A BARGAIN OFF
“Mornin', Georgianna,” said Captain Cy to his housekeeper as the latter
unlocked the back door of the Whittaker house next morning. “I'm a
little ahead of you this time.”
Miss Taylor, being Bayport born and bred, was an early riser. She lodged
with her sister, in Bassett's Hollow, a good half mile from the Cy
Whittaker place, but she was always on hand at the latter establishment
by six each morning, except Sundays. Now she glanced quickly at the
clock. The time was ten minutes to six.
“Land sakes!” she exclaimed. “I should say you was! What in the world
got you up so early? Ain't sick, are you?”
“No,” replied the captain wearily. “I ain't sick. I didn't sleep very
well last night, that's all.”
Georgianna looked sharply at him. His face was haggard and his eyes had
dark circles under them.
“Humph!” she grunted. “No, I guess you didn't. Looks to me as if you'd
been up all night.” Then she added an anxious query: “'Tain't Bos'n--she
ain't sick, I hope?”
“No. She's all right. I say, Georgianna, you put on an extry plate this
mornin'. Got company for breakfast.”
The housekeeper was surprised.
“For breakfast?” she repeated. “Land of goodness! who's comin' for
breakfast? I never heard of company droppin' in for breakfast. That's
one meal folks generally get to home. Who is it? Mr. Tidditt? Has Ketury
turned him out door because he's too bad an example for her husband?”
“No, 'tain't Ase. It's a--a friend of mine. Well, not exactly a friend,
maybe, but an acquaintance from out of town. He came last evenin'. He's
up in the spare bedroom.”
“Well, I never! Come unexpected, didn't he? I wish I'd known he was
comin'. That spare room bed ain't been aired I don't know when.”
“I guess he can stand it. I cal'late he's slept in consider'ble
worse--Hum! Yes, he did come kind of sudden.”
“What's his name?”
“What difference does that make? I don't know's his name makes any odds
about gettin' his breakfast for him.”
Georgianna was hurt. Her easy-going employer had never used this tone
before when addressing her.
“Oh!” she sniffed. “Is THAT the way you feel? All right! I can mind my
own business, thank you. I only asked because it's convenient sometimes
to know whether to call a person Bill Smith or Sol Jones. But I don't
care if it's Nebuchadnezzar. I know when to keep my tongue still, I
guess.”
She flounced over to the range. Captain Cy looked ashamed of himself.
“I'm kind of out of sorts to-day,” he said. “Got some headache. Why, his
name is--is--yes, 'tis Smith, come to think of it--John Smith. Funny you
should guess right, wan't it?”
“Humph!” was the ungracious answer. “Names don't interest me, I tell
you.”
The captain was in the dining room when Bos'n appeared.
“Good morning, Uncle Cyrus,” she said. “You've been waiting, haven't
you? Am I late? I didn't mean to be.”
“No, no! you ain't late. Early, if anything. Breakfast ain't quite ready
yet. Come here and set in my lap. I want to talk to you.”
He took her on his knee. She looked up into his face.
“What's the matter, Uncle Cy?” she asked. “What makes you so sober?”
“Sober? If you ain't the oldest young one for eight years I ever saw!
Why, I ain't sober. No, no! Say, Bos'n, do you like your school as well
as ever?”
“Yes, sir. I like it better all the time.”
“Do, hey? And that teacher woman--go on likin' her?”
The child nodded emphatically. “Yes, sir,” she said. “And I haven't been
kept after since that once.”
“Sho! sho! Course you ain't'! So you think Bayport's as nice as Concord,
do you?”
“Oh! lots nicer! If mamma was only here I'd never want to be anywhere
else. And not then, maybe, unless you was there, too.”
“Hum! Want to know! Say, Bos'n, how would you feel if you had to go
somewheres else?”
“To live? Have we got to? I'd feel dreadful, of course. But if you've
got to go, Uncle Cyrus, why--”
“Me? No; I ain't got to go anywheres. But 'twas you I was thinkin' of.
Wouldn't want to leave the old man, hey?”
“To leave YOU! Oh, Uncle Cyrus!”
She was staring at him now and her chin was trembling.
“Uncle,” she demanded, “you ain't going to send me away? Haven't I been
a good girl?”
The captain's lips shut tight. He waited a moment before replying.
“'Deed you've been a good girl!” he said brusquely. “I never saw a
better one. No, I ain't goin' to SEND you away. Don't you worry about
that.”
“But Alicia Atkins said one time you told somebody you was going to send
me out West, after a while. I didn't believe it, then, she's so mean,
but she said you said--”
“SAID!” Captain Cy groaned. “The Lord knows what I ain't said! I've been
a fool, dearie, and it's a judgment on me, I guess.”
“But ain't you goin' to keep me? I--I--”
She sobbed. The captain stroked her hair.
“Keep you?” he muttered. “Yes, by the big dipper! I'm goin' to keep you,
if I can--if I can.”
“Hello!” said a voice. The pair looked up. The man who had arrived on
the previous night stood in the sitting-room doorway. How long he had
been standing there the captain did not know. What he did know was that
Mr. John Smith by daylight was not more prepossessing than the same
individual viewed by the aid of a lamp.
Emily saw the stranger and slid from Captain Cy's knees. The captain
rose.
“Bos'n,” he said, “this is Mr.--er--Smith, who's goin' to make us a
little visit. I want you to shake hands with him.”
The girl dutifully approached Mr. Smith and extended her hand. He took
it and held it in his own.
“Is this the--” he began.
Captain Cy bowed assent.
“Yes,” he said, his eyes fixed on the visitor's face. “Yes. Don't forget
what you said last night.”
Smith shook his head.
“No,” he replied. “I ain't the kind that forgets, unless it pays pretty
well. There's some things I've remembered for quite a few years.”
He looked the child over from head to foot and his brows drew together
in an ugly frown.
“So this is her, hey?” he muttered musingly. “Humph! Well, I don't know
as I'd have guessed it. Favors the other side of the house more--the
respectable side, I should say. Still, there's a little brand of the
lost sheep, hey? Enough to prove property, huh? Mark of the beast, I
s'pose the psalm-singin' relations would call it. D--n em! I--”
“Steady!” broke in the captain. Mr. Smith started, seemed to remember
where he was, and his manner changed.
“Come and see me, honey,” he coaxed, drawing the girl toward him by
the hand he was holding. “Ain't you got a nice kiss for me this fine
mornin'? Don't be scared. I won't bite.”
Bos'n looked shrinkingly at Mr. Smith's unshaven cheeks and then at
Captain Cy. The latter's face was absolutely devoid of expression. He
merely nodded.
So Emily kissed one of the bristling cheeks. The kiss was returned full
upon the mouth. She wiped her lips and darted away to her chair by the
table.
“What's your hurry?” inquired the visitor. “Don't I do it right? Been
some time since I kissed a girl--a little one, anyhow,” he added,
winking at his host. “Never mind, we'll know each other better by and
by.”
He looked on in wondering disgust as Bos'n said her “grace.”
“What in blazes!” he burst out when the little blessing was finished.
“Who put her up to that? A left-over from the psalm-singers, is it?”
“I don't know,” answered the captain, speaking with deliberation. “I do
know that I like to have her do it and that she shall do it as long's
she's at this table.”
“Oh! she shall, hey? Well, I reckon--”
“She shall--AS LONG AS SHE'S AT THIS TABLE. Is that real plain and
understandable, or shall I write it down?”
There was an icy clearness in the captain's tone which seemed to freeze
further conversation on the part of Mr. Smith. He merely grunted and ate
his breakfast in silence. He ate a great deal and ate it rapidly.
Bos'n departed for school when the meal was over. Captain Cy helped her
on with her coat and hood. Then, as he always did of late, he kissed her
good-by.
“Hi!” called Mr. Smith from the sitting room. “Ain't I in on that? If
there's any kisses goin' I want to take a hand before the deal's over.”
“Must I?” whispered Bos'n pleadingly. “Must I, Uncle Cy? I don't want
to. I don't like him.”
“Come on!” called Mr. Smith. “I'm gettin' over my bashfulness fast.
Hurry up!”
“Must I kiss him, Uncle Cyrus?” whispered Bos'n. “MUST I?”
“No!” snapped the captain sharply. “Trot right along now, dearie. Be a
good girl. Good-by.”
He entered the sitting room. His guest had found the Sunday box and was
lighting one of his host's cigars.
“Well,” he inquired easily, “what's next on the bill? Anything goin' on
in this forsaken hole?”
“There's a barber shop down the road. You might go there first, I should
say. Not that you need it, but just as a novelty like.”
“Humph! I don't know. What's the matter with your razor?”
“Nothin'. At least I ain't found anything wrong with it yet.”
“Oh! Say, look here! you're a queer guy, you are. I ain't got you right
in my mind yet. One minute butter wouldn't melt in your mouth, and the
next you're fresh as a new egg. What IS your little game, anyway? You've
got one, so don't tell me you ain't.”
Captain Cy was plainly embarrassed. He gazed at the “Shore to Shore”
picture on the wall as he answered.
“No game about it,” he said. “Last night you and I agreed that nothin'
was to be said for a few days. You was to stay here and I'd try to make
you comfort'ble, that's all. Then we'd see about that other matter,
settle on a fair price, and--”
“Yes, I know. That's all right. But you're too willin'. There's
something else. Say!” The ugly scowl was in evidence again. “Say, look
here, you! you ain't got somethin' up your sleeve, have you? There ain't
somethin' more that I don't know about, is there? No more secrets than
that--”
“No! You hear me? No! You'll get your rights, and maybe a little more
than your rights, if you're decent. And it'll pay you to be decent.”
“Humph!” Mr. Smith seemed to be thinking. Then he added, looking up
keenly under his brows: “How about the--the incumbrance on the property?
Of course, when I go I'll have to take that with me, and--”
Captain Cy interrupted.
“There! there!” he exclaimed, and there was a shake in his voice,
“there! there! Don't let's talk about such things now. I--I--Let's wait
a spell. We'll have some more plans to make, maybe. If you want to use
my razor it's right in that drawer. Just help yourself.”
The visitor laughed aloud. He nodded as if satisfied. “Ho! ho!” he
chuckled. “I see! Humph! yes--I see. The fools ain't all dead, and
there's none to beat an old one. Well! well! All right, pard! I guess
you and me'll get along fine. I've changed my mind; I WILL go to the
barber shop, after all. Only I'm a little shy of dust just at present.
So, to oblige a friend, maybe you'll hand over, huh?”
The captain reached into his pocket, extracted a two-dollar bill, and
passed it to the speaker. Mr. Smith smiled and shook his head.
“You can't come in on that, pard,” he said. “The limit's five.”
Captain Cy took back the bill and exchanged it for one with a V in each
corner. The visitor took it and turned toward the door.
“Ta! ta!” he said, taking his hat from the peg in the dining room.
“I'm off for the clippers. When I come back I'll be the sweetest little
Willie in the diggin's. So long.”
Bos'n and the captain sat down to the dinner at noon alone. Mr. Smith
had not returned from his trip to the barber's. He came in, however,
just before the meal was over, still in an unshorn condition, somewhat
flushed and very loquacious.
“Say!” he exclaimed genially. “That Simpson's the right sort, ain't he?
Him and me took a shine to each other from the go-off. He's been West
himself and he's got some width to him. He's no psalm singer.”
“Humph!” commented the captain, with delicate sarcasm. “He don't seem
to be much of a barber, either. What's the matter? Gone out of business,
has he? Or was you so wild or woolly he got discouraged before he
begun?”
“Great snakes!” exclaimed the visitor. “I forgot all about the clippers!
Well, that's one on me, pard! I'll make a new try soon's grub's over.
Don't be so tight-fisted with the steak; this is a plate I'm passin',
not a contribution box.”
He winked at Bos'n and would have chucked her under the chin if she had
not dodged. She seemed to have taken a great aversion to Mr. Smith and
was plainly afraid of him.
“Is he going to stay very long, Uncle Cyrus?” she whispered, when it was
school time once more. “Do you think he's nice?”
Captain Cy did not answer. When she had gone and the guest had risen
from the table and put on his hat, the captain said warningly:
“There's one little bit of advice I want to give you, Mister Man: A
bargain's a bargain, but it takes two to keep it. Don't let your love
for Tad Simpson lead you into talkin' too much. Talk's cheap, they say,
but too much of it might be mighty dear for you. Understand?”
Smith patted him on the back. “Lord love you, pard!” he chuckled, “I'm
no spring chicken. I'm as hard to open as a safe, I am. It takes a can
opener to get anything out of me.”
“Yes; well, you can get inside some folks easier with a corkscrew. I've
been told that Tad's a kind of a medium sometimes. If he raises any
spirits in that back room of his, I'd leave 'em alone, if I was you. So
long as you're decent, I'll put up with--”
But Mr. Smith was on his way to the gate, whistling as if he hadn't a
care in the world. Captain Cy watched him go down the road, and then,
with the drawn, weary look on his face which had been there since the
day before, he entered the sitting room and threw himself into a chair.
Miss Phoebe Dawes, the school teacher, worked late that evening. There
were examination papers to be gone over, and experience had demonstrated
that the only place where she could be free from interruptions was the
schoolroom itself. At the perfect boarding house the shrill tones of
Keturah's voice and those of Miss Phinney and Mrs. Tripp penetrated
through shut doors. It is hard to figure percentages when the most
intimate details of Bayport's family life are being recited and gloated
over on the other side of a thin partition. And when Matilda undertook
to defend the Come-Outer faith against the assaults of the majority, the
verbal riot was, as Mr. Tidditt described it, “like feedin' time in a
parrot shop.”
So Miss Phoebe came to the boarding house for supper and then returned
to the schoolroom, where, with a lighted bracket lamp beside her on the
desk, she labored until nine o'clock. Then she put on her coat and hat,
extinguished the light, locked the door, and started on her lonely walk
home.
“The main road” in our village is dark after nine o clock. There is
a street light--a kerosene lamp--on a post in front of the Methodist
meeting house, but the sexton forgets it, generally speaking, or, at
any rate, neglects to fill it except at rare intervals. Simmons's front
windows are ablaze, of course, and so are the dingy panes of Simpson's
barber shop. But these two centers of sociability are both at the depot
road corner, and when they are passed the only sources of illumination
are the scattered gleams from the back windows of dwellings. As most
of us retire by half-past eight, the glow along the main road is not
dazzling, to say the very least.
Miss Dawes was not afraid of the dark. She had been her own escort for
a good many years. She walked briskly on, heard the laughter and loud
voices in the barber shop die away behind her, passed the schoolhouse
pond, now bleak and chill with the raw November wind blowing across it,
and began to climb the slope of Whittaker's Hill. And here the wind,
rushing in unimpeded over the flooded salt meadows from the tumbled
bay outside, wound her skirts about her and made climbing difficult and
breath-taking.
She was, perhaps, half way up the long slope, when she heard, in the
intervals between the gusts, footsteps behind her. She knew most of
the village people by this time and the thought of company was not
unpleasant. So she paused and pantingly waited for whoever was coming.
She could not see more than a few yards, but the footsteps sounded
nearer and nearer, and, a moment later, a man's voice began singing
“Annie Rooney,” a melody then past its prime in the cities, but
popularized in Bayport by some departed batch of summer boarders.
She did not recognize the voice and she did not particularly approve of
singing in the streets, especially such loud singing. So she decided not
to wait longer, and was turning to continue her climb, when the person
behind stopped his vocalizing and called.
“Hi!” he shouted. “Hello, ahead there! Who is it? Hold on a minute,
pard! I'm comin'.”
She disobeyed the order to “hold on,” and began to hurry. The hurry was
of no avail, however, for the follower broke into a run and soon was by
her side. He was a stranger to her.
“Whee! Wow!” he panted. “This is no race track, pard. Pull up, and let's
take it easy. My off leg's got a kink in it, and I don't run so easy as
I used to. Great snakes; what's your rush? Ain't you fond of company?
Hello! I believe it's a woman!”
She did not answer. His manner and the smell of liquor about him were
decidedly unpleasant. The idea that he might be a tramp occurred to her.
Tramps are our bugaboos here in Bayport.
“A woman!” exclaimed the man hilariously. “Well, say! I didn't believe
there was one loose in this tail-end of nowhere. Girlie, I'm glad to see
you. Not that I can see you much, but never mind. All cats are gray in
the dark, hey? You can't see me, neither, so we'll take each other on
trust. 'She's my sweetheart, I'm her beau.' Say, Maud, may I see you
home?”
She was frightened now. The Whittaker place on the hilltop was the
nearest house, and that was some distance off.
“What's the matter, Carrie?” inquired the man. “Don't be scared. I
wouldn't hurt you. I'm just lonesome, that's all, and I need society.
Don't rush, you'll ruin your complexion. Here! come under my wing and
let's toddle along together. How's mamma?”
He seized her arm and pulled her back beside him. She tried to free
herself, but could not. Her unwelcome escort held her fast and she was
obliged to move as slowly as he did. It was very dark.
“Say, what IS your name?” coaxed the man. “Is is Maud, hey? Or Julia? I
always liked Julia. Don't be peevish. Tell us, that's a good girl.”
She gave a quick jerk and managed to pull her arm from his grasp,
giving him a violent push as she did so. He, being unsteady on his feet,
tumbled down the low bank which edged the sidewalk. Then she ran on up
the hill as fast as she could. She heard him swear as he fell.
She had nearly reached the end of the Whittaker fence when he caught
her. He was laughing, and that alarmed her almost as much as if he had
been angry.
“Naughty! naughty!” he chuckled, holding her fast. “Tryin' to sneak, was
you? Not much! Not this time! Did you ever play forfeits when you was
little? Well, this is a forfeit game and you're It. You must bow to the
prettiest, kneel to the wittiest, and kiss the one you love best. And
I'll let you off on the first two. Come now! Pay up!”
Then she screamed. And her scream was answered at once. A gate swung
back with a bang and she heard some one running along the walk toward
her.
“O Cap'n Whittaker!” she called. “Come! Come quick, please!”
How she knew that the person running toward her was Captain Cy has
not been satisfactorily explained even yet. She cannot explain it
and neither can the captain. And equally astonishing was the latter's
answer. He certainly had not heard her voice often enough to recognize
it under such circumstances.
“All right, teacher!” he shouted. “I'm comin'! Let go of that woman,
you--Oh, it's you, is it?”
He had seized Mr. Smith by the coat collar and jerked him away from his
victim. Miss Dawes took refuge behind the captain's bulky form. The two
men looked at each other. Smith was recovering his breath.
“It's you, is it?” repeated Captain Cy. Then, turning to Miss Phoebe, he
asked: “Did he hurt you?”
“No! Not yet. But he frightened me dreadfully. Who is he? Do you know
him?”
Her persecutor answered the question.
“You bet your life he knows me!” he snarled. “He knows me mighty well!
Pard, you keep your nose out of this, d'you see! You mind your own
business. I wan't goin' to hurt her any.”
The captain paid no attention to him.
“Yup, I know him,” he said grimly. Then he added, pointing toward the
lighted window of the house ahead: “You--Smith, you go in there and stay
there! Trot! Don't make me speak twice.”
But Mr. Smith was too far gone with anger and the “spirits” raised by
Tad Simpson to heed the menace in the words.
“Smith, hey?” he sneered. “Oh, yes, SMITH! Well, Smith ain't goin',
d'you see! He's goin' to do what he pleases. I reckon I'm on top of the
roost here! I know what's what! You can't talk to me. I've got rights, I
have, and--”
“Blast your rights!”
“What? WHAT? Blast my rights, hey? Oh, yes! Think because you've got
money you can cheat me out of 'em, do you? Well, you can't! And how
about the other part of those rights? S'pose I walk right into that
house and--”
“Stop it! Shut up! You'd better not--”
“And into that bedroom and just say: 'Emmie, here's your--'”
He didn't finish the sentence. Captain Cy's big fist struck him fairly
between the eyes, and the back of his head struck the walk with a
“smack!” Then, through the fireworks which were illuminating his muddled
brain, he heard the captain's voice.
“You low - down, good - for - nothin' scamp!” growled Captain Cy. “All
this day I've been hatin' myself for the way I've acted to you. I've
hated myself and been tryin' to spunk up courage to say 'It's all off!'
But I was too much of a coward, I guess. And now the Lord A'mighty has
MADE me say it. You want your rights, do you? So? Then get 'em if you
can. It's you and me for it, and we'll see who's the best man. Teacher,
if you're ready I'll walk home with you now.”
Mr. Smith was not entirely cowed.
“You go!” he yelled. “Go ahead! And I'll go to a lawyer's to-morrow. But
to-night, and inside of five minutes, I'll walk into that house of yours
and get my--”
The captain dropped Miss Dawes's arm and strode back to where his
antagonist was sitting in the dust of the walk. Stooping down, he shook
a big forefinger in the man's face.
“You've been out West, they tell me,” he whispered sternly. “Yes! Well,
out West they take the law into their own hands, sometimes, I hear. I've
been in South America, and they do it there, too. Just so sure as you
go into my house to-night and touch--well, you know what I mean--just
so sure I'll kill you like a dog, if I have to chase you to Jericho. Now
you can believe that or not. If I was you I'd believe it.”
Taking the frightened schoolmistress by the arm once more he walked
away. Mr. Smith said nothing till they had gone some distance. Then he
called after them.
“You wait till to-morrow!” he shouted. “You just wait and see what'll
happen to-morrow!”
Captain Cy was silent all the way to the gate of the perfect boarding
house. Miss Dawes was silent likewise, but she thought a great deal. At
the gate she said:
“Captain Whittaker, I'm EVER so much obliged to you. I can't thank you
enough.”
“Don't try, then. That's what you said to me about the cow.”
“But I'm almost sorry you were the one to come. I'm afraid that man will
get you into trouble. Has he--can he--What did he mean about to-morrow?
Who IS he?”
The captain pushed his cap back from his forehead.
“Teacher,” he said, “there's a proverb, ain't there, about lettin'
to-morrow take care of itself? As for trouble--well, I did think I'd had
trouble enough in my life to last me through, but I cal'late I've got
another guess. Anyhow, don't you fret. I did just the right thing,
and I'm glad I did it. If it was only me I wouldn't fret, either. But
there's--” He stopped, groaned, and pulled the cap forward again. “Good
night,” he added, and turned to go.
Miss Dawes leaned forward and detained him.
“Just a minute, Cap'n Whittaker,” she said. “I was a little prejudiced
against you when I came here. I was told that you got me the teacher's
position, and there was more than a hint that you did it for selfish
reasons of your own. When you called that afternoon at the school I
was--”
“Don't say a word! I was the biggest fool in town that time, and I've
been ashamed to look in the glass ever since. I ain't always such an
idiot.”
“But I've had to judge people for myself in my lifetime,” continued the
schoolmistress, “and I've made up my mind that I was mistaken about
you. I should like to apologize. Will you shake hands?”
She extended her hand. Captain Cy hesitated.
“Hadn't you better wait a spell?” he asked. “You've heard that swab call
me partner. Hadn't--”
“No; I don't know what your trouble is, of course, and I certainly
shan't mention it to anyone. But whatever it is I'm sure you are right
and it's not your fault. Now will you shake hands?”
The captain did not answer. He merely took the proffered hand, shook it
heartily, and strode off into the dark.