It was Kent himself who put this vow to the test. He called at the Minot
place the very next evening. It was early, only seven o'clock; Judah,
having begged permission to serve an early supper because it was "lodge
night," had departed for Liberty Hall, where the local branch of the Odd
Fellows met; and Sears Kendrick was sitting on the settee in the back
yard, beneath the locust tree, smoking. Kent came swinging in at the
gate and again the captain felt that twinge of envy and rebellion
against fate as he saw the active figure come striding toward him.
But, and doubly so because of that very twinge, his welcome was brimming
with cordiality. Kent explained that his call must be a brief one, as he
must hurry back to his room at the Macombers' to study. It was part of
his agreement with Eliphalet Bassett that his duties as bookkeeper at
the latter's store should end at six o'clock each night.
Sears asked how he was getting on with his law study. He replied that he
seemed to be getting on pretty well, but missed Judge Knowles' help and
advice very much indeed.
"I read with Lawyer Bradley over at Harniss now," he said. "Go over two
evenings a week, Mondays and Thursdays. The other evenings--most of
them--I put in by myself, digging away at _Smith on Torts_ and _Chitty
on Bills_, and stuff of that kind. I suppose that sounds like pretty
dull music to you, Cap'n Kendrick."
The captain shook his head. "I don't know about the music part," he
observed. "It's a tune I never could learn to play--or sing, either, I'm
sure of that. But you miss the judge's help, do you?"
"Miss it like blazes. He could do more in five minutes to make me see a
point than Bradley can in an hour. Bradley's a pretty good lawyer, as
the average run of small lawyers go, but Judge Knowles is away above the
average. Bradley will hem and haw and 'rather think' this and 'it would
seem as if' that, but the judge will say a hundred words, and two of 'em
swear words, and there is the answer, complete, plain and demonstrated.
I do like Judge Knowles. I only hope he likes me half as well."
They discussed the judge, his illness and the pity of it. This led to a
brief talk concerning Sears' hurt and his condition. Kent seemed to
consider the latter much improved.
"Your sister says so, too," he declared. "I heard her telling Macomber
yesterday at dinner that she thought you looked and acted very much more
like a well man than when you left our house. And your legs must be
better, too, Cap'n. I'm sure you get around easier than you did."
The captain shrugged. "I get around," he said, "but that's about all you
can say. Whether I'll ever.... But there, what's the use of talkin'
about my split timbers? Tell me some of the Bayport news. Now that it
seems to be settled I'm goin' to tie up here for a good while I ought to
know somethin' about my fellow citizens, hadn't I? What is goin' on?"
There was not very much going on, so Kent said. Captain Lorenzo Taylor's
ship was due in New York almost any week or day now, and then the
captain would, of course, come home for a short visit. Mrs. Captain
Elkanah Wingate had a new silk dress, and, as it was the second silk
gown within a year, there was much talk at sewing circle and at the
store concerning it and Captain Elkanah's money. One of Captain Orrin
Eldridge's children was ill with scarlet fever. The young people of the
Universalist society were going to give some amateur theatricals at the
Town Hall some time in August, and the minister at the Orthodox
meeting-house had already preached a sermon upon the sin of theater
going.
"There," concluded George Kent, with another laugh. "That's about all
the local excitement, Cap'n. It won't keep you awake to-night, I hope."
Sears smiled. "Guess I'll drop off in spite of it," he observed. "But it
is kind of interestin', too, some of it. Hope Cap'n Lorenzo makes a good
voyage home. He's in the _Belle of the Ocean_, isn't he? Um-hm. Well,
she's a good able vessel and Lorenzo's a great hand to carry sail, so,
give him good weather, he'll bring her home flyin'. So the Universalists
have been behavin' scandalous, have they? Dear, dear! But what can you
expect of folks so wicked they don't believe in hell? Humph! I mustn't
talk that way. I forgot that you were a Universalist yourself, George."
Kent smiled. "Oh, I'm as wicked as anybody you can think of," he
declared. "Why, I'm going to take a part in those amateur theatricals,
myself."
"Are you? My, my! You'll be goin' to dancin'-school next, and then you
_will_ be bound for that place you don't believe in. When is this show
of yours comin' off? I'd like to see it, and shall, if Judah and the
Foam Flake will undertake to get me to the Town Hall and back."
"I think we'll give it the second week in August. We had a great
argument trying to pick a play. For a long time we were undecided
between 'Sylvia's Soldier' or 'Down by the Sea' or 'Among the Breakers.'
At last we decided on 'Down by the Sea.' It's quite new, been out only
four or five years, and it rather fits our company. Did you ever see it,
Cap'n?"
"No, I never did. I've been out _on_ the sea so much in my life that
when I got ashore I generally picked out the shows that hadn't anything
to do with it--'Hamlet,' or 'Lydia Thompson's British Blondes,' or
somethin' like that," with a wink. Then he added, more soberly, "The old
salt water looks mighty good to me now, though. Strange how you don't
want a thing you can have and long for it when you can't.... But I'm not
supposed to preach a sermon, at least I haven't heard anybody ask me to.
What's your part in this--what d'ye call it?--'Out on the Beach,'
George?"
"'Down by the Sea.' Oh, I'm 'March Gale,' and when I was a baby I was
cast ashore from a wreck."
"Humph! When you were a baby. Started your seafarin' early, I should
say. Who else is in it?"
"Oh, Frank Crosby, he is 'Sept Gale,' my brother--only he isn't my
brother. And John Carleton--the schoolteacher, you know--he is
'Raymond,' the city man; he's good, too. And Sam Ryder, and Erastus
Snow. There was one part--'John Gale,' an old fisherman chap, we
couldn't seem to think of any one who could, or would, play it. But at
last we did, and who do you think it was? Joel Macomber, your sister's
husband."
"What? Joel Macomber--on the stage! Oh, come now, George!"
"It's a fact. And he's good, too. Some one told one of us that Macomber
had done some amateur acting when he was young, and, in desperation, we
asked him to try this part. And he is good. You would be surprised,
Cap'n Kendrick."
"Um-hm, I am now. I certainly am. What sort of a part is it Joel's got?
What does this--er--Gale do; anything but blow?"
"Why--why, he doesn't really do much, that's a fact. He is supposed to
be a fisherman, as I said, but--well, about all he does in the play is
to come on and off and talk a good deal, and scold at Frank and me--his
sons, you know--and fuss at his wife and----"
Captain Sears held up his hand.
"That's enough, George," he interrupted. "That'll do. Don't do much of
anything, talks a lot, and finds fault with other folks. No wonder Joel
Macomber can act that part. He ought to be as natural as life in it.
Aren't there any womenfolks in this play, though? I don't see how much
could happen without them aboard."
"Oh, yes, of course there are women. Three of them. Mrs. Cora Bassett,
Eliphalet's brother's wife, she is 'Mrs. Gale,' my mother, only she
turns out not to be; and Fannie Wingate, she is the rich city girl; and
Elizabeth. That makes the three."
"Yes, yes, so it does. But which Elizabeth are you talkin' about?"
"Why, Elizabeth Berry. My--our Elizabeth, over here at the Fair Harbor."
The quick change from "my" to "our" was so quick as to be almost
imperceptible, but the captain noticed it. He looked up and Kent,
catching his eye, colored slightly. Sears noticed the color, also, but
his tone, when he spoke, was quite casual.
"Oh," he said. "So Elizabeth's in it, too, is she? Well, well! What part
does she take?"
"She's 'Kitty Gale,' my sweetheart."
"You don't say. She's good, I'll bet."
"Wonderful!" Kent's enthusiasm was unrestrained. "You wouldn't believe
any untrained girl could act as she does. She might have been born for
the part, honestly she might."
"Um-hm.... Well, maybe she was."
"Eh? I beg your pardon."
"Nothin', nothin'. I'll have to see that play, even if the Foam Flake
founders and Judah has to carry me there pig-back. And how are you
gettin' on in it yourself? You haven't told me that."
"Oh, I'm doing well enough. Trying hard, at least. But, Cap'n Sears, you
should see Elizabeth. She is splendid. But she is a wonderful girl,
anyway. Don't you think she is?"
"Yes."
"You couldn't help thinking so. No one could. Why----"
The remainder of the conversation was, for the most part, a chant, sung
as a solo by George Kent, and having as its subject, the wonders of Miss
Berry. Captain Sears joined occasionally in the chorus, and smiled
cordial and complete agreement. His caller was charmed.
"I've had a bully good time, Cap'n," he declared, at parting. "I came
intending to stay only a few minutes and I've been here an hour and a
half. You are one of the most interesting talkers I ever heard in my
life, if you don't mind my saying so."
Sears, whose contributions to the latter half of the conversation had
been about one word in twenty, laughed. "I'm afraid you haven't heard
many good talkers," he said.
"Oh, yes, I have. But there are precious few of them in this town. It
does a fellow good to know a man like you, who has been everywhere and
met so many people and done so many things worth while. And, you and I
agree so on almost every point. I don't know whether you noticed it or
not, but our opinions seemed so exactly alike. It's remarkable, I think.
I like you, Cap'n Kendrick; you don't mind my saying so, do you?"
"Oh, not a bit, not a bit. Glad of it, of course."
"Yes. I liked you down there at your sister's, but you were so sick I
didn't have the chance to know you as well as I wanted to. But I had
seen enough of you to know I should like you a lot when I knew you
better. And Elizabeth, she was sure I would."
"Oh, she was, eh?"
"Yes. Oh, yes. She likes you very much. We talk about you almost every
time I call--I mean when we are together, you know. Well, good-by. I'm
coming for another talk--and soon, too. May I?"
"Hope you do, son. Come aboard any day. The gangplank is always down for
you."
Which was all right, except that as Sears watched his caller swinging
buoyantly to the gate, the same unreasonable twinge came back to him,
bringing with it the keen sense of depression and discouragement, the
realization of his approaching middle age and his crippled condition. It
did not last long, he would not permit it to linger, but it was acute
while it lasted.
He heard a great deal concerning the approaching production of "Down by
the Sea" as the weeks passed and the time for that production drew
nearer. As he and Elizabeth worked and took counsel together concerning
the affairs of the Fair Harbor they spoke of it. She was enjoying the
rehearsals hugely and the captain gathered that they furnished the
opportunity for change of thought and relaxation which she had greatly
needed. They spoke of George Kent, also; Sears saw to that. He brought
the young man's name into their conversation at frequent intervals and
took pains to praise him highly and to declare repeatedly his liking for
him. All part of his own self-imposed penance, of course. And Elizabeth
seemed to enjoy these conversations and agreed with him that George was
"a nice boy" and likely to succeed in life.
"I'm so glad you like him, Cap'n Kendrick," she said. "He likes you so
much and is so sure that you are a wise man."
Sears turned to look at her.
"Sure that I'm what?" he demanded.
"A wise man. He says that, next to Judge Knowles, he had rather have
your opinion than any one else in Bayport."
The captain shook his head. "Dear, dear!" he sighed. "And just as I had
come to the conclusion that George was so smart. Me a wise man? _Me!_
Tut, tut! George, you disappoint me."
But she would not be turned aside in that way.
"There is no reason for disappointment that I can see," she said. "I
think he is quite right. You _are_ a wise man, Cap'n Kendrick. Of course
I know you must be or Judge Knowles would not have selected you to take
charge here. But since you and I have been working together I have found
it out for myself. In fact I don't see how we ever got along--mother and
I--before you came. And we didn't get on very well, that is a fact," she
added, with a rueful smile.
"Rubbish! You got on wonderfully. And as for the worth of my
opinions--well, you ask Northern Lights what she thinks of 'em. She'll
tell you, I'll bet."
"Northern Lights" was Captain Sears's pet name for Mrs. Aurora Chase.
Elizabeth asked why Aurora should hold his opinions lightly. The captain
chuckled.
"Well," he explained, "she asked me yesterday what I thought of the
Orthodox minister's sermons about the Universalist folks play-actin'. I
said I hadn't heard 'em first hand, but that I understood they were hot.
I thought she sailed off with her nose pretty well aloft, but I couldn't
see why. To-day Esther Tidditt told me that she had understood me to say
the sermons were 'rot.' That's what comes of bein' hard of hearin'. Ho,
ho! But truth will out, won't it?"
The afternoon preceding the evening when "Down by the Sea" was to be
publicly presented upon the stage of the town hall was overcast and
cloudy. Judah, with one eye upon the barometer swinging in its gimbals
in the General Minot front entry, had gloomily prophesied rain. Captain
Sears, although inwardly agreeing with the prophecy, outwardly
maintained an obstinate optimism.
"I don't care if the glass is down so low that the mercury sticks out of
the bottom and hits the deck," he declared. "It isn't goin' to rain
to-night, Judah. You mark my words."
"I'm a-markin' 'em, Cap'n Sears. I'm a-markin' of 'em. But what's the
use of words alongside of a fallin' glass like that? And, besides, ain't
I been watchin' the sky all the afternoon? Look how it's smurrin' up
over to the west'ard. Look at them mare's tails streakin' out up aloft.
'Mack'rel skies and mares' tails
Make lofty ships to douse their sails.'
You know that's well's I do, Cap'n Sears."
"Yes, yes, so I do, Judah. But do you know this one?
'Hi, diddle, diddle,
The cat and the fiddle,
The cow jumped over the moon.'
What have you got to say to that, eh?"
Judah stared at him. His chin quivered.
"Wh--wh--" he stammered. "What have I got to say to that? Why, I ain't
got nawthin' to say to it. There ain't no sense to it. That's Mother
Goose talk, that's all that is, What's that got to do with the
weather?"
"It would have somethin' to do with it if a cow jumped over the moon,
wouldn't it?"
"Eh? But---- Oh, creepin' prophets, Cap'n Sears, what's the use of you
and me wastin' our breath over such foolishness? You're just bein'
funny, that's all." His expression changed, and he smiled broadly. "Why,
by Henry," he declared, "I ain't heard you talk that way afore since you
shipped aboard this General Minot craft along of me. That's the way you
used to poke fun at me aboard the old _Wild Ranger_ when we was makin'
port after a good v'yage. What's happened to spruce you up so? Doctor
ain't told you any special good news about them legs of yours, has he,
Cap'n? Limpin' Moses, I wisht that was it."
Sears shook his head. "No, Judah," he replied. "No such luck as that.
It's just my natural foolishness, I guess. And I'm goin' to the theater
to-night, too, all by myself. Think of it. Do you wonder I feel like a
boy in his first pair of long trousers?"
Mr. Cahoon's whisker-framed face expressed doubt and foreboding. "I
ain't sure yit that I'm doin' right in lettin' you pilot yourself down
to that town hall," he declared. "It ain't that I'm scart of the horse
runnin' away, or nothin' like that, you understand, but----"
His lodger burst into a roar of laughter.
"Runnin' away!" he repeated. "Judah, foam flakes drift away pretty often
and sometimes they blow away, but I never saw one run away yet. And if
this Foam Flake of yours ever started to run I should die of surprise
before anything else could happen to me. Don't worry about me. You'll be
here to help me aboard the buggy, when I'm ready to leave port, and
there'll be plenty of folks at the hall to help me out of it when I get
there. So I'll be all right and to spare."
"Um--well, maybe so. But it seems to me like takin' risks just the same.
Now, Cap'n Sears, why don't you let me drive you down, same as I always
do drive you? What makes you so sot on goin' alone?"
The captain did not answer for a moment. Then he said, "Judah, for a
good many long weeks--yes, and months--I've been havin' somebody drive
me or steer me or order me. To-night, by the Lord A'mighty, _I'm_ goin'
to drive and give my own orders."
"But the doctor----"
"The doctor doesn't know. And if you tell him I'll--well, you'll need
him, that's all. Every dog has its day, Judah, and this is my night."
"But it's goin' to rain and----"
"It isn't.... And, if it does, haven't you and I seen enough water not
to be afraid of it?"
"Salt water--yes; but----"
"There aren't any buts. That'll do, Judah. Go for'ard." So Mr. Cahoon,
obeying orders, went for'ard; that is, he went into the kitchen, and
Sears Kendrick was left upon the seat beneath the locust tree to smoke
and cast rebellious glances at the deepening gloom of the sky. He had
not been entirely truthful in his replies to his landlord's questions.
Although he scarcely dared admit it, even to himself, his damaged legs
were better than they had been. Doctor Sheldon told him that they were
and seemed more hopeful after each examination. And he knew that the
doctor's hope was not mere pretending, something assumed but not felt.
Yes, he knew it. And, for the first time since the accident which
wrecked the Old Colony train and his own life, he began to think that,
perhaps--some day, perhaps--he might again be a man, a whole,
able-bodied man among men. When he submitted this thought to the cold
light of reason, it was transparent and faint enough, but it was there,
and it was one cause of his high spirits.
And there was another, a cause which was even less worthy of
reason--which was perfectly childish and absurd but not the less real on
that account. It was connected with his stubborn determination to be his
own pilot to the hall that evening. He had, when he first determined to
risk the trip in that way, refused to permit Judah to accompany him
because he knew, if he did, that the latter would be a sort of safety
valve, a life preserver--to mix similes--the real driver who would be
on hand to take charge if necessary. Under such circumstances his own
responsibility ceased to be a responsibility and his self-reliance
_nil_. No, sink or swim, survive or perish, he would make the voyage
alone.
So, although there was plenty of room on the buggy seat, he stubbornly
refused to permit Judah to sit there. Mr. Cahoon was going to the play,
of course--the entire constabulary force of Ostable County could not
have prevented his doing so--but he was to walk, not ride behind the
Foam Flake. And Captain Sears Kendrick was supposed to be riding alone.
Yet he was not to ride alone, although only one person, and that not
Judah Cahoon, knew of that fact. The day before, while he and Miss Berry
were busy, as usual, with the finances and managerial duties of the Fair
Harbor, she had happened to mention that there were some stage
properties, bits of costumes, and the like, which must be gotten early
to the hall on the evening of the performance and he had offered to have
Judah deliver them for her. Now he told her of his intention of driving
the Foam Flake unassisted and that he would deliver them himself.
"Or any other light dunnage you might want taken down there," he added.
"Glad to, no trouble at all."
She looked at him rather oddly he thought.
"You are going all alone?" she asked.
"Um-hm. All alone. I'm goin' to have my own way this time in spite of
the Old Harry--and the doctor--and Judah."
"And you are sure there will be plenty of room?"
"What? With only me in the buggy? Yes, indeed. Room enough for two sea
chests and a pork barrel, as old Cap'n Bangs Paine used to say when I
sailed with him. Room and to spare."
"Room enough for--me?"
"For you? Why, do you mean----"
"I mean that if there _is_ room I should like to ride down with you very
much. I want to get to the hall early and I have these things to carry.
Mother and the rest of the Harbor people are going later, of course....
So, if you are sure that I and my bundles won't be nuisances----"
He was sure, emphatically and enthusiastically sure. But his surprise
was great and he voiced it involuntarily.
"I supposed, of course," he said, "that your passage was booked long
ago. I supposed George had attended to that."
Her answer was brief, but there was an air of finality about it which
headed off further questions.
"I am not going with him," she said.
So this was his second cause for good spirits, the fact that Elizabeth
Berry was to ride with him to the hall that evening. It was a very
slight inconsequential reason surely, but somehow he found it
sufficient. She was going with him merely because he and the Foam Flake
and the buggy furnished the most convenient method of transportation for
her and her packages, but she was going--and she was not going with
George Kent. There was a certain wicked pleasure in the last thought. He
was ashamed of it, but the pleasure was there in spite of the shame.
Kent had so much that he had not, but here was one little grain of
advantage to enter upon the Kendrick side of the ledger; Elizabeth Berry
was not going to the town hall with Kent, but with him.
He made but one protest and that only because his conscience goaded him
into making it.
"I don't know as I ought to let you, Miss Elizabeth," he said. "I'm
takin' a chance, I suppose, that perhaps you shouldn't take. This is my
first voyage under my own command since I ran on the rocks. I may strike
another reef, you can't tell."
She looked at him and smiled.
"I am not afraid," she said.
So, in spite of the gathering clouds and the falling barometer, Captain
Sears was cheerful as he smoked beneath the locust tree. After a time he
rose and limped down to the gate. Doctor Sheldon's equipage was standing
by the Knowles hitching post just beyond across the road. The doctor
himself came out of the house and the captain hailed him.
"How is the judge?" he asked. Doctor Sheldon shook his head.
"No better," he replied. "He is weaker every day and last week he had an
attack that was so severe I was afraid it was the end. He weathered it,
though."
"Why, yes. I saw him on Sunday and he was as full of jokes and spunk as
ever, seemed to me. His voice wasn't quite as strong, that's all. He is
a great man, Judge Knowles. Bayport will miss him tremendously when he
goes. So shall I, for that matter, and I haven't known him very long."
"We'll all miss him."
"There isn't a chance, I suppose? In the long run----"
The doctor's look caused him to stop the sentence in the middle.
"There isn't any question of long runs," said Sheldon, gravely. "The
next one of these seizures will end it. He has been a great fighter and
he never gives up; that is why he is here. But the fight is practically
over. The next attack will be the last."
Sears was deeply concerned. "Dear, dear," he said. "I didn't realize it
was quite so bad. And that attack may come--next month, or even next
week, I presume likely?"
"Yes."
The captain's good spirits were dashed for the time. His regard and
admiration for the old judge had grown steadily during their brief
acquaintance. He pictured the rugged, determined face as he had seen it
Sunday, and heard again the voice, weak but drily humorous or
indomitably pugnacious. It did not seem as if a spirit like that could
be so near surrender. Doctor Sheldon must be over apprehensive.
It was but seven o'clock when he drove the Foam Flake up to the side
door of the Fair Harbor and his passenger stowed her various bundles
about his feet in the bottom of the buggy and then climbed in herself.
The drive to the town hall was made in good time, the Foam Flake
considered, and--to the captain at any rate--it was a most pleasant
excursion. There was the unaccustomed sensation of once more being free
from orders or domination.
There was little conversation during the drive. Sears attempted it, but
his passenger was not talkative. She seemed to be thinking of something
else and her answers were brief and absent-minded. Nevertheless Sears
Kendrick enjoyed their drive and was almost sorry when the Foam Flake
halted, snorting, or sneezing, violently, by the hall platform. The
building was as yet but dimly lighted and Asaph Tidditt, the janitor,
was the only person about. Asaph, hearing the Foam Flake's sneeze, came
to the door.
"Well, I swan!" he exclaimed. "Is that you, 'Liz'beth? You're good and
early, ain't you? Evenin', George. Why, 'tain't George. Who is it? Well,
well, well, Cap'n Sears, this _is_ a surprise!"
He helped the captain from the buggy and, at Sears' request, led the
Foam Flake around the corner to the hitching rail. When he returned Miss
Berry had gone upstairs to the dressing-room to leave her packages.
Asaph was still surprised.
"Mighty glad to see you out again, Cap'n," he declared. "I heard you was
better, but I didn't hardly cal'late to see you takin' your girl to ride
so soon. Hey? He, he, he!"
Sears-laughed long enough to seem polite. Asaph laughed longer.
"And 'tain't _your_ girl you're takin' nuther, is it?" he said. "When I
looked in that buggy just now I don't know when I've been more sot back.
'Evenin', George,' says I. And 'twan't George Kent at all, 'twas you.
Ain't been to work and cut George out, have you, Cap'n Sears? He, he,
he! That's another good one, ain't it!"
The captain smiled--more politeness--and inquired if he and Miss Berry
were the first ones at the hall.
"Is any one else here?" he asked.
"Yus," said Mr. Tidditt.
"Who?"
"Me. He, he, he! Kind of caught you that time, didn't I, Cap'n? Wasn't
expectin' that, was you? Except me, you and 'Liz'beth's the fust ones.
Be plenty more in half an hour, though. 'Bout all hands in Bayport's
comin' to this time, everybody but the Orthodox and the Methodists and
the Come-Outers. They cal'late goin' to a play-actin' time is same as
goin' to Tophet. I tell 'em I'd ruther go to the show, 'cause I'd have a
little fun out of it, and from what I hear there ain't much fun in
t'other place. He, he, he! But say, how'd it happen George Kent ever let
'Liz'beth Berry go anywheres without him? Where _is_ George?"
Sears was rather glad when the arrival of Sam Ryder and Carleton, two
other members of the cast of "Down by the Sea" attracted the attention
of the garrulous Asaph and led the latter, in their company, upstairs. A
moment or so later another figure approached from the blackness to the
circle of light cast by the big ship's lantern over the hall door.
"Why, hello, George!" hailed Sears.
Young Kent looked up, recognized the speaker and said "Good evening." He
did not seem surprised as Mr. Tidditt had been to find the captain
there. The latter remarked upon it.
"Why, George," he observed, "I must say you take my bein' here all alone
pretty calmly. Ase Tidditt all but capsized when he saw me bring the
Foam Flake into dock."
Kent nodded. "I knew you were here," he said. "Elizabeth came down with
you, I suppose."
"Why, yes. Did she tell you she was goin' to risk life and limb aboard
my vessel?"
"No," briefly.
"Oh. Then how did you know?"
"I stopped at the Harbor. Her mother said she had gone with you....
Where is she; upstairs?"
"Up in the dressin' room, I guess. She had to come so early because
there were things to bring and some work for her to do before you and
the others got here, she said."
"What? Did she say before _I_ got here?"
"Eh? Why, no, didn't mention you in particular. She just said----"
Kent interrupted. "I see," he said, shortly. "All right, never mind."
He was walking toward the other end of the platform. His manner was so
very peculiar that Sears could not help noticing it. He looked after him
in perplexity.
"Here ... George!" he called.
Kent turned and came back, rather reluctantly it seemed. The older man
looked at him keenly.
"George," he asked, "what's the matter with you?"
"Matter? With me?"
"Yes, with you. You're short as Aunt Nabby's pie crust. Have I done
anything you don't like? If I have I'll apologize before I know what it
is. It wasn't done on purpose, you can be sure of that."
Kent started, colored, and was much perturbed. "I didn't realize I was
short, Cap'n Kendrick," he declared. "I beg your pardon. I am mighty
sorry. No--no, of course you haven't done anything I don't like. I don't
believe you could."
"You never can tell. But so far I haven't tried. Not sick, are you?"
"No ... I'm just--oh, nothing. I'm in a little trouble, that's all. My
own fault, maybe, I don't know."
"Probably it is. Most of our troubles are our own fault, in one way or
another. Well, if there's anything I can do to help out, just give me a
hail."
"Thanks. But I'm afraid there isn't."
He turned and walked down the platform once more. Mrs. Captain Orrin
Eldridge, who was to sell tickets, came, and, after greeting the captain
cordially, went in to open and light the ticket-office at the foot of
the stairs. Two more members of the cast, Erastus Snow and Mrs. Bassett,
arrived and went up to prepare. Suddenly Kent, who had been standing at
the farther end of the platform, came back.
"Captain Kendrick," he said, "would you mind answering a question?"
"Eh? Why, not a bit, George. But perhaps yours may be one of those
questions I can't answer."
"I think you can. Say--er--Cap'n Kendrick----"
"Yes, George."
"You see, I.... This sounds awfully foolish, but--but I don't know what
I ought to do."
"Um-hm. Well, a good many of us get that way every once in a while."
"Do you?"
"You bet!"
"Humph! Somehow you seem to me like a man who would know exactly what to
do at any time."
"Yes? Well, my looks must belie me. Heave ahead, George. The folks are
beginning to come."
"Well, I---- Oh, hang it, Cap'n, when you've made a mistake--done
something that you didn't think was wrong--that wasn't wrong,
really--and--and.... Say, I'm making an awful mess of this. And it's
such a fool thing, anyhow."
"Um-hm. So many things are. Chuck it overboard, George; that is, if you
really want to ask me about it."
"I do. That is, I want to ask you this: Suppose you had done something
that you thought was all right and--and somebody else had thought was
wrong--would you--would you go and tell that other person that you
_were_ wrong? Even if you weren't, you know."
Kendrick was silent. The question was ridiculous enough, but he did not
laugh, nor feel like laughing. Nor did he want to answer.
"Oh, I know that it's a child's question," put in Kent, disgustedly.
"Never mind answering. I am a child sometimes, feel like one, anyhow.
And I've got to fight this out with myself, I suppose, so what's the
use?"
He turned on his heel, but the captain laid a hand on his shoulder.
"George," he said, slowly, "of course, the way you put this thing makes
it pretty foggy navigatin' for a stranger; but--humph!--well, in cases
somethin' like yours, when I've cared anything about the--er--friendship
of the other fellow, I've generally found 'twas good business to go and
say I was sorry first, and then, if 'twas worth while, argue the point
of who was right or wrong later. You never can do much fishin' through
the ice unless somebody chops the hole."
The young man was silent. He seemed to be reflecting and to find his
reflections not too pleasant. Before they were at an end the first group
of townspeople came up the steps. Some of them paused to greet Kendrick
and at their heels was another group. The captain was chatting with them
when he heard Kent's voice at his ear.
"Excuse me, Cap'n," he whispered. "I'll see you by and by. I'm going to
chop the ice."
"Eh?... Oh, all right, George. Good luck."
George hurried up the stairs. A minute or two later Captain Sears slowly
limped after him and sought a secluded corner on one of the settees at
the rear of the hall. There was still a full half hour before the rising
of the curtain, and as yet there was but a handful of people present. He
turned his face away from the handful and hoped that he might not be
recognized. He did not feel like talking. His good spirits had left him.
He was blue and despondent and discouraged. And for no reason--that was
the worst of it--no earthly, sensible, worth while reason at all.
Those two children--that is what they were, children--had quarreled and
that was why Elizabeth had asked to ride to the hall with him that
evening. It was not because she cared for his company; of course he knew
that all the time, or would have known it if he permitted himself to
reason. She had gone with him because she had quarreled with George. And
that young idiot's conscience had troubled him and, thanks to his
own--Kendrick's--advice, he had gone to her now to beg pardon and make
up. And they would make up. Children, both of them.
And they ought to make up; they should, of course. He wanted them to do
so. What sort of a yellow dog in the manger would he be if he did not?
He liked them both, and they were young and well--and he was--what that
railway accident had made of him.
The audience poured in, the settees filled, the little boys down in
front kicked the rounds, and pinched each other and giggled. Mr. Asaph
Tidditt importantly strode down the aisle and turned up the wicks of the
kerosene foot-lamps. Mrs. Sophronia Eldridge, Captain Orrin's
sister-in-law, seated herself at the piano and played the accompaniments
while Mrs. Mary Pashy Foster imparted the information that she could not
sing the old songs now. When she had finished, most people were inclined
to believe her. The delegation from the Fair Harbor, led by Mrs. Berry
and Elvira Snowden, arrived in a body. The Universalist minister and his
wife came, and looked remarkably calm for a couple leading a flock of
fellow humans to perdition. Captain Elkanah Wingate and Mrs. Wingate
came last of all and marched majestically to the seats reserved for them
by the obsequious Mr. Tidditt. The hall lights were dimmed. The curtain
rose. And George Kent, very handsome and manly as "March Gale," was seen
and heard, singing:
"Oh, my name was Captain Kidd
As I sailed, as I sailed."
And these were the opening lines of the play, "Down by the Sea."
That performance was a great success, everybody said so. Mr. Tidditt
expressed the general opinion when he declared that all hands done about
as fine as the rest but some of 'em done finer. John Carleton, the
schoolteacher, shone with particular brilliancy as he delivered himself
of such natural, everyday speeches as: "I have dispatched a messenger to
town with the glad tidings," or "We will leave this barren spot and hie
to the gay scenes of city life." And Frank Crosby, as "September Gale,"
the noble young fisherman, tossed the English language about as a real
gale might toss what he would have called "a cockle shell," as he
declared, "With a true heart and a stout arm, who cares for danger?...
To be upon the sea when the winds are roaring and the waves are seething
in anger; ... to have a light bark obedient to your command, braving the
fury of the tempest...." Bayport was fairly well acquainted with
fishermen, numbering at least thirty among its inhabitants, but no one
of the thirty could talk like that.
Sam Ryder's performance of "Captain Dandelion," the city exquisite, was,
so the next issue of the _Item_ said, "remarkable"; there is little
doubt that the _Item_ selected the right word. Joel Macomber was good,
when he remembered his lines; Miss Wingate was very elegant as "a city
belle"; Mrs. Bassett made a competent fisherman's wife. But everybody
declared that Elizabeth Berry and George Kent, as "Kitty Gale" and
"March Gale," were the two brightest stars in that night's firmament.
Captain Kendrick, between the acts, could hear whispered comments all
about him. "Isn't Elizabeth fine!" "Don't they do well!" "Ain't she a
good-lookin' girl, now--eh?" "Yes, and, my soul and body, if that George
Kent ain't a match for her then _I_ don't know!" "Oh, don't they make a
lovely couple!" And, from a seat two rows in front, the penetrating
voice of Mrs. Noah Baker made proclamations: "Lovers on the stage and
off the stage, too, I guess. Ha, ha!" And there was a general buzz of
agreement and many pleased titters.
Sears tried very hard to enjoy the performance, but his thoughts would
wander. And, when the final curtain fell and the applause subsided, he
rose to hobble to the door, glad that the evening was over.
He was one of the last to reach the landing and, at the top of the
stairs, Judah met him. Mr. Cahoon's manner was a combination of dismay
and triumph.
"Oh, there you be, Cap'n Sears," he exclaimed. "Well, I told you! You
can't say I never, that's one comfort."
"Told me what, Judah?"
"That 'twas goin' to rain. I told you the glass was fallin'. It's a
pourin'-down rainstorm now, that's what 'tis."
Judah, his faith rooted in the prophecy of the falling barometer, had
come to the hall with oilskins upon his arm. Now he was arrayed in them
and weather-proof.
"I'll fetch the Foam Flake around to the platform, Cap'n," he said.
"You'll want to wait for 'Liz'beth, I presume likely, so take your time
navigatin' them stairs. No, no, I'll walk. I won't get wet. _I_ knew
what was comin'. Aye, aye, sir. I'll fetch the horse. Cal'late the
critter has gnawed off and swallowed two fathoms of fence by this time."
The Foam Flake and the buggy were made fast by the platform when Sears
reached that point. It was raining hard. The greater part of the
audience had already started on their homeward journey, but a few still
lingered, some lamenting the absence of umbrellas and rubbers, others
awaiting the arrival of messengers who had been sent home to procure
those protections. The captain, of course, was awaiting Elizabeth, and
she having to change costume and get rid of make-up, he knew his wait
was likely to be rather lengthy. He did not mind that so much, but he
did not desire to talk or be talked to, so he walked to the dark end of
the platform--the same end, by the way, where George Kent had stood when
pondering his problem before asking advice--and stood there, staring
into the splashy blackness.
The last group left the lighted portals of the hall and started
homeward, exclamations and little screams denoting spots where progress
had been delayed by puddles or mud holes. Mrs. Eldridge, in the ticket
office, packed up her takings, pennies and "shin-plasters," in a
pasteboard box and departed for home. Mr. Tidditt accompanying her as
guard and umbrella holder.
"I'll be back to lock up, Cap'n Sears," called Asaph, reassuringly.
"Stay right where you be. You won't be in my way at all."
For some minutes longer Sears stood there alone on the platform, facing
the dismal darkness and his own dismal thoughts. They were dismal, and
no less so because his common-sense kept prodding him with the certainty
that there was no more reason for discouragement now than there had been
two hours before. The obvious offset to this was the equal certainty
that there had been no more reason for optimism two hours before than at
present. So he stared into the darkness, listened to the splashing
waterspouts, and, for the millionth time at least, eternally condemned
the Old Colony railroad and his luck.
A springy, buoyant step came down the stairs. A voice called from the
doorway:
"Cap'n Kendrick! Cap'n, are you there?"
Sears turned.
"Right here, George," he said.
Kent hastened toward him. His hand was outstretched and his face was
beaming.
"It worked," he exclaimed, eagerly. "It worked in great shape. Cap'n,
you're a brick."
His friend did not, momentarily, catch his meaning.
"Glad you think so, George," he said; "but why are you so sure of it
just now?"
"Why, because if it hadn't been for you I should have, more than likely,
not tried to chop the ice at all."
"Chop the---- Oh, yes, yes; I remember. So you and Elizabeth have made
up, eh?"
"Yes, I.... How on earth did you know she was the one? I didn't tell
you, did I?"
"No. It's just another proof of my tremendous wisdom. Well, I'm glad,
George."
"I knew you would be. Mind you, I'm not sure yet I was wrong, but I----
Good Lord, look at the rain! I had no idea!... Well, at any rate,
Elizabeth will be all right. She's going with you in the buggy."
There was a slight, a very slight note of regret, almost of envy, in the
young fellow's tone. The captain noticed it.
"No, she isn't, George," he said, quietly.
"What! She isn't?"
"No, she's goin' with you. You take the horse and buggy and drive her up
to the Harbor. Then you can send Judah back with it after me, if you
will."
"But, Cap'n, I wouldn't think of it. Why----"
"No need to think. Do it. Look here, George, you know perfectly well you
haven't finished that ice-choppin' business. There are lots of things
you want to tell her yet, I know. Come now, aren't there?"
Kent hesitated. "Why--why, yes, I suppose there are," he admitted. "But
it seems mean to take advantage of you, you know. To leave you standing
here and waiting while she and I----"
"That's all right. I'm better fitted for waiting than I am for anything
else nowadays. Don't argue any more. She'll be here in a minute."
"Well ... well. You're sure you don't mind, really?"
"Not a bit. And she'd rather ride with you, of course."
"Oh, I wouldn't say that. Of course she did tell me she came with you
because I--because we had that--that little row--and---- But she likes
you, Cap'n. Honest, she does, a lot. By George, nobody could help liking
you, you know."
Sears' smile was gray, but his companion did not notice. He was too full
of his own happiness.
"I'll run up and tell her," he said. "It's mighty good of you, Cap'n
Kendrick. Sure you don't care? You _are_ a brick."
He hastened up the stairs. Sears was left once more with the black
wetness to look at. It looked blacker than ever.
Elizabeth, accompanied by George, came down soon afterward. She was
still protesting.
"Really, I don't think this is right at all, Cap'n Kendrick," she
declared. "Why should you wait here? If you insist upon George's going
in the buggy, why don't you come too? I'm sure there will be room
enough. Won't there, George?"
Kent said, "Yes, of course," but there might have been more enthusiasm
in his tone. Sears spoke next.
"I can't go now," he lied, calmly. "I want to see Ase Tidditt and he's
gone to see Cap'n Orrin's wife home. Won't be back for twenty minutes or
so. No, no, you and George heave right ahead and go, and then send Judah
and the Foam Flake back for me."
So, after a few more protests on Elizabeth's part, it was settled in
that way. She and her packages and bags were tucked in the buggy and
George unhitched the placid Foam Flake. On his way he stopped to
whisper in the captain's ear.
"Cap'n Kendrick," he whispered, "I shan't forget this. And, say, if ever
I get into real trouble I'll know who to come to."
The "plash-plash" of the Foam Flake's hoofs and the squeak and grind of
buggy wheels died away along the invisible main road. Captain Sears
stared at the ropes of rain laced diagonally across the lighted window
of the town hall.
After a time, a surprisingly short time, he heard the hoofs returning.
It seemed almost incredible that George could have driven to the Harbor,
then to the Minot place, and started Judah on the return trip so soon.
It was not Judah. It was Mike, Judge Knowles' man, and he was driving
Doctor Sheldon's horse attached to the doctor's chaise.
"Cap'n Kendrick," he hailed, as the equipage splashed up to the
platform, "is that you there?"
"Yes, Mike. What's the matter?"
"I was just after goin' to the Minot place after ye and I met Cahoon and
he tould me you was down here. Git in, git in; the doctor says you must
come."
"Come? Come where?"
"Home. To the judge's house. The ould man is dyin' and he wants to see
you afore he goes. Ye'll have to hurry. The doctor says it's a matter of
any time now."