The Hunniwell Thanksgiving dinner was an entire success. Even
Captain Sam himself was forced to admit it, although he professed
to do so with reluctance.
"Yes," he said, with an elaborate wink in the direction of his
guests, "it's a pretty good dinner, considerin' everything. Of
course 'tain't what a feller used to get down at Sam Coy's eatin'-
house on Atlantic Avenue, but it's pretty good--as I say, when
everything's considered."
His daughter was highly indignant. "Do you mean to say that this
dinner isn't as good as those you used to get at that Boston
restaurant, Pa?" she demanded. "Don't you dare say such a thing."
Her father tugged at his beard and looked tremendously solemn.
"Well," he observed, "as a boy I was brought up to always speak the
truth and I've tried to live up to my early trainin'. Speakin' as
a truthful man, then, I'm obliged to say that this dinner ain't
like those I used to get at Sam Coy's."
Ruth put in a word. "Well, then, Captain Hunniwell," she said, "I
think the restaurant you refer to must be one of the best in the
world."
Before the captain could reply, Maud did it for him.
"Mrs. Armstrong," she cautioned, "you mustn't take my father too
seriously. He dearly loves to catch people with what he hopes is a
joke. For a minute he caught even me this time, but I see through
him now. He didn't say the dinner at his precious restaurant was
BETTER than this one, he said it wasn't like it, that's all. Which
is probably true," she added, with withering scorn. "But what I
should like to know is what he means by his 'everything
considered.'"
Her father's gravity was unshaken. "Well," he said, "all I meant
was that this was a pretty good dinner, considerin' who was
responsible for gettin' it up."
"I see, I see. Mrs. Ellis, our housekeeper, and I are responsible,
Mrs. Armstrong, so you understand now who he is shooting at. Very
well, Pa," she added, calmly, "the rest of us will have our dessert
now. You can get yours at Sam Coy's."
The dessert was mince pie and a Boston frozen pudding, the latter
an especial favorite of Captain Sam's. He capitulated at once.
"'Kamerad! Kamerad!'" he cried, holding up both hands. "That's
what the Germans say when they surrender, ain't it? I give in,
Maud. You can shoot me against a stone wall, if you want to, only
give me my frozen puddin' first. It ain't so much that I like the
puddin'," he explained to Mrs. Armstrong, "but I never can make out
whether it's flavored with tansy or spearmint. Maud won't tell me,
but I know it's somethin' old-fashioned and reminds me of my
grandmother; or, maybe, it's my grandfather; come to think, I guess
likely 'tis."
Ruth grasped his meaning later when she tasted the pudding and
found it flavored with New England rum.
After dinner they adjourned to the parlor. Maud, being coaxed by
her adoring father, played the piano. Then she sang. Then they
all sang, all except Jed and the captain, that is. The latter
declared that his voice had mildewed in the damp weather they had
been having lately, and Jed excused himself on the ground that he
had been warned not to sing because it was not healthy.
Barbara was surprised and shocked.
"Why, Uncle Jed!" she cried. "You sing EVER so much. I heard you
singing this morning."
Jed nodded. "Ye-es," he drawled, "but I was alone then and I'm
liable to take chances with my own health. Bluey Batcheldor was in
the shop last week, though, when I was tunin' up and it disagreed
with HIM."
"I don't believe it, Uncle Jed," with righteous indignation. "How
do you know it did?"
"'Cause he said so. He listened a spell, and then said I made him
sick, so I took his word for it."
Captain Sam laughed uproariously. "You must be pretty bad then,
Jed," he declared. "Anybody who disagrees with Bluey Batcheldor
must be pretty nigh the limit."
Jed nodded. "Um-hm," he said, reflectively, "pretty nigh, but not
quite. Always seemed to me the real limit was anybody who agreed
with him."
So Jed, with Babbie on his knee, sat in the corner of the bay
window looking out on the street, while Mrs. Armstrong and her
brother and Miss Hunniwell played and sang and the captain
applauded vigorously and loudly demanded more. After a time Ruth
left the group at the piano and joined Jed and her daughter by the
window. Captain Hunniwell came a few minutes later.
"Make a good-lookin' couple, don't they?" he whispered, bending
down, and with a jerk of his head in the direction of the
musicians. "Your brother's a fine-lookin' young chap, Mrs.
Armstrong. And he acts as well as he looks. Don't know when I've
taken such a shine to a young feller as I have to him. Yes, ma'am,
they make a good-lookin' couple, even if one of 'em is my
daughter."
The speech was made without the slightest thought or suggestion of
anything but delighted admiration and parental affection.
Nevertheless, Ruth, to whom it was made, started slightly, and,
turning, regarded the pair at the piano. Maud was fingering the
pages of a book of college songs and looking smilingly up into the
face of Charles Phillips, who was looking down into hers. There
was, apparently, nothing in the picture--a pretty one, by the way--
to cause Mrs. Armstrong to gaze so fixedly or to bring the slight
frown to her forehead. After a moment she turned toward Jed
Winslow. Their eyes met and in his she saw the same startled hint
of wonder, of possible trouble, she knew he must see in hers. Then
they both looked away.
Captain Hunniwell prated proudly on, chanting praises of his
daughter's capabilities and talents, as he did to any one who would
listen, and varying the monotony with occasional references to the
wonderful manner in which young Phillips had "taken hold" at the
bank. Ruth nodded and murmured something from time to time, but to
any one less engrossed by his subject than the captain it would
have been evident she was paying little attention. Jed, who was
being entertained by Babbie and Petunia, was absently pretending to
be much interested in a fairy story which the former was
improvising--she called the process "making up as I go along"--for
his benefit. Suddenly he leaned forward and spoke.
"Sam," he said, "there's somebody comin' up the walk. I didn't get
a good sight of him, but it ain't anybody that lives here in Orham
regular."
"Eh? That so?" demanded the captain. "How do you know 'tain't if
you didn't see him?"
"'Cause he's comin' to the front door," replied Mr. Winslow, with
unanswerable logic. "There he is now, comin' out from astern of
that lilac bush. Soldier, ain't he?"
It was Ruth Armstrong who first recognized the visitor. "Why," she
exclaimed, "it is Major Grover, isn't it?"
The major it was, and a moment later Captain Hunniwell ushered him
into the room. He had come to Orham on an errand, he explained,
and had stopped at the windmill shop to see Mr. Winslow. Finding
the latter out, he had taken the liberty of following him to the
Hunniwell home.
"I'm going to stay but a moment, Captain Hunniwell," he went on.
"I wanted to talk with Winslow on a--well, on a business matter.
Of course I won't do it now but perhaps we can arrange a time
convenient for us both when I can."
"Don't cal'late there'll be much trouble about that," observed the
captain, with a chuckle. "Jed generally has time convenient for
'most everybody; eh, Jed?"
Jed nodded. "Um-hm," he drawled, "for everybody but Gab Bearse."
"So you and Jed are goin' to talk business, eh?" queried Captain
Sam, much amused at the idea. "Figgerin' to have him rig up
windmills to drive those flyin' machines of yours, Major?"
"Not exactly. My business was of another kind, and probably not
very important, at that. I shall probably be over here again on
Monday, Winslow. Can you see me then?"
Jed rubbed his chin. "Ye-es," he said, "I'll be on private
exhibition to my friends all day. And children half price," he
added, giving Babbie a hug. "But say, Major, how in the world did
you locate me to-day? How did you know I was over here to Sam's?
I never told you I was comin', I'll swear to that."
For some reason or other Major Grover seemed just a little
embarrassed.
"Why no," he said, stammering a trifle, "you didn't tell me, but
some one did. Now, who--"
"I think I told you, Major," put in Ruth Armstrong. "Last evening,
when you called to--to return Charlie's umbrella. I told you we
were to dine here to-day and that Jed--Mr. Winslow--was to dine
with us. Don't you remember?"
Grover remembered perfectly then, of course. He hastened to
explain that, having borrowed the umbrella of Charles Phillips the
previous week, he had dropped in on his next visit to Orham to
return it.
Jed grunted.
"Humph!" he said, "you never came to see me last night. When you
was as close aboard as next door seems's if you might."
The major laughed. "Well, you'll have to admit that I came to-
day," he said.
"Yes," put in Captain Sam, "and, now you are here, you're goin' to
stay a spell. Oh, yes, you are, too. Uncle Sam don't need you so
hard that he can't let you have an hour or so off on Thanksgiving
Day. Maud, why in time didn't we think to have Major Grover here
for dinner along with the rest of the folks? Say, couldn't you eat
a plate of frozen puddin' right this minute? We've got some on
hand that tastes of my grandfather, and we want to get rid of it."
Their caller laughingly declined the frozen pudding, but he was
prevailed upon to remain and hear Miss Hunniwell play. So Maud
played and Charles turned the music for her, and Major Grover
listened and talked with Ruth Armstrong in the intervals between
selections. And Jed and Barbara chatted and Captain Sam beamed
good humor upon every one. It was a very pleasant, happy
afternoon. War and suffering and heartache and trouble seemed a
long, long way off.
On the way back to the shop in the chill November dusk Grover told
Jed a little of what he had called to discuss with him. If Jed's
mind had been of the super-critical type it might have deemed the
subject of scarcely sufficient importance to warrant the major's
pursuing him to the Hunniwells'. It was simply the subject of
Phineas Babbitt and the latter's anti-war utterances and surmised
disloyalty.
"You see," explained Grover, "some one evidently has reported the
old chap to the authorities as a suspicious person. The
government, I imagine, isn't keen on sending a special investigator
down here, so they have asked me to look into the matter. I don't
know much about Babbitt, but I thought you might. Is he disloyal,
do you think?"
Jed hesitated. Things the hardware dealer had said had been
reported to him, of course; but gossip--particularly the Bearse
brand of gossip--was not the most reliable of evidence. Then he
remembered his own recent conversation with Leander and the
latter's expressed fear that his father might get into trouble.
Jed determined, for the son's sake, not to bring that trouble
nearer.
"Well, Major," he answered, "I shouldn't want to say that he was.
Phineas talks awful foolish sometimes, but I shouldn't wonder if
that was his hot head and bull temper as much as anything else. As
to whether he's anything more than foolish or not, course I
couldn't say sartin, but I don't think he's too desperate to be
runnin' loose. I cal'late he won't put any bombs underneath the
town hall or anything of that sort. Phin and his kind remind me
some of that new kind of balloon you was tellin' me they'd probably
have over to your camp when 'twas done, that--er--er--dirigible;
wasn't that what you called it?"
"Yes. But why does Babbitt remind you of a dirigible balloon? I
don't see the connection."
"Don't you? Well, seems's if I did. Phin fills himself up with
the gas he gets from his Anarchist papers and magazines--the 'rich
man's war' and all the rest of it--and goes up in the air and when
he's up in the air he's kind of hard to handle. That's what you
told me about the balloon, if I recollect."
Grover laughed heartily. "Then the best thing to do is to keep him
on the ground, I should say," he observed.
Jed rubbed his chin. "Um-hm," he drawled, "but shuttin' off his
gas supply might help some. I don't think I'd worry about him
much, if I was you."
They separated at the front gate before the shop, where the rows of
empty posts, from which the mills and vanes had all been removed,
stood as gaunt reminders of the vanished summer. Major Grover
refused Jed's invitation to come in and have a smoke.
"No, thank you," he said, "not this evening. I'll wait here a
moment and say good-night to the Armstrongs and Phillips and then I
must be on my way to the camp. . . . Why, what's the matter?
Anything wrong?"
His companion was searching in his various pockets. The search
completed, he proceeded to look himself over, so to speak, taking
off his hat and looking at that, lifting a hand and then a foot and
looking at them, and all with a puzzled, far-away expression. When
Grover repeated his question he seemed to hear it for the first
time and then not very clearly.
"Eh?" he drawled. "Oh, why--er--yes, there IS somethin' wrong.
That is to say, there ain't, and that's the wrong part of it. I
don't seem to have forgotten anything, that's the trouble."
His friend burst out laughing.
"I should scarcely call that a trouble," he said.
"Shouldn't you? No, I presume likely you wouldn't. But I never go
anywhere without forgettin' somethin', forgettin' to say somethin'
or do somethin' or bring somethin'. Never did in all my life. Now
here I am home again and I can't remember that I've forgot a single
thing. . . . Hum. . . . Well, I declare! I wonder what it means.
Maybe, it's a sign somethin's goin' to happen."
He said good night absent-mindedly. Grover laughed and walked away
to meet Ruth and her brother, who, with Barbara dancing ahead, were
coming along the sidewalk. He had gone but a little way when he
heard Mr. Winslow shouting his name.
"Major!" shouted Jed. "Major Grover! It's all right, Major, I
feel better now. I've found it. 'Twas the key. I left it in the
front door lock here when I went away this mornin'. I guess
there's nothin' unnatural about me, after all; guess nothin's goin'
to happen."
But something did and almost immediately. Jed, entering the outer
shop, closed the door and blundered on through that apartment and
the little shop adjoining until he came to his living-room beyond.
Then he fumbled about in the darkness for a lamp and matchbox. He
found the latter first, on the table where the lamp should have
been. Lighting one of the matches, he then found the lamp on a
chair directly in front of the door, where he had put it before
going away that morning, his idea in so doing being that it would
thus be easier to locate when he returned at night. Thanking his
lucky stars that he had not upset both chair and lamp in his
prowlings, Mr. Winslow lighted the latter. Then, with it in his
hand, he turned, to see the very man he and Major Grover had just
been discussing seated in the rocker in the corner of the room and
glaring at him malevolently.
Naturally, Jed was surprised. Naturally, also, being himself, he
showed his surprise in his own peculiar way. He did not start
violently, nor utter an exclamation. Instead he stood stock still,
returning Phineas Babbitt's glare with a steady, unwinking gaze.
It was the hardware dealer who spoke first. And that, by the way,
was precisely what he had not meant to do.
"Yes," he observed, with caustic sarcasm, "it's me. You needn't
stand there blinkin' like a fool any longer, Shavin's. It's me."
Jed set the lamp upon the table. He drew a long breath, apparently
of relief.
"Why, so 'tis," he said, solemnly. "When I first saw you sittin'
there, Phin, I had a suspicion 'twas you, but the longer I looked
the more I thought 'twas the President come to call. Do you know,"
he added, confidentially, "if you didn't have any whiskers and he
looked like you you'd be the very image of him."
This interesting piece of information was not received with
enthusiasm. Mr. Babbitt's sense of humor was not acutely
developed.
"Never mind the funny business, Shavin's," he snapped. "I didn't
come here to be funny to-night. Do you know why I came here to
talk to you?"
Jed pulled forward a chair and sat down.
"I presume likely you came here because you found the door
unlocked, Phin," he said.
"I didn't say HOW I came to come, but WHY I came. I knew where you
was this afternoon. I see you when you left there and I had a good
mind to cross over and say what I had to say before the whole crew,
Sam Hunniwell, and his stuck-up rattle-head of a daughter, and that
Armstrong bunch that think themselves so uppish, and all of 'em."
Mr. Winslow stirred uneasily in his chair. "Now, Phin," he
protested, "seems to me--"
But Babbitt was too excited to heed. His little eyes snapped and
his bristling beard quivered.
"You hold your horses, Shavin's," he ordered. "I didn't come here
to listen to you. I came because I had somethin' to say and when
I've said it I'm goin' and goin' quick. My boy's been home. You
knew that, I suppose, didn't you?"
Jed nodded. "Yes," he said, "I knew Leander'd come home for
Thanksgivin'."
"Oh, you did! He came here to this shop to see you, maybe? Humph!
I'll bet he did, the poor fool!"
Again Jed shifted his position. His hands clasped about his knee
and his foot lifted from the floor.
"There, there, Phin," he said gently; "after all, he's your only
son, you know."
"I know it. But he's a fool just the same."
"Now, Phin! The boy'll be goin' to war pretty soon, you know, and--"
Babbitt sprang to his feet. His chin trembled so that he could
scarcely speak.
"Shut up!" he snarled. "Don't let me hear you say that again, Jed
Winslow. Who sent him to war? Who filled his head full of rubbish
about patriotism, and duty to the country, and all the rest of the
rotten Wall Street stuff? Who put my boy up to enlistin', Jed
Winslow?"
Jed's foot swung slowly back and forth.
"Well, Phin," he drawled, "to be real honest, I think he put
himself up to it."
"You're a liar. YOU did it."
Jed sighed. "Did Leander tell you I did?" he asked.
"No," mockingly, "Leander didn't tell me. You and Sam Hunniwell
and the rest of the gang have fixed him so he don't come to his
father to tell things any longer. But he told his step-mother this
very mornin' and she told me. You was the one that advised him to
enlist, he said. Good Lord; think of it! He don't go to his own
father for advice; he goes to the town jackass instead, the critter
that spends his time whittlin' out young-one's playthings. My Lord
A'mighty!"
He spat on the floor to emphasize his disgust. There was an
interval of silence before Jed answered.
"Well, Phin," he said, slowly, "you're right, in a way. Leander
and I have always been pretty good friends and he's been in the
habit of droppin' in here to talk things over with me. When he
came to me to ask what he ought to do about enlistin', asked what
I'd do if I was he, I told him; that's all there was to it."
Babbitt extended a shaking forefinger.
"Yes, and you told him to go to war. Don't lie out of it now; you
know you did."
"Um . . . yes . . . I did."
"You did? You DID? And you have the cheek to own up to it right
afore my face."
Jed's hand stroked his chin. "W-e-e-ll," he drawled, "you just
ordered me not to lie out of it, you know. Leander asked me right
up and down if I wouldn't enlist if I was in his position.
Naturally, I said I would."
"Yes, you did. And you knew all the time how I felt about it, you
SNEAK."
Jed's foot slowly sank to the floor and just as slowly he hoisted
himself from the chair.
"Phin," he said, with deliberate mildness, "is there anything else
you'd like to ask me? 'Cause if there isn't, maybe you'd better
run along."
"You sneakin' coward!"
"Er--er--now--now, Phin, you didn't understand. I said 'ask' me,
not 'call' me."
"No, I didn't come here to ask you anything. I came here and
waited here so's to be able to tell you somethin'. And that is
that I know now that you're responsible for my son--my only boy,
the boy I'd depended on--and--and--"
The fierce little man was, for the moment, close to breaking down.
Jed's heart softened; he felt almost conscience-stricken.
"I'm sorry for you, Phineas," he said. "I know how hard it must be
for you. Leander realized it, too. He--"
"Shut up! Shavin's, you listen to me. I don't forget. All my
life I've never forgot. And I ain't never missed gettin' square.
I can wait, just as I waited here in the dark over an hour so's to
say this to you. I'll get square with you just as I'll get square
with Sam Hunniwell. . . . That's all. . . . That's all. . . .
DAMN YOU!"
He stamped from the room and Jed heard him stumbling through the
littered darkness of the shops on his way to the front door,
kicking at the obstacles he tripped over and swearing and sobbing
as he went. It was ridiculous enough, of course, but Jed did not
feel like smiling. The bitterness of the little man's final curse
was not humorous. Neither was the heartbreak in his tone when he
spoke of his boy. Jed felt no self-reproach; he had advised
Leander just as he might have advised his own son had his life been
like other men's lives, normal men who had married and possessed
sons. He had no sympathy for Phineas Babbitt's vindictive hatred
of all those more fortunate than he or who opposed him, or for his
silly and selfish ideas concerning the war. But he did pity him;
he pitied him profoundly.
Babbitt had left the front door open in his emotional departure and
Jed followed to close it. Before doing so he stepped out into the
yard.
It was pitch dark now and still. He could hear the footsteps of
his recent visitor pounding up the road, and the splashy grumble of
the surf on the bar was unusually audible. He stood for a moment
looking up at the black sky, with the few stars shining between the
cloud blotches. Then he turned and looked at the little house next
door.
The windows of the sitting-room were alight and the shades drawn.
At one window he saw Charles Phillips' silhouette; he was reading,
apparently. Across the other shade Ruth's dainty profile came and
went. Jed looked and looked. He saw her turn and speak to some
one. Then another shadow crossed the window, the shadow of Major
Grover. Evidently the major had not gone home at once as he had
told Jed he intended doing, plainly he had been persuaded to enter
the Armstrong house and make Charlie and his sister a short call.
This was Jed's estimate of the situation, his sole speculation
concerning it and its probabilities.
And yet Mr. Gabe Bearse, had he seen the major's shadow upon the
Armstrong window curtain, might have speculated much.