Sears Kendrick's prophecy that Bayport would, within the next day or
two, talk about him even more than it had before was a true one. As soon
as it became known that he had left the Macomber home and was boarding
and lodging with Judah Cahoon in the rear portion of the General Minot
house every tongue in the village--tongues of animals and small children
excepted--wagged his name. At the sewing-circle, at the Shakespeare
Reading Society--convening that week at Mrs. Tabitha Crosby's--after
Friday night prayer-meeting at the Orthodox meeting-house, in Eliphalet
Bassett's store at mail times, in the sitting-rooms and kitchens and
around breakfast, dinner and supper tables from West Bayport to East
Bayport Neck and from Poverty Lane to Woodchuck's Misery--the principal
topic was Captain Kendrick's surprising move.
"Why?" that was the question.
Various answers were offered, many reasons suggested, but none satisfied
everybody.
At the Shakespeare Society meeting, just before the reading aloud of
"Cymbeline" began--"Cymbeline" carefully edited, censored and kalsomined
by the selective committee, Mrs. Reverend David Dishup and Miss Tryphosa
Taylor--the feelings of the genteel section of the community were
expressed by no less a personage than Mrs. Captain Elkanah Wingate. Mrs.
Wingate, speaking from the Mount Sinai of Bayport's aristocracy, made
proclamation thus:
"Why, if the man must leave his sister's and go somewhere else to live,
_why_ in the world does he choose to go _there_? Aren't there good,
respectable, genteel boarding-houses like--well, like yours, Naomi, for
instance? _I_ should say so."
Mrs. Naomi Newcomb, whose home sheltered a few "paying guests," smiled
and shook her head. The shake indicated not a doubt of Mrs. Wingate's
judgment, but complete loss as to Sears Kendrick's reasons for behaving
as he had. Other members shook their heads also. Mary-Pashy Foster, who
had spent a winter in France when her husband was ill with the small-pox
at Havre, shrugged her shoulders.
"And," continued Mrs. Captain Wingate, "when you consider the place he
has gone to and the person he has gone with! Good heavens, _I_ say! Good
heavens!"
More words and exclamations of approval. Several others declared that
they said so, too.
"Gone to live," went on Mrs. Wingate, "not in the General Minot house
proper--there might be some explanation for _that_, perhaps--but they
tell me that this Judah Cahoon only uses the back part of the house and
that Cap'n Kendrick has got a room just off the kitchen or thereabouts."
"And Judah himself!" broke in Miss Taylor. "He is as rough and common
as--as--I don't know what. How a man like Cap'n Kendrick can lower
himself--debase himself to such a person's level I _do_ not see. You
would as soon expect a needle to go through a camel's eye, as the saying
is."
There was a slight interval of embarrassment after this outburst. The
majority of those present realized that the speaker had gotten her
proverb twisted, but, she being Miss Tryphosa Taylor, no one felt like
venturing to set her right. Mrs. Captain Godfrey Peasley relieved the
situation; she had a habit of relieving situations--when she did not
make them tenser. She had gotten into the Shakespeare Reading Society
purely by persistence and the possession of adamantine self-confidence.
From that shot-proof exterior snubs, hints and reproofs glanced like
blown peas from the hull of a battleship. "Heaven knows," confided Mrs.
Captain Wingate to Miss Taylor and the Reverend Mrs. Dishup, "why Amelia
Peasley ever wanted to join the Society. She doesn't know whether
Shakespeare is a man or a disease." Which may or not have been true,
the fact remaining that Mrs. Peasley _had_ wanted to join the Society
and--joined.
Now, while others hesitated, following Miss Tryphosa's little blunder,
she spoke.
"I think," she declared, with conviction, "that Sears Kendrick ought to
be ashamed of himself. _I_ think such actions are degradatin'--yes,
indeed, right down degradatin'."
After that, further comments upon the captain's conduct would have
seemed like anti-climaxes. Therefore the Society proceeded to read
"Cymbeline." Mrs. Peasley had something to say about "Cymbeline," also.
Captain Sears himself merely grinned when told of the sensation his
conduct was causing.
"All right," he said, "let 'em talk. If they aren't talkin' about me
they will be about somebody else."
Judah, to whom this remark was made, snorted.
"Humph!" he growled. "They _be_ talkin' about somebody else. Don't you
make no mistake about that, Cap'n Sears."
"That so, Judah? Who's the other lucky man?"
"Me. Jumpin', creepin'---- Why, some of them womenfolks seem to cal'late
I lammed you over the head with a marlinspike and then towed you up here
by main strength; seems if they did, by Henry! And some of the men ain't
a whole lot better. Makes me madder'n a sore nose. I was down to the
store--down to 'Liphalet's--and there was a crew of ha'f a dozen there
and they all wanted to know how you was gittin' along.
"'Well, he ain't dead yit,' says I. 'He was lively enough when I left
him. I ain't come to buy no spade to bury him with.'
"You'd think that would satisfy 'em, wouldn't ye? Well, it didn't! Cap'n
Noah Baker was there and he wanted to know this, and that little runt of
a Thad Black he wanted to know that--and kept on wantin'. And that
brother-in-law of yours, Cap'n Sears, that Joel Macomber, I declare to
man if he wan't the wust of all. You'd think _he_ ought to keep quiet
about your doin's, wouldn't ye, now? But he didn't. 'Don't ask me,
boys,' he says. 'I don't know why Sears quit my house and went to
Judah's. We manage to bear up without him somehow,' says he, winkin' to
the gang, 'but if you ask me his _reasons_ for goin' _I_ can't tell ye.
I presume likely Judah can, though,' he says. 'Well, I can see _one_
reason plain enough,' says I, lookin' right at him."
Kendrick burst out laughing. "Did he get the idea, Judah?" he inquired.
"Him? Nary a bit. Wanted me to tell him what the reason was. Limpin',
creepin' prophets! What did a woman like Sary ever marry him for,
anyway, Cap'n? Not that it's any of my business, you understand."
"I understand. Well, it wasn't any of mine either, Judah."
"No, I presume likely not. But that George Kent, he's a nice young
feller, ain't he, Cap'n?"
"Seems to be," replied Kendrick.
"Um--hm. Come up to me, after the gang had quit havin' their good time,
and shook hands nice and chummy and wanted to know how you was. 'Tell
the cap'n I'm goin' to come in and see him some day,' he says, 'if you
and he want callers.' 'Good land, yes,' says I, 'course we do. Don't
stop to call, come right along in.' He's a nice boy that young Kent....
But--but some of these days I'm goin' to _hit_ that Thad Black--hit him
with somethin' soft like--like an anvil. If that critter fell overboard
I wouldn't heave him no life-preserver. No, sir, by Henry, I'd heave him
the sheet anchor. The longer he hung on to that the better 'twould suit
_me_."
To his sister only did Sears give his reasons for leaving her home. With
her he was perfectly frank.
"You know why I'm doin' this, Sarah," he said. "Now don't you--honest?"
Mrs. Macomber hesitated. "Why, Sears," she faltered reluctantly, "I--I
suppose I can guess why you _think_ you're doin' it. But that doesn't
make it right for you to do it, really."
"Oh, yes, it does. Be sensible, Sarah. Here are you with six children to
support and work for, not to mention one boarder and--a husband. The
house is crowded, aloft and alow. There isn't a bit of room for me."
"Now, Sears, how can you talk so? You've _had_ room here, haven't you?"
"Yes, I've had it, plenty of it. But how much room have the rest of you
had?"
"Why--why, we've had enough. Nobody's complained that I know of."
"Good reason why. You wouldn't let 'em, Sarah. And of course you never
would complain yourself. But that is only part of it. The real thing is
that I will not live on you."
"But you pay board."
"Stuff and nonsense! How much do I pay in comparison with what it costs
to keep me?"
"You pay me all you can afford, I'm sure; and I rather guess, from what
you said about your money affairs the other day, that you pay me more
than you ought to afford. And I don't believe you're goin' to pay that
Judah Cahoon any high board for livin' in that old rats' nest of his. If
you are I shall begin to believe you've gone crazy."
Her brother laughed. "I don't mind payin' Judah little or nothin',
Sarah," he declared. "What I get will be worth it, probably, and besides
he's a strong, healthy man. Then, too--well, I shouldn't say it to any
one but you, but there is a little obligation on his side and that keeps
me from feelin' like too much of a barnacle.... But there, what is the
use of our threshin' this all over again? As I said in the beginnin',
Sarah, you know why I'm doin' it perfectly well."
Mrs. Macomber sighed.
"I suppose I do," she admitted. "It's because you are Sears Kendrick and
as independent and--and proud as--as your own self."
So the move was made and Captain Sears Kendrick's sea chest and its
owner moved into Judah Cahoon's spare stateroom at the General Minot's
place. And Bayport talked and talked more and more and then less and
less until at the end of the captain's first week in his new quarters
the move had become old news and people ceased to be interested in it, a
state of affairs which pleased Mr. Cahoon immensely.
"There, by Henry!" he declared, on his return from what he called a
"cruise down the road along." "I honestly do believe you and me has got
so we can bat our weather eye without all hands and the ship's cat
tryin' to see us do it. I met no less than seven folks while I was down
along just now and only two of 'em hailed to ask how you liked bein'
aboard here, Cap'n Sears. Yes, sir, by creepin', only two of 'em; the
rest never said a word. What do you think of that? Some considerable
change, I call it."
So being forgotten by the majority of Bayporters--which was what he
desired to be--the captain settled down to live, or exist, and to wait.
Just what he was waiting for he would have found hard to tell. Of course
he told his sister when she came to see him, which was at least once
every other day, that he was waiting for his legs to get whole and
strong again, and then he should, of course, go to sea. He told Doctor
Sheldon much the same thing, and the doctor said, "Why, of course, Cap'n
Kendrick. We'll have you on your own quarter deck again one of these
days." He said it with heartiness and apparent sincerity, but Sears was
skeptical. After the doctor's visits he was likely to be blue and
dejected for a time, and Judah noticed this fact but attributed it to
quite a different cause.
"It's high time that doctor swab quit comin' here to see you," declared
Judah. "Runnin' in here and lettin' go anchor and settin' round and
sayin', 'Well, how goes it to-day?' and 'Nice spell of weather we're
havin',' and the like of that, and then goin' home and chalkin' up
another dollar on the bill. No sense to it, I say. No wonder you look
glum, Cap'n Sears. Makes _me_ glum, and 'tain't _my_ money that's bein'
talked out of me, nuther. Hear what he said just now? 'I must go,' he
says. 'And what did you say? Why, you said, 'Don't hurry, Doctor. What
do you want to go for?' All I could do to keep from bustin' out in a
laugh. _I_ know what you was sayin' to yourself, you see. 'Stead of
sayin', 'What do you want to go for?' you was thinkin', 'What in blue
blazes do you want to _come_ for?' Haw, haw! That was it, wan't it,
Cap'n?"
"Why, no, Judah. I'm always glad to see the doctor."
"Ye--es, you be!" with sarcasm. "Glad to see his back. Well, no use,
Cap'n, I've got to think up some notion to keep him from comin' here.
How would it do to run up a signal 'Small-pox aboard,' or somethin' like
that? Think that would keep him off?... No, he's a doctor, ain't he? All
he'd read out of that set of flags would be, 'More dollars. Come on in.'
Haw, haw! Well, I got to think up some way."
Judah's chatter kept his lodger from being too lonely. Mr. Cahoon talked
about everybody and everything, and when he was not talking he was
singing. He sang when he turned out in the morning to get breakfast, he
sang when he turned in at bedtime. He sang while working in the garden
repairing the damages done by the Fair Harbor hens. His repertoire was
extensive, embracing not only every conceivable variety of chantey and
sea song, but also an assortment of romantic ballads, running from "The
Blue Juniata," in which:
"Wild rowed an Indian girl,
Bright Al-fa-ra-ta,"
to the ancient ditty of twenty-odd verses describing how
"There was a rich merchant in London did dwell,
He had for his daughter a very fine gel,
Her name it was Dinah, just sixteen years old,
With a very large fortune in silver and gold.
"Singing Too-ral-i-ooral-i-ooral-i-ay,
Singing Too-ral-i-ooral-i-ooral-i-ay,"
and continuing to sing "Too-ral-i-ooral-i-ooral-i-ay" four times after
each of the twenty-odd verses to the tragical finish of Dinah and the
ballad.
As some men take to drink upon almost any or no excuse, so Judah Cahoon
took to song. And if the effect upon him was not as unsteadying as an
over indulgence in alcohol, that upon his hearers was at times upsetting
and disastrous. For example, upon the occasion when Captain Sears again
encountered his acquaintances of the Fair Harbor summer-house, Mr.
Cahoon's singing completely wrecked what might possibly have been a
meeting tending to raise the captain in the estimation of those ladies.
Sears happened to be taking what he liked to call his exercise. Judah
called it "pacin' decks." He was hobbling back and forth along the path
leading to the gate opening upon the Fair Harbor grounds. His landlord
was at work in the garden. The captain had limped as far as the gate and
was about to turn and limp back again when, behold, along the path
beyond that gate appeared two feminine figures strolling with what might
be called careful carelessness, looking up, down and on every side
except that upon which stood Captain Sears Kendrick. And the captain
recognized the pair, the one tall, slim, slender--unusually slim and
remarkably slender--the other short and plump--very decidedly plump--as
the ladies with whom he had held brief but spirited discourse the
fortnight before, the ladies who had peered forth at him from the
vine-draped window of the Eyrie--in short, for Miss Elvira Snowden and
Mrs. Aurora Chase.
The pair came scrolling along the path. They were almost at the gate
when Miss Snowden looked up--she would have said she happened to look
up--and saw the captain standing there. She was embarrassed and
surprised--any one might have noticed the surprise and embarrassment.
She started, gasped and uttered a little exclamation. Mrs. Chase, taking
her affliction into account, could not possibly have heard the
exclamation, but no doubt there was a telepathic quality in it, for
she, too, started, looked up and was surprised and embarrassed.
"Why--why, oh, dear!" faltered Miss Snowden.
"Why! My soul and body!" exclaimed Mrs. Chase.
Captain Sears raised his hat. "Good mornin'," he said politely.
The ladies looked at each other. Then Miss Elvira, evidently the born
leader, inclined her head ever so little and said, "Good morning." Mrs.
Aurora looked up at her in order to see what she said.
Captain Sears tried again.
"It's a nice day for a walk," he observed.
Miss Elvira nodded and agreed, distantly--yet not too distant.
"I understand," said the captain, "that I gave you ladies a little bit
of a scare the other day. Understand you thought I was a tramp. I'm real
sorry. Of course I know I hadn't any business over on your premises,
but, as a matter of fact, I didn't exactly realize where I was. It was
the first cruise I'd made in these latitudes, as you might say, and I
didn't think about keepin' on my own side of the channel buoys. I beg
your pardon. I'll hope you'll excuse me."
Miss Snowden nodded elegantly and murmured that she understood.
"You are our new neighbor, I believe," she said.
"Why, yes'm, I suppose I am."
"Cap'n Kendrick, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"I hope, Cap'n Kendrick, that you won't think there was
any--ah--anything personal in our mistaking you for a tramp the other
day. Of course there wasn't. Oh, dear, no!"
The captain hesitated. He was wondering just what answer he was supposed
to make to this speech. Did the lady wish him to infer that it was the
Fair Harbor custom to consider all male strangers tramps until they were
proven innocent? Or--but Mrs. Chase saved him the trouble of reply.
"Elviry," she demanded, "what are you and him whisperin' about? Why
don't you talk so's a body can hear you? He's Cap'n Kendrick, ain't he?
Have you told him who we be, same as you said you was goin' to?"
Miss Snowden, after looking at the rotund Aurora as if she would like to
bite her, smiled instead and began a rather tangled explanation to the
effect that she and Mrs. Chase had felt that perhaps they had been
a--ah--they might have seemed "kind of hasty--you know, Cap'n Kendrick,
in what--in speaking as we did that time, and so--and so I told her if
we ever _did_ meet you--if we ever _should_, you know---- But
we haven't really met yet, have we? Shall we introduce ourselves? I
don't see why not; neighbors, you know. Cap'n Kendrick, this is Mrs.
Aurora Chase, widow of the late Cap'n Ichabod Chase. No doubt, you knew
Cap'n Chase in the old days, Cap'n Kendrick."
And then Aurora, who had been listening with all her ears, and hearing
with perhaps a third of them, broke in to say that her husband was not a
captain. "He was second mate when he died," she explained. "Aboard the
bark _Charles Francis_ he was, bound for New Bedford from the West
Indies with a load of guano."
Miss Snowden, favoring the veracious Aurora with another look, hastily
introduced herself and began to speak of the beauties of the day, of the
surroundings, and particularly of the select and refined joys of life at
the Fair Harbor.
"We have our little circle there," she said. "We live our lives, quiet,
retired, away from the world----"
Mrs. Chase broke in once more to ask what she was talking about. When
the substance of the Snowden rhapsody was given her, she nodded--as well
as her several chins would permit her to nod--and announced that she
agreed.
"We like livin' at the home first-rate," she declared. Elvira flushed.
"It is _not_ a home," she said, sharply. "It is a select retreat, that
is all. It is not a home in _any_ sense of the word. Every one knows
that it is not. Aurora, I wish to goodness you---- But of course Cap'n
Kendrick doesn't want to hear about us all the time. He is interested in
his own new quarters. Do you like it here, Cap'n Kendrick?
I--ah--understand you are, so to speak, a guest of Mr. Cahoon's. He
is--ah--a relation of yours?"
Sears explained the acquaintanceship between Judah and himself. Miss
Snowden nodded comprehension.
"That explains it," she said. "I thought he could hardly be a relation
of _yours_, Cap'n Kendrick. He is--he is a little bit queer, isn't he? I
mean eccentric, you know. Of course I've never met him, and I'm sure
he's real good-hearted, but----"
She paused, leaving the rest of the sentence to be inferred. Captain
Sear's answer was prompt and crisp.
"Judah Cahoon is one of the best fellows that ever lived," he said.
"Yes, I know. I am sure he is. I didn't mean that. I meant is he--is
he----"
And then Judah himself, at work in the garden behind the screen of
bushes, too busy to hear or even be aware of the conversation at the
gate, chose this untoward moment to burst into song, to sing at the top
of his voice, and the top of Judah's voice was an elevation from which
sound traveled far. He sang:
"Oh, Sally Brown was a bright mulatter,
Way, oh, roll and go!
She drinks rum and chews terbacker,
Spend my money on Sally Brown.
Whee--_yip_!"
Miss Elvira's thin figure stiffened to an exclamation point of
disapproval. Captain Kendrick turned uneasily in the direction of the
singer. Mrs. Chase, aware that something was going on and not wishing to
miss it, cupped her ear with her hand. And Judah began the second
verse.
"Oh, Sally Brown, I'll surely miss you,
Way, oh, roll and go!
How I'd love to hug and kiss you!
Spend my money on Sally Brown.
Whee--_yip_!"
"Judah!" roared the captain, who was suffering acute apprehension.
"Judah!"
"Oh, Sally Brown----"
"_Judah!"_
"Eh? What is it, Cap'n Sears?"
"Shut up."
"Eh! Shut up what? What's open?"
"Stop that noise."
"What noise?"
"That noise of yours. That singin'."
"Eh? Oh, all right, sir. Aye, aye, Cap'n, just as you say."
Captain Sears, relieved, turned again to his visitors. But the visitors
were rapidly retreating along the path, the lines of Miss Elvira's back
indicating disgust and outraged gentility. Mrs. Chase, however, looked
back. Obviously she still did not know what it was all about.
Sears, although he chuckled a good deal over the affair, was a trifle
annoyed, nevertheless. It was a good joke, of course, and he certainly
cared little for the approval or disapproval of Miss Elvira Snowden. But
when he considered what the prim spinster's version of the happening was
likely to be and the reputation her story was sure to confer, inside the
Fair Harbor fences at least, upon him and his household companion, he
was tempted to wish that that companion's musical talent had been hidden
under a napkin, or, better still, a feather bed. He--Kendrick--was to
live, for a time indefinite, next door to the Fair Harborites, and it is
always pleasant to be on good terms with one's neighbors. True, those
neighbors might be, the majority of them, what Mr. Cahoon called
them--which was whatever term of approbrium he happened to think of at
the moment, "pack of old hens" being the mildest--but the captain knew
that one, at least, was not an "old hen." "That Berry girl," which was
his way of thinking of her, was attractive and kind and a lady. They had
met but once, it is true, but she had made a most favorable impression
upon him. He had caught glimpses of her on two occasions, in the Fair
Harbor grounds, and once she had waved a greeting. She was a nice girl,
he was sure of it. If she thought at all of the cripple next door he
would like her to think of him in a kindly way, as a decent sort of
hulk, so to speak. It was provoking to feel that she would next hear of
him as a dissipated ruffian, friend and defender of another ruffian who
howled ribald songs in the presence--or at least in the hearing--of
ladies.
He questioned Judah concerning the Fair Harbor, its founder and the
dwellers within its gates. Judah told him what he knew of the story,
which was very little more than the captain already knew, his knowledge
gained from his sister's letters. Captain Sylvanus Seymour had had but
one child, his daughter Lobelia. At his death she, of course, inherited
all his property. According to Bayport gossip, as reported by Mr.
Cahoon, the old man had died worth anywhere from one half a million to
three or five millions. "Richer'n dock mud, I cal'late he was," declared
Judah. "Made a lot of money out of his Boston shippin' business and a
lot more out of stocks and city real estate and one thing or 'nother."
For years after Captain Sylvanus died Lobelia lived alone in the big
house. Then she had married. Judah could tell little about the man she
married.
"He was a music teacher that come to town here one winter, that's about
all I can swear to," said Judah. "Down here for his health, so he said,
and taught singin' school while he was gittin' healthy. His last name
was Phillips, which is all right, but he had the craziest fust name ever
_I_ heard. Egbert 'twas. Hoppin', creepin' Henry! Did you ever _hear_
such a name? _Egbert!_ Jumpin' prophets! Boys round town, they tell me,
used to call him 'Eg' behind his back. Some of 'em, them that didn't
like him, called him 'Soft biled.' Haw, haw! See what they meant, don't
you, Cap'n Sears? Egbert, you know, that's 'Eg' for short, and then
'Soft biled' meanin' a soft biled egg.... Hey? Yes, I cal'lated you'd
see it, you're pretty sharp at a joke, Cap'n, but there _has_ been them
I've told that to that never.... Hey? Aye, aye, sir, I was just goin' to
tell the rest of it."
According to Judah's report, which was a second or third hand report of
course, Egbert Phillips had not been too popular among the males in
Bayport. But with the females--ah, there it was different.
"He was one of them kind, they tell me," said Judah. "One of them
smooth, slick, buttery kind of fellers that draws womenfolks same as
molasses draws flies. Hailed from Philadelphy he did. I used to know a
good many Philadelphy folks myself once. Why, one time----"
The captain broke in to head off the Philadelphia reminiscence. Brought
back to Bayport and Egbert and Lobelia, Judah went on to tell what more
he knew of the Fair Harbor beginnings. Sears gathered that after the
marriage Egbert who, it seemed, was not in love with the Cape as a place
of residence, would have liked his wife to sell the old house and move
away. But there was a clause in the will of Captain Sylvanus which
prevented this. Under that will the property could not be sold while his
daughter lived. It was then that Lobelia was seized with her great idea.
She, a mariner's daughter, had--until the Providential appearance of the
peerless Egbert--faced a lonely old age. But she had at least a
comfortable home. There were so many women--sea-captains' widows and
sisters--who faced their lonely future without a home. Why not turn the
Seymour property into a home for them--a limited number of them?
"So she done it," said Judah. "And that's how the Fair Harbor got off
the ways."
"But you called it a home," objected Captain Sears. "The other day that
Snowden woman, the thin one, gave the other, the stout one--what's her
name?--Northern lights--Aurora, that's it--she gave Aurora fits for
speakin' of the place as a home. She declared it wasn't a home."
Mr. Caboon chuckled. "Did, eh?" he observed. "Well, you might call a
mackerel gull a canary bird, I presume likely, but 'twouldn't make the
thing sing no better. That Elviry critter likes to make believe she's
the Queen of Sheby. _She_ wouldn't live in no home--no sir-ee! 'Cordin'
to her the Fair Harbor ain't a home because they only take six or eight
passengers, or visitors, or patients, or jailbirds--whatever you might
to call 'em, and it costs four hundred dollars to pay your way in and a
hundred a year to keep you there. So 'tain't a home, you see. It's a--a
genteel henhouse, I'd say. That Elviry Snowden she----"
Then the captain asked the question to which he had been leading since
the beginning.
"That Berry girl's mother runs the place, doesn't she?" he asked.
Judah snorted. "Yeah," he drawled, "she runs it about the way the
skipper's poll parrot runs the vessel. The poll parrot talks a barrel a
minute and the skipper goes right along navigatin'. That's about the way
'tis over yonder," with a jerk of the head in the general direction of
the Fair Harbor.
His lodger was a trifle surprised.
"Why, I understood Mrs. Berry--Cap'n Isaac Berry's widow--was manager
there," he said.
"Um-hm. So she is, the poll parrot manager. But it's that girl of hers,
that 'Lizabeth Berry, that really handles the ropes. There's a capable
little craft, if you want to know," declared Judah, with emphasis.
He whittled a pipe full of tobacco from the mutilated remnant of a plug,
and continued to expatiate on the capabilities of Miss Berry. According
to him whatever was as it should be within the Fair Harbor boundaries
was due to the young woman's efforts, not to those of her mother.
"It's kind of queer, ain't it, Cap'n Sears," he observed, "how things
average up sometimes. Seems if whoever 'tis works out the course up
aloft sort of fixed 'em that way."
"What's that got to do with the Berrys?"
"Cause it worked that way with them. _You_ knew Cap'n Ike Berry, Cap'n
Sears. Sharp, shrewd, able and all that, but rough and hard as the
broadside of a white-oak plank. Well, he married a woman from down in
the Carolinas somewhere. Her folks was well-off and she was brought up
in cotton wool, as you might say. They wouldn't have nothin' to do with
her after she married Cap'n Ike. He fell in love with her and carried
her off by main strength, as you might say. She'd been treated like a
plaything afore he got her and he treated her that way till he died. She
is soft-spoken, and kind of good-lookin', and polite and all that--but
about as much practical use for bossin' a place like the Fair Harbor as
a--well as a paper umbrella would be in a no'theaster. But 'Lizabeth
now, she's different. She's got her mother's good looks and nice manners
and--and kind of genteelness, you understand, and with 'em she's got her
dad's sense and capableness. She's all right, that girl. Don't you think
so, Cap'n Sears?"
The captain nodded.
"I never met her but that once, Judah," he replied. "She was all right
then, surely."
"I bet you! She's all right most of the time, I guess.... That young
George Kent, he thinks so, they tell me."
"Oh ... does he?"
"Um-hm! He's cruisin' up to the Fair Harbor 'bout every once or twice a
week, 'cordin' to tell. If it ain't to see 'Lizabeth I don't know what
'tis. It might be Queen Elviry he's after, but I have my doubts.... Oh,
say, Cap'n, speakin' of the Harbor reminds me of Judge Knowles. You
ain't been in to see him yet, same as he wanted you to."
"That's so, Judah, I haven't. I must pretty soon, I suppose. I can't
think what the old judge wants to see me for. But why did talkin' of the
Fair Harbor and the rest of it make you think of Judge Knowles?"
"Hey? Oh, 'cause the judge is kind of commodore of the fleet there,
looks after the money matters for 'em, I understand. He's Lobelia's
lawyer, same as he was old Cap'n Sylvanus's afore he died.... I declare
I can't guess what he wants to see you for, Cap'n Sears. Do you
s'pose----"
Judah proceeded to suppose several things, each supposition more
far-fetched and improbable than its predecessor. Sears paid little
attention to them. He again expressed his intention of calling upon the
judge before long and changed the subject.
The next day it rained and he did not go and the following day he did
not feel like going. On the day after that, however, further
procrastination was rendered impossible. Mrs. Tidditt, the judge's
housekeeper, visited the General Minot place with another message from
her employer. Emmeline was gray-haired, brisk and, as Judah expressed
it, "straight up and down," both in figure and manner of speaking.
"Good mornin', Cap'n Kendrick," she said. "Judge Knowles wants to know
if 'twill be convenient for you to come over and see him this afternoon?
Says if 'tis he'll send Mike and the hoss-'n'-buggy around for you at
two o'clock."
The captain's guilty conscience made him a trifle embarrassed.
"Why--why, yes, certainly," he stammered. "I---- Well, I'm ashamed of
myself for not goin' over there sooner. Beg Judge Knowles's pardon for
me, will you, and tell him I'll be on hand at two sharp. And tell him
not to bother to send the horse and team. I'll get there all right."
Mrs. Tidditt sniffed. "I'll tell him the first part," she said. "And
Mike'll have the hoss-'n'-buggy here at ten minutes of. Judah Cahoon,
why in the land of Canaan don't you scrub up that back piazza floor once
in a while? It's dirty as a fish shanty."
Judah's back fin rose. "Say, who's keepin' house aboard here, anyway?"
he demanded. Mrs. Tidditt sniffed again. "Nobody, by the looks," she
said, and departed in triumph.
At two the Knowles horse and buggy drove into the yard. It was piloted
by Mike Callahan, an ancient, much bewhiskered Irishman who had been
employed by the judge almost as long as had Mrs. Tidditt. He and Judah
assisted Sears into the vehicle and the captain started upon his cruise,
which was a very short one, the Knowles establishment being but a few
hundred yards from the Minot place. On the way he inquired concerning
the judge's health. Mike shook his head.
"Bad," he grunted. "It's close _to_, the ould judge is."
"Oh, I'm sorry."
"Sure ye are. So are we all. He is a fine man, none better--barrin' he's
a grand ould curmudgeon. Here ye are, Cap'n. Git up till I lift ye
down."
Judge Knowles's house--Sears Kendrick had never been in it before--was a
big square mansion built in the '50's. There was the usual front door
leading to a dark front hall from which, to right and left respectively,
opened parlor and sitting rooms. Emmeline ushered the visitor into the
latter apartment. It was high studded, furnished in black walnut and
haircloth, a pair of tall walnut cases filled with books against one
wall, on the opposite wall a libellous oil portrait of the judge's wife,
who died twenty years before, and a pair of steel engravings depicting
"Sperm Whale Fishing in the Arctic"; No. 1, portraying "The Chase," No.
2, "the Capture." Beneath these stood a marble-topped table upon which
were neatly piled four gigantic volumes, bound copies of Harper's
Weekly, 1861 to '65, the Civil War period.
At the end of the room, where two French windows opened--that is, could
have opened, they never were--upon the narrow, iron-railed veranda, sat
Judge Marcus Aurelious Knowles, in an old-fashioned walnut armchair, his
feet upon a walnut and haircloth footstool--Bayport folk in those days
called such stools "crickets"--a knitted Afghan thrown over his legs and
a pillow beneath his head. And in that dark, shadowy room, its curtains
drawn rather low, so white was the judge's hair and his face that, to
Sears Kendrick, just in from the light out of doors, it was at first
hard to distinguish where the pillow left off and the head began.
But the head on the pillow stirred and the judge spoke.
"Ah--good afternoon, Kendrick," he said. "Glad to see you.... Humph.
Can't see much of you, can I? Here, Emmeline, put those shades up, will
you?"
The housekeeper moved toward the windows, but she protested as she
moved.
"Now, Judge," she said, "I don't believe you want them winder curtains
strung way up, do you? I hauled 'em down purpose so's the sun wouldn't
get in your eyes."
"Um--yes. Well, you haul 'em up again. And don't you haul 'em down till
I'm dead. You'll do it then, I know, and I don't want to attend my
funeral ahead of time."
Mrs. Tidditt gasped.
"Oh, Judge Knowles, how _can_ you talk so!" she wailed.
"I intend to talk as I choose--while I can talk at all.... There, there,
woman, that's enough. Put the blasted things up.... Umph! That's better.
Sit down, Cap'n, sit down. I want to look at you."
The captain took one of the walnut and haircloth chairs. The judge
looked at him and he looked at the judge. He remembered the latter as a
tall, broad-shouldered figure, with a ruddy face, black hair slightly
sprinkled with gray, and a nose and eye like an eagle's. The man in the
armchair was thin and shrunken, the face was deeply lined, and face and
hands and hair were snow white. The nose was, however, more eagle-like
than ever, and the eyes beneath the rough white brows had the old flash.
Sears waited an instant for him to speak, but he did not. So the captain
did.
"I beg your pardon, Judge," he began, "for not comin' over here sooner.
I got your message----"
Knowles interrupted. "Oh, you got it, did you?" he said. "Humph! I told
Emmeline to get word to you and she said---- Oh, well, never mind that.
Can't waste time. I haven't got any too much of it, or strength either.
Sorry to hear about your accident, Cap'n. Doctor Sheldon says you had a
close call of it. How are the legs?"
"Oh, I can navigate with 'em after a fashion, but not far. How are you,
Judge? Gettin' better fast, I hope."
The head on the pillow gave an impatient jerk. "Your hope is lost then.
Don't waste time talking about me. I'm going to die and I know it--and
before long.... There, there," as his caller uttered a protest, "don't
bother to pretend, Kendrick. We aren't children, either of us, although
you're a good many years younger than I am; but we're both too old to
make-believe. I'm almost through. Well, it's all right. I've lived past
my three score and ten and I'm alone in the world and ought not to mind
leaving it, I suppose. I don't much. It's an interesting place and there
are two or three matters I should like to straighten up before....
Humph! I'm the one's who's wasting the time. How are you? I don't mean
how would you like to be or how do your fool friends and the doctor tell
you you are--but how _are_ you?"
Captain Sears smiled. It had been a long, long time since any one had
talked to him like this. Not since he relinquished a mate's rating for
that of a master. But he did not resent it; he, too, was sick of
pretending.
"I'm in bad shape, Judge," he said. "My legs are better and I can hobble
around on 'em, as you saw when I hobbled in here. But as to whether or
not they will ever be fit for sea again I--well, I doubt it. And I
rather guess the doctor doubts it, too. I don't say so to many, haven't
said it to any one but you, but it looks to me as if I were on a lee
shore. I may get out of the breakers some day--or I may just lay there
and rot and drop to pieces.... Well, as you say, what's the use of
wastin' time talkin' about me?"
"I've got a reason for talking about you, Cap'n. So you're not confined
to your bed. And your head is all right, eh?"
Kendrick hesitated. He could not make out what in the world the man was
driving at.
"Eh?" repeated the judge.
"Yes, as right as it ever was, I presume likely. Sometimes I think that
may not be sayin' much."
"When a man thinks that way it is a favorable symptom, according to my
experience. From what I've heard and know, Cap'n Kendrick, your head
will do very well. Now there's another question. Have you got all the
money you need?"
The captain leaned back in his chair. He did not answer immediately.
From the head upon the pillow came a rasping chuckle.
"Go on," observed Judge Knowles, "ask it."
Kendrick stared at him. "Ask what?" he demanded.
"The question you had in mind. If I hadn't been a man with one foot in
the grave you would have asked me if I considered the amount of money
you had any of my damned business. Isn't that right?"
Sears hesitated. Then he grinned. "Just about," he said.
"I thought so. Well, in a way it is my business, because, if you have
all the money you need, fifteen hundred a year for the next two or three
years won't tempt you any. And I want to tempt you, Cap'n."
Again the captain was silent for an interval.
"Fifteen hundred a year?" he repeated, slowly.
"Yes."
"For what?"
"For services to be rendered. I've been looking for a man with time on
his hands, who has been used to managing, who can be firm when it's
necessary, has had enough experience of the world to judge people and
things and who won't let a slick tongue get the better of him. And he
must be honest. I think you fill the bill, Cap'n Kendrick."
The visitor tugged at his beard.
"Look here, Judge Knowles," he said crisply, "what are you talkin'
about? What's the joke?"
"It isn't a joke."
"Well, then what is it? You'll have to give me my bearin's, I'm lost in
the fog. Do I understand you to mean that you are offerin' me a berth, a
job where I can earn--no, I won't put it that way, where I will be paid
fifteen hundred a year?"
"I am, and," with another sardonic chuckle, "I rather think you'll earn
all you get. Of course fifteen hundred dollars a year isn't a large
salary, it isn't a sea captain's wage and share--not such a captain as
you've been, Kendrick. But, as I see it, you can't go to sea for a year
or two at least. You are planning to stay right here in Bayport. Well,
while you are here this thing I am offering you will," there was another
chuckle, "keep you moderately busy, and you will be earning something.
It may be that fifteen hundred won't be enough to be worth your while.
Perhaps I shouldn't venture to offer it if I hadn't heard--hadn't
heard----"
Sears interrupted.
"What you heard was probably true," he said crisply. "True enough, at
any rate. Fifteen hundred a year looks like a lot to me now. But what am
I to do to get it, that's the question. I'm a cripple, don't forget
that."
"I should remember it if I thought it necessary. You won't handle this
job with your legs. It is your head I want. Cap'n Kendrick, I want you
to take charge--take command, if you had rather we used seafaring lingo,
of that establishment next door to where you are living now. I want you
to act as--well, we'll call it captain of the Fair Harbor."
Captain Sears's eyes and mouth opened. His chair creaked as he leaned
forward and then slowly leaned back again.
"You--you--" he gasped, "you want me to--to manage that--that _old
women's home_?"
"Yes."
"_Me?_"
"Yes.... Here! where are you going?"
The visitor had risen.
"Stop!" shouted Judge Knowles. "Where are you going?"
The captain breathed heavily.
"I'm goin' to send for the doctor," he declared. "One of us two needs
him."