For nearly an hour he sat there, scarcely changing his position,
and only varying his musical program by whistling hymns instead of
singing them. Once, hearing a step in the yard, he looked through
the window and saw Gabriel Bearse walking toward the gate from the
direction of the shop door instead of in the opposite direction.
Evidently he had at first intended to call and then had changed his
mind. Mr. Winslow was duly grateful to whoever or whatever had
inspired the change. He had no desire to receive a visit from
"Gab" Bearse, at this time least of all.
Later on he heard another step, and, again glancing through the
window, saw Seth Wingate, the vegetable and fruit peddler, walking
from the door to the gate, just as Mr. Bearse had done. Apparently
Seth had changed his mind also. Jed thought this rather odd, but
again he was grateful. He was thinking hard and was quite willing
not to be disturbed.
But the disturbing came ten minutes after Mr. Wingate's departure
and came in the nature of a very distinct disturbance. There was a
series of thunderous knocks on the front door, that door was thrown
violently open, and, before the startled maker of mills could do
much more than rise to his feet, the door to the workroom was
pulled open also. Captain Hunniwell's bulk filled the opening.
Captain Sam was red-faced and seemed excited.
"Well, by the gracious king," he roared, "you're here, anyhow!
What else is the matter with you?"
Jed, who, after recognizing his visitor, had seated himself once
more, looked up and nodded.
"Hello, Sam," he observed. "Say, I was just thinkin' about you.
That's kind of funny, ain't it?"
"Funny! Just thinkin' about me! Well, I've been thinkin' about
you, I tell you that: Have you been in this shop all the forenoon?"
"Eh? . . . Why, yes. . . . Sartin. . . . I've been right here."
"You HAVE? Gracious king! Then why in the Old Harry have you got
that sign nailed on your front door out here tellin' all hands
you're out for the day and for 'em to ask for you up at Abijah
Thompson's?"
Jed looked much surprised. His hand moved slowly across his chin.
"Sho!" he drawled. "Sho! Has that sign been hangin' there all
this forenoon?"
"Don't ask me. I guess it has from what I've heard. Anyhow it's
there now. And WHAT'S it there for? That's what I want to know."
Jed's face was very solemn, but there was a faint twinkle in his
eye. "That explains about Seth Wingate," he mused. "Yes, and Gab
Bearse too. . . . Hum. . . . The Lord was better to me than I
deserved. They say He takes care of children and drunken men and--
er--the critters that most folks think belong to my lodge. . . .
Hum. . . . To think I forgot to take that sign down! Sho!"
"Forgot to take it down! What in everlastin' blazes did you ever
put it up for?"
Jed explained why the placard had been prepared and affixed to the
door. "I only meant it for yesterday, though," he added. "I'd
intended takin' it down this mornin'."
Captain Sam put back his head and laughed until the shop echoed.
"Ho, ho, ho!" he roared. "And you mean to tell me that you put it
up there because you was goin' cruisin' to the aviation camp and
you didn't want callers disturbin' Mrs. Armstrong?"
His friend nodded. "Um-hm," he admitted. "I sent 'em to 'Bije's
because he was as far off as anybody I could think of. Pretty good
idea, wasn't it?"
The captain grinned. "Great!" he declared. "Fine! Wonderful!
You wait till 'Bije comes to tell you how fine 'twas. He's in bed,
laid up with neuralgia, and Emma J., his wife, says that every hour
or less yesterday there was somebody bangin' at their door asking
about you. Every time they banged she says that 'Bije, his nerves
bein' on edge the way they are, would pretty nigh jump the quilts
up to the ceilin' and himself along with 'em. And his remarks got
more lit up every jump. About five o'clock when somebody came
poundin' he let out a roar you could hear a mile. 'Tell 'em
Shavin's Winslow's gone to the devil,' he bellowed, 'and that I say
they can go there too.' And then Emma J. opened the door and
'twan't anybody askin' about you at all; 'twas the Baptist minister
come callin'. I was drivin' past there just now and Emma J. came
out to tell me about it. She wanted to know if you'd gone clear
crazy instead of part way. I told her I didn't know, but I'd make
it my business to find out. Tut, tut, tut! You are a wonder,
Jed."
Jed did not dispute the truth of this statement. He looked
troubled, however. "Sho!" he said; "I'm sorry if I plagued 'Bijah
that way. If I'd known he was sick I wouldn't have done it. I
never once thought so many folks as one every hour would want to
see me this time of year. Dear me! I'm sorry about 'Bije. Maybe
I'd better go down and kind of explain it to him."
Captain Sam chuckled. "I wouldn't," he said. "If I was you I'd
explain over the long distance telephone. But, anyhow, I wouldn't
worry much. I cal'late Emma J. exaggerated affairs some.
Probably, if the truth was known, you'd find not more than four
folks came there lookin' for you yesterday. Don't worry, Jed."
Jed did not answer. The word "worry" had reminded him of his other
visitor that morning. He looked so serious that his friend
repeated his adjuration.
"Don't worry, I tell you," he said, again. "'Tisn't worth it."
"All right, I won't. . . . I won't. . . . Sam, I was thinkin'
about you afore you came in. You remember I told you that?"
"I remember. What have you got on your mind? Any more money
kickin' around this glory-hole that you want me to put to your
account?"
"Eh? . . . Oh, yes, I believe there is some somewheres. Seems to
me I put about a hundred and ten dollars, checks and bills and
such, away day before yesterday for you to take when you came.
Maybe I'll remember where I put it before you go. But 'twan't
about that I was thinkin'. Sam, how is Barzilla Small's boy, Lute,
gettin' along in Gus Howes' job at the bank?"
Captain Sam snorted disgust.
"Gettin' along!" he repeated. "He's gettin' along the way a squid
swims, and that's backwards. And, if you asked me, I'd say the
longer he stayed the further back he'd get."
"Sho! then he did turn out to be a leak instead of an able seaman,
eh?"
"A leak! Gracious king! He's like a torpedo blow-up under the
engine-room. The bank'll sink if he stays aboard another month, I
do believe. And yet," he added, with a shake of the head, "I don't
see but he'll have to stay; there ain't another available candidate
for the job in sight. I 'phoned up to Boston and some of our
friends are lookin' around up there, but so far they haven't had
any success. This war is makin' young men scarce, that is young
men that are good for much. Pretty soon it'll get so that a
healthy young feller who ain't in uniform will feel about as much
out of place as a hog in a synagogue. Yes, sir! Ho, ho!"
He laughed in huge enjoyment of his own joke. Jed stared dreamily
at the adjusting screw on the handsaw. His hands clasped his knee,
his foot was lifted from the floor and began to swing back and
forth.
"Well," queried his friend, "what have you got on your mind? Out
with it."
"Eh? . . . On my mind?"
"Yes. When I see you begin to shut yourself together in the middle
like a jackknife and start swinging that number eleven of yours I
know you're thinkin' hard about somethin' or other. What is it
this time?"
"Um . . . well . . . er . . . Sam, if you saw a chance to get a
real smart young feller in Lute's place in the bank you'd take him,
wouldn't you?"
"Would I? Would a cat eat lobster? Only show him to me, that's
all!"
"Um-hm. . . . Now of course you know I wouldn't do anything to
hurt Lute. Not for the world I wouldn't. It's only if you ARE
goin' to let him go--"
"IF I am. Either he'll have to let go or the bank will, one or
t'other. United we sink, divided one of us may float, that's the
way I look at it. Lute'll stay till we can locate somebody else to
take his job, and no longer."
"Ya-as. . . . Um-hm. . . . Well, I tell you, Sam: Don't you get
anybody else till you and I have another talk. It may be possible
that I could find you just the sort of young man you're lookin'
for."
"Eh? YOU can find me one? YOU can? What are you givin' me, Jed?
Who is the young man; you?"
Jed gravely shook his head. "No-o," he drawled. "I hate to
disappoint you, Sam, but it ain't me. It's another--er--smart,
lively young feller. He ain't quite so old as I am; there's a
little matter of twenty odd years between us, I believe, but
otherwise than that he's all right. And he knows the bankin'
trade, so I'm told."
"Gracious king! Who is he? Where is he?"
"That I can't tell you just yet. But maybe I can by and by."
"Tell me now."
"No-o. No, I just heard about him and it was told to me in secret.
All I can say is don't get anybody to fill Lute Small's place till
you and I have another talk."
Captain Sam stared keenly into his friend's face. Jed bore the
scrutiny calmly; in fact he didn't seem to be aware of it. The
captain gave it up.
"All right," he said. "No use tryin' to pump you, I know that.
When you make up your mind to keep your mouth shut a feller
couldn't open it with a cold chisel. I presume likely you'll tell
in your own good time. Now if you'll scratch around and find those
checks and things you want me to deposit for you I'll take 'em and
be goin'. I'm in a little bit of a hurry this mornin'."
Jed "scratched around," finally locating the checks and bills in
the coffee pot on the shelf in his little kitchen.
"There!" he exclaimed, with satisfaction, "I knew I put 'em
somewheres where they'd be safe and where I couldn't forget 'em."
"Where you couldn't forget 'em! Why, you did forget 'em, didn't
you?"
"Um . . . yes . . . I cal'late I did this mornin', but that's
because I didn't make any coffee for breakfast. If I'd made coffee
same as I usually do I'd have found 'em."
"Why didn't you make coffee this mornin'?"
Jed's eye twinkled.
"W-e-e-ll," he drawled, "to be honest with you, Sam, 'twas because
I couldn't find the coffee pot. After I took it down to put this
money in it I put it back on a different shelf. I just found it
now by accident."
As the captain was leaving Jed asked one more question. "Sam," he
asked, "about this bank job now? If you had a chance to get a
bright, smart young man with experience in bank work, you'd hire
him, wouldn't you?"
Captain Hunniwell's answer was emphatic.
"You bet I would!" he declared. "If I liked his looks and his
references were good I'd hire him in two minutes. And salary, any
reasonable salary, wouldn't part us, either. . . . Eh? What makes
you look like that?"
For Jed's expression had changed; his hand moved across his chin.
"Eh--er--references?" he repeated.
"Why, why, of course. I'd want references from the folks he'd
worked for, statin' that he was honest and capable and all that.
With those I'd hire him in two minutes, as I said. You fetch him
along and see. So long, Jed. See you later."
He hustled out, stopping to tear from the outer door the placard
directing callers to call at Abijah Thompson's. Jed returned to
his box and sat down once more to ponder. In his innocence it had
not occurred to him that references would be required.
That evening, about nine, he crossed the yard and knocked at the
back door of the little house. Mrs. Armstrong answered the knock;
Barbara, of course, was in bed and asleep. Ruth was surprised to
see her landlord at that, for him, late hour. Also, remembering
the unceremonious way in which he had permitted her to depart at
the end of their interview that forenoon, she was not as cordial as
usual. She had made him her confidant, why she scarcely knew;
then, after expressing great interest and sympathy, he had suddenly
seemed to lose interest in the whole matter. She was acquainted
with his eccentricities and fits of absent-mindedness, but
nevertheless she had been hurt and offended. She told herself that
she should have expected nothing more from "Shavings" Winslow, the
person about whom two-thirds of Orham joked and told stories, but
the fact remained that she was disappointed. And she was angry,
not so much with him perhaps, as with herself. WHY had she been so
foolish as to tell any one of their humiliation?
So when Jed appeared at the back door she received him rather
coldly. He was quite conscious of the change in temperature, but
he made no comment and offered no explanation. Instead he told his
story, the story of his interview with Captain Hunniwell. As he
told it her face showed at first interest, then hope, and at the
last radiant excitement. She clasped her hands and leaned toward
him, her eyes shining.
"Oh, Mr. Winslow," she cried, breathlessly, "do you mean it? Do
you really believe Captain Hunniwell will give my brother a
position in his bank?"
Jed nodded slowly. "Yes," he said, "I think likely he might.
Course 'twouldn't be any great of a place, not at first--nor ever,
I cal'late, so far as that goes. 'Tain't a very big bank and wages
ain't--"
But she interrupted. "But that doesn't make any difference," she
cried. "Don't you see it doesn't! The salary and all that won't
count--now. It will be a start for Charles, an opportunity for him
to feel that he is a man again, doing a man's work, an honest man's
work. And he will be here where I can be with him, where we can be
together, where it won't be so hard for us to be poor and where
there will be no one who knows us, who knows our story. Oh, Mr.
Winslow, is it really true? If it is, how--how can we ever thank
you? How can I ever show you how grateful I feel?"
Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted and joy shone in her eager
eyes. Her voice broke a little as she uttered the words. Jed
looked at her and then quickly looked away.
"I--I--don't talk so, Mrs. Armstrong," he pleaded, hastily. "It--
it ain't anything, it ain't really. It just--"
"Not anything? Not anything to find my brother the opportunity he
and I have been praying for? To give me the opportunity of having
him with me? Isn't that anything? It is everything. Oh, Mr.
Winslow, if you can do this for us--"
"Shsh! Sshh! Now, Mrs. Armstrong, please. You mustn't say I'm
doin' it for you. I'm the one that just happened to think of it,
that's all. You could have done it just as well, if you'd thought
of it."
"Perhaps," with a doubtful smile, "but I should never have thought
of it. You did because you were thinking for me--for my brother
and me. And--and I thought you didn't care."
"Eh? . . . Didn't care?"
"Yes. When I left you at the shop this morning after our talk.
You were so--so odd. You didn't speak, or offer to advise me as I
had asked you to; you didn't even say good-by. You just sat there
and let me go. And I didn't understand and--"
Jed put up a hand. His face was a picture of distress.
"Dear, dear, dear!" he exclaimed. "Did I do that? I don't
remember it, but of course I did if you say so. Now what on earth
possessed me to? . . . Eh?" as the idea occurred to him. "Tell
me, was I singin'?"
"Why, yes, you were. That is, you were--were--"
"Makin' a noise as if I'd swallowed a hymn book and one of the
tunes was chokin' me to death? Um-hm, that's the way I sing. And
I was singin' when you left me, eh? That means I was thinkin'
about somethin'. I told Babbie once, and it's the truth, that
thinkin' was a big job with me and when I did it I had to drop
everything else, come up into the wind like a schooner, you know,
and just lay to and think. . . . Oh, I remember now! You said
somethin' about your brother's workin' in a bank and that set me
thinkin' that Sam must be needin' somebody by this time in Lute
Small's place."
"You didn't know he needed any one?"
"No-o, not exactly; but I knew Lute, and that amounted to the same
thing. Mrs. Armstrong, I do hope you'll forgive me for--for
singin' and--and all the rest of my foolish actions."
"Forgive you! Will you forgive me for misjudging you?"
"Land sakes, don't talk that way. But there's one thing I haven't
said yet and you may not like it. I guess you and your brother'll
have to go to Sam and tell him the whole story."
Her expression changed. "The whole story?" she repeated. "Why,
what do you mean? Tell him that Charles has been in--in prison?
You don't mean THAT?"
"Um-hm," gravely; "I'm afraid I do. It looks to me as if it was
the only way."
"But we can't! Oh, Mr. Winslow, we can't do that."
"I know 'twill be awful hard for you. But, when I talked to Sam
about my havin' a possible candidate for the bank place, the very
last thing he said was that he'd be glad to see him providin' his
references was all right. I give you my word I'd never thought of
references, not till then."
"But if we tell him--tell him everything, we shall only make
matters worse, shan't we? Of course he won't give him the position
then."
"There's a chance he won't, that's true. But Sam Hunniwell's a
fine feller, there ain't any better, and he likes you and--well, he
and I have been cruisin' in company for a long spell. Maybe he'll
give your brother a chance to make good. I hope he will."
"You only hope? I thought you said you believed."
"Well, I do, but of course it ain't sartin. I wish 'twas."
She was silent. Jed, watching her, saw the last traces of
happiness and elation fade from her face and disappointment and
discouragement come back to take their places. He pitied her, and
he yearned to help her. At last he could stand it no longer.
"Now, Mrs. Armstrong," he pleaded, "of course--"
She interrupted.
"No," she said, as if coming to a final decision and speaking that
decision aloud: "No, I can't do it."
"Eh? Can't do--what?"
"I can't have Captain Hunniwell know of our trouble. I came here
to Orham, where no one knew me, to avoid that very thing. At home
there in Middleford I felt as if every person I met was staring at
me and saying, 'Her brother is in prison.' I was afraid to have
Babbie play with the other children. I was--but there, I won't
talk about it. I can't. And I cannot have it begin again here.
I'll go away first. We will all go away, out West, anywhere--
anywhere where we can be--clean--and like other people."
Jed was conscious of a cold sensation, like the touch of an icicle,
up and down his spine. Going away! She and Babbie going away! In
his mind's eye he saw a vision of the little house closed once more
and shuttered tight as it used to be. He gasped.
"Now, now, Mrs. Armstrong," he faltered. "Don't talk about goin'
away. It--it isn't needful for you to do anything like that. Of
course it ain't. You--you mustn't. I--we can't spare you."
She drew a long breath. "I would go to the other end of the
world," she said, "rather than tell Captain Hunniwell the truth
about my brother. I told you because Babbie had told you so much
already. . . . Oh," turning swiftly toward him, "YOU won't tell
Captain Hunniwell, will you?"
Before he could answer she stretched out her hand. "Oh, please
forgive me," she cried. "I am not myself. I am almost crazy, I
think. And when you first told me about the position in the bank I
was so happy. Oh, Mr. Winslow, isn't there SOME way by which
Charles could have that chance? Couldn't--couldn't he get it and--
and work there for--for a year perhaps, until they all saw what a
splendid fellow he was, and THEN tell them--if it seemed necessary?
They would know him then, and like him; they couldn't help it,
every one likes him."
She brushed the tears from her eyes. Poor Jed, miserable and most
unreasonably conscience-stricken, writhed in his chair. "I--I
don't know," he faltered. "I declare I don't see how. Er--er--
Out in that bank where he used to work, that Wisconsin bank, he--
you said he did first-rate there?"
She started. "Yes, yes," she cried, eagerly. "Oh, he was splendid
there! And the man who was the head of that bank when Charles was
there is an old friend of ours, of the family; he has retired now
but he would help us if he could, I know. I believe . . . I wonder
if . . . Mr. Winslow, I can't tell any one in Orham of our disgrace
and I can't bear to give up that opportunity for my brother. Will
you leave it to me for a little while? Will you let me think it
over?"
Of course Jed said he would and went back to his little room over
the shop. As he was leaving she put out her hand and said, with
impulsive earnestness:
"Thank you, Mr. Winslow. Whatever comes of this, or if nothing
comes of it, I can never thank you enough for your great kindness."
Jed gingerly shook the extended hand and fled, his face scarlet.
During the following week, although he saw his neighbors each day,
and several times a day, Mrs. Armstrong did not mention her brother
or the chance of his employment in the Orham bank. Jed, very much
surprised at her silence, was tempted to ask what her decision was,
or even if she had arrived at one. On one occasion he threw out a
broad hint, but the hint was not taken, instead the lady changed
the subject; in fact, it seemed to him that she made it a point of
avoiding that subject and was anxious that he should avoid it,
also. He was sure she had not abandoned the idea which, at first,
had so excited her interest and raised her hopes. She seemed to
him to be still under a strong nervous strain, to speak and act as
if under repressed excitement; but she had asked him to leave the
affair to her, to let her think it over, so of course he could do
or say nothing until she had spoken. But he wondered and
speculated a good deal and was vaguely troubled. When Captain Sam
Hunniwell called he did not again refer to his possible candidate
for the position now held by Luther Small. And, singularly enough,
the captain himself did not mention the subject.
But one morning almost two weeks after Jed's discussion with the
young widow she and Captain Hunniwell came into the windmill shop
together. Mrs. Armstrong's air of excitement was very much in
evidence. Her cheeks were red, her eyes sparkled, her manner
animated. Her landlord had never seen her look so young, or, for
that matter, so happy.
Captain Sam began the conversation. He, too, seemed to be in high
good humor.
"Well, Jedidah Wilfred Shavin's'," he observed, facetiously, "what
do you suppose I've got up my sleeve this mornin'?"
Jed laid down the chisel he was sharpening.
"Your arms, I presume likely," he drawled.
"Yes, I've got my arms and there's a fist at the end of each one of
'em. Any more--er--flippity answers like that one and you're
liable to think you're struck by lightnin'. This lady and I have
got news for you. Do you know what 'tis?"
Jed looked at Mrs. Armstrong and then at the speaker.
"No-o," he said, slowly.
"Well, to begin with it's this: Lute Small is leavin' the Orham
National a week from next Saturday by a vote of eight to one. The
directors and the cashier and I are the eight and he's the one.
Ho, ho! And who do you suppose comes aboard on the next Monday
mornin' to take over what Lute has left of the job? Eh? Who?
Why, your own candidate, that's who."
Jed started. Again he looked at Mrs. Armstrong and, as if in
answer to that look, she spoke.
"Yes, Mr. Winslow," she said, quickly, "my brother is coming to
Orham and Captain Hunniwell has given him the position. It is
really you to whom he owes it all. You thought of it and spoke to
the captain and to me."
"But why in time," demanded Captain Sam, "didn't you tell me right
out that 'twas Mrs. Armstrong's brother you had in mind? Gracious
king! if I'd known that I'd have had Lute out a fortni't sooner."
Jed made no reply to this. He was still staring at the lady.
"But--but--" he faltered, "did you--have you--"
He stopped in the middle of a word. Ruth was standing behind the
captain and he saw the frightened look in her eyes and the swift
movement of her finger to her lips.
"Oh, yes," she said. "I--I have. I told Captain Hunniwell of
Charlie's experience in the bank in Wisconsin. He has written
there and the answer is quite satisfactory, or so he seems to
think."
"Couldn't be better," declared Captain Sam. "Here's the letter
from the man that used to be the bank president out there. Read
it, Jed, if you want to."
Jed took the letter and, with a hand which shook a little, adjusted
his glasses and read. It was merely a note, brief and to the
point. It stated simply that while Charles Phillips had been in
the employ of their institution as messenger, bookkeeper and
assistant teller, he had been found honest, competent, ambitious
and thoroughly satisfactory.
"And what more do I want than that?" demanded the captain.
"Anybody who can climb up that way afore he's twenty-five will do
well enough for yours truly. Course he and I haven't met yet, but
his sister and I've met, and I'm not worryin' but what I'll like
the rest of the family. Besides," he added, with a combination
laugh and groan, "it's a case of desperation with us up at the
bank. We've got to have somebody to plug that leak you was talkin'
about, Jed, and we've got to have 'em immediate, right off quick,
at once, or a little sooner. It's a providence, your brother is to
us, Mrs. Armstrong," he declared; "a special providence and no
mistake."
He hurried off a moment later, affirming that he was late at the
bank already.
"Course the cashier's there and the rest of the help," he added,
"but it takes all hands and the cat to keep Lute from puttin' the
kindlin' in the safe and lightin' up the stove with ten dollar
bills. So long."
After he had gone Jed turned to his remaining visitor. His voice
shook a little as he spoke.
"You haven't told him!" he faltered, reproachfully. "You--you
haven't told him!"
She shook her head. "I couldn't--I couldn't," she declared.
"DON'T look at me like that. Please don't! I know it is wrong. I
feel like a criminal; I feel wicked. But," defiantly, "I should
feel more wicked if I had told him and my brother had lost the only
opportunity that might have come to him. He WILL make good, Mr.
Winslow. I KNOW he will. He will make them respect him and like
him. They can't help it. See!" she cried, her excitement and
agitation growing; "see how Mr. Reed, the bank president there at
home, the one who wrote that letter, see what he did for Charles!
He knows, too; he knows the whole story. I--I wrote to him. I
wrote that very night when you told me, Mr. Winslow. I explained
everything, I begged him--he is an old, old friend of our family--
to do this thing for our sakes. You see, it wasn't asking him to
lie, or to do anything wrong. It was just that he tell of Charles
and his ability and character as he knew them. It wasn't wrong,
was it?"
Jed did not answer.
"If it was," she declared, "I can't help it. I would do it again--
for the same reason--to save him and his future, to save us all. I
can't help what you think of me. It doesn't matter. All that does
matter is that you keep silent and let my brother have his chance."
Jed, leaning forward in his chair by the workbench, put his hand to
his forehead.
"Don't--don't talk so, Mrs. Armstrong," he begged. "You know--you
know I don't think anything you've done is wrong. I ain't got the
right to think any such thing as that. And as for keepin' still--
why, I--I did hope you wouldn't feel 'twas necessary to ask that."
"I don't--I don't. I know you and I trust you. You are the only
person in Orham whom I have trusted. You know that."
"Why, yes--why, yes, I do know it and--and I'm ever so much obliged
to you. More obliged than I can tell you, I am. Now--now would
you mind tellin' me just one thing more? About this Mr. What's-
his-name out West in the bank there--this Mr. Reed--did he write
you he thought 'twas all right for him to send Sam the--the kind of
letter he did send him, the one givin' your brother such a good
reference?"
The color rose in her face and she hesitated before replying.
"No," she confessed, after a moment. "He did not write me that he
thought it right to give Captain Hunniwell such a reference. In
fact he wrote that he thought it all wrong, deceitful, bordering on
the dishonest. He much preferred having Charles go to the captain
and tell the whole truth. On the other hand, however, he said he
realized that that might mean the end of the opportunity here and
perhaps public scandal and gossip by which we all might suffer.
And he said he had absolute confidence that Charles was not a
criminal by intent, and he felt quite sure that he would never go
wrong again. If he were still in active business, he said, he
should not hesitate to employ him. Therefore, although he still
believed the other course safer and better, he would, if Captain
Hunniwell wrote, answer as I had asked. And he did answer in that
way. So, you see," she cried, eagerly, "HE believes in Charles,
just as I do. And just as you will when you know, Mr. Winslow.
Oh, WON'T you try to believe now?"
A harder-hearted man than Jed Winslow would have found it difficult
to refuse such a plea made in such a way by such a woman. And
Jed's heart was anything but hard.
"Now, now, Mrs. Armstrong," he stammered, "you don't have to ask me
that. Course I believe in the poor young chap. And--and I guess
likely everything's goin' to come out all right. That Mr. What's-
his-name--er--Wright--no, Reed--I got read and write mixed up, I
guess--he's a business man and he'd ought to know about such things
better'n I do. I don't doubt it'll come out fine and we won't
worry any more about it."
"And we will still be friends? You know, Mr. Winslow, you are the
only real friend I have in Orham. And you have been so loyal."
Jed flushed with pleasure.
"I--I told you once," he said, "that my friends generally called me
'Jed.'"
She laughed. "Very well, I'll call you 'Jed,'" she said. "But turn
about is fair play and you must call me 'Ruth.' Will you? Oh,
there's Babbie calling me. Thank you again, for Charles' sake and
my own. Good morning--Jed."
"Er--er--good mornin', Mrs. Armstrong."
"What?"
"Er--I mean Mrs. Ruth."
The most of that forenoon, that is the hour or so remaining, was
spent by Mr. Winslow in sitting by the workbench and idly
scratching upon a board with the point of the chisel. Sometimes
his scratches were meaningless, sometimes they spelled a name, a
name which he seemed to enjoy spelling. But at intervals during
that day, and on other days which followed, he was conscious of an
uneasy feeling, a feeling almost of guilt coupled with a dim
foreboding.
Ruth Armstrong had called him a friend and loyal. But had he been
as loyal to an older friend, a friend he had known all his life?
Had he been loyal to Captain Sam Hunniwell?
That was the feeling of guilt. The foreboding was not as definite,
but it was always with him; he could not shake it off. All his
life he had dealt truthfully with the world, had not lied, or
evaded, or compromised. Now he had permitted himself to become a
silent partner in such a compromise. And some day, somehow,
trouble was coming because of it.