So Judah was obliged to postpone the telling of his most important news
item. But the following morning when, looking heavy-eyed and haggard, as
if he had slept but little, Captain Kendrick limped into the kitchen for
breakfast, Mr. Cahoon served that item with the salt mackerel and fried
potatoes. It was surprising, too--at least Sears found it so. Egbert
Phillips, so Judah declared, had given up his rooms at the Central House
and had gone, household goods and all, to board and lodge at Joel
Macomber's. He was occupying, so Judah said, the very room that Sears
himself had occupied when he was taken to his sister's home after the
railway accident.
The captain could scarcely believe it. He had not seen Sarah Macomber
since the day following the Foam Flake's amazing cut-up on the Orham
road, when she had come, in much worriment and anxiety, to learn how
badly he was hurt. Her call had been brief, and, as he had succeeded in
convincing her that the extra twist to his legs would have no serious
effect, she had not called since. But Sarah-Mary, the eldest girl, had
brought a basket containing a cranberry pie, a half-peck, more or less,
of molasses cookies, and two tumblers of beach-plum jelly, and
Sarah-Mary had said nothing to her Uncle Sears about the magnificent Mr.
Phillips coming to live with them.
"I guess not, Judah," said the captain. "Probably you've got it snarled
some way. He may have gone there to supper with George Kent and the rest
of the yarn sprouted from that."
But Judah shook his head. "No snarl about it, Cap'n Sears," he declared.
"Come straight this did, straight as a spare topmast. Joe Macomber told
me so himself. Proud of it, too, Joe was; all kind of swelled up with
it, like a pizened shark."
"But why on earth should he pick out Sarah's? Why didn't he go to Naomi
Newcomb's; she keeps a regular boardin'-house? Sarah can't take any more
boarders. Her house is overloaded as it is. That was why I didn't stay
there. No, I don't believe it, Judah. Joel was just comin' up to blow,
that's all. He's a regular puffin'-pig for blowin'."
But Sarah called that very forenoon and confirmed the news. She had
agreed to take Mr. Phillips into her home. Not only that, but he was
already there.
"I know you must think it's sort of funny, Sears," she said, looking
rather embarrassed and avoiding her brother's eye. "If anybody had told
me a week ago that I should ever take another boarder I should have felt
like askin' 'em if they thought I was crazy. I suppose you think I am,
don't you?"
"Not exactly, Sarah--not yet."
"But you think I most likely will be before I'm through? Well, maybe,
but I'm goin' to risk it. You see, I--well, we need the money, for one
thing."
Sears stirred in his chair.
"I could have let you have a little money every once in a while, Sarah,"
he said. "It's a shame that it would have to be so little. If those legs
ever do get shipshape and I get to sea again----"
She stopped him. "I haven't got so yet awhile that I have to take
anybody's money for nothin'," she said sharply. "There, there, Sears! I
know you'd give me every cent you had if I'd let you. I'll tell you why
I took Mr. Phillips. He came to supper with George the other night and
stayed all the evenin'. He's one of the most interestin' men I ever met
in my life. Not any more interestin' than you are, of course," she
added, loyally, "but in--in a different way."
"Um ... yes. I shouldn't wonder."
"Yes, he is. And he liked my supper, and said so. Ate some of everything
and praised it, and was just as--as common and everyday and sociable,
not a mite proud or--like that."
"Why in the devil should he be?"
"Why--why, I don't know why he shouldn't. Lots of folks who know as much
as he does and have been everywhere and known the kind of people he
knows--they would be stuck up--yes, and are. Look at Cap'n Elkhanah
Wingate and his wife."
"I don't want to look at 'em. How do you know how much this Phillips
knows?"
"How do I _know_? Why, Sears, you ought to hear him talk. I never heard
such talk. The children just--just hung on his words, as they say. And
he was so nice to them. And Joel and George Kent they think he's the
greatest man they ever saw. Oh, all hands in Bayport like him."
"Humph! When he was here before, teachin' singin' school, he wasn't such
a Grand Panjandrum. At least, I never heard that he was."
"Sears, you don't like him, do you? I'm real surprised. Yes, and--and
sorry. Why don't you like him?"
Her brother laughed. "I didn't say I didn't like him, Sarah," he
replied. "Besides, what difference would one like more or less make? I
don't know him very well."
"But he likes you. Why, he said he didn't know when he had met a man who
gave him such an impression of--of strength and character as you did. He
said that right at our supper table. I tell you I was proud when he said
it about my brother."
So Sears had not the heart to utter more skepticism. He encouraged Sarah
to tell more of her arrangements with the great man. He was, it
appeared, to have not only the bedroom which Sears had occupied, but
also the room adjoining.
"One will be his bedroom," explained Mrs. Macomber, "and the other his
sittin' room, sort of. His little suite, he calls 'em. He is movin' the
rest of his things in to-day."
Seers looked at her. "Two rooms!" he exclaimed. "He's to have _two_
rooms in your house! For heaven sakes, Sarah, where do the rest of you
live; in the cellar? Goin' to let the children sleep in the cistern?"
She explained. It was a complicated process, but she had worked it out.
Lemuel and Edgar had always had a room together, but now Bemis was to
have a cot there also. "And Joey, of course, is only a baby, his bed is
in our room, Joel's and mine. And Sarah-Mary and Aldora, they are same
as they have been."
"Yes, yes, but that doesn't explain the extra room, his sitting room.
Where does that come from?"
She hesitated a moment. "Well--well, you see," she said, "there wasn't
any other bedroom except the one George hires, and he is goin' to stay
for a while longer anyway. At first it didn't seem as if I could let Mr.
Phillips have the sittin' room he wanted. But at last Joel and I thought
it out. We don't use the front parlor hardly any, and there is the
regular sittin' room left for us anyway, so----"
"Sarah Kendrick Macomber, do you mean to tell me you've let this fellow
have your _front parlor_?"
"Why--why, yes. We don't hardly ever use it, Sears. I don't believe
we've used that parlor--really opened the blinds and used it, I
mean--since Father Macomber's funeral, and that was--let me see--over
six years ago."
Her brother slowly shook his head. "The judge was right," he declared.
"He certainly was right. Smoothness isn't any name for it."
"Sears, what are you talkin' about? I can't understand you. I thought
you would be glad to think such a splendid man as he is was goin' to
live with us. To say nothin' of my makin' all this extra money. Of
course, if you don't want me to do it, I won't. I wouldn't oppose you,
Sears, for anything in this world. But I--I must say----"
He laid his hand on hers. "There, Sarah," he broke in. "Don't pay too
much attention to me. I'm crochetty these days, have a good deal on my
mind. If you think takin' this Phillips man aboard is a good thing for
you, I'm glad. How much does he pay you a week?"
She told him. It was more than fair rate for those days.
"Humph!" he observed. "Well, Sarah, good luck to you. I hope you get
it."
"Get it! Why, of course I'll get it, Sears. Its all arranged. And I want
you and Mr. Phillips to know each other real well. I'm goin' to tell him
he must call again to see you."
"Eh?... Oh, all right, Sarah. You can tell him, if you want to."
After she had gone he thought the matter over. Surely Mr. Egbert
Phillips was a gentleman of ability along certain lines. His sister
Sarah was a sensible woman, she was far far from being a susceptible
sentimentalist. Yet she was already under the Phillips spell. Either
Judge Knowles was right--very, very much right--or he was overwhelmingly
wrong. If left to Bayport opinion as a jury there was no question
concerning the verdict. Egbert would be triumphantly acquitted.
Sears, however, did not, at this time, spare much thought to the
Phillips riddle. He had other, and, it seemed to him, more disturbing
matters to deal with. The quarrel between Elizabeth Berry and young Kent
was one of those, for he felt that, in a way, he was the cause of it.
George had, of course, behaved like a foolish boy and had been about as
tactless as even a jealous youth could be, but there was always the
chance that some one else had sowed the seeds of jealousy in his mind.
He determined to see Kent, explain, have a frank and friendly talk, and,
if possible, set everything right--everything between the two young
people, that is. But when, on his first short walk along the road, he
happened to meet Kent, the latter paid no attention to his hail and
strode past without speaking. Sears shouted after him, but the shout was
unheeded.
Elizabeth was almost as contrary. When he attempted to lead the
conversation to George, she would not follow. When he mentioned the
young man's name she changed the subject. At last when, his sense of
guilt becoming too much for him, he began to defend Kent, she
interrupted the defense.
"Cap'n Kendrick," she said, "I understand why you take his part. And it
is like you to do it. But when you begin to blame yourself or me then I
shan't listen."
"Blame _you_! Why, Elizabeth, I had no idea of blamin' you. The whole
thing is just a--a misunderstandin' between you and George, and I want
to straighten it out, that's all. If anybody is to blame I really think
I am. I should have thought more about--about, what he calls
appearances; that is, perhaps I should."
She lost patience. "Oh, do stop!" she cried. "You know you are talking
nonsense."
"Well but, Elizabeth, I feel--wicked. I wouldn't for the world be the
cause of a break between you two. If that should happen because of me I
couldn't rest easy."
This conversation took place in the smaller sitting room of the Fair
Harbor, the room which she and her mother used as a sort of office. She
had been standing by the window looking out. Now she turned and faced
him.
"Cap'n Kendrick," she asked, "just what do you mean by a 'break' between
George Kent and me? Are you under the impression that he and I
were--were engaged?"
"Why--why, weren't you?"
"No. Why should you think we were?"
"Well--why, there seemed to be a sort of general idea that--that you
were. People--Bayport folks seemed to think--seemed to think----"
She stamped her foot. "They don't think, most of them, they only talk,"
she declared. "_I_ certainly never said we were. And he didn't either,
did he?"
Kent had said that he and Elizabeth were engaged--practically--whatever
that might mean. But the captain thought it wisest just then to forget.
"Why--no, I guess not," he answered.
"Of course he didn't ... Cap'n Kendrick. I--oh, you might as well
understand this clearly. I have known George for a long time. I liked
him. For a time I thought--well I thought perhaps I liked him enough
to--to like him a lot more But I was mistaken. He--he kept doing things
that I didn't like. Oh, they had nothing to do with me. They were things
that didn't seem--what you would call square and aboveboard. Little
things that.... It was about one of these that we disagreed just before
the 'Down by the Sea' theatricals. But he explained that and--and--well,
he can be so nice and likable, that I forgave him. But lately there have
been others. He has changed. And now all this foolishness, and....
There, Cap'n Kendrick, I didn't mean to say so much. But I want you to
understand, and to tell every one else who talks about George Kent and
me being engaged, that there never was any such engagement."
It would be rather difficult to catalogue all of Sears Kendrick's
feelings as he listened to this long speech. They were mixed feelings,
embarrassment, sorrow, relief--and a most unwarranted and unreasonable
joy. But he repressed the relief and joy and characteristically returned
to self-chastisement.
"Yes--oh--I see," he faltered. "I guess likely I didn't understand
exactly. But just the same I don't know but George was right in some
things he said. I shouldn't wonder if I had been careless about--about
appearances. I don't know but--but my seein' you so much--and our goin'
to Orham together might set some folks talkin'. Of course it doesn't
seem hardly possible that anybody could be such fools, considerin'
you--and then considerin' me--but----"
She would not hear any more. "I don't propose to consider _them_," she
declared with fierce indignation. "I shall see you or any one else just
as often as I please. Now that you are to take care of my money for me I
have no doubt I shall see you a great deal oftener than I ever did. And
if those--those talkative persons don't like it, they may do the next
best thing.... No, that is enough, Cap'n Kendrick. It is settled."
And it did appear to be. If anything, she saw him oftener than before,
seemed to take a mischievous delight in being seen with him, in running
to the Minot place on errands connected with the Harbor business, and
in every way defying the gossips.
And gossip accepted the challenge. From the time when it became known
that Sears Kendrick was to be the trustee of Elizabeth Berry's
twenty-thousand dollar legacy the tide of public opinion, already on the
turn, set more and more strongly against him. And, as it ebbed for
Captain Sears, it rose higher and higher for that genteel martyr, Mr.
Egbert Phillips.
Sears could not help noticing the change. It was gradual, but it was
marked. He had never had many visitors, but occasionally some of the
retired sea dogs among the town-folk would drop in to swap yarns, or a
younger captain, home from a voyage, would call on him at the Minot
place. The number of those calls became smaller, then they ceased.
Doctor Sheldon was, of course, as jolly and friendly as ever, and
Bradley, when he drove over from Orham on a legal errand, made it a
point to come and see him. But, aside from those, and Sarah Macomber,
and, of course, Elizabeth Berry, no one came.
When he walked, as he did occasionally now that his legs were
stronger--they had quite recovered from the strain put upon them by the
Foam Flake's outbreak--up and down the sidewalk from Judge Knowles'
corner to the end of the Fair Harbor fence, the people whom he met
seldom stopped to chat with him. Or, if they did, the chat was always
brief and, on their part, uneasy. They acted, so it seemed to him,
guilty, as if they were doing something they should not do, something
they were not at all anxious to have people see them do. And when he
drove with Judah down to the store the group there no longer hailed him
with shouts of welcome. They spoke to him, mentioned the weather
perhaps, grinned in embarrassed fashion, but they did not ask him to sit
down and join them. And when his back was turned, when he left the
store, he had the feeling that there were whispered comments--and
sneers.
It was all impalpable, there was nothing openly hostile, no one said
anything to which he could take exception--he only wished they would;
but he felt the hostility nevertheless.
And among the feminine element it was even more evident. When he went to
church, as he did semi-occasionally, as he walked down the aisle he felt
that the rustle of Sunday black silks and bonnet strings which preceded
and followed him was a whisper of respectable and self-righteous
disapproval. It was not all imagination, he caught glimpses of sidelong
looks and headshakes which meant something, and that something not
applause. Once the Reverend Mr. Dishup took for his text Psalm xxxix,
the sixth verse, "He heapeth up riches and knoweth not who shall gather
them." The sermon dealt with, among others, the individual who in his
lifetime amassed wealth, not knowing that, after his death, other
individuals scheming and unscrupulous would strive to divert that wealth
from the rightful heirs for their own benefit. It was a rather dull
sermon and Sears, his attention wandering, happened to turn his head
suddenly and look at the rest of the congregation. It seemed to him that
at least a quarter of the heads in that congregation were turned in his
direction. Now, meeting his gaze, they swung back, to stare with
noticeable rigidity at the minister.
Over at the Fair Harbor his comings and goings were no longer events to
cause pleasurable interest and excitement. The change there was quite as
evident. Miss Snowden and Mrs. Brackett, leaders of their clique, always
greeted him politely enough, but they did not, individually or
collectively, ask his advice or offer theirs. There were smiles,
significant nods, knowing looks exchanged, especially, he thought or
imagined, when he and Miss Berry were together. Cordelia Berry was
almost cold toward him. Yet, so far as he knew, he had done nothing to
offend her.
He spoke to Elizabeth about her mother's attitude toward him. She said
it was his imagination.
"It may be," she said, "that you don't consult her quite enough about
Fair Harbor matters, Cap'n Kendrick. Mother is sensitive, she is matron
here, you know; perhaps we haven't paid as much deference to her opinion
as we should. Poor mother, she does try so hard, but she isn't fitted
for business, and knows it."
That Sunday, after his return from church, the captain asked Judah a
point blank question.
"Judah," he said, "I want you to tell me the truth. What is the matter
with me, nowadays? The whole ship's company here in Bayport are givin'
me the cold shoulder. Don't tell me you haven't noticed it; a blind man
could notice it. What's wrong with me? What have I done? Or what do they
say I've done?"
Judah was very much embarrassed. His trouble showed in his face above
the whiskers. He had been bending over the cookstove singing at the top
of his lungs the interminable chantey dealing with the fortunes of one
Reuben Ranzo.
"'Ranzo was no sailor,
Ranzo, boys, Ranzo!
Ranzo was a tailor,
Ranzo, boys, Ranzo!
"'Oh, poor Reuben Ranzo!
_Ranzo_, boys, Ranzo!
Hurrah for Reuben Ranzo!
_Ranzo_, boys, _Ranzo_!
"'Ranzo was no sailor,
Ranzo, boys, Ranzo!
He shipped on board a whaler,
Ranzo, boys, Ranzo!'"
And so on, forever and forever. Judah had reached the point where:
"They set him holy-stonin',
Ranzo, boys, Ranzo!
And cared not for his groanin',
Ranzo, boys, Ranzo!
"_'Oh_, poor Reuben Ranzo!
_Ranzo_, boys, Ranzo!
Hurrah for----'
"Eh? Did you say somethin', Cap'n Sears?"
Sears repeated his question, and then, as no answer seemed to be
forthcoming, repeated it once more, with an order to "step lively."
Judah groaned and shook his head.
"I've been sort of afraid you might think somethin' was queer, Cap'n
Sears," he admitted. "I was hopin' you wouldn't, though, not till it
begun to blow over. All them kind of things do blow over, give 'em time.
One voyage I took--to Shanghai, seems to me 'twas, either that or Rooshy
somewheres--there was a ship's carpenter aboard and word got spread
around that he had a wooden leg. Now he didn't, you know; matter of fact,
all he had out of the way with him was a kind of--er--er--sheet-iron
stove lid, as you might call it, riveted onto the top of his head. He
was in the Mexican war, seemed so, and one of them cannon balls had caved
in his upper deck, you understand, and them doctors they----"
"Here, here, Judah! I didn't ask you about any iron-headed carpenters,
did I?"
"No; no, you never, Cap'n Sears. But what I started to say was that----"
"All right, but you stick to what I want you to say. Tell me what's the
matter with me in Bayport?"
Judah groaned again. "It 'tain't so much that there's any great that's
wrong along of you, Cap'n," he said, "as 'tis that there ain't nothin'
but what's so everlastin' right with another feller. That's the way I
size it up, and I've been takin' observations for quite a spell. Bayport
folks are spendin' seven days in the week lovin' this Egbert Phillips.
Consequentially they ain't got much time left to love you in. Fools?
Course they be, and I've told some of 'em so till I've got a sore throat
hollerin'. But, by the creepin'----"
"Judah! Has Phillips been saying things about me?"
"Hey? Him? No, no, no! He don't say nothin' about nobody no time,
nothin' out of the way, that is. He's always praisin' of you up, so they
tell me, and excusin' you and forgivin' you."
"Forgivin' me? What do you mean by that?"
"Hold on! don't get mad at _me_, Cap'n Sears. I mean when they say what
a pity 'tis that he, the man whose wife owned all this Seymour property
and the fifty thousand dollars and such--when they go to poorin' him and
heavin' overboard hints about how other folks have the spendin' of that
money and all--he just smiles, sad but sort of sweet, and says it's all
right, his dear Lobelia done what seemed to her proper, and if he has to
suffer a little grain, why, never mind.... That's the way he talks."
"But where do I come in on that?"
"Well--well, you don't really, Cap'n Sears. Course you don't. But
you--you have got the handlin' of that money, you know. And you are
gettin' wages for skipperin' the Fair Harbor. I've heard it said--not by
him, oh, creepin', no!--but by others, that _he_ ought to have that
skipper's job, if anybody had. Lots of folks seem to cal'late he'd ought
to _own_ the Harbor. But instead of that he don't own nothin', they say,
and scratches along in two rooms, down to Joe Macomber's, and,
underneath all his sufferin', he's just as sweet and uncomplainin' and
long-endurin' and--and high-toned and sociable and--and----"
"Yes, yes. I see. Do they say anything more? What about my bein'
Elizabeth Berry's trustee?"
Mr. Cahoon paused before replying. "Well, they do seem to hold that
against you some, I'm afraid," he admitted reluctantly. "I don't know
why they do. And they don't say much in front of me no more, 'cause,
they realize, I cal'late, that I'm about ready to knock a few of 'em
into the scuppers. But it--it just don't help you none, Cap'n, takin'
care of that money of Elizabeth's don't. And it does help that Eg
man.... Why? Don't ask me. I--I'm sick and disgusted. _I_ shan't go to
no church vestry to hear him lecture on Eyetalian paintin' or--or
glazin', or whatever 'tis. And have you noticed how they bow down and
worship him over to the Fair Harbor? Have you noticed Cordelia Berry?
She's makin' a dum fool of herself, ain't she? Not that that's a very
hard job."
Judah's explanations did not explain much, but they did help to increase
Sears' vague suspicions. He had noticed--no one could help noticing--the
ever-growing popularity of Mr. Phillips. It was quite as evident as the
decline of his own. What he suspected was that the two were connected
and that, somehow or other, the smooth gentleman who boarded and lodged
with the Macombers was responsible, knowingly, calculatingly responsible
for the change.
Yet it seemed so absurd, that suspicion. He and Phillips met frequently,
sometimes at church, or oftenest at the Harbor--Egbert's visits there
were daily now, and he dined or supped with the Berrys and the "inmates"
at least twice a week. And always the Phillips manner was kind and
gracious and urbane. Always he inquired solicitously concerning the
captain's health. There was never a hint of hostility, never a trace of
resentment or envy. And always, too, Sears emerged from one of those
encounters with a feeling that he had had a little the worst of it, that
his seafaring manners and blunt habit of speech made him appear at a
marked disadvantage in comparison with this easy, suave, gracefully
elegant personage. And so many of those meetings took place in the
presence of Elizabeth Berry.
Elizabeth liked Egbert, there was no doubt of that. Once when she and
the captain were together in the Fair Harbor office Phillips entered.
Sears and Elizabeth were bending over the ledger and Egbert opened the
door. Sears and the young lady were not in the least embarrassed--of
course there was not the slightest reason why they should be--but, oddly
enough, Phillips seemed to be. He stepped back, coughed, fidgeted with
the latch, and then began to apologize.
"I--I really beg your pardon," he said. "I am sorry.... I didn't know--I
didn't realize--I'm _so_ sorry."
Elizabeth looked at him in surprise. "But there is nothing for you to be
sorry about," she declared. "What is it? I don't understand."
Egbert still retained his hold upon the latch with one hand. His hat,
gloves and cane were in the other. It is perhaps the best indication of
his standing in the community, the fact that, having lived in Bayport
for some weeks and being by his own confession a poor man, he could
still go gloved and caned on week days as well as Sundays and not be
subject to ridicule even by the Saturday night gang in Eliphalet
Bassett's store.
He fidgeted with the latch and turned as if to go.
"I should have knocked, of course," he protested. "It was most careless
of me. I do hope you understand. I will come--ah--later."
"But I don't understand," repeated the puzzled Elizabeth. "It was
perfectly all right, your coming in. There is no reason why you should
knock. The cap'n and I were going over the bills, that's all."
Mr. Phillips looked--well, he looked queer.
"Oh!" he said. "Yes--yes, of course. But one doesn't always care to be
interrupted in--even in business matters--ah--sometimes."
Elizabeth laughed. "I'm sure I don't mind," she said. "Those business
matters weren't so frightfully important."
"I'm so glad. You ease my conscience, Elizabeth. Thank you.... But I am
afraid the captain minds more than you do. He looks as if he didn't like
interruptions. Now do you, Captain Kendrick?"
Sears was ruffled. The man always did rub him the wrong way, and now,
for the first time, he heard him address Miss Berry by her Christian
name. There was no real reason why he should not, almost every one in
Bayport did, but Sears did not like it nevertheless.
"You don't fancy interruptions, Captain," repeated the smiling Egbert.
"Now do you? Ha, ha! Confess."
For the moment Sears forgot to be diplomatic.
"That depends, I guess," he answered shortly.
"Depends? You see, I told you, Elizabeth. Depends upon what? We must
make him tell us the whole truth, mustn't we, Elizabeth? What does it
depend upon, Captain Kendrick; the--ah--situation--the nature of the
business--or the companion? Now which? Ha, ha!"
Sears answered without taking time to consider.
"Upon who interrupts, maybe," he snapped. Then he would have given
something to have recalled the words, for Elizabeth turned and looked at
him. She flushed.
Egbert's serenity, however, was quite undented.
"Oh, dear me!" he exclaimed, in mock alarm. "After that I shall _have_
to go. And I shall take great pains to close the door behind me. Ha, ha!
_Au revoir_, Elizabeth. Good-by, Captain."
He went out, keeping his promise concerning the closing of the door.
Elizabeth continued to look at her companion.
"Now why in the world," she asked, "did you speak to him like that?"
Sears frowned. "Oh, I don't know," he answered. "He--he riles me
sometimes."
"Yes.... Yes, I should judge so. I have noticed it before. You don't
like him for some reason or other. What is the reason?"
He hesitated. Aside from Judge Knowles' distrust and dislike--which he
could not mention to her--there was no very valid reason, nothing but
what she would have called prejudice. So he hesitated and reddened.
She went on. "_I_ like him," she declared. "He is a gentleman. He is
always polite and considerate--as he was just now about breaking in on
our business talk. What did you dislike about that?"
"Well, I--well--oh, nothin', perhaps."
"I think nothing certainly. He is an old friend of mother's and of the
people here in the Harbor. They all like him very much. I am sorry that
you don't and that you spoke to him as you did. I didn't think you took
unreasonable dislikes. It doesn't seem like you, Cap'n Kendrick."
So once more Sears felt himself to have been put in a bad position and
to have lost ground while Phillips gained it. And, brooding over the
affair, he decided that he must be more careful. If he were not so much
in Elizabeth's company there would be no opportunity for
insinuations--by Egbert Phillips, or any one else. So he put a strong
check upon his inclination to see the young woman, and,
overconscientious as he was so likely to be, began almost to avoid her.
Except when business of one kind or another made it necessary he did not
visit the Harbor. It cost him many pangs and made him miserable, but he
stuck to his resolution. She should not be talked about in connection
with him if he could help it.
He had had several talks with Bradley and with her about her legacy from
Judge Knowles. The twenty-thousand was, so he discovered, already well
invested in good securities and it was Bradley's opinion, as well as his
own, that it should not be disturbed. The bonds were deposited in the
vaults of the Harniss bank, and were perfectly safe. On dividend dates
he and Miss Berry could cut and check up the coupons together. So far
his duties as trustee were not burdensome. Bradley had invested
Cordelia's five thousand for her, so the Berry family's finances were
stable. In Bayport they were now regarded as "well off." Cordelia was
invited to supper at Captain Elkhanah Wingate's, a sure sign that the
hall-mark of wealth and aristocracy had been stamped upon her. At that
supper, to which Elizabeth also was invited but did not attend, Mr.
Egbert Phillips shone resplendent. Egbert was not wealthy, a fact which
he took pains to let every one know, but when he talked, as he did most
of the evening, Mrs. Wingate and her feminine guests sat in an adoring
trance and, after these guests had gone, the hostess stood by the parlor
window gazing wistfully after them.
Her husband was unlocking the door of a certain closet upon the shelf of
which was kept a certain bottle and accompanying glasses. The closet had
not been opened before that evening, as the Reverend and Mrs. Dishup had
been among the dinner guests.
"Elkhanah," observed Mrs. Wingate, dreamily, "I do think Mr. Phillips is
the most elegant man I ever saw in my life. His language--and his
manners--they are perfect."
Captain Elkhanah nodded. "He's pretty slick," he agreed.
If he expected by thus agreeing to please his wife, he must have been
disappointed.
"Oh, _don't_ say 'slick'!" she snapped. "I do wish you wouldn't use such
countrified words."
"Eh?" indignantly. "Countrified! Well, I am country, ain't I? So are
you, so far as that goes. So was he once--when he was teachin' a
one-horse singin' school in this very town."
"Well, perhaps. But he has got over it. And it would pay you to take
lessons from him, and learn not to say 'slick' and 'ain't'."
Her husband grunted. "Pay!" he repeated. "I'll wait till he pays me the
twenty dollars he borrowed of me two weeks ago. He wasn't too citified
to do that."
Mrs. Wingate stalked to the stairs. "I'm ashamed of you," she declared.
"You know what a struggle he is having, and how splendid and
uncomplaining he is. And you a rich man! Any one would think you never
saw twenty dollars before."
Captain Elkhanah poured himself a judicious dose from the bottle.
"Maybe I never _will_ see _that_ twenty again," he observed with a
chuckle.
"Oh, you--you disgust me!"
"Oh, go----"
"_What?_ What are you trying to say to me?"
"Go to bed," said the captain, and took his dose.