|AT Manitowoc they picked up a load of laths and shingles, consigned to
Grand Haven, and from there they went down to St. Joe, so that it was
nearly a week before they returned to Liddington. During this time Bruce
slunk about, working hard and drinking water.
On Saturday they lay ten miles off Liddington in a hazy calm. Billy, who
was usually overworked as a matter of course, stretched out forward
and went to sleep on the deck. Badeau sat on the rail by the wheel,
grumbling--as a man will who has no resources within himself to turn
idle hours to account. Bruce whittled a shingle. After a long time
Badeau spoke.
“Look here, Bruce. What you going to do about that girl?”
“I dunno.”
“Don't be a fool. Do you want to marry her?”
“She wouldn't have me.”
“Say, look here. Why don't you ask her?”
“I've been thinking, Hunch---”
“We're going to lie up to-morrow.”
“I can't do it soon as that.”
“'Course you can.”
Bruce hesitated, and snapped shavings with his thumb.
“Say, Hunch, you know more about girls 'n I do. Don't you s'pose you
could kind of--talk to her just a little--”
“No, I couldn't. You go round there to-morrow, understand.”
“I ain't going to do that, Hunch----”
“You tell me you ain't and I'll break your head!” Badeau stood over
Bruce, who was fumbling with his knife. “Who's captain of this schooner,
me or you? When I say, you got to do it, it ain't none of your business
whether you want to or not. Understand?”
Toward noon, on Sunday, they slid in between the breakwaters, and beat
across the harbor to the wharf. Badeau kept a close watch on Bruce,
confining him to the schooner all day. At dusk, dressed in his
best, which included a rhinestone stud, Bruce started out. Hunch had
supervised every detail of the toilet, and had forced on Bruce his
own red tie, which he preferred to Bruce's checked one. Now he walked
sternly alongside.
Mamie lived in a cottage a short distance from the freight yard. A rod
from the gate Bruce rebelled, but Hunch gripped his arm, and marched him
up the steps. Then he left him and stood outside the fence. Bruce laid
his hand on the bell-knob, but before ringing looked wildly around and
started to tiptoe away. Hunch made a motion, and he turned back and
rang. Then the door opened and he disappeared within. Hunch sat on the
horse-block.
Half an hour later the door opened. Hunch retreated across the street.
Bruce and Mamie came out and walked slowly, arm in arm, toward the lake.
Hunch stole after, keeping in the shadows.
They walked across the beach and sat on the sand. Hunch looked over
the ground, and, making sure that they could not get away without his
knowledge, he went back up the beach to the end of the sidewalk and
paced nervously up and down for an hour. Then he slipped behind the
willows and looked again. He saw first a single shadow on the sand, then
two people who were lost to all the material and earthly things of this
life. They sat in silence, her head pillowed on his shoulder, his arm
a black stripe across the back of her pink shirtwaist. Hunch walked
swiftly back to the schooner.
He was in his bunk, pretending to be asleep, when Bruce came stamping
down the steps into the cabin. He watched Bruce as he lighted the lamp.
Bruce was grinning. After puttering about the table, he came over to
Hunch's bunk and stood looking down at him. Then he laughed out loud and
dug his fingers into Hunch's ribs.
“Get out of here,” Hunch growled.
“Say, Hunch, wake up! It's all right. We're going to be married next
month.”
“Glad to hear it,” said Hunch, drowsily. Then he rolled over, feeling
less enthusiasm than he had expected. Bruce whistled while he was
undressing, and played catch with one of his shoes. Hunch could hear him
chuckling after he got to bed and the light was out.
After that, whenever they touched at a city, Bruce would hurry up to
the post-office, and would usually have on his return a perfumed letter,
addressed in a slanting hand. He carried these in his pocket and re-read
them frequently. His spare time was spent in writing replies with a
stubby, chewed pencil.