An hour or so later when Martha Phipps, looking out of her dining room
window, saw her boarder enter the front gate, his personal appearance
caused her to utter a startled exclamation. Primmie came running from
the kitchen.
“What's the matter, Miss Martha?” she demanded. “Eh! My savin' soul!”
Mr. Bangs' head was enveloped in the scarf which his hostess had lent
him when he set forth upon his walk. It--the scarf--was tied under
his chin and the fringed ends flapped in the wind. His round face,
surrounded by the yarn folds, looked like that of the small boy in the
pictures advertising somebody-or-other's toothache cure.
“My savin' soul!” cried Primmie, again. She was rushing to the door, but
her mistress intervened.
“Primmie,” she ordered, briskly, “stay where you are!”
She opened the door herself.
“Come right in, Mr. Bangs,” she said. “No, don't stop to tell me about
it, but come right in and sit down.”
Galusha looked up at her. His face was speckled with greenish brown
spots, giving it the appearance of a mammoth bird's egg. Primmie saw the
spots and squealed.
“Lord of Isrul!” she cried, “he's all broke out with it, whatever 'tis!
Shall I--shall I 'phone for the doctor, Miss Martha?”
“Be still, Primmie. Come in, Mr. Bangs.”
“Why, yes, thank you. I--ah--WAS coming in,” began Galusha, mildly.
“I--”
“You mustn't talk. Sit right down here on the lounge. Primmie, get that
rum bottle. Don't talk, Mr. Bangs.”
“But, really, Miss Phipps, I--”
“Don't TALK.... There, drink that.”
Galusha obediently drank the rum. Martha tenderly untied the scarf.
“Tell me if it hurts,” she said. Her patient looked at her in surprise.
“Why, no, it--ah--it is very nice,” he said. “I--ah--quite like the
taste, really.”
“Heavens and earth, I don't mean the rum. I hope that won't HURT
anybody, to say the least. I mean--Why, there isn't anything the matter
with it!”
“Matter with it? I don't quite--”
“Matter with your head.”
Galusha raised a hand in bewildered fashion and felt of his cranium.
“Why--ah--no, there is nothing the matter with my head, so far as I
am aware,” he replied. “Does it look as if it were--ah--softening or
something?”
Miss Martha ignored the pleasantry. “What have you got it tied up for?”
she demanded.
“Tied up?” Galusha's smile broadened. “Oh, I see,” he observed. “Well, I
lost my hat. It blew off into the--ah--sea. It was rather too cold to be
about bareheaded, so I used the scarf you so kindly lent me.”
Martha gazed at him for an instant and then burst into a hearty laugh.
“Mercy on me!” she cried. “WHAT an idiot I am! When I saw you come
into the yard with your head bandaged--at least I thought it was
bandaged--and your face--But what IS the matter with your face?”
“My face? Why, nothing.”
“Nonsense! It's a sight to see. You look the way Erastus Beebe's boy did
when the cannon-cracker went off too soon. Primmie, hand me that little
lookin'-glass.”
Primmie snatched the small mirror from the wall.
“See, Mr. Bangs,” she cried, holding the mirror an inch from his nose.
“Look at yourself. You're all broke out with a crash--rash, I mean.
Ain't he, Miss Martha?”
Galusha regarded his reflection in the mirror with astonishment.
“Why, I--I seem to be--ah--polka-dotted,” he said. “I never saw anything
so--Dear me, dear me!”
He drew his fingers down his cheek. The speckles promptly became
streaks. He smiled in relief.
“I see, I see,” he said. “It is the lichen.”
This explanation was not as satisfying as he evidently meant it to be.
Martha looked more puzzled than ever. Primmie looked frightened.
“WHAT did he say 'twas?” she whispered. “'Tain't catchin', is it, Miss
Martha?”
“It is the lichen from the tombstones,” went on Galusha. “Most of them
were covered with it. In order to read the inscriptions I was obliged to
scrape it off with my pocketknife, and the particles must have blown in
my face and--ah--adhered. Perhaps--ah--some soap and water might improve
my personal appearance, Miss Phipps. If you will excuse me I think I
will try the experiment.”
He rose briskly from the sofa. Primmie stared at him open-mouthed.
“Ain't there NOTHIN' the matter with you, Mr. Bangs?” she asked. “Is the
way your face is tittered up just dirt?”
“Just dirt, that's all. It came from the old tombstones in the
cemetery.”
Primmie's mouth was open to ask another question, but Miss Phipps closed
it.
“Stop, Primmie,” she said. Then, turning to Galusha who was on his way
to the stairs, she asked:
“Excuse me, Mr. Bangs, but have you been spendin' this lovely forenoon
in the graveyard?”
“Eh? Oh, yes, yes. In the old cemetery over--ah--yonder.”
“Humph!... Well, I hope you had a nice time.”
“Oh, I did, I did, thank you. I enjoyed myself very much indeed.”
“Yes, I should think you must have.... Well, come down right away
because dinner's ready when you are.”
Galusha hastened up the stairs. His hostess gazed after him and slowly
shook her head.
“Miss Martha, Miss Martha.”
Martha turned, to find Primmie excitedly gesticulating. “Didn't I tell
you? Didn't I tell you?” whispered Primmie.
“Didn't you tell me what? Stop wigglin'.”
“Yes'm. Didn't I tell you 'undertaker'?”
“WHAT?”
“Undertaker. Him, the Bangs one. Yesterday 'twas remains, to-day it's
graveyards. My savin' soul, I--”
“Hush, hush! Have you thought to get that dictionary from Lulie yet?”
“Oh, now, ma'am, I snum if I didn't forget it. I'll go right over this
minute.”
“No, you won't. I'll go myself after dinner.”
That Sunday dinner was a bountiful repast and Galusha ate more than he
had eaten in three meals at his mountain hotel. He was a trifle tired
from his morning's stroll and so decided to remain indoors until the
following day. After the table was cleared Miss Phipps, leaving Primmie
to wash the dishes, went over to the light keeper's house.
“I'll be back soon, Mr. Bangs,” she said. “If you get lonesome go out
into the kitchen and Primmie'll talk to you. Goodness gracious!” she
added, laughing, “that's a dreadful choice I'm leavin' you--lonesomeness
or Primmie. Well, I won't leave you to either long.”
During the meal he had told them of his chance discovery of the old
church and graveyard and of the loss of the brown derby. Primmie plainly
regarded the catastrophe to the hat as a serious matter.
“Well, now, if that ain't too bad!” she exclaimed. “Blowed right out to
sea, and 'most brand-new, too. My savin' soul, Miss Martha, folks ought
to be careful what they say, hadn't they?... Eh, hadn't they?”
“Oh, I guess so, Primmie. I don't know what you're talkin' about. Can't
I help you to a little more of the chicken pie, Mr. Bangs? Just a little
BIT more?”
Galusha had scarcely time to decline the third helping of chicken pie
when Primmie plunged again into the conversation.
“Why, I mean folks ought to be careful what they say about--about
things. Now you and me hadn't no notion Mr. Bangs was goin' to lose his
hat when we was talkin' about it this mornin', had we?”
Miss Phipps was much embarrassed.
“Have a--a--Oh, do have a little potato or cranberry sauce or somethin',
Mr. Bangs,” she stammered. “A--a spoonful, that's all. Primmie, be
STILL.”
“Yes'm. But you know you and me WAS talkin' about that hat when Mr.
Bangs started out walkin'. Don't you know we was, Miss Martha?”
This was the final straw. Martha, looking about in desperation, trying
to look anywhere but into her guest's face, caught one transitory
glimpse of that face. There was a twinkle in Galusha's eye.
“I never liked that hat myself,” he observed, dryly.
Again their glances met and this time he smiled. Martha gave it up.
“Oh, dear!” she exclaimed, with a laugh. “You know what they say about
children and--other folks, Mr. Bangs. Primmie, if you say another word
while we're at this table I'll--I don't know what I'll do to you. STOP!
You've said plenty and plenty more, as father used to say. Truly, Mr.
Bangs, it wasn't as bad as it sounds. I honestly DIDN'T think the hat
was becomin', that's all.”
“Neither did I, Miss Phipps. I didn't think so when I bought it.”
“You didn't? Then for mercy sakes why did you buy it?”
“Well, the man said it was just the hat for me and--ah--I didn't wish to
argue, that's all. Besides, I thought perhaps he knew best; selling hats
was his--ah--profession, you see.”
“Yes, SELLIN' 'em was. Do you always let folks like that pick out what
they want to sell you?”
“No-o, not always. Often I do. It saves--ah--conversation, don't you
think?”
He said nothing concerning his meeting with Miss Hallett and the South
Wellmouth station agent, but he did mention encountering Captain Jethro
and Mr. Pulcifer. Martha seemed much interested.
“Humph!” she exclaimed. “I wonder what possessed Cap'n Jeth to go over
to the cemetery in the mornin'. He almost always goes there Sunday
afternoons--his wife's buried there--but he generally goes to church in
the mornin'.”
Galusha remembered having heard the light keeper refer to the exchange
of preachers. Miss Phipps nodded.
“Oh, yes,” she said, “that explains it, of course. He's down on the
Wapatomac minister because he preaches against spiritualism. But what
was Raish Pulcifer doin' in that cemetery? He didn't have anybody's
grave to go to, and he wouldn't go to it if he had. There's precious
little chance of doin' business with a person after he's buried.”
“But I think it was business which brought Mr. Pulcifer there,” said
Galusha. “He and--ah--Captain Hallett, is it? Yes--ah--thank you. He and
the captain seemed to be having a lengthy argument about--about--well,
I'm not exactly certain what it was about. You see, I was examining
a--ah--tomb”--here Primmie shivered--“and paid little attention. It
seemed to be something about some--ah--stock they both owned. Mr.
Pulcifer wished to sell and Captain Hallett did not care to buy.”
Martha's interest increased. “Stock?” she repeated. “What sort of stock
was it, Mr. Bangs?”
“I didn't catch the name. And yet, as I remember, I did catch
some portion of it. Ah--let me see--Could there be such a thing as
a--ah--'ornamenting' stock? A Wellmouth ornamenting or decorating stock,
you know?”
Miss Phipps leaned forward. “Was it Wellmouth Development Company
stock?” she asked.
“Eh? Oh, yes--yes, I'm quite certain that was it. Yes, I think it was,
really.”
“And Raish wanted Cap'n Jeth to buy some of it?”
“That was what I gathered, Miss Phipps. As I say, I was more interested
at the time in my--ah--pet tomb.”
Primmie shivered again. Miss Martha looked very serious. She was
preoccupied during the rest of the dinner and, immediately afterward,
went, as has been told, over to the Hallett house, leaving her guest the
alternative of loneliness or Primmie.
At first he chose the loneliness. As a matter of fact, his morning's
exercise had fatigued him somewhat and he went up to his room with the
intention of taking a nap. But, before lying down, he seated himself in
the rocker by the window and looked out over the prospect of hills and
hollows, the little village, the pine groves, the shimmering, tumbling
sea, and the blue sky with its swiftly moving white clouds, the latter
like bunches of cotton fluff. The landscape was bare enough, perhaps,
but somehow it appealed to him. It seemed characteristically plain and
substantial and essential, like--well, like the old Cape Cod captains of
bygone days who had spent the dry land portion of their lives there and
had loved to call it home. It was American, as they were, American in
the old-fashioned meaning of the word, bluff, honest, rugged, real.
Galusha Bangs had traveled much, he loved the out of the way,
the unusual. It surprised him therefore to find how strongly this
commonplace, 'longshore spot appealed to his imagination. He liked it
and wondered why.
Of course the liking might come from the contrast between the rest and
freedom he was now experiencing and the fevered chase led him at the
mountain hotel where Mrs. Worth Buckley and her lion-hunting sisters
had their habitat. Thought of the pestilential Buckley female set him
to contrasting her affectations with the kind-hearted and wholehearted
simplicity of his present hostess, Miss Martha Phipps. It was something
of a contrast. Mrs. Buckley was rich and sophisticated and--in her own
opinion--cultured to the highest degree. Now Miss Phipps was, in all
probability, not rich and she would not claim wide culture. As to her
sophistication--well, Galusha gave little thought to that, in most
worldly matters he himself was unsophisticated. However, he was sure
that he liked Miss Phipps and that he loathed Mrs. Buckley. And he liked
East Wellmouth, bareness and bleakness and lonesomeness and all.
He rather wished he were going to stay there for a long time--weeks
perhaps, months it might be; that is, of course, provided he could
occupy his present quarters and eat at the Phipps' table. If he could do
that why--why... humph!
Instead of lying down he sat by that window for more than half an
hour thinking. He came out of his reverie slowly, gradually becoming
conscious of a high-pitched conversation carried on downstairs. He had
left his chamber door open and fragments of this conversation came up
the staircase. It was Primmie's voice which he heard most frequently
and whatever words he caught were hers. There was a masculine grumble at
intervals but this was not understandable on the second floor.
“Now I know better.... My savin' soul, how you do talk, Zach Bloomer!...
And I says to her, says I, 'Miss Martha,' I says.... My Lord of
Isrul!...”
These were some of the “Primmieisms” which came up the staircase.
Galusha rose to close his door but before he could accomplish this feat
his own name was called.
“Mr. Bangs!” screamed Primmie. “Mr. Bangs, be you layin' down? You ain't
asleep, be you, Mr. Bangs?”
If he had been as sound asleep as Rip Van Winkle that whoop would have
aroused him. He hastened to assure the whooper that he was awake and
afoot.
“Um-hm,” said Primmie, “I'm glad of that. If you'd been layin' down I
wouldn't have woke you up for nothin'. But I want to ask you somethin',
Mr. Bangs. Had you just as soon answer me somethin' if I ask it of you,
had you, Mr. Bangs?”
“Yes, Primmie.”
“Just as soon's not, had you?”
“Yes, quite as soon.”
“All right. Then I--I... Let me see now, what was it I was goin' to ask?
Zach Bloomer, stop your makin' faces, you put it all out of my head.
It's all right, Mr. Bangs, I'll think of it in a minute. Oh, you're
comin' down, be you?”
Galusha was coming down. It seemed to be the advisable thing to do. Miss
Cash was doing her “thinking” at the top of her lungs and the process
was trying to one with uneasy nerves. He entered the sitting room.
Primmie was there, of course, and with her was a little, thin man, with
a face sunburned to a bright, “boiled-lobster” red, and a bald head
which looked amazingly white by contrast, a yellowish wisp of mustache,
and an expression of intense solemnity, amounting almost to gloom. He
was dressed in the blue uniform of the lighthouse service and a blue cap
lay on the table beside him.
“Mr. Bangs,” announced Primmie, “this is Mr. Zach Bloomer. Zach,
make you acquainted with Mr. Bangs, the one I was tellin' you about.
Mr.--Mr.--Oh, my savin' soul, what IS your first name, Mr. Bangs?”
“Galusha, Primmie. How do you do, Mr. Bloomer?”
The little man rose upon a pair of emphatically bowed legs and shook
hands. “I'm pretty smart,” he observed, in a husky voice. Then he sat
down again. Galusha, after waiting a moment, sat down also. Primmie
seemed to be wrestling with a mental problem, but characteristically she
could not wrestle in silence.
“What was it I wanted to ask you, Mr. Bangs?” she said. “I snum I can't
think! Zach, what was it I wanted to ask Mr. Bangs?”
Mr. Bloomer paid not the slightest attention to the question. His sad
blue eye was fixed upon vacancy.
“Galushy--Galushy,” he said, huskily. “Huh!”
Galusha was, naturally, rather startled.
“Eh? I--ah--beg your pardon,” he observed.
“I was thinkin' about names,” explained Mr. Bloomer. “Queer things,
names are, ain't they? Zacheus and Galushy.... Godfreys!”
He paused a moment and then added:
“'Zacheus he
Did climb a tree
His Lord to see.'
Well, if he wan't any taller'n I be he showed good jedgment.... Zacheus
and Galushy and Primrose!... Godfreys!”
Primmie was shocked. “Why, Zach Bloomer!” she exclaimed. “The idea of
your talkin' so about a person's name you never met but just now in your
lifetime.”
Zacheus regarded the owner of the name.
“No offense meant and none given, Mr. Bangs,” he observed. “Eh? That's
right, ain't it?”
“Certainly, certainly, Mr. Bloomer. I'm not in the least offended.”
“Um-hm. Didn't cal'late you would be. Can't help our names, can we? If
my folks had asked me aforehand I'd a-been named plain John. As 'tis, my
name's like my legs, growed that way and it's too late to change.”
Galusha smiled.
“You're a philosopher, I see, Mr. Bloomer,” he said.
“He's assistant keeper over to the lighthouse,” explained Primmie. As
before, Zach paid no heed.
“I don't know as I'd go so far as to call myself that,” he said. “When
I went to school the teacher told us one time about an old critter who
lived in a--in a tub, seem's if 'twas. HE was one of them philosophers,
wan't he?”
“Yes. Diogenes.”
“That's the cuss. Well, I ain't never lived in a tub, but I've spent
consider'ble time ON one; I was aboard a lightship for five or six year.
Ever lived aboard a lightship, Mr. Bangs?”
“No.”
“Humph!... Don't feel disapp'inted on that account, do you?”
“Why--ah--no, I don't know that I do.”
“Ain't no occasion. 'Bout the same as bein' in jail, 'tis--only a jail
don't keep heavin' up and down. First week or so you talk. By the second
week the talk's all run out of you, like molasses out of a hogshead.
Then you set and think.”
“I see. And so much thinking tends to bring out--ah--philosophy, I
suppose.”
“Huh! Maybe so. So much settin' wears out overalls, I know that.”
Primmie interrupted.
“I've got it!” she cried, enthusiastically. “_I_ know now!”
Galusha started nervously. Primmie's explosiveness was disturbing. It
did not disturb Mr. Bloomer, however.
“Posy here'd be a good hand aboard a lightship,” he observed. “Her
talk'd NEVER run out.”
Primmie sniffed disgust. “I wish you wouldn't keep callin' me 'Posy'
and such names, Zach Bloomer,” she snapped. “Yesterday he called me 'Old
Bouquet,' Mr. Bangs. My name's Primrose and he knows it.”
The phlegmatic Zacheus, whose left leg had been crossed above his right,
now reversed the crossing.
“A-ll right--er Pansy Blossom,” he drawled. “What is it you're trying to
tell us you know? Heave it overboard.”
“Hey?... Oh, I mean I've remembered what 'twas I wanted to ask you, Mr.
Bangs. Me and Zach was talkin' about Miss Martha. I said it seemed to
me she had somethin' on her mind, was sort of worried and troubled about
somethin', and Zach--”
For the first time the assistant light keeper seemed a trifle less
composed.
“There, there, Primmie,” he began. “I wouldn't--”
“Be still, Zach Bloomer. You know you want to find out just as much as I
do. Well, Zach, he cal'lated maybe 'twas money matters, cal'lated maybe
she was in debt or somethin'.”
Mr. Bloomer's discomfiture was so intense as to cause him actually to
uncross his legs.
“Godfreys, Prim!” he exclaimed. “Give you a shingle and a
pocket-handkercher and you'll brag to all hands you've got a full-rigged
ship. I never said Martha was in debt. I did say she acted worried to
me and I was afraid it might be account of some money business. She was
over to the light just now askin' for Cap'n Jeth, and he's the one her
dad, Cap'n Jim Phipps, used to talk such things with. They went into a
good many trades together, them too.... But there, 'tain't any of your
affairs, is it, Mr. Bangs--and 'tain't any of Primmie's and my business,
so we'd better shut up. Don't say nothin' to Martha about it, Mr. Bangs,
if you'd just as soon. But course you wouldn't anyhow.”
This was a tremendously long speech for Mr. Bloomer. He sighed at its
end, as if from exhaustion; then he crossed his legs again. Galusha
hastened to assure him that he would keep silent. Primmie, however, had
more to say.
“Why, Zach Bloomer,” she declared, “you know that wan't only part of
what you and me was sayin'. That wan't what I wanted to ask Mr. Bangs.
YOU said if 'twas money matters or business Miss Martha went to see
Cap'n Jeth about you cal'lated the cap'n would be cruisin' up to Boston
to see a medium pretty soon.”
“The old man's Speritu'list,” exclaimed Zach. “Always goes to one of
them Speritu'list mediums for sailin' orders.”
“Now you let me tell it, Zach. Well, then _I_ said I wondered if you
wan't a kind of medium, Mr. Bangs. And Zach, he--”
Galusha interrupted this time.
“_I_--a medium!” he gasped. “Well, really, I--ah--oh, dear! Dear me!”
“AIN'T you a kind of medium, Mr. Bangs?”
“Certainly not.”
“Well, I thought undertakin' was your trade till Miss Martha put her
foot down on the notion and shut me right up. You AIN'T an undertaker,
be you?”
“An undertaker?... Dear me, Primmie, you--ah--well, you surprise me.
Just why did you think me an undertaker, may I ask?”
“Why, you see, 'cause--'cause--well, you was talkin' yesterday about
interestin' remains and--and all this forenoon you was over in the
cemetery and said you had such a good time there and... and I couldn't
see why anybody, unless he was an undertaker, or--or a medium maybe,
would call bein' around with dead folks havin' a good time... Quit your
laughin', Zach Bloomer; you didn't know what Mr. Bangs' trade was any
more'n I did.”
Mr. Bloomer cleared his throat. “Mr. Bangs,” he observed sadly, “didn't
I tell you she'd make a ship out of a shingle? If you'd puffed smoke,
and whistled once in a while, she'd have cal'lated you must be a
tugboat.”
Galusha smiled.
“I am an archaeologist,” he said. “I think I told you that, Primmie.”
Primmie looked blank. “Yes,” she admitted, “you did, but--”
Zacheus finished the sentence.
“But you didn't tell TOO much when you told it,” he said. “What kind of
an ark did you say?”
And then Galusha explained. The fact that any one in creation should
not know what an archaeologist was seemed unbelievable, but a fact it
evidently was. So he explained and the explanation, under questioning,
became lengthy. Primmie's exclamations, “My savin' soul” and “My Lord of
Isrul” became more and more frequent. Mr. Bloomer interjected a remark
here and there. At length a sound outside caused him to look out of the
window.
“Here comes the old man and Martha,” he said. “Cal'late I'd better be
gettin' back aboard. Can't leave Lulie to tend light all the time.
Much obliged to you, Mr. Bangs. You've cruised around more'n I give you
credit for. Um-hm. Any time you want to know about a lightship or--or
lobsterin' or anything, I'd be pleased to tell you. Good-day, sir. So
long--er--Sweet William. See you later.”
The “Sweet William” was addressed to Primmie, of course. The bow-legged
little man, rolling from side to side like the lightship of which he
talked so much, walked out of the room. A moment later Martha Phipps and
Captain Jethro Hallett entered it.
Both Miss Phipps and the light keeper seemed preoccupied. The former's
round, wholesome face was clouded over and the captain was tugging at
his thick beard and drawing his bushy eyebrows together in a frown. He
was a burly, broad-shouldered man, with a thin-lipped mouth, and a sharp
gray eye. He looked like one hard to drive and equally hard to turn, the
sort from which fanatics are made.
Primmie scuttled away to the dining room. Galusha rose.
“Good-afternoon, Captain Hallett,” he said.
Jethro regarded him from beneath the heavy brows.
“You know Mr. Bangs, Cap'n Jeth,” said Martha. “You met this mornin',
didn't you?”
The light keeper nodded.
“We run afoul of each other over to the graveyard,” he grunted. “Well,
Martha, I don't know what more there is to say about--about that thing.
I've told you all I know, I cal'late.”
“But I want to talk a little more about it, Cap'n Jeth. If Mr. Bangs
will excuse us we'll go out into the dinin' room. Primmie's up in her
room by this time. You will excuse us, won't you, Mr. Bangs? There was a
little business matter the cap'n and I were talkin' about.”
Galusha hastened to say that he himself had been on the point of going
to his own room--really he was.
Miss Martha asked if he was sure.
“You needn't go on our account,” she protested. “We can talk in the
dinin' room just as well as not, can't we Cap'n Jeth?”
The captain bowed his head. “We ain't cal'latin' to talk very long
anyhow,” he said, solemnly. “This is the Lord's day, Mr. Bangs.”
Galusha hastily admitted that he was aware of the fact. He hurried into
the hall and up the stairs. As he reached the upper landing he heard the
ponderous boom of the light keeper's voice saying, “Martha, I tell you
again there's no use frettin' yourself. We've to wait on the Lord. Then
that wait will be provided for; it's been so revealed to me.”
Miss Phipps sighed heavily. “Maybe so, Jethro,” she said, “but what will
some of us live on while we're waitin'? THAT hasn't been revealed to
you, has it?”
For the rest of that afternoon Galusha sat by his bedroom window,
thinking. His thoughts were along the line of those interrupted by
Primmie's summons. When, at supper time, he again descended the stairs,
his mind was made up. He was going to make a suggestion, a suggestion
which seemed to him somewhat delicate. In one sense of the term it was
a business proposition, in another--well, he was not precisely certain
that it might not be considered presuming and perhaps intrusive. Galusha
Cabot Bangs was not a presuming person and he was troubled.
After the supper dishes were washed and Primmie sent to bed--“sent”
is the exact word, for Miss Cash, having had a taste of Egypt and
the Orient, was eagerly hoping for more--Miss Phipps and Galusha were
together in the sitting room. Doctor Powers had paid a brief visit. He
found his patient so much improved that he announced him well enough to
travel if he wished.
“If it is really necessary for you to go to-morrow, Mr. Bangs,” he said,
“I think you're strong enough to risk it.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” said Galusha. Then he added, with his little smile,
“I couldn't go before to-morrow. You see, I--ah--haven't any hat.”
In the sitting room, after supper, Galusha was idly turning the pages
of Camp, Battlefield and Hospital, a worn book of Civil War sketches,
printed immediately after that war, which he had found upon the shelf of
the closet in his room, along with another volume labeled Friendship's
Garland, a Nosegay of Verse. Of the two, although a peace-loving
individual, he preferred the camp and battlefield to the Nosegay; the
latter's fragrance was a trifle too sweet.
Suddenly Martha, who had been sitting quiet in the rocker, spoke.
“Mr. Bangs,” she said, “I saw Lulie Hallett when I was over at the light
this afternoon. We had a good talk together before Cap'n Jethro came
back. She told me about your bein' so kind to her and Nelson over by the
old church this mornin'. She was real grateful to you and she says she
shall thank you herself when she sees you. She asked me to do it for her
now.”
Galusha was confused. “Oh, it was nothing, really,” he hastened to
explain. “I--ah--Well, I intruded upon them somewhat suddenly. I see she
told you of that.”
Miss Phipps was smiling to herself. She looked a little guilty.
“Well,” she admitted, “Lulie did say that you kind of--er--flew over
the bank. She said no one was ever quite so surprised as she was at that
minute.”
Mr. Bangs thoughtfully shook his head.
“Except myself, perhaps,” he observed.
Martha's smile became a laugh. “Probably that's so,” she admitted. “But,
Mr. Bangs, Lulie is awfully anxious that you shouldn't think there was
anything wrong about her meetin' Nelson Howard in that way. There isn't.
She's a splendid girl and he's a fine young man. I think the world of
Lulie and I like Nelson, too.”
She paused a moment and then went on.
“It's Cap'n Jethro that makes all the trouble,” she said. “There's no
reason in the world--that is, no sensible reason--why Lulie and Nelson
shouldn't be engaged to be married. Of course he isn't doin' very well
in a business way just now, but that's partly from choice on Lulie's
account. Nelse was a telegraph operator up in Brockton before the war.
When the war came he went right into the Navy and started in at the
Radio School studyin' to be a wireless operator. Then he was taken down
with the 'flu' and had to give up study. Soon as he got well he went
into the transport service. Lulie, you see, was teachin' school at
Ostable, but her father's health isn't what it used to be and then,
besides, I think she was a little worried about his spiritualism. Jethro
isn't crazy about it, exactly, but he isn't on an even keel on that
subject, there's no doubt about that. So Lulie gave up teachin' and came
here to live with him. When Nelson was mustered out he took the station
agent's job at South Wellmouth so as to be near her. I think he doesn't
feel right to have her here alone with her father.”
“But--ah--she isn't alone, is she? I gathered that Mr.--ah--Bloomer--”
“Zach Bloomer? Yes, he's there, but Zach isn't lively company,
especially for a girl like Lulie. If Jethro was taken--well, with a fit
or somethin', Zach would probably sit down and cross those bow legs of
his and moralize for an hour or so before he got ready to help pick the
old man up. Nelson knows that and so he refused two real good offers
he had and took the position at the South Wellmouth depot. But he's
studyin' at his wireless all the time and some day--but I'm afraid that
day will be a long way off. Cap'n Jeth is as set as the side of a stone
wharf and you'd have to take him to pieces to move him. That was another
of father's sayin's,” she added, “that about the stone wharf.”
“Why, why is the--ah--why is Captain Hallet so opposed to young Howard?”
asked Galusha.
“Spiritualism. Foolishness, that's all. Before his wife died he was as
sensible and shrewd a man as you'd care to see. He and father were old
chums and father used to ask his advice about investments and all such
things. They went into lots of deals together and generally made 'em
pay, though Jethro usually made the most because he took more chances.
He must be worth twenty or thirty thousand dollars, Cap'n Jeth Hallett
is.”
She spoke as if these were enormous sums. Galusha, to whom all
sums--sums of money, that is--were more or less alike, nodded gravely.
“His wife's death broke Jethro dreadfully,” continued Martha. “For
six months or so he hardly spoke to anybody except Lulie. Then some
Spiritualist or other--I think it was Ophelia Beebe or some rattlehead
like her--got him to go to see a medium who was boardin' here at the
Restabit Inn. He got--or thinks he got--a communication direct from
Julia--his wife. After that he kept goin' to the Spiritualist camp
meetin's and to Boston and to mediums from Dan to Beersheba, so to
speak. A while ago one medium creature--and I wish she had been struck
dumb before she could say it--told him that he must beware of a dark man
who was tryin' to work evil upon his daughter. As luck would have it,
Nelson Howard was home on leave and callin' on Lulie when her father got
back from seein' that very medium. You can imagine what happened. And
Jethro has been growin' more rabid on the subject ever since.”
She stopped. Her guest said nothing. He was thinking that if he were to
make the suggestion--the proposition which he had determined upon before
he came down to supper, he must make it soon. And he did not know how to
begin.
Martha went on talking. She apparently did not notice his silence. It
was more as if she were thinking aloud.
“If it wasn't for Lulie's bein' here,” she said, slowly, “I don't know
what I should do sometimes, I get so lonesome. When father lived it was
all so different. He was bright and cheerful and he and I were just as
if we were the same age, as you might say. He never was cross and he
didn't fret and if he worried he didn't let me know it. He just loved
this place. It was near the salt water, and he loved that, and he had
his garden and his hens and he was interested in town affairs and all.
We didn't have much money, but we had enough, seemed so. Before he died
he told me he hoped he'd left me well enough off to get along. 'The only
thing that troubles me, Martha,' he said, 'is that some of the things
I've put money into shouldn't turn out as I hoped. I've tried to be
careful, but you can't always tell. If you want advice,' he said, 'go to
Jethro Hallett. Jeth's a shrewd business man.' Ah, well, he didn't know
that the spirits were goin' to run Cap'n Jeth. About the last words he
said to me, father, I mean, was, 'Martha, hang on to the old place if
you can. I hate to think of your sellin' it.' Of course I told him I
never should sell it.”
“Well--ah--well--” Galusha felt that he ought to say something, “you
don't intend selling it, do you, Miss Phipps?”
Martha did not answer immediately. And when she did speak it was not a
reply.
“You must think we're a queer lot down here by the Bluffs, Mr. Bangs,”
she said. “Primmie--you've seen what she is--and Zach Bloomer and Cap'n
Jethro with his 'spirit revelations.' As I say, if it wasn't for Lulie
I don't know what I should do. Get to be cracked myself, I presume
likely.... But there,” she added, brightening, “do let's change the
subject, for mercy sakes! Mr. Bangs, what do you suppose I did when
I was over at the light this afternoon? Besides talkin' with Lulie, I
mean.”
“Why--why, I don't know, I'm sure.”
“I don't believe you could guess, either. I looked up 'archaeologist' in
the dictionary.”
Mr. Bangs blinked surprise behind the spectacles.
“In the--in the dictionary?” he repeated. “Oh--ah--dear me! Really!”
“Yes. I'm afraid you'll think I am awfully ignorant, but to save my soul
I couldn't think what an archaeologist did, what sort of a business
it was, I mean. Of course, I knew I OUGHT to know, and that I did know
once, but it seemed to be perfectly certain that I didn't know THEN.
So I looked it up. It fits in with what you told Primmie and me about
travelin'--that camel driver creature and all--and yet--and yet, you
know, I was surprised.”
“Surprised? Really? Yes, of course, but--but why?”
“Well, because somehow you don't look like that kind of man. I mean the
kind of man who travels in all sorts of wild places and does dangerous
things, you know, and--”
Galusha's desire to protest overcame his politeness. He broke in
hurriedly.
“Oh, but I'm not, you know,” he cried. “I'm not really. Dear me, no!”
“But you said you had been to--to Africa, was it?--three or four times.”
“Oh, but those were my Abyssinian trips. Abyssinia isn't wild, or
dangerous, any more than Egypt.”
“Oh, isn't it?”
“No, not in the least, really. Oh, dear me, no!”
“Not with darky camel drivers stealin' your--er--underclothes and
goodness knows what? It sounds a little wild to ME.”
“Oh, but it isn't, I assure you. And Egypt--ah--Egypt is a wonderful
country. On my most recent trip I.... May I tell you?”
He began to tell her without waiting for permission. For the next hour
Martha Phipps journeyed afar, under an African sun, over desert sands,
beside a river she had read of in her geography when a girl, under
palm trees, amid pyramids and temples and the buried cities of a buried
people. And before her skipped, figuratively speaking, the diminutive
figure of Galusha Bangs, guiding, pointing, declaiming, describing, the
incarnation of enthusiastic energy, as different as anything could be
from the mild, dreamy little person who had sat opposite her at the
supper table so short a time before.
The wooden clock on the mantel--it had wooden works and Martha wound it
each night before she went to bed--banged its gong ten times. Mr. Bangs
descended from Egypt as if he had fallen from a palm tree, alighting
upon reality and Cape Cod with startled suddenness.
“Oh, dear me!” he cried. “What was that? Goodness me, it CAN'T be
ten o'clock, can it? Oh, I must have talked you almost to death, Miss
Phipps. I must have bored you to distraction, I must really. Oh, I'm SO
sorry!”
Miss Martha also seemed to be coming out of a dream, or trance. She
stirred in her chair.
“You haven't bored me, Mr. Bangs,” she said,
“Oh, but I must have, really. I should know better. You see.... Well,
it's quite extraordinary my talking to you in this way, isn't it? I
don't do it often--ah--except to other members of my profession. Why,
up there in the mountains--at the place where I spent the past month
or two, I scarcely talked of--ah--my work at all. And I was constantly
being asked to do so. There was a dreadful--ah--that is, there was a
woman who.... But I promise you I won't go on in this way again, Miss
Phipps, really I won't.”
Martha drew a long breath and shook her head.
“I hope you won't promise any such thing,” she declared. “I feel as if
I had been readin' the most interestin' storybook that ever was.... My,
my!” she added, with a sigh. “What a curious thing life is, isn't it?
There's nothin' new in that thought, of course, but it comes to us all
every little while, I suppose. Just think of the difference there has
been in our two lives, for instance. Here are you, Mr. Bangs, you've
been everywhere, pretty nearly, and yet you're--well, you're not so very
big or strong-lookin'. The average person would say I was the one best
fitted to trot around the world, and all my life--or nearly all--I've
been keepin' house in this little corner of East Wellmouth. That's
curious, isn't it? Of course I can't see myself doin' the things you
do--ridin' a camel, for instance.”
“Oh, but it is quite easy, quite,” Galusha hastened to assure her. “You
could do it very well, I'm sure, Miss Phipps.”
“Maybe so, but I'm afraid I'm a little bit doubtful. I should want my
camel on wheels, with a railin' around his hump. But YOU must feel lost
enough down in this tame place, Mr. Bangs. The wildest thing around here
is a woodchuck.”
She laughed. Galusha smiled, but he answered promptly.
“I like it here, Miss Phipps,” he said, earnestly. “I do, really. I
like it very much indeed. In fact--in fact--Miss Phipps, would you mind
answering a question or two?... Oh, they're not personal questions,
personal to you, I mean. Really they are not. May I ask them?”
She was puzzled and looked so.
“Why, of course,” she said.
“Well... well, they're foolish questions, I suppose, for I think I know
the answers already. But, you see, I want my conscience to be quite
clear before making a decision.... That is, the decision is already
made, but you see... oh, no, you don't see, of course, do you?”
“Why not ask your questions, Mr. Bangs?” she suggested.
“Yes--ah--thank you; yes, I will. The first one is about--ah--rest. This
is a good spot for one to--ah--rest in, isn't it?”
She laughed. “Are you jokin', Mr. Bangs?” she asked. “Rest! I should say
the average person would find it easier to rest here than to do anything
else. But you are jokin', of course?”
“No; no, indeed, I am quite serious. Second, the air about here
is--ah--good and--and fresh?”
“GOOD! Well, considerin' that most of it is blown over three or four
thousand miles of salt water before it gets here it ought to be fairly
good, I should say. As to its bein' fresh--well, if you were here when
a February no'theaster was blowin' I'm afraid you might find it a little
TOO fresh.”
“That is satisfactory, that is very satisfactory indeed. Now what was
the third thing the doctor said I must have? Oh, yes, people. And I know
there are people here because I have met them. And very nice people,
indeed.... Oh, this is VERY satisfactory, Miss Phipps. Now my conscience
is quite clear concerning my promise to the doctor and I can go on to my
proposal to you.”
“Your--your WHAT?”
“My proposal--the--ah--proposition I want to make you, Miss Phipps. And
I DO hope you will consider it favorably. You see, I like East Wellmouth
VERY much. My doctor told me I must go where I could find fresh air,
rest, and people. They are all here in East Wellmouth. And he said I
must have exercise, and behold my daily walks to that most interesting
old cemetery of yours. Now, you have been VERY kind to me already, Miss
Phipps; could you be still more kind? Would you--ah--could you let me
continue our present arrangement indefinitely--for a few months, let
us say? Might I be permitted to board here with you until--well, until
spring, perhaps?”
Martha Phipps leaned back in her chair. She regarded him keenly.
“Mr. Bangs,” she said, slowly, “has some one been tellin' you that
I needed money and are you makin' me this offer out of--well, out of
charity?”
Galusha jumped violently. He turned quite pale.
“Oh, dear, dear, dear!” he cried, in a great agitation. “Oh, dear
me, dear me! No, INDEED, Miss Phipps! I am VERY sorry you should so
misunderstand me. I--I--Of course I know nothing of your money affairs,
nor should I presume to--to--Oh, I--I--Oh, dear!”
His distress was so keen that she was obliged to recognize it.
“All right, all right, Mr. Bangs,” she said. “It wasn't charity, I
can see that. But what was it? Do I understand you to say that you
like--actually like this lonesome place well enough to want to stay here
all WINTER?”
“Yes--ah--yes. And it doesn't seem lonesome to me.”
“Doesn't it? Well, wait a little while.... And you really mean you want
to keep on boardin' here--with me, with us?”
“Yes, if--if you will be so very kind as to permit me to do so. If you
will be so good.”
“Good! To what? My soul and body!”
“No--ah--good to mine,” said Galusha.