Galusha had some difficulty in falling asleep that night. The habit of
dropping into a peaceful and dreamless slumber within five minutes after
blowing out his lamp, a habit which had been his for the past month, was
broken. He had almost succeeded in forgetting the Wellmouth Development
Company. His distress of mind and conscience concerning his dealings
with it had very nearly vanished also. He had been forced into deceit to
save Martha Phipps from great trouble, and the end justified the means.
Having reached that conclusion in his thinking, he had firmly resolved
to put the whole matter from his mind.
His one plunge into the pool of finance he had come to believe destined
never to be revealed. No one had mentioned the Development Company or
its stock for weeks. It was, apparently, dead and satisfactorily buried,
and the Bangs' secret was entombed with it.
And now, if Martha's surmise was correct, here was a “resurrection man,”
in the person of Mr. Horatio Pulcifer, hanging about the cemetery. The
capacity for hating was not in Galusha's make-up. He found it difficult
to dislike any one strongly. But he could come nearer to disliking Raish
Pulcifer than any one else, and now to dislike was added resentment.
Why in the world should this Pulcifer person interfere with his peace of
mind?
In the morning, and with the bright September sunshine streaming into
the room, his disquietude of the previous night seemed rather foolish.
No doubt Miss Martha had been mistaken; perhaps Horatio had not had any
idea of buying her shares. Martha herself seemed a little doubtful.
“I've been thinkin' it over,” she said, “and I wonder if I just imagined
that's what he was after. It seems almost as if I must have. I can't
think of any sensible reason why a man who was so dreadfully anxious to
sell, and only a little while ago, should be wantin' to buy now. Perhaps
he didn't mean anything of the kind.”
Galusha comforted himself with the thought that this was, in all
probability, the truth: Miss Martha had misinterpreted the Pulcifer
purpose; Raish had not meant anything of the kind.
But the comfort was short-lived. A few days later Doctor Powers called
at the Phipps' home. After he had gone Martha came to the sitting room,
where her lodger was reading the paper, and, closing the door behind
her, said:
“Mr. Bangs, I guess I was right, after all. Raish Pulcifer WAS hintin'
at buyin' my Wellmouth Development stock.”
Galusha dropped the paper in his lap. “Oh, dear! I--I mean, dear me!” he
observed.
“Yes, I guess there isn't much doubt of it. Doctor Powers came here to
tell me that he had sold his shares to him and that Eben Snow and Jim
Henry Willis have sold theirs in the same place. He says he doesn't
know for certain, but he thinks Raish has bought out all the little
stockholders. He's been quietly buyin' the Development stock for the
last week.”
Mr. Bangs took off his spectacles and put them on again.
“Good gracious!” he stammered.
“That's what Doctor Powers says. He stopped in, just as an old friend,
to drop the hint to me, so that I could be ready when Raish came to buy
mine. I asked him what the Pulcifer man was payin' for the stock. He
said as little as he had to, as near as he could find out. Of course, no
one was supposed to tell a word about it--Raish had asked 'em not to do
that--but SOMEBODY told, and then it all began to come out. As a matter
of fact, you might as well ask water to run up hill as to ask Jim Willis
to keep quiet about his own business or keep out of any one else's. The
price paid, so the doctor says he's heard, runs all the way from eight
dollars a share up to fourteen and a half. Poor old Mrs. Badger--Darius
Badger's widow--got the eight dollars. She was somethin' like me, I
guess--had given up the idea of ever gettin' a cent--and so she took
the first offer Raish made her. Eben Snow got the fourteen and a half,
I believe, the highest price. He needed it less than anybody else, which
is usually the way. Doctor Powers sold his for twelve and a half. Said
he thought, when he was doin' it, that he was mighty lucky. Now he
wishes he hadn't sold at all, but had waited. 'Don't sell yours for a
penny less than fifteen, Martha,' he told me. 'There's somethin' up.
Either Raish has heard somethin' and is buyin' for a speculation,
or else he's actin' as somebody else's agent.' What did you say, Mr.
Bangs?”
Galusha had not said anything; and what he said now was neither
brilliant nor original.
“Dear me, dear me!” he murmured. Martha looked at him, keenly.
“Why, what is it, Mr. Bangs?” she asked. “Raish's buyin' the stock won't
make any difference to you, will it?”
“Eh?... To ME? Why--why, of course not. Dear me, no. Why--ah--how could
it make any difference to me?”
“I didn't mean you, yourself. I meant to the Cabot, Bancroft and Cabot
people, or whoever it was that bought my stock.”
“Oh--oh, oh! To them? Oh, yes, yes! I thought for the moment you
referred to me personally. Ha, ha! That would have been very--ah--funny,
wouldn't it? No, I don't think it will make any difference to
Cousin--ah--I mean to the purchasers of your shares. No, no,
indeed--ah--yes. Quite so.”
If Miss Phipps noticed a slight incoherence in this speech, she did not
comment upon it. Galusha blinked behind his spectacles and passed a hand
across his forehead. His landlady continued her story.
“I asked Doctor Powers what reason Raish was givin' people for his
buyin'. The doctor said he gave reasons enough, but they weren't very
satisfyin' ones to a thinkin' person. Raish said he owned a big block of
the stock himself and yet it wasn't big enough to give him much say as
to what should be done with the company. Of course, nothin' could be
done with it at present, but still some time there might and so he
thought he might as well be hung for an old sheep as a lamb and buy in
what he could get, provided he could get it cheap enough. He had come to
the doctor first, he said. Ha, ha! That was kind of funny.”
“Eh?... Oh, yes, certainly.... Of course.”
“But I haven't told you yet why it was funny. It seems he told every
person he went to that he or she was the first. Doctor Powers prides
himself on bein' a pretty good business man and I guess it provoked him
to find that Raish had fooled him into takin' a lower price than some
of the rest got. He said as much to me. He said that he agreed with what
Raish said, that about he might as well be hung for an old sheep as a
lamb. So long as he WAS hung, so the doctor said, he didn't care what it
was for.”
She laughed again and her lodger smiled, although rather feebly. He
murmured that it was very amusing.
“Yes, wasn't it?” said Martha. “Well, the doctor was very anxious that
I should not sell at a cent less than fifteen dollars a share. I wonder
what he, or Raish Pulcifer either, would say if they knew I HAD sold
already, and for as much as father paid, too. Oh, I wonder if Raish
has been to see Cap'n Jeth yet. He won't buy HIS shares for any eight
dollars a piece, he can be sure of that.”
Galusha nodded; he was sure of it, too.
“But,” said Martha, ending the conversation for the time, “why do you
suppose Raish is buyin' at all? What is goin' on, anyway?”
She was by no means the only one who was asking that question. Three
days later Captain Jethro asked Galusha the same thing. They met in the
lane leading to the village and the light keeper approached the subject
without preamble.
“Say, Mr. Bangs,” he demanded, “what's Raish Pulcifer cal'late he's
doin'?”
Galusha smiled. “I thank you for the compliment, Captain
Hallett,” he said, “but my intuition cannot keep pace with Mr.
Pulcifer's--ah--calculations. No, indeed.”
Jethro pulled his beard. “I asked you,” he said, solemnly, “what Raish
Pulcifer cal'lated he was doin' buyin' up Development stock? Do you
know?”
“No. Is he buying it?”
“If you ain't heard that he is, you're about the only one in East
Wellmouth. Ain't you heard it?”
Galusha would have liked to change the subject, but with Jethro Hallett
that was not an easy task, as he knew from experience. He did not
immediately make the attempt.
“Why--ah--yes,” he admitted. “I have heard that he has
bought--ah--some.”
“Um-hm. Who told you; Martha?”
“Why--why--really, Captain, I don't know that I ought--You'll pardon me,
but--”
“Been tryin' to buy Martha's, has he?”
Galusha sighed. “Have you noticed,” he suggested, “what a remarkable
view one gets from this point? The village and the bay in front, and, in
the rear, the--ah--light and the--ah--rest. Quite remarkable, don't you
think so, Captain?”
Captain Jethro looked gravely at the view.
“Raish been to see Martha about buyin' her stock, has he?” he asked.
Galusha rubbed his chin. “I have often wondered,” he said, “why no
summer cottage has been built just here. The spot would seem to possess
very marked advantages. Very--ah--very much so.”
The light keeper cleared his throat. “Zach said he see Raish comin' out
of your gate t'other day,” he said. “Been to see Martha about her shares
then, had he?”
“The--ah--proximity to the main road is an advantage in particular,”
Galusha continued. “One would be near it and yet, so to speak, secluded
from it. Really, a very exceptional spot, Captain Hallett.”
Captain Jethro stroked his beard, frowned, and gazed steadily at the
face of the little archaeologist. Galusha gazed serenely and with a
pleased interest at the view. After a moment the light keeper said:
“He's been after mine, too.”
“Eh?... Oh, indeed? You mean--”
“I mean Raish Pulcifer's been tryin' to buy my Development stock same as
he has Martha's. Hey? What say?”
“I said nothing, Captain. Not a word, really”
“Humph!... Well, he's been tryin' to buy mine, anyway. And, nigh's as
I can find out, he's bought every loose share there is. All hands are
talkin' about it now; some of 'em are wonderin' if they hadn't better
have hung on. Eben Snow came to me this mornin' and he says, 'I don't
know whether I did right to let go of that stock of mine or not,' he
says. 'What do you think, Jeth?' I haven't got much use for Eben,
and ain't had for years; I went to sea with him one v'yage and that
generally tells a man's story. I've seen him at church sociables--in the
days when I wasted my time goin' to such things--spend as much as
five minutes decidin' whether to take a doughnut or a piece of pie. He
couldn't eat both, but he was afraid whichever he took the other might
turn out to be better. So when he asked me my opinion about his sellin'
his Development, I gave it to him. 'You've been wantin' to sell, ain't
you?' says I. 'I've heard you whinin' around for months because you
couldn't sell. Now you HAVE sold. What more do you want?' He got mad.
'You ain't sold YOUR holdin's at any fourteen dollars a share, have
you?' he says. I told him I hadn't. 'No, and I'll bet you won't,
either,' says he. I told him he'd make money if he could get somebody to
take the bet. Humph! the swab!”
For the first time Galusha asked a direct question.
“Did--ah--Mr. Pulcifer actually--ah--bid for your Development shares,
Captain Hallett?” he inquired.
“Oh, he come as nigh to doin' it as I'd let him. Hinted maybe that he'd
give me as much as he did Snow, fourteen fifty. I laughed at him.
I asked him what made him so reckless, when, the last time he and I
talked, he was tryin' to sell me his own shares for ten. And now he
wanted to buy mine at fourteen and a half!”
“And--ah--what reason did he give for his change of heart? Or didn't he
give any?”
“Humph! Yes, he gave a shipload of reasons, but there wouldn't any
one of 'em float if 'twas hove overboard. He ain't buyin' on his own
account, that I KNOW.”
“Oh--ah--do you, indeed. May I ask why you are so certain?”
“For two reasons. First, because Raish ain't got money enough of his own
to do any such thing. Second, and the main reason why I know he ain't
buyin' for himself is because he says he is. Anybody that knows Raish
knows that's reason enough.”
Galusha ventured one more question.
“When he--ah--approached you, did you--that is, what excuse did you give
him for--for your lack of interest, so to speak?”
“Hey? I didn't give him any. And I didn't tell him I wasn't interested.
I am interested--to see how far he'll go. I sha'n't tell him I've sold
already, Mr. Bangs; your Boston friends needn't worry about that. When I
sign articles I stick to my contract.”
They had reached the Phipps' gate by this time and there they parted.
The light keeper strode off, rolling heavily, his beard blowing
across his shoulder. He had been, for him, remarkably good-humored and
talkative. Galusha was inclined to attribute the good humor to the fact
that Captain Jethro considered he had made a good bargain in selling his
own shares at a price so much higher than that obtained by Snow and the
rest. The next time they conversed the good humor was not as apparent.
But that occasion was almost a fortnight later.
And, meantime, Mr. Pulcifer had become the center of interest in East
Wellmouth and its neighborhood. An important figure he always was,
particularly in his own estimation, but now the spotlight of publicity
which beat upon his ample figure had in its rays the blue tinge of
mystery. The question which all Wellmouth was asking was that which
Captain Jethro had asked Mr. Bangs: “What is Raish up to now?”
And Mr. Pulcifer firmly refused to answer that question. Or, to be
more exact, he always answered it, but the answers were not considered
convincing. Some pretended to be satisfied with his offhand declaration
that he “had a little chunk of the stock and just presumed likely I
might as well have a little more. Ain't nothin' to make a fuss about,
anyhow.” A few pretended to accept this explanation as bona fide, but
the remainder, the majority, received it with open incredulity.
The oddest part of it all was the fact that the great Horatio appeared
to dislike the prominent position which his activities held in the
community mind. Ordinarily prominence had been the delight of his soul.
In every political campaign, wherever the limelight shone brightest
there had strutted Mr. Pulcifer, cigar in mouth, hat over one eye,
serene self-satisfaction in the possession of mysterious knowledge
radiating from his person. He loved that sort of thing; to be the
possessor of “inside information,” however slight, or even to be
popularly supposed to possess it, had hitherto been the meat upon which
this, Wellmouth's, Caesar, fed and grew great.
But Raish was not enjoying this particular meal. And his attitude
was not pretense, either; it was obvious that the more East Wellmouth
discussed his buying the Development stock the less he liked it. When
his fellow townsmen questioned him he grew peevish.
“Oh, forget it!” he exclaimed to one of the unfortunate who came seeking
information. “You make me tired, Jim Fletcher, you and Ras Beebe and the
whole gang. By cripes, a feller can't as much as take a five cent cigar
out of his pocket without all hands tryin' to make a--a molehill out of
it. Forget it, I tell you!”
Mr. Fletcher was a simple soul, decidedly not one of East Wellmouth's
intellectual aristocracy, but he was persistent.
“Aw, hold on, Raish,” he expostulated, “I never said a word about your
takin' a five cent cigar out of your pocket.... Er--er--you ain't taken
one out, have you?”
“No, and I ain't goin' to--not now.”
“All right--all right. _I_ never asked you. All I said was--”
“I know what you said.”
“Why, no, you don't neither. You're all mixed up. Nobody's said anything
about cigars, or makin'--er--er--What was it you said they made?”
“Oh, nothin', nothin'. A molehill is what I said.”
“What kind of a hill?”
“A molehill. Didn't you ever hear of a ground mole, for heaven sakes?”
“Course I've heard of a ground mole! But what's a ground mole got to do
with a cigar, I want to know? And you said a moleHILL. What's a ground
mole doin' up on a hill?”
“Not up ON one--IN one. A molehill is what a ground mole lives in, ain't
it? It's just a sayin'.... Oh, never mind! Go on! Take a walk.”
“_I_ don't want to walk. And a ground mole lives in a hole, not a hill,
like a--like a ant. You know that as well as I do. And, anyhow, nobody
said anything about ground moles, or--or mud turtles neither, far's that
goes. No, nor five cent cigars. Now, Raish, I'll tell you what they're
sayin'; they say--”
“And I'll tell YOU! Listen! Listen, now, because this is the last time
I'll tell anybody anything except to go--”
“Sshh, shh, Raish! Alvira's right in the kitchen and the window's
open.... No, 'tain't, it's shut. Where will they go?”
“Listen, you! I've bought those few extra shares of Development because
I had some myself and thought I might as well have a few more. I bought
'em and I paid for 'em. Nobody says I ain't paid for 'em, do they?”
“No, no. Don't anybody say that. All they say IS--”
“Be still! Now I bought those shares. What of it? It's my business,
ain't it? Yes. And I haven't bought any more. You can tell 'em that: I
HAVEN'T BOUGHT ANY MORE.”
“Oh, all right, Raish, all right. I'll tell 'em you ain't. But--”
“That's all. Now forget it! For-GET it!”
Which should, perhaps, have been sufficient and convincing. But there
were still some unconvinced. For example, Martha happened to meet one
morning, while on an errand in the village, the president of the Denboro
Trust Company. He explained that he had motored over, having a little
matter of personal business to attend to.
“I haven't seen you for some time, Miss Phipps,” he observed. “Not since
our--er--little talk about the Wellmouth Development stock. That was the
last time, wasn't it?”
Martha said that it was. He lowered his voice a very little and asked,
casually: “Still holding on to your two hundred and fifty shares, are
you?”
“Why, that was what you told me to do, wasn't it?”
“Yes, yes. I believe it was. Humph! Just so, yes. So you've still got
those shares?”
Martha smiled. “I haven't sold 'em to Raish Pulcifer, if that's what
you're hintin' at,” she said.
He seemed a bit embarrassed. “Well,” he admitted, with a laugh, “I guess
I'll have to own that I did mean that. There seems to be a good many who
have sold to Pulcifer. All the little fellows, the small holders. You
haven't, you say?”
“I haven't sold a share to him.”
“Humph! Neither has Cap'n Jeth Hallett; he told me so just now....
Hum!... What is Raish buying for? What's the reason he's buying? Have
you heard?”
“I've heard what he's told other folks; that's all I know about it.”
“Hum.... Yes, yes. Well, here's my advice, Miss Phipps: If I were
you--if I were you, I say, and he came to me and wanted to buy, I
shouldn't be in too big a hurry to sell. Not in too big a hurry, I
shouldn't.”
“Why not?”
He glanced at her quickly. “Oh, he HAS been to see you about buying your
shares, then?” he suggested.
She shook her head. “I didn't say he had,” she replied. “I just asked
why I shouldn't sell if he wanted to buy, that's all. Why shouldn't I?”
He seemed more embarrassed and a trifle irritated.
“Why--why--Oh, well, I suppose you should, perhaps, if he offers you
enough. But I wish you wouldn't until--until--Well, couldn't you let me
know before you give him his answer? Would you mind doing that?”
And now she looked keenly at him. “What would I gain by that?” she
asked. “YOU aren't thinkin' of buyin' more of that stock, are you? The
other time when we talked, you told me the Trust Company had all they
cared to own and were keepin' it because they had to. I would have been
glad--yes, awfully glad, to sell you my shares. But you wouldn't even
consider buyin'. Do you want to buy now?”
He frowned. “I don't know what I want,” he said, impatiently. “Except
that the one thing we want to find out is why Pulcifer is buying. The
Trust Company holds a big block of that stock and--and if there is
anything up we want to know of it.”
“What do you mean by 'anything up'?”
“Oh, I mean if some other people are trying to get--er--into the thing.
Of course, it isn't likely, but--”
He did not finish the sentence. She asked another question.
“Has Raish been to see you about buyin' the Trust Company stock?” she
asked.
“No. He hasn't been near us.”
“Perhaps he would if you told him you wanted to sell.”
“I don't know that we do want to sell. That's a pretty good piece of
property over there and some day--Ahem! Oh, well, never mind. But I
wish you would let us know before you sell Pulcifer your holdings. It
might--I can't say positively, you know--but it MIGHT be worth your
while.”
Martha, of course, made no promise, but she thought a good deal during
her walk homeward. She told her lodger of the talk with the Trust
Company official, and he thought a good deal, also.
His thoughts, however, dealt not with the possible rise in value of
the six hundred and fifty shares which, endorsed in blank, reposed,
presumably, somewhere in the vaults of Cabot, Bancroft and Cabot. He
thought not at all of anything like that. He had gotten rid of those
certificates and hoped never to hear of them again. But now, with all
this stir and talk, there was distinct danger that not only he but
others might hear of them. Galusha Bangs and Raish Pulcifer had, just
now, one trait in common, both detested the publicity given their
dealings in the securities of the Wellmouth Development Company.
But, in spite of this detestation, Horatio still seemed anxious to deal
in those securities. He visited the Phipps' home twice that week, both
times after dark and, as the watchful Primmie observed and commented
upon, each time coming not by the lane, but across the fields. And when
he left, at the termination of his second visit, the expression upon his
face was by no means one of triumph.
And Martha, of course, told her lodger what had transpired.
“I declare,” she said, after her caller had gone, “I shall really begin
to believe somethin' IS up in that Development Company, just as the
Trust Company man said. Raish certainly wants to buy the two hundred and
fifty shares he thinks I've got. This is the third time he's been to see
me, sneakin' across lots in the dark so nobody else would see him,
and each time he raised his bid. He got up to eighteen dollars a
share to-night. And, I do believe, if I had given him the least bit of
encouragement, he would have gone higher still. What do you think of
that, Mr. Bangs?”
Galusha did not know what to think of it; he found it extremely
unpleasant to think of it at all.
“Have you--ah--have you told him you do not intend selling?” he asked.
“Why, no, I haven't. You see, if I do he'll think it's awfully queer,
because he knows how anxious I was, a while ago, TO sell. I just keep
puttin' him off. Pretty soon I suppose I shall HAVE to tell him I won't
sell no matter what he offers; but we'll try the puttin' off as long
as possible.” She paused, and then added, with a mischievous twinkle,
“Really, Mr. Bangs, I am gettin' a good deal of fun out of it. A few
months ago I was the one to go to him and talk about that stock. Now he
comes to me and I'm just as high and mighty as he ever was, you can be
sure of that. 'Well, Raish,' I said to him to-night, 'I don't know that
I am very much interested. If the stock is worth that to you, I presume
likely it's worth it to me.' Ha, ha! Oh, dear! you should have seen him
squirm. He keeps tryin' to be buttery and sweet, but his real feelin's
come out sometimes. For instance, to-night his spite got a little too
much for him and he said: 'Humph!' he said, 'somebody must have willed
you money lately, Martha. Either that or keepin' boarders must pay
pretty well.' 'Yes,' said I, 'it does. The cost of livin is comin'
down all the time.' Oh, I'm havin' a beautiful game of tit-for-tat with
Raish.”
She laughed merrily. Galusha did not laugh. The game was altogether too
risky for him to enjoy it. A person sitting on a powder barrel could
scarcely be expected to enjoy the sight of a group of children playing
with matches in close proximity. An explosion, sooner or later, might be
considered certain. But the children continued to play and day after
day went by, and no blow-up took place. Galusha sat upon his barrel
pondering apprehensively and--waiting. There were times when, facing
what seemed the inevitable, he found himself almost longing for the
promised summons from the Institute. An expedition to the wilds of--of
almost anywhere, provided it was remote enough--offered at least a means
of escape. But, to offset this, was the knowledge that escape by flight
involved giving up East Wellmouth and all it had come to mean to him.
Of course, he would be obliged to give it up some day and, in all
probability, soon--but--well, he simply could not bring himself to the
point of hastening the separation. So he shifted from the powder barrel
to the sharp horn of the other dilemma and shifted back again. Both
seats were most uncomfortable. The idea that there was an element of
absurdity in his self-imposed martyrdom and that, after all, what he
had done might be considered by the majority as commendable rather than
criminal, did not occur to him at all. He would not have been Galusha
Cabot Bangs if it had.
He meditated much and Primmie, always on the lookout for new symptoms,
noticed the meditations. When Primmie noticed a thing she never
hesitated to ask questions concerning it. She was dusting the sitting
room one morning and he was sitting by the window looking out.
“You're thinkin' again, ain't you, Mr. Bangs?” observed Primmie.
Galusha started. “Eh?” he queried. “Thinking? Oh, yes--yes!--I suppose I
was thinking, Primmie. I--ah--sometimes do.”
“You 'most always do. I never see anybody think as much as you do, Mr.
Bangs. Never in my born days I never. And lately--my savin' soul! Seems
as if you didn't do nothin' BUT think lately. Just set around and think
and twiddle that thing on your watch chain.”
The thing on the watch chain was a rather odd charm which Mr. Bangs had
possessed for many years. “Twiddling” it was a habit of his. In fact, he
had twiddled it so much that the pivot upon which it had hung broke and
Martha had insisted upon his sending the charm to Boston for repairs. It
had recently been returned.
“What is that thing, Mr. Bangs?” asked Primmie. “I was lookin' at it
t'other day when you left your watch chain layin' out in the sink.”
“In the sink? You mean BY the sink, don't you, Primmie?”
“No, I don't, I mean IN it. You'd forgot your watch and Miss Martha she
sent me up to your room after it. I fetched it down to you and you and
her was talkin' in the kitchen and you was washin' your hands in the
sink basin. Don't you remember you was?”
“Was I? I--I presume I was if you say so. Really I--I have forgotten.”
“Course you have. And you forgot your watch, too. Left it layin' right
alongside that tin washbasin full of soapsuds. 'Twas a mercy you didn't
empty out the suds on top of it. Well, I snaked it out of the sink
and chased out the door to give it to you and you was halfway to the
lighthouse and I couldn't make you hear to save my soul. 'Twas then
I noticed that charm thing. That's an awful funny kind of thing, Mr.
Bangs. There's a--a bug on it, ain't there?”
“Why--ah--yes, Primmie. That charm is a very old scarab.”
“Hey? A what? I told Miss Martha it looked for all the world like a
pertater bug.”
Galusha smiled. He held out the charm for her inspection.
“I have had that for a long time,” he said. “It is a--ah--souvenir of my
first Egyptian expedition. The scarab is a rather rare example. I found
it myself at Saqqarah, in a tomb. It is a scarab of the Vth Dynasty.”
“Hey? Die--what?”
“The Vth Dynasty; that is the way we classify Egyptian--ah--relics, by
dynasties, you know. The Vth Dynasty was about six thousand years ago.”
Primmie sat down upon the chair she had been dusting.
“Hey?” she exclaimed. “My Lord of Isrul! Is that bug thing there six
thousand year old?”
“Yes.”
“My savin' soul! WHAT kind of a bug did you say 'twas?”
“Why, I don't know that I did say. It is a representation of an Egyptian
beetle, Ateuchus Sacer, you know. The ancient Egyptians worshiped the
beetle and so they--”
“Wait! Wait a minute, Mr. Bangs. WHAT did you say they done to it?”
“I said they worshiped it, made a god of it, you understand.”
“A god! Out of a--a pertater bug! Go long, Mr. Bangs! You're foolin',
ain't you?”
“Dear me, no! It's quite true, Primmie, really. The ancient Egyptians
had many gods, some like human beings, some in the forms of animals. The
goddess Hathor, for example, was the goddess of the dead and is always
represented in the shape of a cow.”
“Eh! A cow! Do you mean to sit there and tell me them
folks--er--er--went to church meetin' and--and flopped down and said
their prayers to a COW?”
Galusha smiled. “Why, yes,” he said, “I presume you might call it that.
And another god of theirs had the head of a hawk--the bird, you know.
The cat, too, was a very sacred animal. And, as I say, the beetle, like
the one represented here, was--”
“Hold on, Mr. Bangs! HO-OLD on! Don't say no more to me NOW. Let me kind
of--of settle my stomach, as you might say, 'fore you fetch any more
onto the table. Worshipin' cows and--and henhawks and--and cats and bugs
and--and hoptoads and clams, for what _I_ know! My savin' soul! What
made 'em do it? What did they do it FOR? Was they all crazy?”
“Oh, no, it was the custom of their race and time.”
“WELL!” with a heartfelt sigh, “I'm glad times have changed, that's
all I've got to say. Goin' to cow meetin' would be too much for ME! Mr.
Bangs, where did you get that bug thing?”
“I found it at a place called Saqqarah, in Egypt. It was in a tomb
there.”
“A tomb! What was you doin' in a tomb, for the land sakes?”
“I was opening it, looking for mummies and carvings, statues, relics,
anything of the kind I might find. This scarab was in a ring on the
finger of the mummy of a woman. She was the wife of an officer in the
royal court. The mummy case was excellently preserved and when the mummy
itself was unwrapped--”
“Wait a minute! Hold on just another minute, won't you, Mr. Bangs?
You're always talkin' about mummies. A mummy is a--a kind of an image,
ain't it? I've seen pictures of 'em in them printed report things you
get from that Washin'ton place. An image with funny scrabblin' and
pictures, kind of, all over it. That's a mummy, ain't it, Mr. Bangs?”
“Why, not exactly, Primmie. A mummy is--”
He proceeded to tell her much concerning mummies. From that he went on
to describe the finding of the particular mummy from whose finger the
scarab had been taken. Miss Cash listened, her mouth and eyes opening
wider and wider. She appeared to be slowly stiffening in her chair.
Galusha, growing interested in his own story, was waxing almost
eloquent, when he was interrupted by a gasp from his listener. She was
staring at him, her face expressing the utmost horror.
“Why, dear me, Primmie, what is it?” he begged.
Primmie gasped again. “And you set there,” she said, slowly, “and tell
me that you hauled that poor critter that had been buried six thousand
years out of--of--My Lord of Isrul! Don't talk no more to me now, Mr.
Bangs. I sha'n't sleep none THIS night!” She marched to the door and
there, turning, looked at him in awe-stricken amazement.
“And to think,” she said, slowly, “that I always cal'lated you was meek
and gentle and--and all like that--as Moses's grandmother. WELL, it just
shows you can't tell much by a person's LOOKS. Haulin' 'em out of their
graves and--and unwrappin' 'em like--like bundles, and cartin' 'em off
to museums. And thinkin' no more of it than I would of--of scalin' a
flatfish. My savin' soul!”
She breathed heavily once more and departed. That evening she came
to her mistress with a new hint concerning the reason for the Bangs'
absent-mindedness.
“It's his conscience,” she declared. “He's broodin', that's what he's
doin'. Broodin' and broodin' over them poor remains in the showcases
in the museums. He may be a good man; I don't say he ain't. He's just
lovely NOW, and that's why his conscience keeps a-broodin', poor thing.
Oh, I know what I'm talkin' about, Miss Martha. You ask him some time
where he got that bug thing--a Arab, he calls it--that he wears on his
watch chain. Just ask him. You'll hear somethin' THEN, I bet you! Whew!”
Galusha found considerable amusement in talks like those. Primmie was
a distinct relief, for she never mentioned the troublesome Development
Company. Talk in the village concerning it was dying down and Mr.
Pulcifer's assertion that he had bought only the shares of the small
holders was becoming more generally believed. But in the Gould's Bluffs
settlement this belief was scoffed at. Captain Jeth Hallett told Galusha
the truth and his statement was merely a confirmation of Martha Phipps'.
“Raish is hotfoot after that stock of mine,” growled the light keeper.
“He's 'round to see me every day or two. Don't hint any more neither;
comes right out and bids for it. He's got to as high as nineteen a
share now. And he'd go higher, too. HOW far he'll go I don't know, but I
cal'late I'll keep him stringin' along till I find out.”
He pulled at his beard for a moment and then added:
“It's plain enough, of course, that Raish is agent for somebody that
wants to buy in that stock. Who 'tis, though, I can't guess. It ain't
your Cabot, Bancroft and Cabot crowd, Mr. Bangs. That's plain enough,
too.”
Galusha tried to look innocently interested.
“Oh--ah--yes,” he said. “Is it?”
“Sartin 'tis. THEY wouldn't need to be sendin' anybody to buy my shares,
would they? They've bought 'em already. The whole thing is queer. Look
here! Why should anybody be chasin' ME for those shares? Why don't they
get a list of stockholders from the books? Those transfer books ought to
show that I've sold, hadn't they? They would, too, if any transfer had
been made. There ain't been any made, that's all the answer I can think
of. I signed those certificates of mine in blank, transferred 'em in
blank on the back. And somebody--whoever 'twas bought 'em--ain't turned
'em in for new ones in their own name, but have left 'em just the way
they got 'em. That's why Raish and his crowd think I've still got my
stock. Now ain't that funny, Mr. Bangs? Ain't that strange?”
It was not at all funny to Galusha. Nor strange. The light keeper tugged
at his beard and his shaggy brows drew together. “I don't know's I did
right to let go of that stock of mine, after all,” he said, slowly.
“Don't know as I did, no.”
Galusha asked him why.
“Because I don't know as I did, that's all. If I'd hung on I might have
got more for it. Looks to me as if Raish's crowd, whoever they are, are
mighty anxious to buy. And the Denboro Trust Company folks might bid
against 'em if 'twas necessary. They've got too much of that stock to
let themselves be froze out. Humph!... Humph! I ain't sure as I did
right.”
“But--but you did get a profit, Captain Hallett. The profit
you--ah--expected.”
“Humph! I got a profit, but how do I know 'twas the profit Julia meant?
I ought to have gone and asked her afore I sold, that's what I ought to
have done, I cal'late.”
He frowned heavily and added, in a tone of gloomy doubt: “I presume
likely I've been neglectin' things--things like that, lately, and that's
why punishments are laid onto me. I suppose likely that's it.”
Galusha, of course, did not understand, but as the captain seemed to
expect him to make some remark, he said: “Oh--ah--dear me! Indeed?
Ah--punishments?”
“Yes. I don't know what else they are. When your own flesh and blood--”
He stopped in the middle of his sentence, sighed, and added: “Well,
never mind. But I need counsel, Mr. Bangs, counsel.”
Again Galusha scarcely knew what to say.
“Why--ah--Captain Hallett,” he stammered, “I doubt if my advice would be
worth much, really, but such as it is I assure you it--”
Captain Jethro interrupted.
“Counsel from this earth won't help me any, Mr. Bangs,” he declared.
“It's higher counsel that I need. Um-hm, higher.”
He walked away without saying more. Galusha wondered what had set him
off upon that tack. That afternoon, while in the village, he met Nelson
Howard and the latter furnished an explanation. It seemed that the young
man had been to see Captain Jethro, had dared to call at the light with
the deliberate intention of seeing and interviewing him on the subject
of his daughter. The interview had not been long, nor as stormy as
Nelson anticipated; but neither had it been satisfactory.
“It's those confounded 'spirits' that are rocking the boat,” declared
Nelson. “The old man practically said just that. He seems to have gotten
over some of his bitterness against me--perhaps it is, as you say, Mr.
Bangs, because I have a better position now and good prospects. Perhaps
it is that, I don't know. But he still won't consider my marrying Lulie.
He seems to realize that we could marry and that he couldn't stop us,
but I think he realizes, too, that neither Lulie nor I would think of
doing it against his will. 'But why, Cap'n Hallett?' I kept saying.
'WHY? What is the reason you are so down on me?' And all I could get out
of him was the old stuff about 'revelations' and 'word from above' and
all that. We didn't get much of anywhere. Oh, pshaw! Wouldn't it make
you tired? Say, Mr. Bangs, the last time you and I talked you said you
were going to 'consider' those Marietta Hoag spirits. I don't know what
you meant, but if you could consider some sense into them and into Cap'n
Jeth's stubborn old head, I wish you would.”
Galusha smiled and said he would try. “I don't exactly know what
I meant, myself, by considering them,” he admitted. “However,
I--ah--doubtless meant something and I'll try and--ah--consider what it
was. It seems to me that I had a vague thought--not an idea,
exactly, but--Well, perhaps it will come back. I have had a number
of--ah--distractions of late. They have caused me to forget the spirits.
I'm very sorry, really. I must try now and reconsider the considering.
Dear me, how involved I am getting! Never mind, we are going to win yet.
Oh, I am sure of it.”
The distractions to which he referred were, of course, the recent
and mysterious machinations of Raish Pulcifer. And he was to be again
distracted that very afternoon. For as, after parting with Howard,
he was walking slowly along the main road, pondering deeply upon the
problem presented by the love affair of his two young friends and its
spirit complications, he was awakened from his reverie by a series of
sharp clicks close at his ear. He started, looked up and about, and saw
that he was directly opposite the business office of the great Horatio.
He heard the clicks again and realized that they were caused by the
tapping of the windowpane by a ring upon a masculine finger. The
ring appeared to be--but was not--a mammoth pigeon-blood ruby and it
ornamented, or set off, the hand of Mr. Pulcifer himself.
Galusha stared uncomprehendingly at the hand and ring. Then the hand
beckoned frantically. Mr. Bangs raised his eyes and saw, through the
dingy pane, the face of the owner of the hand. The lower portion of the
face was in eager motion. “Come in,” Mr. Pulcifer was whispering. “Come
on in!”
Galusha wonderingly entered the office. He had no desire for
conversation with its proprietor, but he was curious to know what the
latter wanted.
“Ah--good-afternoon, Mr. Pulcifer,” he said.
Raish did not answer immediately. His first move was to cross to the
door by which his visitor had entered, close and lock it. His next was
to lower the window shade a trifle. Then he turned and smiled--nay,
beamed upon that visitor.
“Set down, set down, Perfessor,” he urged, with great cordiality. “Well,
well, well! It's good to see you again, be hanged if it ain't now! How's
things down to the bluffs? Joggin' along, joggin' along in the same old
rut, the way the feller with the wheelbarrer went to market? Eh? Haw,
haw, haw! Have a cigar, Perfessor?”
Galusha declined the cigar. He would also have declined the invitation
to sit, but Mr. Pulcifer would not hear of it. He all but forced his
caller into a chair.
“Set down,” he insisted. “Just as cheap settin' as standin' and
consider'ble lighter on shoe leather, as the feller said. Haw, haw! Hey?
Yes, indeed. Er--Have a cigar?”
But Galusha was still resolute as far as the cigar was concerned. Raish
lighted one himself and puffed briskly. To a keen observer he might have
appeared a trifle nervous. Galusha was not a particularly keen observer
and, moreover, he was nervous himself. If there had been no other
reason, close proximity to a Raish Pulcifer cigar was, to a sensitive
person, sufficient cause for nervousness.
Mr. Pulcifer continued to talk and talk and talk, of the weather, of the
profits of the summer season just past, of all sorts of trivialities.
Mr. Bangs' nervousness increased. He fidgeted in his chair.
“Really,” he stammered, “I--I fear I must be going. You will excuse me,
I hope, but--ah--I must, really.”
Pulcifer held up a protesting hand. It was that holding the cigar and he
waved it slowly back and forth. One of Galusha's experiences had been to
be a passenger aboard a tramp steamer loaded with hides when fire broke
out on board. The hides had smoked tremendously and smelled even more
so. As the dealer in real estate slowly waved his cigar back and forth,
Galusha suddenly remembered this experience. The mental picture was
quite vivid.
“Wait, Perfessor,” commanded Horatio. “Throttle her down. Put her into
low just a minute. Say, Perfessor,” he lowered his voice and leaned
forward in his chair: “Say, Perfessor,” he repeated, “do you want to
make some money?”
Galusha gazed at him uncomprehendingly.
“Why--ah--Dear me!” he faltered. “I--that is--well, really, I fear I do
not fully grasp your--ah--meaning, Mr. Pulcifer.”
Raish seemed to find this amusing. He laughed aloud. “No reason why you
should yet awhile, Perfessor,” he declared. “I'll try to get it across
to you in a minute, though. What I asked was if you wanted to make
money. Do, don't you?”
“Why--why, I don't know. Really, I--”
“Go 'way, boy!” derisively. “Go 'way! Don't tell me you don't want
money. Everybody wants it. You and me ain't John D.'s yet, by a
consider'ble sight. Hey? Haw, haw! Anyhow _I_ ain't, and I'll say this
for you, Perfessor, if you are, you don't look it. Haw, haw!”
He laughed again. Galusha glanced despairingly at the locked door. Mr.
Pulcifer leaned forward and gesticulated with the cigar just before his
visitor's nose. The visitor leaned backward.
“If--if you don't mind,” he said, desperately, “I really wish you
wouldn't.”
“What?”
“Put that thing--that cigar quite so near. If you don't mind.”
Raish withdrew the cigar and looked at it and his companion.
“Oh, yes, yes; I see!” he said, after a moment. “You object to tobacco,
then?”
Galusha drew a relieved breath. “Why--ah--no,” he said, slowly, “not
to--ah--tobacco.” Then he added, hastily: “But, really, Mr. Pulcifer, I
must be going.”
Pulcifer pushed him back into the chair again. His tone became brisk and
businesslike. “Hold on, Perfessor,” he said. “You say you want to make
money?”
Galusha had not said so, but it seemed scarcely worth while to deny the
assertion. And Raish waited for no denial. “You want to make money,”
he repeated. “All right, so do I. And I've got a scheme that'll help us
both to make a little. Now listen. But before I tell you, you've got to
give me your word to keep it dark; see?”
Galusha promised and Raish proceeded to explain his scheme. Briefly it
amounted to this: Galusha Bangs, being a close acquaintance of Martha
Phipps and Jethro Hallett, was to use that acquaintanceship to induce
them to sell their shares in the Development Company. For such an
effort, if successful, on the part of Mr. Bangs, he, Horatio Pulcifer,
was prepared to pay a commission of fifty dollars, twenty-five when he
received Martha's shares and twenty-five when Jethro's were delivered.
“There,” he said, in conclusion, “is a chance I'm offerin' you, as a
friend, to clean up fifty good, hard, round dollars. What do you say,
old man?”
The “old man”--Galusha winced slightly at the appellation--did not seem
to know what to say. His facial expression might have indicated any or
all of a variety of feelings. At last, he stammered a question. Why did
Mr. Pulcifer wish to obtain the Development stock? This question Raish
would not answer.
“Never mind,” he said. “I do, that's all. And I've got the money to do
it with. I'll pay cash for their stock and I'll pay you cash when you or
they hand it over. That's business, ain't it?”
“But--but, dear me, Mr. Pulcifer, why do you ask ME to do this? Why--”
“Ain't I told you? You're a friend of mine and I'm givin' you the chance
because I think you need the money. That's a reason, ain't it?”
“Why--yes. It is--ah--a reason. But why don't you buy the stock
yourself?”
For an instant Raish's smoothness deserted him. His temper flared.
“Because the cussed fools won't sell it to me,” he snapped. “That is,
they ain't said they'd sell yet. Perhaps they're prejudiced against
me, I don't know. Maybe they will sell to you; you and they seem to
be thicker'n thieves. Er--that is, of course, you understand I don't
mean--Oh, well, you know what I mean, Perfessor. Now what do you say?”
Galusha rose and picked up his hat from the floor.
“I'm afraid I must say no,” he said, quietly, but with a firmness which
even Raish Pulcifer's calloused understanding could not miss. “I could
not think of accepting, really.”
“But, say, Perfessor--”
“No, Mr. Pulcifer. I could not.”
“But why not? IF--Well, I tell you, maybe I might make it sixty dollars
instead of fifty for you.”
“No. I couldn't, Mr. Pulcifer.... If you will kindly unlock the door?”
Pulcifer swore. “Well, you must be richer'n you look, that's all I've
got to say,” he snarled. He kicked the wastebasket across the room and
growled: “I'll get the stuff away from 'em yet, just the same. What the
fools are hangin' on for is more'n I can see. Martha Phipps was down
on her knees beggin' me to buy only a little spell ago. Old Jeth,
of course, thinks his 'spirits' are backin' HIM up. Crazy old loon!
Spirits! In this day and time! God sakes! Humph! I wish to thunder I
could deal with the spirits direct; might be able to do business with
THEM. Perfessor, now come, think it over. There ain't anything crooked
about it.... Why, what is it, Perfessor?” eagerly. “Changed your mind,
have you?”
Galusha's expression had changed, certainly. He looked queerly at Mr.
Pulcifer, queerly and for an appreciable interval of time. There was an
odd flash in his eye and the suspicion of a smile at the corner of his
lips. But he was grave enough when he spoke.
“Mr. Pulcifer,” he said, “I appreciate your kindness in--ah--considering
me in this matter. I--it is impossible for me to accept your offer, of
course, but--but--”
“Now, hold on, Perfessor. You think that offer over.”
“No, I cannot accept. But it has occurred to me that perhaps...
perhaps... Mr. Pulcifer, do you know Miss Hoag?”
“Hey? Marietta Hoag? KNOW her? Yes, I know her; know her too well for my
own good. Why?”
“Have you any--ah--influence with her? That is, would she be likely to
listen to a suggestion from you?”
“Listen! SHE? Confound her, I've got a note of hers for seventy-five
dollars and it's two months overdue. She'd BETTER listen! Say, what are
you drivin' at, Perfessor?”
Galusha deposited his hat upon the floor again, and sat down in the
chair he had just vacated. Now it was he who, regardless of the cigar,
leaned forward.
“Mr. Pulcifer,” he said, “an idea occurred to me while you were speaking
just now. I don't know that it will be of any--ah--value to you. But you
are quite welcome to it, really. This is the idea--”