The bomb had burst, the debris had fallen, the smoke had to some extent
cleared, the committee, still incoherent but by no means speechless, had
retired to the dining room to talk it over. Mrs. Tidditt had accompanied
them; and Sears Kendrick and Elizabeth Berry were saying good-by at the
front door.
"Well," observed the captain, dubiously, "I'm glad you don't think I'm
more than nine tenths idiot. It's some comfort to know you can see one
tenth of common-sense in the thing. It's more than I can, and that's
honest. I give you my word, Miss Elizabeth, when I set sail from Judah's
back entry this mornin' I hadn't any more idea that I should undertake
the job of handlin' the Fair Harbor than--well, than that Snowden woman
had of kissin' that little spitfire that was flyin' up in her face every
minute or two while she was tryin' to read that paper.... Ha-ha! that
was awfully funny."
Elizabeth smiled. "It was," she agreed. "And it looks so much funnier to
me now than it did then, thanks to you, Cap'n Kendrick. You have taken a
great load off my mind."
"Um--yes, and taken it on my own, I shouldn't wonder. I do hope you'll
make it clear to your mother that all I intend doin' is to keep a sort
of weather eye on money matters, that's all. She is to have just the
same ratin' aboard here that she has always had--and so will you, of
course."
"But I haven't had any real rating, you know. And now I will be more of
a fifth wheel than ever. You and mother can manage the Harbor. You won't
need me at all. I can take a vacation, can't I? Won't that be
wonderful!"
He looked at her in unfeigned alarm.
"Here, here!" he exclaimed. "Lay to! Come up into the wind! Don't talk
that way, Miss Berry, or I'll jump over the rail before I've really
climbed aboard this craft. I'm countin' on you to do three thirds of the
work, just as I guess you've been doin' for a good while. All I shall be
good for--if anything--is to be a sort of reef in the channel, as you
might say, something for committees like this one to run their bows on
if they get too far off the course."
"And that will be the most useful thing any one can do, Cap'n Kendrick.
Oh, I shall thank Judge Knowles--in my mind--so many, many times a day
for sending you here, I know I shall. I guessed, when he told me you
were going to call, that there was something behind that call. And there
was. What a wise old dear he is, bless him."
"Is he? Well I wish I was surer of the wisdom in trappin' me into takin'
this command. However, I have taken it, so I'll have to do the best I
can for a while, anyhow. Afterwards--well, probably I won't last _but_ a
little while, so we won't worry about more than that. And you'll have to
stand by the wheel, Miss Elizabeth. If it hadn't been for you--I mean
for the way that committee lit into you--I don't think I should ever
have taken charge."
"I know. And I sha'n't forget. You may count on me, Cap'n Kendrick, for
anything I can do to help."
His face brightened. "Good!" he exclaimed. "That's as good as an
insurance policy on the ship and cargo. With you to pilot and me to
handle the crew she ought to keep somewhere in deep water.... Well, I'll
be gettin' back to port. Judah's dinner will be gettin' cold and he
won't like that. And to-morrow mornin' I'll come again and we'll have a
look at the figures."
"Yes. I'll have the books and bills and everything ready.... Oh, be
careful! Can't I help you down the step?"
He shook his head. "I can navigate after a fashion," he said, grimly. "I
get along about as graceful as a brick sloop in a head tide, but, by the
Lord Harry, I'll get along somehow.... No, don't, please. I'd rather
you didn't help me, if you don't mind."
Slowly, painfully, and with infinite care he lowered himself down the
step. On level ground once more, leaning heavily on his cane, he turned
to her and smiled a somewhat shame-faced apology.
"It's silly, I know," he said, panting a little, "but I've always been
used to doin' about as I pleased and it--somehow it plagues me to think
I can't go it alone still. Just stubborn foolishness."
She shook her head. "No, it isn't," she said, quickly. "I understand.
And I do hope you will be better soon. Of course you will."
"Will I?... Well, maybe. Good mornin', Miss Berry. Be sure and tell your
mother she's to be just as much cap'n as she ever was."
He hobbled along the walk to the gate. As he passed beneath the sign he
looked back. She was still standing in the doorway and when he limped in
at the entrance of the General Minot place she was there yet, watching
him.
He said no word to Judah of his acceptance of the post of commander of
the Fair Harbor. He felt that Judge Knowles should be the first to know
of it and that he, himself, should be the one to tell him. So, after
dinner was over, and Judah had harnessed the old horse to go to the
Minot wood lot for a load of pine boughs and brush for kindling, he
asked his ex-cook to take him across to the judge's in the wagon, leave
him there, and come for him later. Mr. Cahoon, of course, was delighted
to be of service but, of course also, he was tremendously curious.
"Hum," he observed, "goin' to see the judge again, be you, Cap'n Sears?"
"Yes."
"Hum.... Ain't heard that he's any sicker, nor nothin' like that, have
you?"
"No."
"I see.... Yus, yus.... Just goin' to make a--er--sort of--what you
might call a--er--a call, I presume likely."
"I shouldn't wonder."
"Um-hm.... I see.... Yus, yus, I see.... Um-hm.... Well, I suppose we
might as well--er--start now as any time, eh?"
"Better, I should say, Judah. Whenever you and the Foam Flake are ready,
I am."
The Foam Flake was the name with which Judah had rechristened the old
horse. The animal's name up to the time of the rechristening had been
Pet, but this, Mr. Cahoon explained, he could _not_ stand.
"'Whatever else he is,' says I to young Minot, 'he ain't no pet--not of
mine. The only way I ever feel like pettin' that oat barrel,' I says,
'is with a rope's end.' 'Well, why don't you give him a new name?' says
he. 'What'll I call him?' says I. 'Anything you can think of,' he says.
'By Henry,' says I. 'I have called him about everything I can think of,
already.' Haw, haw! That was a pretty good one, wan't it Cap'n Sears?"
"But where did you get 'Foam Flake' from?" the captain had wanted to
know.
"Oh, it just come to me, as you might say, same as them things do come
sometimes. I was tellin' the Methodist minister about it one day and he
said 'twas a--er--one of them--er--inflammations. Eh? Don't seem as if
it could have been 'inflammation,' but 'twas somethin' like it."
"Inspiration, maybe."
"That's the ticket, inspiration's what 'twas. Well, I was kind of
draggin' a seine through my head, so to speak, tryin' to haul aboard a
likely name for the critter, and fetchin' the net in empty every time,
when one day that--er--what-d'ye-call-it?--inflammation landed on me.
I'd piloted 'Pet' and the truck wagon over to Harniss--and worked my
passage every foot of the way--and over there to Brett's store I met
Luther Wixon, who was home from a v'yage to the West Indies. Lute and me
had been to sea together half a dozen times, and we got kind of
swappin' yarns about the vessels we'd been in.
"'Have you heard about the old _Foam Flake_?' says Lute. 'She was
wrecked on the Jersey coast off Barnegat,' he says, 'and now they've
made a barge out of her hull and she's freightin' hay in New York
harbor,' he says.
"Well, sir, I hauled off and fetched the broadside of my leg a slap you
could have heard to Jericho. 'By the creepin', jumpin',' says I. 'I've
got it!' 'Yes,' he says, 'you act as if you had. But what do you take
for it?' 'I wouldn't take a dollar note for it right now,' I told him.
And I wouldn't have, nuther. The old _Foam Flake_--maybe you remember
her, Cap'n Sears--was the dumdest, lop-sidedest, crankiest old white tub
of a bark that ever carried sail. When I was aboard of her she wouldn't
steer fit to eat, always wanted to go to port when you tried to put her
to starboard, walloped and slopped along awkward as a cow, was the
slowest thing afloat, and all she was ever really fit for was what they
are usin' her for now, and that was to stow hay in. If that wan't that
old horse of Minot's all over then I hope I'll never smoke a five-cent
cigar again. 'You ain't "Pet" no more,' says I to the critter; 'your
name's "Foam Flake!"' Haw, haw! See now, don't you, Cap'n Sears?"
Foam Flake and the truck-wagon landed the captain at the Knowles gate
and, a few minutes later, Kendrick was, rather shamefacedly, announcing
to the judge his acceptance of the superintendency of the Fair Harbor.
The invalid, as grimly sardonic and indomitable as ever, chuckled
between spasms of pain and weakness.
"Good! Good!" he exclaimed. "I thought you wouldn't say no if you once
saw how things were over there. Congratulations on your good sense,
Kendrick."
Sears shook his head. "Don't be any more sarcastic than you can help,
Judge," he said.
"No sarcasm about it. If you hadn't stepped in to help that girl I
should have known you didn't have any sense at all. By the way, I didn't
praise her too highly when we talked before, did I? She is considerable
of a girl, Elizabeth Berry, eh, Cap'n?"
The captain nodded.
"She is," he admitted. "And she was so confoundedly plucky, and she
stood up against that crowd of--of----"
"Mariners' women. Yes. Ho, ho! I should like to have been there."
"I am glad you wasn't. But when I saw how she stood up to them, and then
when her mother----"
"Yes. Um ... yes, I know. Isaac Berry was my friend and his daughter is
a fine girl. We'll remember that when we talk about the family,
Kendrick.... Whew! Well, I feel better. With you and Elizabeth to handle
matters over there, Lobelia's trust will be in good hands. Now I can go
to the cemetery in comfort."
He chuckled as if the prospect was humorous. Captain Sears spoke quickly
and without considering exactly how the words sounded.
"Indeed you can't," he protested. "Judge Knowles, I'm goin' to need you
about every minute of every day from now on."
"Nonsense! You won't need me but a little while, fortunately. And--for
that little while, probably--I shall be here and at your disposal. Come
in whenever you want to talk matters over. If the doctor or that damned
housekeeper try to stop you, hit 'em over the head. Much obliged to you,
Cap'n Kendrick. He, he! We'll give friend Egbert a shock when he comes
to town.... Oh, he'll come. Some of these days he'll come. Be ready for
him, Kendrick, be ready for him."
That evening the captain told Judah of his new position and Judah's
reception of the news was not encouraging. Somehow Sears felt that, with
the voice of Judah Cahoon was, in this case, speaking the opinion of
Bayport.
Judah had been scrubbing the frying-pan. He dropped it in the sink with
a tremendous clatter.
"_No!_" he shouted. "You're jokin', ain't you, Cap'n Sears?"
"It's no joke, Judah."
"My creepin' Henry! You can't mean it. You ain't really, honest to
godfreys, cal'latin' to pilot that--that Fair Harbor craft, be you?"
"I am, Judah. Wish me luck."
"Wish you _luck_! Jumpin', creepin', crawlin', hoppin'---- Why, there
ain't no luck _in_ it. That ain't no man's job, Cap'n Sears. That's a
woman's job, and even a woman'd have her hands full. Why, Cap'n,
they'll--that crew of--of old hens in there they'll pick your eyes out."
"Oh, I guess not, Judah. I've handled crews before."
"Yes--yes, you have--men crews aboard ship. But this ain't no men crew,
this is a woman crew. You can't lam _this_ crew over the head with no
handspike. When one of those fo'mast hands gives you back talk you can't
knock _her_ into the scuppers. All you can do is just stand and take it
and wait for your chance to say somethin'. And you won't _git_ no
chance. What chance'll you have along with Elviry Snowden and Desire
Peasley and them? Talk! Why, jumpin' Henry, Cap'n Sears, any one of them
Shanghais in there can talk more in a minute than the average man could
in a hour. Any one of 'em! Take that Susanna Brackett now. Oh, I've
heard about _her_! She had a half-brother one time. Where is he now? Ah
ha! Where is he? Nobody knows, that's where he is. Him and her used to
live together. Folks that lived next door used to hear her tongue
a-goin' at him all hours day or night. Wan't no 'watch and watch' in
that house--no sir-ee! She stood _all_ the watches. She----"
"There, there, Judah. I guess I can stand the talk. If it gets too bad
I'll put cotton in my ears."
"Huh! Cotton! Cotton won't do no good. Have to solder your ears up
like--like a leaky tea-kittle, if you wanted to keep from hearin'
Susanna Brackett's clack. Why, that brother of hers--Ebenezer Samuels,
seems to me his name was. Seems to me they told me that Susanna's name
was Samuels afore she married Brackett. Maybe twan't Samuels. Seems to
me, now I think of it, as if 'twas Schwartz. Yet it don't hardly seem
as if it could be, does it? I guess likely I'm gettin' him mixed with a
feller name of Samuel Schwartz that I knew on South Street in New York
one time. Run a pawn shop, he did. I remember _that_ Schwartz 'cause he
used to _take_ stuff, you know--er--er--same as a Chinaman. One of them
oakum eaters, that s what he was--an oakum eater. Why one time he----"
Sears never did learn what happened to Mrs. Brackett's brother. Judah's
reminiscent fancy, once started, wandered far and wide, and in this case
it forgot entirely to return to the missing Samuels--or Schwartz. But
Mr. Cahoon expressed himself freely on the subject of his beloved
ex-captain and present lodger taking charge of the establishment next
door. Sears' explanations and excuses bore little weight. Time and time
again that evening Mr. Cahoon would come out of a dismal reverie to
exclaim: "Skipper of the Fair Harbor for Mariners' Women! You! Cap'n
Sears Kendrick, skipper of _that_ craft! Don't seem possible, somehow,
does it?"
"Look here Judah," the captain at last said, in desperation, "if you
feel so almighty bad about it, perhaps you won't want me here. I can
move, you know."
Judah turned a horrified face in his direction. "Move!" he repeated
"_Don't_ talk so, Cap'n Sears. That's the one comfort I see in the whole
business. Livin' right next door to 'em the way you and me do, you can
always run into port here if the weather gets too squally over yonder.
Yes, sir there'll always be a snug harbor under my lee when the Fair
Harbor's too rugged. Eh? Ha, ha!"
Just before retiring Sears said, "There's just one thing I want you to
do, Judah. You may feel--as I know you do feel--that my takin' this job
is a foolish thing. But don't you let any one else know you feel that
way."
Judah snorted. "Don't you worry, Cap'n Sears," he said. "If any one of
them sea lawyers down to Bassett's store gets to heavin' sass at me
about your takin' the hellum at the Harbor I'll shut their hatches for
'em. I'll tell 'em the old judge and Lobelia was ondecided between you
and Gen'ral Grant for the job, but finally they picked you. Don't
mistake me now, Cap'n. Your goin' over there is the best thing for
the--the henroost that ever was or ever will be. It's you I'm thinkin'
about. It ain't--well, by the crawlin' prophets, 'tain't the kind of
berth you've been used to. Now is it, Cap'n Sears?"
Kendrick smiled, a one-sided smile.
"Maybe not, Judah," he admitted. "It is a queer berth, but it's a berth,
and, unless these legs of mine get well a lot quicker than I think they
will, I may be mighty thankful to have any berth at all."
He told his sister this when she called to learn if the rumor she had
heard was true. She shook her head.
"Perhaps it is all right, Sears," she said. "I suppose you know best.
But, somehow, I--well, I hate to think of your doin' it."
"I know. You're proud, Sarah. Well, I used to be proud too, before the
ship-chandlery business and the Old Colony railroad dismasted me and
left me high and dry."
She put a hand on his arm. "Don't, Sears," she pleaded. "You know why I
hate to have you do it. It don't seem--it don't seem--you know what I
mean."
"A man's job. I know. Judah said the same thing. I took Judge Knowles'
offer because it seemed the only way I could earn my salt. If I didn't
take it you and Joel might have had a poor relation to board and lodge.
And you've got enough on your hands already, Sarah."
She sighed. "Of course I knew that was why you took it," she said.
Yet, even as he said it, he realized that the statement was not the
whole truth. The fifteen hundred a year salary had tempted him, but if
he had not gone to the Fair Harbor on that forenoon and seen Elizabeth
Berry brave the committee and her mother, it is extremely doubtful if he
would have yielded. In all probability he would have declined the
judge's offer and have risked the prospect of the almost hopeless
future, for a time longer at least.
But, having accepted, he characteristically cast doubts, misgivings and
might-have-beens over the side, as he had cast wreckage over the rails
of his ships after storms, and, while Bayport buzzed with gossip and
criticism and surmise concerning him, took up his new duties and went
ahead with them. The morning following that of his dramatic scene with
the committee he limped to the door of the Fair Harbor and, for the
first time, entered that door as general manager.
He anticipated, and dreaded, a perhaps painful and surely embarrassing
scene with Mrs. Berry, but was pleasantly disappointed. Elizabeth, true
to her promise, had evidently broken the news to her mother and, also,
had reconciled the matron to her partial deposing. Mrs. Berry was, of
course, a trifle martyrlike, a little aggrieved, but on the whole
resigned.
"I presume, Captain Kendrick," she said, "that I should have expected
something of the sort. Dear 'Belia is abroad and Judge Knowles is ill,
and, from what I hear, his mind is not what it was."
Sears, repressing a smile, agreed that that might be the case.
"But, of course, Mrs. Berry," he explained, "I did not take the position
with the least idea of interferin' with you. You will be--er--er--well,
just what you have been here, you know. I've shipped to help you and the
judge and Miss Elizabeth in any way I can, that's all."
With the situation thus diplomatically explained Mrs. Berry brightened,
restored her handkerchief to her pocket--in the '70's ladies' gowns had
pockets--and announced that she was sure that she and the captain would
get on charmingly together.
"And, after all, Captain Kendrick," she gushed, "a man's advice is so
often _so_ necessary in business, you know, and all that. Just as a
woman's advice helps a man at times. Why, Captain Berry--my dear
husband--used to say that without my advice he would have been
absolutely at sea, yes, absolutely."
According to Bayport gossip, as related by Judah, Captain Isaac Berry
had been, literally, during the latter part of his life, absolutely at
sea as much as he possibly could. "And mighty thankful to be there,
too," so Mr. Cahoon was wont to add.
Elizabeth heard a portion of Sears interview with her mother, but she
made no comment upon it, to him at least. When he announced his
intention of interviewing Miss Snowden, however, she was greatly
surprised and said so. "You want to speak with Elvira, Cap'n Kendrick?"
she repeated. "You do, really? Do you--of course I am not interfering,
please don't think I am--but do you think it a--a wise thing to do, just
now?"
The captain nodded. "Why, yes, I do," he said. "Oh, it's all right, Miss
Elizabeth, I'm not goin' to start any rows. You wouldn't think it to
look at me, probably, but I've got an idea in my head and I'm goin' to
try it out on this Elvira."
It was some time before he was able to catch Miss Snowden alone, but at
last he did and, as it happened, in that same summer-house, the Eyrie,
where he had first seen her. The interview began, on her part, as
frostily as a February morning in Greenland, but ended like a balmy
evening in Florida. The day following he laid his plans to meet and
speak with Mrs. Brackett and the militant Susanna thereafter became as
peaceful, so far as he was concerned, as a dovecote in spring. Elizabeth
Berry, noticing these changes, and surmising their cause, regarded him
with something like awe.
"Really, Cap'n Kendrick," she said, "I'm beginning to be a little afraid
of you. When you first spoke of interviewing Elvira Snowden alone
I--well, I was strongly tempted to send for the constable. I didn't know
what might happen. She was saying--so Esther Tidditt told me--the most
dreadful things about you and I was frightened for your safety. And Mrs.
Brackett was just as savage. And now--why, Elvira this very morning told
me, herself, that she considered your taking the management here a
blessing. I believe she did call it a blessing in disguise, but that
doesn't make any real difference. And Susanna--three days ago--was
calling upon all our--guests here to threaten to leave in a body, as a
protest against the giving over of the management of their own Harbor to
a--excuse me--man like you. I don't know she meant by that, but it is
what she said. And now----"
"Just a minute, Miss Elizabeth. Called me a man, did she? Well, comin'
from her that's a compliment, in a way. She ought to know she's the
nearest thing, herself, to a man that I've about ever seen in skirts.
But that's nothin'. What interests me is that idea of all the crew
aboard here threatenin' to leave. They could, I suppose, if they wanted
to same as anybody aboard a ship could jump overboard. But in both cases
the question would be the same, wouldn't it? Where would they go to
after they left?"
Miss Berry smiled. "They have no idea of leaving," she said. "But they
like to think--or pretend to think--that they could if they wanted to
and that the Fair Harbor would go to rack and ruin if they did. It
comes, you see, of to paying that hundred dollars a year. That, to their
mind--and I imagine Mrs. Phillips had it in her mind too, when she
planned this place--prevents it being a 'home' in the ordinary sense of
the word. But Susanna's threatening to leave amounts to nothing. What I
am so much interested in is to know how you changed her attitude and
Elvira's from war to peace? How did you do it, Cap'n Kendrick?"
The captain's left eyelid drooped. He smiled. "Well," he said, slowly,
"I tell you. I've sailed in all sorts of weather and I've come to the
conclusion that when you're in a rough sea the first thing to do, if you
can, is to smooth it down. If you can't--why, then fight it. The best
treatment I know for a rough sea is to sling a barrel of oil over the
bows. It's surprisin' what a little bit of oil will do to make things
smoother for a vessel. It's always worth tryin', anyway, and that's how
I felt in this case of Elvira and Susanna. When I started to beat up
into their neighborhood I had a barrel of oil slung over both my port
and starboard bows. I give you my word, Miss Elizabeth, I was the
oiliest craft afloat in these waters, I do believe."
His smile broadened. Elizabeth smiled too, but her smile was a bit
uncertain.
"I--I _think_ I understand you, Cap'n Kendrick," she said. "But I'm not
quite sure. How did you---- Would you mind being just a little more
clear? Won't you explain a little more fully?"
"Surely. Easiest thing in the world. Take Sister Snowden. I cast anchor
under her lee--and 'twas like tyin' up to an iceberg at first. Ha,
ha!--and I began by sayin' that I had been waitin' for a chance to speak
with her alone. There were a few things I wanted to explain, I said. I
told her that of course I realized she was not like the average, common
run of females here in the Harbor. I knew that so far as brains and
refinement and--er--beauty were concerned she was far, far ahead, had
all the rest of 'em hull down, so to speak."
"Cap'n Kendrick, you didn't!"
"Eh! Well, maybe I left out the 'beauty,' but otherwise than that I told
her just that thing. The ice began to melt a little and when I went on
to say that I realized how much the success of the Fair Harbor depended
on her sense and brains and so on she was obliged to give in that she
agreed with me. It was what she had thought all the time, you see; so
when I told her I thought so too, we began to get on a common fishin'
ground, so to speak. And the more I hinted at how wonderful I thought
she was the smarter she began to think _I_ was. It ended in a sort of
understandin' between us. I am to do the best I can as skipper here and
she is to help along in the fo'castle, as you might say. When I need any
of her suggestions I'm to go and ask her for 'em. And we aren't either
of us goin' to tell the rest of the crew--or passengers, or whatever you
call 'em--a word. When she and I separated there was a puddle of oil all
around that Eyrie place, but there wasn't a breaker in sight. Ha, ha!
Oh, dear!"
He laughed aloud. Miss Berry laughed, too, but she still seemed somewhat
puzzled.
"But, Cap'n Kendrick," she said, "you're not going to ask for her
suggestions, are you?"
"Only when I need 'em. The agreement was that I was to ask when I needed
'em. I have a pretty strong feelin' that I shan't need 'em much."
"But it was her idea, the buying of that ridiculous statuary."
"Yes, I know. We talked about that. I told her that I was sure the iron
menagerie that belonged to her uncle, or whoever it was, would have made
this place look as lovely as the Public Garden in Boston. I said you and
your mother thought so, too, but that the trouble was we couldn't afford
'em at present. If ever another collection hove in sight that we could
afford, I'd let her know. But, whatever happened, she must always feel
that I was dependin' on her. She said she was glad to know that and that
I _could_ depend on her. So it'll be fair weather in her latitude for a
while."
"And Susanna--Mrs. Brackett? What did you say to her?"
"Oh, exactly what I said to Elvira. I can depend on her, too, she said
so. And I can have _her_ advice--when I need it. The main thing, Miss
Elizabeth, was, it seemed to me, to smooth down the rough water until I
could learn a little of my new job, at least enough to be of some help
to you. Because it is plain enough that if this Fair Harbor is to keep
afloat and on an even keel, you will keep it so--just as you have been
keepin' it for the last couple of years. I called myself the admiral
here the other day, when I was talkin' to that committee. I realize that
all I really am, or ever will be, is a sort of mate to you, Miss
Elizabeth. And a good deal of a lubber even at that, I am afraid."
The lubber mate was, at least, a diligent student. Each morning found
him hobbling to the door of the Fair Harbor--the side door now, not the
stately and seldom-used front door--and in the room which Cordelia Berry
called her "study" he and Elizabeth studied the books and accounts of
the institution. These were in good condition, surprisingly good
condition, and he of course realized that that condition was due to the
capability and care of the young woman herself. Mrs. Berry professed a
complete knowledge of everything pertaining to the Fair Harbor, but in
reality her knowledge was very superficial. In certain situations she
was of real help. When callers came during hours when Elizabeth and
Sears were busy Cordelia received and entertained them and was in her
element while doing so. At dinner--on one or two occasions the captain
dined at the Harbor instead of limping back to Judah's kitchen--she
presided at the long table and was the very pattern of the perfect
hostess. A stranger, happening in by chance, might have thought her the
owner of palaces and plantations, graciously dispensing hospitality to
those less favored. As an ornament--upon the few occasions when the Fair
Harbor required social ornamentation--Cordelia Berry left little to be
desired. But when it came--as it usually did come--to the plain duties
of housekeeping and managing, she left much. And that much was, so Sears
Kendrick discovered, left to the willing and able hands of her daughter.
As, under Elizabeth's guidance, Captain Sears plodded through the books
and accounts, he was increasingly impressed with one thing, which was
how very close to the wind, to use his own seafaring habit of thought
and expression, the Fair Harbor for Mariners' Women was obliged to sail.
The income from the fifty thousand dollar endowment fund was small, the
seven hundred dollars paid yearly by the guests helped but a little, and
expenses, even when pared down as closely as they had been, seemed large
in comparison. Mrs. Berry's salary as matron was certainly not a big one
and Elizabeth drew no salary at all. He spoke to her about it.
"Don't they pay you any wages for all the work you do here?" he queried.
She shook her head. "Of course not," she replied. "How could they? Where
would the money come from?"
"But--why, confound it, you run the whole craft. It isn't fair that you
should do it for nothin'."
"I do it to help mother. Her salary as matron here is practically all
she has. She needs me. And, of course, the Fair Harbor is our home, just
as it is Elvira's and Esther Tidditt's, and the rest."
He glanced at her quickly to see if there was any trace of bitterness or
resentment in her expression. He had detected none in her voice. But she
was, apparently, not resentful, not as resentful as he, for that matter.
"Yes," he said, and if he had paused to think he would not have said it,
"it is your home now, but it isn't goin' to be always, is it? You're not
plannin' to stay here and help your mother for the rest of your life?"
She did not reply at once, when she did the tone was decisive and final.
"I shall stay as long as I am needed," she said. "Here are the bills for
the last month, Cap'n Kendrick."
That evening the captain employed Judah and the Foam Flake to carry him
to and from Judge Knowles'. The call was a very brief one. Sears had
determined to trouble the judge as little as was humanly possible.
"Judge," he said, coming to the point at once, "I've been lookin' over
the books and runnin' expenses of that Harbor place and for the life of
me I can't see how it can carry another cent and keep afloat. As it is,
that Berry girl ought to draw at least a hundred a month, and she
doesn't get a penny."
Knowles nodded. "I know it," he agreed. "But you say yourself that the
Fair Harbor can't spare another cent. How could we pay her?"
"I don't know. And what I don't know a whole lot more is how I'm goin'
to be paid fifteen hundred a year. Where's that comin' from; can you
tell me?"
From the bed--the invalid was in bed most of the time now--came a
characteristic chuckle. "He, he, he," laughed the judge. "So you've got
on far enough to wonder about that, eh?"
"I certainly have. And I want to say right here that----"
"Hold on! Hold on, Kendrick! Don't be a fool. And don't make the
mistake of thinkin' I'm one, either. I may have let you guess that the
Fair Harbor was to pay your salary. It isn't because it can't. _I'm_
paying it and I'm going to pay it--while I'm alive and after I'm dead.
You're my substitute and so long as you keep that job you'll get your
pay. It's all arranged for, so don't argue."
"But, Judge, why----"
"Shut up. I want to do it and I can afford to do it. Let a dead man have
a little fun, can't you. You'll earn your money, I tell you. And when
that Egbert comes I'll get the worth of mine--dead or alive, I'll get
it. Now go home and let me alone, I'm tired."
But Sears still hesitated.
"That's all right, Judge," he said. "You've got the right to spend your
own money, I presume likely, so I won't say a word; although I may have
my own opinion as to your judgment in spendin' it. But there's one more
thing I can't quite get over. Here am I, about third mate's helper
aboard that Harbor craft, bein' paid fifteen hundred a year, and that
girl--as fine, capable, sensible--er--er--nice girl as ever lived, I do
believe--workin' her head off and runnin' the whole ship, as you might
say, and bein' paid nothin' at all. It isn't right. It isn't square. I
won't stand it. I'll heave up my commission and you pay her the fifteen
hundred. _She_ earns it."
Silence. Then another slow chuckle from the bed.
"Humph!" grunted Judge Knowles. "'Fine, capable, sensible, nice--'
Getting pretty enthusiastic, aren't you, Kendrick? He, he, he!"
Taken by surprise, and suddenly aware that he had spoken very
emphatically, the captain blushed, and felt, himself a fool for so
doing.
"Why--I--I--" he stammered, then laughed, and declared stoutly, "I don't
care if I am. That girl deserves all the praise anybody's got aboard.
She's a wonder, that's what she is. And she isn't bein' treated right."
The answer was of a kind quite unexpected.
"Well," rasped the judge, "who said she was?"
"Eh? What----"
"Who said she was? Not I. Don't you suppose I know what Elizabeth Berry
is worth to Lobelia Seymour's idiot shop over yonder? And what she
gets--or doesn't get? And didn't I tell you that her father was my best
friend? Then.... Oh, well! Kendrick, you go back to your job. And don't
you fret about that girl. What she doesn't get now she.... Humph! Clear
out, and don't worry me any more. Good night."
So the captain departed. In a way his mind was more at rest. He was
nearer to being reconciled to the fifteen hundred a year now that he
knew it was not to come from the funds of the Fair Harbor. Judge Knowles
was reputed to be rich. If he chose to pay a salary to gratify a
whim--why, let him. He, Kendrick, would do his best to earn that salary.
But, nevertheless, he did not intend to let Elizabeth Berry remain under
any misapprehension as to where the salary was coming from. He would
tell her the next time they met. A new thought occurred to him. Why not
tell her then--that very evening? It was not late, only about nine
o'clock.
"Judah," he said, "I've got to run in to the Harbor a minute. Drive me
around to the side door, will you? And then wait there for me, that's a
good fellow."
So, leaving the Foam Flake and its pilot to doze comfortably in the soft
silence of the summer evening, Sears--after Judah had, as was his
custom, lifted him down from the wagon seat and handed him his
cane--plodded to the side door of the Harbor and knocked. Mrs. Brackett
answered the knock.
"Why, how d'ye do, Cap'n Kendrick?" she said, graciously. "Come right
in. We wasn't expectin' you. You don't very often call evenin's. Come
right in. I guess you know everybody here."
He did, of course, for the group in the back sitting room was made up of
the regular guests. He shook hands with them all, including Miss
Snowden, who greeted him with queenly condescension, and little Mrs.
Tidditt, who jerked his arm up and down as if it was a pump handle, and
affirmed that she was glad to see him, adding, as an after thought,
"Even if I did see you afore to-day."
"Now you are just in time, Cap'n Kendrick," said Miss Elvira. "We are
going to have our usual little 'sing' before we go to bed. Desire--Miss
Peasley--plays the melodeon for us and we sing a few selections, sacred
selections usually, it is our evening custom. Do join us, Cap'n
Kendrick. We should love to have you."
The captain thanked them, but declined. He had run in only for a moment,
he said, a matter of business, and must not stop.
"Besides, I shouldn't be any help," he added. "I can't sing a note."
Miss Snowden would have uttered some genteel protest, but Mrs. Tidditt
spoke first.
"Humph! _That_ won't make any difference," she announced. "Neither can
any of the rest of us--not the right notes."
Possibly Elvira, or Susanna, might have retorted. The former looked as
if she were about to, but Mrs. Aurora Chase came forward.
"And it wasn't more'n ha'f past six neither," she declared with
conviction.
Just why or when it was half past six, or what had happened at that
time, or what fragment of conversation Aurora's impaired hearing had
caught which led her to think this happening was being discussed, the
captain was destined never to learn. For at that instant Miss Berry came
into the room, entering from the hall.
"Who is it?" she asked. "Why, good evening, Cap'n Kendrick."
She was what two thirds of Bayport would have called "dressed up." That
is to say, she was wearing a simple afternoon gown instead of the
workaday garb in which he had been accustomed to seeing her. It was
becoming, even at the first glance he was sure of that.
"Good evening, Cap'n Kendrick," she said, again. "I wasn't expecting
you this evening. Is anything the matter?"
"Oh no, no! I just ran over for a minute. I--um--yes, that's all."
He scarcely knew how to explain his errand. He had referred to it as a
matter of business, but it was scarcely that. And he could not explain
it at all in the presence of the guests, each one so obviously eager to
have him do so.
"I just ran in," he repeated. She looked a little puzzled, and it seemed
to him that she hesitated, momentarily. Then--
"Won't you come into the parlor?" she asked. Was it the captain's
imagination, or did Elvira and Susanna and Desire and the rest--except
Aurora, of course, who had not heard--cast significant looks at each
other? It seemed to him that they did, but why? A moment later he
understood.
"Come right in, Cap'n," she urged. "George is here, but you know him, of
course."
They had walked the length of the hall and were almost at the door when
she made this announcement. He paused.
"George?" he repeated.
"Why, yes, George Kent. But that doesn't make a bit of difference. Come
in."
"But, Miss Elizabeth, I didn't realize you had company. I----"
"No, no. Stop, Cap'n Kendrick. George isn't company. He is--just George.
Come in."
So he went in and George Kent, tall and boyish and good looking, rose to
shake hands. He appeared very much at home in that parlor, more so than
Sears Kendrick did just then. The latter knew young Kent well, of
course, had met him first at Sarah Macomber's and had, during his slow
convalescence there, learned to like him. They had not seen much of each
other since the captain became Judah Cahoon's lodger, although Kent had
dropped in once for a short call.
But Sears had not expected to find him there, that evening, in the best
parlor of the Fair Harbor. There was every reason why he should have
expected it. Judah had told him that George was a regular visitor and
had more than hinted at the reason. But, in the whirl of interest
caused by his acceptance of his new position and the added interest of
his daily labors with Elizabeth, the captain had forgotten about
everything and every one else, Kent included.
But there he was, young, broad-shouldered, handsome, optimistic,
buoyant. And there, too, was Elizabeth, also young, and pretty and gayly
chatty and vivacious. And there, too, was he, Sears Kendrick, no longer
young, even in the actual count of years, and feeling at least twice
that count--there he was, a cripple, a derelict.
His call was very brief. The contrast between himself and those two
young people was too great, and, to him, at least, too painful. He did
not, of course, mention the errand which had brought him there. He could
tell Elizabeth the facts concerning the payment of his wages at some
other time. He gave some more or less plausible reason for his running
in, and, at the end of fifteen minutes or so, ran out. Kent shook hands
with him at parting and declared that he was going to call at the Minot
place at an early date.
"We've all missed you there at the Macombers', Cap'n," he said. "Your
sister says it doesn't seem like the same place. And I agree with her,
it doesn't. I'm coming to see you within a day or two, sure. May I?"
Sears said of course he might, and tried to make his tone cordial, but
the attempt was not too successful. Elizabeth accompanied him to the
side door. This meant a return trip through the back sitting room,
where, judging by the groans of the melodeon and the accompanying vocal
wails, the "sing" had been under way for some minutes. But, when Captain
Sears and Miss Berry entered the room, there was absolute silence.
Something had stopped the sing, had stopped it completely and judging by
the facial expressions of the majority of those present, painfully.
Miss Snowden sat erect in her chair, frigidly, icily, disgustedly erect.
Beside her Mrs. Brackett sat, scorn and mental nausea plain upon her
countenance. Every one looked angry and disgusted except Mrs. Chase, who
was eagerly whispering questions to her next neighbor, and Mrs.
Tidditt, who was grinning broadly.
Elizabeth looked in astonishment at the group.
"Why what is it?" she asked. "What is the matter?"
Several began speaking, but Miss Elvira raised a silencing hand.
"We were having our sing," she said. "I say 'we _were_'. We are not now,
because," her eyes turned to and dwelt upon the puzzled face of Captain
Sears Kendrick, "we were interrupted."
"Interrupted?" Elizabeth repeated the word.
"Interrupted was what I said. And _such_ interruptions! Captain
Kendrick, I presume you are not responsible for the--ahem--_manners_ of
your--ahem--friend, or landlord, or cook or whatever he may be, but
whoever _is_ responsible for them should be.... But there, listen for
yourself."
Warned by the raised Snowden hand, every one, including the captain and
Elizabeth, listened. And, from the yard without so loud that the words
were plainly understandable although the windows were closed and locked,
came the voice of Judah Cahoon, uplifted in song.
"'Whisky is the life of man,
Whisky, Johnny!
Whisky from an old tin can,
Whisky for my Johnny!
"'I drink whisky and my wife drinks gin,
Whisky, Johnny!
The way we drink 'em is a sin,
Whisky for my Johnny!'"
The singer paused, momentarily, and Elvira spoke.
"Of course," she said, "I make no comment upon the lack of common
politeness shown by interrupting our evening sing by such--ah--_noises_
as that. But when one considers the morals of the person who chooses
such low, disgraceful----"
"'I had a girl, her name was Lize,
Whisky, Johnny!
She put whisky in her pies,
Whisky for my Johnny!'"
Captain Sears hobbled, as fast as his weak legs would permit, to the
door. He flung it open.
"'Whisky stole my brains away,
Whisky, Johnny!
Just one more pull and then belay,
Whisky for----'"
"Judah! _Judah!_"
"Eh? Aye, aye, Cap'n Sears. What is it?"
"Shut up!"
"Eh? Oh! Aye, aye, Cap'n."
He swung his former skipper to the seat of the truck-wagon. The captain
spoke but little during the short trip home. What he did say, however,
was to the point.
"Judah," he ordered, "the next time you sing anywhere within
speakin'-trumpet distance of that Fair Harbor place, don't you dare sing
anything but psalms."
"Eh? But which?"
"Never mind. What in everlastin' blazes do you mean by sittin' up aloft
here and bellowin' about--rum and women?"
"Hold on, now, Cap'n Sears! Ho-ld on! That wan't no rum and woman song,
that was the old 'Whisky, Johnny' chantey. Why, I've heard that song
aboard your own vessels mo-ore times, Cap'n Sears. Why----"
"All right. But don't let me ever hear it sung near the Fair Harbor
again. If you must sing, when you're over there sing--oh, sing the
doxology."
Judah did not speak for a minute or two. Then he stirred rebelliously.
"What's that?" asked the captain. "What are you mumblin' about?"
"Eh? I wan't mumblin'. I was just sayin' I didn't have much time to
learn new-fangled songs, that's all.... Whoa, you--you walrus! Don't you
know enough to come up into the wind when you git to your moorin's?"
As his boarder took his lamp from the kitchen table, preparatory to
going to his room, Mr. Cahoon spoke again.
"George Kent was over there, wan't he?" he observed.
"Eh? Oh ... yes."
"Um-hm. I cal-lated he would be. This is his night--one of 'em. Comes
twice a week, Tuesdays and Fridays, they tell me, and then heaves in a
Sunday every little spell, for good measure. Gettin' to be kind of
settled thing between them two, so all hands are cal'latin'.... Hey?
Turnin' in already, be you, Cap'n? Well, good night."
Sears Kendrick found it hard to fall asleep that night. He tossed and
tumbled and thought and thought and thought. At intervals he cursed
himself for a fool and resolved to think no more, along those lines at
least, but to forget the foolishness and get the rest he needed. And
each time he was snatched back from the brink of that rest by a vision
of George Kent, tall, young, good-looking, vigorous, with all the world,
its opportunities and rewards, before him, and of himself almost on the
verge of middle age, a legless, worthless, hopeless piece of wreckage.
He liked Kent, George was a fine young fellow, he had fancied him when
they first met. Every one liked him and prophesied his success in life
and in the legal profession. Then why in heaven's name shouldn't he call
twice a week at the Fair Harbor if he wished to? He should, of course.
That was logic, but logic has so little to do with these matters, and,
having arrived at the logical conclusion, Captain Sears Kendrick found
himself still fiercely resenting that conclusion, envying young Kent his
youth and his hopes and his future, and as stubbornly rebellious against
destiny as at the beginning.
Nevertheless--and he swore it more than once before that wretched night
was over--no one but he should know of that envy and rebellion, least
of all the cause of it. From then on he would, he vowed, take especial
pains to be nice to George Kent and to help or befriend him in every
possible way.