THE SAFE
Though a freshening east wind was now beginning to add a raw salt tang
to the air, troubled by a louder suspiration of surf, and though the
fluttering of the poplar-leaves, which now had begun to show their
silvery undersides, predicted rain, all was bright sunshine in the old
man’s heart.
The drifting clouds in no wise lessened the light for Captain Briggs.
Nodding flower and piping bird, grumbling bee and brisk, varnished
cricket in the path all bore him messages of cheer. His blue eyes
mirrored joy. For, after all that he had suffered and feared, lo! here
was Hal come back to him again, repentant, dutiful and kind.
“God is being very good to me after all,” the old captain kept
thinking. “‘His mercy endureth forever, and He is very, very good!’”
Dr. Filhiol, sitting at the window of his room, up-stairs, watched the
captain and Hal with narrowed eyes that harbored suspicion. His lips
drew tight, but he uttered no word. Hal, glancing up, met his look with
instinctive defiance. Boldness and challenge leaped into his eyes.
Filhiol understood his threat:
“Keep yourself out of this or take all consequences!”
And again the thought came to the doctor:
“What wouldn’t I give to have you for a patient of mine? Just for one
hour!”
The captain and Hal disappeared ’round the ell, in which Filhiol had
his room; but even after he had lost them to sight, he sensed the
fatuous self-deception of the old man and the cruel baseness of the
young one. Hal’s overstrained effort at good fellowship grated on the
doctor’s nerves with a note as false as his forced smile. He longed
to warn the captain—and yet! How could he make Briggs credit his
suspicions? Impossible, he realized.
“Poor captain!” he murmured. “Poor old captain!” And so he sat there,
troubled and very sad.
He heard their feet on the porch, then heard Hal coming up-stairs,
alone. Along the passageway went Hal, muttering something
unintelligible. Presently he returned down-stairs again and went into
the yard. Filhiol swung his blinds shut. Much as he hated to play the
spy, instinct told he must.
Hal now had his pipe, and carried books and paper. With these he sat
down on the rustic seat that encircled one of the captain’s big elms—a
seat before which a table had been built, for _al fresco_ meals, or
study. He opened one of the books and began writing busily, while smoke
curled on the breeze now growing damp and raw. Even the doctor could
not but admit Hal made an attractive figure in his white flannels.
“Pure camouflage, that study is,” pondered the doctor. “That smile
augurs no good.” Down-stairs he heard Briggs moving about, and pity
welled again. “This is bad, bad. There’s something in the wind, _I_
know. Tss-tss-tss! What a wicked, cruel shame!”
Down in the cabin, Captain Briggs’s appearance quite belied the
doctor’s pity. Every line of his venerable face showed deep content. In
his eyes lay beatitude.
“Thank God, the boy’s true-blue, after all!” he murmured. “Just a
little wild, perhaps, but he’s a Briggs—he’s sound metal at the core.
Thank God for that!”
He opened the top drawer of his desk, took out a little slip of paper
that helped refresh his memory, and approached the safe. Right, left,
he turned the knob, as the combination on the paper bade him; then he
swung open the doors, and pulled out a little drawer.
“Cap’n Briggs, sir!”
At sound of Ezra’s voice in the doorway, he started almost guiltily.
“Well, what is it?”
“Anythin’ you’re wantin’ down to Dudley’s store, sir?”
“No, Ezra.” The captain’s answer seemed uneasy. Under the sharp boring
of Ezra’s steely eyes, he quailed. “No, there’s nothing.”
“All right, cap’n!” The old cook remained a moment, observing. Then
with the familiarity of long years, he queried:
“Takin’ money again, be you? Whistlin’ whales, cap’n, that won’t do!”
“Ezra! What d’you mean, sir!”
“You know, cap’n, we’re gittin’ mighty nigh the bottom o’ the locker.”
“You’re sailing a bit wide, Ezra!”
“Mebbe, sir.” The honest old fellow’s voice expressed deep anxiety.
“But you an’ me is cap’n an’ mate o’ this here clipper, an’ money’s
money.”
The voices drifting out the open window brought Hal’s head up,
listening. The doctor, peering through the blinds, saw him hesitate
a moment, peer ’round, then cross the lawn to where, screened by the
thick clump of lilac-bushes, he could peek into the room.
“Money’s money, cap’n,” repeated Ezra. “We hadn’t oughta let it go too
fast.”
“There’s lots of better things in this world than money, Ezra,” said
the captain, strangely ill at ease.
“Mebbe, sir, but it takes money to buy ’em,” the cook retorted. “I
ain’t a two-dollar-worry man fer a one-dollar loss, but still I know a
dollar’s a good little friend.”
“Happiness is better,” affirmed the captain. “What I’m going to spend
this money for now will bring me happiness. Better than all the money
in the world, is being contented with your lot.”
“Yes, sir, if it’s a lot of money, or a corner lot in a live town. _I_
think there’s six things to make a man happy. One is a good cook an’
the other five is cash. However, fur be it from me to argy with you. I
got to clear fer Dudley’s, or there wun’t be no dinner.”
Ezra withdrew.
“It’s that damn McLaughlin, I betcha,” he pondered. “I got an intuition
the cap’n’s got to pay him heavy. Intuition’s a guess, when it comes
out right; an’ I’ll bet a schooner to a saucepan I’m right this time.
If I was half the man I used to be, it wouldn’t be money McLaughlin’d
be gittin’, but _this_!” Menacingly, he doubled his fist.
Captain Briggs took from the safe a packet of bills and counted off
four hundred dollars. This money he put into his wallet. Hal watched
every move; while above, from behind the blinds, Dr. Filhiol observed
him with profound attention.
“We _are_ getting a bit low in the treasury,” admitted the captain,
inspecting the remainder of the cash. “Only a matter of seven hundred
and fifty left, to stand us till January. A bit low, but we’ll manage
some way or other. Sail close to the wind, and make it. After all,
what’s a little money when the boy’s whole life is at stake?”
He put the remaining bills back and closed the safe. To the desk he
walked, dropped the combination into it and shut it, tight. Silently
Hal slid back to his seat under the elm, and once more set himself to
writing.
Filhiol peered down at him with animosity.
“A nice little treatment of strychnine or _curaré_ might make a proper
man of you, you brute,” he muttered, “but, by the living Lord, I don’t
think anything else could!”