"One minute, Mr. McGowan," called Harold Fox. "Come with me, please."
He drew the minister aside into the path that led into the lower
gardens. Once in the deeper shadows, Harold stopped.
"What have you to do with this man Phillips?" he demanded.
"What's that? Why, Mr. Fox----"
"I'd no sooner got Dad to his room than he began to mumble that you were
to blame for his condition," cut in the lawyer. "He connected you in no
favorable way with some woman in Australia. This man Phillips was
involved, too, from what I could gather. I was questioning him when the
doctor arrived, and after he was gone I could get nothing more out of
him. I hate to go to Australia with him like this, and I have every
reason to surmise that I won't need to go if you tell me all you know."
"I'm very sorry for your father's condition, but I see no way to help
you. I don't see why he should connect me with his condition. How long
ago did all this happen to your client?"
"About twenty-five years ago."
"Then it's ridiculous to associate me with any such trouble. I was not
more than born, if, indeed, that. In what way does it all affect your
father, anyway?"
"That I don't know. It's a mystery to me."
"I should gladly give you aid if it were possible."
"I'm only asking that you tell me all you know."
"All an infant in arms would know would be of little value, I fear."
"But you must know something by hearsay. Father would not take this turn
out of a clear sky. There must be a little moisture where there are so
many clouds."
"But, Mr. Fox, I've told you----"
"See here, Mr. McGowan," broke in Harold impatiently, "don't think me
thickheaded. I've been practising law long enough to smell a rat when
it's round. Father knows something, and he knows you know something. In
some way it involves him. His trouble to-night was purely mental."
"Suppose I am connected with all this mystery in some way, how on earth
can a man call on a child's empty memory----"
"You're stalling, Mr. McGowan. Don't try that alibi stuff with me. It
simply won't go."
"You refuse to accept my statement of ignorance concerning this man?"
"I most certainly do. You and Dad are passing the buck. I thought from
all reports that you would stand up to any proposition like a man, no
matter how unpleasant."
"There is nothing for me to stand up to, Mr. Fox."
"You absolutely refuse to tell me what you know?"
"I absolutely refuse, for I know absolutely nothing."
Harold Fox studied the set features of the minister in the dim light of
the moon. He then cordially extended his hand.
"Pardon me, sir. I believe you. But there's something damned crooked
somewhere, and I intend to ferret it out. If Dad's in it----Well, I hope
to the Lord he isn't. You'd better watch your p's and q's pretty close,
for Dad mentioned the fact that Mr. Means has it in for you, and the two
of them can make it hell for you. I'm sorry to say that, but it's God's
truth. I wouldn't trust Means with a pet skunk. I never have liked the
fellow. I've said too much. Good night, and good luck."
Harold abruptly left, and Mr. McGowan walked slowly and heavily from the
garden into the road that led toward the sea.
* * * * *
Following that night, things began to happen with lightning-like
rapidity. A spirit of distrust and suspicion sprang up among the members
of the little church over night. The congregations dwindled down, till
within a month they were not one-half their original size. But in spite
of the friction that was grinding at the religious machinery, Mr.
McGowan went on steadily about his work. He visited the Inn more
frequently, and won no little renown among the members of the club. But
here he also had his enemies, and they were becoming bolder in
proportion as the church grew more hostile toward its minister. Sim
Hicks, the keeper of the Inn, began an open fight against Mr. McGowan's
intrusions, declaring he would make good a former threat to oust the
"Psalm-singer" from the village.
One evening Mr. McGowan returned to his study deeply perplexed. What was
the meaning in the unjust persecution? Not that he complained; his
difficulty was rather his inability to get at the bottom of it all. He
stood before his window gazing absently out into the gathering dusk,
when Captain Pott quietly opened the door and entered.
"Can I come in, Mack?"
"I'd love to have you. I need company."
"Anything special wrong? I've been noticing you're getting awful thin of
late. Ain't Eadie's cooking agreeing with you?"
"I'm afraid that food cooked to the queen's taste wouldn't agree with me
these days."
"Ain't in love, be you? I've heard tell how it affects people like
that."
The young man turned toward his friend. The wry smile with which he
tried to divert the seaman did not hide the hurt expression in his eyes.
The Captain caught the expression.
"Thought likely," he observed, pulling at his moustache. "But that ain't
no reason for you losing sleep and flesh over, unless she ain't in love
with you."
"There's no reason why she should be."
"Tush, tush, son. Don't ever try to hurry 'em. Let her take all the time
she wants. Women are funny that way."
"Cap'n," said the minister in tense earnestness, "there is something
vitally wrong in this town, and I can't seem to find out what it is."
"I know," nodded the Captain.
"Then I wish you would enlighten me."
"I cal'late I can't do that, Mack. All I can see is that there's
something like mutiny brewing aboard your salvation sloop, and mutiny is
a mighty funny thing. You can't put your finger on it and say, 'Lo,
here, or lo, there,' according to scripture. Ain't that right?"
"You have certainly stated the situation much better than I could hope
to."
"I was only hoping you wouldn't see it."
"I don't see it, and that's my whole trouble. I can only see the
results. I can't say that this one or that one is to blame, for the
thing seems to be in the very air."
"I know just how you feel, Mack. That's where a skipper is hog-tied
against taking any action. You just sort of feel that there's something
devilish afoot, but you don't know enough what it is to be ready to meet
it. Puts me in mind of a song I heard once aboard one of my ships. One
of the new mates sang it, and called it the microbe song. I ain't got
any idea where he picked it up, but it went like this:
"'Johnnie, don't you see 'em on my head and chin,
All them powerful microbes, both outside and in?
Johnnie, up and smite 'em, counting every one,
With the strength that cometh with the pork and bun.
"'Johnnie, don't you feel 'em, how they work within,
Striving, crowding, pulling, kicking just like sin?
Johnnie, don't you tremble, never be downcast,
Gird ye for the battle, we'll kill 'em while it lasts.
"'Johnnie, don't you hear 'em, how they speak ye fair:
"All of us are shipmates, not a bunk is bare!"
Johnnie, answer boldly: "While we breathe we smite!"
And peace shall follow battle, day shall end in night.'"
Mr. McGowan laughed heartily as the Captain brought his song to an
unmusical close.
"That song ain't got much music in it, leastwise not as I sung it, but
it's got a heap of truth. Fact is, Mack, I'm as chuck full of them damn
microbes as you be, and I ain't able to smite 'em. They are right in
here,"--he tapped his head,--"and though I ain't able to say for sure,
yet I've got a purty good idea that they're outside, too, and making a
heap of trouble in this here burg.
"Now, take those pirates down to the Inn," continued the seaman.
"There's something brewing down there, and it smells like hell-fire to
me that's doing the boiling. Sim Hicks and his gang are whooping it up a
mite too lively for comfort. That's microbe army number one. Then,
there's Harry Beaver. He says they won't board you after your month is
up."
"May army number two quickly advance! I shall gladly and willingly
surrender."
"Hey? What's that? Where in the name of the ship's cook would you go,
I'd like to know?"
"Right here."
"Right where? You board with me?"
"Why not?"
The old seaman's face slowly lighted up with appreciation as he fully
grasped the meaning of Mr. McGowan's words, and then suddenly clouded.
"No, Mack. There ain't no sense in that," he declared, shaking his head
emphatically. "I can keep soul and body together, but what I get on with
would kill you. There's worse things in the world than Eadie's biscuits.
No, I ain't going to listen to any such out-and-out murder as my cooking
would commit."
"Don't you think we could hire some one to come in and get our meals?"
asked the minister.
"I'm 'feared that ain't possible. And even if it was it would cause more
talk about town. There's enough gossip aboard the old salvation craft to
sink her now, beam-fust."
"Why should it cause talk for some one to take care of the house for us,
and get our meals?"
"Why should any of this gab be floating round at all? There ain't no
sense in it, but that don't stop it. Mack,"--the Captain leaned eagerly
toward his young friend,--"don't tell me nothing you don't want to, but
what happened up to Jim Fox's house that night you ate there the last
time? Things ain't been going smooth since then. I hear he acted mighty
queer. Was you to blame for it in any way?"
"Did Harold Fox talk to you before he left?"
"No. Harold ain't the gossiping kind."
"Some one has evidently been talking to you."
"Ain't denying that, Mack. There's plenty of 'em in this burg that's
ready to talk, and I'd have to be deaf, dumb, and blind, not to get some
of the gab. The doctor told more than he ought, I guess."
"It might pay him to take a few lessons in keeping his mouth closed,"
impatiently commented Mr. McGowan.
"I know, Mack. I reckon he was pumped pretty hard."
"That doesn't excuse him for----"
"There, Mack, don't get mad. I was asking you for your own good. There's
something mighty mysterious about that affair, and I thought if you'd
tell me just what took place that we'd be able to do something before
that gang of rough-necks down to the Inn get the bits in their teeth."
"I don't see what the men at the Inn have to do with all this."
"They ain't got much to do with it, except to use it for a lever to pry
you loose from the fellers who do like you. There's real trouble of some
sort being hatched down there, but I ain't sure just what it's like.
Maybe there ain't no use my worrying you with these suspicions, but
watch them skunks at the Inn, and don't give 'em the inside of the
track. Cal'late you'd best go over to supper, and see if Harry's going
to shut off the rations."
Three days after this conversation Mr. McGowan's month was up, and the
hammer of Mr. Beaver's authority came down. Captain Pott stood in his
door, watching the pantomime as Mr. Beaver pumped, backed, stuttered,
and blinked out the minister's dismissal from his wife's table. The
Captain had an extra griddle on the stove when Mr. McGowan returned.
Without question or comment he indicated a chair, and the minister
smiled like a schoolboy as he drew it up before the place at the
Captain's table which he was to occupy from now on.
"Best eat 'em while they're sizzling hot," invited the Captain, dumping
a turnerful of cakes on the empty plate.
When the men had divided the last flapjack, the minister announced that
he was going for a stroll along the beach.
He was no sooner out of sight than over came Mrs. Beaver, carrying a
large tin filled with biscuits. Captain Pott took them to the pantry,
and returned with the empty pan.
"Thanks, Eadie. Mr. McGowan will sure appreciate them."
"Oh, Josiah! I hope he won't blame me for what's happened."
"Cal'late he won't blame you," said the seaman sympathetically.
"Why are things so upset in town against him?"
"I ain't able to answer that, Eadie. It does seem that the old ark is
going through quite a squall, don't it?"
"Has Harry said anything to you?"
"Not yet, he ain't, and if I sight him fust he ain't going to say
anything. I ain't got time for him to get his pumps working on me."
"You mark my word, he will say something, and don't you believe one word
when he does. I don't see what's got into him. Somebody has bewitched
him."
The Captain stared at her. Here were signs of a new kind of microbe, and
he could make neither head nor tail of it. It was next to the
miraculous for Mrs. Beaver to espouse an unpopular cause when there was
interesting gossip to repeat.
"You don't say!" exclaimed the seaman.
"I do say. Hank Simpson is the only man in this town beside you who's
got back-bone enough to stand by himself! He'd struck Harry last night
if that Hicks hadn't held him off. I wish he had hit him hard, maybe it
would have brought him to his senses."
"Are you trying to tell me that Harry's got the gossiping fever?"
"Not only that, but what he's saying is pure lies. I can't see why he
wants to do other people's dirty work," complained the unhappy woman.
"I cal'late you'd best give me some idea about this here yarn he's
spinning, so's I can lay for him with a spike."
"It's about Mr. McGowan, and what he's telling ain't true, and I know
it!" Her voice broke into short dry sobs. "He says our minister is doing
things down to the Inn that ain't right. And, then, that Reverend Mr.
Means was up again the other day, and told Mr. Fox something. Harry
won't tell me what it was, but he keeps saying it's awful scandalous."
"Well, Eadie, if I was you I'd quit spilling all that brine, for it
ain't wuth it."
"But, Josiah, it is worth it. They're trying to ruin Mr. McGowan, and
he's such a fine man. Won't you stop Harry's talking in some way? Won't
you go to Mr. Fox?"
"Me go to Jim? What in tarnation would you have me say to him?"
"I don't care what you say, but make him understand that he's to leave
Harry alone, and stop him telling what ain't so."
"Maybe he's the one who has made Harry believe it is so. In that case,
I'm 'feared my views on the subject might set off some real fireworks."
"But you must make him believe you! Can't you say something?"
"I ain't sartin but I might say a thing or two, and they won't be words
fit for a prayer-meeting, either."
"Then, you will speak to him?" she asked eagerly.
"We'll see, Eadie. Maybe I'll do something, too. But I cal'late we'd
best begin as Scripture says, right here at home."
"You mean you'll speak to Harry? What will you say?"
"I ain't got it all figured out yet being as we're camped on this here
sand-heap. If I was aboard ship I'd kick him down the deck and up again,
then into the hatches for a little tonic for disobeying orders. Beyond
that, I ain't able to say right offhand."
Mrs. Beaver clutched the back of a chair. "Oh, don't hurt my Harry! He's
all I've got!"
"He ain't wuth boasting about, Eadie. But being as he is all you've got
in the way of earthly possession, and being as we're on land, I cal'late
I won't do harm. But if I was you I'd steer him clear of these channels
for a spell till I calm down a mite."
"O dear! I've made a mistake coming to you, and I hoped you'd help me. I
shouldn't have told you!"
"We won't argue that p'int."
"Whatever shall I do!"
"The fust thing I'd do,"--suggested the Captain, slowly nodding his
head for emphasis,--"would be to use a little discipline on your fust
mate."
"But I can't make Harry mind any more!"
The pitiful figure gave the Captain an uneasy feeling as he tried to
return her pathetic gaze. He replied kindly:
"Eadie, you've always held a purty tight rein over that husband of
yours, about the best I ever see drawn over a prancing colt. You'd best
tighten up a mite on them reins, right sudden-like."
"But I haven't any power over him now. He's that worked up that I can't
even talk to him. He shuts me right up."
"What's that? You can't handle that little shrimp?"
She uttered a cry, and looked past the Captain, through the dining-room
door, into the hall. The seaman turned in the direction of her wild and
distracted gaze. Mr. Beaver, more wild and distracted than his spouse,
stood in the door, the incarnation of burning passion and pent up fury.
"W-What are you d-doing in this m-man's house?" he shouted, his shrill
voice breaking into a ferocious shriek, as he blinked and pointed at his
frightened wife.
Captain Pott was so surprised that he merely gaped at the infuriated
little man.
"Harry, please don't!" pleaded Mrs. Beaver, drawing back against the
wainscoting.
"C-Come out of h-here!" hissed her husband. He brought his heel down
with such vehemence that he chipped off a splinter from the threshold.
"Best stand back, Eadie, and be careful not to touch him," advised the
Captain, eyeing the human cyclone with amusement and amazement. "Looks
mighty dangerous, and sort as if he might go off."
Harry met these words with a blazing glare.
"Cal'late you'd best come in and cool off a mite, Harry. You seem sort
of het up."
"W-Woman, c-come w-with m-me!" spluttered Mr. Beaver.
He strutted round the room, well out of the Captain's reach, and back
again toward the door, looking for the world like a young barnyard fowl.
But his wife did not follow.
"She ain't going just yet. We was having a quiet-like chat when you
busted in here, and I cal'late we'd best make it three-sided, that is,
if you ain't got no reasonable objection to raise. Come, you ain't in
that rush."
Harry bounded toward the door. So, also, did the Captain. A heavy hand
fell on the shoulder of the little man and spun him about.
"It's real nice of you to come in like this for a friendly conflab,"
said the seaman, dangerously pleasant.
"M-Man, t-take your h-hand off m-me! H-How dare y-you a-assault m-me!
I'll h-have the law on y-you!"
"That's all right, Harry." The expression on the Captain's face
contrasted sharply with his quiet words. "There'll be plenty of time for
that. I've been feeling real slighted because you ain't been to see me
for some time. Cal'late a little conversation will do us both a heap of
good, and clear up the air a mite."
Mr. Beaver again started for the door, but the Captain reached it first.
He closed it, turned the key in the lock, and put the key in his
pocket.
"Now, suppose you spin the yarn to me that you've been spreading round
town," he said, slowly filling his pipe and offering the pouch to Harry
Beaver.
Mr. Beaver spurned the weed of peace with a ferocious glare. With a
little coaching the Captain brought out the story. The gist of the
matter was that Mr. Beaver considered McGowan morally lax in the free
way he was mixing with the boys at the Inn.
"Let's get this straight. Who is the feller you're talking about? Just
repeat his name to me."
"M-McGowan!" defiantly repeated Mr. Beaver.
"When mentioning him to me,"--requested the Captain in a tone that made
the other man start with apprehension,--"you'll call him _Mr._ McGowan.
Understand that?"
Mr. Beaver seemed fully to understand, for he obeyed. When he had
finished his yarn of sheer nonsense, Captain Pott slowly laid his pipe
on the table and his hand on the little man's collar. He led him to the
door, and opened it. Harry tugged like a bull-pup on the end of a leash,
so that when the Captain released his hold--with ever so slight a
shove--Mr. Beaver described a spread-eagle on the cinder path.
"If you repeat that rotten truck to another soul, I ain't going to be
responsible for what happens to you!" He shot each word at the kicking
figure from between set teeth, and brushed one hand over the other as
though to clean them of filth.
Mrs. Beaver ran to her husband, lifted him out of the cinders, and
patted the ashes from his clothing. Harry Beaver stood irresolutely for
a moment, and violently shook his fist at the man standing in the door.
"Y-You'll p-p-pay for this!" He spit out words and cinders with gasping
breath.
Captain Pott went inside. He washed his breakfast dishes. He was by no
means as calm as he appeared. The whole day through he fed the fires of
his anger. That night he urged the minister to stay at home. He even
begged him not to go to the Inn. Mr. McGowan asked the reason for his
deep concern. The Captain could give none, except to say that the
microbes were working overtime. But duty called more loudly than his
friend's fears, and Mr. McGowan went that evening to the Inn. An hour
later the Captain's intuition got the upper hand of his judgment, and he
followed.