THE launch was on its way back for those of the actors who were
leaving. Gabriel, squatting by the engine, calculated the distribution
of his time. After he’d taken them across he’d have his supper and
then go back for Joe Tracy, who was leaving on the seven fifteen for
his vacation. When Joe was disposed of, Gabriel was to meet two Boston
sports who had engaged him for a week’s deep-sea fishing at White
Beach, twenty-five miles down the coast. It was a strenuous program for
the old man and he grumbled to himself about it, the grumbling gaining
zest by anticipations that some of them would be late. If it was any of
the actors, by gum, he wouldn’t wait for them, with the sports ready
to take him along in their car at seven. By the time he drew near the
island he had grumbled himself into a state of irascible defiance
against any one who would dare upset his plans.
To warn them of his coming he sounded the whistle and its shrill
toot acted like a magic summons. A group of men, bearing suit-cases
and bags, emerged from the entrance and ran down the path, Bassett
following. Miss Pinkney’s helper, a native of Hayworth, hurried from
the kitchen wing, a suit-case in her hand, and even the august Sara
herself appeared in the doorway of her domain.
Gabriel quieted down--they were all ready and waiting--and then saw Joe
Tracy come round the corner of the house in his Sebastian dress. The
old man muttered profanely--why wasn’t the d----d cub getting ready?
And as the boat made its landing, he called out:
“Say, you’d better be gettin’ them togs off. I’ll be back here for you
at a quarter to seven.”
The boy, leaping lightly from rock to rock, grinned without answering.
The picturesque dress suited him, he looked almost handsome, and with
the feathered cap on his golden wig set rakishly aslant, he moved
downward with a taunting debonair swagger. Gabriel didn’t like him
anyway and now his impudent face, framed by the drooping blond curls,
looked to the launch man malignantly spiteful.
Gabriel could say no more then for the confusion of good-bys possessed
the wharf. The actors shouted them out even to Miss Pinkney, flattering
assurances of their inability to forget her and her cooking. She waved
a condescending hand and permitted herself a smile, for she was very
glad to get rid of them.
But Gabriel wasn’t going to go till he’d made things clear. He appealed
to Bassett whom he had privately sized up as the only one of the outfit
who was like the rational human males of his experience. Besides he had
seen that Joe Tracy respected, if not feared, the director:
“I’ll be back here at quarter to seven for the Tracy boy, and I’m
tellin’ him he’s got to be ready. I can’t waste no time settin’ round
waitin’ and if he’s not here on the dot--”
“That’s all right,” Bassett put a comforting hand on his shoulder and
turned to Joe. “You heard that, Joe?”
The boy answered with his sneering grin:
“What’s got the old geezer? Does he think I’m as deaf as he is?”
Gabriel’s weather-beaten visage reddened. He was not in the habit of
being called an “old geezer” and he was not deaf. But the actors, all
in the boat, were clamoring to start. They had a train to make--get in
ancient servitor, and turn on the current. Miss Pinkney’s helper, with
her hat on one side and her face crimson, giggled hysterically, and in
a chorus of farewells the boat chugged off.
The three men left on the wharf went up the path to the doorway where
Shine and Mrs. Cornell had resumed their seats. Shine was struck by
their difference of type,--if you went the world over you couldn’t
find three more varied specimens. The only one he liked was Bassett,
something square and solid about him and a good straight look in his
eyes. The kind of chap, Shine thought, you’d ask directions of in the
street and who’d give ’em to you no matter what hurry he was in. And
he’d a lot of authority--the way he managed this wild-eyed bunch showed
that. Shine had noticed, too, a sort of exuberant quality of good will
about him--like a light within shining out--and set it down to relief
at having got through without any one blowing the lid off.
They stopped at the steps and Joe Tracy made his good-bys. He was going
camping in the woods with his friend Jimmy Travers, who was to meet
him at Bangor to-night. They’d stay there twenty-four hours getting
their stuff together, then be off for the northern solitudes--no beaten
tracks for them. He left, jauntily swinging his kilted skirts, a
whistled tune on his lips. Soon after, Stokes departed, saying he was
going to change his clothes. His air was nonchalant, lounging up the
steps and crossing the living-room with a lazy padding stride.
A door to the right opened into the entrance hall. Here he and his
wife occupied a ground-floor room. It was on the garden front of the
house opposite the stairway that led to the second story. He listened
at the panel before he entered, then softly turned the knob, and,
inside, as softly closed the door. Shut in and alone his languid pose
fell from him like a cloak. An avid eagerness sharpened his features
and directed his hands, pulling open his valise and taking from it
a small leather case. Moving back from the window he pushed up his
sleeve, took the hypodermic from the case and pressed in the needle.
When he had restored the bag to its place, he threw himself on the bed
and lay with closed eyes feeling the ineffable comfort, grateful as an
influx of life, vitalize and soothe his tortured being.
Mrs. Cornell and Shine rose up and followed him. Mrs. Cornell had her
packing to get through and wanted Miss Pinkney’s help. Shine was going
to see if the pantry would do for a dark room, intending to take some
flashlight photographs of the company that evening. He had found in
a cabinet all the flashlight requisites and thought it would be an
interesting memento of their visit--each of them to have a picture.
“They’ve got everything here,” he said as he pointed to the corner
where he had made his find. “Not alone all the supplies, but two
first-class cameras and a projector. I suppose some of the family took
it up for a fad.”
Mrs. Cornell opined it was to occupy the young men. There were several
Driscoll boys and if you didn’t give them something to do they’d get
into mischief. Though, if you asked her, she didn’t see any chances for
mischief in _this_ jumping-off place, unless the high tide washed in a
few mermaids.
Then they passed on through the left doorway, into the side wing of
the house. Here Shine, who was domiciled in the butler’s bedroom,
disappeared into the adjoining pantry and Mrs. Cornell trod resolutely
on into the kitchen, being one of the few members of the company who
was not afraid of the housekeeper.
Miss Pinkney, who was sitting upright in a stiff-backed chair,
rose respectfully. She was a lean slab-sided woman of fifty, with
tight-drawn hair and a long horse face. She had disapproved bitterly of
the intrusion of the actors upon the sacred precincts of Gull Island
and though she had been rigidly polite hoped that her disapproval had
got across. Anyway, she had had the satisfaction of putting cotton
sheets on their beds and serving their meals on the kitchen china. If
they did any damage to the house or premises she was ready to assert
her authority, and she had been on the watch. But they had been careful
and orderly and treated her with the proper deference, and in her heart
the revolutionary thought had arisen that they were equally considerate
and more amusing than the usual run of Gull Island guests. Also they
gave her a subject of conversation that would last out the winter.
Mrs. Cornell broached her request and Miss Pinkney agreed. She was even
very pleasant about it, showing a brisk friendly alacrity--with the
helper gone there’d only be a cold supper and she could dish that up
in two shakes. Together they left the kitchen and on the stairs Mrs.
Cornell hooked her plump arm inside Miss Pinkney’s bony one and said
when Mr. Shine took the flashlights that night he must take one of them
as the “feeder” and the other as the “fed.”