|ALL the rest of the day Hunch paced up and down on the shore ice,
watching the schooner until the foremast went over and the timber was
strewn for a mile along the beach.
At dusk two of the crew men came up and made Hunch go home. He spent the
evening stretched out on the bed, trying to think. Later he fell asleep,
and in the morning, when he awoke, his clothes felt heavy and stiff.
After breakfast he went up the beach. The _Dean_ was battered out of
shape. Two fragments of the foremast had been cast up on the ice, but
the mainmast had disappeared. He stayed until he was sure that the
schooner was a total loss, then he returned to his room.
A year earlier in Hunch's life such a catastrophe would have set him
drinking; but now, while he thought of it for a moment, the idea of a
bout in Herve's bar-room with the old crowd of loafers, who would know
exactly why he had come, and would, before the night was over, probably
know all about his state of mind, did not appeal to him. He could not
bring himself to go to Bartlett's; he did not want Jess to see him when
he was weak and unable to help himself. But on the second evening after
the wreck, Jim Bartlett came up and found him lying on the bed with his
clothes on.
“Good evening, Hunch,” he said. “Kind of hard luck; ain't it?”
“Sit down,” said Hunch.
“Thanks, can't stay but a minute. I just wanted to talk to you--you
see I've been talking with Jess. She's all broke up about the schooner.
'Most as bad as you are. She thinks a lot of you, Hunch. She says you
ain't been 'round.”
“No, I ain't yet.”
“She says she didn't know whether you was coming or not.”
“I dunno's there's much good in seeing her.”
“You mean things is different?”
“It don't make much difference what I mean.” Jim's face was not very
sympathetic, and Hunch was not in a mood to open his heart.
“Well--I'll be square, Hunch--it's as much what I think as what she
thinks--but she can't help thinking--well, you see how it is yourself,
Hunch. You ain't in just the position you was in before. It's
different--it can't help being different.”
“What's she want to do?”
“Now, don't take it mean, Hunch; but she don't see--and I must say I
don't either--that things ought to be just as they was.”
“No, I don't s'pose so.”
“But you'll come around and see us anyhow, Hunch, won't you, and talk it
over. Mebbe Jess won't feel this way.”
“No,” said Hunch, “that ain't no use.” Bartlett stood at the door. “I'm
sorry you feel this way, Hunch, I--well, I guess there ain't much else
to say.”
“No, I guess there ain't.”
Bartlett went out and closed the door. Hunch lay still for a long time,
wondering over the turn of events. Now that it was settled, and in spite
of the hurt a strong man feels when the control of his actions is taken
away from him, he began to feel a slight sense of relief. Anyway, he had
his strength left, and he was free to begin again.