The sun was going down behind the house, and the sea before them
reflected in its darkening waters the faint purples and pinks streaking
the sky. Mrs. De Haaven and her sister were on the veranda, facing the
spectacle, but it aroused no enthusiasm in them; they were silent. They
were tired, dejected and--hungry.
It was early in the season, and most of the bungalows were still
unoccupied; there was not a soul in sight, not a human sound to be
heard, nothing but the quiet breaking of the waves on the beach. A vast
and inhospitable world.
“There comes some one!” said Mrs. De Haaven.
Round the corner of the shore two figures came into sight, a girl and a
man. They came on very slowly, so close to each other that now and then
their shoulders touched. The strange sunset light touched their young
heads with a sort of glory.
“We can ask her,” Mrs. De Haaven began doubtfully.
“I suppose I’ll have to,” said Rose. “There’s no one else alive on the
surface of the earth. But--somehow I hate to bother them about oil
stoves at such a moment. Still, I can’t let her go!”
She sighed, and got up, but just then the couple turned and began
walking up the sands directly toward them. They were so absorbed in each
other, not talking very much, but looking at each other from time to
time, long, long glances.
The man was a passably good-looking young fellow of a somewhat scholarly
type, lean and tall, and wearing spectacles, but the girl was a marvel,
a miracle of soft, rich colors and vigorous health. Her eyes were blue,
her hair the shade of ripe wheat, her sunburned face beautifully
flushed. She was strong, lithe, straight-limbed, and such a joy to see
that Rose forgot all about oil stoves.
“Well, good-by, Margie!” said the young man in spectacles, in the most
casual sort of tone.
“Good-by, Paul!” the girl rejoined, equally casual.
Their eyes met, and they both glanced hastily away. The girl essayed a
smile.
“Well,” she said. “Good-by, Paul!”
“Good-by, Margie!” he repeated. “I--”
There was a long silence.
“I’ll have to go in,” said she. “It’s late. Good-by, Paul!”
She held out her hand, and he took it. They stood hand in hand, looking
at each other. Suddenly she snatched away her hand.
“Good-by, Paul,” she cried, and ran off.
“Good-by, Margie--dear!” he called after her.
She had gone into the bungalow next to them, slamming the screen door
behind her.
“How--sweet!” Mrs. De Haaven declared. “How dear and _young_, Rose!”
“I’ll give her a chance to get settled first, before I go and ask her,”
said Rose. “It’s too sordid to ask her how to light a stove when she’s
just said good-by to Paul.”
So they waited a little. Their neighbor was extraordinarily noisy in
there; doors banged, all sorts of things rattled and slammed, and while
they waited for this alarming racket to subside, a small open car came
down the road behind the houses, stopped, and presently the back door
slammed and a voice sounded in there--a man’s voice, and a young one,
too.
“Look alive with that dinner, Margie! I’m in a hurry!”
“The things haven’t come down from the store yet,” said Margie. “I
ordered them--”
“Don’t make excuses,” the man interrupted. “I told you I’d be home at
six, and that I’d be in a hurry.”
“Oh, I’m not making excuses!” answered Margie, scornfully. “I wouldn’t
bother to do that to you. I was just explaining. It’s not my fault if
the man doesn’t bring the things.”
“We’ve got _their_ things!” Rose whispered to her sister. “I know it!”
“If you’d stay at home and look after your job, instead of running about
with that measly little lawyer,” the man began.
“Shut up!” cried Margie.
And somehow that furious exclamation hurt both the listeners. For both
those quarreling voices, in spite of their bad temper and unrestraint,
were good voices, the voices of people who ought to know better.
“All right!” said the man. “You wait till Bill comes home, young woman!”
“I don’t give a darn about Bill!” she retorted. “If you’re in such a
hurry, take the car and go up to the store and get the stuff.”
“Not much!” he said. “It’s your job to get the meals, and I won’t help
you. I’ve got enough work of my own to do.”
“I’ll have to take them their things,” murmured Rose, and she and her
sister went into the kitchen and, by the feeble light of an ill-trimmed
lamp, began to repack the basket in haste.
And while they were so engaged, there came the most tremendous slam of
all, next door, and a new voice sounded, another man’s voice, not loud
and angry, like the others, but cool, deliberate, and masterful.
“What’s up?” he demanded.
“No dinner ready,” the other man replied petulantly.
“Because the things haven’t come from the store,” explained Margie,
sullenly. “I ordered them in plenty of time.”
“Take your car and go and get ’em, Gilbert,” said the masterful voice.
“But, look here, Bill! I’m in a hurry--”
“Step!” said Bill.
And Gilbert was “stepping” out of the back door just as Rose was coming
in with the basket. He backed into the kitchen again, and she followed
him.
“I think these are yours,” she said. “They were left at our house--by
mistake, I’m sure.”
Some one took the basket from her, and looking up, she had her first
sight of Bill.
He was, she thought, the most impressive human being she had ever set
eyes on, and one of the handsomest. A tremendous fellow, blue-eyed and
fair-haired, like Margie, but without a trace of her sullenness; there
was a sort of grim good-humor in his face.
He was not smiling, though; none of them were, and Rose was seized with
a sudden uneasiness in the presence of these three silent, blue-eyed
creatures. With a deprecating smile, she opened the back door, to
flee--when she remembered Nina.
“I--I wish--” she said, addressing Margie. “After you’ve quite finished
here, of course. If you could just spare a moment to show me how to
light that oil stove.”
“I’ll show you now,” said Bill. He followed her out the door, and his
fingers closed like steel on her arm as he helped her down the steps in
the dark and across the little strip of grass behind the houses. He did
not release her until she was safely in her own bare, dimly-lit kitchen.
“Good evening!” he remarked to Nina, and swept off his white-covered
uniform cap with a magnificent gesture. Then, without words, he dropped
on one knee beside the stove, and he turned up the wick and struck a
match, just as Rose had done.
“No oil in it,” he announced, rising. “I’ll get you some.”
“Mercy!” said Nina, after he had gone. “What a-an overwhelming
creature!”
“Isn’t he?” Rose agreed. “He made me forget that, even if the stove ever
does get lighted, there’s nothing to cook on it. I’ll have to ask him
where the store is.”
“It’s dark now, Rose. You can’t go wandering about in this strange
place.”
“There’s nothing I wouldn’t do now for the sake of food!” said Rose.
There was a knock at the back door; they both called “Come in!” and Bill
reëntered, letting the screen door crash behind him. He was carrying a
tin of kerosene, and at once he set to work filling the stove.
“I’m very sorry to put you to all this trouble!” Nina asserted,
earnestly.
He didn’t answer at all; he lit all the burners, and then:
“What next?” he asked.
“If you’ll please tell me where the store is--the store that basket came
from--and how to get there--”
“Now? It’s closed,” said he. His keen glance traveled round the bare
little kitchen.
“I’ll see that you get your dinner,” he declared, and went off again,
before they could say a word.
It was Gilbert who brought the dinner in on a tray, and no one could
have performed a neighborly service more ungraciously. He was a
remarkably good-looking boy of nineteen or so, but so surly,
ill-tempered--
“He’s a young beast!” said Rose, indignantly.
Nina was silent a moment.
“Isn’t it queer--” she remarked. “How contagious that is!”
“Beastliness? _You’d_ never catch it!” Rose declared.
“My dear, when he banged that tray down, and never even took off his
hat, I wanted to throw a plate at him,” said Nina, seriously. “I’d have
enjoyed it!”
It was a good dinner, served on the coarsest of china, but well cooked.
And after they had eaten it and washed the dishes, they were ready to go
to bed and to sleep, not quite so forlorn in their new home.