WAS IT CURIOSITY?
"Don't talk to me about the curiosity of women," said Linda coming upon
Miss Ri after her return walk. "The new importation at Miss Parthy's is
certainly the most inquisitive person it has ever been my lot to meet.
I was prepared to like him from what Bertie told me, but I never met a
man who could ask such personal questions upon such short acquaintance."
"Why, Linda, I never thought he could be called exactly rude. Perhaps
he doesn't pay one those little courteous attentions that we are used
to down here, though he is polite enough as I remember. Parthy and I
have wondered whether he could be an adventurer, or whether he were a
visionary sort of person or what, but we have come to the conclusion
that he is neither."
"I shouldn't be at all surprised if he were an adventurer and that he
has come down here to hunt up some unsuspecting damsel with property of
her own whom he could beguile into marrying him."
"Why, my child, did he ask you to marry him?"
"Oh, dear no, I hope not, since my first real conversation with him
has just taken place, but he wanted to know all about Talbot's Angles,
how much land there was and all that, and he wound up by inquiring if
it belonged to me."
"That does look somewhat suspicious, though it does not show much tact,
if his object is really what you surmise. A real adventurer would make
his inquiries of someone else. I wouldn't judge him too severely. He
says he is looking up an old claim, you know, and it may lie near your
place. I would wait and see what happens."
"Tell me, Miss Ri, did he bring any sort of credentials with him?"
"Yes, I think so, at least he gave Berk a business card and said he was
well known by the insurance company by whom he had been employed in
Hartford, and that he had friends there who could vouch for him, and he
said he had a number of letters in his trunk."
"Oh, says, says; it's easy enough to say. I don't believe he ever had a
trunk, and I believe his story is made out of whole cloth."
"Why, Verlinda, dear, I never knew you so bitter. Do give the lad a
chance to prove himself."
"I thought you didn't want me to know him. You know you said you
weren't going to have him come when I was at home."
"Oh, well, I didn't mean that exactly; I only wanted to provide against
your flying off into a sentimental attitude, but now you have gone to
the other extreme; I don't want that either. Parthy says there never
was a more considerate man, and that he is not any trouble at all. Of
course, he hasn't the little thoughtful ways that Berk has; he doesn't
always stand with his hat off when he is talking to me in the street,
and he doesn't rise to his feet every time I leave my chair, and stand
till I am seated. He has allowed my handkerchief to lie till I chose
to pick it up myself, and doesn't always spring to open the door for
me; in those things he differs from Berk, but he is certainly quiet and
dignified. There comes Berk now, Verlinda; I knew he'd be along about
supper time."
Berkley's broad shoulders were seen over the rows of chrysanthemums and
scarlet salvia as he took a leisurely passage up the gravelled walk. He
waved a hand in greeting. "I knew I wasn't too late because I saw you
both from the street."
"And of course you hurried before that?" questioned Miss Ri.
"Yes, I always make it a point to hurry if there is a chance of being
late to supper, but I never hurry when there is no need to. I don't
wish to squander my vital energies, you see. What's for supper, Miss
Ri?"
"You haven't been invited to take it with us, yet."
"I don't have to be. Once, many a year ago, you said, 'Berk, drop in
whenever you feel like it,' and I have piously enshrined that saying
upon the tablets of my memory. Once invited, always invited, you see,
so I repeat my anxious query: what's for supper?"
"I am sure I don't know. Linda did the ordering this morning for I
wasn't here."
"Tell me, Linda." Berkley had dropped formalities since the evening of
song.
Linda shook her head. "As if I could be expected to remember things
that occurred this morning before breakfast; so many things have
happened since then."
"Things have happened in this blessed sleepy old place? That is news. I
didn't know anything could happen in Sandbridge."
"Oh, they might not be important to you, but they are to me."
"Then, of course, they are important to me."
"A very nice speech, sir. Well, in the first place, Miss Ri has
returned, as you see. Then Grace and Lauretta were here and have just
departed for the city."
"For good?"
"Let us hope it is for good only," put in Miss Ri.
"Sh! Sh!" warned Linda. "That wasn't pretty, Miss Ri. Then I have been
talking over the fence to your friend, Mr. Jeffreys, and he has aroused
my antagonism to a degree."
"He has?" Berkley looked surprised. "I don't see why or how he could do
that."
"Wait till she tells you, Berk," Miss Ri spoke up. "I am going in to
tell Phebe to set another place at table. If I am to have guests thrust
upon me whether I invite them or not, I must be decent enough to see
that they have plates to eat from." She left the two to saunter on to
the house while she entered the path which led to the kitchen.
Linda recounted her tale to which Berk listened attentively. "What do
you think of a man who would put such questions to a perfect stranger?"
queried Linda.
Berkley knit his brows. "Looks like one of two things; either
unqualified curiosity or a deeper purpose, that of finding out all
about the farm on account of personal interest in it."
"But what nonsense. You don't mean he thinks _that's_ the place to
which he lays claim? Why, we've held the grant for hundreds of years."
"We don't know what he thinks; I am not saying what are the facts; I am
only trying to account for his interest."
"Miss Ri thought he might be interested because his claim may perhaps
touch our property somewhere, and that there may be some question of
the dividing line."
"That could very well be. At all events, I don't believe it was idle
curiosity. I'll sound him a little if I can, but he is a reticent sort
of fellow, and as dumb as an oyster about that matter, though there
is really no use in his talking till he gets his papers, which, poor
fellow, it's mighty unlikely he'll ever find."
"I'd hate a prying neighbor," remarked Linda.
"You're not liable to have one from present indications. If I had time
I'd really like to look into some of the old titles, and see just how
the property in the vicinity of Talbot's Angles has come down to the
present owners. I know about a good many, as it is. Your brother sold
off Talbot's Addition, didn't he?"
"Yes. You know my father had mortgaged it up to the hilt, and then
Mart sold it in order to get rid of the interest and to have something
to put into the home place. He thought he would rather hold one
unencumbered place and have some money to improve it than to struggle
along with two places."
"Good judgment, too. If I am not mistaken there was still more property
belonging to the Talbot family originally. Wasn't Timber Neck theirs at
one time?"
"I believe so, though it was so long ago that I don't remember hearing
much about it."
"I see. Well, here we are, and I think there must be crab cakes from
the odor."
"So there are; I remember now. I knew Miss Ri was fond of them and no
one can make them as well as Phebe."
The supper set forth on the big round table displayed the crab cakes,
brown and toothsome, the inevitable beaten biscuits on one side, and
what Phebe called "a pone of bread" on the other. There were, too,
some thin slices of cold ham, fried potatoes and a salad, while the
side table held some delectable cakes, and a creamy dessert in the
preparation of which Phebe was famous. No one had ever been able to get
her exact recipe, for "A little pinch" of this, "a sprinkling" of that,
and "what I thinks is right" of the other was too indefinite for most
housekeepers. Many had, indeed, ventured after hearing the ingredients
but all had failed.
"This is a supper fit for a king," said Berkley, sitting down after a
satisfied survey of the table.
"You might have just such every day," returned Miss Ri.
"Please to tell me how. Do you mean I could induce Phebe to accept the
place of head cook at the hotel?"
"Heaven forbid. No, bat, of course not."
"Why bat?"
"You are so blind, just like most conceited young men who might have
homes of their own if they chose."
"Please, Miss Ri, don't be severe. You haven't the right idea at all.
Don't you know it is my lack of conceit which prevents my harboring
the belief that I could induce anyone to help me to make a home?"
"I don't know anything of the kind. I know it is your selfish love of
ease and your desire to shirk responsibility."
"Listen to her, Linda. She will drive me to asking the first girl I
meet if she will marry me. You might do it, by the way, and then we
might take our revenge by luring Phebe away from her. Of course, Phebe
would follow you. I wonder I never thought of that before."
"You are a flippant, senseless trifler," cried Miss Ri with more heat
than would appear necessary. "I won't have you talking so of serious
subjects."
"So it is a serious subject to your mind?" Berkley laughed gleefully.
But Miss Ri maintained a dignified silence during which Berkley made
little asides to Linda till finally Miss Ri said placidly, "I told
Linda not long ago that I never got mad with fools, and," she added
with a gleam of fun in her eyes, "I'm not going to begin to do it now."
"You have the best of me as usual, Miss Ri," laughed Berkley, "although
I might get back at you, if one good turn deserves another. By the way,
Linda, did you ever hear the way old Aaron Hopkins interprets that?"
"No, I believe not."
"Someone sent him a barrel of apples last year, and he told me the
other day that he expected the same person would send another this
year. 'He sent 'em last year,' said the old fellow, 'and you know 'one
good turn deserves another.' He is a rare old bird, is Aaron."
"He certainly is," returned Linda. "I think it is too funny that he
named his boat the _Mary haha_. He told me he thought that _Minnehaha_
was a nice name for young folks to use, 'but for an old fellow like me
it ain't dignified,' he said."
"Tell Berk what he said to your brother when he came back from
college," urged Miss Ri.
"Oh, yes, that was funny, too. You know Mart had been away for three
years, and he met old Aaron down by the creek one day. I doubt if Aaron
has ever been further than Sandbridge in his life. He greeted Mart like
one long lost. 'Well, well,' he said, 'so you've got back. Been away
a right smart of a time, haven't you?' 'Three years,' Mart told him.
'Where ye been?' 'To New Jersey.' 'That's right fur, ain't it?' 'Some
distance.' 'Beyand Pennsylvany, I reckon. Well, well, how on airth
could you stand it?' 'Why, it's a pretty good place, why shouldn't I
stand it, Aaron?' said Mart. 'But it's so durned fur from the creek,'
replied Aaron."
"Pretty good," cried Berkley. "A true Eastern shoreman is Aaron, wants
nothing better than his boat and the creek. Good for him."
They lingered at table talking of this and that till presently
there came a ring at the door. Phebe lumbered out to open. She was
unsurpassed as a cook, but only her extreme politeness excused the
awkwardness of her manner as waitress. "It's dat Mr. Jeffs," she said
in a stage whisper when she returned. "He ask fo' de ladies."
"Then you will have to come, Linda," said Miss Ri, "and you, too, Berk."
"Of course, I'll come," replied the young man.
"You don't imagine I am going to stay here by myself while you two make
eyes at an interloper." And he followed the two to the drawing-room
into which Phebe had ushered the visitor.
The young man sitting there arose and came forward, and after shaking
hands with Miss Ri he said, "I believe you have not formally presented
me to your niece, Miss Hill, though I was so unceremonious as to talk
to her over the fence this evening."
"You mean Linda. She is not my niece; I wish she were. How would it do
for me to adopt you as one, Verlinda? I'd love to have you call me Aunt
Ri."
"Then I'll do it," returned the girl with enthusiasm.
"Then, Mr. Jeffreys, allow me to present you to my adopted niece, Miss
Verlinda Talbot, and beware how you talk to her over the fence. I am a
very fierce duenna."
The young man smiled a little deprecatingly, not quite understanding
whether this was meant seriously or not, and wondering if he were being
censured for his lack of ceremony.
"I presented Mr. Jeffreys quite properly myself," spoke up Berkley. "To
be sure, it was in the dark and he wasn't within gun-shot. I haven't
recovered from my scare yet, have you, Jeffreys? Next time you go to
town, Miss Ri, I am going with you, for I don't mean to be left behind
to the tender mercies of anyone as bloodthirsty as Linda."
They all laughed, and the visitor looked at the two young people
interestedly. Evidently they were on excellent terms. He wondered if by
any chance an engagement existed between them, but when later Bertie
Bryan came in, and he saw that Berk treated her with the same air of
good comradeship, he concluded that it was simply the informality of
old acquaintance, though he wondered a little at it. In his part of the
country not even the excuse of lifelong association could set a young
man so at his ease with one of the opposite sex, and he was quite sure
that he could not play openly at making love to two girls at once.
However, they spent a merry time, Linda, under the genial influence of
her friends, was livelier than usual, and however much she may have
resented Mr. Jeffreys' inquisitiveness earlier in the day, on further
acquaintance she lost sight of anything but his charm of manner and his
art of making himself agreeable.
After the young men had seen Bertie to her home, they walked down the
shadowy street together. "Haven't heard anything of those papers yet, I
suppose," Berkley said to his companion.
"Nothing at all."
"Too bad. Are you going to give it up?"
"Not quite yet. I thought I'd allow myself six months. I have a bit of
an income which comes in regularly, and one doesn't have to spend much
in a place like this. Once my papers are found, I think my chances are
good." Then abruptly, "You've known Miss Talbot a long time, I suppose,
Matthews."
"Nearly all my life. At least we were youngsters together; but I was at
college for some years, and I didn't see her between whiles. She was
grown up when I came back."
"Then you probably know all about her home, Talbot's Angles, do they
call it?"
"Yes, certainly. Everyone about here knows it, for it is one of the few
places that has remained in the family since its first occupation."
Then suddenly, "Good heavens, man, you don't mean that's the place you
are thinking to claim? I can tell you it's not worth your while. The
Talbots have the original land grant and always have had it, and--why,
it's an impossibility."
His companion was silent for a moment. "You know, I am not talking yet.
If I find the papers are lost irrevocably, I shall go away with only a
very pleasant memory of the kindness and hospitality of Sandbridge."
Berkley in turn was silenced, but after parting from his companion at
Miss Parthy's door, he went down the street saying to himself, "I'll
search that title the very first chance I get. I am as sure as anyone
could be that it is all right. Let me see, Miss Ri would know about the
forbears; I'll ask her." He stopped under a street lamp and looked at
his watch. "It isn't so very late, and she is a regular owl. I'll try
it."
Instead of continuing his way to the hotel, he turned the corner which
led to Miss Ri's home. Stopping at the gate, he peered in. Yes, there
was a light in the sitting-room, and from some unseen window above was
reflected a beam upon the surface of the gently-flowing river. "She
is up and Linda has gone to her room," he told himself. "Just as I
thought."
He stepped quickly inside the ground and went toward the house. One
window of the sitting-room was partly open, for the night was mild. He
could see Miss Ri sitting by her lamp, a book in her hand. "Miss Ri,"
he called softly.
She came to the window. "Of all prowling tomcats," she began. "What are
you back here for?"
"I forgot something. May I come in?"
"Linda has gone to bed."
"I didn't come to see Linda."
"Oh, you didn't. Well, I'll let you in, but you ought to know better
than to come sneaking around a body's garden at this time of night."
"You see, I've gotten into the habit of it," Berkley told her. "I've
done it for two nights running and I can't sleep till I've made the
rounds."
"Silly!" exclaimed Miss Ri. But she came around to open the door for
him. "Now, what is it you want?" she asked. "I've no midnight suppers
secreted anywhere."
"Is thy servant a dog, that he comes merely to be fed?"
"I've had my suspicions at times," returned Miss Ri. "Come in, but
don't talk loud, so as to waken Linda; the child needs all the sleep
she can get. Now, go on; tell me what you want."
"I want you to tell me exactly who Linda's forbears were; that is, on
the Talbot side. Her father was James, I know."
"Yes, and his father was Martin. He had a brother, but he died early;
there were only the two sons, but there was a daughter, I believe."
"And their father was?"
"Let me see--Monroe? No, Madison; that's it, Madison Talbot, and his
father was James again. I can't give you the collaterals so far back."
"Humph! Well, I reckon that will do."
"What in the world are you up to? Are you making a family tree for
Linda?"
"No; but I have some curiosity upon the subject of old titles, and as
it may come in my way, I thought I would look up Talbot's Angles."
"There's no use in doing that. Linda has the original land grant in her
possession. Poor child, she clings to that, and I am glad she can. I
wish to goodness you'd marry Grace, Berk Matthews, so Verlinda could
get her rights."
"I'd do a good deal for a pretty girl, but I couldn't bring myself up
to the scratch of marrying Grace Talbot. Now, if it were Linda herself,
that might be a different matter."
"You'd get a treasure," avowed Miss Ri, shaking her head wisely. "She
doesn't have to air her family silver in order to make people forget
her mistakes in English."
"True, O wisest of women."
"There's another way out of it, Berk; the place reverts to Verlinda in
the event of Grace's death."
"Do you mean I shall poison her or use a dagger, Lady Macbeth?"
"You great goose, of course I don't mean either such horrible thing. I
was only letting my thoughts run on the possibilities of the case. I'm
not quite so degenerate as to wish for anyone's death, but I haven't
found out yet why you were looking into the family procession of names."
"Oh, just a mere matter of legal curiosity, as I said. I come across
them once in a while, and I wanted to get them straight in my mind.
James, son of Martin, son of Madison, son of James; that's it, isn't
it?" He checked them off on his fingers.
"That's it."
"Well, good-night, Miss Ri. I won't keep you any longer from that
fascinating book at which you've been casting stealthy glances ever
since I came in. Don't get up; I can let myself out."
Miss Ri did not immediately return to the book. "Now, what is he
driving at?" she said to herself. "It's all poppycock about his
interest in the names because he wants to get them straight in his
mind. He's not so interested in Verlinda as all that, worse luck. I
wish he were." She gave a little sigh and, adjusting her glasses,
returned to the page before her.