A CLEW
Josiah Dimick has a unique faculty of grasping a situation and summing
it up in an out-of-the-ordinary way.
“I think,” observed Josiah to the excited group at Simmons's, “that this
town owes Cy Whittaker a vote of thanks.”
“Thanks!” gasped Alpheus Smalley, so shocked and horrified that he put
the one-pound weight on the scales instead of the half pound. “THANKS!
After what we've found out? Well, I must say!”
“Ya-as,” drawled Captain Josiah, “thanks was what I said. If it wan't
for him this gang and the sewin' circle wouldn't have nothin' to talk
about but their neighbors. Our reputations would be as full of holes as
a skimmer by this time. Now all hands are so busy jumpin' on Whit, that
the rest of us can feel fairly safe. Ain't that so, Gabe?”
Mr. Lumley, who had stopped in for a half pound of tea, grinned feebly,
but said nothing. If he noticed the clerk's mistake in weights he didn't
mention it, but took his package and hurried out. After his departure
Mr. Smalley himself discovered the error and charged the Lumley account
with “1 1/4 lbs. Mixed Green and Black.” Meanwhile the assemblage
about the stove had put Captain Cy on the anvil and was hammering him
vigorously.
Bayport was boiling over with rumor and surmise. Heman had appealed to
the courts asking that Captain Cy's appointment as Bos'n's guardian be
rescinded. Cy had hired Lawyer Peabody, of Ostable, to look out for his
interests. Mr. Atkins and the captain had all but come to blows over
the child. Thomas, the poor father, had broken down and wept, and had
threatened to commit suicide. Mrs. Salters had refused to speak to
Captain Cy when she met the latter after meeting on Sunday. The land in
Orham had been sold and the captain was using the money. Phoebe Dawes
had threatened to resign if Bos'n came to school any longer. No, she had
threatened to resign if she didn't come to school. She hadn't threatened
to resign at all, but wanted higher wages because of the effect the
scandal might have on her reputation as a teacher. These were a few of
the reports, contradicted and added to from day to day.
To quote Josiah Dimick again: “Sortin' out the truth from the lies is
like tryin' to find a quart of sardines in a schooner load of herrin'.
And they dump in more herrin' every half hour.”
Angeline Phinney was having the time of her life. The perfect boarding
house hummed like a fly trap. Keturah and Mrs. Tripp had deserted to
the enemy, and the minority, meaning Asaph and Bailey, had little
opportunity to defend their friend's cause, even if they had dared.
Heman Atkins, his Christian charity and high-mindedness, his devotion to
duty, regardless of political consequences, and the magnificent speech
at town meeting were lauded and exalted. The Bayport Breeze contained
a full account of the meeting, and it was read aloud by Keturah, amidst
hymns of praise from the elect.
“'Whom the Lord hath joined,'” read Mrs. Bangs, “'let no man put
asunder.' Ain't that splendid? Ain't that FINE? The paper says: 'When
Congressman Atkins delivered this noble sentiment a hush fell upon the
excited throng.' I should think 'twould. I remember when I was married
the minister said pretty nigh the same thing, and I COULDN'T speak. I
couldn't have opened my mouth to save me. Don't you remember I couldn't,
Bailey?”
Mr. Bangs nodded gloomily. It is possible that he wished the effect of
the minister's declaration might have been more lasting. Asaph stirred
in his chair.
“I don't care,” he said. “This puttin' asunder business is all right,
but there's always two sides to everything. I see this Thomas critter
when he fust come, and he didn't look like no saint then--nor smell like
one, neither, unless 'twas a specimen pickled in alcohol.”
Here was irreverence almost atheistic. Keturah's face showed her shocked
disapproval. Matilda Tripp voiced the general sentiment.
“Humph!” she sniffed. “Well, all I can say is that I've met Mr. Thomas
two or three times, and _I_ didn't notice anything but politeness and
good manners. Maybe my nose ain't so fine for smellin' liquor as some
folks's--p'raps it ain't had the experience--but all _I_ saw was a poor
lame man with a black eye. I pitied him, and I don't care who hears me
say it.”
“Yes,” concurred Miss Phinney, “and if he was a drinkin' man, do you
suppose Mr. Atkins would have anything to do with him? Cyrus Whittaker
made a whole lot of talk about his insultin' some woman or other, but
nobody knows who the woman was. 'Bout time for her to speak up, I should
think. Teacher,” turning to Miss Dawes, “you was at the Whittaker place
when Mr. Atkins and Emily's father come for her, I understand. I wish
I'd have been there. It must have been wuth seein'.”
“It was,” replied Miss Dawes. She had kept silent throughout the various
discussions of the week following the town meeting, but now, thus
appealed to, she answered promptly.
Angeline's news created a sensation. The schoolmistress immediately
became the center of interest.
“Is that so? Was you there, teacher? Well, I declare!” The questions and
exclamations flew round the table.
“Tell us, teacher,” pleaded Keturah. “Wasn't Heman grand? I should so
like to have heard him. Didn't Cap'n Whittaker look ashamed of himself?”
“No, he did not. If anyone looked ashamed it was Mr. Atkins and his
friends. Perhaps I ought to tell you that my sympathies are entirely
with Captain Whittaker in this affair. To give that little girl up to a
drunken scoundrel like her father would, in my opinion, be a crime.”
The boarders and the landlady gasped. Asaph grinned and nudged Bailey
under the table. Keturah was the first to recover.
“Well!” she exclaimed. “Everybody's got a right to their opinion, of
course. But I can't see the crime, myself. And as for the drunkenness,
I'd like to know who's seen Mr. Thomas drunk. Cyrus Whittaker SAYS he
has, but--”
She waved her hand scornfully. Phoebe rose from her chair.
“I have seen him in that condition,” she said. “In fact, I am the person
he insulted. I saw Captain Whittaker knock him down, and I honored
the captain for it. I only wished I were a man and could have done it
myself.”
She left the room, and, a few moments later, the house. Mr. Tidditt
chuckled aloud. Even Bailey dared to look pleased.
“There!” sneered the widow Tripp. “Ain't that--Perhaps you remember that
Cap'n Whittaker got her the teacher's place?”
“Yes,” put in Miss Phinney, “and nobody knows WHY he got it for her.
That is, nobody has known up to now. Maybe we can begin to guess a
little after this.”
“She was at his house, was she?” observed Keturah. “Humph! I wonder why?
Seems to me if _I_ was a young--that is, a single woman like her, I'd
be kind of careful about callin' on bachelors. Humph! it looks funny to
me.”
Asaph rose and pushed back his chair.
“I cal'late she called to see Emily,” he said sharply. “The child was
her scholar, and I presume likely, knowin' the kind of father that has
turned up for the poor young one, she felt sorry for her. Of course,
nobody's hintin' anything against Phoebe Dawes's character. If you want
a certificate of that, you've only got to go to Wellmouth. Folks over
there are pretty keen on that subject. I guess the town would go to
law about it rather'n hear a word against her. Libel suits are kind of
uncomf'table things for them that ain't sure of their facts. I'D hate to
get mixed up in one, myself. Bailey, I'm going up street. Come on, when
you can, won't you?”
As if frightened at his own display of spirit, he hurried out. There was
silence for a time; then Miss Phinney spoke concerning the weather.
Up at the Cy Whittaker place the days were full ones. There, also, legal
questions were discussed, with Georgianna, the Board of Strategy,
Josiah Dimick occasionally, and, more infrequently still, Miss Dawes, as
participants with Captain Cy in the discussions. Rumors were true in
so far as they related to Mr. Atkins's appeal to the courts, and the
captain's retaining Lawyer Peabody, of Ostable. Mr. Peabody's opinion of
the case was not encouraging.
“You see, captain,” he said, when his client visited him at his office,
“the odds are very much against us. The court appointed you as guardian
with the understanding that this man Thomas was dead. Now he is alive
and claims his child. More than that, he has the most influential
politician in this county back of him. We wouldn't stand a fighting
chance except for one thing--Thomas himself. He left his wife and the
baby; deserted them, so she said; went to get work, HE says. We can
prove he was a drunken blackguard BEFORE he went, and that he has been
drunk since he came back. But THEY'LL say--Atkins and his lawyer--that
the man was desperate and despairing because of your refusal to give him
his child. They'll hold him up as a repentant sinner, anxious to reform,
and needing the little girl's influence to help keep him straight.
That's their game, and they'll play it, be sure of that, It sounds
reasonable enough, too, for sinners have repented before now. And the
long-lost father coming back to his child is the one sure thing to win
applause from the gallery, you know that.”
Captain Cy nodded.
“Yup,” he said, “I know it. The other night, when Miss Ph-- when a friend
of mine was at the house, she said this business was like a play. I
didn't say so to her, but all the same I realize it ain't like a play at
all. In a play dad comes home, havin' been snaked bodily out of the
jaws of the tomb by his coat collar, and the young one sings out 'Papa!
Papa!' and he sobs, 'Me child! Me child!' and it's all lovely, and
you put on your hat feelin' that the old man is goin' to be rich and
righteous for the rest of his days. But here it's different; dad's a
rascal, and anybody who's seen anything of the world knows he's bound to
stay so; and as for the poor little girl, why--why--”
He stopped, rose, and, striding over to the window, stood looking out.
After an interval, during which the good-natured attorney read a dull
business letter through for the second time, he spoke again.
“I hope you understand, Peabody,” he said. “It ain't just selfishness
that makes me steer the course I'm runnin'. Course, Bos'n's got to be
the world and all to me, and if she's taken away I don't know's I care a
tinker's darn what happens afterwards. But, all the same, if her dad was
a real man, sorry for what he's done and tryin' to make up for it--why,
then, I cal'late I'm decent enough to take off my hat, hand her over,
and say: 'God bless you and good luck.' But to think of him carryin' her
off the Lord knows where, to neglect her and cruelize her, and to let
her grow up among fellers like him, I--I--by the big dipper, I can't do
it! That's all; I can't!”
“How does she feel about it, herself?” asked Peabody.
“Her? Bos'n? Why, that's the hardest of all. Some of the children at
school pester her about her father. I don't know's you can blame 'em;
young ones are made that way, I guess--but she comes home to me cryin',
and it's 'O Uncle Cy, he AIN'T my truly father, is he?' and 'You won't
let him take me away from you, will you?' till it seems as if I should
fly out of the window. The poor little thing! And that puffed-up humbug
Atkins blowin' about his Christianity and all! D--n such Christianity as
that, I say! I've seen heathen Injuns, who never heard of Christ,
with more of His spirit inside 'em. There! I've shocked you, I guess.
Sometimes I think this place is too narrer and cramped for me. I've been
around, you know, and my New England bringin' up has wore thin in spots.
Seem's if I must get somewheres and spread out, or I'll bust.”
He threw himself into a chair. The lawyer clapped him on the shoulder.
“There, there, captain,” he said. “Don't 'bust' yet awhile. Don't give
up the ship. If we lose in one court, we can appeal to another, and so
on up the line. And meantime we'll do a little investigating of
friend Thomas's career since he left Concord. I've written to a legal
acquaintance of mine in Butte, giving him the facts as we know them, and
a description of Thomas. He will try to find out what the fellow did in
his years out West. It's our best chance, as I told you. Keep your pluck
up and wait and see.”
The captain repeated this conversation to the Board of Strategy when he
returned to Bayport. Miss Dawes had walked home from school with Bos'n,
and had stopped at the house to hear the report. She listened, but it
was evident that something else was on her mind.
“Captain Whittaker,” she asked, “has it ever struck you as queer that
Mr. Atkins should take such an interest in this matter? He is giving
time and counsel and money to help this man Thomas, who is a perfect
stranger to him. Why does he do it?”
Captain Cy smiled.
“Why?” he repeated. “Why, to down me, of course. I was gettin' too
everlastin' prominent in politics to suit him. I'd got you in as
teacher, and I had 'Lonzo Snow as good as licked for school committee.
Goodness knows what I might have run for next, 'cordin' to Heman's
reasonin', and I simply had to be smashed. It worked all right. I'm so
unhealthy now in the sight of most folks in this town, that I cal'late
they go home and sulphur-smoke their clothes after they meet me, so's
not to catch my wickedness.”
But the teacher shook her head.
“That doesn't seem reason enough to me,” she declared. “Just see what
Mr. Atkins has done. He never openly advocated anything in town meeting
before; you said so yourself. Even when he must have realized that you
had the votes for committeeman he kept still. He might have taken many
of them from you by simply coming out and declaring for Mr. Snow; but he
didn't. And then, all at once, he takes this astonishing stand. Captain
Whittaker, Mr. Tidditt says that, the night of Emily's birthday party,
you and he told who she was, by accident, and that Mr. Atkins seemed
very much surprised and upset. Is that so?”
Captain Cy laughed.
“His lemonade was upset; that's all I noticed special. Oh! yes, and he
lost his hat off, goin' home. But what of it? What are you drivin' at?”
“I was wondering if--if it could be that, for some reason, Mr. Atkins
had a spite against Emily or her people. Or if he had any reason to fear
her.”
“Fear? Fear Bos'n? Oh, my, that's funny! You've been readin' novels, I'm
'fraid, teacher, 'though I didn't suspect it of you.”
He laughed heartily. Miss Dawes smiled, too, but she still persisted.
“Well,” she said, “I don't know. Perhaps it is because I'm a woman, and
politics don't mean as much to me as to you men, but to me political
reasons don't seem strong enough to account for such actions as those
of Mr. Atkins. Emily's mother was a Thayer, wasn't she? and the Thayers
once lived in Orham. I wish we could find out more about them while they
lived there.”
Asaph Tidditt pulled his beard thoughtfully.
“Well,” he observed, “maybe we can, if we want to, though I don't think
what we find out 'll amount to nothin'. I was kind of cal'latin' to go
to Orham next week on a little visit. Seth Wingate over there--Barzilla
Wingate's cousin, Whit--is a sort of relation of mine, and we visit back
and forth every nine or ten year or so. The ten year's most up, and he's
been pesterin' me to come over. Seth's been Orham town clerk about as
long as I've been the Bayport one, and he's lived there all his life.
What he don't know about Orham folks ain't wuth knowin'. If you say so,
I'll pump him about the Thayers and the Richards. 'Twon't do no harm,
and the old fool likes to talk, anyhow. I don't know's I ought to speak
that way about my relations,” he added doubtfully, “but Seth IS sort of
stubborn and unlikely at odd times. We don't always agree as to which is
the best town to live in, you understand.”
So it was settled that Mr. Wingate should be subjected to the “pumping”
process when Asaph visited him. He departed for this visit the following
week, and remained away for ten days. Meanwhile several things happened
in Bayport.
One of these things was the farewell of the Honorable Heman Atkins.
Congress was to open at Washington, and the Honorable heeded the call
of duty. Alicia and the housekeeper went with him, and the big house was
closed for the winter. At the gate between the stone urns, and backed
by the iron dogs, the great man bade a group of admiring constituents
good-by. He thanked them for their trust in him, and promised that it
should not be betrayed.
“I leave you, my fellow townsmen, er--ladies and friends,” he said,
“with regret, tempered by pride--a not inexcusable pride, I believe. In
the trying experience which my self-respect and sympathy has so recently
forced upon me, you have stood firm and cheered me on. The task I have
undertaken, the task of restoring to a worthy man his own, shall be
carried on to the bitterest extremity. I have put my hand to the plow,
and it shall not be withdrawn. And, furthermore, I go to my work at
Washington determined to secure for my native town the appropriation
which it so sorely needs. I shall secure it if I can, even though--” and
the sarcasm was hugely enjoyed by his listeners--“I am, as I seem likely
to be, deprived of the help of the 'committee,' self-appointed at our
recent town meeting. If I fail--and I do not conceal the fact that I
may fail--I am certain you will not blame me. Now I should like to shake
each one of you by the hand.”
The hands were shaken, and the train bore the Atkins delegation away.
And, on the day following, Mr. Thomas, the prodigal father, also left
town. A position in Boston had been offered him, he said, and he felt
that he must accept it. He would come back some of these days, with the
warrant from the court, and get his little girl.
“Position offered him! Um--ya-as!” quoth Dimick the cynical, in
conversation with Captain Cy. “Inspector of sidewalks, I shouldn't
wonder. Well, please don't ask me if I think Heman sent him to Boston
so's to have him out of the way, and 'cause he'd feel consider'ble safer
than if he was loose down here. Don't ask me that, for, with my strict
scruples against the truth I might say, No. As it is, I say nothin'--and
wink my port eye.”
The ten-day visit ended, Mr. Tidditt returned to Bayport. On the
afternoon of his return he and Bailey called at the Whittaker place,
and there they were joined by Miss Dawes, who had been summoned to the
conclave by a note intrusted to Bos'n.
“Now, Ase,” ordered Captain Cy, as the quartet gathered in the sitting
room, “here we are, hangin' on your words, as the feller said. Don't
keep us strung up too long. What did you find out?”
The town clerk cleared his throat. When he spoke, there was a trace of
disappointment in his tone. To have been able to electrify his audience
with the news of some startling discovery would have been pure joy for
Asaph.
“Well,” he began, “I don't know's I found out anything much. Yet I did
find out somethin', too; but it don't really amount to nothin'. I hoped
'twould be somethin' more'n 'twas, but when nothin' come of it except
the little somethin' it begun with, I--”
“For the land sakes!” snapped Bailey Bangs, who was a trifle envious of
his friend's position in the center of the stage, “stop them 'nothin's'
and 'somethin's,' won't you? You keep whirlin' 'em round and over and
over till my head's FULL of 'nothin',' and--”
“That's what it's full of most of the time,” interrupted Asaph tartly.
Captain Cy hastened to act as peacemaker.
“Never mind, Bailey,” he said; “you let Ase alone. Tell us what you did
find out, Ase, and cut out the trimmin's.”
“Well,” continued Mr. Tidditt, with a glare at Bangs, “I asked Seth
about the Thayers and the Richards folks the very fust night I struck
Orham. He remembered 'em, of course; he can remember Adam, if you let
him tell it. He told me a whole mess about old man Thayer and old man
Richards and their granddads and grandmarms, and what houses they lived
in, and how many hens they kept, and what their dog's name was, and how
they come to name him that, and enough more to fill a hogshead. 'Twas
ten o'clock afore he got out of Genesis, and down so fur as John and
Emily. He remembered their bein' married, and their baby--Mary Thayer,
Bos'n's ma--bein' born.
“Folks used to call John Thayer a smart young feller, so Seth said. They
used to cal'late that he'd rise high in the seafarin' and ship-ownin'
line. Maybe he would, only he died somewheres in Californy 'long in '54
or thereabouts. 'Twas the time of the gold craziness out there, and he
left his ship and went gold huntin'. And the next thing they knew he was
dead and buried.”
“When was that?” inquired the schoolmistress.
“In '54, I tell you. So Seth says.”
“What ship was he on?” asked Bailey.
“Wan't on any ship. Why don't you listen, instead of settin' there
moonin'? He was gold diggin', I tell you.”
“He'd BEEN on a ship, hadn't he? What was the name of her?”
“I didn't ask. What diff'rence does that make?”
“Wasn't Mr. Atkins at sea in those days?” put in the teacher. The
captain answered her.
“Yes, he was,” he said. “That is, I think he was. He was away from here
when I skipped out, and he didn't get back till '61 or thereabouts.”
“Well, anyhow,” went on Asaph, “that's all I could find out. Seth and me
went rummagin' through town records from way back to glory, him gassin'
away and stringin' along about this old settler and that, till I 'most
wished he'd choke himself with the dust he was raisin'. We found John's
grandad's will, and Emily's dad's will, and John's own will, and that's
all. John left everything he had and all he might become possessed of
to his wife and baby and their heirs forever. He died poorer'n poverty.
What's the use of a will when you ain't got nothin' to leave?”
“Why!” exclaimed Captain Cy. “The answer to that's easy. John was goin'
to sea, and, more'n likely, intended to have a shy at the diggin's afore
he got back. So, if he did make any money, he wanted his wife and baby
to have it.”
“Well, what they got wan't wuth havin'. Emily had to scrimp along and
do dressmakin' till she died. She done fairly well at that, though,
and saved somethin' and passed it over to Mary. And Mary married Henry
Thomas, after she went with the Howes tribe to Concord, and he got rid
of it for her in double quick time--all but the Orham land.”
“So that was all you could find out, hey, Ase?” asked the captain.
“Well, it's at least as much as I expected. You see, teacher, these
story-book notions don't work out when it comes to real life.”
Miss Dawes was plainly disappointed.
“I wish we knew more,” she said. “Who was on this ship with Mr. Thayer?
And who sent the news of his death home?”
“Oh, I can tell you that,” said Asaph. “'Twas some one-hoss doctor out
there, gold minin' himself, he was. John died of a quick fever. Got cold
and went off in no time. Seth remembered that much, though he couldn't
remember the doctor's name. He said, if I wanted to learn more about
the Thayers, I might go see--Humph, well, never mind that. 'Twas just
foolishness, anyhow.”
But Phoebe persisted.
“To see whom?” she asked. “Some one you knew? A friend of yours?”
Asaph turned red.
“Friend of mine!” he snarled. “No, SIR! she ain't no friend of mine, I'm
thankful to say. More a friend of Bailey's, here, if she's anybody's.
One of his pets, she was, for a spell. A patient of his, you might say;
anyhow, he prescribed for her. 'Twas that deef idiot, Debby Beasley, Cy;
that's who 'twas. Her name was Briggs afore she married Beasley, and
she was hired help for Emily Thayer, when Mary was born, and until John
died.”
Captain Cy burst into a roar of laughter. Bailey sprang out of his
chair.
“De--Debby Beasley!” he stammered. “Debby Beasley!”
“She was that deef housekeeper Bailey hired for me, teacher,” explained
the captain. “I've told you about her. Ho! ho! so that's the end of
the mystery huntin'. We go gunnin' for Heman Atkins, and we bring down
Debby! Well, Ase, goin' to see the old lady?”
Mr. Tidditt's retort was emphatic.
“Goin' to SEE her?” he repeated. “I guess not! Godfrey scissors! I told
Seth, says I, 'I've had all the Debby Beasley _I_ want, and I cal'late
Cy Whittaker feels the same way.' Go to see her! I wouldn't go to see
her if she was up in Paradise a-hollerin' for me.”
“Nobody up there's goin' to holler for YOU, Ase Tidditt,” remarked
Bailey, with sarcasm; “so don't let that worry you none.”
“Are YOU going to see her, Captain Whittaker?” asked Phoebe.
The captain shook his head.
“Why, no, I guess not,” he said. “I don't take much stock in what she'd
be likely to know; besides, I'm a good deal like Ase--I've had about all
the Debby Beasley I want.”