Galusha the Magnificent

CHAPTER VI

It was not settled that evening. Martha declared she must have at least a few hours in which to think it over and Galusha, of course, agreed.

“It won't take too long,” she said. “Naturally, you want to know so that you can make your plans.”

Galusha smiled. “Please take as much time as you need, Miss Phipps,” he urged. “If you permit me to remain here while you are—ah—endeavoring to reach a decision I shall be quite satisfied, really. In that case, you know, I should be willing to wait for the decision until spring. Dear me, yes—even until summer.”

Martha laughed and declared she should decide long before that. “I think breakfast time to-morrow will settle it,” she added.

It did. After breakfast she informed him that he might stay if he wished.

“Though WHY you want to I can't understand,” she said. “And of course it is part of the agreement that you'll feel free to give it up and go any time you wish; as soon as you begin to get tired of the place and us, I mean.”

He beamed satisfaction. “I shall not be the one to tire first,” he declared. Then he added, earnestly, “Of course, Miss Phipps, you will be perfectly frank and tell me at once if you change YOUR mind. And if I should become a—ah—well, a sort of nuisance, be irregular at meals, or noisy or—What is it? I beg your pardon?”

She had laughed outright. She was still smiling when she apologized.

“Please excuse me for laughin', Mr. Bangs,” she said, “but don't you think yourself that that is funny? The idea of your bein' noisy, I mean.”

He stroked his chin.

“We-ll,” he admitted, “perhaps it is. But sometimes I am quite boisterous, really I am. I remember once, years ago, I was in an old cemetery in New Hampshire and I suddenly discovered an inscription which pleased me VERY much. MOST quaint and unusual it was—dear me, yes. And quite unconsciously I burst into a shout—a cheer, as one may say. The old sexton was quite scandalized and warned me not to do it again. He said it would disturb people. I don't know whom he meant, there were no living people to be disturbed.”

The question of terms was the cause of a supplementary discussion. Mr. Bangs insisted upon continuing the three dollars a day rate and Miss Martha declared he should do nothing of the kind.

“That three dollars a day was just a temporary thing,” she said. “I said it just because I was sure you would go over to Elmer Rogers' if I didn't. Elmer Rogers is a robber and always was. Father used to say he was the forty-first member of the Forty Thieves and that they didn't boil him because he wasn't enough account to waste hot oil on.”

“But—ah—it seems to me that if the Rogers' House board is worth three dollars a day yours should be worth five at least.”

“Maybe so, but I never heard anybody but Elmer say his board was worth one dollar, let alone three.”

They compromised on a daily rate of two and a half per day, which each declared to be ridiculous.

Thus Galusha Cabot Bangs became no longer a transitory but a regular boarder and lodger at the Phipps' place. The fact became known to Miss Primrose Cash that forenoon, to the driver of the grocer's cart one hour later, and to all of East Wellmouth before bedtime. It was news and, in October in East Wellmouth, one item of local news is a rare and blessed dispensation.

Before another day had passed the news item had been embellished. Mr. Bangs visited the general store of Erastus Beebe to purchase headgear to replace the brown derby. Erastus happened to be busy at the moment—there were two customers in his store at the same time, an event most unusual—so Galusha's wants were supplied by no less a person than Mr. Horatio Pulcifer.

Raish's greeting was condescendingly genial.

“Well, well!” he exclaimed, pumping the little man's arm up and down with one hand and thumping his shrinking shoulder blades with the other. “If it ain't the perfessor himself! How are you this mornin', Mr. Bangs? Right up and comin, eh?”

Galusha would have withdrawn his hand from the Pulcifer clutch if withdrawal had been possible. It being quite impossible, he murmured that he was—“ah—quite well” and, conscious that the eyes of Mr. Beebe and his two customers were fixed upon him, fixed his own gaze upon Mr. Pulcifer's assortment of watch charms and shivered with embarrassment.

“Ain't it funny, now?” queried Raish, addressing the world in general. “Ain't it funny how things happen? When I fetched you over in my car t'other night didn't I say I hoped you and me'd meet again? That's what I said. And now we've met twice since. Once in the old boneyard and now here, eh? And they tell me you like East Wellmouth so much you're goin' to stick around for a spell. Good business! Say, I'll be sellin' you a piece of Wellmouth property one of these days to settle down on. That's the kind of talk, eh, Perfessor? Haw, haw, haw!”

He pounded the Bangs' shoulder blades once more. Mr. Beebe and his two customers echoed the Pulcifer laugh. Galusha smiled painfully—as the man in the operating chair smiles at the dentist's jokes.

“I—I—excuse me,” he faltered, turning to the grinning Erastus, “can I—That is, have you a—ah—hat or—or cap or something I might buy?”

Before the proprietor of the general store could answer, Mr. Pulcifer answered for him. Again the hand descended upon the Bangs' shoulder.

“Haw, haw!” roared Raish, joyfully. “I get you, Mr. Bangs. The old lid blew out to sea and we've got to get a new one. Say, that was funny, wasn't it; that hat goin' that way? I don't know's I ever laughed more in my life. One minute she was jumpin' along amongst them gravestones like a hoptoad with wings, and then—Zing! Fsst! away she went a half mile or so down into the breakers. Haw, haw, haw! And to see your face! Why—”

Galusha interrupted.

“PLEASE don't do that,” he said, nervously.

“Hey? Do what?”

“Ah—slap my back. I'd rather you wouldn't, if you don't mind. And—oh—I should like to see a—a cap or something.”

The last sentence was addressed to Mr. Beebe, who cleared his throat importantly.

“Jest a minute, jest a minute,” said Erastus. “Soon's I get through waitin' on these customers I'll 'tend to you. Jest a minute. Yeast cake, did you say, Mrs. Blount?”

“Ohh, pardon me,” faltered Galusha. “I'll wait, of course.”

“Wait?” It was Mr. Pulcifer who spoke. “You don't have to wait. I know Ras's stock as well as he does, pretty nigh. I'LL show you a cap, Mr. Bangs.”

“Oh—oh, I couldn't think of troubling you, really I couldn't.”

“No trouble at all. What's a little trouble amongst neighbors, eh? And that's what we are now—neighbors, eh? Sure, Mike! You and me are goin' to see a lot of each other from now on. There! There's a good, stylish cap, if I do say it. Try it on? What's your size, Perfessor?”

Five minutes later Galusha descended the steps of the Beebe store, wearing a cloth cap which was, to say the very least, out of the ordinary. Its material was a fuzzy frieze of nondescript colors, a shade of dingy yellow predominating, and its shape was weird and umbrellalike. With it upon his head little Galusha resembled a walking toadstool—an unhealthy, late-in-the-season toadstool.

The quartet in the Beebe store watched his departure from the windows. All were hugely amused, but one, Mr. Pulcifer, was hilarious.

“Haw, haw, haw!” roared Raish. “Look at him! Don't he look like a bullfrog under a lily pad? Eh? Don't he now? Haw, haw, haw!”

Erastus Beebe joined in the laugh, but he shook his head.

“I've had that cap in stock,” he said, “since—well, since George Cahoon's son used to come down drummin' for that Boston hat store, and he quit much as eight year ago, anyhow. How did he ever come to pick THAT cap out, Raish?”

Mr. Pulcifer regarded the questioner with scornful superiority.

“Pick it out!” he repeated. “He never picked it out, I picked it out for him. You don't know the first principles of sellin', Ras. If you had me to help around here you wouldn't have so many stickers in your stock.”

Beebe, gazing after the retreating figure of Mr. Bangs, sniffed.

“If I had your brass, Raish,” he observed, calmly, “I'd sell it to the junk man and get rich. Well, maybe I won't have so many stickers, as you call 'em, if that little critter comes here often. What's the matter with him; soft in the head?”

“Isn't this his hat—the one he wore when he came in here?” queried Mrs. Jubal Doane, one of the two customers.

Mr. Beebe picked it up. “Guess so,” he replied. “Humph! I've seen that hat often enough, too. Used to belong to Cap'n Jim Phipps, that hat did. Seen him wear it a hundred times.”

Mrs. Becky Blount, the other customer, elevated the tip of a long nose. “Well,” she observed, “if Martha Phipps is lendin' him her pa's hats SO early, I must say—”

She did not say what it was she must say, but she had said quite enough.

Martha herself said something when her boarder appeared beneath his new headgear. When he removed it, upon entering the dining room, she took it from his hand.

“Is THIS the cap you just bought, Mr. Bangs?” she asked.

“Yes,” said Galusha, meekly. “Do you like it?”

She regarded the fuzzy yellow thing with a curious expression.

“Do you?” she asked.

The reply was astonishingly prompt and emphatic.

“I loathe it,” said Galusha.

She transferred the stare from the cap to its owner's face.

“You do!” she cried. “Then why in the world did you buy it?”

Mr. Bangs squirmed slightly. “He said I ought to,” he answered.

“Who said so?”

“That man—that Mr. Pulcifer. Mr.—ah—Deedee—Beebe, I mean—was busy, and Mr. Pulcifer insisted on showing me the caps. I didn't like this one at all, but he talked so much that—that I couldn't stay and hear him any longer. He makes me very nervous,” he added, apologetically. “I suppose it is my fault, but—ah—he does, you know.”

“And do you mean to say that you took this—this outrage because Raish Pulcifer talked you into it?”

Galusha smiled sadly. “Well, he—he talked me into it—yes,” he admitted. “Into the—ah—cap and out of the store. Dear me, yes.”

Miss Martha drew a long breath.

“My heavens and earth!” she exclaimed. “And what did you do with father's hat, the one you wore down there?”

Her lodger gasped. “Oh, dear, dear!” he exclaimed. “Oh, dear me! I must have left it in the shop. I'm SO sorry. How could I do such a careless thing? I'll go for it at once, Miss Phipps.”

He would have gone forthwith, but she stopped him.

“I'm goin' there myself in a little while,” she said. “I've got some other errands there. And, if you don't mind,” she added, “I'd like to take this new cap of yours with me. That is, if you can bear to part with it.”

She went soon afterward and when she returned she had another cap, a sane, respectable cap, one which was not a “sticker.”

“I took it on myself to change the other one for this, Mr. Bangs,” she said. “I like it lots better myself. Of course it wasn't my affair at all and I suppose I ought to beg your pardon.”

He hastened to reassure her.

“Please don't speak so, Miss Phipps,” he begged. “It was very, very kind of you. And I like this cap VERY much. I do, really.... I ought to have a guardian, hadn't I?” he added.

It was precisely what she was thinking at the moment and she blushed guiltily.

“Why, what makes you say that?” she asked.

“Oh, I'm not saying it, not as an original thought, you know; I'm merely repeating it. Other people always say it, they've said it ever since I can remember. Thank you very much for the cap, Miss Phipps.”

He was sunnily cheerful and very grateful. There was not the slightest resentment because of her interference. And yet if she had not interfered he would have worn the hideous yellow cap and been as cheerful under that. Pulcifer had imposed upon him and he realized it, but he deliberately chose being imposed upon rather than listening to the Pulcifer conversation. He was certainly a queer individual, this lodger of hers. A learned man evidently, a man apparently at home and sure of himself in a world long dead, but as helpless as a child in the practical world of to-day. She liked him, she could not help liking him, and it irritated her exceedingly to think that men like Raish Pulcifer and Erastus Beebe should take advantage of his childlike qualities to swindle him, even if the swindles were but petty.

“They shan't do it,” she told Lulie Hallett, the next morning. “Not if I can help it, they shan't. Somebody ought to look out for the poor thing, half sick and with nobody of his own within goodness knows how many miles. I'll look out for him as well as I can while he's here. My conscience wouldn't let me do anything else. I suppose if I pick out his other things the way I picked out that cap the whole of East Wellmouth will be talkin'; but I can't help it, let 'em.”

For the matter of that, the Beebes and the Blounts and Doanes were talking already. And within a fortnight Miss Phipps' prophecy was fulfilled, the whole of East Wellmouth WAS talking of Galusha Bangs. Some of the talk was malicious and scandalous gossip, of course, but most of it was fathered by an intense and growing curiosity concerning the little man. Who was he? What was his real reason for coming to East Wellmouth to live—in the WINTER time? What made him spend so many hours in the old cemetery? Was he crazy, as some people declared, or merely “kind of simple,” which was the opinion of others? Mr. Pulcifer's humorous summing-up was freely quoted.

“He may not be foolish now,” observed Raish, “but he will be if he lives very long with that bunch down to the lighthouse. Old Cap'n Jeth and Zach and Primmie Cash are enough to start anybody countin' their fingers. My opinion is, if you want to know, that this Bangs feller is just a little mite cracked on the subject of Egyptians and Indians and gravestones—probably he's read a lot about 'em and it's sprained his mind, as you might say. That would account for the big yarns he tells Prim about Africa and such. As to why he's come here to live, I cal'late I've got the answer to that. He's poorer'n poverty and it's cheap livin' down at Martha Phipps's. How do I know he's poor? Cripes t'mighty, look at his clothes! Don't look much like yours or mine, do they?”

They certainly did not look much like Mr. Pulcifer's. Galusha's trunk had arrived at last, but the garments in it were as drab and old-fashioned and “floppy” as those he wore on his arrival. Horatio was invariably arrayed like a lily of the field—if by that term is meant a tiger lily. Raish generally finished his appraisal by adding, patronizingly:

“He's all right, though, old Galushy is. Nothin' harmful about him. See how easy I get along with him. I shake hands with him and hit him a clip on the back, and, gosh t'mighty, he thinks I'm his best friend on earth. He'd do anything for me, that old owl would.”

And, perhaps, because it was given forth with such authority from the Pulcifer Mount Sinai, the fact that Bangs was very poor and was living at Gould's Bluffs because of that poverty came to be accepted in East Wellmouth as a settled fact. So quickly and firmly was it settled that, a month later, Erastus Beebe, leaning over his counter in conversation with a Boston traveling salesman, said, as Galusha passed the store:

“Queer-lookin' customer, ain't he? One of our town characters, as you might say. Pretends he's been all over creation, but the truth is he lives down here by the lighthouse and is poorer than the last pullet in Job's coop. Kind of an inventor, or book writer, or some such crazy thing. Queer how that kind get that way, ain't it?”

“Is that all he does for a living?” asked the salesman.

“Don't do much of that, seems so, nowadays. Spends most of his time copyin' off tombstone-writin' over in the old Baptist graveyard. Seems to LIKE to be there, he does. Thunder sakes! a graveyard is the last place I'd spend MY time in.”

The Bostonian made the obvious retort that it was probably the last place Mr. Beebe WOULD spend his time in.

Galusha, of course, was not in the least aware of the East Wellmouth estimate of himself, his fortune and his activities. He would not have been interested had he known. He was enjoying himself hugely, was gaining daily in health, strength, and appetite, and was becoming thoroughly acquainted with Gould's Bluffs, its surroundings, and its people.

He made many calls at the lighthouse nowadays. These calls were not especially for the purpose of cultivating Captain Jethro's acquaintance, although the rugged, bigoted old light keeper afforded an interesting study in character. The captain's moods varied. Sometimes he talked freely and interestingly of his experiences at sea and as keeper of the light. His stories of wrecks and life-saving were well told and Galusha enjoyed them. He cared less for Jethro's dissertations on investments and deals and shrewd trades. It was plain that the old man prided himself upon them, however. On one occasion Mr. Bangs happened to mention Martha Phipps and hinted at his own fear that his lodging at the Phipps' home was in the nature of an imposition upon the lady's good nature. The light keeper shook his shaggy head impatiently.

“No, no, no,” he growled, “'tain't any such thing. Your boardin' there's a good thing for Martha. She needs the money.”

Galusha was troubled.

“I'm sorry to hear that,” he said. “She is not—ah—not pinched for means, I hope. Not that that is my business, of course,” he added, hastily.

Captain Jeth's reply was gruff and rather testy.

“She'll come out all right,” he said, “if she's willin' to do as I do and wait. I know I'll come out right. Julia told me so, herself.”

Galusha had forgotten, momentarily.

“Julia?” he repeated.

“My WIFE.”

“Oh—oh, yes, yes, of course.”

In these conversations Bangs learned to steer the talk as far as possible from the subjects of life beyond the grave or of spirit communications. The slightest touch here and the captain was off, his eyes shining beneath his heavy brows, and his face working with belligerent emotion. A hint of doubt or contradiction and trouble followed immediately.

“Don't argue with me,” roared Cap'n Jethro. “I KNOW.”

Lulie and Galusha had many chats together. He had liked her at first sight and soon she came to like him.

“He's as funny and odd as can he,” she told Martha, “and you never can tell what he may say or do next. But he's awfully nice, just the same.”

Little by little she confided to him her hopes and doubts and fears, the hopes of her own love story and the doubts and fears concerning her father.

“He isn't well,” she said, referring to the latter. “He pretends he is, but he isn't. And all this consulting with mediums and getting messages and so on is very bad for him, I know it is. Do you believe in it at all, Mr. Bangs?”

Galusha looked doubtful.

“Well,” he replied, “it would be presumptuous for one like me to say it is all nonsense. Men like Conan Doyle and Lodge and Doctor Hyslop are not easy dupes and their opinions are entitled to great respect. But it seems—ah—well, I am afraid that a majority of the so-called mediums are frauds.”

“ALL of father's mediums are that kind,” declared Lulie, emphatically. “I know it. Most of them are frauds for money, but there are some, like that ridiculous Marietta Hoag, who pretend to go into trances and get messages just because they like to be the center of a sensation. They like to have silly people say, 'Isn't it wonderful!' Marietta Hoag's 'control,' as she calls it, is a Chinese girl. She must speak spirit Chinese, because no Chinese person on earth ever talked such gibberish. Control! SHE ought to be controlled—by the keeper of an asylum.”

The indignation expressed upon Lulie's pretty face was so intense that Galusha suspected an especial reason.

“Is—ah—is this Marietta person the medium who—who—” he began.

“Who set father against Nelson? Yes, she is. I'd like to shake her, mischief-making thing. Father liked Nelson well enough before that, but he came home from that seance as bitter against him as if the poor boy had committed murder. Marietta told him that a small dark man was trying to take away his daughter, or some such silliness. Nelson isn't very small nor VERY dark, but he was the only male in sight that came near answering the description. As a matter of fact—”

She hesitated, colored, and looked as if she had said more than she intended. Galusha, who had not noticed her embarrassment, asked her to go on.

“Well,” she said, in some confusion, “I was going to say that if it hadn't been Nelson it would probably have been some one else. You see, I am father's only child and so—and so—”

“And so he doesn't like the idea of giving you up to some one else.”

“Yes, that's it. But it wouldn't be giving me up. It would be merely sharing me, that's all. I never shall leave father and I've told him so ever so many times.... Oh, dear! If you could have known him in the old days, Mr. Bangs, before he—well, when he was himself, big and strong and hearty. He used to laugh then; he hardly ever laughs now. He and Cap'n Jim Phipps—Martha's father—were great friends. You would have liked Cap'n Jim, Mr. Bangs.”

“Yes, I am sure I should.”

“So am I. Martha is very much like him. She's a dear, isn't she?”

Galusha nodded. “She has been very kind to me,” he said. “Indeed, yes.”

“Oh, she is to every one. She is always just like that. I am very glad you have decided to board with her this winter, Mr. Bangs. I have an idea that she has been—well, troubled about something; just what, of course, I don't know, although I think—but there, I mustn't guess because it is not my business.”

Galusha expressed a wish that he might become better acquainted with Nelson Howard.

“I am sure I should like him,” he said. “He seems like a very nice young man.”

Lulie nodded radiantly.

“Oh, he is,” she cried. “Truly he is, Mr. Bangs. Why, every one says—” Then, becoming aware of her enthusiasm, she blushed and begged pardon. “You see, I hear so much against him—from father, I mean—that I couldn't help acting silly when you praised him. Do forgive me, won't you, Mr. Bangs?”

He would have forgiven her much more than that.

“I shall make it a point to go over to the South Wellmouth station and call upon him,” he told her. She thanked him.

“I am hoping that you and Martha and Nelson and I may spend an evening together pretty soon,” she said. “You see, father—but there, that's another secret. I'll tell you in a little while, next week, I hope.”

He learned the secret from Martha. On a day in the following week Miss Phipps informed her lodger that he and she were to have supper at the light keeper's that evening.

“It's a real sort of party,” declared Martha. “Small but select, as they used to say in books when I was a girl. There will be four of us, you and I and Nelson Howard and Lulie.”

Galusha was surprised.

“Nelson Howard!” he repeated. “Why, dear me, I thought—I understood that Mr. Howard was persona non grata to Captain Hallett.”

Martha nodded. “Well, if that means what I suppose it does, he is,” she replied. “If Cap'n Jeth knew Nelson was goin' to eat supper in his house he'd go without eatin' himself to stop it. But, you see, he doesn't know. Jethro is goin' spiritualizin' to-night. Marietta Hoag and Ophelia Beebe and their crowd of rattleheads have dug up a brand new medium who is visitin' over in Trumet and they've made up a party to go there and hold a seance. When they told Cap'n Jeth, of course nothin' would do but he must go, too. So, WHILE he is gone Nelson is comin' over to supper. It's deceivin' the old man, in one way, of course, but it isn't doin' him a bit of harm. And it does give the young folks a pleasant time, and I think they deserve it. Lulie has been as kind and forbearin' with her father as a daughter could be, and Nelson has been more patient than the average young fellow, by a good deal.”

Late that afternoon two automobiles laden with humanity, male and female, drove past the Phipps' gate, and Primmie, from the window, announced that it was “Marietta and 'Phelia and the rest of 'em. My savin' soul, ain't they talkin' though! Cal'late the sperits 'll have busy times this evenin', don't you, Miss Martha?” A few minutes later she proclaimed that Cap'n Jeth had just climbed aboard and that the autos were coming back.

“See! See, Mr. Bangs!” she cried, pointing. “There's Cap'n Jeth, settin' between Marietta and 'Phelia Beebe. There's the three of 'em on the back seat. Cap'n Jeth's the one with the whiskers.”

At six o'clock Martha and her lodger walked over to the Hallett house. Miss Phipps was dressed in her best gown and looked the personification of trim, comfortable New England femininity. Galusha was garbed in the suit he wore the evening of his arrival, but it had been newly sponged and pressed.

“It looks lots better,” observed Martha, inspecting him as they walked along. “It wouldn't have, though, if Primmie had finished the job. I was so busy that I let her start on it, but when I saw what a mess she was makin' I had to drop everything else and do it myself.”

Galusha looked puzzled.

“Yes?” he said, politely. “Oh, yes, yes. Yes, indeed.”

She shook her head.

“I do believe you don't know what I'm talkin' about,” she said. “Now, do you?”

“Why—ah—why, Miss Phipps, I confess I—I—”

“Well, I declare! I never saw a person like you in my life. Didn't you notice ANY difference in that suit of clothes?”

Mr. Bangs, looking downward, suddenly became aware of his immaculate appearance. He was very much upset.

“I—I don't know what you must think of me,” he stammered. “I have been—that is, I was thinking of other things and I—Dear me! Oh, dear! I am VERY grateful to you. But you shouldn't take so much trouble.”

“It wasn't any trouble. The suit was hangin' in your closet and I noticed how wrinkled and out of shape it was. And the stains on the trousers—my!”

“Yes—ah—yes. I wore it over at the cemetery the other day and I—ah—imagine I must have gotten down on my knees to examine the tombstones.”

“I guess likely. It looked as if you might have crawled from here to the cemetery and back. Now don't say any more, Mr. Bangs. It was no trouble at all. I always used to take care of father's clothes. He used to say I kept him all taut and shipshape.”

Lulie met them at the door.

“Where is Primmie?” she asked.

“She'll be over pretty soon,” replied Martha. “I knew you wouldn't need her yet to help with the supper and the longer she stays away the more talk there will be for the rest of us. She is to eat in the kitchen, Lulie, remember that. I WON'T have her chatterin' all through our meal.”

“She and Zacheus are to eat together,” replied Lulie. “It is all settled. Now if Nelson will only come. He is going to get away just as soon as the down train leaves.”

He arrived soon afterward, having bicycled over from South Wellmouth. Primmie arrived also and bursts of her energetic conversation, punctuated by grumblings in Mr. Bloomer's bass, drifted in from the kitchen. Supper was a happy meal. Young Howard, questioned by Martha and Lulie—the latter evidently anxious to “show off” her lover—told of his experiences aboard one of Uncle Sam's transports and the narrow escape from a German submarine. Galusha, decoyed by Miss Phipps, was led into Egypt and discoursed concerning that marvelous country. Lulie laughed and chatted and was engagingly charming and vivacious. Martha was her own cheerful self and the worried look disappeared, for the time, from her face.

After supper was over, the ladies helped Primmie clear the table while the men sat in the sitting room and smoked. The sitting room of the light keeper's home was even more nautical than that at the Phipps' place. There was no less than six framed paintings of ships and schooners on the walls, and mantel and what-not bore salt-water curios of many kinds handed down by generations of seafaring Halletts—whales' teeth, little ships in bottles, idols from the South Sea islands, bead and bone necklaces, Eskimo lance-heads and goodness knows what. And below the windows, at the foot of the bluff on the ocean side, the great waves pounded and muttered and growled, while high above the chimneys of the little house Gould's Bluffs light thrust its flashing spear of flame deep into the breast of the black night.

It was almost half past eight when Martha Phipps, whose seat was near the front window of the sitting room, held up a warning hand.

“Listen!” she cried. “Isn't that an automobile comin'?”

It undoubtedly was. Apparently more than one motor car was approaching along the sandy road leading from the village to the lighthouse.

“Who in the world is it?” asked Martha, drawing aside the window shade and trying to peer out. “Lulie, you don't think it can be—”

Lulie looked troubled, but she shook her head.

“No, it can't be,” she declared. “The seance was to be away over in Trumet and it is sure to last hours. They couldn't have gone as far as that and—”

She was interrupted. From the dining room came the sound of rushing feet. Primmie burst into the room. She was wildly excited.

“My Lord of Isrul, Miss Martha!” she cried. “It's them come back. It is, it is, it is!”

“Who? Who, Primmie?” demanded Miss Phipps. “Stop flappin' your wings—arms, I mean. Who's come back?”

“The sperit folks. All hands of 'em, Marietta and 'Phelia Beebe and Abe Hardin' and Cap'n Jeth and all. And—and they're comin' in here—and here's Nelson right where Cap'n Jeth can catch him. Oh, my savin' soul!”

From behind her agitated shoulder peered the countenance of Mr. Bloomer.

“She's right, Lulie,” observed Zach, with calm emphasis. “The whole crew of ghost seiners is back here in port again, Cap'n Jeth and all. Better beat for open water, hadn't you, Nelse, eh? Be the divil to pay if you don't.... Godfreys, yes!”