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diff --git a/old/kkqua10.txt b/old/kkqua10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e84276f --- /dev/null +++ b/old/kkqua10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,16448 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Kent Knowles: Quahaug, by Joseph C. Lincoln +(#12 in our series by Joseph C. Lincoln) + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Kent Knowles: Quahaug + +Author: Joseph C. Lincoln + +Release Date: June, 2004 [EBook #5980] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on October 5, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, KENT KNOWLES: QUAHAUG *** + + + + +This eBook was produced by Don Lainson. + + + + +KENT KNOWLES: QUAHAUG + + +by + + +JOSEPH C. LINCOLN + + + +1914 + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER + +I. Which is not a chapter at all + +II. Which repeats, for the most part, what Jim Campbell said to me +and what I said to him + +III. Which, although it is largely family history, should not be +skipped by the reader + +IV. In which Hephzy and I and the Plutonia sail together + +V. In which we view, and even mingle slightly with, the upper +classes + +VI. In which we are received at Bancroft's Hotel and I receive a +letter + +VII. In which a dream becomes a reality + +VIII. In which the pilgrims become tenants + +IX. In which we make the acquaintance of Mayberry and a portion of +Burgleston Bogs + +X. In which I break all previous resolutions and make a new one + +XI. In which complications become more complicated + +XII. In which the truth is told at last + +XIII. In which Hephzy and I agree to live for each other + +XIV. In which I play golf and cross the channel + +XV. In which I learn that all abbeys are not churches + +XVI. In which I take my turn at playing the invalid + +XVII. In which I, as well as Mr. Solomon Cripps, am surprised + +XVIII. In which the pilgrimage ends where it began + +XIX. Which treats of quahaugs in general + + + + + +KENT KNOWLES: QUAHAUG + + + +CHAPTER I + +Which is Not a Chapter at All + + +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. + +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: + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +As for being young and handsome--well, I was thirty-eight years old +last March. Which is quite enough on THAT subject. + +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." + +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.'" + +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." + +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. + +"Asaph," said I, "when you start to spin a yarn how do you begin?" + +"Hey?" he exclaimed. "How do I begin? Why, I just heave to and go +to work and begin, that's all." + +"Yes, I know, but where do you begin?" + +"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?" + +"_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." + +"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--" + +"Just a minute, Ase. About that pig?" + +"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?" + +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. + + + +CHAPTER II + +Which Repeats, for the Most Part, What Jim Campbell Said to Me and +What I Said to Him + + +"Jim," said I, "what is the matter with me?" + +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. + +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. + +"Indigestion," he said. "You ate nine of those biscuits this +morning; I saw you." + +"I did not," I retorted, "because you saw them first. MY interior +is in its normal condition. As for yours--" + +"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." + +"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." + +He didn't like that. You see, I had sailed with him before and I +remembered. + +"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." + +"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?" + +He looked at me again. + +"Are you in earnest?" he asked. + +"I am, very much in earnest." + +"And you really want to talk shop after a breakfast like that and +on a morning like this?" + +"I do." + +"Was that why you asked me to come to Bayport and spend the week- +end?" + +"No-o. No, of course not." + +"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?" + +"It was not." + +"Then what was it? Aren't we paying you a large enough royalty?" + +"You are paying me a good deal larger one than I deserve. I don't +see why you do it." + +"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--" + +"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." + +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. + +"I don't know any such thing," he protested, hotly. "We sold--" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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. + +"Eight thousand more than the last isn't so bad, is it?" demanded +Jim Campbell combatively. + +"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." + +Jim's pipe had gone out. Now he relit it and tossed the match over +the veranda rail. + +"How do you know you can't?" he demanded. + +"Can't what?" + +"Can't write anything but slush?" + +"Ah ha! Then it is slush. You admit it." + +"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." + +"What's the matter with him; insomnia?" + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +He took his feet from the rail and hitched his chair about until he +faced me. + +"So you're not going to write any more," he said. + +"I'm not. I can't." + +"What are you going to do; live on back royalties and clams?" + +"I may have to live on the clams; my back royalties won't keep me +very long." + +"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?" + +"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." + +Jim snorted. "For Heaven's sake, Kent Knowles," he demanded, "how +old are you?" + +"I'm thirty-eight, according to the almanac, but--" + +"Thirty-eight! Why, Thackeray wrote--" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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. + +He smiled grimly. + +"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." + +"I am, but that doesn't help me a whole lot." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"All right. You've lived in Bayport ten years or so, I know that. +What have you done in all that time--besides write?" + +"Well, I've continued to live." + +"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?" + +"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--" + +"How about society? Have any, do you?" + +"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." + +"Heavens! what reckless dissipation! Do you indulge?" + +"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--" + +"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?" + +"Not much. I'm not often invited, to tell you the truth. The +summer crowd doesn't take kindly to me, I'm afraid." + +"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?" + +"Not often nowadays. You see, I know they don't really want me." + +"How do you know it?" + +"Why--well, why should they? Everybody else calls me--" + +"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." + +I rose to my feet in disgust. + +"We'll go clamming," said I. + +He did not move. + +"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?" + +"I don't know. A dozen, perhaps." + +"What did you do when you went?" + +"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--" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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--" + +"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." + +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. + +"Here! hold on!" I protested. "How about the rest of that +catechism?" + +"You've had it." + +"Were those all the questions you wanted to ask?" + +"Yes." + +"Humph! And that is all the advice and encouragement I'm to get +from you! How about those prescriptions you had up your sleeve?" + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"That doesn't make any difference. You ought to change your +clothes anyhow. Been out in that boat, haven't you?" + +"Yes, but--" + +"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." + +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. + +"Say, Kent" he demanded, "are you going to change your clothes?" + +"Yes." + +"Why? You're no wetter than I am, are you?" + +"Not a bit, but I'm going to change, just the same. It's the +easier way." + +"It is, is it! What's the other way?" + +"The other way is to keep on those you're wearing and take the +consequences." + +"What consequences?" + +"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." + +"But--but good heavens! Kent, do you mean to say you always have +to change when you come in from sailing?" + +"Except in summer, yes." + +"But why?" + +"Because Hephzy tells me to." + +"Do you always do what she tells you?" + +"Generally. It's the easiest way, as I said before." + +"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?" + +"Not exactly, but she probably would if I didn't do it." + +"Well, I'll be hanged! And she extends the same treatment to all +your guests?" + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Help yourself, Jim," I said, indicating the glasses. He took up +the one containing the mixture and regarded it hopefully. + +"What?" he asked. + +"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." + +He took a sniff and then a very small sip. His face expressed +genuine emotion. + +"Whew!" he gasped, choking. "What in blazes--?" + +"Jamaica ginger, sugar and hot water," I explained blandly. "It +won't hurt you--longer than five minutes. It is Hephzy's +invariable prescription." + +"Good Lord! Did you drink yours?" + +"No--I never do, unless she watches me." + +"But your glass is empty. What did you do with it?" + +"Emptied it behind the back log. Of course, if you prefer to drink +it--" + +"Drink it!" His "toddy" splashed the back log, causing a +tremendous sizzle. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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!" + +"Yes; but don't resurrect the family skeletons, Hephzy. Mr. +Campbell isn't interested in anatomy." + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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?" + +"Not often," was the solemn reply. "Most of my dream-authors are +rational and almost human." + +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. + +"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." + +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." + +Hephzibah laughed and said she guessed that was so, she hadn't +thought of it in that way. + +"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--" + +"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." + +"And who," asked Jim, as we sat smoking by the fire, "is Little +Frank?" + +"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." + +He looked puzzled, but he did not mention "Little Frank" again, for +which I was thankful. + +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: + +"That Whittaker is an interesting chap, isn't he?" + +"Yes," I said. "He is all right. Been everywhere and seen +everything." + +"And that," with an odd significance in his tone, "may possibly +help to make him interesting, don't you think?" + +"I suppose so. He lives here in Bayport now, though." + +"So I gathered. Popular, is he?" + +"Very." + +"Satisfied with life?" + +"Seems to be." + +"Hum! No one calls HIM a--what is it--quahaug?" + +"No, I'm the only human clam in this neighborhood." + +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. + +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: + +"Kent, I've got one of the answers to your conundrum. I've +diagnosed one of your troubles. You're blind." + +"Blind?" + +"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?" + +"Acquainted with! You're crazy, man. What am I acquainted with, +except this house, and myself and my books and--and Bayport?" + +"That's enough. Why, there is material in that gang at the post- +office to make a dozen books. Write about them." + +"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'?" + +"You might do worse. If the book were as funny as its hero I'd +undertake to sell a few copies." + +"Funny! _I_ couldn't write a funny book." + +"Not an intentionally funny one, you mean. But there! There's no +use to talk to you." + +"There is not, if you talk like an imbecile. Is this your +brilliant 'prescription'?" + +"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." + +"The dining-room? A story in the dining-room?" + +"Yes. Or it was there when we passed the door just now." + +I looked at him. He seemed to be serious, but I knew he was not. +I hate riddles. + +"Oh, go to blazes!" I retorted, and turned away. + +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. + +"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?" + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + +CHAPTER III + +Which, Although It Is Largely Family History, Should Not Be Skipped +by the Reader + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +In Philadelphia Ardelia met Strickland Morley. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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?" + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +She alone did not take the new skipper at his face value. + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"We shall miss you, Knowles," he observed. + +"Thank you, sir," said I. + +"I doubt if we ever have another bookkeeper just like you." + +I thanked him again, fighting down my blushes with heroic modesty. + +"Oh, I guess you can find one if you try," I said, lightly, wishing +to comfort him. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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?" + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +My fellow-clerks were surprised. Charlie Burns, head bookkeeper +now, and a married man and a father, was much concerned. + +"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?" + +"I am going to try," I said. + +"Great Scott! Why, you'll starve! All those fellows live in +garrets and starve to death, don't they?" + +"Not all," I told him. "Only real geniuses do that." + +He shook his head and his good-by was anything but cheerful. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +If the money was sent at once, he added, it might reach him in time +to prevent his yielding to despondency and committing suicide. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +We camped in the wing chairs and he lighted his cigar. Then, to my +astonishment, he rose and shut the door. + +"What did you do that for?" I asked. + +He came back to his chair. + +"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?" + +"I have been ready for it for some time," I retorted. "I began to +think you had forgotten it altogether." + +"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?" + +"I hear you." + +"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." + +"Dear! dear! hark to the voice of the oracle. And what is the +something worth while I am to think about; you?" + +"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." + +"You're wrong. I say I can't." + +"You will, though." + +"I won't. You can bet high on that." + +"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." + +He was serious now, serious enough even to suit me. But what he +had said did not suit me. + +"Don't talk nonsense, Jim," I said. "Don't you suppose I have +thought--" + +"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!" + +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. + +"Humph!" I grunted. "And so this is your wonderful prescription. +I am to travel, am I?" + +"You are. You can afford it, and I'll see that you do." + +"And just what port would you recommend?" + +"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?" + +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. + +"Sorry, Jim," I said, "but I'm afraid I can't take your +prescription." + +"Why not?" + +"For one reason because I don't want to." + +"That's no reason at all. It doesn't make any difference what you +want. Anything else?" + +"Yes. I would no more wander about creation all alone than--" + +"Take someone with you." + +"Who? Will you go, yourself?" + +He shook his head. + +"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--" + +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." + +He struck the chair arm with his fist. + +"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?" + +"No--o. No, but--" + +"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--" + +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. + +"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." + +"Stop! I've only begun. I'll stop when you start, and not before. +Will you go?" + +"I can't, Jim. You know I can't." + +"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?" + +"I can't, Jim. I would if I could, but--" + +"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?" + +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. + +"Why, yes, Jim," I said, doubtfully, "I promise so much, if that is +any satisfaction to you." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Hello, Kent," he hailed. "How are you?" + +"About the same as usual, Captain," I answered, shortly. + +"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?" + +"No. I haven't any news, good or bad." + +"That so? Then I'll give you some. Phoebe and I are going to +start for California to-morrow." + +"You are? To California? Why?" + +"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?" + +Was it as apparent as all that? I was indignant. + +"Do I look it?" I demanded. + +"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." + +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. + +"You believe in travel as a restorative, you do?" I asked. + +"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." + +"But you don't believe in traveling alone, do you?" + +"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." + +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. + +"Hello, Hosy," she said, "been up to the office, have you? Any +mail?" + +"Nothing much. Humph! Still reading that Raymond and Whitcomb +circular?" + +"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'." + +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-- + +"Hephzy," said I, suddenly, "would you really like to go abroad?" + +"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." + +"And you really want to go?" + +"Of course I do." + +"Then why haven't you gone? You could afford to take a moderate- +priced tour." + +Hephzy laughed over her knitting. + +"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_ shouldn't." + +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-- + +"Hephzy," I demanded, "would you go away--on a trip abroad--with +me?" + +She put down the knitting. + +"Hosy Knowles!" she exclaimed. "WHAT are you talkin' about?" + +"But would you?" + +"I presume likely I would, if I had the chance; but it isn't likely +that--where are you goin'?" + +I did not answer. I hurried out of the sitting-room and out of the +house. + +When I returned I found her still knitting. The circular lay on +the floor at her feet. She regarded me anxiously. + +"Hosy," she demanded, "where--" + +I interrupted. "Hephzy," said I, "I have been to the station to +send a telegram." + +"A telegram? A TELEGRAM! For mercy sakes, who's dead?" + +Telegrams in Bayport usually mean death or desperate illness. +I laughed. + +"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." + +Hephzibah turned pale. The partially knitted sock dropped beside +the circular. + +"Why--why--what--?" she gasped. + +"On a steamer leaving next week," I repeated. "You want to travel, +Hephzy. Jim says I must. So we'll travel together." + +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. + +"But I--I can't go, Hosy," declared Hephzibah. "I CAN'T. Who--who +would take care of the cat and the hens?" + + + +CHAPTER IV + +In Which Hephzy and I and the Plutonia Sail Together + + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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." + +"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." + +Josh Snow was Bayport's Homer, its only native poet. He wrote the +immortal ballad of the scallop industry, which begins: + + + "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." + + +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. + +"I shall not be ashamed of you, Hephzy," I repeated. "You know it +perfectly well. And I shall not go unless you go." + +"But I can't go, Hosy. I couldn't leave the hens and the cat. +They'd starve; you know they would." + +"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." + +"And I haven't got a single thing fit to wear." + +"Neither have I. We will buy complete fit-outs in Boston or New +York." + +"But--" + +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. + +"And you have said over and over again that your one desire was to +go abroad," I added, as a final clincher. + +"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." + +Jim's answer to my telegram arrived the very next day. + +"Have engaged two staterooms for ship sailing Wednesday the tenth," +it read. "Hearty congratulations on your good sense. Who is your +companion? Write particulars." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +I selected one of the papers and she another. We reached the same +conclusion simultaneously. + +"Why, it must be--" she began. + +"The Princess Eulalie," I finished. + +"It is the only one that sails on the tenth. There is one on the +eleventh, though." + +"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." + +"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." + +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." + +Hephzy nodded and then offered a solution. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Well, never mind. I'd rather go to Amsterdam than England. It's +nearer to France." + +I was surprised. "Nearer to France?" I repeated. "What difference +does that make? We don't know anyone in France." + +Hephzibah was plainly shocked. "Why, Hosy!" she protested. "Have +you forgotten Little Frank? He is in France somewhere, or he was +at last accounts." + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"And don't you give 'em any fish," ordered Hephzy. "I ate a +chicken once that had been fed on fish, and--my soul!" + +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. + +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_ talk to the Sunday school! I, the Quahaug! My knees +shook even at the thought. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"It'll be just lovely to know where you be and what you're doin," +she declared. + +When the train had started and we had waved the last good-bys from +the window Hephzibah expressed her opinion concerning Angeline's +request. + +"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." + +Her next remark was a surprising one. + +"Hosy," she said, "how much they all think of you, don't they. +Isn't it nice to know you're so popular." + +I turned in the seat to stare at her. + +"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." + +She did not resent my candor; she paid absolutely no attention to +it. + +"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." + +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. + +"It is marvelous how affection can be concealed," I observed, with +sarcasm. Hephzy was back at me like a flash. + +"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." + +It was useless to carry the argument further. When Hephzy begins +chanting my praises I find it easier to surrender--and change the +subject. + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +Hephzibah, who had been shopping on her own hook, did not return +until nearly seven. She returned weary and almost empty-handed. + +"But didn't you buy ANYTHING?" I asked. "Where in the world have +you been?" + +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. + +"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." + +"So you didn't buy the coat?" + +"BUY it? My soul Hosy, didn't I tell you it cost--" + +"I know. What else did you see that you didn't buy?" + +"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--" + +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. + +"Hephzy," said I, "you will go shopping again to-morrow morning and +I'll go with you." + +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. + +"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." + +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." + +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. + +"Books are the worse things goin' to make creases," she declared. +"They're all sharp edges." + +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. + +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. + +Hephzy called to me from the room adjoining mine at twelve that +night. + +"Just think, Hosy!" she cried, "this is the last night either of us +will spend on dry land." + +"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." + +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." + +"We shall be on the 'Princess Eulalie,'" I answered. "Go to +sleep." + +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." + +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. + +He was five minutes ahead of his promise. We shook hands heartily. + +"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?" + +"Come to my room and I'll show you," said I. "You may be +surprised." + +"See here! you haven't gone and dug up another fossilized bookworm +like yourself, have you? If you have, I refuse--" + +"Come and see." + +We took the elevator to the fourth floor and walked to my room. I +opened the door. + +"Hephzy," said I, "here is someone you know." + +Hephzy, who had been looking out of the window of her room, hurried +in. + +"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?" + +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. + +"Had we ought to start now?" repeated Hephzibah. "I'm all ready +but puttin' on my things." + +Jim came out of his trance. He dropped the hand and came to me. + +"Are you--is she--" he stammered. + +"Yes," said I. "Miss Cahoon is going with me. I wrote you I had +selected a good traveling companion. I have, haven't I?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Then you approve?" I asked. + +He shot a side-long glance at me. "Approve!" he repeated. "I'm +crazy about the whole business." + +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. + +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. + +"What time does the 'Princess Eulalie' sail?" I asked. + +He looked at me oddly. "What?" he queried. "The 'Princess +Eulalie'? Twelve o'clock, I believe, I'm not sure." + +"You're not sure! And it is after nine now. It strikes me that--" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +I started. Hephzy sprang from the chair. + +"Half-past twelve!" I cried. + +"Lunch together!" gasped Hephzy. "Why, Mr. Campbell! the 'Princess +Eulalie' sails at noon. You said so yourself!" + +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." + +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: + +"The 'Plutonia'! My soul and body! The 'Plutonia'! Me--ME on the +'Plutonia'!" + +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. + +"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--" + +Jim interrupted me. + +"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." + +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. + +"You imbecile!" I cried. "I have a good mind to throw the whole +thing up and go home to Bayport. By George, I will!" + +He continued to chuckle. + +"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." + +I didn't thank him then. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +When we came out of the theater Campbell reached down in the crowd +to shake my hand. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"Then you must not miss the chance. You must go, and go now." + +"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?" + +"Yes, and more than enough, even on the 'Plutonia.'" + +"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?" + +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." + +"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." + +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." + +"I don't. Good luck to you both--and good-by." + +A final handshake and he was gone. Hephzy looked after him. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +Hephzibah, too, had evidently been thinking, for she interrupted my +dismal meditations with a long sigh. I started and turned toward +her. + +"What's the matter?" I asked. + +"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--" + +I judged it high time to interrupt. + +"Come, Hephzy," said I. "It is half-past ten. We may as well +start at once." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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!" + +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." + +"No, Hephzy," said I; "I guess it is the right place. Come." + +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. + +"Lift this way! This way to the lift!" bawled a voice. + +"What's a lift?" whispered Hephzy, tremulously, "Hosy, what's a +lift?" + +"An elevator," I whispered in reply. + +"But we can't go on board a steamboat in an elevator, can we? +I never heard--" + +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. + +The large woman wriggled uneasily. + +"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?" + +As we emerged from the elevator Hephzy whispered again. + +"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." + +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. + +Hephzy gasped and stopped short. + +"It IS a mistake, Hosy!" she cried. "Where is the steamer?" + +I smiled. I felt almost as "green" and bewildered as she, but I +tried not to show my feelings. + +"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." + +Two hours later we leaned together over the rail and watched the +lights of New York grow fainter behind us. + +Hephzibah drew a deep breath. + +"It is so," she said. "It is really so. We ARE, aren't we, Hosy." + +"We are," said I. "There is no doubt of it." + +"I wonder what will happen to us before we see those lights again." + +"I wonder." + +"Do you think HE--Do you think Little Frank--" + +"Hephzy," I interrupted, "if we are going to bed at all before +morning, we had better start now." + +"All right, Hosy. But you mustn't say 'go to bed.' Say 'turn in.' +Everyone calls going to bed 'turning in' aboard a vessel." + + + +CHAPTER V + +In Which We View, and Even Mingle Slightly with, the Upper Classes + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"But what good are they, Hosy?" she demanded. "Can they see with +'em?" + +"I suppose they can," I answered. "You can see better with your +spectacles than you can without them." + +"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." + +I laughed. "Hephzy," said I, "every nation has its peculiarities +and the monocle is an English national institution, like--well, +like tea, for instance." + +"Institution! Don't talk to me about institutions! I know the +institution I'd put HIM in." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +I had not heard, and said so. + +"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?" + +"No," I replied. "What is it?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"In their berths, probably, at this hour," I answered. + +"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." + +I smiled. "I wouldn't do that, Hephzy," said I. "We can see them +at lunch." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Why--why, Hosy!" she exclaimed. "That isn't the lord, is it? +THAT?" + +"I suppose it must be," I answered. When our own Steward came I +asked him. + +"Yes, sir," he answered, with unction. "Yes, sir, that is Lord and +Lady Erkskine, sir, thank you, sir." + +Hephzy stared at Lord and Lady Erkskine. I gave our luncheon +order, and the steward departed. Then her indignant disgust and +disappointment burst forth. + +"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." + +Her criticisms were not confined to passengers of other +nationalities. Some of our own came in for comment quite as +severe. + +"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?" + +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. + +"What has she got that flag pinned on her for?" repeated Hephzy. + +"She wishes everyone to know she's an American exportation, I +suppose," I answered. "She is evidently proud of her country." + +"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." + +"She probably does." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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!" + +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. + +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." + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +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: + +"Five pounds." + +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. + +"Five pounds," repeated Mr. Heathcroft. + +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. + +"I say," he said, "that's running a bit high, isn't it?" + +"It seems so to me," I replied. "The number is five hundred and +eighty-six and I think we shall do better than that." + +"Oh, do you! Really! And why do you think so, may I ask?" + +"Because we are having a remarkably smooth sea and a favorable +wind." + +"Oh, but you forget the fog. There's quite a bit of fog about us +now, isn't there." + +I wish I could describe the Heathcroft manner of saying "Isn't +there." I can't, however; there is no use trying. + +"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." + +"Yes. But we did have extraordinarily good weather for that." + +"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." + +"Really! That's interesting. May I ask if you and the second +officer are friends?" + +"Scarcely that. He and I exchanged a few words on deck this +morning, that's all." + +"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!" + +I smiled. I could imagine the cross-questioning. + +"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." + +Mr. Heathcroft seemed very interested. He actually removed his +eyeglass. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"But six hundred would be--it would be the high field, by Jove!" + +"Anything over five hundred and ninety-four would be that. The +numbers are very low to-night. Far too low, I should say." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Will you?" he inquired. + +"No, thank you," I replied. "I will smoke a cigar, if you don't +mind." + +He did not appear to mind. He lighted his cigarette, readjusted +his monocle, and stared stonily at the gesticulating auctioneer. + +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. + +"Ten pounds," he called. + +I started. "For mercy sake, Mr. Heathcroft," I protested, "don't +let anything I have said influence your bidding. I may be entirely +wrong." + +He turned and surveyed me through the eyeglass. + +"You may wish to bid yourself," he drawled. "Careless of me. So +sorry. Shall I withdraw the bid?" + +"No, no. I'm not going to bid. I only--" + +"Eleven pounds I am offered, gentlemen," shouted the auctioneer. +"Eleven pounds! It would be like robbing an orphan asylum. Do I +hear twelve?" + +He heard twelve immediately--from Mr. Heathcroft. + +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. + +"Greatly obliged to you, I'm sure," drawled the fortunate bidder. +"Won't you join me in a whisky and soda or something?" + +I declined the whisky and soda. + +"Sorry," said Mr. Heathcroft. "Jolly grateful for putting me +right, Mr.--er--" + +"Knowles is my name," I said. He might have remembered it; I +remembered his perfectly. + +"Of course--Knowles. Thank you so much, Knowles. Thank you and +the second officer. Nothing like having professional information-- +eh, what? Rather!" + +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. + +"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." + +"I shall," I observed. "I feel responsible in a way and I shall be +sorry." + +"'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." + +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. + +Hephzibah looked at the gilt-topped bottle. + +"WHAT in the world will we do with it, Hosy?" she demanded. + +"Why, drink it, I suppose," I answered. "It is the only thing we +can do. We can't send it back." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"I believe your name is Knowles, sir," he said, raising his cap. + +"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? + +"Your home is in Bayport, Massachusetts, I see by the passenger +list," he went on. "Is that Bayport on Cape Cod, may I ask?" + +"Yes," I replied, more puzzled than ever. + +"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.'" + +"He was my father," I said. + +Captain Stone extended his hand. + +"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?" + +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. + +Captain Stone nodded solemnly. + +"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." + +Hephzy had a comment to make. + +"There are SOME pretty fair Yankees," she observed, drily. "ALL +the good folks haven't moved back to England yet." + +The captain solemnly assured her that he was certain of it. + +"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. + +"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." + +I looked at Hephzy. Her face expressed decided disapproval and she +shook her head. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"It's what I say, too," declared Hephzy, with emphasis. "Well, +it's awful encouraging for us, isn't it." + +"Encouraging? What do you mean?" + +"Why, I mean about Little Frank. It makes me feel surer than ever +that we shall run across him." + +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?" + +"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." + +"No, Hephzy," I admitted, resignedly, "I won't laugh then, I +promise you. If _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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +I laughed and informed him that writing was not one of Hephzibah's +bad habits. + +"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?" + +I explained the meaning of "scrimped." Heathcroft was much amused. + +"It WAS blowing a bit strong up forward there," he declared. "That +was a clever way of putting it, wasn't it?" + +"She is a clever woman," I said, shortly. + +Heathcroft did not enthuse. + +"Oh," he said dubiously. "A relative of yours, I suppose." + +"A cousin, that's all." + +"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?" + +"I attempt something in that line. I doubt if my efforts should be +called golf." + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +Evidently I rose again in his estimation. + +"Have you picked your hotel in London?" he inquired. + +"No. I shall be glad of any help you may be kind enough to give +along that line." + +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." + +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. + +The first bugle for luncheon sounded. Mr. Heathcroft turned to go. + +"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." + +He "toddled" and I sought my room to prepare for luncheon. + +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. + +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: + +"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?" + +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. + +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." + +"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!" + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +"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!" + +"It didn't hurt him," I said, reassuringly. "It was nothing but a +hat-box." + +"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'." + +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. + +"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." + +Hephzy looked at the sea and sky. It was plain that she wished to +admire, for his sake, but her admiration was qualified. + +"Don't you think if they were a little brighter and bluer they'd be +prettier?" she asked. + +Heathcroft stared at her through his monocle. + +"Bluer?" he repeated. "My dear woman, there are no skies as blue +as the English skies. They are quite celebrated--really." + +He sauntered on again, evidently disgusted at our lack of +appreciation. + +"He must be color-blind," I observed. Hephzy was more charitable. + +"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." + +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. + +Hephzibah looked about her. + +"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." + +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. + +Hephzy leaned back against the cushions with a sigh of supreme +content. + +"And now," said I, "for London. London! think of it, Hephzy!" + +Hephzy shook her head. + +"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." + + + +CHAPTER VI + +In Which We Are Received at Bancroft's Hotel and I Receive a Letter + + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +"Cab, sir. Yes, sir, thank you, sir," he said. "Leave that to me, +sir. Will you 'ave a fourwheeler or a hordinary cab, sir?" + +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. + +"Yes, sir; 'ere you are, sir. Your boxes are in the luggage van, +I suppose, sir." + +I took it for granted he meant my trunks and those were in what I, +in my ignorance, would have called a baggage car: + +"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." + +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. + +I found Hephzy waiting, outwardly calm, but inwardly excited. + +"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." + +"One--what?" I asked, puzzled. + +"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." + +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. + +"Where to, sir?" asked the driver. + +I hesitated. Even at this late date I had not made up my mind +exactly "where to." My decision was a hasty one. + +"Why--er--to--to Bancroft's Hotel," I said. "Blithe Street, just +off Piccadilly." + +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. + +"Yes, sir, thank you, sir," he said. The cab rolled out of the +station. + +"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." + +"No doubt they would." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"This can't be the place," said I. + +"This isn't a hotel, is it, Hosy?" asked Hephzy. + +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. + +"This is it, Hephzy," I said. "Come." + +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. + +"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. + +"Good evening," said I. "This is Bancroft's Hotel, is it not?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"I wish to secure rooms for this lady and myself, if possible." + +"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." + +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." + +"I will attend to that, sir. If you will be good enough to come +in, sir." + +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. + +"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. + +"I will speak to Mr. Jameson," he went on, with another bow. Then +he left us. + +"Is--is that Mr. Bancroft?" whispered Hephzy. + +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." + +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. + +"Do you wish a sitting-room?" he asked. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"Yes, sir," said Henry. "Himmediately, sir." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Do you mean to tell me," she demanded, "that that hussy was brazen +enough to march right in here before you got up?" + +"Yes," I said. "I am only thankful that I HADN'T got up." + +"Well! I must say! Did she fetch the water in a garden waterin'- +pot, same as she did to me?" + +"Just the same." + +"And did she pour it into that--that flat dishpan on the floor and +tell you your 'bawth' was ready?" + +"She did." + +"Humph! Of all the--I hope she cleared out THEN?" + +"She did." + +"That's a mercy, anyhow. Did you take a bath in that dishpan?" + +"I tried." + +"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?" + +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." + +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. + +"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_ wouldn't fetch and +carry for the President's wife, to say nothin' of an everyday body +like me, for two dollars a week." + +We learned that the hotel dining-room was a "Coffee Room." + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"What did you tell her?" I inquired. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +And now it was Hephzy's turn to be philosophical. + +"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." + +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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Hephzy was indignant. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"There are some American letters for you, sir," he said. "I was +about to send them to your hotel." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Inside was a sheet of thin foreign paper, both sides covered with +writing. I read the first line. + + +"Captain Barnabas Cahoon. + +"Sir: + +"You are my nearest relative, my mother's father, and I--" + + +"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: + + +"Captain Barnabas Cahoon. + +"Sir: + +"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. + +"Awaiting your reply, I am, sir, + +"Yours, + +"FRANCIS STRICKLAND MORLEY. + +"P. S. + +"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." + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"What is it, Mr. Knowles? No bad news, I trust, sir." + +"No," I answered, shortly. "Where is ---- Street? Is it far from +here?" + +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. + +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. + +---- 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. + +I paid my cabman, dismissed him, and rang the bell. A slouchy +maid-servant answered the ring. + +"Is Mr. Francis Morley in?" I asked. + +The maid looked at me. + +"Wat, sir?" she said. + +"Does Mr. Francis Morley live here?" I asked, raising my voice. +"Is he in?" + +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: + +"'Oo is it, 'Arriet? And w'at does 'e want?" + +The maid grinned. "'E wants to see MISTER Morley, ma'am," she +said, with a giggle. + +She was pushed aside and a red-faced woman, with thin lips and +scowl, took her place. + +"'OO do you want to see?" she demanded. + +"Francis Morley. Does he live here?" + +"'OO?" + +"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." + +"W'at do you want to see--to see Morley for?" demanded the red- +faced female. + +"On business. Is Mrs. Briggs in?" + +"I'm Mrs. Briggs." + +"Good! I'm glad of that. Now will you tell me if Mr. Morley is +in?" + +"There ain't no Mr. Morley. There's a--" + +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. + +"Who is it, Mrs. Briggs?" said this voice. "Does the gentleman +wish to see me?" + +"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." + +"But are you sure he doesn't mean Miss Morley? Ask him, please." + +Before the Briggs woman could reply I spoke again. + +"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--" + +There was another interruption, an exclamation from the darkness +behind Mrs. Briggs and the maid. + +"Oh!" said the third voice, with a little catch in it. "Who is it, +please? Who is it? What is the person's name?" + +Mrs. Briggs scowled at me. + +"Wat's your name?" she snapped. + +"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." + +There was a moment's silence. Then the third voice said: + +"Ask--ask him to come up. Show him up, Mrs. Briggs, if you +please." + +Mrs. Briggs grunted and stepped aside. I entered the hall. + +"First floor back," mumbled the landlady. "Straight as you go. +You won't need any showin'." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +She stepped forward and closed the door by which I had entered. +Then she turned and faced me. + +"You are an American," she said. + +"Yes, I am an American. I--" + +She interrupted me. + +"Do you--do you come from--from Bayport, Massachusetts?" she +faltered. + +I stared at her. "Why, yes," I admitted. "I do come from Bayport. +How in the world did you--" + +"Was the letter you speak of addressed to Captain Barnabas Cahoon?" + +"Yes." + +"Then--then there isn't any mistake. I wrote it." + +I imagine that my mouth opened as wide as the maid's had done. + +"You!" I exclaimed. "Why--why--it was written by Francis Morley-- +Francis Strickland Morley." + +"I am Frances Strickland Morley." + +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. + +"Why--why, no," I repeated, stupidly. "Francis Morley is the son +of Strickland Morley." + +"There was no son," impatiently. "I am Frances Morley, I tell you. +I am Strickland Morley's daughter. I wrote that letter." + +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. + +The real Little Frank was a girl. + + + +CHAPTER VII + +In Which a Dream Becomes a Reality + + +I said nothing immediately. I could not. It was "Little Frank" +who resumed the conversation. "Who are you?" she asked. + +"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?" + +"I asked you who you were." + +"My name is Knowles--Kent Knowles. I am Captain Cahoon's grand- +nephew." + +"His grand-nephew. Then--Did Captain Cahoon send you to me?" + +"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." + +"Then why did you come? You have my letter; you said so." + +"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." + +"Here in London! Then you did not come to London in answer to that +letter?" + +"No. My cousin and I--" + +"What cousin? What is his name?" + +"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!" + +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. + +"My aunt?" she repeated. "I didn't know--But--but, why is my--my +aunt here with you?" + +"We are on a pleasure trip. We--I beg your pardon. What have I +been thinking of? Don't stand. Please sit down." + +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. + +"Are you ill?" I asked involuntarily. + +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. + +"You have read my letter?" she asked. + +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. + +"Then what do you propose?" she asked. + +"Propose?" + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +I realized that I must say something, so I said the only thing +which occurred to me. It was a question. + +"Your father is dead?" I asked. + +She nodded. "My letter told you that," she answered. "He died in +Paris three years ago." + +"And--and had he no relatives here in England?" + +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." + +"Oh! Oh, I see," I said, feebly. + +"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." + +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. + +"Then you have been quite alone since his death?" I asked. + +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!" + +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. + +"You must understand," she repeated. "You MUST!" + +"Yes, yes," I said hastily. "I think I--I suppose I understand +your feelings. But--" + +"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!" + +This seemed personal enough, in spite of her protestations. + +"But you never met me before," I said, involuntarily. + +"You never knew of my existence." + +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!" + +"Your father told you--" I began. She burst out at me like a +flame. + +"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!" + +To my amazement and utter discomfort she sank into the chair and +burst into tears. I was completely demoralized. + +"Don't, Miss Morley," I begged. "Please don't." + +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. + +"Don't, Miss Morley," I pleaded. "Don't!" + +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. + +At last I had an inspiration. + +"You are ill," I said, rising. "I will call someone." + +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. + +"Don't," she said, in her turn. "Don't call anyone. I am not ill-- +not now." + +"But you have been," I put in, I don't know why. + +"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." + +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. + +"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--" + +"What, pray?" with a haughty lift of the dark eyebrows. "What did +you expect to find, may I ask?" + +"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--" + +"What has my--AUNT" with withering emphasis, "to do with it? Why +should you consult her?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"I am very glad to hear it. I wish you to know that I perfectly +understand EVERYTHING." + +That seemed to settle it; at any rate it settled me for the time. +I took up my hat. + +"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." + +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. + +"At nine--no, at ten to-morrow, then," she said. "I shall expect +your final answer then." + +"Very well." + +"You will come? Of course; I am forgetting. You said you would." + +"We will be here at ten. Here is my address." + +I gave her my card, scribbling the street and number of Bancroft's +in pencil in the corner. She took the card. + +"Thank you. Good afternoon," she said. + +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. + +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. + +"'Ow is she?" demanded Mrs. Briggs. + +"Who?" I asked, not too politely. + +"That Morley one. Is she goin' to be hill again?" + +"How do I know? Has she been sick--ill, I mean?" + +"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?" + +"How should I know who is going to pay for it? She will, I +suppose." + +"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?" + +"Yes. But do you mean to tell me that Miss Morley has no money of +her own?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +Mrs. Briggs actually smiled. She would have patted my arm if I had +not jerked it out of the way. + +"You trust me, sir," she whispered, confidingly. "You trust my +kind 'eart. I'll look after 'er like she was my own daughter." + +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! + +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. + +Her first coherent remark was one which I had not expected--and I +had expected almost anything. + +"Oh, Hosy," gasped Hephzy, "tell me--tell me before you say +anything else. Does he--she, I mean--look like Ardelia?" + +"Eh? What?" I stammered. "Look like--look like what?" + +"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?" + +"Goodness knows! I don't know who she looks like. I didn't +notice." + +"You didn't! I should have noticed that before anything else. +What kind of a girl is she? Is she pretty?" + +"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?" + +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!" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"The poor thing," she said. "I do pity her so." + +"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." + +"I know--I know. But SHE doesn't know, does she, Hosy. Her father +must have told her--" + +"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." + +"Are you goin' to tell her, Hosy?" + +I stared in amazement. + +"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." + +"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--" + +"I can't help that. I'm not Ardelia." + +"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." + +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. + +"Why didn't you tell her?" she repeated. + +"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?" + +Another shake of the head. + +"I don't know. I can't decide any more than you can, Hosy. What +do YOU think we should do?" + +"I don't know." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"You'd better get on your things," I said. "It is time for us to +go." + +Hephzy donned her hat and wrap. Then she came over to me. + +"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." + +"Then you agree that we should tell her the truth." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +One word in this harangue caught my attention. + +"Ill?" I repeated. "What do you mean? Is she worse than she was +yesterday?" + +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--" + +"Where is she now?" put in Hephzy, sharply. + +"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--" + +But I would not hear any more. As for Hephzy she was in the dingy +front hall already. + +"Shall we go up?" I asked, impatiently. + +"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--" + +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. + +"Come in," said the voice I remembered, but now it sounded weaker +than before. + +Hephzy looked at me. I nodded. + +"You go first," I whispered. "You can call me when you are ready." + +Hephzy opened the door and entered the room. I closed the door +behind her. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"You stay right there," she urged. "Stay right there. We can talk +just as well, and Mr. Knowles won't mind; will you, Hosy." + +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. + +"I--I am very sorry you are not well, Miss Morley," I faltered. + +She thanked me, but there was no warmth in the thanks. + +"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." + +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. + +"Miss Morley," I began. "Miss Morley, I--I--" + +"Well, sir?" + +"Miss Morley, I--I don't know what to say to you." + +She rose to a sitting posture. Hephzy again tried to restrain her, +but this time she would not be restrained. + +"Don't know what to say?" she repeated. "Don't know what to say? +Then why did you come here?" + +"I came--we came because--because I promised we would come." + +"But WHY did you come?" + +Hephzy leaned toward her. + +"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." + +Miss Morley paid no attention. She was regarding me with eyes +which looked me through and through. Her thin hands clutched the +bedclothes. + +"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--" + +"Hush! hush! please don't," begged Hephzy. "You mustn't. You're +too weak and sick. Oh, Hosy, do be careful." + +I was quite willing to be careful--if I had known how. + +"I think," I said, "that this interview had better be postponed. +Really, Miss Morley, you are not in a condition to--" + +She sprang to her feet and stood there trembling. + +"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!" + +She staggered, put her hands to her head, sank upon the bed, and +then collapsed in a dead faint. + +Hephzy was at her side in a moment. She knew what to do if I did +not. + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"How is she?" I asked. + +"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." + +I was glad to hear that and said so. + +"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?" + +"Ye--es, I suppose--She is a distant relative, yes." + +"Humph! Has she no near relatives? Here in England, I mean. You +and the lady with you are Americans, I judge." + +I ignored the last sentence. I could not see that our being +Americans concerned him. + +"She has no near relatives in England, so far as I know," I +answered. "Why do you ask?" + +"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." + +"I see. You mean that she should not remain here." + +"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--" + +He did not finish the sentence, but I understood. + +"I see," I interrupted. "And yet she is not seriously ill." + +"Not now--no. Her weakness is due to mental strain and--well, to a +lack of nutrition as much as anything." + +"Lack of nutrition? You mean she hasn't had enough to eat!" + +"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." + +I reflected. "A hospital?" I suggested. + +"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." + +This was plain enough, but it did not make my course of action +plainer to me. + +"Is she well enough to be moved--now?" I asked. + +"Yes. If she is not moved she is likely to be less well." + +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. + +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. + +Hephzy signaled me to silence. She rose and tiptoed over to me. I +led her out into the hall. + +"She's sort of dozin' now," she whispered. "The poor thing is worn +out. What did the doctor say?" + +I told her what the doctor had said. + +"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?" + +"How do I know!" I answered, impatiently. "I don't see exactly why +we are called upon to do anything. Do you?" + +"No--o, I--I don't know as we are called on. No--o. I--" + +"Well, do you?" + +"No. I know how you feel, Hosy. Considerin' how her father +treated us, I won't blame you no matter what you do." + +"Confound her father! I only wish it were he we had to deal with." + +Hephzy was silent. I took a turn up and down the hall. + +"The doctor says she should be taken away from here at once," I +observed. + +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." + +"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." + +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. + +"Do say something," I snapped. "What shall we do?" + +"I don't know, Hosy, dear. Why! . . . Where are you going?" + +"I'm going to the drug-store to get this prescription filled. I'll +be back soon." + +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. + +When I returned to the lodging-house I gave Hephzy the powders +which the chemist's clerk had prepared. + +"Is she any better?" I asked. + +"She's just about the same." + +"What does she say?" + +"She's too weak and sick to say anything. I don't imagine she +knows or cares what is happening to her." + +"Is she strong enough to get downstairs to a cab, or to ride in one +afterward?" + +"I guess so. We could help her, you know. But, Hosy, what cab? +What do you mean? What are you going to do?" + +"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." + +"But where are you going to take her?" + +"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." + +To my intense surprise, Hephzy threw her arms about my neck and +hugged me. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Poor young lady," said Mr. Jameson, when he and I were together in +our sitting-room. "She is quite ill, isn't she." + +"Yes," I admitted. "It is not a serious illness, however. She +needs quiet and care more than anything else." + +"Yes, sir. We will do our best to see that she has both. A +relative of yours, sir, I think you said." + +"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. + +"I didn't know you had English relatives, Mr. Knowles. I had been +under the impression that you and Miss Cahoon were strangers here." + +So had I, but I did not explain that, either. Mrs. Jameson joined +us. + +"She will sleep now, I think," she said. "She is quite quiet and +peaceful. A near relative of yours, Mr. Knowles?" + +"She is Mr. Knowles's niece," explained her husband. + +"Oh, yes. A sweet girl she seems. And very pretty, isn't she." + +I did not answer. Mr. Jameson and his wife turned to go. + +"I presume you will wish to communicate with her people," said the +former. "Shall I send you telegram forms?" + +"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! + +What on earth should we do with her? + +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. + +"She's asleep," she said, gravely; "she's asleep, Hosy." + +There was precious little comfort in that. + +"She'll wake up by and by," I said. "And then--what?" + +"I don't know." + +"Neither do I--now. But we shall have to know pretty soon." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"I don't know, Hosy. I declare I don't know." + +I strode into my own room and slammed the door. + +"Damn!" said I, with enthusiasm. + +"What?" queried Hephzy, from the sitting-room. "What did you say, +Hosy?" + +I did not tell her. + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +In Which the Pilgrims Become Tenants + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Humph!" I grunted. "If the young lady were a mind-reader she +might--well, never mind. What else did she say?" + +"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--" + +I cut short the reminiscence. I was in no mood to listen to the +praises of any Morley. + +"What answer did you make to that?" I asked. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Have you decided what your offer is to be?" she asked. + +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. + +"Miss Morley," I began, "before I answer that question I should +like to ask you one. What do you expect us to do?" + +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." + +Again I looked at Hephzy and again I braced myself for the scene +which I was certain would follow. + +"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." + +"It is not an impression," haughtily; "I know it to be a fact." + +"How do you know it?" + +"My father told me so, during his last illness." + +"Was--pardon me--was your father himself at the time? Was he--er-- +rational?" + +"Rational! My father?" + +"I mean--I mean was he himself--mentally? He was not delirious +when he told you?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +She hesitated before replying. When she spoke it was with an +exaggerated air of patient toleration, as if she were addressing an +unreasonable child. + +"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!" + +"I must ask you. I must ask you to tell me this: How was he +defrauded, as you call it?" + +"I have told you, already. My mother's fortune--" + +"But your mother had no fortune." + +The anticipated scene was imminent. She sprang to her feet, but +being too weak to stand, sank back again. Hephzy looked +appealingly at me. + +"Hosy," she cautioned; "Oh, Hosy, be careful! Think how sick she +has been." + +"I am thinking, Hephzy. I mean to be careful. But what I said is +the truth, and you know it." + +Hephzy would have replied, but Little Frank motioned her to be +silent. + +"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--" + +"Your grandfather had no money. He--well, he lost every dollar he +had. He died as poor as a church rat." + +Another interval of silence, during which I endured a piercing +scrutiny from the dark eyes. Then Miss Morley's tone changed. + +"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." + +"He was fairly well-to-do at one time, but he lost his money and +died poor." + +"How did he lose it?" + +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. + +"Well?" said Miss Morley. + +"He--he lost it, that is sufficient. You must take my word for it. +Captain Cahoon died without a dollar of his own." + +"When did he LOSE his wealth?" with sarcastic emphasis. + +"Years ago. About the time your parents left the United States. +There, there, Hephzy! I know. I'm doing my best." + +"Indeed! When did he die?" + +"Long ago--more than ten years ago." + +"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?" + +"Your aunt--Miss Cahoon here--had money in her own right." + +"SHE had money and my mother had not. Yet both were Captain +Cahoon's daughters. How did that happen?" + +It seemed to me that it was Hephzy's time to play the target. +I turned to her. + +"Miss Cahoon will probably answer that herself," I observed, +maliciously. + +Hephzibah appeared more embarrassed than I. + +"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." + +"Yes, so I have heard Mr. Knowles say. But how did it go?" + +"In--in--well, it was invested in stocks and things and--and--" + +"Do you mean that he speculated in shares?" + +"Well, not--not--" + +"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?" + +"Your mother HAD no money," I put in, desperately, "I have told +you--" + +"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." + +"But your mother had no--" + +"I do not care to hear that again. I know she had money." + +"But how do you know?" + +"Because my father told me she had, and my father did not lie." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Hosy," she said, "sit down. I've got somethin' to tell you." + +"About her?" I asked, apprehensively. + +"Yes. She's just been talkin' to me." + +"She has! I thought we agreed not to talk with her at all." + +"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." + +"What did she say? Has she sent for her lawyer--her solicitor, or +whatever he is?" + +"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." + +"Made up her mind! I thought HER mind was already made up." + +"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." + +"Humph! her judgment is correct so far." + +"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--" + +I interrupted. "Great Scott!" I cried, "does she expect us to +ADOPT her?" + +"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." + +"But there isn't any money belonging to her. I told her so, and so +did you." + +"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--" + +"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." + +"I know--I know, Hosy; but who'll tell her?" + +"I will." + +"She won't believe you." + +"Then she must disbelieve. She can call in her solicitor and I'll +make him believe." + +Hephzy was silent. Her silence annoyed me. + +"Why don't you say something?" I demanded. "You know what I say is +plain common-sense." + +"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?" + +It was my turn to hesitate. + +"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--" + +"She's Strickland Morley's daughter. There is no doubt of that. +Hereditary influence is plain enough in her case." + +"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." + +I was never more thoroughly angry in my life. My patience was +exhausted. + +"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?" + +"No--no--o. Not exactly that, of course. But we might take her +into the country somewhere and--" + +"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--" + +"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_ +could do it." + +"You?" + +"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--" + +"Hephzy, what are you talking about?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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--" + +I interrupted. + +"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." + +Hephzy looked at me. She rose from her chair. + +"Hosy," she cried, "what--a sanitarium?" + +"We'll keep it together," I said, smiling. "You and I and Little +Frank. And it is likely to be a wonderful establishment." + +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. + +"Why!" cried Hephzy. "You're laughin'! What in the world? I +don't see anything to laugh at." + +"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." + +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. + +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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"And he has rested more than he has written of late," I observed. +"'Quahaug Stew' or 'The Tureen' would be better, I should say." + +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." + +The villas were not good enough; the estates were altogether too +good. We inspected but one and then declined to see more. + +"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." + +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. + +Hephzy's romantic spirit objected strongly to "Leatherhead," but I +told her nothing could be more appropriate. + +"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." + +"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. + +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." + +"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." + +Mrs. Cripps wished to know if Americans were a religious people, as +a rule. Religion, true spiritual religion was on the wane in +England. + +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. + +Hephzy's opinion was like mine. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +I was angry and impatient, but when I tried to reason with the +young lady I met a crushing refusal and a decided snub. + +"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." + +"But why?" I begged, restraining my desire to shake her. + +"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." + +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. + +So "Ash Clump" was given up. Hephzy and I speculated much +concerning Little Frank's aversion to Leatherhead. + +"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." + +"I don't," I snarled. "I wish to heaven we had never known her at +all." + +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." + +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: + + +"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." + + +"I answered it, Hosy," said Hephzy. + +"You did!" + +"Yes. It sounded so nice I couldn't help it. It would be lovely +to live in a rectory, wouldn't it." + +"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." + +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. + +We decided to go, but before writing of our intention, Hephzy +consulted the most particular member of our party. + +"It's no use doing anything until we ask her," she said. "She may +be as down on Mayberry as she was on Leatherhead." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I believe," she cried, excitedly, "I do believe that is a skylark. +Do you suppose it is?" + +"A lark, yes, lady," said our driver. + +"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." + +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. + +"You don't suppose THAT is the rectory, do you, Hosy?" she asked, +in an awestricken tone. + +"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." + +The driver settled our doubts for us. + +"The Manor House, sir," he said, pointing with his whip. "The +estate begins here, sir." + +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. + +"This is Mayberry, sir," said our driver. "That is the rectory, +next the church." + +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. + +This was the rectory we had come to see and the gray-haired +gentleman was the Reverend Mr. Cole, the rector. + +"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." + +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. + +As Hephzy said, everything considered, the rent of Mayberry Rectory +was lower than that of a fair-sized summer cottage at Bayport. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"Your cousin, Miss Cahoon, is a good housekeeper, I imagine." + +"She is all of that," I said, decidedly. + +"Yes, she was very particular concerning the kitchen and scullery +and the maids' rooms. Are all American housekeepers as +particular?" + +"Not all. Miss Cahoon is unique in many ways; but she is a +remarkable woman in all." + +"Yes. I am sure of it. And she has such a typical American +accent, hasn't she." + +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. + +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. + +"Did you think to speak about the golf, Hosy?" she said. "You will +want to play some, won't you?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +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." + +"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." + +Hephzy laughed. "You 'fancy,'" she repeated. "You'll be sayin' +'My word' next. My! Hosy, you ARE gettin' English." + +"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." + + + +CHAPTER IX + +In Which We Make the Acquaintance of Mayberry and a Portion of +Burgleston Bogs + + +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. + +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. + +"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_ +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." + +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. + +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." + +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. + +Yes, I was a foreigner; it was a queer feeling. + +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. + +I laughed when I saw the suitcase and the hat-boxes. When I told +Hephzy about the latter she laughed, too. + +"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." + +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: + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"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." + +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!" + +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. + +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. + +"Delightful young lady, Miss Morley," he observed. "One of our +English girls, Knowles. She informs me that she IS English." + +"Partly English," I could not help saying. "Her mother was an +American." + +"Oh, indeed! You know she didn't tell me that, now did she." + +"Perhaps not." + +"No, by Jove, she didn't. But she has lived all her life in +England?" + +"Yes--in England and France." + +"Your niece, I think you said." + +I had said it, unfortunately, and it could not be unsaid now +without many explanations. So I nodded. + +"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--" + +"Miss Cahoon's manner is American. So is mine; we ARE Americans, +you see." + +"Yes, yes, of course," hastily. "When are you and I to have the +nine holes you promised, Knowles?" + +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. + +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. + +"Frank--Frances, I mean--is goin' to join us to-day," said Hephzy. +"She's beginnin' to look real well again, isn't she." + +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. + +Hephzy poured the tea. Frances, cup in hand, looked about her. + +"This is rather a nice place, after all," she observed, "isn't it." + +"It's a real lovely place," declared Hephzy with enthusiasm. + +The young lady cast another appraising glance at our surroundings. + +"Yes," she repeated, "it's a jolly old house and the grounds are +not bad at all." + +Her tone nettled me. Everything considered I thought she might +have shown a little more enthusiasm. + +"I infer that you expected something much worse," I observed. + +"Oh, of course I didn't know what to expect. How should I? I had +no hand in selecting it, you know." + +"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." + +"I am glad you approve," I observed, drily. + +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. + +"I don't suppose," said Hephzy, complacently, "that there are many +much prettier places in England than this one." + +"Oh, indeed there are. But all England is beautiful, of course." + +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. + +"Have you met any of the people about here?" she asked. + +Hephzy burst into enthusiastic praise of the Baylisses and the +curates and the Coles. + +"They're all just as nice as they can be," she declared. "I never +met nicer folks, at home or anywhere." + +Frances nodded. "All English people are nice," she said. + +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. + +"And Hosy thinks so, too. Don't you, Hosy?" she said. + +I answered yes, on the chance. Frances regarded me oddly. + +"I thought--I understood that your name was Kent, Mr. Knowles," she +said. + +"It is." + +"Then why does Miss Cahoon always--" + +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." + +Our companion looked very much as if she did not wonder at my +dislike. Her eyes twinkled. + +"Hosea," she repeated. "That is an odd name. The original Hosea +was a prophet, wasn't he? Are you a prophet, Mr. Knowles?" + +"Far from it," I answered, with decision. If I had been a prophet +I should have been forewarned and, consequently, forearmed. + +She smiled and against my will I was forced to admit that her smile +was attractive; she was prettier than ever when she smiled. + +"I remember now," she said; "all Americans have Scriptural names. +I have read about them in books." + +"Hosy writes books," said Hephzy, proudly. "That's his profession; +he's an author." + +"Oh, really, is he! How interesting!" + +"Yes, he is. He has written ever so many books; haven't you, +Hosy." + +I didn't answer. My self and my "profession" were the last +subjects I cared to discuss. The young lady's smile broadened. + +"And where do you write your books, Mr. Knowles?" she asked. "In-- +er--Bayport?" + +"Yes," I answered, shortly. "Hephzy, Miss Morley will have another +cup of tea, I think." + +"Oh, no, thank you. But tell me about your books, Mr. Knowles. +Are they stories of Bayport?" + +"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." + +"I am sure I should. They must be delightful. I do hope you +brought some with you, Mr. Knowles." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"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?" + +Miss Morley's smile and the mischievous twinkle had vanished. She +looked startled, and even frightened, it seemed to me. + +"What is it, Frances?" repeated Hephzy, anxiously. + +"Nothing--nothing. Solomon--what was it? Solomon Cripps. That is +an odd name. And you met this Mr.--er--Cripps?" + +"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." + +"Yes, it is rather frightful. But this, Mr.--er--Cripps; was he as +bad as his name? Did you talk with him?" + +"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." + +"I am glad of it." The young lady's tone was emphatic and she +looked as if she meant it. We were surprised. + +"You're glad of it!" repeated Hephzy, in amazement. "Why?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +Miss Morley regarded me with a new interest, or at least I thought +she did. + +"Did you mean it?" she asked. + +I smiled. "Yes," I answered. + +"Now, Hosy," cried Hephzy. "What a way that is to talk! What do +you know about the hereafter?" + +"Not much, but," remembering the old story, "I know Bayport. +Humph! speaking of ministers, here is one now." + +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." + +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. + +"I hope I haven't interrupted an important conversation. You +appeared to be talking very earnestly." + +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. + +"We were discussing Heaven," she said, calmly. "Mr. Knowles +doesn't approve of it." + +Hephzy bounced on her chair. "Why!" she cried; "why, what a--why, +WHAT will Mr. Judson think! Now, Frances, you know--" + +"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." + +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. + +"I--I can scarcely think Mr. Knowles said that, Miss Morley," he +protested. "You must have misunderstood him." + +"Oh, but I didn't misunderstand. That was what he said." + +Again Mr. Judson looked at me. It seemed time for me to say +something. + +"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. + +The curate's ruffled feelings were evidently not soothed by this +explanation. + +"But--but, Mr. Knowles," he stammered, "really, I--I am at a loss +to understand your meaning. Surely you do not mean that--that--" + +"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." + +Mr. Judson seemed relieved. "Oh," he exclaimed. "Oh, yes, I quite +comprehend. Methodists--er--dissenters--that is quite different-- +quite." + +"Mr. Judson knows that no one except communicants in the Church of +England are certain of happiness," observed Frances, very gravely. + +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. + +"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--" + +"Well," broke in Hephzibah, with decision, "I'm a Methodist, +myself, and _I_ don't expect to go to perdition." + +Judson's guns were spiked. He turned redder than ever and changed +the subject to the weather. + +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. + +"Mr. Knowles and I are to have another round shortly, I trust," he +said. "You owe me a revenge, you know, Mr. Knowles." + +"Oh," exclaimed the young lady, in apparent surprise, "does Mr. +Knowles play golf?" + +"Not real golf," I observed. + +"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." + +Which, according to my reckoning, was by no means a proof of +extraordinary ability. Frances seemed amused, for some unexplained +reason. + +"I should never have thought it," she observed. + +"Why not?" asked Judson. + +"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." + +"My golf is anything but frivolous," I said. "It's too seriously +bad." + +"Do you golf, Miss Morley, may I ask?" inquired the curate. + +"I have occasionally, after a fashion. I am sure I should like to +learn." + +"I shall be delighted to teach you. It would be a great pleasure, +really." + +He looked as if it would be a pleasure. Frances smiled. + +"Thank you so much," she said. "You and I and Mr. Knowles will +have a threesome." + +Judson's joy at her acceptance was tempered, it seemed to me. + +"Oh, of course," he said. "It will be a great pleasure to have +your uncle with us. A great pleasure, of course." + +"My--uncle?" + +"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?" + +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. + +"Is it an American custom?" repeated Mr. Judson. + +"I don't know," with chilling deliberation. "I am NOT an +American." + +The curate said "Indeed!" and had the astonishing good sense not to +say any more. Shortly afterward he said good-by. + +"But I shall look forward to our threesome, Miss Morley," he +declared. "I shall count upon it in the near future." + +After his departure there was a most embarrassing interval of +silence. Hephzy spoke first. + +"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." + +The young lady rose. "I am going," she said. "I am going, if you +and--my uncle--will excuse me." + +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. + +"Well?" said I to Hephzy. + +"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." + +"What did she say?" + +"Why, she wanted to know if she should call you 'Uncle Hosea.' She +supposed it should be that--'Uncle Hosy' sounded a little +irreverent." + +I did not answer. "Uncle Hosea!" a beautiful title, truly. + +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." + +"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." + +Hephzy sighed. "Yes," she said, slowly, "I'm afraid that's so, +poor thing. When--when are you goin' to tell her?" + +"I don't know," I answered. "But pretty soon, that's certain." + + + +CHAPTER X + +In Which I Break All Previous Resolutions and Make a New One + + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Doctor Bayliss, the old gentleman, then turned to me. + +"What is the American opinion of the Liberal measures?" he asked. + +"I should say," I answered, "that, so far as they are understood in +America, opinion concerning them is divided, much as it is here." + +"Really! But you haven't the Liberal and Conservative parties as +we have, you know." + +"We have liberals and conservatives, however, although our +political parties are not so named." + +"We call 'em Republicans and Democrats," explained Hephzy. "Hosy +is a Republican," she added, proudly. + +"I am not certain what I am," I observed. "I have voted a split +ticket of late." + +Young Bayliss asked a question. + +"Are you a--what is it--Republican, Miss Morley?" he inquired. + +Miss Morley's eyes dropped disdainfully. + +"I am neither," she said. "My father was a Conservative, of +course." + +"Oh, I say! That's odd, isn't it. Your uncle here is--" + +"Uncle Hosea, you mean?" sweetly. "Oh, Uncle Hosea is an American. +I am English." + +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." + +"We're next-door neighbors," she said, "so we mustn't be formal." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +But I was not allowed to escape so easily. Bayliss asked me a +question. + +"Isn't it true, Mr. Knowles," he asked, "that the American football +player wears a sort of armor to prevent his being killed?" + +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. + +Recalled from these and other pleasing observations by Bayliss's +mention of my name, I looked up. + +"I beg pardon?" said I. + +Bayliss repeated his question. + +"Oh, yes," said I, and looked down again at the foot. + +"So I have been told," said the questioner, triumphantly. "And +without that--er--armor many of the players would be killed, would +they not?" + +"What? Oh, yes; yes, of course." + +"And many are killed or badly injured as it is?" + +"Oh, yes." + +"How many during a season, may I ask?" + +"Eh? Oh--I don't know." + +"A hundred?" + +The foot was swinging more rapidly now. It was such a small foot. +My own looked so enormous and clumsy and uncouth by comparison. + +"A--oh, thousands," said I, at random. If the number were large +enough to satisfy him he might cease to worry me. + +"A beastly game," declared Judson, with conviction. "How can a +civilized country countenance such brutality! Do you countenance +it, Mr. Knowles?" + +"Yes--er--that is, no." + +"You agree, then, that it is brutal?" + +"Certainly, certainly." Would the fellow never stop? + +"Then--" + +"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." + +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. + +"Of course they aren't," she declared. "Hosy--Mr. Knowles--didn't +mean that they were, either." + +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. + +"Why do you say such things?" she demanded. "You know they weren't +true." + +"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." + +"It doesn't make any difference. You should say what you think. +To sit there and let them--Oh, it is ridiculous!" + +"My feelings were not hurt. Their ideas will broaden by and by, +when they are as old as I am. They're young now." + +This charitable remark seemed to have the effect of making her more +indignant than ever. + +"Nonsense!" she cried. "You speak as if you were an Old Testament +patriarch." + +Hephzy put in a word. + +"Why, Frances," she said, "I thought you didn't like America." + +"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." + +I was amused. "What would you have me do?" I asked. "Rise and +sing the 'Star Spangled Banner'?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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_ don't know." + +I didn't know either. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Humph! I don't see how she can do much shopping. She hasn't a +penny, so far as I know." + +"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." + +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." + +"You mean you'll tell her--everything?" + +"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?" + +"I suppose not. But--" + +"But what?" + +"Well, I--I don't see how we can stop her buying whatever she +pleases with what she thinks is her own money." + +"I do. We can tell her she has no money. I shall do it. My mind +is made up." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Really!" exclaimed Mrs. Samson, "how interesting. If we had only +known. No doubt Mr. Knowles would have liked to enter. I'm so +sorry." + +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." + +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." + +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. + +"Then I must go alone," said Frances. "That is unless--er--Uncle +Hosea cares to go." + +"Uncle Hosea" declined. The name of itself was sufficient to make +him decline; besides Worcester and I were scheduled for golf. + +"I shall go alone then," said "my niece," with decision. "Johnson +will look after me." + +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. + +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. + +The gardener watched me for a moment in shocked disapproval. Then +he interfered. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Why!" she exclaimed, "we are here, aren't we? Fancy! I expected +a longer drive." + +"So did I," I agreed. "We haven't hurried, either. Where has the +time gone." + +"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." + +The detested title brought me to myself. + +"We are here," I said, shortly. "And now where shall we go? Have +you any stopping place in particular?" + +She nodded. + +"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." + +The shop was what we, in America, would have called a "sporting- +goods store." I piloted "Pet" to the curb and pulled up. + +"I am going in," said Miss Morley. "Oh, don't trouble to help me. +I can get down quite well." + +She was down, springing from the step as lightly as a dandelion +fluff before I could scramble down on the other side. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +"Yes, miss," he said, "I'll have them wrapped immediately. They +shall be ready when you return, miss. Thank you, miss." + +Frances nodded acknowledgment of the thanks. Then she favored me +with another nod and a most bewitching smile. + +"That's over," she announced, "and now I'm going to the draper's +for a moment. It is near here, you say?" + +The young man bowed again. + +"Yes, miss, on the next corner, next the chemist's." + +She turned to me. "You may wait here, Mr. Knowles," she said. "I +shall be back very soon." + +She hurried away. I looked after her, and then, with all sorts of +forebodings surging in my brain, strode into that "sporting-goods +store." + +The blond young man was at my elbow. + +"Yes, sir," he said, ingratiatingly. + +"Did--did that young lady make some purchases here?" I asked. + +"Yes, sir. Here they are, sir." + +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. + +"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." + +"Sixteen and six. Four dollars and--Did she pay for it?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +One of the boys who had been so anxious to hold the horse was +performing that entirely unnecessary duty. + +"Stay here until I come back," I ordered and hurried to the +draper's. + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"Well?" she asked, after an instant. "Do you?" + +"I--I don't know," I said. "May I ask you to step outside one +moment. I--I have something I wish to say." + +She regarded me curiously. + +"Something you wish to say?" she repeated. "What is it?" + +"I--I can't tell you here." + +"Why not, pray?" + +"Because I can't." + +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. + +"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." + +"Yes, miss, yes. Thank you, miss. Is there anything else?" + +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." + +"Yes, miss, certainly. This way, if you please." + +She turned to me. + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"It is just above here," I answered, sulkily. But--" + +"But you will get it. Thank you so much." + +The salesman noticed my hesitation, put his own interpretation upon +it and hastened to oblige. + +"I shall be glad to have the purchases carried there," he said. +"Our boy will do it, miss. It will be no trouble." + +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. + +"Thank you," she said, addressing the clerk. "That is all, I +believe." + +The clerk looked at her and at me. + +"Yes, miss, thank you," he said, in return. "I--I--would you be +wishing to pay at once, miss, or shall I--" + +"Oh, this gentleman will pay. Do you wish to pay now--Uncle +Hosea?" + +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. + +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. + +"Frances," I began. + +"Well--Mr. Knowles?" calmly. + +"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." + +She had been walking slowly. Now she stopped short. I stopped, +too, because she did. + +"What do you mean?" she asked. "What things?" + +She was looking me through and through. Again I hesitated, and my +hesitation did not help matters. + +"What do you mean?" she repeated. "What is it you cannot +countenance or"--scornfully--"permit concerning me?" + +"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." + +"Why should I tell you? They were for myself. Is it your idea +that I should ask YOUR permission before buying what I choose?" + +"Considering that you ask me to pay, I--" + +"I most distinctly did NOT ask you. I TOLD you to pay. Certainly +you will pay. Why not?" + +"Why not?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +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. + +"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--" + +She interrupted me. "I shall not consult you at all," she +declared, fiercely. "Wealthy! Am _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?" + +"I can afford those, of course. But you don't understand." + +"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--" + +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. + +"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?" + +I was hesitating, weakly. She did not wait for me to reply. + +"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." + +That was enough. "I will not pay," I said, firmly, "under any such +arrangement." + +"You will NOT?" + +"No, I will not." + +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. + +"Where are you going?" I asked. + +"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." + +"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--" + +"Stop! Stop! Oh!" with a sobbing breath, "how I hate you!" + +"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--" + +"I shall not go back with you. I shall never speak to you again." + +"Miss Morley, be reasonable. You must go back with me. There is +no other way." + +"I will not." + +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. + +I don't know how it might have ended, but the end came in an +unexpected manner. + +"Why, Miss Morley," cried a voice from the street behind me. "Oh, +I say, it IS you, isn't it. How do you do?" + +I turned. A trim little motor car was standing there and Herbert +Bayliss was at the wheel. + +"Ah, Knowles, how do you do?" said Bayliss. + +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. + +"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." + +Miss Morley answered promptly. "You may have the privilege, Doctor +Bayliss," she said. "I accept with pleasure." + +Young Bayliss looked pleased, but rather puzzled. + +"Thanks, awfully," he said. "But my car holds but two and your +uncle--" + +"Oh, he has the dogcart. It is quite all right, really. I should +love the motor ride. May I get in?" + +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." + +The car turned from the curb. I caught Miss Morley's eye for an +instant; there was withering contempt in its look--also triumph. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Whoa!" I shouted. + +"Pet" stopped short in the middle of the road. I hesitated. The +principle of the thing-- + +"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. + +I paid for the racket and the press and the shoes and the rest. +They were wrapped and ready. + +"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." + +I was on my way to the door. I stopped and turned. + +"Is the--the what is it--'Slazenger' so much better?" I asked. + +"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." + +It was a better racket, much better. And, after all, when one is +hanging principle the execution may as well be complete. + +"You may give me that one instead of the other," I said, and paid +the difference. + +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. + +"Frances is here, I suppose," I said. + +"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?" + +"Nothing," said I, curtly. "Nothing unusual, that is. I made a +fool of myself once more, that's all." + +The between-maid knocked and entered. "Where would you wish the +parcels, sir?" she asked. + +"These are Miss Morley's. Take them to her room." + +The maid retired to obey orders. Hephzy again turned to me. + +"Now, Hosy, what is it?" she asked. + +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. + +"I think--I think, perhaps, I had better go up and see her," she +said. + +"All right. I have no objection." + +"But she'll ask questions, of course. What shall I tell her?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Come in," said I, expecting Hephzy. It was not Hephzy who came, +however, but Miss Morley herself. And she closed the door behind +her. + +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. + +For a moment she did not say anything. Then: + +"So you changed your mind," she said. + +"Yes." + +"Why?" + +"I don't know." + +"You don't know. Yet you changed it." + +"Yes. Oh yes, I changed it." + +"But why? Was it--was it because you were ashamed of yourself?" + +"I guess so. As much that as anything." + +"You realize that you treated me shamefully. You realize that?" + +"Yes," wearily. "Yes, I realize everything." + +"And you felt sorry, after I had gone, and so you changed your +mind. Was that it?" + +"Yes." + +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. + +"And you will never, never treat me in that way again?" + +"No." + +"And you realize that I was right and understand that I am to do as +I please with my money?" + +"Yes." + +"And you beg my pardon?" + +"Yes." + +"Very well. Then I beg yours. I'm sorry, too." + +Now I WAS surprised. I turned in my chair and looked at her. + +"You beg my pardon?" I repeated. "For what?" + +"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." + +"That's all right." + +"Thank you. Is there anything else you wish to say?" + +"No." + +"You're sure?" + +"Yes." + +"Why did you buy the Slazenger racket instead of the other one?" + +I had forgotten the "Slazenger" for the moment. She had caught me +unawares. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +She regarded me intently. "You mean that you bought it as a +present for me?" she said slowly. + +"Yes; yes, if you will accept it as such." + +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. + +"Thank you," she said. "I will accept it. Thank you very much." + +I was staggered, but I recovered sufficiently to tell her she was +quite welcome. + +She turned to go. Then she turned back. + +"Doctor Bayliss asked me to play tennis with him tomorrow morning," +she said. "May I?" + +"May you? Why, of course you may, if you wish, I suppose. Why in +the world do you ask my permission?" + +"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." + +"I wished--I said--oh, don't be silly, please! Haven't we had +silliness enough for one afternoon, Miss Morley." + +"My Christian name is Frances. May I play tennis with Doctor +Bayliss to-morrow morning, Uncle Hosea?" + +"Of course you may. How could I prevent it, even if I wished, +which I don't." + +"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?" + +"_I_? Your partner?" + +"Yes. You play tennis; Auntie says so. Will you play to-morrow +morning as my partner?" + +"But I play an atrocious game and--" + +"So do I. We shall match beautifully. Thank you, Uncle Hosea." + +Once more she turned to go, and again she turned. + +"Is there anything else you wish me to do, Uncle Hosea?" she asked. + +The repetition repeated was too much. + +"Yes," I declared. "Stop calling me Uncle Hosea. I'm not your +uncle." + +"Oh, I know that; but you have told everyone that you were, haven't +you?" + +I had, unfortunately, so I could make no better reply than to state +emphatically that I didn't like the title. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Dear me, how particular you are! Well then, au revoir--Kent." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +That was my newest resolution. It was a comfort to realize that +THIS resolution I should probably stick to. + + + +CHAPTER XI + +In Which Complications Become More Complicated + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"But, my dear young lady," I said, "I have no intention of writing +of your people, as you call them." + +"You write of knights and lords and ladies and queens. You do--or +you did--and you certainly know nothing about THEM." + +I was quite a bit ruffled. "Indeed!" said I. "You are quite sure +of that, are you?" + +"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." + +She laughed and, provoked as I was, I could not help laughing with +her. She had a most infectious laugh. + +"My dear young lady--" I began again, but she interrupted me. + +"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." + +I laughed again. "But you ARE young," I said. + +"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." + +Reluctantly I closed the volume I had in my hand. + +"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." + +She regarded me with disapproval. + +"Don't be childish in your old age," she snapped, "Are you coming?" + +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. + +This time she sang them and Hephzy, sitting beside me in the +darkest corner reached over and laid a hand on mine. + +"Her mother all over again," she whispered. "Ardelia used to sing +those." + +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." + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +His "great idea" was received with the contempt it deserved. +I tore up the letter and threw it into the waste basket. + +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." + +"Hosy," said Hephzy, "do you realize the summer is half over? It's +the middle of July now." + +So it was, although it seemed scarcely possible. + +"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." + +"I suppose so. We can't stay over here indefinitely. Life isn't +all skittles and--and tea." + +"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?" + +"I don't know," I answered. + +"Are you going to take her to America with us?" + +"I don't know." + +"Humph! Well, we'll have to know then." + +"I suppose we shall; but," defiantly, "I'm not going to worry about +it till the time comes." + +"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." + +"In what way?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"Provided for? What do you mean?" + +"I mean provided for by somebody else. There's at least two +candidates for the job: Don't you think so?" + +"You mean--" + +"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." + +"Not very," I answered. "Married life on a curate's salary is not +my idea of humor." + +"I suppose likely that's so. And I can't imagine her a minister's +wife, can you?" + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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." + +"Nonsense!" I snapped. "She isn't my niece." + +"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." + +"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. + +"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." + +I think she hoped that I might say that I should miss her, also. +But I did not say anything of the kind. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +And then to add a new complication to the already over-complicated +situation, came A. Carleton Heathcroft, Esquire. + +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. + +"It will do you good," she said. "You'll write all the better this +afternoon. Now, come along." + +"Is Doctor Bayliss as anxious for my company as you seem to be?" I +asked maliciously. + +She tossed her head. "Of course he is," she retorted. "Besides it +doesn't make any difference whether he is or not. _I_ want you to +play, and that is enough." + +"Humph! he may not agree with you." + +"Then he can play by himself. It will do him good, too. He takes +altogether too much for granted. Come! I am waiting." + +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. + +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. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +"Oh, I say!" he exclaimed. "It is you, isn't it! How do you do?" + +"Why, Mr. Heathcroft!" I said. "This is a surprise." + +We shook hands. He, apparently, was not at all surprised. + +"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." + +I said I was glad to see him. Then I introduced my companions. + +"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?" + +Frances said that she was a temporary resident. + +"Ah! visiting here, I suppose?" + +"Yes. Yes, I am visiting. I am living at the rectory, also." + +"Miss Morley is Mr. Knowles's niece," explained Bayliss. + +Heathcroft seemed surprised. + +"Indeed!" he drawled. "Didn't know you had a niece, Knowles. She +wasn't with you on the ship, now was she." + +"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. + +"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. + +Heathcroft looked pleased at the invitation, but he hesitated in +accepting it. + +"Oh, I shouldn't do that, really," he declared. "I should be in +the way, now shouldn't I." + +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. + +"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?" + +Heathcroft declared himself delighted and honored. He looked the +former. He had scarcely taken his eyes from Miss Morley since +their introduction. + +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. + +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. + +Heathcroft walked with us as far as the lodge gate. Then he said +good-by with evident reluctance. + +"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." + +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?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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: + +"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!" + +I hastily explained the probability that the hole was dug by +someone else. + +Hephzy nodded. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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." + +"Do you indeed? What an extraordinary taste! Do you eat hay as +well, may I ask?" + +"No, of course we don't." + +"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?" + +"Don't know, I'm sure. I'm neither a horse nor a donkey, I hope." + +"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." + +"Perhaps he didn't know you were comin'," observed Hephzy, +cheerfully. "Won't you have another cup, Mrs. Bayliss? Or a cooky +or somethin'?" + +The doctor's wife consented to the refilling of her cup. + +"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." + +Heathcroft stroked his mustache. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"You don't suppose he means anything serious, do you, Hosy?" she +asked. "Or that she thinks he does?" + +"I don't know," I answered. I didn't like the idea any better than +she did. + +"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." + +"I suppose she would. But I hope she won't do it." + +"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!" + +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. + +"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." + +I shrugged my shoulders, pretending more indifference than I felt. + +"She's a sensible girl," said I. "She doesn't need a guardian." + +"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." + +"Why don't you ask her?" + +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." + +"I suppose she would," I admitted, gloomily. + +"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?" + +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." + +"Why no, he wouldn't. He thinks you're her uncle, her guardian, +you know. You'd have a right to do it." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +I agreed that the Heathcroft American accent was wonderful indeed. +It was all that and more. Lady Carey went on. + +"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." + +"Yes," I admitted, "they seem to be." + +"Yes. Tell me about your niece, Mr. Knowles. Has she lived in +England long? Who were her parents?" + +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. + +"I see," she said, nodding, and was silent for a moment. Then she +changed the subject, returning once more to her beloved Carleton. + +"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." + +I had been rather bored, now I was interested. + +"Indeed!" said I. "And may I ask who is the fortunate young lady?" + +"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." + +Here was news. I offered congratulations. + +"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." + +I made some comment, I don't remember what. She rose from the +bench. + +"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." + +She moved off, as imposing and majestic as a frigate under full +sail. I walked slowly toward home, thinking hard. + +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. + +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. + +He greeted me cordially enough, if his languid drawl could be +called cordial. + +"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." + +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. + +"Heathcroft," I said, bluntly, "I am not sure that I approve of +Miss Morley's riding with you so often." + +He regarded me with astonishment. + +"You don't approve!" he repeated. "And why not? There's no +danger. She rides extremely well." + +"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." + +His expression of surprise was changing to one of languid +amusement. + +"Really!" he drawled. "By Jove! I say, Knowles, am I such a +dangerously fascinating character? You flatter me." + +"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--" + +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." + +He was quite sincere, I was convinced of it. But I had gone too +far to back out. + +"Then you have been thoughtless--or careless," I said. "It seems +to me that you should have considered her." + +"Considered her! Oh, I say now! Why should I consider her pray?" + +"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." + +His smile disappeared. + +"Now who the devil told you that?" he demanded. + +"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?" + +"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!" + +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. + +"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!" + +He laughed again. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Of course she doesn't," I replied, hastily. + +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." + +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. + +I foresaw trouble--more trouble. + + + +CHAPTER XII + +In Which the Truth Is Told at Last + + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I have come to talk with you," she began. "May I sit down?" + +"Certainly. Of course you may," I answered, smiling as cheerfully +as I could. "Was it necessary to ask permission?" + +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. + +"This begins very solemnly," I said. "Is the talk to be so very +serious?" + +She was serious enough and my apprehensions returned. + +"I don't know," she answered. "I hope it may not be serious at +all, Mr. Knowles." + +I interrupted. "Mr. Knowles!" I repeated. "Whew! this IS a formal +interview. I thought the 'Mr. Knowles' had been banished along +with 'Uncle Hosea'." + +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." + +"Advice?" I repeated. "I'm afraid my advice isn't worth much. +What sort of advice do you want?" + +"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?" + +I hesitated. Then: "Alone?" I asked. + +"No. His cousin, Miss Tomlinson, will go also." + +"I see no reason why you should not, if you wish to go." + +"Thank you. But suppose it was alone?" + +"Then--Well, I presume that would be all right, too. You have +motored with him before, you know." + +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. + +"You approve of Doctor Bayliss, don't you," she said. It did seem +to me there was a hint of sarcasm in her tone. + +"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. + +"And you trust me? You believe me capable of judging what is right +or wrong?" + +"Of course I do." + +"If you didn't you would not presume to interfere in my personal +affairs? You would not think of doing that, of course?" + +"No--o," more slowly. + +"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?" + +"Yes, yes, I know that." + +"And you wouldn't presume to interfere?" + +"Doctor Herbert Bayliss is--" + +She sprang to her feet. She was not smiling now. + +"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?" + +"Why, no. That is, I--" + +"You say that to me! YOU!" + +"Frances, if you mean that I have interfered between you and the +Doctor, I--" + +She stamped her foot. + +"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?" + +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. + +"Frances," I stammered, "Frances--" + +Her fury took my breath away. + +"Don't call me Frances," she cried. "How dare you call me that?" + +Perturbed as I was I couldn't resist making the obvious retort. + +"You asked me to," I said. + +"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." + +I rose now. + +"Frances--Miss Morley," I said, "do you realize what you are +saying?" + +"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." + +"Yes, I did." + +"You did! You admit it!" + +"I admit it. But did he tell you what I said?" + +"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." + +I wondered if she had learned of the essential thing, of +Heathcroft's engagement. + +"Did he tell you why I objected to his intimacy with you?" I asked. + +"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." + +The real reason could not be plain to her. Heathcroft evidently +had not told her of the Warwickshire heiress. + +"I don't understand," I said, trying my hardest to speak calmly. +"What reasons?" + +"Must I tell you? Did you OBJECT to my friendship with Doctor +Bayliss, pray?" + +"Doctor Bayliss! Why, Doctor Bayliss is quite different. He is a +fine young fellow, and--" + +"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." + +This was a little too much. The idea that I--_I_ had been playing +the matchmaker for Bayliss's benefit made me almost as angry as she +was. + +"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." + +"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--" + +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. + +But she did not give me the opportunity. Before I could speak or +move she was on her way to the door. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +There came another knock at the door. This time I made no answer. +I did not want to see anyone. + +But the door opened, nevertheless, and Hephzy came in. She crossed +the room and stood by my chair. + +"What is it, Hosy?" she said, gently. "You must tell me all about +it." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +When it was over she patted my shoulder. + +"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." + +"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." + +"Humph! Well, I guess she wouldn't be if she'd known of that other +girl. You didn't tell her that, you say." + +"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." + +"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." + +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." + +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. + +"Hosy!" she exclaimed. "Hosy!" + +"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." + +"Hosy! Hosy! you poor boy!" + +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. + +"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." + +But Hephzy shook her head. + +"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." + +"Hephzy!" + +"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." + +"Hephzy, I forbid you to--" + +"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." + +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. + +"Doctor Bayliss--Doctor Herbert Bayliss--is here, sir," she said. +"He has called to see you." + +"To see me?" I repeated, trying hard to recover some measure of +composure. "To see Miss Frances, you mean." + +"No, sir. He says he wants to see you alone. He's in the hall +now, sir." + +He was; I could hear him. Certainly I never wished to see anyone +less, but I could not refuse. + +"Ask him to come into the study, Charlotte," said I. + +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. + +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. + +And, at last, he said it. His next speech was very much nearer the +point. + +"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." + +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. + +Perhaps he thought I did not understand. At any rate he hastened +to explain. + +"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--" + +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. + +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-- + +I interrupted. + +"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?" + +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-- + +"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?" + +"I have no reason to suppose she doesn't," I answered grudgingly. +After all, he was acting very honorably; I could scarcely do less. + +He seemed to find much comfort in my equivocal reply. + +"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?" + +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. + +"Is it a joke?" he asked. "I say, now! it isn't a joke to me." + +"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." + +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." + +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. + +"But you haven't said yes, have you," he urged. "You will say it, +won't you?" + +I nodded. "You have my permission, so far as that goes," I +answered. + +He sprang to his feet and seized my hand. + +"That's topping!" he cried, his face radiant. "I can't thank you +enough." + +"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?" + +His expression changed. My question was answered before he spoke. + +"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." + +There seemed nothing more for me to say, nothing at that time, at +any rate. I, too, rose. He shook my hand again. + +"You've been a trump to me, Knowles," he declared. "I appreciate +it, you know; I do indeed. I'm jolly grateful." + +"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--" + +"Even if--what? Oh, but you don't think she will turn me off, do +you? You don't think that?" + +"I've told you that I see no reason why she should." + +"Thank you. Thank you so much. Is there anything else that you +might wish to say to me?" + +"Not now. Perhaps some day I--But not now. No, there's nothing +else. Good night, Bayliss; good night and--and good luck." + +"Good night. I--She's not in now, I suppose, is she?" + +"She is in, but--Well, I scarcely think you had better see her to- +night. She has gone to her room." + +"Oh, I say! it's very early. She's not ill, is she?" + +"No, but I think you had best not see her to-night." + +He was disappointed, that was plain, but he yielded. He would have +agreed, doubtless, with any opinion of mine just then. + +"No doubt you're right," he said. "Good night. And thank you +again." + +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. + +Charlotte, the maid, called to me from the doorway. + +"Would you wish the light in the study any longer, sir?" she asked. + +"No," said I, curtly. "You may put it out." + +"And shall I lock up, sir; all but this door, I mean?" + +"Yes. Where is Miss Cahoon?" + +"She's above, sir. With Miss Morley, I think, sir." + +"Very well, Charlotte. That is all. Good night." + +"Good night, sir." + +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? + +Some time later--I don't know how much later it may have been--I +heard someone calling me again. + +"Hosy!" called Hephzy in a loud whisper; "Hosy, where are you?" + +"Here I am," I answered. + +She came to me across the lawn. I could not, of course, see her +face, but her tone was very anxious. + +"Hosy," she whispered, putting her hand on my arm, "what are you +doin' out here all alone?" + +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." + +"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." + +"Will I? Well, that will be a complete cure, then." + +"Hush! I tell you. Come in the house with me. I want to talk to +you. Come!" + +Still holding my arm she led me toward the house. I hung back. + +"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?" + +"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?" + +That appeal had an effect. I was ashamed of myself. + +"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." + +In the drawing-room she closed the door. + +"Shall I light the lamp?" she asked. + +"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!" + +She did not resent my sudden burst of temper and impatience. +Instead she put her arm about me. + +"Sit down, Hosy," she pleaded. "Sit down and I'll tell you all +about it. Do sit down." + +I refused to sit. + +"Tell me now," I commanded. "What did you say to her? You didn't-- +you didn't--" + +"I did. I told her everything." + +"EVERYTHING! You don't mean--" + +"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." + +"Hephzy!" + +"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." + +"Hephzy! you told her--" + +"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." + +"Made her believe! Made her believe her father was a thief! How +could you do that! No one could." + +"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." + +"Did she say so?" + +"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." + +She paused and turned away. + +"How she must hate us!" I said, after a moment. + +"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--" + +She paused once more. I did not speak. Soon she recovered and +went on. + +"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--" + +"You told her that?" I interrupted, involuntarily. "What did she +say?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"Hephzy," said I, "you're a saint and a martyr and I am--what I am. +Please forgive me." + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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--" + +"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." + +"I know. But when I think of to-morrow and what she'll say to me, +then, I--" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +Charlotte, the maid, seemed greatly relieved to see me. She +hastened to the drawing-room. + +"Here he is, Miss Cahoon," she said. "He's come back, ma'am. He's +here." + +"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?" + +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. + +"Oh, Hosy!" she cried, "I'm so glad you've come. I wanted you so." + +"Wanted me?" I repeated. "Why, what do you mean? Has anything +happened?" + +She nodded, solemnly. + +"Yes," she said, "somethin' has happened. Somethin' we might have +expected, perhaps, but--but--Hosy, read that." + +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: + + +"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. + +"FRANCES MORLEY. + +"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." + + +I read to the end. Then, without speaking, I looked at Hephzy. +Her eyes were brimming with tears. + +"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." + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +In Which Hephzy and I Agree to Live for Each Other + + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"Rest!" + +"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." + +I ignored the last sentence. "You will be ready?" I repeated. "Do +you mean you're going with me?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +My conscience smote me. "I'll go, Hephzy," said I. "I'll do +whatever you wish; it is the least I can do." + +She thanked me. Then she said, hesitatingly: + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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! + +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. + +"Hephzy," said I, "I am not going to London. I have been thinking, +and I'm not going." + +Hephzy put down the tray she was carrying. She did seem surprised, +but I am sure she was relieved. + +"You're not goin'!" she exclaimed. "Why, Hosy!" + +"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." + +"Let her go? And not try--" + +"No. We have no right to try. You know it as well as I do. Now, +be honest, won't you?" + +Hephzy hesitated. + +"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--" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +I smiled, or tried to smile. + +"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." + +Hephzy nodded. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + + I shook my head. + +"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'." + +Her conviction was so strong that I hadn't the heart to contradict +her. I said nothing. + +"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." + +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. + +"All right, Hephzy," I said. "I'll stay, if it pleases you." + +"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?" + +"Probably she forgot it," I said. + +"Humph! Queer she should forget that and nothin' else. I don't +believe she forgot it. _I_ think she took it because you gave it +to her and she wanted to keep it to remind her of you." + +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. + +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. + +"So you're back, Knowles," he said. "When did you return?" + +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. + +"Did Frances--did Miss Morley return with you?" he asked eagerly. + +"No," said I. + +His smile vanished. + +"Oh!" he said, soberly. "She is still in London, then?" + +"I--I presume she is." + +"You presume--? Why, I say! don't you know?" + +"I am not sure." + +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. + +"You don't know when she is coming back?" he repeated. + +"No." + +He regarded me keenly. There was a change in the tone of his next +remark. + +"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." + +"She did not mention it to anyone," I answered. "It was a very +sudden determination on her part." + +He considered this. + +"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?" + +I hesitated. Mayberry's principal thoroughfare was far from +crowded, but it was scarcely the place for an interview like this. + +"She had a reason for leaving," I answered, slowly. "I will tell +you later, perhaps, what it was. Just now I cannot." + +"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." + +"I appreciate your feelings, but I cannot tell you now." + +"Why not?" + +"Because--Well, because I don't think it would be fair to her. She +would not wish me to tell you." + +"She would not wish it? Was it because of me she left?" + +"No; not in the least." + +"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--" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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." + +He reflected. He was far from satisfied, naturally, and his next +speech showed it. + +"It is extraordinary, all this," he said. "You are quite sure you +don't know when she is coming back?" + +"Quite." + +"Would you mind giving me her London address?" + +"I don't know it." + +"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?" + +"Yes." + +"What--? Are you trying to tell me she is not coming back at all?" + +"I am afraid not." + +He was very pale. He seized my arm. + +"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!" + +"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." + +He shook my arm savagely. + +"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--" + +"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." + +"Contented! Why, man, you're mad. She is your niece. You are her +guardian and--" + +"I am not her guardian. Neither is she my niece." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +I told Hephzy all about it. She appeared to think that, after all, +perhaps it was best. + +"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." + +"I'm afraid it isn't out," I said, truthfully. "He won't be +satisfied with one operation." + +"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." + +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--" + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +Hephzy put in a word. + +"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." + +Our visitor straightened in his chair. The idea that his son could +love anyone and not be loved in return was plainly quite +inconceivable. + +"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--" + +Hephzy interrupted. + +"I beg your pardon for saying it, Doctor Bayliss," she said, "but +you know as much about us as we do about you." + +The doctor's composure was ruffled still more. He regarded Hephzy +through his spectacles and then said, with dignity. + +"Madame, I have resided in this vicinity for nearly forty years. I +think my record and that of my family will bear inspection." + +"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." + +The old gentleman was a bit disconcerted. He cleared his throat +and fidgeted in his seat. + +"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." + +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. + +"What do you mean by providin' everything is as it should be?" she +asked. + +"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." + +Hephzy looked at me and I looked at her. + +"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?" + +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." + +"There was no mistake, Doctor Bayliss," said I. "I told your son +the truth, a very little of the truth." + +"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!" + +Again Hephzy and I looked at each other. Without speaking we +reached the same conclusion. Hephzy voiced that conclusion. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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--" + +"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." + +He paid no attention to this. + +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." + +"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." + +"My son! Herbert? Why I must tell him! I must tell my wife." + +"You may tell your wife. And your son as much as you think +necessary. Further than that it must not go." + +"Of course, of course. I understand. But an opera singer!" + +"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." + +"Hephzy," I said, "when did she tell you this? I didn't know of +it." + +"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." + +Doctor Bayliss was sitting with a hand to his forehead. + +"A provincial opera singer," he repeated. "Oh, impossible! Quite +impossible!" + +"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." + +The doctor groaned. "The boy is mad about her, quite mad," he +admitted. + +I was sorry for him. Perhaps if I were in his position I might +feel as he did. + +"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." + +He seemed to find some ground for hope in this. He rose from the +chair and extended his hand. + +"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." + +"Yes," said I, with a sigh. "He IS young, and he may forget." + +After he had gone Hephzy turned to me. + +"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." + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +In Which I Play Golf and Cross the Channel + + +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. + +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. + +"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'." + +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. + +"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?" + +"From Campbell," I answered, wearily. "He wants to know how the +novel is getting on, of course." + +"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." + +I smiled. Mine was a delightful vacation. + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"What do you think, Hosy!" she cried. "I've got a letter and you +can't guess who it's from." + +"From Susanna?" I ventured. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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." + +Hephzy seemed disappointed, I thought. + +"Then you think I'd better say no?" she observed. + +"Why, of course. You weren't thinking of accepting, were you?" + +"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." + +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." + +"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?" + +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. + +"Why don't we go?" urged Hephzy. + +"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." + +Hephzy shook her head. + +"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." + +No amount of urging moved her, so we dropped the subject. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"The boy is back, Knowles," he said. "Have you seen him?" + +"Yes," said I, "I have seen him, although we haven't met yet. I +was surprised to find him here. When did he return?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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. + +"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?" + +"No." + +"Dear me! dear me! That's very odd, now isn't it." + +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. + +"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." + +Young Bayliss turned. The doctor whispered in my ear. + +"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." + +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. + +"Knowles," he asked, the moment after his father's departure, "have +you heard anything? Anything concerning--her?" + +"No." + +"You're sure? You're not--" + +"I am quite sure. We haven't heard nor do we expect to." + +He looked away across the course and I heard him draw a long +breath. + +"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?" + +"No." + +"But--but, confound it, man, aren't you trying to find her?" + +"No." + +"You're not! Why not?" + +"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." + +He was silent for a moment. Then his teeth snapped together. + +"I'll find her," he declared, fiercely. "I'll find her some day." + +"In spite of her request?" + +"Yes. In spite of the devil." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"And how is the aunt with the odd name, Knowles?" he inquired. +"Does she still devour her--er--washing flannels and treacle for +breakfast?" + +"She does when she cares to," I replied. "She is an independent +lady, as I think you know." + +"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!" + +Later on he asked another question. + +"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?" + +"I don't know," I replied, curtly. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +I had not said anything--at least I think I had not. He +misinterpreted my silence. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Hephzy," I asked, "when do the Heptons leave Paris for their trip +through Switzerland?" + +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." + +"Of course you have written them that we cannot accept their +invitation to go along?" + +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." + +"Yes," said I, absently. "So you haven't posted the letter to the +Heptons. Why not?" + +"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." + +"Give it to me," said I. "I'll--I'll see to it." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I imagine we shall have a rather rough passage, Hephzy," said I. + +Hephzy's attention was otherwise engaged. + +"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?" + +"So that's the famous English Channel, is it," she observed, a +moment later. "How wide is it, Hosy?" + +"About twenty miles at the narrowest point, I believe," I said. + +"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." + +She was inclined to regard the Channel rather contemptuously just +then. A half hour later she was more respectful. + +The steamer was awaiting us at the pier. As the throng of +passengers filed up the gang-plank she suddenly squeezed my arm. + +"Look! Hosy!" she cried. "Look! Isn't that him?" + +I looked where she was pointing. + +"Him? Who?" I asked. + +"Look! There he goes now. No, he's gone. I can't see him any +more. And yet I was almost certain 'twas him." + +"Who?" I asked again. "Did you see someone you knew?" + +"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--" + +I stopped short. "Who did you think you saw?" I demanded. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"How the wind does blow," said Hephzy. "What are the people doin' +with those black tarpaulins?" + +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. + +"How much?" I asked. + +"One franc each," said the man, curtly. + +I had visited the money-changers near the Charing Cross station and +was prepared. Hephzy's eyes opened. + +"A franc," she repeated. "That's French money, isn't it. Is he a +Frenchman?" + +"Yes," said I. "This is a French boat, I think." + +She watched the sailor for a moment. Then she sighed. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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?" + +"They may be useful later on," I said, watching the seas leap and +foam against the stone breakwater. "You'll probably understand +later, Hephzy." + +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. + +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. + +"My soul!" exclaimed Hephzy, the salt water running down her face. +"My soul and body!" + +"I agree with you," said I. + +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: + +"Trickles down one's neck a bit, doesn't it, sir." + +I agreed that it did. Hephzy, huddled under the lee of my +shoulder, sputtered. + +"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." + +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. + +"This damned French boat!" he observed, rising with difficulty. +"She absolutely WON'T be still." + +"The sea is pretty rough." + +"Oh, the sea is all right. A bit damp, that's all. It's the +blessed boat. Foreigners are such wretched sailors." + +He was off on another tack. Hephzy watched him wonderingly. + +"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." + +"Not on this side of the Channel," I answered. "This side is +English water, therefore it is all right." + +A few minutes later Hephzy spoke again. + +"Look at those poor women," she said. + +Opposite us were two English ladies, middle-aged, wretchedly ill +and so wet that the feathers on their hats hung down in strings. + +"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?" + +The woman addressed looked up and tried her best to smile. + +"Oh, no, thank you," she said, weakly but cheerfully. "We're doing +quite well. It will soon be over." + +Hephzy shook her head. + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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." + +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. + +In the cab, on the way to the hotel where we were to meet the +Heptons, Hephzy talked incessantly. + +"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!" + +At the door of the hotel Mr. Hepton met us. + +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. + +"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." + +Hephzy stared at me. + +"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--" + +"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." + +In spite of my insisting Hephzy still declared she should not go. +It was nearly midnight before she gave in. + +"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?" + +The next forenoon I said good-by to her and the Heptons at the +railway station. Hephzy's last words to me were these: + +"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." + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XV + +In Which I Learn that All Abbeys Are Not Churches + + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +"The person who told me referred to it as an abbey," I said. + +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." + +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. + +"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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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. + +"Eh? Why, Knowles!" he exclaimed. + +"Good morning, Bayliss," said I. + +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. + +"I called," I said, "to see you, Bayliss. If you are not engaged I +should like to talk with you for a few moments." + +His answer was a question. + +"How did you know I was here?" he asked. + +"I saw your name in the list of recent arrivals at the +Continental," I answered. + +"I mean how did you know I was in Paris?" + +"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." + +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. + +"Who sent you here?" he asked, suddenly. + +"Sent me! No one sent me. I don't understand you." + +"Why did you follow me?" + +"Follow you?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +At last he spoke. + +"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?" + +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--" + +He interrupted me. "Then Heathcroft did tell you!" he exclaimed. +"I thought as much." + +"He told you, I know. He said he did." + +"Yes. He did. My God, man, isn't it awful! Have you seen her?" + +His manner convinced me that he had seen her. In my eagerness I +forgot to be careful. + +"No," I answered, breathlessly; "I have not seen her. Where is +she?" + +He turned and stared at me. + +"Don't you know where she is?" he asked, slowly. + +"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?" + +He was staring at me more oddly than ever. There was the strangest +expression on his face. + +"In a church!" he repeated. "Heathcroft told you--" + +"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?" + +He did not answer. + +"In a church!" he said again. "You thought--Oh, good heavens!" + +He began to laugh. It was not a pleasant laugh to hear. Moreover, +it angered me. + +"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?" + +He had stopped laughing. Now he seemed to be considering. + +"Then you did come over here to find her," he said, more slowly +still. "You were following her, why?" + +"WHY?" + +"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." + +The only answer I could make to this was a rather childish retort. + +"And so are you," I said. + +His fists clinched. + +"I!" he cried, fiercely. "I! Did _I_ ever say she was nothing to +me? Did _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--" + +"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--" + +"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?" + +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? + +"I--I feel that I have the right, everything considered," I +stammered. "She is not my niece, but she is Miss Cahoon's." + +"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--" + +"Are you hinting that I have lied to you?" + +"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." + +"Will you tell me--" + +"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." + +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. + +He had risen also and was facing me defiantly. + +"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. + +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? + +That evening I sought Monsieur Louis, the concierge, once more. + +"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?" + +Louis looked at me in an odd way. He seemed a bit embarrassed, an +embarrassment I should not have expected from him. + +"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." + +"What is it?" I asked. + +"A restaurant, Monsieur. A cafe chantant at Montmartre." + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +Remembering that I had, when I first mentioned the object of my +quest to him, referred to her as a relative, I nodded. + +He smiled and shrugged. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Monsieur would wish seats for how many?" he asked, in French. + +"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. + +"Ah, for one only. This way, Monsieur." + +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. + +"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. + +The bearded person seemed doubtful. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +The impossibility of Frances singing in a place like this became +more certain each minute, to my mind. I called the waiter. + +"Does Mademoiselle Juno sing here this evening?" I asked, in my +lame French. + +He shook his head. "Non, Monsieur," he answered, absently, and +hastened on with the bottle he was carrying. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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." + +"What is it?" I asked. "What is the matter?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + + + "Ye'll take the high road + And I'll take the low road, + And I'll be in Scotland afore ye--" + + +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. + + + "But me and my true love + Shall never meet again, + By the bonny, bonny banks + Of Loch--" + + +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. + +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. + +"Oh, I say! What happened? What made her do that?" demanded the +stout Englishman. Then he politely requested me to get off his +foot. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"I will give the card," he said, "but I warn Monsieur it is quite +useless. She will not see him." + +The waiter with whom I had seen Herbert Bayliss in altercation was +hurrying by me. I caught his arm. + +"Pardon, Monsieur," he protested, "but I must go. The gentleman +yonder desires his bill." + +"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." + +I backed the demand with another gold piece, the last in my pocket. +The waiter seemed surprised. + +"Not give the bill?" he repeated. + +"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." + +That was sufficient--in Paris. The waiter bowed low. + +"Rest in peace, Monsieur," he said. "The gentleman shall wait." + +I waited also, for what seemed a long time. Then the bearded one +reappeared. He looked surprised but pleased. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +I seized her hands with both of mine. + +"Frances!" I cried, chokingly. "Oh, Frances!" + +She withdrew her hands. When she spoke her tone was quiet but very +firm. + +"Why did you come here?" she asked. + +"Why did I come? Why--" + +"Yes. Why did you come? Was it to find me? Did you know I was +here?" + +"I did not know. I had heard--" + +"Did Doctor Bayliss tell you?" + +I hesitated. So she HAD seen Bayliss and spoken with him. + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Yes, I got it." + +"Then why did you do it? Oh, WHY did you?" + +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. + +"Come," I said, "I will tell you as we go. Come with me now." + +She freed her arm. + +"I am not coming with you," she said. "Why did you come here?" + +"I came--I came--Why did YOU come? Why did you leave us as you +did? Without a word!" + +She turned and faced me. + +"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." + +"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--" + +She interrupted. I doubt if she had comprehended more than the +first few words of what I was saying. + +"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!" + +Her firmness had gone. She was on the verge of tears. I tried to +take her hands again, but she would not permit it. + +"I shall not go," I persisted, as gently as I could. "Or when I go +you must go with me. You don't understand." + +"But I do understand. My aunt--Miss Cahoon told me. I understand +it all. Oh, if I had only understood at first." + +"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--" + +"I am not. I am not really related to you in any way. You know I +am not." + +"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." + +"She wants that! She--But it was your money that paid for the very +clothes I wore. Your money--not hers; she said so." + +"That doesn't make any difference. She wants you and--" + +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. + +"Stop! Oh, stop!" she cried. "She wanted me and--and so you--Did +you think I would consent? To live upon your charity?" + +"There is no charity about it." + +"There is. You know there is. And you believed that I--knowing +what I know--that my father--my own father--" + +"Hush! hush! That is all past and done with." + +"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." + +There was firmness enough in this speech; altogether too much. But +I was as firm as she was. + +"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?" + +"I know what the place is," she said quietly. + +"You know! And yet you stay here! Why? You can't like it!" + +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. + +"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." + +She answered without halting in her walk. + +"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!" + +"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." + +"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." + +We had reached the corner. Beyond was the square, with its lights +and its crowds of people and vehicles. I seized her arm. + +"It shall not be good-by," I cried, desperately. "I shall not let +you go." + +"You must." + +"I sha'n't. I shall come here night after night until you consent +to come back to Mayberry." + +She stopped then. But when she spoke her tone was firmer than +ever. + +"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?" + +She meant it. If I persisted in my determination she would do as +she said; I was sure of it. + +"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." + +What could I do, or say? + +"Good-by," I faltered. + +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. + +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. + +"Frances!" I called. "Frances!" + +She turned and saw me. Then I heard my own name shouted from the +sidewalk I had just left. + +"Knowles! Knowles!" + +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. + +"Knowles!" he shouted. "Stop! I want to see you." + +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. + +"Kent! Kent!" she cried. "Oh, be careful! KENT!" + +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. + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +In Which I Take My Turn at Playing the Invalid + + +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. + +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: + +"He is not dead, Mademoiselle." + +And then a voice, a voice that I seemed to recognize, said: + +"You are sure, Doctor? You are sure? Oh, thank God!" + +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. + +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: + +"Lie still. You mustn't move. Lie still, please. We shall be +there soon." + +Where "there" might be I had no idea and it was too much trouble to +ask, so I drifted off again. + +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. + +"Here! What are you doing?" I asked. "I am all right. Let go of +me. Let go, I tell you." + +Again the voice--it sounded less and less like Hephzy's--saying: + +"Don't! Please don't! You mustn't move." + +But I kept on moving, although moving was a decidedly uncomfortable +process. + +"What are they doing to me?" I asked. "Where am I? Hephzy, where +am I?" + +"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." + +That woke me more thoroughly. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"Hephzy," I said, fretfully. "Hephzy, make them take me to my +hotel. I insist upon it." + +"Which hotel is it? Kent--Kent, answer me. What is the name of +the hotel?" + +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. + +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. + +"Hephzy," I said, weakly, "when did you get here?" + +The figure at the window rose and came to the bedside. It was not +Hephzy. With a thrill I realized who it was. + +"Frances!" I cried. "Frances! Why--what--" + +"Hush! You mustn't talk. You mustn't. You must be quiet and keep +perfectly still. The doctor said so." + +"But what happened? How did I get here? What--?" + +"Hush! There was an accident; you were hurt. We brought you here +in a carriage. Don't you remember?" + +What I remembered was provokingly little. + +"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?" + +"Yes. We were taking you to the hospital. We did take you there, +but as they were taking you from the ambulance you--" + +"Ambulance! Was I in an ambulance? What happened to me? What +sort of an accident was it?" + +"Please don't try to talk. You must not talk." + +"I won't if you tell me that. What happened?" + +"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!" + +"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." + +"Yes, the doctor--the doctor they called--and Doctor Bayliss." + +"Doctor Bayliss! Herbert Bayliss, do you mean? Yes, I saw him at +the 'Abbey'--and afterward. Did he come here with me?" + +"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." + +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. + +She rose from the chair by the bed and walked across the room. + +"Don't go," I said. + +She came back almost immediately. + +"It is time for your medicine," she said. + +I took the medicine. She turned away once more. + +"Don't go," I repeated. + +"I am not going. Not for the present." + +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. + +"Have you been with me ever since it happened--since I was hurt?" I +asked, suddenly. + +"Yes, of course." + +"All night?" + +She smiled. "There was very little of the night left," she +answered. + +"But you have had no rest at all. You must be worn out." + +"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." + +"Miss Cahoon? Hephzy? Have you sent for her?" + +My tone of surprise startled her, I think. She looked at me. + +"Sent for her?" she repeated. "Isn't she here--in Paris?" + +"She is in Interlaken, at the Victoria. Didn't the concierge tell +you?" + +"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--" + +I interrupted. + +"Stay until she comes!" I repeated. "Stay--! Why you can't do +that! You can't! You must not!" + +"Hush! hush! Remember you are ill. Think of yourself!" + +"Of myself! I am thinking of you. You mustn't stay here--with me. +What will they think? What--" + +"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." + +But I refused to hush. + +"You must not!" I cried. "You shall not! Why did you do it? They +could have found a nurse, if one was needed. Bayliss--" + +"Doctor Bayliss does not know. If he did I should not care. As +for the others--" she colored, slightly, + +"Well, I told the concierge that you were my uncle. It was only a +white lie; you used to say you were, you know." + +"Say! Oh, Frances, for your own sake, please--" + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +She had received the telegram which Frances sent and had come from +Interlaken post haste. + +"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." + +"Was she here?" I asked. + +"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--" + +"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?" + +"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--" + +"Wait a moment, Hephzy. Did she tell you of our meeting? And how +I found her?" + +"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." + +"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. + +"Where is she now?" I asked. I asked it with as much indifference +as I could assume, but Hephzy smiled and patted my hand. + +"Oh, she comes every day to ask about you," she said. "And Doctor +Bayliss comes too. He's been real kind." + +"Bayliss!" I exclaimed. "Is he with--Does he come here?" + +"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?" + +"I don't know," I answered, curtly. Then I changed the subject. + +"Has she said anything to you about coming back to Mayberry?" I +asked. "Have you told her how we feel toward her?" + +Hephzy's manner changed. "Yes," she said, reluctantly, "I've told +her. I've told her everything." + +"Not everything? Hephzy, you haven't told her--" + +"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." + +"And she said?" + +"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." + +"I know. That is what she said to me." + +"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." + +I did not answer. I knew only too well that it could not be. + +"Does she seem happy?" I asked. + +"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." + +"How different?" + +"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?" + +"Why do you ask that?" + +"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--" + +She paused. "What did I say?" I asked. + +"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?" + +"I understand. Thank you, Hephzy." + +"Yes. Well, _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?" + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +"And you?" I asked. "How are you?" + +"I? Oh, I'm fit enough, I suppose. Good-by." + +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. + +"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?" + +"I don't know. I suppose he has. He was only too anxious to +speak, there in Mayberry." + +"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?" + +"A dismal sort of book," I said, gloomily. + +"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--" + +"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." + +Hephzy was unconvinced. "I don't care," she said. "She ought to +even if she doesn't. _I_ fell in love with you long ago, Hosy. +And she DID bring you here after you were hurt and took care of +you." + +"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." + +"But--" + +"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." + +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?" + +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-- + +"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." + +I said nothing. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"'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!' + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +Hephzy hastened after her. She returned alone. + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +He did not know that I had found her, or that the hoped-for novel +was less likely to be finished than ever. + +Hephzy was now able to leave me occasionally, to take the walks +which I insisted upon. She had some queer experiences in these +walks. + +"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." + +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. + +"A lady to see Monsieur," he said. + +The lady was Frances. + +She entered the room and I rose to greet her. + +"Why, you are alone!" she exclaimed. "Where is Miss Cahoon?" + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +"I suppose," she said, "you will be going back to Mayberry soon." + +"Back to Mayberry?" I repeated. + +"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." + +"Yes. Yes, that was given up, of course." + +"Then you will go back to England, will you not?" + +"I don't know. We have made no plans as yet." + +"But you will go back. Miss Cahoon said you would. And, when your +lease of the rectory expires, you will sail for America." + +"I don't know." + +"But you must know," with a momentary impatience. "Surely you +don't intend to remain here in Paris." + +"I don't know that, either. I haven't considered what I shall do. +It depends--that is--" + +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. + +"Upon what does it depend?" she asked. + +"Oh, nothing. I did not mean that it depended upon anything in +particular. I--" + +"You must have meant something. Tell me--answer me truthfully, +please: Does it depend upon me?" + +Of course that was just what it did depend upon. And suddenly I +determined to tell her so. + +"Frances," I demanded, "are you still there--at that place?" + +"At L'Abbaye. Yes." + +"You sing there every night?" + +"Yes." + +"Why do you do it? You know--" + +"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." + +"But it isn't a fit place for you. And you don't like it; I know +you don't." + +"No," quietly. "I don't like it." + +"Then don't do it. Give it up." + +"If I give it up what shall I do?" + +"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--" + +She interrupted. "Please don't," she said. "I have told you that +that is impossible. It is. I shall never go back to Mayberry." + +"But why? Your aunt--" + +"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--" + +"Don't make any exceptions. Come with us. If not to Mayberry, +then somewhere else. Come to America with us." + +"No." + +"Frances--" + +"Don't! My mind is made up. Please don't speak of that again." + +Again I realized the finality in her tone. The same finality was +in mine as I answered. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +She rose from her chair and standing by the window looked out into +the street. Suddenly she turned and looked at me. + +"Would it please you if I gave up singing at L'Abbaye?" she asked +quietly. "You know it would." + +"And if I did would you and Miss Cahoon go back to England--at +once?" + +Here was another question, one that I found very hard to answer. +I tried to temporize. + +"We want you to come with us," I said, earnestly. "We want you. +Hephzy--" + +"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!" + +"But for Hephzy's sake. She is your only relative." + +She looked at me oddly. And when she spoke her answer surprised +me. + +"You are mistaken," she said. "I have other--relatives. Good-by, +Mr. Knowles." + +She was on her way to the door. + +"But, Frances," I cried, "you are not going. Wait. Hephzy will be +here any moment. Don't go." + +She shook her head. + +"I must go," she said. At the door she turned and looked back. + +"Good-by," she said, again. "Good-by, Kent." + +She had gone and when I reached the door she had turned the corner +of the corridor. + +When Hephzy came I told her of the visit and what had taken place. + +"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?" + +I had been thinking. + +"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?" + +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." + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +"I think you had better not," I said. + +"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." + +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. + +He did not recognize me at first, but when I stated my errand, he +did. Out went his hands and up went his shoulders. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +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? + +I did not answer that question. It was not his business and, +beside, I did not wish to speak of Herbert Bayliss. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Did she--did she go alone?" I asked. + +The stout lady hesitated. Was Monsieur a very close friend? +Perhaps a relative? + +"An uncle," I said, telling the old lie once more. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Good evening, Bayliss," said I, and extended my hand. + +"Good evening, Knowles," he said, but he kept his own hands in his +pockets. And he did not ask me to be seated. + +"Well?" he said, after a moment. + +"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?" + +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. + +"We can be more private here," he explained, briefly. "What did +you ask?" + +"I asked if you knew where Miss Morley had gone and where she was +at the present time?" + +He hesitated, pulling at his mustache, and frowning. "I don't see +why you should ask me that?" he said, after a moment. + +"But I do ask it. Do you know where she is?" + +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." + +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. + +"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?" + +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." + +I was puzzled. "_I_ ought to know?" I repeated. "I ought to know +whether she is happy or not? I don't understand." + +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." + +"What are you driving at, Bayliss? I tell you I don't know what +you mean." + +He did not answer. He was frowning and kicking the corner of a rug +with his foot. + +"I don't understand what you mean," I repeated. "You are saying +too much or too little for my comprehension." + +"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." + +"There was no subject but that one. And you will tell me nothing +more concerning Miss Morley?" + +"No." + +"Good night," I said, and turned away. Then I turned back. + +"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." + +Once more I extended my hand. For an instant I thought he was +going to take it, but he did not. + +"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!" + +"But I do," I said, patiently. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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." + +He stared at me, wide-eyed. + +"You wouldn't!" he repeated. "You wouldn't! And you--Oh, I say! +And you talked of her happiness!" + +"It is her happiness I am thinking of. If it were my own I should--" + +"What?" + +"Nothing, nothing. She will be happier if I do not follow her, I +suppose. That is enough for me." + +He regarded me with the same intent stare. + +"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?" + +"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." + +"You won't!" + +"No, I will not trouble her again." + +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. + +"Knowles," he said, "you're a good fellow, but--" + +"But what?" I asked, stiffly. + +"You're no end of a silly ass in some ways. Good night." + +He turned on his heel and walked off. + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +In Which I, as Well as Mr. Solomon Cripps, Am Surprised + + +"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?" + +"It is a strange coincidence," I admitted. + +"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?" + +I knew why she had done it, or I believed I did. + +"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?" + +"Yes, I know; you told me that, Hosy. But you said you didn't +promise to do it." + +"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." + +Hephzy was silent for a moment. Then she said: "Why not?" + +"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-- +" + +"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?" + +"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." + +"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_ 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?" + +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. + +"Humph!" she exclaimed. "He seemed surprised to think you weren't +goin' to Leatherhead, you say?" + +"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." + +"Maybe so . . . maybe so. But why did he call you a--what was it?-- +a silly donkey?" + +"Because I am one, I imagine," I answered, bitterly. "It's my +natural state. I was born one." + +"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?" + +"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." + +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. + +I rose. + +"Good night," I said, curtly. "I'm going to bed." + +"That's right, Hosy. You ought to go. You'll be sick again if you +sit up any longer. Good night, dearie." + +"And you?" I asked. "What are you going to do?" + +"I'm going to set up a spell longer. I want to think." + +"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!" + +She moved toward me. There was the same odd expression on her face +and a queer, excited look in her eyes. + +"Perhaps you aren't really awake, Hosy," she said, gently. +"Perhaps this is the final dream and when you do wake you'll find-- +" + +"Oh, bosh!" I interrupted. "Don't tell me you have another +presentiment. If you have keep it to yourself. Good night." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"You seem to be remarkably happy," I observed, fretfully. + +"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." + +"Well, you are happy, or you are trying to appear so. If you are +pretending for my benefit, don't. I'M not happy." + +"I know, Hosy; I know. Well, perhaps you--" + +She didn't finish the sentence. + +"Perhaps what?" + +"Oh, nothin', nothin'. How many shirts did you bring with you? is +this all?" + +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. + +"Hephzy," I said, suddenly, "where did you go when you went out +this morning? What sort of 'errands' were those of yours?" + +She was folding my ties, her back toward me, and she answered +without turning. + +"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." + +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? + +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. + +"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." + +"Oh, don't talk about signs, Hephzy," I pleaded, wearily. "You'll +begin to dream again, I suppose, pretty soon." + +"No, I won't. I think you and I have stopped dreamin', Hosy. +Maybe we're just wakin' up, same as I told you." + +"What do you mean by that?" + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"What in the world, Hephzy!" I exclaimed. "We can't go to Mayberry +from here." + +"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." + +The cabman paid, she took my arm and led me into the station. + +"And now, Hosy," she said, "let me tell you. We aren't goin' to +Mayberry--not yet. We're going to Leatherhead." + +"To Leatherhead!" I repeated. "To Leatherhead! To--her? We +certainly will do no such thing." + +"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." + +"Duty! Our duty is to let her alone, to leave her in peace, as she +asked us." + +"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?" + +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?" + +"I don't know as I know anything, Hosy. I can't say that I do. +But--" + +"You saw Herbert Bayliss yesterday. That was the 'errand' you went +upon yesterday morning in Paris. Wasn't it?" + +She was very much taken aback. She has told me since that she had +no idea I suspected the truth. + +"Wasn't it?" I repeated. + +"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." + +"What did he tell you?" I asked. + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +Hephzy was still embarrassed and confused, though she answered +promptly enough. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"There's something behind you, Hephzy. Some other reason that you +haven't told me. Was that all Bayliss said?" + +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." + +"I shall not, Hephzy." + +"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." + +I shook my head. + +"I would do almost anything for your sake, Hephzy," I began. + +"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." + +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. + +"I shall go whether you do or not," she said, as I stood looking at +her. + +"You mean that, Hephzy?" + +"I surely do. I'm goin' to see her this very forenoon. And I do +hope you'll go with me." + +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. . . . + +"I'll go, Hephzy," I said. I didn't mean to say it; the words +seemed to come of themselves. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"Is Miss Morley in?" asked Hephzy. + +The maid shook her head. + +"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." + +She asked if we would leave cards. Hephzy said no. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"All right, Hosy," she said. "You go and have your walk. I'll +wait here. But don't be long, will you." + +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. + +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. + +I paused. And then close beside me, I heard a startled exclamation. + +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. + +I did not speak. I could not, for the moment. She spoke first. + +"You!" she exclaimed. "You--here!" + +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. + +She was recovering from her surprise. She came toward me. + +"What are you doing here?" she asked. "Why did you come?" + +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. + +"I mean why did you come here--to Leatherhead?" she asked. "Why +did you come? Did you know--" + +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. + +"I knew you were here," I broke in, quickly. "I--we--your aunt +knew and we came." + +"But HOW did you know? Who told you?" + +"The--we learned," I answered. "And we came." + +It was a poor explanation--or none at all. She seemed to think it +so. And yet she seemed more hurt than offended. + +"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." + +I was ashamed, thoroughly ashamed and disgusted with myself for +yielding to Hephzy's entreaties. + +"No, no," I protested, "I did not promise. I did not promise, +Frances." + +"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--" + +"Did you?" I cried, eagerly. "Did you give it up for my sake, +Frances? Did you?" + +"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!" + +I was more ashamed than ever. I tried desperately to justify my +action. + +"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." + +And, for the moment I thought this appeal had some effect. It +seemed to me that her resolution was shaken, that she was wavering. + +"You--you really want me?" she repeated. + +"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." + +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. + +"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 rne? And yet you talk of my happiness!" + +"But you aren't happy here. ARE you happy?" + +"I am happy enough. Yes, I am happy." + +"I don't believe it. Are these Crippses kind to you?" + +"Yes." + +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. + +"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--" + +"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?" + +"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--" + +Again she interrupted. "One moment," she said, "Let me understand. +Are you urging me to marry Herbert Bayliss?" + +"No. I am not urging you, of course. But if you do care for him--" + +"I do not." + +"Oh, you don't love him?" + +I wonder if there was relief in my tone. There should not have +been, of course, but I fear there was." + +"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." + +"Very well. I only meant--Tell me this, if you will: Is there +someone you do care for?" + +She did not answer. I had offended her again. She had cause to be +offended. What business was it of mine? + +"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--" + +"Oh, don't, don't! He doesn't." + +"Then there is someone?" + +She was silent. I tried to speak like a man, like the man I was +pretending to be. + +"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--" + +I could not trust myself to go on, although I tried to do so. She +answered, without looking at me. + +"Yes," she said, "you can leave me now. I am safe and--and happy. +Good-by." + +I took her hand. + +"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." + +It was a lame conclusion and trite enough. She must have thought +so. + +"I shall not forget you," she said, simply. "And I will try to +write occasionally. Yes, I will try. Now please go. Good-by." + +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. + +"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." + +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." + +"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--" + +I was at hand by this time. + +"What's all this, Hephzy?" I asked. + +Before Hephzy could reply Mrs. Cripps spoke. + +"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." + +The sight of me appeared to upset what little self-control Mr. +Cripps had left. + +"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--" + +I sprang forward. + +"WHAT?" I cried. "What are you saying?" + +Hephzy was frightened. + +"Hosy," she cried, "don't look so. Don't! You frighten me." + +I scarcely heard her. + +"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?" + +If Mr. Cripps was alarmed his wife was not. She stepped forward +and faced me defiantly. + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +"What is it?" she cried, in alarm. "Oh, what is it?" + +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. + +"What is it?" she repeated. "Oh, Kent! what is the matter? Why +did you come back? What has happened?" + +I stepped forward. True or false I must know. I must know then +and there. It was now or never for me. + +"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?" + +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. + +"Who is it?" I repeated. + +She drew back. + +"I--I can't tell you," she faltered. "You mustn't ask me." + +"But I do ask. You must tell me, Frances--Frances, it isn't--it +can't be that you love ME. Do you?" + +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. + +"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--" + +I faltered, hesitated, and stopped. She did not answer for a +moment, a long, long moment. Then: + +"Mr. Knowles," she said, "you surprise me. I didn't suspect--I +didn't think--" + +I sighed. I had had my answer. Of course it was idiotic. I +should have known; I did know. + +"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--" + +"What did he say? Mr. Cripps, do you mean? What did he say?" + +"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." + +She looked up and then down again. + +"There is nothing to forgive," she said. + +"Yes, there is. There is a great deal. An old--" + +"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--" + +"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." + +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. + +"What Mr. Cripps said was true," she said. + +I could not believe it. I did not believe it even then. + +"True!" I repeated. "No, no! You don't mean--" + +"I do mean it. I told him that I loved you." + +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. + +"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?" + +"Yes, Kent," softly, "I am sure." + +"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--" + +"I am sure. It is not because I am grateful." + +"But, my dear--think! Think what it means, I am--" + +"I know what you are," tenderly. "No one knows as well. But, +Kent--Kent, are YOU sure? It isn't pity for me?" + +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: + +"Someone is coming! Don't, dear, don't! Someone is coming." + +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. + +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. + +"So!" she exclaimed. "Here's where you are! I thought as much. +And you--you brazen creature!" + +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. + +"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?" + +I should have answered him as he deserved to be answered, but +Frances would not let me. + +"Don't, Kent," she whispered. "Don't quarrel with him, please. He +is going, Mr. Cripps. We are going--now." + +Mrs. Cripps fairly shrieked. "WE are going?" she repeated. "Do +you mean you are going with him?" + +Hephzy joined in, but in a quite different tone. + +"You are goin'?" she said, joyfully. "Oh, Frances, are you comin' +with us?" + +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. + +"Yes," said I, "she is coming with us, Hephzy. Mr. Cripps, will +you be good enough to stand out of the way? Come, Frances." + +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. + +"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." + +Mrs. Cripps, standing by the gate, fell back upon her last line of +intrenchments, the line of piety. + +"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." + +Hephzy's retort was to the point. + +"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." + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +In Which the Pilgrimage Ends Where It Began + + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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--" + +"I didn't say anything of the kind," I broke in. + +"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?" + +"Yes," said Frances, simply. "We have, Auntie--" + +"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." + +"Oh, then you're not quite satisfied, after all," I observed. +"What more do you want?" + +"I want just one thing more; just one, that's all." + +I believed I know what that one thing was, but I asked her. She +shot a look at me, a look of indignant meaning. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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?" + +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." + +"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?" + +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." + +"Well, we did come," said Hephzy, cheerfully, "and I thank the good +Lord for it. Now we won't talk any more about THAT." + +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. + +"You--you haven't told her," she faltered. + +"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." + +She looked at me. She was smiling, but there was a tiny wrinkle +between her brows. + +"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." + +"Yes," I admitted, grudgingly. "Yes, he loves you, Frances." + +"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?" + +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?" + +"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." + +"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--" + +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. + +"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." + +"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--" + +I faltered and stopped. She was standing beside me, looking up +into my face. + +"I did know it," she said. "He told me, there in Paris. And I +told him--" + +"You told him--?" + +"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." + +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. + +"Kent," she said; "don't you think we should tell Auntie now? She +will be pleased, I hope." + +"Pleased! She will be--I can't think of a word to describe it. +She loves you, too, dear." + +"I know. I hope she will love me more now. She worships you, +Kent." + +"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?" + +She laughed lightly. "Kent," she whispered, "what was it Doctor +Bayliss called you when you offered to promise not to follow me to +Leatherhead?" + +I had told her the whole story of my last interview with Bayliss at +the Continental. + +"He called me a silly ass," I answered promptly. "I don't care." + +"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." + +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. + +"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--" + +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. + +"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--" + +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. + +"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!" + +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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"I should say I didn't!" I exclaimed, fervently. + +"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--" + +This way out of the difficulty had occurred to me; so when she +seemed to hesitate, I asked: "But what?" + +"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." + +"I can't do that, Hephzy," I said. "How could I?" + +"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--" + +I interrupted. "My wife!" I repeated. "Hephzy, what are you +talking about? Do you mean--" + +"I mean that you and she might be married right off, to-day +perhaps. Then everything would be all right." + +I stared at her. + +"But--but she wouldn't consent," I stammered. "It is impossible. +She wouldn't think of such a thing." + +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--" + +"Wanted to!" I cried. "Hephzy!" + +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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +That afternoon she left for Mayberry to do the "packing up" and my +wife and I were alone--and together. + +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. + +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. + +"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?" + +I told him I was quite well, and inquired concerning his own +health. + +"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?" + +"She is well, too," I answered. + +"Couldn't think of her being ill, somehow," he observed. "And +where have you been, may I ask?" + +I said I had been on the Continent for a short stay. + +"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?" + +I dodged the question. I asked him what he had been doing since +the day of the golf tournament. + +"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." + +"Married!" I repeated. "Really? The--the Warwickshire young lady, +I presume." + +"Yes. How did you know of her?" + +"Your aunt--Lady Carey--mentioned that your--your affections were +somewhat engaged in that quarter." + +"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?" + +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, + +"A remarkably attractive girl, your niece," he went on. "Have you +heard from her?" + +"Yes," I said, absently. "I must say good-by, Heathcroft. That is +the train I have been waiting for." + +"Oh, is it. Then, au revoir, Knowles. By the way, kindly remember +me to your niece when you see her, will you." + +"I will. But--" I could not resist the temptation; "but she isn't +my niece," I said. + +"Oh, I say! What? Not your niece? What is she then?" + +"She is my wife--now," I said. "Good-by, Mr. Heathcroft." + +I hurried away before he could do more than gasp. I think I shook +even his serene composure at last. + +I told Hephzy about it as we rode to the hotel in the cab. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +He insisted upon our breakfasting with him at a near-by hotel. +When he and I were alone together he seized my arm. + +"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?" + +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?" + +"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?" + +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. + +"It's no use," he said. "I'm too good for the business I am in. I +am wasting my talents. _I_ sent you over there. _I_ told you to +go. _I_ prescribed travel and a wife and all the rest. _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." + +"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?" + +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." + +As he said good-by to us at the Grand Central Station he asked me +another question. + +"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?" + +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." + +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." + +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? + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Here we are!" I cried, springing out and helping her and Hephzy to +alight. "Here we are at last. This is home, dear." + +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. + +"Mr. Knowles," he said, "on this happy occasion it is our privilege +to--" + +But Captain Cy interrupted him. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"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--" + +She came to me and put her arms about my neck. + +"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." + +"Then you like it?" I cried. "You really like it? It is so +different from England. The people--" + +"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." + +I made a dash for the kitchen. "Hephzy!" I shouted. "Hephzy! She +does like it. She likes Bayport and the people and everything." + +Hephzy was just entering at the back door. She did not seem in the +least surprised. + +"Of course she likes it," she said, with decision. "How could +anybody help likin' Bayport?" + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +Which Treats of Quahaugs in General + + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +Frances smiled. "No apology is needed, Mr. Tidditt," she said. +"I confess to having been born a--savage." + +"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_ +don't toady to nobody neither." + +Hephzy had come in by this time and now she took a part in the +conversation. + +"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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +"No," I said; "this one is quite different. You will have no +trouble in sleeping over this one, Ase." + +"That's a comfort. Got a little Bayport in it? Seems to me you +ought to put a little Bayport in, for a change." + +I smiled. "There is a little in this," I answered. "A little at +the beginning, and, perhaps, at the end." + +"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?" + +I laughed, but I did not answer. + +"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." + +I laughed again. + +"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?" + +"I'd say you was crazy," was the prompt answer. + +"Well, I'm not. And you're not very complimentary. You're +forgetting again. You forget that I married one of those savages." + +Asaph was taken aback, but he recovered promptly, as he had before. + +"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?" + +"Yes," said Frances, "I am sure of it, Mr. Tidditt." + +So Asaph went away triumphantly happy. After he had gone I +apologized for him. + +"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." + +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?" + +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." + +She paused and then, as a final summing up, added: + +"I guess that's it: American or German or French or anything--nice +folks are nice folks anywhere." + + + +THE END + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, KENT KNOWLES: QUAHAUG *** + +This file should be named kkqua10.txt or kkqua10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, kkqua11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, kkqua10a.txt + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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