The rain, which I expected would follow the squall, did not come until
late that night, and it was still falling heavily the next morning.
It was a warm rain, however, and, after breakfast, I walked up to the
village. I said nothing, even to Mother, about the happenings in the
bay, and Dorinda, who had asked many sarcastic questions concerning the
state of my blue trousers--if I had “mistook 'em for a bathin' suit” and
the like--seemed satisfied with my hurried explanation that I had gotten
overboard. “Though how you fell in feet fust,” she observed, “I don't
see.” She had mended my brown pair, sitting up until after two to do so.
Lute informed me that he had been up to the post-office. “Everybody's
talkin' about them Coltons,” he declared. “I see their automobile last
night, myself. The Colton girl, she come into the store. My! she's a
stunner, ain't she! Sim waited on her, himself, and gave her the mail.
She wanted to buy some cheese--for a rabbit, she said. I never heard of
feeding a rabbit on cheese, did you, Ros?”
“No,” I replied, laughing. It was not worth while to explain.
“Nor nobody else, but her! I guess,” continued Lute, “likely she was
just jokin'. Anyhow, Sim was all out of cheese, but he had some nice
print butter, just in. She didn't want no butter, though.”
“Humph!” sniffed Dorinda. “Did Sim Eldredge cal'late she wanted to feed
the rabbit butter? Was the Colton girl alone?”
“No. There was a young feller with her; the one that's visitin' 'em.
Carver his name is--Victor Carver. Did you ever hear such a name in your
life? Afore I'd name a child of mine Victor!”
“Um-hm. Well, I wouldn't waste time worryin' about that, if I was you.
Look here, Lute Rogers, you didn't say anything about Roscoe's talk with
Mr. Colton, did you?”
“No, no! no, no! Course I didn't.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. 'Taint likely I would, would I? Cap'n Jed was on hand, as usual,
and he was full of questions, but he didn't get anything out of me.
'What did Colton say to Ros?' he says. 'How do I know what he said?'
says I. 'I wan't there, was I?' 'Where was you that forenoon?' he says.
'Forenoon!' says I, 'that shows how much you know about it. 'Twas three
o'clock in the afternoon.' Oh, I had the laugh on him!”
Dorinda looked at me and shook her head.
“It's too bad, Roscoe,” she said. “But I was afraid of it as soon as I
found he'd sneaked off to the post-office. I cal'late it's all over town
by now.”
“What do you mean by that?” Lute's dignity was outraged. “All over town!
I never told him nothin'.”
“No. Only that Ros and Mr. Colton were together and 'twas three o'clock
in the afternoon. And goodness knows how much more! DO be quiet! Seems
sometimes as if I should lose patience with you altogether. Is this
Carver the Colton girl's young man? Are they engaged?”
“I don't know. I guess he's keepin' company with her, by the looks. I
got as nigh to 'em as I could, but I didn't hear much they said. Only,
just as they was goin' out, he said somethin' about goin' for a little
spin in the car. She said no, her father would want his letters. Carver,
he said, why not send Oscar home--that's the chauffeur, you know--with
the letters, and he'd run the car himself. She kind of laughed, and said
she guessed not, she'd taken one trip with him already that day and she
didn't believe she cared for another. He seemed kind of put out about
it, I thought.”
I had been feeling rather provoked at Lute for giving Captain Jed the
information concerning my interview with Colton; but, somehow, this
other bit of news restored my good humor. When I started for the village
I did not take the short cut across the fields, but followed my regular
route, the path by the bluff and the Shore Lane. I was no longer fearful
of meeting my new neighbors. The memory of the happenings in the bay was
a delightful solace to my wounded self-respect. I chuckled over it as
I walked through the dripping pines of the little grove. No matter how
contemptuously indifferent that girl might pretend to be she would
not forget what had taken place; that she had been obliged to obey my
orders; that I had carried her to that skiff; that I had saved her from
a danger--not a great danger, and against her will, of course--but saved
her nevertheless. She was under an obligation to me; she could not help
herself. How that must gall her. I remembered the look on her face as I
rowed away. Sweet was revenge. And Victor--Victor was a joke.
When I reached the Lane I looked over at the Colton mansion. The rain
had given the carpenters and painters an enforced holiday, and, except
for the chauffeur, whom I could see through the open door of the garage,
there was no one in sight. I think I was a little disappointed. If “Big
Jim” had appeared and hailed me with another offer for the land I should
not have dodged. I was ready for him. But neither he, or any one else,
appeared and I walked on.
At the Corners, Sim Eldredge shouted to me from the platform of his
store.
“Hi, Ros!” he shouted. “You! Ros Paine! come here a minute, will you?”
I did not want to see him. I had intended avoiding the post-office
altogether. But I crossed to the platform.
“Say, Ros,” he asked eagerly, “what's this about you and Mr. Colton?”
I was annoyed.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Why, you know, don't you? He come to see you and you went to see him
over to his house. You had a reg'lar argument, I understand. About the
Shore Lane, wan't it?”
“Who told you that?” I inquired, sharply.
“Why, nobody told me, exactly. Lute Rogers and Cap'n Jed was here last
night and they got a-goin' as usual. The Cap'n does love to stir up
Lute, and he commenced hintin' about somethin' of the kind. I don't know
as they was hints, either, but Lute thought they was.”
He grinned. I understood.
“I see,” I said. “Well, what did Lute say?”
“I suppose he'd say he never said a word, but after he'd gone there was
a kind of general sentiment that Colton wanted to buy the Shore Lane
land off you, and that you and he had some words about it. Anyhow, you
didn't sell the land, did you?”
“Suppose I did, or didn't; what of it?”
“Why, nothin', nothin'. Only, I tell you, Ros--” he looked carefully
about to make sure no one was listening; “I tell you; it's just this
way. I can understand how you feel about it. You know Dean and some of
the others are sore on Mr. Colton 'cause he's got more money than they
have, and they want to make all the trouble for him they can. Jed's got
an idea that he's after that Lane, to close it off, and he's stirrin' up
sentiment against its bein' closed. He's talkin' about the town buyin'
it. Now of course I know your position. You want to get just as high a
price as you can afore you sell.”
“That's my position, is it?”
“It would be the position of any sensible man, wouldn't it? I don't
blame you. Now, what I wanted to say was this.” He bent forward and
lowered his voice to a whisper. “Why don't you let me handle this thing
for you? I can do it better'n you. I see Cap'n Jed every night, you
might say. And I see consider'ble of Mr. Colton. He knows I'm postmaster
in this town and sort of prominent. All the smart folks ain't in the
Board of Selectmen. I'll keep you posted; see? You just set back and
pretend you don't want to sell at all. Colton, he'll bid and Jed and
his gang'll bid. I'll tell each what the other bids, and we'll keep her
jumpin'. When we get to the last jump, we'll sell--and not afore. Of
course Mr. Colton 'll get it, in the end.”
“Oh, he will! What makes you think so?”
“What makes me think so? Don't be foolish. Ain't he a millionaire? How
can Denboro stand up against a millionaire? I tell you, Ros, it's money
counts in this world, and it pays to stand in with them that's got it.
I'm goin' to stand in with Mr. Colton. But I'll pretend to stand in with
Dean just as much. I can help a whole lot. Why, I shouldn't wonder if,
between us, we could get--er--er--I don't know how much, for that land.
What do you say?”
I smiled. “It's very kind of you, Sim, to be willing to go to so much
trouble on my account,” I observed. “I didn't know there was such
disinterested kindness in Denboro.”
Sim seemed a bit put out. “Why,” he stammered, “I--I--of
course I presumed likely you'd be willin' to pay me a little
commission--or--or--somethin'. I thought I might be a sort of--er--agent
for you. I've handled consider'ble real estate in my time--and--you see
what I mean, don't you?”
“Yes,” I said, drily; “I see. Well, Sim, if I decide to engage an agent
I'll let you know. Good morning.”
“But, hold on, Ros! I--”
I did not “hold on.” I walked across the road and entered the bank.
Alvin Baker met me in the vestibule. He seized my hand and shook it
violently.
“I declare,” he exclaimed, “it does me good to shake hands with a feller
that's got the grit you have. It does so! We're all proud of you.”
“Much obliged, Alvin, I'm sure. But why?”
He winked and nudged me with his elbow.
“You know why, all right,” he whispered. “Wouldn't sell him the land,
would you? Tell me: Did he make you a real bid for it? Lute as much as
said he did.”
For a person who had told nothing, Lute seemed to have “as much as said”
a good many things. I shook my head.
“So you think I shouldn't sell the land?” I asked.
“Course you shouldn't--not to him. Ain't there such things as public
spirit and independence? But I'll tell you somethin' more, Ros,”
mysteriously. “You may have a chance to sell it somewhere else.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes, sir-ee! indeed! There's other public-spirited folks in Denboro as
well as you. I know who they be and I stand in with 'em pretty close,
too. I'm goin' to help you all I can.”
“That's very kind of you, Alvin.”
“No, no. I'm glad to do it. Shan't charge you nothin', neither.”
“That's kinder still.”
“No, 'tain't. . . Hold on a minute, Ros. Don't go. As I say, I'm goin'
to work tooth and nail to get the town to buy that Lane property of
yours. I'll stick out for you're gettin' a good price for it. I'll use
all my influence.”
“Thank you.”
“You needn't thank me. It's a matter of principle. We'll show these city
folks they ain't the whole ship, cargo and all. . . . Hold on a second
more. Ros, I--er--I wonder if you'd do a little favor for me.”
“What is it, Alvin?”
“Why, it's this way. I've got a note here in the bank; put it there when
I bought the power engine for my cat-boat. Hundred and fifty dollars,
'tis. You're a pretty good friend of George Taylor, cashier here, and I
was wonderin' if you'd mind puttin' in a word with him about my gettin'
it renewed when it comes due. Just tell him you think I'm all right, and
a good risk, or somethin' like that.”
I could not help smiling. Alvin seemed to find encouragement in the
smile.
“George thinks consider'ble of you,” he said. “And Captain Jed--he's one
of the directors--he will, too, now that you've stood up to Colton. Just
put in a word for me, will you? And don't forget I'm a friend of yours,
and I'm strong for your gettin' a good, fair price from the town.
Remember that, won't you?”
“I won't forget, Alvin. Good-by.”
I left him and went into the bank. Henry Small, the bookkeeper, was at
his desk. I walked over to speak to him, but he, looking up from his
figures, spoke first. There was, or so it seemed to me, a different note
in his greeting. It was more hearty, I thought. Certainly he regarded me
with a new and curious interest.
“Morning, Ros,” he said. “Well, how are you these days?”
I answered that I was well, and was moving on but he detained me.
“Lively times ahead, hey,” he whispered.
“What sort of times?” I asked.
He winked. “I guess you know, if anybody does,” he observed. “All right,
you'll have good friends on your side. I ain't saying anything, of
course, but I'm on, all right.”
He winked again. I walked back to the cashier's window. Taylor had,
evidently, seen me talking with the bookkeeper, for he was standing by
the little gate, waiting for me.
“Hello, Ros,” he said. “Glad to see you. Come in.”
George Taylor was a type of smart country boy grown to manhood in
the country. His tone, like his manner, was sharp and quick and
businesslike, but he spoke with the Down-East twang and used the Cape
phrases and metaphors. He was younger than I, but he looked older, and,
of late, it had seemed to me that he was growing more nervous. We shook
hands.
“Glad to see you,” he said again. “I was hoping you'd drift in. I
presumed likely you might. Sit down.”
I took the proffered chair. He looked at me with much the same curious
interest that Small had shown.
“We've been hearing about you,” he said. “You've been getting yourself
talked about.”
I mentally cussed Lute once more for his loquacity.
“I'll break the fellow's neck,” I declared, with emphasis.
He laughed. “Don't do that yet awhile,” he said. “The market is in bad
enough shape as it is. If his neck was broke the whole of Wall Street
would go to pot.”
“Wall Street? What in the world has Lute got to do with Wall Street?”
“Lute! Oh, I see! Yes, Lute's been doing considerable talking, but it
ain't his neck I mean. Say, Ros, what did you do to him, anyway? You
stirred him up some, judging by what he said to me.”
“Who said? What?”
“Why, Colton. He was in here yesterday. Opened what he called a
household account; that was his main business. But he asked about you,
along with it.”
This explained some things. It was clear now why Small had appeared so
interested. “Oh!” I said.
“You bet he did. Wanted to know if I knew you, and what you were, and so
on. I told him I knew you pretty well. 'What sort of a fellow is he?
A damn fool?' he asked. I strained the truth enough to say you were a
pretty good fellow and a long ways from that kind of a fool, according
to my reckoning. 'Umph!' says he. 'Is he rich?' I told him I guessed you
wan't so rich that you got round-shouldered lugging your money. 'Why?'
says I, getting curious. 'Have you met him, Mr. Colton? If you have you
ought to have sized him up yourself. I always heard you were a pretty
fair judge.' He looked at me kind of funny. 'I thought I was,' says he,
'but you seem to raise a new variety down here.' Then I guess he thought
he'd said enough. At any rate, he walked off. What did you and he say to
each other, Ros?”
I did not answer immediately. When I did the answer was non-committal.
“Oh, we had a business interview,” I said.
He nodded. “Well,” he observed, “I suppose it's your affair and not
mine. But, I tell you this, Ros: if it's what I suppose it is, it'll be
everybody's affair pretty soon.”
“You think so, do you?”
“I know so. Cap'n Jed's a fighter and he is on the war path. The two
sides are lining up already. Whichever way you decide you'll make
enemies, of course.”
I shrugged my shoulders. The prospect of enemies, more or less, in
Denboro, did not trouble me.
“But you'll have to decide,” he went on, “who you'll sell to.”
“Or not sell at all,” I suggested.
“Can you afford to do that? There'll be money--a whole lot of money--in
this before it's over, if I know the leaders on both sides. You've got
the whip-hand. There'll be money in it. Can you afford to let it slip?”
I did not answer. Suddenly his expression changed. He looked haggard and
care-worn.
“By the Almighty,” he said, between his teeth, and without looking at
me, “I wish I had your chance.”
“Why?”
“Oh, nothing, nothing. . . . How's your mother nowadays?”
I told him that my mother was much as usual, and we talked of various
things.
“By the way,” he said, “I've got some news for you. Nothing surprising.
I guess all hands have seen it coming. I'm engaged to be married.”
“Good!” said I, with as much heartiness as I could answer; marriage did
not interest me. “Congratulations, George. Nellie Dean, of course.”
“Yes.”
“I'm glad for you. And for her. She'll make you a good wife, I'm sure.”
He drew a long breath. “Yes,” he said slowly, “Nellie's a good girl.”
“When is the--what do they call it? the happy event to take place?”
“In the fall some time, if all goes well. I hope it will.”
“Humph! Yes, I should think you might hope as much as that. Why
shouldn't it go well?”
“Hey? Oh, of course it will!” He laughed and rose from his chair as
several men came into the bank. “I'll have to leave you, Ros,” he said.
“There's a directors' meeting this morning. They're coming now.”
As I passed out of the gate and through the group of directors I noticed
that they also regarded me with interest. Two, men from neighboring
towns whom I scarcely knew, whispered to each other. Captain Elisha
Warren shook hands with me and inquired concerning Mother. The last of
the group was Captain Jedediah Dean, and he touched me on the shoulder.
“Ros,” he whispered, “you're all right. Understand? I say you're all
right.”
“Thanks,” I answered, briefly.
“I heard about it,” he whispered. “Ase Peters said the Grand Panjandrum
was cranky as a shark with the toothache all day yesterday. You must
tell me the yarn when we get together. I missed you when I called just
now, but I'll be down again pretty soon. You won't lose nothin' by this.
So long.”
As I came down the bank steps Sim Eldredge called across the road.
“Good-by, Ros,” he shouted. “Come in again next time you're up street.”
In all my period of residence in Denboro I had never before been treated
like this. People had never before gone out of their way to shake hands
with me. No one had considered it worth while to ask favors of me.
Sim and Alvin were not to be taken seriously, of course, and both were
looking after their own pocketbooks, but their actions were straws
proving the wind to be blowing in my direction. I thought, and smiled
scornfully, that I, all at once, seemed to have become a person of some
importance.
But my scorn was not entirely sincere. There was a certain gratification
in the thought. I might pretend--I had pretended--that Denboro opinion,
good or bad, was a matter of complete indifference to me. I had assumed
myself a philosopher, to whom, in the consciousness of right, such
trifles were of no consequence. But, philosophy or not, the fact
remained that I was pleased. People might dislike me--as that lofty
Colton girl and her father disliked me, though they could dislike me
no more than I did them--but I could compel them to respect me. They
already must think of me as a man. And so on--as I walked home through
the wet grass. It was all as foolish and childish and ridiculous as it
well could be. I deserved what was coming to me--and I got it.
For, as I came down the Lane, I met Oscar, the chauffeur, and a
companion, whom I judged to be a fellow servant--the coachman, I learned
afterwards--walking in the direction of the village. The rain had
ceased, but they wore natty raincoats and caps and had the city air of
smartness which I recognized and envied, even in them. The footpath was
narrow, but they apparently had no intention of stepping to one side,
so I made way for them. They whispered together as they approached and
looked at me curiously as we passed. A few steps further on I heard them
both burst out laughing. I caught the words, from Oscar, “fool Rube” and
“the old man'll make him look--” I heard no more, but as I turned into
the grove I saw them both looking after me with broad grins on their
faces.
Somebody has said that there is nothing harder to bear than the contempt
and ridicule of servants. For one thing, you cannot resent it without a
loss of dignity, and, for another, you may be perfectly sure that theirs
is but the reflection of their employers' frame of mind. This encounter
shook my self-satisfaction more than a little. It angered me, but it did
more than that; it brought back the feeling I had when I left the Colton
library, that my defiance was not, after all, taken seriously. That I
was regarded by Colton as just what Oscar had termed me, a “fool Rube.”
When George Taylor told me of the great man's questions concerning my
foolishness, I accepted the question as a tribute to my independence.
Now I was not so sure.
Dorinda met me at the door.
“You've had two callers,” she said.
“So? Who were they?”
“One of 'em was Cap'n Jed. He drove down just after you left. He come to
see you about that land, I cal'late.”
“Oh, yes. I remember he told me he missed me this morning. So he came
here?”
“Um-hm. Him and me had a little talk. He seemed to know consider'ble
about your rumpus with Mr. Colton.”
“How did he know?”
“He wouldn't say, but I wouldn't wonder if he got a lot from Ase Peters.
Ase and he are pretty thick; he's got a mortgage on Ase's house, you
know. And Ase, bein' as he's doin' the carpenterin' over to Colton's,
hears a lot from the servants, I s'pose likely. Leastways, if they don't
tell all their bosses' affairs they're a new breed of hired help, that's
all I've got to say. Cap'n Jed says Mr. Colton cal'lates you're a fool.”
“Yes. So I've heard. What did the Captain say to that?”
“Seemed to think 'twas a pretty good joke. He said he didn't care how
big a fool you was so long's you was feeble-minded on the right side.”
So there it was again. My imagined importance in the eyes of the
townspeople simmered down to about that. I was an imbecile, but they
must pretend to believe me something else because I owned something they
wanted. Well, I still owned it.
“Of course,” continued Dorinda, “I didn't tell him you was figgerin' not
to sell the land at all. If I had, I s'pose he'd have thought--”
She stopped short.
“You suppose what?” I asked.
“Oh, nothin'.”
She had said enough. I could guess the rest. I walked to the window and
stood, looking out. The clouds were breaking and, as I stood there, a
ray of sunlight streamed through a rift and struck the bay just at the
spot where the dingy had grounded. The shallow water above the flat
flashed into fire. I am not superstitious, as a general thing, but the
sight comforted me. It seemed like an omen. There was the one bright
spot in the outlook. There, at least, I had not behaved like a “fool
Rube.” There I had compelled respect and been taken seriously.
Dorinda spoke again.
“You ain't asked who your other caller was,” she observed.
“Was there another?”
“Um-hm. I told you there was two. After Cap'n Jed left that chauffeur
feller from the big house come here. He fetched a note for you. Here
'tis.”
I took the note. It was addressed to me in a man's handwriting, not that
of “Big Jim” Colton. I opened the envelope and read:
Roscoe Paine.
Sir: The enclosed is in payment for your work. No receipt is necessary.
Yours truly,
B. VICTOR CARVER.
The “enclosed” was a five-dollar bill.
I stood staring at the note. Then I began to laugh.
“What's the joke?” asked Dorinda, who had not taken her eyes from my
face.
“This,” said I, handing her the money. She looked at it in astonishment.
“Um-hm,” she said, drily. “Well, I--well, a five-dollar bill may be a
joke to you, but _I_ ain't familiar enough with one to laugh at it. You
don't laugh as if 'twas awful funny, either. Who's the joke on?”
“It's on me, just now.
“Um-hm. I'd be willin' to be joked ten times a day, at that price. And
I'd undertake to laugh heartier than you're doin', too. What's it for?
the money, I mean.”
“It's for some 'work' I did yesterday.”
She was more astonished than ever.
“Work! You?” she exclaimed.
“Yes. But don't worry; I shan't do it again.”
“Land! THAT wouldn't worry me. What sort of work was it?”
“Oh, I--I picked up something adrift in the bay.”
“Um-hm. I see. Somethin' belongin' to the Coltons, I s'pose likely. Why
won't you do it again? Ain't they paid you enough?”
Again I laughed. “They have paid me too much,” I said, bitterly. “What I
picked up wasn't worth the money.”