That enterprising business man, Mr. “Web” Saunders, opened the door of his renovated billiard room a little later than usual the next morning. It was common report about the village that Mr. Saunders occasionally sampled the contents of some of the “original packages” which, bearing the name and address of a Boston wholesale liquor dealer, came to him by express at irregular intervals. It was also reported, probably by unreliable total abstainers, that during these “sampling” seasons his temper was not of the best. Perhaps Mrs. Saunders might have said something concerning this report if she had been so disposed, but unless a discolored eye might be taken as evidence, she never offered any. The injury to her eye she explained by saying that something “flew up and hit her.” This was no doubt true.
But, gossip aside, Mr. Saunders did not seem in good humor on this particular morning. A yellow cur, of nondescript breed, taken since the fire, in payment of a debt from “Squealer” Wixon, who had described it as a “fust-class watchdog,” rose from its bed behind the cigar counter, yawned, stretched, and came slinking over to greet its master. “Web” forcibly hoisted it out of the door on the toe of his boot. Its yelp of pained surprise seemed to afford the business man considerable relief, for he moved more briskly afterward, and proceeded to sweep the floor with some degree of speed.
The forenoon trade at the billiard room was never very lively, and this forenoon was no exception. “Bluey” Batcheldor drifted in, stepped into the little room the door of which was lettered “Ice Cream Parlor,” and busied himself with a glass and bottle for a few moments. Then he helped himself to a cigar from the showcase, and told his friend to “chalk it up.” This Mr. Saunders didn't seem to care to do, and there was a lively argument. At length “Bluey's” promise to “square up in a day or so” was accepted, under protest, and the customer departed.
At half-past eleven the man of business was dozing in a chair by the stove, and the “watchdog,” having found it chilly outside and venturing in, was dozing near him. The bell attached to the door rang vigorously, and both dog and man awoke with a start. The visitor was Captain Eri.
Now, the Captain was perhaps the last person whom the proprietor of the billiard room expected to see, but a stranger never would have guessed it. In fact, the stranger might reasonably have supposed that the visitor was Mr. Saunders' dearest friend, and that his call was a pleasure long looked forward to.
“Why, Cap'n!” exclaimed “Web,” “how are you? Put her there! I'm glad to see you lookin' so well. I said to 'Squealer' the other day, s'I, 'Squealer, I never see a man hold his age like Cap'n Hedge. I'll be blessed if he looks a day over forty,' I says. Take off your coat, won't you?”
Somehow or other, the Captain must have lost sight of “Web's” extended hand. Certainly, the hand was large enough to be seen, but he did not take it. He did, however, accept the invitation to remove his coat, and, slipping out of the faded brown pea jacket, threw it on a settee at the side of the room. His face was stern and his manner quiet, and in spite Of Mr. Saunders' flattering reference to his youthful appearance, this morning he looked at least more than a day past forty.
But, if Captain Eri was more than usually quiet and reserved, “Web” was unchanged, and, if he noticed that the handshake was declined, said nothing about it. His smile was sweetness itself, as he observed, “Well, Cap'n, mighty mod'rate weather we're having for this time of year, ain't it? What's new down your way? That's right, have a chair.”
The Captain had no doubt anticipated this cordial invitation, for he seated himself before it was given, and, crossing his legs, extended his dripping rubber boots toward the fire. The rain was still falling, and it beat against the windows of the saloon in gusts.
“Web,” said Captain Eri, “set down a minute. I want to talk to you.”
“Why, sure!” exclaimed the genial man of business, pulling up another chair. “Have a cigar, won't you? You don't come to see me very often, and I feel's though we ought to celebrate. Ha! ha! ha!”
“No, I guess not, thank you,” was the answer. “I'll smoke my pipe, if it's all the same to you.”
Mr. Saunders didn't mind in the least, but thought he would have a cigar himself. So he lit one and smoked in silence as the Captain filled his pipe. “Web” knew that this was something more than an ordinary social visit. Captain Eri's calls at the billiard room were few and far between. The Captain, for his part, knew what his companion was thinking, and the pair watched each other through the smoke.
The pipe drew well, and the Captain sent a blue cloud whirling toward the ceiling. Then he asked suddenly, “Web, how much money has Elsie Preston paid you altogether?”
Mr. Saunders started the least bit, and his small eyes narrowed a trifle. But the innocent surprise in his reply was a treat to hear.
“Elsie? Paid ME?” he asked.
“Yes. How much has she paid you?”
“I don't know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do. She's been payin' you money reg'lar for more 'n a month. I want to know how much it is.”
“Now, Cap'n Hedge, I don't know what you're talkin' about. Nobody's paid me a cent except them that's owed me. Who did you say? Elsie Preston? That's the school-teacher, ain't it?”
“Web, you're a liar, and always was, but you needn't lie to me this mornin', 'cause it won't be healthy; I don't feel like hearin' it. You understand that, do you?”
Mr. Saunders thought it time to bluster a little. He rose to his feet threateningly.
“Cap'n Hedge,” he said, “no man 'll call me a liar.”
“There's a precious few that calls you anything else.”
“You're an old man, or I'd—”
“Never you mind how old I am. A minute ago you said I didn't look more 'n forty; maybe I don't feel any older, either.”
“If that Preston girl has told you any—”
“She hasn't told me anything. She doesn't know that I know anything. But I do know. I was in the entry upstairs at the schoolhouse for about ten minutes last night.”
Mr. Saunders' start was perceptible this time. He stood for a moment without speaking. Then he jerked the chair around, threw himself into it, and said cautiously, “Well, what of it?”
“I come up from the house to git Elsie home 'cause 'twas rainin'. I was told you was with her, and I thought there was somethin' crooked goin' on; fact is, I had a suspicion what 'twas. So when I got up to the door I didn't go in right away; I jest stood outside.”
“Listenin', hey! Spyin'!”
“Yup. I don't think much of folks that listens, gin'rally speakin', but there's times when I b'lieve in it. When I'm foolin' with a snake I'd jest as soon hit him from behind as in front. I didn't hear much, but I heard enough to let me know that you'd been takin' money from that girl right along. And I think I know why.”
“You do, hey?”
“Yup.”
Then Mr. Saunders asked the question that a bigger rascal than he had asked some years before. He leaned back in his chair, took a pull at his cigar, and said sneeringly, “Well, what are you goin' to do 'bout it?”
“I'm goin' to stop it, and I'm goin' to make you give the money back. How much has she paid you?”
“None of your d—n bus'ness.”
The Captain rose to his feet. Mr. Saunders sprang up, also, and reached for the coal shovel, evidently expecting trouble. But if he feared a physical assault, his fear was groundless. Captain Eri merely took up his coat.
“Maybe it ain't none of my bus'ness,” he said. “I ain't a s'lectman nor sheriff. But there's such things in town, and p'raps they'll be int'rested. Seems to me that I've heard that blackmailin' has got folks into State's prison afore now.”
“Is that so? Never heard that folks that set fire to other people's prop'ty got there, did you? Yes, and folks that helps 'em gits there, too, sometimes. Who was it hid a coat a spell ago?”
It was Captain Eri's turn to start. He hesitated a moment, tossed the pea jacket back on the settee and sat down once more. Mr. Saunders watched him, grinning triumphantly.
“Well?” he said with a sneer.
“A coat, you say?”
“Yes, a coat. Maybe you know who hid it; I can guess, myself. That coat was burned some. How do you s'pose it got burned? And say! who used to wear a big white hat round these diggin's? Ah, ha! Who did?”
There was no doubt about the Captain's start this time. He wheeled sharply in his chair, and looked at the speaker.
“Humph!” he exclaimed. “You found that hat, did you?”
“That's what I done! And where do you think I found it? Why, right at the back of my shed where the fire started. And there'd been a pile of shavin's there, too, and there'd been kerosene on 'em. Who smashed the bottle over in the field, hey?”
Captain Eri seemed to be thinking. “Web” evidently set his own interpretation on this silence, for he went on, raising his voice as he did so.
“Did you think I was fool enough not to know who set that fire? I knew the night she burned, and when I met Dr. Palmer jest comin' from your house, and he told me how old Baxter was took sick goin' to the fire—oh, yes, GOIN'—I went up on that hill right off, and I hunted and I found things, and what I found I kept. And what I found when I pulled that burned shed to pieces I kept, too. And I've got 'em yit!”
“You have, hey? Dear! dear!”
“You bet I have! And somebody's goin' to pay for 'em. Goin' to pay, pay, PAY! Is that plain?”
The Captain made no answer. He thrust his hands into his pockets and looked at the stove dolefully, so it seemed to the man of business.
“Fust off I thought I'd have the old cuss jailed,” continued Mr. Saunders. “Then, thinks I, 'No, that won't pay me for my buildin' and my bus'ness hurt and all that.' So I waited for Baxter to git well, meanin' to make him pay or go to the jug. But he stayed sick a-purpose, I b'lieve, the mean, white-headed, psalm-singin'—”
Captain Eri moved uneasily and broke in, “You got your insurance money, didn't you?”
“Yes, I did, but whose fault is that? 'Twa'n't his, nor any other darned 'Come-Outer's.' It don't pay me for my trouble, nor it don't make me square with the gang. I gen'rally git even sometime or 'nother, and I'll git square now. When that girl come here, swellin' 'round and puttin' on airs, I see my chance, and told her to pay up or her granddad would be shoved into Ostable jail. That give her the jumps, I tell you!”
“You wrote her a letter, didn't you?”
“You bet I did! She come 'round to see me in a hurry. Said she didn't have no money. I told her her granddad did, an she could git that or go to work and earn some. I guess she thought she'd ruther work. Oh, I've got her and her prayin', house-burnin' granddad where I want 'em, and I've got you, too, Eri Hedge, stickin' your oar in. Talk to me 'bout blackmail! For two cents I'd jail the old man and you, too!”
This was the real Mr. Saunders. He usually kept this side of his nature for home use; his wife was well acquainted with it.
Captain Eri was evidently frightened. His manner had become almost apologetic.
“Well,” he said, “I wouldn't do that if I was you, Web. I heard you tell Elsie last night she wa'n't payin' you enough, and I thought—”
“I know what you thought. You thought you could scare me. You didn't know I had the coat and hat, did you? Well, what I said I stand by. The girl AIN'T payin' me enough. Fourteen dollars a week she gits, and she's only been givin' up ten. I want more. I want—”
But here Captain Eri interrupted him.
“I guess that 'll do,” he said calmly. “You've told me what I wanted to know. Ten dollars a week sence the middle of November. 'Bout seventy dollars, rough figgerin'. Now, then, hand it over.”
“What?”
“Hand over that seventy dollars.”
“Hand over hell! What are you talkin' 'bout?”
The Captain rose and, leaning over, shook his forefinger in Mr. Saunders' flabby red face.
“You low-lived, thievin' rascal,” he said, “I'm givin' you a chance you don't deserve. Either you'll pay me that money you've stole from that girl or I'll walk out of that door, and when I come in again the sheriff 'll be with me. Now, which 'll it be? Think quick.”
Web's triumphant expression was gone, and rage and malice had taken its place. He saw, now, that the Captain had tricked him into telling more than he ought. But he burst out again, tripping over words in his excitement.
“Think!” he yelled. “I don't need to think. Bring in your sheriff. I'll march down to your house and I'll show him the man that set fire to my buildin'. What 'll you and that snivelin' granddaughter of his do then? You make off to think a turrible lot of the old prayer-machine 'cause he's your chum. How'd you like to see him took up for a firebug, hey?”
“I ain't afraid of that.”
“You ain't? You AIN'T! Why not?”
“'Cause he's gone where you can't git at him. He died jest afore I left the house.”
Mr. Saunders' brandished fist fell heavily on the arm of his chair. His face turned white in patches, and then flamed red again.
“Died!” he gasped.
“Died.”
“You—you're a liar!”
“No, I ain't. John Baxter's dead. He was a chum of mine—you're right there—and if I'd known a sneak like you was after him I'd have been here long afore this. Why, you—”
The Captain's voice shook, but he restrained himself and went on.
“Now, you see where you stand, don't you? Long's John lived you had the proof to convict him; I'll own up to that much. I hid the coat; I smashed the bottle. The hat I didn't know 'bout. I might have told you at fust that all that didn't amount to anything, but I thought I'd wait and let you tell me what more I wanted to know. John Baxter's gone, poor feller, and all your proof ain't worth a cent. Not one red cent. Understand?”
It was quite evident that Mr. Saunders did understand, for his countenance showed it. But the bluster was not out of him yet.
“All right,” he said. “Anyhow, the girl's left, and if she don't pay I'll show her granddad up for what he was. And I'll show you up, too. Yes, I will!” he shouted, as this possibility began to dawn on him. “I'll let folks know how you hid that coat and—and all the rest of it.”
“No, you won't.”
“Why won't I?”
“'Cause you won't dare to. You've been hittin' at a sick man through a girl; neither of 'em could hit back. But now you're doin' bus'ness with me, and I ain't sick. If you open your mouth to anybody,—if you let a soul know who set that fire,—I'll walk straight to Jedge Baker, and I'll tell him the whole story. I'll tell him what I did and why I did it. And THEN I'll tell him what you did—how you bullied money out of that girl that hadn't no more to do with the fire than a baby. If it comes to facin' a jury I'll take my chances, but how 'bout you? You, runnin' a town nuisance that the s'lectmen are talkin' of stoppin' already; sellin' rum by the drink when your license says it shan't be sold 'cept by the bottle. Where'll YOUR character land you on a charge of blackmail?
“And another thing. The folks in this town knew John Baxter afore he was like what he's been lately. A good many of 'em swore by him—yes, sir, by mighty, some of 'em loved him! This is a law-abidin' town, but s'pose—jest s'pose I should go to some of the fellers that used to sail with him, and tell 'em what you've been up to. Think you'd stay here long? I think you'd move out—on a rail.”
Captain Eri paused and sat on the arm of his chair, grimly watching his opponent, whose turn for thinking had come. The face of the billiard magnate was an interesting study in expression during the Captain's speech. From excited triumph it had fallen to fear and dejection; and now, out of the wreck, was appearing once more the oily smile, the sugared sweetness of the every-day Mr. Saunders.
“Now, Cap'n Hedge,” purred the reconstructed one, “you and me has always been good friends. We hadn't ought to fight like this. I don't think either of us wants to go to court. Let's see if we can't fix the thing up some way.”
“We'll fix it up when you pay me the seventy dollars.”
“Now, Cap'n Hedge, 'tain't likely I've got seventy dollars in my pocket. Seems to me you're pretty hard on a poor feller that's jest been burnt out. I think we'd ought to—”
“How much HAVE you got?”
After a good deal of talk and protestation Mr. Saunders acknowledged being the possessor of twenty-six dollars, divided between the cash drawer and his pocket. This he reluctantly handed to the Captain.
Then the Captain demanded pen, ink, and paper; and when they were brought he laboriously wrote out a screed to the effect that Webster Saunders had received of Elsie Preston forty-four dollars, which sum he promised to pay on demand.
“There,” he said, pushing the writing materials across the table. “Sign that.”
At first Mr. Saunders positively refused to sign. Then he intimated that he had rather wait and think it over a little while. Finally he affixed his signature and spitefully threw the pen across the room.
Captain Eri folded up the paper and put it in his pocket. Then he rose and put on his pea jacket.
“Now, there's jest one thing more,” he said. “Trot out that coat and hat.”
“What do you mean?”
“Trot out that coat and hat of John's. I want 'em.”
“I shan't do it.”
“All right, then. It's all off. I'll step over and see the Jedge. You'll hear from him and me later.”
“Hold on a minute, Cap'n. You're in such a everlastin' hurry. I don't care anything 'bout the old duds, but I don't know's I know where they are. Seems to me they're up to the house somewheres. I'll give 'em to you to-morrer.”
“You'll give 'em to me right now. I'll tend shop while you go after 'em.”
For a moment it looked as though the man of business would rebel outright. But the Captain was so calm, and evidently so determined to do exactly what he promised, that “Web” gave up in despair. Muttering that maybe they were “'round the place, after all,” he went into the back room and reappeared with the burned coat and the scorched white felt hat. Slamming them down on the counter, he said sulkily, “There they be. Any more of my prop'ty you'd like to have?”
Captain Eri didn't answer. Coolly tearing off several sheets of wrapping paper from the roll at the back of the counter, he made a bundle of the hat and coat, and tucked it under his arm. Then he put on his own hat and started for the door.
“Good-mornin',” he said.
The temper of the exasperated Mr. Saunders flared up in a final outburst.
“You think you're almighty smart, don't you?” he growled between his teeth. “I'll square up with you by and by.”
The Captain turned sharply, his hand on the latch.
“I wish you'd try,” he said. “I jest wish to God you'd try. I've held in more 'n I thought I could when I come up here, but if you want to start a reel fust-class rumpus, one that 'll land you where you b'long and rid this town of you for keeps, jest try some of your tricks on me. And if I hear of one word that you've said 'bout this whole bus'ness, I'll know it's time to start in. Now, you can keep still or fight, jest as you please. I tell you honest, I 'most wish you'd fight.”
The door slammed. Mr. Saunders opened it again and gazed vindictively after the bulky figure splashing through the slush. The dog came sneaking up and rubbed his nose against his master's hand; it was an impolitic move on his part.
“Git out!” roared Web, delighted at the opportunity. “You good-for-nothin' pup! How's that set?”
“That” was a kick that doubled the cur up against the settee. As it scrambled to its feet, Mr. Saunders kicked it again. And then the “watchdog” exhibited the first evidence of spirit that it had ever been known to show. With a snarl, as the man turned away, it settled its teeth into the calf of his leg, and then shot out of the door and, with its tail between its legs, went down the road like a yellow cannon ball.
It was true—John Baxter was dead. His violent outbreak of the previous afternoon had hastened the end that the doctor had prophesied. There was no harrowing death scene. The weather-beaten old face grew calmer, and, the sleep sounder, until the tide went out—that was all. It was like a peaceful coming into port after a rough voyage. No one of the watchers about the bed could wish him back, not even Elsie, who was calm and brave through it all. When it was over, she went to her room and Mrs. Snow went with her. Captain Eri went out to make his call upon Mr. Saunders.
The funeral was one of the largest ever held in Orham. The little house was crowded. Old friends, who had drifted away from the fanatic in his latter days, came back to pay tribute to the strong man whom they had known and loved. There was some discussion among the captains as to who should preach the funeral sermon. Elsie had left this question to Captain Eri for settlement, and the trio and Mrs. Snow went into executive session immediately.
“If John had had the settlin' of it himself,” observed Eri, “he'd have picked Perley, there ain't no doubt 'bout that.”
“I know it,” said Captain Perez, “but you must remember that John wa'n't himself for years, and what he'd have done now ain't what he'd have done 'fore he broke down. I hate to think of Perley's doin' it, somehow.”
“Isn't Mr. Perley a good man?” asked the housekeeper.
“He's good enough, fur's I know,” replied Captain Jerry, “but I know what Perez means. A funeral, seems to me, ought to be a quiet, soothin' sort of a thing, and there ain't nothin' soothin' 'bout Come-Outer' preachin'. He'll beller and rave 'round, I'm 'fraid, and stir up poor Elsie so she won't never git over it.”
“I know it,” agreed Captain Eri. “That's what I've been afraid of. And yit,” he added, “I should feel we was doin' somethin' jest opposite from what John would like, if we had anybody else.”
“Couldn't you see Mr. Perley beforehand,” suggested Mrs. Snow, “and tell him jest the kind of sermon he must preach. Tell him it must be quiet and comfortin' and—”
“And short.” Captain Eri finished the sentence for her. “I guess that's the way we'll have to settle it. I'll make him understand one thing, though—he mustn't drag in rum sellin' and all the rest of it by the heels. If he does I'll—I don't know what I'll do to him.”
The interview with the Reverend Perley that followed this conversation must have been effective, for the sermon was surprisingly brief and as surprisingly calm. In fact, so rational was it that a few of the more extreme among the preacher's following were a bit disappointed and inquired anxiously as to their leader's health, after the ceremony was over.
The procession of carryalls and buggies followed the hearse to the cemetery among the pines, and, as the mourners stood about the grave, the winter wind sang through the evergreen branches a song so like the roar of the surf that it seemed like a dirge of the sea for the mariner who would sail no more. As they were clearing away the supper dishes that night Captain Eri said to Mrs. Snow, “Well, John's gone. I wonder if he's happier now than he has been for the last ten years or so.”
“I think he is,” was the answer.
“Well, so do I, but if he hadn't been a 'Come Outer' I don't s'pose Brother Perley and his crowd would have figgered that he had much show. Seems sometimes as if folks like that—reel good-hearted folks, too, that wouldn't hurt a fly—git solid comfort out of the feelin' that everybody that don't agree with 'em is bound to everlastin' torment. I don't know but it's wicked to say it, but honest, it seems as if them kind would 'bout as soon give up the hopes of Heaven for themselves as they would the satisfaction of knowin' 'twas t'other place for the other feller.”
To which remark the somewhat shocked housekeeper made no reply.
The following day Elsie went back to her school. Captain Eri walked up with her, and, on the way, told her of his discovery of her secret, and of his interview with “Web” Saunders. It was exactly as the Captain had surmised. The note she had received on the evening of the return from the life-saving station was from the proprietor of the billiard saloon, and in it he hinted at some dire calamity that overshadowed her grandfather, and demanded an immediate interview. She had seen him that night and, under threat of instant exposure, had promised to pay the sum required for silence. She had not wished to use her grandfather's money for this purpose, and so had taken the position as teacher.
“Well,” said the Captain, “I wish you'd have come to me right away, and told me the whole bus'ness. 'Twould have saved a pile of trouble.”
The young lady stopped short and faced him.
“Captain Eri,” she said, “how could I? I was sure grandfather had set the fire. I knew how ill he was, and I knew that any shock might kill him. Besides, how could I drag you into it, when you had done so much already? It would have been dreadful. No, I thought it all out, and decided I must face it alone.”
“Well, I tell you this, Elsie; pretty gin'rally a mean dog 'll bite if he sees you're afraid of him. The only way to handle that kind is to run straight at him and kick the meanness out of him. The more he barks the harder you ought to kick. If you run away once it 'll be mighty uncomf'table every time you go past that house. But never mind; I cal'late this p'tic'lar pup won't bite; I've pulled his teeth, I guess. What's your plans, now? Goin' to keep on with the school, or go back to Boston?”
Miss Preston didn't know; she said she had not yet decided, and, as the schoolhouse was reached by this time, the Captain said no more.
There was, however, another question that troubled him, and that seemed to call for almost immediate settlement. It was: What should be done with Mrs. Snow? The housekeeper had been hired to act as such while John Baxter was in the house. Now he was gone, and there remained the original marriage agreement between Captain Jerry and the widow, and honor called for a decision one way or the other. Mrs. Snow, of course, said nothing about it, neither did Captain Jerry, and Captain Eri felt that he must take the initiative as usual. But, somehow, he was not as prompt as was his wont, and sat evening after evening, whittling at the clipper and smoking thoughtfully. And another week went by.
Captain Perez might, and probably would, have suggested action upon this important matter, had not his mind been taken up with what, to him, was the most important of all. He had made up his mind to ask Patience Davis to marry him.
Love is like the measles; it goes hard with a man past fifty, and Captain Perez was severely smitten. The decision just mentioned was not exactly a brand-new one, his mind had been made up for some time, but he lacked the courage to ask the momentous question. Something the lady had said during the first stages of their acquaintance made a great impression on the Captain. She gave it as her opinion that a man who loved a woman should be willing to go through fire and water to win her. Captain Perez went home that night pondering deeply.
“Fire and water!” he mused. “That's a turrible test. But she's a wonderful woman, and would expect it of a feller. I wonder if I could do it; seems 's if I would now, but flesh is weak, and I might flunk, and that would settle it. Fire and water! My! my! that's awful!”
So the Captain delayed and Miss Patience, who had cherished hopes, found need of a good share of the virtue for which she was named.
But one afternoon at the end of the week following that of the funeral, Perez set out for a call upon his intended which he meant should be a decisive one. He had screwed his courage up to the top notch, and as he told Captain Eri afterwards, he meant to “hail her and git his bearin's, if he foundered the next minute.”
He found the lady alone, for old Mrs. Mayo had gone with her son, whose name was Abner, to visit a cousin in Harniss, and would not be back until late in the evening. Miss Patience was very glad to have company, and it required no great amount of urging to persuade the infatuated swain to stay to tea. When the meal was over—they washed the dishes together, and the Captain was so nervous that it is a wonder there was a whole plate left—the pair were seated in the parlor. Then said Captain Perez, turning red and hesitating, “Pashy, do you know what a feller told me 'bout you?”
Now, this remark was purely a pleasant fiction, for the Captain was about to undertake a compliment, and was rather afraid to shoulder the entire responsibility.
“No; I'm sure I don't, Perez,” replied Miss Davis, smiling sweetly.
“Well, a feller told me you was the best housekeeper in Orham. He said that the man that got you would be lucky.”
This was encouraging. Miss Patience colored and simpered a little.
“Land sake!” she exclaimed. “Whoever told you such rubbish as that? Besides,” with downcast eyes, “I guess no man would ever want me.”
“Oh, I don't know.” The Captain moved uneasily in his chair, as if he contemplated hitching it nearer to that occupied by his companion. “I guess there's plenty would be mighty glad to git you. Anyhow, there's—there's one that—that—I cal'late the fog's thick as ever, don't you?”
But Miss Patience didn't mean to give up in this way.
“What was it you was goin' to say?” she asked, by way of giving the bashful one another chance.
“I was goin' to say, Pashy, that—that—I asked if you thought the fog was as thick as ever.”
“Oh, dear me! Yes, I s'pose likely 'tis,” was the discouraged answer.
“Seems to me I never see such weather for this time of year. The ice is all out of the bay, and there ain't a bit of wind, and it's warm as summer, pretty nigh. Kind of a storm-breeder, I'm afraid.”
“Well, I'm glad you're here to keep me comp'ny. I've never been sole alone in this house afore, and I should be dreadful lonesome if you hadn't come.” This was offered as a fresh bait.
“Pashy, I've got somethin' I wanted to ask you. Do you think you could—er—er—”
“What, Perez?”
“I wanted to ask you”—the Captain swallowed several times—“to ask you—What in the nation is that?”
“Oh, that's nothin' only the hens squawkin'. Go on!”
“Yes, but hens don't squawk this time of night 'thout they have some reason to. It's that fox come back; that's what 'tis.”
Miss Patience, earlier in the evening, had related a harrowing tale of the loss of two of Mrs. Mayo's best Leghorns that had gone to furnish a Sunday meal for a marauding fox. As the said Leghorns were the pride of the old lady's heart, even the impending proposal was driven from Miss Davis' mind.
“Oh, Perez! you don't s'pose 'tis the fox, do you?”
“Yes, MA'AM, I do! Where's the gun?”
“There 'tis, behind the door, but there ain't a mite of shot in the house. Abner's been goin' to fetch some from the store for I don't know how long, but he's always forgot it.”
“Never mind. I'll pound the critter with the butt. Come quick, and bring a lamp.”
The noise in the henyard continued, and when they opened the door it was louder than ever.
“He's in the henhouse,” whispered Miss Patience. “He must have gone in that hole at the side that had the loose board over it.”
“All right,” murmured the Captain. “You go 'round with the lamp and open the door. That 'll scare him, and I'll stand at the hole and thump him when he comes out.”
So, shielding the lamp with her apron, the guardian of Mrs. Mayo's outraged Leghorns tiptoed around to the henhouse door, while Captain Perez, brandishing the gun like a club, took up his stand by the hole at the side.
Without the lamp the darkness was pitchy. The Captain, stooping down to watch, saw something coming out of the hole—something that was alive and moved. He swung the gun above his head, and, bringing it down with all his might, knocked into eternal oblivion the little life remaining in the finest Leghorn rooster.
“Consarn it!” yelled the executioner, stooping and laying his hand on the victim, “I've killed a hen!”
Just then there came a scream from the other side of the henhouse, followed by a crash and the sound of a fall. Running around the corner the alarmed Perez saw his lady-love stretched upon the ground, groaning dismally.
“Great land of Goshen!” he cried. “Pashy, are you hurt?”
“Oh, Perez!” gasped the fallen one. “Oh, Perez!”
This pitiful appeal had such an effect upon the Captain that he dropped upon his knees and, raising Miss Davis' head in his hands, begged her to say she wasn't killed. After some little time she obligingly complied, and then, having regained her breath, explained the situation.
What had happened was this: The fox, having selected his victim the rooster, had rendered it helpless, and was pushing it out of the hole ahead of him. The Captain had struck the rooster just as Miss Patience opened the door, and the fox, seizing this chance of escape, had dodged by the lady, upsetting her as he went.
“Well,” she said, laughing, “there's no great harm done. I'm sorry for the rooster, but I guess the fox had fixed him anyway. Oh, my soul and body! look there!”
Perez turned, looked as directed, and saw the henhouse in flames.
The lighted lamp, which Miss Patience had dropped as she fell, lay broken on the floor, and the blazing oil had run in every direction. The flames were making such headway that they both saw there was practically no chance of saving the building. The frightened hens were huddled in the furthest corner, gazing stupidly at the fire.
“Oh, those poor Leghorns!” wailed Miss Patience. “Those hens Mrs. Mayo thought the world of, and left me to look out for. Last thing she asked me was to be sure they was fed. And now they'll be all burned up! What SHALL I do?”
Here the lady began to cry.
“Pashy!” roared the Captain, whom the sight of his charmer's tears had driven almost wild, “don't say another word. I'll save them hens or git cooked along with 'em!”
And turning up his coat collar, as though he was going into a refrigerator instead of a burning building, Captain Perez sprang through the door.
Miss Davis screamed wildly to him to come back, and danced about, wringing her hands. The interior of the henhouse was now a mass of black smoke, from which the voices of the Captain and the Leghorns floated in a discordant medley, something like this:
“Hold still, you lunatics! ('Squawk! squawk!') Druther be roasted than have me catch you, hadn't you? ('Squawk! squawk!') A—kershew! Land! I'm smothered! NOW I've got you! Thunderation! Hold STILL! HOLD STILL, I tell you!”
Just as the agonized Miss Patience was on the point of fainting, the little window at the back of the shanty was thrown open and two hens, like feathered comets, shot through it. Then the red face of the Captain appeared for an instant as he caught his breath with a “Woosh!” and dived back again. This performance was repeated six times, the Captain's language and the compliments he paid the hens becoming more picturesque every moment.
At length he announced, “That's all, thank goodness!” and began to climb through the window. This was a difficult task; for the window was narrow and, in spite of what Captain Eri had called his “ingy-rubber” make up, Captain Perez stuck fast.
“Catch hold of my hands and haul, will you, Pashy?” he pleaded. “That's it; pull hard! It's gittin' sort of muggy in behind here. I'll never complain at havin' cold feet ag'in if I git out of this. Now, then! Ugh! Here we be!”
He came out with a jerk, like a cork out of a bottle, and rolled on the ground at his lady's feet.
“Oh, Perez!” she exclaimed, “are you hurt?”
“Nothin' but my feelin's,” growled the rescuer, scrambling upright. “I read a book once by a feller named Joshua Billin's, or somethin' like it. He was a ignorant chap—couldn't spell two words right—but he had consider'ble sense. He said a hen was a darn fool, and he was right; she's all that.”
The Captain's face was blackened, and his clothes were scorched, but his spirit was undaunted.
“Pashy,” he said, “do you realize that if we don't git help, this whole shebang, house and all, will burn down?”
“Perez, you don't mean it!”
“I wouldn't swear that I didn't. Look how that thing's blazin'! There's the barn t'other side of it, and the house t'other side of that.”
“But can't you and me put it out?”
“I don't dare resk it. No, sir! We've got to git help, and git it in a hurry, too!”
“Won't somebody from the station see the light and come over?”
“Not in this fog. You can't see a hundred foot. No, I've got to go right off. Good land! I never thought! Is the horse gone?”
“No; the horse is here. Abner took one of the store horses to go to Harniss with. But he did take the buggy, and there's no other carriage but the old carryall, and that's almost tumblin' to pieces.”
“I was cal'latin' to go horseback.”
“What! and leave me here alone with the house afire? No, indeed! If you go, I'm goin', too.”
“Well, then, the carryll's got to do, whether or no. Git on a shawl or somethin', while I harness up.”
It was a frantic harnessing, but it was done in a hurry, and the ramshackle old carryall, dusty and cobwebbed, was dragged out of the barn, and Horace Greeley, the horse, was backed into the shafts. As they drove out of the yard the flames were roaring through the roof of the henhouse, and the lath fence surrounding it was beginning to blaze.
“Everything's so wet from the fog and the melted snow,” observed the Captain, “that it 'll take some time for the fire to git to the barn. If we can git a gang here we can save the house easy, and maybe more. By mighty!” he ejaculated, “I tell you what we'll do. I'll drive across the ford and git Luther and some of the station men to come right across. Then I'll go on to the village to fetch more. It was seven when I looked at the clock as we come in from washin' dishes, so the tide must be still goin' out, and the ford jest right. Git dap!”
“Hurry all you can, for goodness' sake! Is this as fast as we can go?”
“Fast as we can go with this everlastin' Noah's Ark. Heavens! how them wheels squeal!”
“The axles ain't been greased for I don't know when. Abner was going to have the old carriage chopped up for kindlin' wood.”
“Lucky for him and us 'tain't chopped up now. Git dap, slow-poke! Better chop the horse up, too, while he's 'bout it.”
The last remark the Captain made under his breath.
“My gracious, how dark it is! Think you can find the crossin'?”
“GOT to find it; that's all. 'Tis dark, that's a fact.”
It was. They had gone but a few hundred yards; yet the fire was already merely a shapeless, red smudge on the foggy blackness behind them. Horace Greeley pounded along at a jog, and when the Captain slapped him with the end of the reins, broke into a jerky gallop that was slower than the trot.
“Stop your hoppin' up and down!” commanded Perez, whose temper was becoming somewhat frayed. “You make me think of the walkin' beam on a steamboat. If you'd stop tryin' to fly and go straight ahead we'd do better.”
They progressed in this fashion for some distance. Then Miss Davis, from the curtained depths of the back seat, spoke again.
“Oh, dear me!” she exclaimed. “Are you sure you're on the right track? Seems 's if we MUST be abreast the station, and this road's awful rough.”
Captain Perez had remarked the roughness of the road. The carryall was pitching from one hummock to another, and Horace Greeley stumbled once or twice.
“Whoa!” commanded the Captain. Then he got down, lit a match, and, shielding it with his hands, scrutinized the ground. “I'm kind of 'fraid,” he said presently, “that we've got off the road somehow. But we must be 'bout opposite the crossin'. I'm goin' to drive down and see if I can find it.”
He turned the horse's head at right angles from the way they were going, and they pitched onward for another hundred yards. Then they came out upon the hard, smooth sand, and heard the water lapping on the shore. Captain Perez got out once more and walked along the strand, bending forward as he walked. Soon Miss Patience heard him calling.
“I've found it, I guess,” he said, coming back to the vehicle. “Anyhow, it looks like it. We'll be over in a few minutes now. Git dap, you!”
Horace Greeley shivered as the cold water splashed his legs, but waded bravely in. They moved further from the shore and the water seemed to grow no deeper.
“Guess this is the crossin' all right,” said the Captain, who had cherished some secret doubts. “Here's the deep part comin'. We'll be across in a jiffy.”
The water mounted to the hubs, then to the bottom of the carryall. Miss Davis' feet grew damp and she drew them up.
“Oh, Perez!” she faltered, “are you sure this is the ford?”
“Don't git scared, Pashy! I guess maybe we've got a little to one side of the track. I'll turn 'round and try again.”
But Horace Greeley was of a different mind. From long experience he knew that the way to cross a ford was to go straight ahead. The bottom of the carryall was awash.
“Port your hellum, you lubber!” shouted the driver, pulling with all his might on one rein. “Heave to! Come 'bout! Gybe! consarn you! gybe!”
Then Horace Greeley tried to obey orders, but it was too late. He endeavored to touch bottom with his forelegs, but could not; tried to swim with his hind ones, but found that impossible; then wallowed wildly to one side and snapped a shaft and the rotten whiffletree short off. The carryall tipped alarmingly and Miss Patience screamed.
“Whoa!” yelled the agitated Perez. “'Vast heavin'! belay!”
The animal, as much frightened by his driver's shouts as by the water, shot ahead and tried to tear himself loose. The other sun-warped and rotten shaft broke. The carryall was now floating, with the water covering the floor.
“No use; I'll have to cut away the wreck, or we'll be on our beam ends!” shouted the Captain.
He took out his jackknife, and reaching over, severed the traces. Horace Greeley gave another wallow, and finding himself free, disappeared in the darkness amid a lather of foam. The carriage, now well out in the channel, drifted with the current.
“Don't cry, Pashy!” said the Captain, endeavoring to cheer his sobbing companion, “we ain't shark bait yit. As the song used to say:
“'We're afloat, we're afloat,
And the rover is free.'
“I've shipped aboard of 'most every kind of craft,” he added, “but blessed if I ever expected to be skipper of a carryall!”
But Miss Patience, shut up in the back part of the carriage like a water nymph in her cave, still wept hysterically. So Captain Perez continued his dismal attempt at facetiousness.
“The main thing,” he said, “is to keep her on an even keel. If she teeters to one side, you teeter to t'other. Drat that fox!” he ejaculated. “I thought when Web's place burned we'd had fire enough to last for one spell, but it never rains but it pours.”
“Oh, dear!” sobbed the lady. “Now everything 'll burn up, and they'll blame me for it. Well, I'll be drownded anyway, so I shan't be there to hear 'em. Oh, dear! dear!”
“Oh, don't talk that way. We're driftin' somewheres, but we're spinnin' 'round so I can't tell which way. Judas!” he exclaimed, more soberly, “I remember, now; it ain't but a little past seven o'clock, and the tide's goin' out.”
“Of course it is,” resignedly, “and we'll drift into the breakers in the bay, and that 'll be the end.”
“No, no, I guess not. We ain't dead yit. If I had an oar or somethin' to steer this clipper with, maybe we could git into shoal water. As 'tis, we'll have to manage her the way Ote Wixon used to manage his wife, by lettin' her have her own way.”
They floated in silence for a few moments. Then Miss Patience, who had bravely tried to stifle her sobs, said with chattering teeth, “Perez, I'm pretty nigh froze to death.”
It will be remembered that the Captain had spoken of the weather as being almost as warm as summer. This was a slight exaggeration. It happened, fortunately for the castaways, that this particular night, coming as it did just at the end of the long thaw, was the mildest of the winter and there was no wind, but the air was chill, and the damp fog raw and biting.
“Well, now you mention it,” said Captain Perez, “it IS cold, ain't it? I've a good mind to jump overboard, and try to swim ashore and tow the carryall.”
“Don't you DO it! My land! if YOU should drown what would become of ME?”
It was the tone of this speech, as much as the words, that hit the Captain hard. He himself almost sobbed as he said:
“Pashy, I want you to try to git over on this front seat with me. Then I can put my coat 'round you, and you won't be so cold. Take hold of my hand.”
Miss Patience at first protested that she never could do it in the world, the carriage would upset, and that would be the end. But her companion urged her to try, and at last she did so. It was a risky proceeding, but she reached the front seat somehow, and the carryall still remained right-side-up. Luckily, in the channel between the beaches there was not the slightest semblance of a wave.
Captain Perez pulled off his coat, and wrapped it about his protesting companion. He was obliged to hold it in place, and he found the task rather pleasing.
“Oh, you're SO good!” murmured Miss Patience. “What should I have done without you?”
“Hush! Guess you'd have been better off. You'd never gone after that fox if it hadn't been for me, and there wouldn't have been none of this fuss.”
“Oh, don't say that! You've been so brave. Anyhow, we'll die together, that's a comfort.”
“Pashy,” said Captain Perez solemnly, “it's mighty good to hear you say that.”
It is, perhaps, needless to explain that the “dying” portion of the lady's speech was not that referred to by the Captain; the word “together” was what appealed to him. Miss Patience apparently understood.
“Is it?” she said softly.
“Yes—yes, 'tis.” The arm holding the coat about the lady's shoulder tightened just a little. The Captain had often dreamed of something like this, but never with quite these surroundings. However, he was rapidly becoming oblivious to such trivial details as surroundings.
“Pashy,” he said huskily, “I've been thinkin' of you consider'ble lately. Fact is, I—I—well, I come down to-day a-purpose to ask you somethin'. I know it's a queer place to ask it, and—and I s'pose it's kind of sudden, but—will—will you—Breakers! by mighty!”
The carryall had suddenly begun to rock, and there were streaks of foam about it. Now, it gave a most alarming heave, grounded, swung clear, and tipped yet more.
“We're capsizin',” yelled Perez. “Hang on to me, Pashy!”
But Miss Patience didn't intend to let this, perhaps the final opportunity, slip. As she told her brother afterward, she would have made him say it then if they had been “two fathom under water.”
“Will I what, Perez?” she demanded.
The carryall rose on two wheels and begun to turn over, but the Captain did not notice it. The arms of his heart's desire were about his neck, and he was looking into her eyes.
“Will you marry me?” he gasped.
“Yes,” answered Miss Patience, and they went under together.
The Captain staggered to his feet, and dragged his chosen bride to hers. The ice-cold water reached their shoulders. And, like a flash, as they stood there, came a torrent of rain and a wind that drove the fog before it like smoke. Captain Perez saw the shore, with its silhouetted bushes, only a few yards away. Beyond that, in the blackness, was a light, a flickering blaze, that rose and fell and rose and fell again.
The Captain dragged Miss Patience to the beach.
“Run!” he chattered, “run, or we'll turn into icicles. Come on!”
With his arm about her waist Perez guided his dripping companion, as fast as they could run, toward the light. And as they came nearer to it they saw that it flickered about the blackened ruins of a hen-house and a lath fence.
It was Mrs. Mayo's henhouse, and Mrs. Mayo's fence. Their adventurous journey had ended where it began.
“You see, Eri,” said Captain Perez, as he told his friend the story that night, “that clock in the dining room that I looked at hadn't been goin' for a week; the mainspring was broke. 'Twa'n't seven o'clock, 'twas nearer nine when the fire started, and the tide wa'n't goin' out, 'twas comin' in. I drove into the water too soon, missed the crossin', and we jest drifted back home ag'in. The horse had more sense than I did. We found him in the barn waiting for us.”
Abner Mayo had piled against the back of his barn a great heap of damp seaweed that he intended using in the spring as a fertilizer. The fire had burned until it reached this seaweed and then had gone no further. The rain extinguished the last spark.
“Well, by mighty!” exclaimed Captain Perez for at least the tenth time, as he sat in the kitchen, wrapped in an old ulster of Mr. Mayo's, and toasting his feet in the oven, “if I don't feel like a fool. All that scare and wet for nothin'.”
“Oh, not for nothin', Perez,” said Miss Patience, looking tenderly down into his face.
“Well, no, not for nothin' by a good deal! I've got you by it, and that's everything. But say, Pashy!” and the Captain looked awed by the coincidence, “I went through fire and water to git you!”
Captain Perez made a clean breast of it to Captain Eri when he reached home that night. It was after twelve o'clock, but he routed his friend out of bed to tell him the news and the story. Captain Eri was not as surprised to hear of the engagement as he pretended to be, for he had long ago made up his mind that Perez meant business this time. But the tale of the fire and the voyage in the carryall tickled him immensely, and he rolled back and forth in the rocker and laughed until his side ached.
“I s'pose it does sound kind of ridic'lous,” said the accepted suitor in a rather aggrieved tone, “but it wa'n't ha'f so funny when 'twas goin' on. Fust I thought I'd roast to death, then I thought I'd freeze, and then I thought I'd drown.”
“Perez,” said the panting Eri, “you're a wonder. I'm goin' to tell Sol Bangs 'bout you next time I see him. He'll want you to enter in the races next Fourth of July. We've had tub races and the like of that, but a carryall sailin' match 'll be somethin' new. I'll back you against the town, though. You can count on me.”
“Now, look here, Eri Hedge, if you tell a livin' soul 'bout it, I'll—”
“All right, shipmate, all right; but it's too good to keep. You ought to write a book, one of them kind like Josiah used to read. Call it 'The Carryall Pirate, or The Terror of the Channel,' hey? Gee! you'd be famous! But, say, old man,” he added more seriously, “I'll shake hands with you. I b'lieve you've got a good woman, one that 'll make it smooth sailin' for you the rest of your life. I wish you both luck.”
Captain Perez shook hands very gravely. He was still a little suspicious of his chum's propensity to tease. It did not tend to make him less uneasy when, a little later, Captain Eri opened the parlor door and whispered, “Say, Perez, I've jest thought of some-thin'. What are you goin' to say to M'lissy Busteed? Her heart 'll be broke.”
“Aw, git out!” was the disgusted answer.
“Well, I only mentioned it. Folks have had to pay heavy for breach of promise 'fore now. Good-night.”
Perez manfully told of his engagement at the breakfast table next morning, although he said nothing concerning the rest of his adventures. He was rather taken aback to find that no one seemed greatly surprised. Everyone congratulated him, of course, and it was gratifying to discern the high opinion of the future Mrs. Ryder held by Mrs. Snow and the rest. Captain Jerry solemnly shook hands with him after the meal was over and said, “Perez, you done the right thing. There's nothin' like married life, after all.”
“Then why don't you try it yourself?” was the unexpected question. “Seems to me we'll have to settle that matter of yours pretty soon. I meant to speak to Eri 'bout it 'fore this, but I've had so much on my mind. I will to-night when he comes back from fishin'.”
Captain Jerry made no further remarks, but walked thoughtfully away.
So that evening, when they were together in Captain Jerry's room after supper, Perez, true to his promise, said:
“Eri, it seems to me we've got to do somethin' 'bout Mrs. Snow. She was hired to be housekeeper while John was sick. Now he's dead, and she'll think it's queer if we don't settle that marryin' bus'ness. Ain't that so?”
“Humph!” grunted Captain Jerry. “Perez is in a mighty sweat to git other folks married jest 'cause he's goin' to be. I don't see why she can't keep on bein' housekeeper jest the same as she's always been.”
“Well, I do, and so do you, and you know it. We agreed to the housekeepin' bus'ness jest as a sort of put off. Now we can't put off no longer. Mrs. Snow come down here 'cause we advertised for a wife, and she's been so everlastin' good that I feel 'most ashamed every time I think of it. No use, you've got to ask her to marry you. He has, hasn't he, Eri?”
“Yes,” answered Captain Eri laconically.
The sacrifice squirmed. “I hate to ask,” he said. “Why don't we wait a spell, and let her say somethin' fust?”
“That WOULD be nice, wouldn't it? She's that kind of a woman, ain't she?” sputtered Perez. “No, you bet she ain't! What she'd say would be to give her opinion of us and our manners, and walk out of the house bag and baggage, and I wouldn't blame her for doin' it.”
“P'raps she wouldn't have me. She never said she would.”
“Never said she would! Have you ever asked her? She's had all this time to l'arn to know you in, and I cal'late if she was willin' to think 'bout it 'fore she ever see you, she'd be more willin' now. Ain't that so, Eri?”
And again Captain Eri said shortly, “Yes.”
“I wish you'd mind your own consarns, and give me time,” protested Captain Jerry.
“Time! How much time do you want? Land of Goshen! I should think you'd had time enough. Why—”
“Oh, let up!” snorted the persecuted. “Why don't you git married yourself, and bring Pashy over to keep house? What we started to git in the fust place was jest a wife for one of us that would keep things shipshape, and now—”
The withering look of scorn that Perez bent upon him caused him to hesitate and stop. Captain Perez haughtily marched to the door.
“Eri,” he said, “I ain't goin' to waste my time talkin' to a—a dogfish like him. He ain't wuth it.”
“Hold on, now, Perez!” pleaded the discomfited sacrifice, alarmed at his comrade's threatened desertion. “I was only foolin'. Can't you take a joke? I haven't said I wouldn't do it. I think a heap of Mrs. Snow; it's only that I ain't got the spunk to ask her, that's all.”
“Humph! it don't take much spunk,” replied the successful wooer, forgetful of his own past trepidation.
“Well,” Captain Jerry wriggled and twisted, but saw no loophole. “Well, give me a month to git up my courage in and—”
“A month! A month's ridic'lous; ain't it, Eri”
“Yes.”
“Well, three weeks, then.”
This offer, too, was rejected. Then Captain Jerry held out for a fortnight—for ten days. Finally, it was settled that within one week from that very night he was to offer his heart and hand to the lady from Nantucket. He pledged his solemn word to do it.
“There!” exclaimed the gratified Captain Perez. “That's a good job done. He won't never be sorry for it, will he, Eri?”
And Captain Eri made his fourth contribution to the conversation.
“No,” he said.
Josiah went up to the post-office late in the afternoon of the next day. The “able seaman” was behaving himself remarkably well. He had become a real help to Captain Eri, and the latter said that sailing alone would be doubly hard when his foremast hand went back to school again, which he was to do very shortly, for Josiah meant to accept the Captain's offer, and to try for the Annapolis appointment when the time came.
The boy came back with the mail and an item of news. The mail, a paper only, he handed to Mrs. Snow, and the news he announced at the supper table as follows:
“Mr. Hazeltine's goin' to leave the cable station,” he said.
“Goin' to leave!” repeated the housekeeper, “what for?”
“I don't know, ma'am. All I know is what I heard Mr. Wingate say. He said Mr. Hazeltine was goin' to get through over at the station pretty soon. He said one of the operators told him so.”
“Well, for the land's sake! Did you know anything 'bout it, Eri?”
“Why, yes, a little. I met Hazeltine yesterday, and he told me that some folks out West had made him a pretty good offer, and he didn't know whether to take it or not. Said the salary was good, and the whole thing looked sort of temptin'. He hadn't decided what to do yit. That's all there is to it.”
There was little else talked about during the meal. Captain Perez, Captain Jerry, and Mrs. Snow argued, surmised, and questioned Captain Eri, who said little. Elsie said almost nothing, and went to her room shortly after the dishes were washed.
“Humph!” exclaimed Captain Perez, when they were alone, “I guess your match-makin' scheme's up spout, Jerry.”
And, for a wonder, Captain Jerry did not contradict him.
The weather changed that night, and it grew cold rapidly. In the morning the pump was frozen, and Captain Jerry and Mrs. Snow spent some time and much energy in thawing it out. It was later than usual when the former set out for the schoolhouse. As he was putting on his cap, Elsie suggested that he wait for her, as she had some lessons to prepare, and wanted an hour or so to herself at her desk. So they walked on together under a cloudy sky. The mud in the road was frozen into all sorts of fantastic shapes, and the little puddles had turned to ice.
“That thaw was a weather-breeder, sure enough,” observed Captain Jerry. “We'll git a storm out of this, 'fore we're done.”
“It seems to me,” said Elsie, “that the winter has been a very mild one. From what I had heard I supposed you must have some dreadful gales here, but there has been none so far.”
“We'll git 'em yit. February's jist the time. Git a good no'theaster goin', and you'll think the whole house is comin' down. Nothin' to what they used to have, though, 'cordin' to tell. Cap'n Jonadab Wixon used to swear that his grandfather told him 'bout a gale that blew the hair all off a dog, and then the wind changed of a sudden, and blew it all on again.”
Elsie laughed. “That must have been a blow,” she said.
“Yes. Cap'n Jonadab's somethin' of a blow himself, so he ought to be a good jedge. The outer beach is the place that catches it when there's a gale on. Oh, say! that reminds me. I s'pose you was glad to hear the news last night?”
“What news?”
“Why, that 'bout Mr. Hazeltine's goin' away. You're glad he's goin', of course.”
Miss Preston did not answer immediately. Instead, she turned and looked wonderingly at her companion.
“Why should I be glad, pray?” she asked.
“Why, I don't know. I jest took it for granted you would be. You didn't want him to come and see you, and if he was gone he couldn't come, so—”
“Just a minute, please. What makes you think I didn't want Mr. Hazeltine to call?”
And now it was the Captain's turn to stare and hesitate.
“What makes me think—” he gasped. “Why—you told me so, yourself.”
“I told you so? I'm certain that I never told you anything of the kind.”
Captain Jerry stood stock-still, and if ever a face expressed complete amazement, it was his.
“Elsie Preston!” he ejaculated, “are you losin' your mem'ry or what? Didn't you pitch into me hot-foot for lettin' him be alone with you? Didn't you give me 'hark from the tomb' for gittin' up and goin' away? Didn't you say his calls was perfect torture to you, and that you had to be decent to him jest out of common politeness? Now, didn't you?”
“Oh, that was it! No, of course I didn't say any such thing.”
“You DIDN'T! Why, I heard you! Land of love! my ears smarted for a week afterward. I ain't had sech a goin' over sence mother used to git at me for goin' in swimmin' on Sunday. And now you say you didn't say it.”
“I didn't. You misunderstood me. I did object to your leaving the room every time he called, and making me appear so ridiculous; and I did say that his visits might be a torture for all that you knew to the contrary, but I certainly didn't say that they WERE.”
“SUFFERIN'! And you ain't glad he stopped comin'?”
The air of complete indifference assumed by the young lady was a triumph.
“Why, of course,” she said, “Mr. Hazeltine is a free agent, and I don't know of any reason why he should be compelled to go where he doesn't wish to go. I enjoyed his society, and I'm sure Captain Eri and Mrs. Snow enjoyed it, too; but it is quite evident that he did not enjoy ours, so I don't see that there need be any more said on the subject.”
Captain Jerry was completely crushed. If the gale described by the redoubtable grandsire of Jonadab Wixon had struck him, he could not have been more upset.
“My! my! my!” he murmured. “And after my beggin' his pardon and all!”
“Begging his pardon? For what?”
“Why, for leavin' you two alone. Of course, after you pitched into me so I see how foolish I'd been actin', and I—honest, I didn't sleep scursely a bit that night thinkin' 'bout it. Thinks I, 'If Elsie feels that way, why, there ain't no doubt that Mr. Hazeltine feels the same.' There wa'n't but one thing to be done. When a man makes a mistake, if he is any kind of a man, he owns up, and does his best to straighten things out. 'Twa'n't easy to do, but duty's duty, and the next time I see Mr. Hazeltine I told him the whole thing, and—”
“You DID!”
“Sartin I did.”
“What did you tell him?”
They had stopped on the sidewalk nearly opposite the post-office. Each was too much engrossed in the conversation to pay any heed to anything else. If the few passersby thought it strange that the schoolmistress should care to loiter out of doors on that cold and disagreeable morning, they said nothing about it. One young man in particular, who, standing just inside the post-office door, was buttoning his overcoat and putting on his gloves, looked earnestly at the pair, but he, too, said nothing.
“Why, I told him,” said Captain Jerry, in reply to the question, “how you didn't like to have me go out of the room when he was there. Course, I told him I didn't mean to do nothin' out of the way. Then he asked me some more questions, and I answered 'em best I could, and—well, I guess that's 'bout all.”
“Did you tell him that I said his visits were a torture?”
“Why—” the Captain shuffled his feet uneasily—“seems to me I said somethin' 'bout it—not jest that, you know, but somethin'. Fact is, I was so muddle-headed and upset that I don't know exactly what I did say. Anyhow, he said 'twas all right, so there ain't nothin' to worry 'bout.”
“Captain Jeremiah Burgess!” exclaimed Elsie. Then she added, “What MUST he think of me?”
“Oh, I'll fix that!” exclaimed the Captain. “I'll see him some time to-day, and I'll tell him you didn't mean it. Why, I declare! Yes, 'tis! There he is, now! Hi! Mr. Hazeltine! Come here a minute.”
A mischievous imp was certainly directing Captain Jerry's movements. Ralph had, almost for the first time since he came to Orham, paid an early morning visit to the office in order to send an important letter in the first mail. The slamming of the door had attracted the Captain's attention and, in response to the hail, Mr. Hazeltine crossed the road.
And then Captain Jerry felt his arm clutched with a grip that meant business, as Miss Preston whispered, “Don't you dare say one word to him about it. Don't you DARE!”
If Ralph had been surprised by the request to join the couple, he was more surprised by the reception he received. Elsie's face was crimson, and as for the Captain, he looked like a man who had suddenly been left standing alone in the middle of a pond covered with very thin ice.
The electrician bowed and shook hands gravely. As no remark seemed to be forthcoming from those who had summoned him, he observed that it was an unpleasant morning. This commonplace reminded him of one somewhat similar that he had made to a supposed Miss “Gusty” Black, and he, too, colored.
“Did you want to speak with me, Captain?” he asked, to cover his confusion.
“Why—why, I did,” stammered poor Captain Jerry, “but—but I don't know's I do now.” Then he realized that this was not exactly complimentary, and added, “That is, I don't know—I don't know's I—Elsie, what was it I was goin' to say to Mr. Hazeltine?”
At another time it is likely that the young lady's quick wit would have helped her out of the difficulty, but now she was too much disturbed.
“I'm sure I don't know,” she said coldly.
“You don't know! Why, yes you do? 'Twas—'twas—” The Captain was frantically grasping at straws. “Why, we was wonderin' why you didn't come to see us nowadays.”
If the Captain had seen the look that Elsie shot at him, as he delivered this brilliant observation, he might have been more, instead of less, uncomfortable. As it was, he felt rather proud of having discovered a way out of the difficulty. But Ralph's embarrassment increased. He hurriedly said something about having been very busy.
“Well,” went on the Captain, intent on making the explanation as plausible as possible, “we've missed you consider'ble. We was sayin' we hoped you wouldn't give us up altogether. Ain't that so, Elsie?”
Miss Preston's foot tapped the sidewalk several times, but she answered, though not effusively:
“Mr. Hazeltine is always welcome, of course.” Then, she added, turning away, “Really, Captain Jerry, I must hurry to school. I have a great deal of work to do before nine o'clock. Good-morning, Mr. Hazeltine.”
The Captain paused long enough to say, “We'll expect you now, so come,” and then hurried after her. He was feeling very well satisfied with himself.
“By mighty! Elsie,” he chuckled, “I got out of that nice, didn't I?”
He received no answer, even when he repeated the remark, and, although he endeavored, as he swept out the schoolroom, to engage the teacher in conversation, her replies were as cold as they were short. The Captain went home in the last stages of dismalness.
That afternoon, when Captain Eri returned from the fishing grounds, he found Captain Jerry waiting for him at the shanty. The humiliated matchmaker sent Josiah up to the grocery store on an errand, and then dragged his friend inside and shut the door.
Captain Eri looked at the woe-begone face with some concern.
“What ails you, Jerry?” he demanded. “Have you—have you spoken to Mrs. Snow 'bout that—that marriage?”
“No, I ain't, Eri, but I'm in a turrible mess, and I don't know why, neither. Seems to me the more I try to do for other folks the wuss off I am; and, instead of gittin' thanks, all I git is blame.”
“Why, what's the matter?”
“Well, now I know you'll think I'm a fool, and 'll jest pester the life out of me. See here, Eri Hedge! If I tell you what I want to, will you promise not to pitch into me, and not to nag and poke fun? If you don't promise I won't tell one single word, no matter what happens.”
So Captain Eri promised, and then Captain Jerry, stammering and hesitating, unburdened his mind of the whole affair, telling of his first reproof by Elsie, his “explanation” to Ralph, and the subsequent developments. Long before he finished, Captain Eri rose and, walking over to the door, stood looking out through the dim pane at the top, while his shoulders shook as if there was a smothered earthquake inside.
“There!” exclaimed the injured matrimonial agent, in conclusion. “There's the whole fool thing, and I 'most wish I'd never seen either of 'em. I thought I did fust-rate this mornin' when I was tryin' to think up somethin' to show why I hailed Hazeltine, but no, Elsie won't hardly speak to me. I wish to goodness you'd tell me what to do.”
Captain Eri turned away from the door. His eyes were watery, and his face was red, but he managed to say:
“Oh, Jerry, Jerry! Your heart's big as a bucket, but fishin' 's more in your line than gittin' folks married to order is, I'm 'fraid. You stay here, and unload them fish in the dory. There ain't many of 'em, and Josiah 'll help when he gits back. I'm goin' out for a few minutes.”
He went down to the beach, climbed into a dory belonging to a neighbor, and Captain Jerry saw him row away in the direction of the cable station.
That evening, after the dishes were washed and the table cleared, there came a knock at the door. Mrs. Snow opened it.
“Why, for goodness sake! Mr. Hazeltine!” she exclaimed. “Come right in. What a stranger you are!”
Ralph entered, shook the snow, which had just begun to fall, from his hat and coat, took off these articles, in response to the hearty invitation of Captain Eri, and shook hands with all present. Elsie's face was an interesting study. Captain Jerry looked scared.
After a few minutes' talk, Captain Eri rose.
“Mrs. Snow,” he said, “come upstairs a little while. I want to talk to you 'bout somethin'. You come, too, Jerry.”
Captain Jerry looked from Elsie to the speaker, and then to Elsie again. But Captain Eri's hand was on his arm, and he rose and went.
Elsie watched this wholesale desertion with amazement. Then the door opened again, and Captain Eri put in his head.
“Elsie,” he said, “I jest want to tell you that this is my doin's, not Jerry's. That's all.” And the door shut.
Elsie faced the caller with astonishment written on her face.
“Mr. Hazeltine,” she said icily, “you may know what this means, but I don't.”
Ralph looked at her and answered solemnly, but with a twinkle in his eye:
“I'm afraid I can guess, Miss Preston. You see Captain Jerry paid Captain Eri a call this afternoon and, as a result, Captain Eri called upon me. Then, as a result of THAT, I—well, I came here.”
The young lady blushed furiously. “What did Captain Eri tell you?” she demanded.
“Just what Captain Jerry told him.”
“And that was?”
“What you told Captain Jerry this morning concerning something that you told him before, I believe.”
There was no answer to this. Miss Preston looked as if she had a mind to run out of the room, then as if she might cry, and finally as if she wanted to laugh.
“I humbly apologize,” said the electrician contritely.
“YOU apologize? For what?”
“For my stupidity in believing that Captain Jerry was to be accepted seriously.”
“You were excusable, certainly. And now I must apologize; also for taking the Captain too seriously.”
“Suppose we pair the apologies as they do the votes in the Senate. Then one will offset the other.”
“I'm afraid that isn't fair, for the blunder was all on my part.”
“Well, if we can't pair apologies, suppose we pair blunders. I don't accept your statement of guilt, mind, but since you are determined to shoulder it, we might put it on one side and on the other we'll put—”
“What?”
“'Gusty' Black.”
And then they both laughed.
A little later Captain Eri knocked at the door.
“Is it safe for a feller to come in?” he asked.
“Well,” said Elsie severely, “I don't know whether talebearers should be admitted or not, but if they do come they must beg pardon for interfering in other people's affairs.”
“Ma'am,” and the Captain made a profound bow, “I hope you'll be so 'kind and condescendin', and stoop so low, and be so bendin'' as to forgive me. And, while I'm 'bout it, I'll apologize for Jerry, too.”
“No, sir,” said the young lady decidedly. “Captain Jerry must apologize for himself. Captain Jeremiah Burgess,” she called up the stairway, “come into court, and answer for your sins.”
And Captain Jerry tremblingly came.
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