of an early return to Bayport, was a correct one. I + began to thing there must be some other course and to speculate concerning + it. And I, too, grew a bit excited. + </p> + <p> + “Hephzy,” I said, suddenly, “where did you go when you went out this + morning? What sort of 'errands' were those of yours?” + </p> + <p> + She was folding my ties, her back toward me, and she answered without + turning. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I had some odds and ends of things to do,” she said. “This plaid + necktie of yours is gettin' pretty shabby, Hosy. I guess you can't wear it + again. There! I mustn't stop to talk. I've got my own things to pack.” + </p> + <p> + She hurried to her own room and I asked no more questions just then. But I + was more suspicious than ever. I remembered a question of hers the + previous evening and I believed.... But, if she had gone to the + Continental and seen Herbert Bayliss, what could he have told her to make + her happy? + </p> + <p> + We took the train for Calais and crossed the Channel to Dover. This time + the eccentric strip of water was as calm as a pond at sunset. No jumpy, + white-capped billows, no flying spray, no seasick passengers. Tarpaulins + were a drag on the market. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't believe,” declared Hephzy, “that this lookin'-glass was the + same as that churned-up tub of suds we slopped through before. It doesn't + trickle down one's neck now, does it, Hosy. A 'nahsty' cross-in' comin' + and a smooth one comin' back. I wonder if that's a sign.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't talk about signs, Hephzy,” I pleaded, wearily. “You'll begin to + dream again, I suppose, pretty soon.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I won't. I think you and I have stopped dreamin', Hosy. Maybe we're + just wakin' up, same as I told you.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by that?” + </p> + <p> + “Mean? Oh, I guess I didn't mean anything. Good-by, old France! You're a + lovely country and a lively one, but I sha'n't cry at sayin' good-by to + you this time. And there's England dead ahead. Won't it seem good to be + where they talk instead of jabber! I sha'n't have to navigate by the + 'one-two-three' chart over there.” + </p> + <p> + Dover, a flying trip through the customs, the train again, an English + dinner in an English restaurant car—not a “wagon bed,” as Hephzy + said, exultantly—and then London. + </p> + <p> + We took a cab to the hotel, not Bancroft's this time, but a modern + downtown hostelry where there were at least as many Americans as English. + In our rooms I would have cross-questioned Hephzy, but she would not be + questioned, declaring that she was tired and sleepy. I was tired, also, + but not sleepy. I was almost as excited as she seemed to be by this time. + I was sure she had learned something that morning in Paris, something + which pleased her greatly. What that something might be I could not + imagine; but I believed she had learned it from Herbert Bayliss. + </p> + <p> + And the next morning, after breakfast, she announced that she had arranged + for a cab and we must start for the station at once. I said nothing then, + but when the cab pulled up before a railway station, a station which was + not our accustomed one but another, I said a great deal. + </p> + <p> + “What in the world, Hephzy!” I exclaimed. “We can't go to Mayberry from + here.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, hush, Hosy. Wait a minute—wait till I've paid the driver. + Yes, I'm doin' it myself. I'm skipper on this cruise. You're an invalid, + didn't you know it. Invalids have to obey orders.” + </p> + <p> + The cabman paid, she took my arm and led me into the station. + </p> + <p> + “And now, Hosy,” she said, “let me tell you. We aren't goin' to Mayberry—not + yet. We're going to Leatherhead.” + </p> + <p> + “To Leatherhead!” I repeated. “To Leatherhead! To—her? We certainly + will do no such thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we will, Hosy,” quietly. “I haven't said anything about it before, + but I've made up my mind. It's our duty to see her just once more, once + more before—before we say good-by for good. It's our duty.” + </p> + <p> + “Duty! Our duty is to let her alone, to leave her in peace, as she asked + us.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know she is in peace? Suppose she isn't. Suppose she's + miserable and unhappy. Isn't it our duty to find out? I think it is?” + </p> + <p> + I looked her full in the face. “Hephzy,” I said, sharply, “you know + something about her, something that I don't know. What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know as I know anything, Hosy. I can't say that I do. But—” + </p> + <p> + “You saw Herbert Bayliss yesterday. That was the 'errand' you went upon + yesterday morning in Paris. Wasn't it?” + </p> + <p> + She was very much taken aback. She has told me since that she had no idea + I suspected the truth. + </p> + <p> + “Wasn't it?” I repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Why—why, yes, it was, Hosy. I did go to see him, there at his + hotel. When you told me how he acted and what he said to you I thought + 'twas awfully funny, and the more I thought it over the funnier it seemed. + So I made up my mind to see him and talk with him myself. And I did.” + </p> + <p> + “What did he tell you?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “He told me—he told me—Well, he didn't tell me so much, maybe, + but he gave me to understand a whole lot. She's gone to those Crippses, + Hosy, just as I suspicioned, not because she likes 'em—she hates 'em—or + because she wanted to go, but because she thought 'twould please us if she + did. It doesn't please us; it doesn't please me, anyway. She sha'n't be + miserable for our sake, not without a word from us. No, we must go there + and see her and—and tell her once more just how we feel about it. + It's our duty to go and we must. And,” with decision, “we're goin' now.” + </p> + <p> + She had poured out this explanation breathlessly, hurrying as if fearful + that I might interrupt and ask more questions. I asked one of them the + moment she paused. + </p> + <p> + “We knew all that before,” I said. “That is, we were practically sure she + had left Paris to get rid of us and had gone to her cousins, the Crippses, + because of her half-promise to me not to sing at places like the Abbey + again. We knew all that. And she asked me to promise that we would not + follow her. I didn't promise, but that makes no difference. Was that all + Bayliss told you?” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy was still embarrassed and confused, though she answered promptly + enough. + </p> + <p> + “He told me he knew she didn't want to go to—to those Leatherheaded + folks,” she declared. “We guessed she didn't, but we didn't know it for + sure. And he said we ought to go to her. He said that.” + </p> + <p> + “But why did he say it? Our going will not alter her determination to stay + and our seeing her again will only make it harder for her.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it won't—no it won't,” hastily. “Besides I want to see that + Cripps man and have a talk with him, myself. I want to know why a man like + him—I'm pretty well along in years; I've met folks and bargained and + dealt with 'em all my grown-up life and I KNOW he isn't the kind to do + things for nothin' for ANYBODY—I want to know why he and his wife + are so generous to her. There's somethin' behind it.” + </p> + <p> + “There's something behind you, Hephzy. Some other reason that you haven't + told me. Was that all Bayliss said?” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated. “Yes,” she said, after a moment, “that's all, all I can + tell you now, anyway. But I want you to go with me to that Ash Dump and + see her once more.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall not, Hephzy.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then I'll have to go by myself. And if you don't go, too, I think + you'll be awfully sorry. I think you will. Oh, Hosy,” pleadingly, “please + go with me. I don't ask you to do many things, now do I? I do ask you to + do this.” + </p> + <p> + I shook my head. + </p> + <p> + “I would do almost anything for your sake, Hephzy,” I began. + </p> + <p> + “But this isn't for my sake. It's for hers. For hers. I'm sure—I'm + ALMOST sure you and she will both be glad you did it.” + </p> + <p> + I could not understand it at all. I had never seen her more earnest. She + was not the one to ask unreasonable things and yet where her sister's + child was concerned she could be obstinate enough—I knew that. + </p> + <p> + “I shall go whether you do or not,” she said, as I stood looking at her. + </p> + <p> + “You mean that, Hephzy?” + </p> + <p> + “I surely do. I'm goin' to see her this very forenoon. And I do hope + you'll go with me.” + </p> + <p> + I reflected. If she went alone it would be almost as hard for Frances as + if I went with her. And the temptation was very strong. The desire to see + her once more, only once.... + </p> + <p> + “I'll go, Hephzy,” I said. I didn't mean to say it; the words seemed to + come of themselves. + </p> + <p> + “You will! Oh, I'm so glad! I'm so glad! And I think—I think you'll + be glad, too, Hosy. I'm hopin' you will.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll go,” I said. “But this is the last time you and I must trouble her. + I'll go—not because of any reason you have given me, Hephzy, but + because I believe there must be some other and stronger reason, which you + haven't told me.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy drew a long breath. She seemed to be struggling between a desire to + tell me more—whatever that more might be—and a determination + not to tell. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe there is, Hosy,” she said, slowly. “Maybe there is. I—I—Well, + there! I must go and buy the tickets. You sit down and wait. I'm skipper + of this craft to-day, you know. I'm in command on this voyage.” + </p> + <p> + Leatherhead looked exactly as it had on our previous visit. “Ash Clump,” + the villa which the Crippses had been so anxious for us to hire, was still + untenanted, or looked to be. We walked on until we reached the Cripps home + and entered the Cripps gate. I rang the bell and the maid answered the + ring. + </p> + <p> + In answer to our inquiries she told us that Mr. Cripps was not in. He and + Mrs. Cripps had gone to chapel. I remembered then that the day was Sunday. + I had actually forgotten it. + </p> + <p> + “Is Miss Morley in?” asked Hephzy. + </p> + <p> + The maid shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “No, ma'am,” she said. “Miss Morley ain't in, either. I think she's gone + to chapel, too. I ain't sure, ma'am, but I think she 'as. She's not in.” + </p> + <p> + She asked if we would leave cards. Hephzy said no. + </p> + <p> + “It's 'most noon,” she said. “They'll be back pretty soon. We'll wait. No, + we won't come in. We'll wait out here, I guess.” + </p> + <p> + There was a rustic seat on the lawn near the house and Hephzy seated + herself upon it. I walked up and down. I was in a state of what Hephzy + would have called “nerves.” I had determined to be very calm when I met + her, to show no emotion, to be very calm and cool, no matter what + happened. But this waiting was hard. I grew more nervous every minute. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to stroll about, Hephzy,” I said. “About the garden and + grounds. I sha'n't go far and I'll return soon. I shall be within call. + Send one of the servants for me if she—if the Crippses come before I + get back.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy did not urge me to remain. Nor did she offer to accompany me. As + usual she seemed to read my thoughts and understand them. + </p> + <p> + “All right, Hosy,” she said. “You go and have your walk. I'll wait here. + But don't be long, will you.” + </p> + <p> + I promised not to be long. The Cripps gardens and grounds were not + extensive, but they were well kept even if the beds were geometrically + ugly and the color masses jarring and in bad taste. The birds sang, the + breeze stirred the leaves and petals, and there was a Sunday quiet, the + restful hush of an English Sunday, everywhere. + </p> + <p> + I strolled on along the paths, through the gap in the hedge dividing the + kitchen garden from the purely ornamental section, past the stables, until + I emerged from the shrubbery at the top of a little hill. There was a + pleasant view from this hill, the customary view of hedged fields and + meadows, flocks of sheep and groups of grazing cattle, and over all the + soft blue haze and misty sky. + </p> + <p> + I paused. And then close beside me, I heard a startled exclamation. + </p> + <p> + I turned. In a nook of the shrubbery was another rustic seat. Rising from + that seat and gazing at me with a look of amazed incredulity, was—Frances + Morley. + </p> + <p> + I did not speak. I could not, for the moment. She spoke first. + </p> + <p> + “You!” she exclaimed. “You—here!” + </p> + <p> + And still I did not speak. Where was the calm with which I was to meet + her? Where were the carefully planned sentences which were to explain how + I had come and why? I don't know where they were; I seemed to know only + that she was there, that I was alone with her as I had never thought or + meant to be again, and that if I spoke I should say things far different + from those I had intended. + </p> + <p> + She was recovering from her surprise. She came toward me. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing here?” she asked. “Why did you come?” + </p> + <p> + I stammered a word or two, some incoherences to the effect that I had not + expected to find her there, that I had been told she was at church. She + shook her head, impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “I mean why did you come here—to Leatherhead?” she asked. “Why did + you come? Did you know—” + </p> + <p> + I interrupted her. If ever I was to explain, or attempt to explain, I + realized that it must be at that moment. She might listen to me then, + before she had had time to think. Later I knew she would not. + </p> + <p> + “I knew you were here,” I broke in, quickly. “I—we—your aunt + knew and we came.” + </p> + <p> + “But HOW did you know? Who told you?” + </p> + <p> + “The—we learned,” I answered. “And we came.” + </p> + <p> + It was a poor explanation—or none at all. She seemed to think it so. + And yet she seemed more hurt than offended. + </p> + <p> + “You came—yes,” she said. “And you knew that I left Paris because—Oh, + you knew that! I asked you not to follow me. You promised you would not.” + </p> + <p> + I was ashamed, thoroughly ashamed and disgusted with myself for yielding + to Hephzy's entreaties. + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” I protested, “I did not promise. I did not promise, Frances.” + </p> + <p> + “But you know I did not wish you to do it. I did not wish you to follow me + to Paris, but you did it. I told you you would force me to give up my only + means of earning money. You did force me to give it up. I gave it up to + please you, for your sake, and now—” + </p> + <p> + “Did you?” I cried, eagerly. “Did you give it up for my sake, Frances? Did + you?” + </p> + <p> + “You know I did. You must know it. And now that I have done it, now that I + have given up my opportunity and my—my self-respect and my one + chance and come here to this—to this place, you—you—Oh, + how could you! Wasn't I unhappy enough before? And unhappy enough now? Oh, + how could you!” + </p> + <p> + I was more ashamed than ever. I tried desperately to justify my action. + </p> + <p> + “But that was it,” I persisted. “Don't you see? It was your happiness, the + thought that you were unhappy which brought me here. I know—you told + your aunt how unhappy you had been when you were with these people before. + I know how much you disliked them. That was why I came. To ask you to give + this up as you did the other. To come with us and BE happy. I want you to + come, Frances. Think! Think how much I must want you.” + </p> + <p> + And, for the moment I thought this appeal had some effect. It seemed to me + that her resolution was shaken, that she was wavering. + </p> + <p> + “You—you really want me?” she repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Yes, I can't tell you—I must not tell you how much I want you. + And your aunt—she wants you to come. She is here, too. She will tell + you.” + </p> + <p> + Her manner changed once more. The tone in which she spoke was different. + There were no signs of the wavering which I had noticed—or hoped I + noticed. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she said. “No. I shall not see my aunt. And I must not talk with you + any longer. I asked you not to follow me here. You did it, in spite of my + asking. Now, unless you wish to drive me away from here, as you did from + Paris, you will leave me and not try to see me again. Oh, don't you see—CAN'T + you see how miserable you are making me? And yet you talk of my + happiness!” + </p> + <p> + “But you aren't happy here. ARE you happy?” + </p> + <p> + “I am happy enough. Yes, I am happy.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe it. Are these Crippses kind to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + I didn't believe that, either, but I did not say so. Instead I said what I + had determined to say, the same thing that I should have said before, in + Mayberry and in Paris—if I could have mustered the courage and + decency to say it. + </p> + <p> + “Frances,” I said, “there is something else, something which may have a + bearing on your happiness, or may not, I don't know. The night before you + left us, at Mayberry, Herbert Bayliss came to me and asked my permission + to marry you, if you were willing. He thought you were my niece—then. + I said that—I said that, although of course I had no shadow of + authority over you, I did care for your happiness. I cared for that a + great deal. If you loved him I should certainly—” + </p> + <p> + “I see,” she broke in, scornfully. “I see. He told you I was here. That is + why you came. Did he send you to me to say—what you are trying to + say?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, no! You are mistaken. You wrong him, Frances. He did not do that. + He's not that sort. He's a good fellow, an honorable man. And he does care + for you. I know it. He cares greatly. He would, I am sure, make you a good + husband, and if you care for him, he would do his best to make you happy, + I—” + </p> + <p> + Again she interrupted. “One moment,” she said, “Let me understand. Are you + urging me to marry Herbert Bayliss?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I am not urging you, of course. But if you do care for him—” + </p> + <p> + “I do not.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you don't love him?” + </p> + <p> + I wonder if there was relief in my tone. There should not have been, of + course, but I fear there was. + </p> + <p> + “No, I do not—love him. He is a gentleman and I like him well + enough, but not in that way. Please don't say any more.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well. I only meant—Tell me this, if you will: Is there someone + you do care for?” + </p> + <p> + She did not answer. I had offended her again. She had cause to be + offended. What business was it of mine? + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” I said, humbly. “I should not have asked that. I have + no right to ask it. But if there is someone for whom you care in that way + and he cares for you, it—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don't, don't! He doesn't.” + </p> + <p> + “Then there is someone?” + </p> + <p> + She was silent. I tried to speak like a man, like the man I was pretending + to be. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad to know it,” I said. “If you care for him he must care for you. + He cannot help it. I am sure you will be happy by and by. I can leave you + here now with more—with less reluctance. I—” + </p> + <p> + I could not trust myself to go on, although I tried to do so. She + answered, without looking at me. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, “you can leave me now. I am safe and—and happy. + Good-by.” + </p> + <p> + I took her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Good-by,” I said. “Forgive me for coming. I shall not trouble you again. + This time I promise. You may not wish to write us, but we shall write you. + And I—I hope you won't forget us.” + </p> + <p> + It was a lame conclusion and trite enough. She must have thought so. + </p> + <p> + “I shall not forget you,” she said, simply. “And I will try to write + occasionally. Yes, I will try. Now please go. Good-by.” + </p> + <p> + I went, without looking back. I strode along the paths, scarcely noticing + where I was going. As I neared the corner of the house I heard voices, + loud voices. One of them, though it was not as loud as the others, was + Hephzy's. + </p> + <p> + “I knew it,” she was saying, as I turned the corner. “I knew it. I knew + there was some reason, some mean selfish reason why you were willin' to + take that girl under your wing. I knew it wasn't kind-heartedness and + relationship. I knew it.” + </p> + <p> + It was Solomon Cripps who answered. Mr. and Mrs. Cripps, arrayed in their + Sabbath black and white, were standing by the door of their villa. Hephzy + was standing before them. Her face was set and determined and she looked + highly indignant. Mr. Cripps' face was red and frowning and he + gesticulated with a red hand, which clasped a Testament. His English was + by no means as pure and undefiled as when he had endeavored to persuade us + into hiring “Ash Clump.” + </p> + <p> + “Look 'ere,” he snarled. “Don't you talk to me like that. Don't you + suppose I know what I'm doing. You Yankees may be clever at your tricks, + but you can't trick me. Don't I know about the money you stole from 'er + father? Don't I, eh? You can tell 'er your lies about it being stolen by + someone else, but I can see a 'ole through a millstone. You can't trick + me, I tell you. They're giving that girl a good 'ome and care and all + that, but we're goin' to see she 'as 'er rights. You've filled 'er silly + 'ead with your stories. You've made 'er think you're all that's good and—” + </p> + <p> + I was at hand by this time. + </p> + <p> + “What's all this, Hephzy?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + Before Hephzy could reply Mrs. Cripps spoke. + </p> + <p> + “It's him!” she cried, seizing her husband's arm with one hand and + pointing at me with the other. “It's him,” she cried, venomously. “He's + here, too.” + </p> + <p> + The sight of me appeared to upset what little self-control Mr. Cripps had + left. + </p> + <p> + “You!” he shouted, “I might 'ave known you were 'ere. You're the one + that's done it. You're responsible. Filling her silly 'ead with lies about + your goodness and all that. Making her fall in love with you and—” + </p> + <p> + I sprang forward. + </p> + <p> + “WHAT?” I cried. “What are you saying?” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy was frightened. + </p> + <p> + “Hosy,” she cried, “don't look so. Don't! You frighten me.” + </p> + <p> + I scarcely heard her. + </p> + <p> + “WHAT did you say?” I demanded, addressing Cripps, who shrank back, rather + alarmed apparently. “Why, you scoundrel! What do you mean by saying that? + Speak up! What do you mean by it?” + </p> + <p> + If Mr. Cripps was alarmed his wife was not. She stepped forward and faced + me defiantly. + </p> + <p> + “He means just what he says,” she declared, her shrill voice quivering + with vindictive spite. “And you know what he means perfectly well. You + ought to be ashamed of yourself, a man as old as you and she an innocent + young girl! You've hypnotized her—that is what you've done, + hypnotized her. All those ridiculous stories about her having no money she + believes because you told them to her. She would believe the moon was made + of green cheese if you said so. She's mad about you—the poor little + fool! She won't hear a word against you—says you're the best, + noblest man in the world! You! Why she won't even deny that she's in love + with you; she was brazen enough to tell me she was proud of it. Oh.... + Stop! Where are you going? Solomon, stop him!” + </p> + <p> + Solomon did not stop me. I am very glad he didn't try. No one could have + stopped me then. I was on my way back along the garden path, and if I did + not keep to that path, but plunged ruthlessly through flower beds and + shrubbery I did not care, nor do I care now. + </p> + <p> + She was sitting on the rustic seat where I had left her. There were tears + on her cheeks. She had heard me coming—a deaf person would have + heard that—and she rose as I burst into view. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” she cried, in alarm. “Oh, what is it?” + </p> + <p> + At the sight of her I paused. I had not meant to pause; I had intended to + take her in my arms, to ask her if what I had just heard was true, to make + her answer me. But now, as she stood there before me, so young, so + girlish, so beautiful, the hopeless idiocy of the thing struck me with + overwhelming force. It WAS idiocy. It couldn't be true. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” she repeated. “Oh, Kent! what is the matter? Why did you + come back? What has happened?” + </p> + <p> + I stepped forward. True or false I must know. I must know then and there. + It was now or never for me. + </p> + <p> + “Frances,” I stammered, “I came back because—I—I have just + heard—Frances, you told me you loved someone—not Bayliss, but + someone else. Who is that someone?” + </p> + <p> + She had been pale. My sudden and unexpected appearance had frightened her. + Now as we faced each other, as I stood looking down into her face, I saw + the color rise and spread over that face from throat to brow. + </p> + <p> + “Who is it?” I repeated. + </p> + <p> + She drew back. + </p> + <p> + “I—I can't tell you,” she faltered. “You mustn't ask me.” + </p> + <p> + “But I do ask. You must tell me, Frances—Frances, it isn't—it + can't be that you love ME. Do you?” + </p> + <p> + She drew back still further. If there had been a way of escape I think she + would have taken it. But there was none. The thick shrubbery was behind + her and I was between her and the path. And I would not let her pass. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Frances, do you?” I repeated. “I never meant to ask you. I never + meant that you should know. I am so much older, and so—so unworthy—it + has seemed so hopeless and ridiculous. But I love you, Frances, I have + loved you from the very beginning, although at first I didn't realize it. + I—If you do—if you can—I—I—” + </p> + <p> + I faltered, hesitated, and stopped. She did not answer for a moment, a + long, long moment. Then: + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Knowles,” she said, “you surprise me. I didn't suspect—I didn't + think—” + </p> + <p> + I sighed. I had had my answer. Of course it was idiotic. I should have + known; I did know. + </p> + <p> + “I see,” I said. “I understand. Forgive me, please. I was a fool to even + think of such a thing. I didn't think it. I didn't dare until—until + just now. Then I was told—your cousin said—I might have known + he didn't mean what he said. But he said it and—and—” + </p> + <p> + “What did he say? Mr. Cripps, do you mean? What did he say?” + </p> + <p> + “He said—he said you—you cared for me—in that way. Of + course you don't—you can't. I know better. But for the moment I + dared to hope. I was crazy, of course. Forgive me, Frances.” + </p> + <p> + She looked up and then down again. + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing to forgive,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, there is. There is a great deal. An old—” + </p> + <p> + “Hush! hush, please. Don't speak like that. I—I thank you. I—you + mustn't suppose I am not grateful. I know you pity me. I know how generous + you are. But your pity—” + </p> + <p> + “It isn't pity. I should pity myself, if that were all. I love you + Frances, and I shall always love you. I am not ashamed of it. I shall have + that love to comfort me till I die. I am ashamed of having told you, of + troubling you again, that is all.” + </p> + <p> + I was turning away, but I heard her step beside me and felt her hand upon + my sleeve. I turned back again. She was looking me full in the face now + and her eyes were shining. + </p> + <p> + “What Mr. Cripps said was true,” she said. + </p> + <p> + I could not believe it. I did not believe it even then. + </p> + <p> + “True!” I repeated. “No, no! You don't mean—” + </p> + <p> + “I do mean it. I told him that I loved you.” + </p> + <p> + I don't know what more she would have said. I did not wait to hear. She + was in my arms at last and all England was whirling about me like a top. + </p> + <p> + “But you can't!” I found myself saying over and over. I must have said + other things before, but I don't remember them. “You can't! it is + impossible. You! marry an old fossil like me! Oh, Frances, are you sure? + Are you sure?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Kent,” softly, “I am sure.” + </p> + <p> + “But you can't love me. You are sure that your—You have no reason to + be grateful to me, but you have said you were, you know. You are sure you + are not doing this because—” + </p> + <p> + “I am sure. It is not because I am grateful.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear—think! Think what it means, I am—” + </p> + <p> + “I know what you are,” tenderly. “No one knows as well. But, Kent—Kent, + are YOU sure? It isn't pity for me?” + </p> + <p> + I think I convinced her that it was not pity. I know I tried. And I was + still trying when the sound of steps and voices on the other side of the + shrubbery caused us—or caused her; I doubt if I should have heard + anything except her voice just then—to start and exclaim: + </p> + <p> + “Someone is coming! Don't, dear, don't! Someone is coming.” + </p> + <p> + It was the Crippses who were coming, of course. Mr. and Mrs. Cripps and + Hephzy. They would have come sooner, I learned afterwards, but Hephzy had + prevented it. + </p> + <p> + Solomon's red face was redder still when he saw us together. And Mrs. + Cripps' mouth looked more like “a crack in a plate” than ever. + </p> + <p> + “So!” she exclaimed. “Here's where you are! I thought as much. And you—you + brazen creature!” + </p> + <p> + I objected strongly to “brazen creature” as a term applied to my future + wife. I intended saying so, but Mr. Cripps got ahead of me. + </p> + <p> + “You get off my grounds,” he blurted, waving his fist. “You get out of + 'ere now or I'll 'ave you put off. Do you 'ear?” + </p> + <p> + I should have answered him as he deserved to be answered, but Frances + would not let me. + </p> + <p> + “Don't, Kent,” she whispered. “Don't quarrel with him, please. He is + going, Mr. Cripps. We are going—now.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cripps fairly shrieked. “WE are going?” she repeated. “Do you mean + you are going with him?” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy joined in, but in a quite different tone. + </p> + <p> + “You are goin'?” she said, joyfully. “Oh, Frances, are you comin' with + us?” + </p> + <p> + It was my turn now and I rejoiced in the prospect. An entire brigade of + Crippses would not have daunted me then. I should have enjoyed defying + them all. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said I, “she is coming with us, Hephzy. Mr. Cripps, will you be + good enough to stand out of the way? Come, Frances.” + </p> + <p> + It is not worth while repeating what Mr. and Mrs. Cripps said. They said a + good deal, threatened all sorts of things, lawsuits among the rest. Hephzy + fired the last guns for our side. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” she retorted, impatiently. “I know you're goin' to sue. Go + ahead and sue and prosecute yourselves to death, if you want to. The + lawyers'll get their fees out of you, and that's some comfort—though + I shouldn't wonder if THEY had to sue to get even that. And I tell you + this: If you don't send Little Frank's—Miss Morley's trunks to + Mayberry inside of two days we'll come and get 'em and we'll come with the + sheriff and the police.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Cripps, standing by the gate, fell back upon her last line of + intrenchments, the line of piety. + </p> + <p> + “And to think,” she declared, with upturned eyes, “that this is the 'oly + Sabbath! Never mind, Solomon. The Lord will punish 'em. I shall pray to + Him not to curse them too hard.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy's retort was to the point. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't,” she said. “If I had been doin' what you two have been up to, + pretendin' to care for a young girl and offerin' to give her a home, and + all the time doin' it just because I thought I could squeeze money out of + her, I shouldn't trouble the Lord much. I wouldn't take the risk of + callin' His attention to me.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII + </h2> + <h3> + In Which the Pilgrimage Ends Where It Began + </h3> + <p> + We did not go to Mayberry that day. We went to London and to the hotel; + not Bancroft's, but the hotel where Hephzy and I had stayed the previous + night. It was Frances' wish that we should not go to Bancroft's. + </p> + <p> + “I don't think that I could go there, Kent,” she whispered to me, on the + train. “Mr. and Mrs Jameson were very kind, and I liked them so much, but—but + they would ask questions; they wouldn't understand. It would be hard to + make them understand. Don't you see, Kent?” + </p> + <p> + I saw perfectly. Considering that the Jamesons believed Miss Morley to be + my niece, it would indeed be hard to make them understand. I was not + inclined to try. I had had quite enough of the uncle and niece business. + </p> + <p> + So we went to the other hotel and if the clerk was surprised to see us + again so soon he said nothing about it. Perhaps he was not surprised. It + must take a good deal to surprise a hotel clerk. + </p> + <p> + On the train, in our compartment—a first-class compartment, you may + be sure; I would have hired the whole train if it had been necessary; + there was nothing too good or too expensive for us that afternoon—on + the train, discussing the ride to London, Hephzy did most of the talking. + I was too happy to talk much and Frances, sitting in her corner and + pretending to look out of the window, was silent also. I should have been + fearful that she was not happy, that she was already repenting her + rashness in promising to marry the Bayport “quahaug,” but occasionally she + looked at me, and, whenever she did, the wireless message our eyes + exchanged, sent that quahaug aloft on a flight through paradise. A flying + clam is an unusual specimen, I admit, but no other quahaug in this wide, + wide world had an excuse like mine for developing wings. + </p> + <p> + Hephzy did not appear to notice our silence. She chatted and laughed + continuously. We had not told her our secret—the great secret—and + if she suspected it she kept her suspicions to herself. Her chatter was a + curious mixture: triumph over the detached Crippses; joy because, after + all, “Little Frank” had consented to come with us, to live with us again; + and triumph over me because her dreams and presentiments had come true. + </p> + <p> + “I told you, Hosy,” she kept saying. “I told you! I said it would all come + out in the end. He wouldn't believe it, Frances. He said I was an old + lunatic and—” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't say anything of the kind,” I broke in. + </p> + <p> + “You said what amounted to that and I don't know as I blame you. But I + knew—I just KNEW he and I had been 'sent' on this course and that we—all + three of us—would make the right port in the end. And we have—we + have, haven't we, Frances?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Frances, simply. “We have, Auntie—” + </p> + <p> + “There! do you hear that, Hosy? Isn't it good to hear her call me 'Auntie' + again! Now I'm satisfied; or”—with a momentary hesitation—“pretty + nearly satisfied, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, then you're not quite satisfied, after all,” I observed. “What more + do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “I want just one thing more; just one, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + I believed I know what that one thing was, but I asked her. She shot a + look at me, a look of indignant meaning. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” she said, decidedly. “That's my affair. Oh, Ho!” with a + reminiscent chuckle, “how that Cripps woman did glare at me when I said + 'twas pretty risky her callin' the Almighty's attention to their doin's. I + hope it did her good. Maybe she'll think of it next time she goes to + chapel. But I suppose she won't. All such folks care for is money. They + wouldn't be so anxious to get to Heaven if they hadn't read about the + golden streets.” + </p> + <p> + That evening, at the hotel, Frances told us her story, the story of which + we had guessed a good deal, but of which she had told so little—how, + after her father's death, she had gone to live with the Crippses because, + as she thought, they wished her to do so from motives of generosity and + kindness. + </p> + <p> + “They are not really relatives of mine,” she said. “I am glad of that. + Mrs. Cripps married a cousin of my father's; he died and then she married + Mr. Cripps. After Father's death they wrote me a very kind letter, or I + thought it kind at the time. They said all sorts of kindly things, they + offered me a home, they said I should be like their own daughter. So, + having nowhere else to go, I went to them. I lived there nearly two years. + Oh, what a life it was! They are very churchly people, they call + themselves religious, but I don't. They pretend to be—perhaps they + think they are—good, very good. But they aren't—they aren't. + They are hard and cruel. Mr. Cripps owns several tenements where poor + people live. I have heard things from those people that—Oh, I can't + tell you! I ran away because I had learned what they really were.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy nodded. “What I can't understand,” she said, “is why they offered + you a home in the first place. It was because they thought you had money + comin' to you, that's plain enough now; but how did they know?” + </p> + <p> + Frances colored. “I'm afraid—I'm afraid Father must have written + them,” she said. “He needed money very much in his later years and he may + have written them asking—asking for loans and offering my + 'inheritance' as security. I think now that that was it. But I did not + think so then. And—and, Oh, Auntie, you mustn't think too harshly of + Father. He was very good to me, he really was. And DON'T you think he + believed—he had made himself believe—that there was money of + his there in America? I can't believe he—he would lie to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course he didn't lie,” said Hephzy, promptly. I could have hugged her + for saying it. “He was sick and—and sort of out of his head, poor + man, and I don't doubt he made himself believe all sorts of things. Of + course he didn't lie—to his own daughter. But why,” she added, + quickly, before Frances could ask another question, “did you go back to + those precious Cripps critters after you left Paris?” + </p> + <p> + Frances looked at me. “I thought it would please you,” she said, simply. + “I knew you didn't want me to sing in public. Kent had said he would be + happier if he knew I had given up that life and was among friends. And + they—they had called themselves my friends. When I went back to them + they welcomed me. Mr. Cripps called me his 'prodigal daughter,' and Mrs. + Cripps prayed over me. It wasn't until I told them I had no 'inheritance,' + except one of debt, that they began to show me what they really were. They + wouldn't believe it. They said you were trying to defraud me. It was + dreadful. I—I think I should have run away again if—if you had + not come.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we did come,” said Hephzy, cheerfully, “and I thank the good Lord + for it. Now we won't talk any more about THAT.” + </p> + <p> + She left us alone soon afterward, going to my room—we were in hers, + hers and Frances'—to unpack my trunk once more. She wouldn't hear of + my unpacking it. When she was gone Frances turned to me. + </p> + <p> + “You—you haven't told her,” she faltered. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said I, “not yet. I wanted to speak with you first. I can't believe + it is true. Or, if it is, that it is right. Oh, my dear, do you realize + what you are doing? I am—I am ever so much older than you. I am not + worthy of you. You could have made a so much better marriage.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at me. She was smiling, but there was a tiny wrinkle between + her brows. + </p> + <p> + “Meaning,” she said, “I suppose, that I might have married Doctor Bayliss. + I might perhaps marry him even yet, if I wished. I—I think he would + have me, if I threw myself at his head.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I admitted, grudgingly. “Yes, he loves you, Frances.” + </p> + <p> + “Kent, when we were there in Mayberry it seemed to me that my aunt and you + were almost anxious that I should marry him. It seemed to me that you took + every opportunity to throw me in his way; you refused my invitations for + golf and tennis and suggested that I play with him instead. It used to + annoy me. I resented it. I thought you were eager to get rid of me. I did + not know then the truth about Father and—and the money. And I + thought you hoped I might marry him and—and not trouble you any + more. But I think I understand now. You—you did not care for me so + much then. Was that it?” + </p> + <p> + I shook my head. “Care for you!” I repeated. “I cared for you so much that + I did not dare trust myself with you. I did not dare to think of you, and + yet I could think of no one else. I know now that I fell in love with you + when I first met you at that horrible Briggs woman's lodging-house. Don't + you see? That was the very reason why. Don't you see?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm afraid I don't quite see. If you cared for me like that how could + you be willing for me to marry him? That is what puzzles me. I don't + understand it.” + </p> + <p> + “It was because I did care for you. It was because I cared so much, I + wanted you to be happy. I never dreamed that you could care for an old, + staid, broken-down bookworm like me. It wasn't thinkable. I can scarcely + think it now. Oh, Frances, are you SURE you are not making a mistake? Are + you sure it isn't gratitude which makes you—” + </p> + <p> + She rose from her chair and came to me. Her eyes were wet, but there was a + light in them like the sunlight behind a summer shower. + </p> + <p> + “Don't, please don't!” she begged. “And caring for me like that you could + still come to me as you did this morning and suggest my marrying him.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, I came because—because I knew he loved you and I thought + that you might not know it. And if you did know it I thought—perhaps—you + might be happier and—” + </p> + <p> + I faltered and stopped. She was standing beside me, looking up into my + face. + </p> + <p> + “I did know it,” she said. “He told me, there in Paris. And I told him—” + </p> + <p> + “You told him—?” + </p> + <p> + “I told him that I liked him; I do, I do; he is a good man. But I told him—” + she rose on tiptoe and kissed me—“I told him that I loved you, dear. + See! here is the pin you gave me. It is the one thing I could not leave + behind when I ran away from Mayberry. I meant to keep that always—and + I always shall.” + </p> + <p> + After a time we remembered Hephzy. It would be more truthful to say that + Frances remembered her. I had forgotten Hephzy altogether, I am ashamed to + say. + </p> + <p> + “Kent,” she said; “don't you think we should tell Auntie now? She will be + pleased, I hope.” + </p> + <p> + “Pleased! She will be—I can't think of a word to describe it. She + loves you, too, dear.” + </p> + <p> + “I know. I hope she will love me more now. She worships you, Kent.” + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid she does. She doesn't realize what a tinsel god I am. And I + fear you don't either. I am not a great man. I am not even a famous + author. I—Are you SURE, Frances?” + </p> + <p> + She laughed lightly. “Kent,” she whispered, “what was it Doctor Bayliss + called you when you offered to promise not to follow me to Leatherhead?” + </p> + <p> + I had told her the whole story of my last interview with Bayliss at the + Continental. + </p> + <p> + “He called me a silly ass,” I answered promptly. “I don't care.” + </p> + <p> + “Neither do I; but don't you think you are one, just a little bit of one, + in some things? You mustn't ask me if I am sure again. Come! we will go to + Auntie.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy had finished unpacking my trunk and was standing by the closet + door, shaking the wrinkles out of my dinner coat. She heard us enter and + turned. + </p> + <p> + “I never saw clothes in such a mess in my life,” she announced. “And I + packed this trunk, too. I guess the trembles in my head must have got into + my fingers when I did it. I—” + </p> + <p> + She stopped at the beginning of the sentence. I had taken Frances by the + hand and led her up to where she was standing. Hephzy said nothing, she + stood there and stared at us, but the coat fell to the floor. + </p> + <p> + “Hephzy,” said I, “I've come to make an apology. I believe in dreams and + presentiments and Spiritualism and all the rest of it now. You were right. + Our pilgrimage has ended just as you declared it would. I know now that we + were 'sent' upon it. Frances has said—” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy didn't wait to hear any more. She threw her arms about Frances' + neck, then about mine, hugged us both, and then, to my utter astonishment, + sat down upon the closed trunk and burst into tears. When we tried to + comfort her she waved us away. + </p> + <p> + “Don't touch me,” she commanded. “Don't say anything to me. Just let me + be. I've done all kinds of loony things in my life and this attack is just + natural, that's all. I—I'll get over it in a minute. There!” rising + and dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief, “I'm over it now. Hosy + Knowles, I've cried about a million times since—since that awful + mornin' in Mayberry. You didn't know it, but I have. I'm through now. I'm + never goin' to cry any more. I'm goin' to laugh! I'm going to sing! I + declare if you don't grab me and hold me down I shall dance! Oh, Oh, OH! + I'm so glad! I'm so glad!” + </p> + <p> + We sat up until the early morning hours, talking and planning. We were to + go back to America as soon as we could secure passage; upon that we all + agreed in the end. I was the only one who hesitated. I had a vague feeling + of uneasiness, a dread, that Frances might not wish it, that her saying + she would love to go was merely to please me. I remembered how she had + hated America and Americans, or professed to hate them, in the days of our + first acquaintanceship. I thought of quiet, sleepy, humdrum old Bayport + and the fear that she might be disappointed when she saw it, that she + might be lonely and unhappy there, was strong. So when Hephzy talked of + our going straight to the steamship offices next day I demurred. I + suggested a Continental trip, to Switzerland, to the Mediterranean—anywhere. + I forgot that my means were limited, that I had been idle for longer than + I should have been, and that I absolutely must work soon. I forgot + everything, and talked, as Hephzy said afterward, “regardless, like a + whole kerosene oil company.” + </p> + <p> + But, to my surprise, it was Frances herself who was most insistent upon + our going to America. She wanted to go, she said. Of course she did not + mean to be selfish, and if Auntie and I really wished to go to the + Continent or remain in England she would be quite content. + </p> + <p> + “But, Oh Kent,” she said, “if you are suggesting all this merely because + you think I will like it, please don't. I have lived in France and I have + been very unhappy there. I have been happier here in England, but I have + been unhappy here, too. I have no friends here now. I have no friends + anywhere except you. I know you both want to see your home again—you + must. And—and your home will be mine now.” + </p> + <p> + So we decided to sail for America, and that without delay. And the next + morning, before breakfast, Hephzy came to my room with another suggestion. + </p> + <p> + “Hosy,” she said, “I've been thinkin'. All our things, or most of 'em, are + at Mayberry. Somebody's got to go there, of course, to pack up and make + arrangements for our leavin'. She—Frances, I mean—would go, + too, if we asked her, I suppose likely; she'd do anything you asked, now. + But it would be awful hard for her. She'd meet all the people she used to + know there and they wouldn't understand and 'twould be hard to explain. + The Baylisses know the real truth, but the rest of 'em don't. You'd have + all that niece and uncle mess again, and I don't suppose you want any more + of THAT.” + </p> + <p> + “I should say I didn't!” I exclaimed, fervently. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that's the way it seemed to me. So she hadn't ought to go to + Mayberry. And we can't leave her here alone in London. She'd be lonesome, + for one thing, and those everlastin' Crippses might find out where she + was, for another. It may be that that Solomon and his wife will let her go + and say nothin', but I doubt it. So long as they think she's got a cent + comin' to her they'll pester her in every way they can, I believe. That + woman's nose can smell money as far as a cat can smell fish. No, we can't + leave Little Frank here alone. Of course, I might stay with her and you + might go by yourself, but—” + </p> + <p> + This way out of the difficulty had occurred to me; so when she seemed to + hesitate, I asked: “But what?” + </p> + <p> + “But it won't be very pleasant for you in Mayberry. You'd have + considerable explainin' to do. And, more'n that, Hosy, there's all that + packin' up to do and I've seen you try to pack a trunk too often before. + You're just as likely to pack a flat-iron on top of a lookin' glass as to + do the other thing. No, I'm the one to go to Mayberry. I must go by myself + and you must stay here in London with her.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't do that, Hephzy,” I said. “How could I?” + </p> + <p> + “You couldn't, as things are, of course. But if they were different. If + she was your wife you could. And then if that Solomon thing came you could—” + </p> + <p> + I interrupted. “My wife!” I repeated. “Hephzy, what are you talking about? + Do you mean—” + </p> + <p> + “I mean that you and she might be married right off, to-day perhaps. Then + everything would be all right.” + </p> + <p> + I stared at her. + </p> + <p> + “But—but she wouldn't consent,” I stammered. “It is impossible. She + wouldn't think of such a thing.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy nodded. “Oh, yes, she would,” she said. “She is thinkin' of it now. + She and I have just had a long talk. She's a sensible girl, Hosy, and she + listened to reason. If she was sure that you wanted to marry her so soon + she—” + </p> + <p> + “Wanted to!” I cried. “Hephzy!” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy nodded again. “Then that's settled,” she said. “It's a big + disappointment to me, I give in. I'd set my heart on your bein' married at + our meetin'-house in Bayport, with Mr. Partridge to do the marryin', and a + weddin' reception at our house and—and everything. But I guess this + is the best, and I know it's the most sensible. But, Oh Hosy, there's one + thing I can't give up. I want you to be married at the American + Ambassador's or somewhere like it and by an American minister. I sha'n't + feel safe if it's done anywhere else and by a foreigner, even if he's + English, which don't seem foreign to me at all any more. No, he's got to + be an American and—and, Oh, Hosy! DO try to get a Methodist.” + </p> + <p> + I couldn't get a Methodist, but by consulting the hotel register I found + an American clergyman, a Congregationalist, who was a fine fellow and + consented to perform the ceremony. And, if we were not married at the + American Embassy, we were at the rooms of the London consul, whom + Matthews, at the Camford Street office, knew and who was another splendid + chap and glad to oblige a fellow-countryman, particularly after seeing the + lady he was to marry. + </p> + <p> + The consul and his wife and Hephzy were our only witnesses. Frances' + wedding gown was not new, but it was very becoming—the consul's wife + said so, and she should know. Also she said she had never seen a sweeter + or more beautiful bride. No one said anything concerning the bridegroom's + appearance, but he did not care. It was a drizzly, foggy day, but that + made no difference. A Kansas cyclone and a Bayport no'theaster combined + could not have cast a damper on that day. + </p> + <p> + When it was over, Hephzy, who had been heroically struggling to keep her + vow not to shed another tear during our pilgrimage, hugged us both. + </p> + <p> + “I—I—” she faltered, “I—I can't say it, but you know how + I feel. There's nothin' I sha'n't believe after this. I used to believe + I'd never travel, but I have. And there in Mayberry I believed I'd never + be happy again, but I am. HAPPY! hap—hap—Oh dear! WHAT a fool + I am! I ca—I can't help it! I expect I look like the most miserable + thing on earth, but that's because I AM so happy. God bless you both! Now—now + don't so much as look at me for a few minutes.” + </p> + <p> + That afternoon she left for Mayberry to do the “packing up” and my wife + and I were alone—and together. + </p> + <p> + I saw London again during the next few days. We rode on the tops of + busses, we visited Kew Gardens and Hampton Court and Windsor. We took long + trips up and down the Thames on the little steamers. Frances called them + our honeymoon trips. The time flew by. Then I received a note from Hephzy + that the “packing up” was finished at last and that she was returning to + London. + </p> + <p> + It was raining hard, the morning of her arrival, and I went alone to meet + her at the railway station. I was early there and, as I was walking up, + awaiting the train, I heard someone speak my name. I turned and there, + immaculate, serene and debonair as ever, was A. Carleton Heathcroft. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Knowles,” he said, cheerfully. “Thought it was you. Haven't seen you + of late. Missed you at Burgleston, on the course. How are you?” + </p> + <p> + I told him I was quite well, and inquired concerning his own health. + </p> + <p> + “Topping,” he replied. “Rotten weather, eh—what? And how's Miss—Oh, + dear me, always forget the name! The eccentric aunt who is so intensely + patriotic and American—How is she?” + </p> + <p> + “She is well, too,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't think of her being ill, somehow,” he observed. “And where have + you been, may I ask?” + </p> + <p> + I said I had been on the Continent for a short stay. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes! I remember now. Someone said you had gone. That reminds me: Did + you go to Paris? Did you see the girl who sang at the Abbey—the one + I told you of, who looked so like that pretty niece of yours? Hope you + did. The resemblance was quite extraordinary. Did you see her?” + </p> + <p> + I dodged the question. I asked him what he had been doing since the day of + the golf tournament. + </p> + <p> + “I—Oh, by Jove!” he exclaimed, “now I am going to surprise you. I + have been getting ready to take the fatal step. I'm going to be married.” + </p> + <p> + “Married!” I repeated. “Really? The—the Warwickshire young lady, I + presume.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. How did you know of her?” + </p> + <p> + “Your aunt—Lady Carey—mentioned that your—your + affections were somewhat engaged in that quarter.” + </p> + <p> + “Did she? Really! Yes, she would mention it, I suppose. She mentions it to + everybody; it's a sort of hobby of hers, like my humble self, and the + roses. She has been more insistent of late and at last I consented to + oblige her. Do you know, Knowles, I think she was rather fearful that I + might be smitten by your Miss Morley. Shared your fears, eh?” + </p> + <p> + I smiled, but I said nothing. A train which I believed to be the one upon + which Hephzy was expected, was drawing into the station. + </p> + <p> + “A remarkably attractive girl, your niece,” he went on. “Have you heard + from her?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said, absently. “I must say good-by, Heathcroft. That is the + train I have been waiting for.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, is it. Then, au revoir, Knowles. By the way, kindly remember me to + your niece when you see her, will you.” + </p> + <p> + “I will. But—” I could not resist the temptation; “but she isn't my + niece,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say! What? Not your niece? What is she then?” + </p> + <p> + “She is my wife—now,” I said. “Good-by, Mr. Heathcroft.” + </p> + <p> + I hurried away before he could do more than gasp. I think I shook even his + serene composure at last. + </p> + <p> + I told Hephzy about it as we rode to the hotel in the cab. + </p> + <p> + “It was silly, I suppose,” I said. “I told him on the spur of the moment. + I imagine all Mayberry, not to mention Burgleston Bogs, will have + something to talk about now. They expect almost anything of Americans, or + some of them do, but the marriage of an uncle and niece ought to be a + surprise, I should think.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy laughed. “The Baylisses will explain,” she said. “I told the old + doctor and his wife all about it. They were very much pleased, that was + plain enough. They knew she wasn't your niece and they'll tell the other + folks. That'll be all right, Hosy. Yes, Doctor and Mrs. Bayliss were + tickled almost to death. It stops all their worry about their son and + Frances, of course. He is in Switzerland now, poor chap. They'll write him + and he'll come home again by and by where he ought to be. And he'll forget + by and by, too. He's only a boy and he'll forget. So THAT'S all right. + </p> + <p> + “Everybody sent their love to you,” she went on. “The curates and the + Samsons and everybody. Mr. Cole and his wife are comin' back next week and + the servants'll take care of the rectory till they come. Everybody was so + glad to see me, and they're goin' to write and everything. I declare! I + felt real bad to leave 'em. They're SUCH nice people, these English folks. + Aren't they, Hosy.” + </p> + <p> + They were and are. I hope that some day I may have, in my own country, the + opportunity to repay a little of the hospitality and kindness that my + Mayberry friends bestowed on me in theirs. + </p> + <p> + We sailed for home two days later. A pleasant voyage it was, on a good + ship and with agreeable fellow-passengers. And, at last, one bright, + cloudless morning, a stiff breeze blowing and the green and white waves + leaping and tossing in the sunlight, we saw ahead of us a little speck—the + South Shoal lightship. Everyone crowded to the rail, of course. Hephzy + sighed, a sigh of pure happiness. + </p> + <p> + “Nantucket!” she said, reading the big letters on the side of the little + vessel. “Nantucket! Don't that sound like home, Hosy! Nantucket and Cape + Cod are next-door neighbors, as you might say! My! the air seems different + already. I believe I can almost smell the Bayport flats. Do you know what + I am goin' to do as soon as I get into my kitchen? After I've seen some of + my neighbors and the cat and the hens, of course. I'm going to make a clam + chowder. I've been just dyin' for a clam chowder ever since we left + England.” + </p> + <p> + And the next morning we landed at New York. Jim Campbell was at the wharf + to meet us. His handshake was a welcome home which was good to feel. He + welcomed Hephzy just as heartily. But I saw him looking at Frances with + curiosity and I flattered myself, admiration, and I chuckled as I thought + of the surprise which I was about to give him. It would be a surprise, + sure enough. I had written him nothing of the recent wonderful happenings + in Paris and in London, and I had sworn Matthews to secrecy likewise. No, + he did not know, he did not suspect, and I gloried in the opportunity + which was mine. + </p> + <p> + “Jim,” I said, “there is one member of our party whom you have not met. + Frances, you have heard me speak of Mr. Campbell very often. Here he is. + Jim, I have the pleasure of presenting you to Mrs. Knowles, my wife.” + </p> + <p> + Jim stood the shock remarkably well, considering. He gave me one glance, a + glance which expressed a portion of his feelings, and then he and Frances + shook hands. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Knowles,” he said, “I—you'll excuse my apparent lack of + intellect, but—but this husband of yours has—I've known him a + good while and I thought I had lost all capacity for surprise at anything + he might do, but—but I hadn't. I—I—Please don't mind me; + I'm really quite sane at times. I am very, very glad. May we shake hands + again?” + </p> + <p> + He insisted upon our breakfasting with him at a near-by hotel. When he and + I were alone together he seized my arm. + </p> + <p> + “Confound you!” he exclaimed. “You old chump! What do you mean by + springing this thing on me without a word of warning? I never was as + nearly knocked out in my life. What do you mean by it?” + </p> + <p> + I laughed. “It is all part of your prescription,” I said. “You told me I + should marry, you know. Do you approve of my selection?” + </p> + <p> + “Approve of it! Why, man, she's—she's wonderful. Approve of YOUR + selection! How about hers? You durned quahaug! How did you do it?” + </p> + <p> + I gave him a condensed and hurried resume of the whole story. He did not + interrupt once—a perfectly amazing feat for him—and when I had + finished he shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “It's no use,” he said. “I'm too good for the business I am in. I am + wasting my talents. <i>I</i> sent you over there. <i>I</i> told you to go. + <i>I</i> prescribed travel and a wife and all the rest. <i>I</i> did it. + I'm going to quit the publishing game. I'm going to set up as a + specialist, a brain specialist, for clams. And I'll use your face as a + testimonial: 'Kent Knowles, Quahaug. Before and After Taking.' Man, you + look ten years younger than you did when you went away.” + </p> + <p> + “You must not take all the credit,” I told him. “You forget Hephzy and her + dreams, the dream she told us about that day at Bayport. That dream has + come true; do you realize it?” + </p> + <p> + He nodded. “I admit it,” he said. “She is a better specialist than I. I + shall have to take her into partnership. 'Campbell and Cahoon. Prescribers + and Predictors. Authors Made Human.' I'll speak to her about it.” + </p> + <p> + As he said good-by to us at the Grand Central Station he asked me another + question. + </p> + <p> + “Kent,” he whispered, “what are you going to do now? What are you going to + do with her? Are you and she going back to Bayport to be Mr. and Mrs. + Quahaug? Is that your idea?” + </p> + <p> + I shook my head. “We're going back to Bayport,” I said, “but how long we + shall stay there I don't know. One thing you may be sure of, Jim; I shall + be a quahaug no more.” + </p> + <p> + He nodded. “I think you're right,” he declared. “She'll see to that, or I + miss my guess. No, my boy, your quahaug days are over. There's nothing of + the shellfish about her; she's a live woman, as well as a mighty pretty + one, and she cares enough about you to keep you awake and in the game. I + congratulate you, Kent, and I'm almost as happy as you are. Also I shall + play the optimist at our next directors' meeting; I see signs of a boom in + the literature factory. Go to it, my son. You have my blessing.” + </p> + <p> + We took the one o'clock train for Boston, remained there over night, and + left on the early morning “accommodation”—so called, I think, + because it accommodates the train hands—for Cape Cod. As we neared + Buzzard's Bay my spirits, which had been at topnotch, began to sink. When + the sand dunes of Barnstable harbor hove in sight they sank lower and + lower. It was October, the summer people, most of them, had gone, the + station platforms were almost deserted, the more pretentious cottages were + closed. The Cape looked bare and brown and wind-swept. I thought of the + English fields and hedges, of the verdant beauty of the Mayberry pastures. + What SORT of a place would she think this, the home to which I was + bringing her? + </p> + <p> + She had been very much excited and very much interested. New York, with + its sky-scrapers and trolleys, its electric signs and clean white + buildings, the latter so different from the grimy, gray dwellings and + shops of London, had been a wonderland to her. She had liked the Pullman + and the dining-car and the Boston hotel. But this, this was different. How + would she like sleepy, old Bayport and the people of Bayport. + </p> + <p> + Well, I should soon know. Even the morning “accommodation” reaches Bayport + some time or other. We were the only passengers to alight at the station, + and Elmer Snow, the station agent, and Gabe Lumley, who drives the depot + wagon, were the only ones to welcome us. Their welcome was hearty enough, + I admit. Gabe would have asked a hundred questions if I had answered the + first of the hundred, but he seemed strangely reluctant to answer those I + asked him. + </p> + <p> + Bayport was gettin' along first-rate, he told me. Tad Simpson's youngest + child had diphtheria, but was sittin' up now and the fish weirs had caught + consider'ble mackerel that summer. So much he was willing to say, but he + said little more. I asked how the house and garden were looking and he + cal'lated they were all right. Pumping Gabe Lumley was a new experience + for me. Ordinarily he doesn't need pumping. I could not understand it. I + saw Hephzy and he in consultation on the station platform and I wondered + if she had been able to get more news than I. + </p> + <p> + We rattled along the main road, up the hill by the Whittaker place—I + looked eagerly for a glimpse of Captain Cy himself, but I didn't see him—and + on until we reached our gate. Frances said very little during our progress + through the village. I did not dare speak to her; I was afraid of asking + her how she liked what she had seen of Bayport. And Hephzy, too, was + silent, although she kept her head out of the window most of the time. + </p> + <p> + But when the depot wagon entered the big gate and stopped before the side + door I felt that I must say something. I must not appear fearful or + uneasy. + </p> + <p> + “Here we are!” I cried, springing out and helping her and Hephzy to + alight. “Here we are at last. This is home, dear.” + </p> + <p> + And then the door opened and I saw that the dining-room was filled with + people, people whom I had known all my life. Mr. Partridge, the minister, + was there, and his wife, and Captain Whittaker and his wife, and the + Dimicks and the Salterses and more. Before I could recover from my + surprise Mr. Partridge stepped forward. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Knowles,” he said, “on this happy occasion it is our privilege to—” + </p> + <p> + But Captain Cy interrupted him. + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord!” he exclaimed, “don't make a speech to him now, Mr. Partridge. + Welcome home, Kent! We're all mighty glad to see you back again safe and + sound. And Hephzy, too. By the big dipper, Hephzy, the sight of you is + good for sore eyes! And I suppose this is your wife, Kent. Well, we—Hey! + I might have known Phoebe would get ahead of me.” + </p> + <p> + For Mrs. Whittaker and Frances were shaking hands. Others were crowding + forward to do so. And the table was set and there were flowers everywhere + and, in the background, was Susanna Wixon, grinning from ear to ear, with + the cat—our cat—who seemed the least happy of the party, in + her arms. + </p> + <p> + Hephzy had written Mrs. Whittaker from London, telling her of my marriage; + she had telegraphed from New York the day before, announcing the hour of + our return. And this was the result. + </p> + <p> + When it was all over and they had gone—they would not remain for + dinner, although we begged them to do so—when they had gone and + Hephzy had fled to the yard to inspect the hens, I turned to my wife. + </p> + <p> + “Frances,” I said, “this is home. Here is where Hephzy and I have lived + for so long. I—I hope you may be happy here. It is a rather crude + place, but—” + </p> + <p> + She came to me and put her arms about my neck. + </p> + <p> + “Don't, my dear, don't!” she said. “It is beautiful. It is home. And—and + you know I have never had a home, a real home before.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you like it?” I cried. “You really like it? It is so different from + England. The people—” + </p> + <p> + “They are dear, kind people. And they like you and respect you, Kent. How + could you say they didn't! I know I shall love them all.” + </p> + <p> + I made a dash for the kitchen. “Hephzy!” I shouted. “Hephzy! She does like + it. She likes Bayport and the people and everything.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy was just entering at the back door. She did not seem in the least + surprised. + </p> + <p> + “Of course she likes it,” she said, with decision. “How could anybody help + likin' Bayport?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX + </h2> + <h3> + Which Treats of Quahaugs in General + </h3> + <p> + Asaph Tidditt helped me to begin this long chronicle of a quahaug's + pilgrimage. Perhaps it is fitting that Asaph should end it. He dropped in + for a call the other afternoon and, as I had finished my day's “stunt” at + the desk, I assisted in entertaining him. Frances was in the sitting-room + also and Hephzy joined us soon afterward. Mr. Tidditt had stopped at the + post-office on his way down and he had the Boston morning paper in his + hand. Of course he was filled to the brim with war news. We discuss little + else in Bayport now; even the new baby at the parsonage has to play second + fiddle. + </p> + <p> + “My godfreys!” exclaimed Asaph, as soon as he sat down in the rocking + chair and put his cap on the floor beneath it. “My godfreys, but they're + havin' awful times over across, now ain't they. Killin' and fightin' and + battlin' and slaughterin'! It don't seem human to me somehow.” + </p> + <p> + “It is human, I'm afraid,” I said, with a sigh. “Altogether too human. + We're a poor lot, we, humans, after all. We pride ourselves on our + civilization, but after all, it takes very little to send us back to + savagery.” + </p> + <p> + “That's so,” said Asaph, with conviction. “That's true about everybody but + us folks in the United States. We are awful fortunate, we are. We ain't + savages. We was born in a free country, and we've been brought up right, I + declare! I beg your pardon, Mrs. Knowles; I forgot you wasn't born in + Bayport.” + </p> + <p> + Frances smiled. “No apology is needed, Mr. Tidditt,” she said. “I confess + to having been born a—savage.” + </p> + <p> + “But you're all right now,” said Asaph, hastily, trying to cover his slip. + “You're all right now. You're just as American as the rest of us. Kent, + suppose this war in Europe is goin' to hurt your trade any? It's goin' to + hurt a good many folks's. They tell me groceries and such like is goin' + way up. Lucky we've got fish and clams to depend on. Clams and quahaugs'll + keep us from starvin' for a spell. Oh,” with a chuckle, “speakin' of + quahaugs reminds me. Did you know they used to call your husband a + quahaug, Mrs. Knowles? That's what they used to call him round here—'The + Quahaug.' They called him that 'count of his keepin' inside his shell all + the time and not mixin' with folks, not toadyin' up to the summer crowd + and all. I always respected him for it. <i>I</i> don't toady to nobody + neither.” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy had come in by this time and now she took a part in the + conversation. + </p> + <p> + “They don't call him 'The Quahaug' any more,” she declared, indignantly. + “He's been out of his shell more and seen more than most of the folks in + this town.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it; I know it. And he's kept goin' ever since. Runnin' to New + York, he and you,” with a nod toward Frances, “and travelin' to Washin'ton + and Niagary Falls and all. Wonder to me how he does as much writin' as he + does. That last book of yours is sellin' first-rate, they tell me, Kent.” + </p> + <p> + He referred to the novel I began in Mayberry. I have rewritten and + finished it since, and it has had a surprising sale. The critics seem to + think I have achieved my first genuine success. + </p> + <p> + “What are you writin' now?” asked Asaph. “More of them yarns about pirates + and such? Land sakes! when I go by this house nights and see a light in + your library window there, Kent, and know you're pluggin' along amongst + all them adventures, I wonder how you can stand it. 'Twould give me the + shivers. Godfreys! the last time I read one of them yarns—that about + the 'Black Brig' 'twas—I hardly dast to go to bed. And I DIDN'T dast + to put out the light. I see a pirate in every corner, grittin' his teeth. + Writin' another of that kind, are you?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I said; “this one is quite different. You will have no trouble in + sleeping over this one, Ase.” + </p> + <p> + “That's a comfort. Got a little Bayport in it? Seems to me you ought to + put a little Bayport in, for a change.” + </p> + <p> + I smiled. “There is a little in this,” I answered. “A little at the + beginning, and, perhaps, at the end.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't say! You ain't got me in it, have you? I'd—I'd look kind + of funny in a book, wouldn't I?” + </p> + <p> + I laughed, but I did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “Not that I ain't seen things in my life,” went on Asaph, hopefully. “A + man can't be town clerk in a live town like this and not see things. But I + hope you won't put any more foreigners in. This we're readin' now,” + rapping the newspaper with his knuckles, “gives us all we want to know + about foreigners. Just savages, they be, as you say, and nothin' more. I + pity 'em.” + </p> + <p> + I laughed again. + </p> + <p> + “Asaph,” said I, “what would you say if I told you that the English and + French—yes, and the Germans, too, though I haven't seen them at home + as I have the others—were no more savages than we are?” + </p> + <p> + “I'd say you was crazy,” was the prompt answer. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm not. And you're not very complimentary. You're forgetting + again. You forget that I married one of those savages.” + </p> + <p> + Asaph was taken aback, but he recovered promptly, as he had before. + </p> + <p> + “She ain't any savage,” he announced. “Her mother was born right here in + Bayport. And she knows, just as I do, that Bayport's the best place in the + world; don't you, Mrs. Knowles?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Frances, “I am sure of it, Mr. Tidditt.” + </p> + <p> + So Asaph went away triumphantly happy. After he had gone I apologized for + him. + </p> + <p> + “He's a fair sample,” I said. “He is a quahaug, although he doesn't know + it. He is a certain type, an exaggerated type, of American.” + </p> + <p> + Frances smiled. “He's not much worse than I used to be,” she said. “I used + to call America an uncivilized country, you remember. I suppose I—and + Mr. Heathcroft—were exaggerated types of a certain kind of English. + We were English quahaugs, weren't we?” + </p> + <p> + Hephzy nodded. “We're all quahaugs,” she declared. “Most of us, anyhow. + That's the trouble with all the folks of all the nations; they stay in + their shells and they don't try to know and understand their neighbors. + Kent, you used to be a quahaug—a different kind of one—but + that kind, too. I was a quahaug afore I lived in Mayberry. That's who + makes wars like this dreadful one—quahaugs. We know better now—you + and Frances and I. We've found out that, down underneath, there's precious + little difference. Humans are humans.” + </p> + <p> + She paused and then, as a final summing up, added: + </p> + <p> + “I guess that's it: American or German or French or anything—nice + folks are nice folks anywhere.” + </p> + <p> + THE END <br /> <br /> + </p> + + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KENT KNOWLES: QUAHAUG ***</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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