|THE next day Hunch was moody. The men were afraid of him, and it was
after a long time of bracing his courage, that the mate came up to where
Hunch was sitting on the rail.
“Cap'n,” he said, “she's all ready.”
“I know it.”
“Will we get under way? There's the tug coming in fifteen minutes.”
Hunch sat still, his fingers locked, looking out across the harbor.
“Mike,” he said, abruptly, “skip up to the office and telephone over for
the tug to come to-morrow morning at seven o'clock.”
“Not till to-morrow----?”
“That's what I said.”
The mate walked away, shaking his head.
Hunch was in a bad temper all the afternoon. After supper he sat in
the cabin alone until after seven o'clock. Finally he got up and walked
swiftly across town to Mamie's house. Mr. Banks opened the door, his
coat on and his hat in his hand.
“Hello, my boy. This is a big surprise. Step right in. We thought you
was up to Manistee by now.”
“I thought I was going myself.”
“Take off your coat--here, let me have it. How'd you manage it?”
“I--I found I couldn't get away.”
“Ain't that fine, though. Mother, here's Mr. Badeau.” Mrs. Banks was in
the front room straightening her bonnet.
“How d'ye do?” she said, coming into the hall and shaking hands. “Glad
to see you. Father and I was just starting for prayer-meeting.”
“Go right along, Mis' Banks. Don't stay on my account.”
“All right, if you'll excuse us. We won't be gone long, and I guess
Mamie 'll take care of you all right. We can have our visit when we get
back. Mamie-! Where is that child?”
“Here I am, mother,” said Mamie, coming in from the kitchen. She greeted
Hunch cordially.
“Good-by,” said Mrs. Banks, “we'll be back 'fore long.”
Mamie pulled up two chairs to the stove, Hunch helping her.
“How'd you happen to stay over?” she asked. “We weren't expecting you.”
“No, I just made up my mind this morning.”
“Well, I'm sure we're glad you did. It seems just like old times to have
you back here.”
“Don't it, though? I ain't had much chance to see my friends in the last
year. I have to keep a-going all the time, you know.”
“But I should think you'd kind of like it. Father told me how well
you're doing. Isn't it fine.”
“I dunno,” said Hunch. “I ain't always sure I care much one way or the
other.”
“You mean about getting on? Oh, you mustn't talk like that. Of course
you care, and all your friends care, too. We like to see you get ahead.
Jess's brother told me when you got to be captain, and I was kind of
proud of you.”
The mention of Jess bothered Hunch, though he replied, “Was you really?”
and tried to smile.
Mamie was looking at him with a friendly expression in her eyes that he
did not quite understand. He thought at first that she was laughing at
him. But then she smiled, and said with a little hesitation:
“I didn't know but what you mightn't like what--the little surprise we
had last night, you know.”
“Oh, yes; I did all right.”
“Well, but I thought afterward that maybe we oughtn't to have done it.
It was father's idea. He feels real bad about--about you and Jess. And
she's an awfully nice girl.”
“Yes,” said Hunch, “there ain't no doubt about that.”
Mamie hesitated again, and then, when Hunch did not speak, they both
became embarrassed.
“I've wondered sometimes, if you knew,” she said at length, “if you
really thought Jess was the only one to blame. It was just as much her
folks--her brother, you know--he was worried about it, and he tried to
keep her from going on with you.”
“Yes, I know. He told me that.”
“And I--don't you see how it is? You've both of you been two of the best
friends I ever had, and I didn't like to see it--well, you know, don't
you?”
She was looking into the fire as she spoke, and Hunch was watching her.
She was very much in earnest.
“Don't you see?” she went on. “I couldn't help feeling kind of bad about
it. Why can't you make it all right?” She waited for him to answer, and
at last looked up at him with a half smile. “Why?” She asked again.
Hunch looked at her, almost fiercely, until she lowered her eyes to the
stove.
He got up, and walked to the window and back.
“Did you think it was her?” he asked, in a strange voice.
“Why--yes.”
“Well, it wasn't. It was you.”
Mamie lost a shade of her color and leaned back in her chair. Hunch
stood looking down at her and he said again, “It was you, Mamie.”
Mamie spoke without looking up.
“Oh, John,” she said, “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”
Then Hunch sat down and talked wildly, eagerly. And Mamie leaned back
without a word, and looked at the brass ball on top of the stove and at
the patterns on the wallpaper. Hunch was talking when a key rattled
in the lock, and he sat stiff and constrained when Mamie's father and
mother came into the room. He tried to stay and talk, but could not; and
a few minutes later he said “Good-night,” and went out into the hall.
Mamie followed him, and without a word took down his ulster and helped
him to get it on.
“Good-by,” he said.
“Good-by, John. Don't be mad, will you? You know how much I care for
you; and we'll be good friends, won't we, John?”
He bent down and whispered close to her ear, “I'm in for it now, Mamie.
I ain't going to lose you now. Next time I come down I ain't going back
without you.”
Mamie smiled sadly, and shook her head. But she stood in the doorway
watching him until he had passed into the darkness beyond the lamp-post
on the corner.