horse--watched with a sort of fascination at the inebriate, sideways
stagger of the wheels, a sort of wonder that the rear ones didn't shut
up like a jack-knife under the body of the vehicle and the democrat
promptly sit down on its tail-board; then, smiling, he walked back into
the cottage. The Patriarch was still sitting in the armchair beside the
table. Madison halted before the other.
"Well," said he confidentially to the Patriarch, "that's settled and I
don't mind admitting that it's a load off my mind. I hate to think of
what we'd have done without Hiram Higgins--in fact, it distresses me to
think of it. Let us think of something else. Day after to-morrow
Helena'll be along. Helena is the one and only--but you'll find that out
for yourself. I don't mind telling you though that she wears a number
two shoe, and you can guess the rest without any help from me. Then a
day or so later the Flopper and Pale Face Harry'll be along--you'll
enjoy them--things aren't going to be a bit slow from now on. I expect
the Flopper will bring some friends with him, too, so's to make a nice
little house-party--I wrote him about it, and--" Madison stopped
abruptly.
The Patriarch, evidently catching a movement of Madison's lips, was
gesticulating violently toward his ears, while he smiled half
tolerantly, half protestingly.
Madison nodded quickly and smiled deprecatingly in return.
"By Jove!" he said apologetically. "I always keep forgetting that you
can't hear. I was suggesting that perhaps you might like to go for a
walk--Mr. Higgins says it's a fine day." Madison picked up the slate and
in huge letters that sprawled from one end of the slate to the other
wrote the word: "WALK?"
The Patriarch rose from his chair with a pleased expression, and Madison
helped him solicitously to the door.
They passed out into the sunshine and headed for the beach--the
Patriarch, erect and strong, guiding himself with his hand on Madison's
arm.
Reaching the beach, the Patriarch paused and turned his face toward the
ocean, while he drew in great breaths of the invigorating air--and
Madison involuntarily stepped a little aside to look at the other
critically, as one might seek a vantage ground from which to view a
picture in all its variant lights and shades. Against the crested,
breaking surf, the fume-sprayed ledges of rock, the Patriarch stood out
a majestic, almost saintly figure--tall, stately, grand with the true
grandeur of simplicity, simple in dress, simple in attitude and mien,
patience, sweetness and trust illumining his face, his silver-crowned
head thrown back.
"I can shut my eyes," said Madison softly, "and see the Flopper being
cured right now--and the Flopper couldn't help it if he wanted to!"
--VII--
THE PATRIARCH'S GRAND-NIECE
It was Hiram Higgins who introduced Helena Vail to Madison, two days
later. Madison had led the Patriarch outside the door of the cottage as
the sound of wheels announced the expected arrival, and was waiting for
her as Mr. Higgins drove up in the democrat. Helena, marvelously garbed,
in the extreme of fashion, was demurely surveying her surroundings;
while Mr. Higgins was very evidently excited and not a little flustered.
A huge trunk and two smaller ones occupied the rear of the democrat,
with the dismantled back seat lashed on top of them.
Madison, leaving the Patriarch, hastened forward politely.
"Mr. Madison," said Hiram Higgins importantly, "this be the Patriarch's
grand-niece come to stay with him."
From under a picture hat, Helena's eyes smiled down at Madison.
"Oh, I am so glad to meet you, Mr. Madison," she said cordially. "Mr.
Higgins has been telling me about you, and how good you have been to
my--my grand-uncle."
"You are very kind to say so, Miss Vail," responded Madison modestly.
"May I help you down?"
She gave him a daintily gloved hand, exposed a daintily stockinged ankle
as she placed her foot a little hesitantly on the wheel, and jumped
lightly to the ground.
"That," she said quickly and a little anxiously for Mr. Higgins' ears,
indicating the Patriarch, "that is my grand-uncle there, I am sure."
"Yes," said Madison, leading her toward the Patriarch. "And he has been
looking forward very anxiously all day to your arrival--it seemed as
though the afternoon would never come for him."
"Gee!" said Helena under her breath. "I had the rubes in the village on
the run--you ought to have seen them stare as the chariot drove along."
"I don't wonder," said Madison softly. "The sun's rather strong down
here, Helena, and if you're not careful you'll scorch your neck with
those burning-glasses you've got in your ears."
"Don't I look nice?" demanded Helena, with a pout.
"You bet you do!" said Madison earnestly. "You've got the swellest thing
on Broadway beaten from Forty-Second Street to the Battery. Now, here
you are"--they had halted before the Patriarch.
The venerable face was turned toward them, as though by instinct the
Patriarch knew that they were there--and his hands were held out in
greeting.
Helena clasped them firmly, and submitted sweetly as the Patriarch drew
her into his arms.
The Patriarch released her after an instant, and his hands, in lieu of
eyes, reaching out to search her face, came bewilderingly in contact
with the picture hat.
Helena, a little uncertainly, looked at Madison.
"Is he _all_ blind?" she whispered.
"Quite blind," said Madison sadly.
Helena's face clouded a little, and into the brown eyes crept a strange,
sudden, sympathetic look.
"Doc," she said, "it--it isn't fair. It's a shame--he can't fight back."
"One error to you, Miss Vail," said Madison pleasantly. "Eliminate the
'Doc.' Don't shed tears, you're down here to be sweet to him, aren't
you--well, get into the game."
Helena turned from Madison, and, impulsively taking the Patriarch's
groping hands, guided them to her cheeks and held them there.
"Lucky dog!" observed Madison; then, raising his voice: "I am sure you
would like to be alone together, Miss Vail--perhaps you will take him
into the cottage. If you will excuse me, I'll help Mr. Higgins with the
trunks."
Madison turned and walked over to where Mr. Higgins, beside the democrat
with a handful of chin whiskers, was observing the scene.
"Fine girl!" declared Mr. Higgins, as Helena, with the Patriarch's arm
in hers, disappeared inside the cottage. "'Pears she must have money,
an' I'm right glad 'count of the Patriarch--said her father an' mother
was dead an' she was alone in the world--them jewels she wore must have
cost a pile. Reckon she's been used to livin' kinder different from the
way folks down here do--hope 'tain't goin' to be so hard on her she
won't want to stay."
"I was thinking about that myself," said Madison gravely, knotting his
brows as he nodded his head. "There's no doubt it will be a big change
for her, but I imagine she had some sort of an idea what to expect--it
is certainly greatly to her credit that she would give up her own
interests unselfishly and come here to devote her life to the care of a
relative whom she had never seen before. I've an idea that the girl who
would do that is the kind of a girl who's got grit enough to see it
through."
"So she be," said Mr. Higgins heartily. "Ain't every one 'ud do it--not
by a heap!"
"I'll give you a hand with the trunks," said Madison thoughtfully.
They carried the large trunk between them into the cottage and, as
Helena called to them, down the little hallway past what Madison knew to
be the Patriarch's bedroom, and stopped before the next door, which was
open. Madison remembered the room, when nearly two weeks ago now the
Patriarch had shown him through the cottage, as a sort of store-room
full of odds and ends. Mr. Higgins, too, evidently had known it only in
that guise, for he whistled softly and reached for his whiskers.
"Well now, if that ain't right smart of the Patriarch!" he exclaimed.
"Real set he must have been on makin' you feel to home, Miss Vail--an'
never said a word to no one, neither."
"Yes," said Helena, "isn't it pretty? And did he really fix this up for
me all by himself?"--she was looking at Madison, as she stood in the
center of the room beside the Patriarch.
"Must have," said Madison, surveying the room.
It wasn't luxurious, the little chamber, nor was there over much of
furniture, nor was that even of a high order--there was a bed with a
red-checkered crazy-quilt; a washstand with severe, heavy white
crockery; a rocking chair, homemade, of hickory; a rag mat, round,
many-colored; and white muslin curtains on the windows. It wasn't
luxurious, the little chamber--it was fresh and sweet and clean.
Upon the Patriarch's face was a sort of pleased expectancy, and Helena
promptly took his arm and pressed it affectionately.
"Isn't it perfectly dear of him!" she said softly. "To think of him
going to all this trouble for me when he could scarcely see!"
"Well, 'tain't no more'n you deserve," said Mr. Higgins gallantly, as he
slewed the trunk around against the wall. "I'll lug them other trunks
in myself, ain't but small ones, they ain't"--and he hurried from the
room, as though fearful that Madison might secure a share in the honors.
"I guess you've made a hit with Mr. Higgins, Helena," observed Madison,
with a grin.
"Have I?" returned Helena absently; then abruptly: "This is a real nice
lay you've steered me into, John Madison."
"Yes; not bad," said Madison complacently. "Bring your uncle into the
front room, Helena; and then you can get Hiram to show you the well and
the old oaken bucket and where the pantries and cupboards are, he knows
more about them than I do--it's pretty near time for you to be thinking
about getting supper."
"Are you going to stay for it?" inquired Helena pertly.
"For the first attempt!" ejaculated Madison, with a wry face. "Good
Heavens, no! I'm just convalescing from a serious illness."
In the front room Madison settled himself to a study of the Patriarch's
beaming, happy face, while Helena under Mr. Higgins' attentive guidance
explored the cottage.
"D'ye know, old chap," he said, and leaned across the table to touch the
Patriarch's hand, "I feel like a blooming philanthropist. An outsider
might think I was playing you pretty low and taking advantage of you,
and even Helena's got a budding hunch that way it seems--but just think
of the mess you'd have been in if it wasn't for me, just think of the
good you're going to do, and just look at yourself and see how pleased
and happy you look."
The Patriarch smiled responsively to the touch upon his hand.
"Of course you are," said Madison affably.
Presently there came the sound of an axe busily at work, and a moment
later Helena came laughingly into the room.
"He's filling up the wood-box," she explained, and darting across to
Madison put her arms around his neck. "Aren't you going to tell me
you're glad to see me?" she whispered coyly. "Oh, I've been longing so
for you! Kiss me"--she held out tempting little red lips, invitingly
pursed up.
"Nix on that!" said Madison, smiling but firm, as he disengaged her
arms. "Soft pedal, Helena, my dear."
"But he can't see or hear," pouted Helena.
"I should hope not!" said Madison, with a gasp. "But you never know who
else might, or when they might--we begin right, and run no risks--see?
People have a charming habit of dropping around informally
here--everybody's at home."
"Don't you love me any more?" inquired Helena, unconvinced, and still
pouting.
"Of course, I do!" asserted Madison, laughing at her. "Don't be a goose,
Helena. You remember what I told you all in the Roost, don't you? Well,
I haven't been living in a Maine village ten days or two weeks for
nothing, and what I said then goes now more than ever. Now, don't get
sore, kid--there's a big stake up, and if we're going to play the game
we've got to play it to the limit. We live perfectly, ultra-proper,
decent lives, mentally, morally, physically, till we beat it out of here
for keeps."
"Ain't we going to have a nice time!" murmured Helena sarcastically.
"Oh, cheer up!" said Madison. "It may be quiet for a day or two--but not
much longer than that. Now tell me about the Flopper and Pale Face
before Higgins gets back--have they got things straight? And pat your
uncle's hand while you talk, Helena--get the habit."
"I don't have to get the habit," said Helena a little crossly, perching
herself on the arm of the Patriarch's chair and taking his hand. "I
think he's a perfect dear, and for us to sit here and take advantage of
him when he trusts us is--"
"Now cut that out," said Madison cheerfully. "Think of those gondolas in
Venice when we get through with this--that'll make you feel better. Go
on about the Flopper and Pale Face--can the Flopper speak any English
yet?"
Helena laughed in spite of herself.
"I've had a dream of a time with him," she said. "He's broken his neck
trying, at any rate; and he's not so bad as he was--quite."
"Good!" said Madison. "And?"
"I read them your last letter saying they were to come together and work
the train on the way down," she continued. "The Flopper got the
postmaster's letter, too."
"How did it size up as a testimonial?" inquired Madison.
Helena's dark eyes flashed with amusement.
"Lovely!"
"Too thick--fishy?" asked Madison.
"Oh, no," said Helena, "not if you have faith--just strong. It's all
right, though; I told him he could use it--it's a drawing card in
itself, for some of them would be curious enough to get off and see the
finish. Everything is all fixed--they'll be here to-morrow."
"Good girl!" said Madison approvingly. "We'll pull it off out there on
the lawn where all the multitude can see--you'll have to lead his nibs
out and guide him to the Flopper while the hush falls and you look kind
of scared--you know the lay. There's no one can touch you when it comes
to playing up to the house. And now, there's just one thing more--you'll
need some one around here to help you and keep an eye on the offerings
when they begin to come in. Well, that's the Flopper's rôle in the
second act--see? Overwhelmed with gratitude at his cure, he attaches
himself to the Patriarch with dog-like fidelity--beautiful thought!--get
the idea? And--"
"Hush!" cautioned Helena. "Here's Mr. Higgins coming."
"All right," said Madison, rising and moving to the door. "I'm going
now, then--guess you understand. See you in the morning for the final
touches. Tell Mr. Higgins I'm waiting outside for him to drive me home."
He raised his voice. "Good afternoon, Miss Vail," he said, and stepped
out onto the lawn.
--VIII--
IN WHICH THE BAIT IS NIBBLED
There was a group around the Flopper on the Portland platform beside the
Bar Harbor express; some wore pitying expressions, others smiled a
little tolerantly--Pale Face Harry, from the circle, sneered openly.
"Nutty!" he coughed, and touched his forehead. "Nothing doing in the
upper story--some one ought to look after him."
The Flopper, a crippled thing on the ground, fixed Pale Face Harry with
a pointed forefinger.
"Youse don't look like you had many weeps to spare for anybody but
yerself--yer fallin' to pieces," said the Flopper. "I didn't ask you nor
any of youse to butt in--I was talkin' to dis lady here"--he motioned
toward a young woman in a wheeled, invalid chair, who, between a trained
nurse on one side and a gentleman on the other, was regarding him with a
startled expression in her eyes.
She turned now and spoke to the gentleman beside her.
"Robert," she said, in a low, anxious tone, "do you think that--that
there can be anything in it?"
"Have you lost your head, Naida?" the man laughed. "The age of miracles
has passed."
"But he is so _sure_," she whispered.
"Poppycock!" said her companion contemptuously.
The Flopper, in good, if unfashionable and ready-made clothes, fresh
linen, and a clean shave, turned a bright, intelligent face on the man
at this remark.
"I guess youse are de kind," he said, with a grim smile, "dat ain't had
to kill yerself worryin' much about any kind of trouble, an' it ain't
nothin' to you to cut de ground of hope out from another guy's feet an'
let him slide. Mabbe you think I'm nutty too, because I know I'm goin'
to be cured--but it don't hurt you none to have me think so, does it?
Mabbe someday you might like to hope a little yerself, an' if--"
"'Board! All aboard!"--the conductor's voice boomed down the platform.
The young woman leaned forward in her chair toward the Flopper.
"I know what it is to hope," she said softly. "Will you come back into
our car after awhile? I'd like to have you tell me more about this.
Please do."
"Sure," said the Flopper amiably. "Sure, mum, I will, if youse wants me
to."
The crowd broke up, hurrying for the train; and the Flopper, dragging a
valise along beside him, jerked himself toward the steps.
"Swipe me, if I ain't got a bite already!" said the Flopper to himself.
"An' outer a private car, too--wouldn't dat bump you! An' say, wait till
you see de Doc t'row up his dukes when he listens to me handin' out me
sterilized English!"
The brakeman and a kindly-hearted fellow passenger helped the Flopper
into the train--and thereafter for an hour or more, in a first class
coach, the Flopper held undisputed sway. The passengers, flocking from
the other cars, filled the aisle and seriously interfered with the
lordly movements of the train crew, challenging the conductor's
authority with passive indifference until that functionary, exasperated
beyond endurance, threatened to curtail the ride the Flopper had paid
for and put him off at the next station--whereat the passive attitude of
the passengers vanished. The American public is always interested in a
novelty, and on occasions is not to be gainsaid--the American public, as
represented by the patrons of the Bar Harbor express, was interested at
the moment in the Flopper, and they passed the conductor from hand to
hand--it was the only way he could have got through the car--and
deposited him outside in the vestibule to tell his troubles to the
buffer-plate.
The Flopper was in deadly, serious earnest; there was no doubt, no
possible room for doubt on that score--one had but to look at the flush
upon his cheeks and note the ring of conviction in his voice. Even Pale
Face Harry's gibes and sneers melted before the unshakable assurance,
and he became, with reservations, noticeably impressed.
A metropolitan newspaper man was struck with the idea of a humorous
series of articles to pay for his vacation, entitled, "Characters I Have
Met In Maine"--and forthwith, perched on the back of the seat behind the
Flopper, proceeded to sketch out the first one, with the mental
determination to get off at Needley for the local color necessary to its
climax.
A soap drummer nudged a fellow drummer whose line was lingerie.
"Ever do Needley?" he grinned.
The lingerie exponent had a sense of humor--he grinned back.
"My house is everlastingly rubbing it into me to open up new territory,"
said the soap salesman.
"Me too," responded the white-goods man.
"Needley," said he of the soap persuasion, "would be virgin soil for any
drummer."
"I'd like to see the finish," said the lingerie man--still grinning.
"Well?" inquired the soap man--still grinning. "What do you say?"
"You bet!" said the man with eight trunks full of daintiness in the
baggage car ahead. "It's Needley for ours--you're on!"
The Flopper was an artist--and he was in his glory. Where his position
was indubitably weak, he side-stepped with the frank admission that he
knew no more than they. He knew only one thing, and that was the only
thing he cared about, the rest made no odds to him, he was going down to
Needley to be cured--and he let them see Mr. Higgins' letter.
A porter from the rear car squirmed and wriggled his way down to the
seat occupied by the Flopper.
"Mistah Tho'nton, sah," he announced importantly, "would like to see you
in his private car, if you could done make it convenient, sah."
"Sure!" said the Flopper.
The passengers crowded up, standing on the seats and arm-rests, to make
room for the Flopper to crawl down the aisle, while the porter preceded
him to open the doors.
Through the car in the rear of the one he had occupied, the regular
parlor car, the Flopper, a piteous spectacle, made his way--chairs
turned, the occupants craned their necks after the deformed and broken
creature, while smothered exclamations and little cries of sympathy from
the women followed him along. The Flopper's eyes never lifted from the
strip of carpet before him, but his lips moved.
"Gee!" he muttered. "Dis has de gape-wagon skun a mile. Wish I could
pass de hat--I'd make de killin' of me young life. Pipe de hydrogen hair
on de gran'mother wid de sparkler on her thumb an' weeps in her eyes,
an' look at de guy wid de yellow gloves rolled back on his wrists to
heighten de intelligint look on his face, dat she's kiddin'--I could
play dem to a fare-thee-well if I only had de chanst. Oh, gee!"--the
Flopper sighed--"an' I got to let it go!"
With regret still poignantly affecting him, the Flopper passed on into
the private car, and the porter ushered him into a sort of combination
observation and sitting-room compartment. The Flopper's eyes lifted and
made a quick, comprehensive tour of his surroundings. The young woman
who had spoken to him on the platform was reclining on a couch; the
nurse sat on the foot of the couch; and the man was tilted back in an
armchair against the window.
The young woman raised herself to a sitting posture and held out her
hand.
"I am Mrs. Thornton," she said, with a smile. "This is my husband, and
this is Miss Harvey, my nurse. It was very good of you to come, Mr.--?"
she paused invitingly.
"Coogan," supplied the Flopper. "Michael Coogan."
"Let me offer you a chair, Mr. Coogan," said Thornton, a little
ironically, pushing one toward the Flopper. "Or would you be more
comfortable on the floor?"
The Flopper's eyelids fell--covering a quick, ugly glint.
"T'anks!" he said--and swung himself, by his arms, into the chair.
"I want you to tell me all about this strange man in Needley, and how
you came to hear of him and believe in him," said Mrs. Thornton. "I was
only able to get just the barest outline of it out there on the
platform with the crowd around."
"Dat's easy," said the Flopper earnestly. "Sure, I'll tell you. I saw a
piece about dis Patriarch in one of de Noo Yoik papers, so I writes to
de postmaster of de town to find out if he was on de level--see?"
"Yes," said Mrs. Thornton. "And what did the postmaster say?"
The Flopper took Hiram Higgins' letter from his pocket and handed it to
Mrs. Thornton.
"Youse can read it fer yerself, mum," he said, with an air of one
delivering a final and irrefutable argument.
Mrs. Thornton read the letter carefully, almost anxiously.
"If only a part of this is true," she said wistfully, passing it to her
husband, "it is perfectly wonderful."
Mr. Thornton read it--with a grin.
"I don't know, I am sure," he observed caustically, handing the letter
to Miss Harvey, "how the medical profession would stand on this--would
your school endorse it, nurse?"
Miss Harvey read it with her back to the others--then she glanced at
Mrs. Thornton--and checked herself as she was about to speak. She folded
the letter slowly and returned it to the Flopper without comment.
Robert Thornton, master of millions, hard-headed and practical for all
his youth, leaned forward in his chair toward the Flopper.
"Look here," he said bluntly, "you don't mean to say that you believe
this seriously, do you?"
"Oh, no!" said the Flopper softly. "Nothin' like dat! Of course I don't
believe it! I'm only guyin' myself--see? I'm just goin' dere fer
fun--an' spendin' me last red to get dere. Say"--his voice snapped--"wot
do youse t'ink I am, anyway?"
"Surely, Robert," said Mrs. Thornton gently, "it is evident enough that
he believes it."
Thornton did not look at her--he was still gazing at the Flopper, his
brows knitted.
"How long have you been like this?" he demanded sharply.
"All me life," said the Flopper. "I was born dat way."
"And you expect to go down here and by some means, which I must confess
is quite beyond my ability to grasp, be cured in a miraculous
manner!"--Thornton smiled tolerantly.