If Elizabeth noticed that Sears was not as frequent a visitor at the
Fair Harbor as he had formerly been she said nothing about it. She
herself had ceased to run in at the Minot place to ask this question or
that. Since the occasion when Mr. Phillips interrupted the business talk
in the office and his apologies had brought about the slight
disagreement--if it may be called that--between the captain and Miss
Berry, the latter had, so Sears imagined, been a trifle less cordial to
him than before. She was not coldly formal or curt and disagreeable--her
mother was all of these things to the captain now, and quite without
reason so far as he could see--Elizabeth was not like that, but she was
less talkative, less cheerful, and certainly less confidentially
communicative. At times he caught her looking at him as if doubtful or
troubled. When he asked her what was the matter she said "Nothing," and
began to speak of the bills they had been considering.
On one occasion she asked him a point blank question, one quite
irrelevant to the subject at hand.
"Cap'n Kendrick," she asked, "how do you think Judge Knowles came to
appoint you to be manager here at the Harbor?"
He was taken by surprise, of course. "Why," he stammered, "I--why, I
don't know. That is, all I know about it is what he told me. He said he
felt he ought to have some one, and I was near at home, and--and so he
thought of me, I suppose."
"Yes, I know. You told me that.... But--but how did he know you wanted
the position?"
"Wanted it? Good heavens and earth, I didn't want it! I fought as hard
as I could not to take it. Why, I told you--you remember, that day when
I first came over here; that time when Elvira and the rest wanted to buy
the cast-iron menagerie; I told you then----"
"Yes," she interrupted again. "Yes, I know you did. But.... And the
judge had never heard from you--had never...."
"Heard from me! Do you mean had I sent in an application for the job?"
"Oh, no, no! Not that. But you and he had never been--er--close friends
in the old days, when you were here before?"
He could not guess what she was driving at. "Look here, Elizabeth," he
said, "I've told you that I scarcely knew Judge Knowles before he sent
for me and offered me this place. No man alive was ever more surprised
than I was then. Why, I gathered that the judge had talked about me to
you before he sent for me. Not as manager here, of course, but as--well,
as a man. He told you that I was goin' to call, you said so, and I
_know_ you and he had talked and laughed together about my fight with
the hens in Judah's garden."
The trouble, whatever its cause, seemed to vanish. She smiled. "Yes,
yes," she said. "Of course we had. He did like you, Judge Knowles did,
and that was all--of course it was."
"All what?"
"Oh, nothing, nothing. How is Judah? I haven't seen him for two days."
She would not mention Judge Knowles again, but for the remainder of
their session with the accounts she was more like her old self than she
had been for at least a week, or so it seemed to him.
This was but one of those queer and disconcerting flare-ups of hers. One
day, a week or so after she had questioned him concerning his
appointment, he happened to be in the Harbor kitchen, and alone--of
itself a surprising thing. Elvira Snowden and her group were holding
some sort of committee meeting in the sitting room. Elvira was
continually forming committees or circles for this purpose or that,
purposes which fizzled out at about the third meeting of each group.
Esther Tidditt was supposed to be in charge of the kitchen on this
particular morning, but she had gone into the committee meeting in order
to torment Elvira and Mrs. Brackett, a favorite amusement with her.
So Sears, wandering into the kitchen, happened to notice that the door
of the store closet had been left open, and he was standing in front of
it idly looking in. He was brought out of his day dream, which had
nothing to do with the closet or its contents, by Elizabeth's voice. She
had entered from the dining room and he had not heard her.
"Well," she asked, "I trust you find everything present or accounted
for?"
Her tone was so crisply sarcastic that he turned in astonishment.
"Why--what?" he faltered.
"I said I trusted that you found everything in that closet as it should
be. Have you measured the flour? My mother is matron here, Cap'n
Kendrick, and she will be glad to have you take any precautions of that
kind, I am sure. So shall I. But don't you think it might as well be
done while she or I are here?"
He was bewildered.
"I don't know what you mean, Elizabeth," he said.
"Don't you?"
"No, I don't. I came in just now by the back door, and there was no one
in the kitchen, so--so I waited for a minute."
"Why did you come by the back door? You didn't use to. Mother and I are
usually in the office, or, at least, we are always glad to come there
when you call."
He was still bewildered, but irritated, too.
"Why did I come by the back door?" he repeated. "Why, I've come that way
a dozen times in the last fortnight. Don't you want me to come that
way?"
Now she looked a trifle confused, but the flush was still on her cheeks
and the sparkle in her eye.
"I'm sure I don't care how often you come that way," she said.
"But--well, mother is matron here, Cap'n Kendrick. She may not
be--perhaps she isn't--the most businesslike and orderly person in the
world, but she is my mother. If you have any complaints to make, if you
want to find out how things are kept, or managed, or----"
"Here!" he broke in. "Wait! What do you mean? Do you suppose I sneaked
into this kitchen by myself to peek into that closet, and--and spy on
your mother's managin'?... You don't believe anything of that kind. You
can't."
She was more embarrassed now. "Why--why, no, I don't, Cap'n Kendrick,"
she admitted. "Of course I know you wouldn't sneak anywhere. But--but I
have been given to understand that you and--well, Mr. Bradley--have not
been--are not quite satisfied with the management--with mother's
management. And----"
"Wait! Heave to!" Sears was excited now, and, as usual when excited,
drifted into nautical phraseology. "What do you mean by sayin' I am not
satisfied? Who told you that?"
"Why--well, you are not, are you? You questioned her about the coal a
week ago, about how much she used in a week. And then you asked her
about keeping the fires overnight, if she saw how many were kept, and if
there was much waste. And two or three times you have been seen standing
by the bins--figuring."
"Good Lord!" His exclamation this time was one of sheer amazement. "Good
Lord!" he said again. "Why, I have been tryin', now winter is comin' on,
to figure out how to save coal cost for this craft--for the Fair Harbor.
You know I have. I asked your mother about the fires because I know how
much waste there is likely to be when a fire is kept carelessly. And as
for Bradley and I not bein' satisfied with your mother that is the
wildest idea of all. I never talked with Bradley about the management
here. It isn't his business, for one reason."
She was silent. Her expression had changed. Then she said, impulsively,
"I'm sorry. Please don't mind what I said, Cap'n Kendrick. I--I am
rather nervous and--and troubled just now. Of course, you are not
obliged to come over here as--as often as you used.... But things I have
heard---- Oh, I shouldn't pay attention to them, I suppose. I--I am very
sorry."
But he was not quite in the mood to forgive. And one sentence in
particular occupied his attention.
"Things you have heard," he repeated. "Yes.... I should judge you must
have heard a good deal. But who did you hear it from?... Look here,
Elizabeth; how did you know I was here in the kitchen now? Did you just
happen to come out and find me by accident?"
She reddened. "Why--why----" she stammered.
"Or did some one tell you I was out here--spyin' on the pickles?"
His tone was a most unusual one from him to her. She resented it.
"No one told me you were 'spying'," she replied; coldly. "I have never
thought of you as--a spy, Cap'n Kendrick. I have always considered you a
friend, a disinterested friend of mother's and mine."
"Well?... What does that 'disinterested' mean?"
"Why, nothing in particular."
"It must mean somethin' or you wouldn't have said it. Does it mean that
you are beginnin' to doubt the disinterested part?... I'd like to have
you tell me, if you don't mind, how you knew I was alone here in the
kitchen? Who took the pains to tell you that?"
Her answer now was prompt enough.
"No one took particular pains, I should imagine," she said, crisply.
"Mr. Phillips told me, as it happened. Or rather, he told mother and
mother told me. He is to speak to the--to Elvira's 'travel-study'
committee in the sitting room, and, as he often does, he walked around
by the garden path. When he passed the window he saw you standing by the
closet, that was all."
Sears did not speak. He turned to the door.
She called to him. "Wait--wait, please," she cried. "Mr. Phillips did
not say anything, so far as I know, except to mention that you were
here."
The captain turned back again. "Somebody said somethin'," he declared.
"Somebody said enough to send you out here and make you speak to me
like--like that. And somebody has been startin' you to think about how I
got the appointment as manager. Somebody has been whisperin' that I am
not satisfied with your mother's way of doin' things and am schemin'
against her. Somebody has been droppin' a hint here and a hint there
until even you have begun to believe 'em.... Well, I can't stop your
belief, I suppose, but maybe some day I shall stop Commodore Egbert, and
when I do he'll stop hard."
"You have no right to say I believe anything against you. I have always
refused to believe that. Do you suppose if I hadn't believed in and
trusted you absolutely I should have.... But there! You know I did--and
do. It is only when--when----"
"When Egbert hints."
"_Oh!_ ... How you do hate Mr. Phillips, don't you?"
"Hate him?... Why, I--I don't know as you'd call it hate."
"I know. It is plain to see. You have hated him ever since he came. But
why? He has never--you won't believe this, but it is true--he has never,
to me at least, said one word except in your praise. He likes and
admires you. He has told me so."
"Does he tell your mother the same thing?"
She looked at him. "Why do you couple my mother's name with his?" she
demanded quickly. "Why should he tell her anything that he doesn't tell
me?"
It was a question which Sears could not answer. For some time he had
noticed and guessed and feared, but he could not tell her. So he was
silent, and to remain silent was perhaps the worst thing he could have
done.
"What do you know against Mr. Phillips?" she asked. "Tell me. Do you
know _anything_ to his discredit?"
Again he did not answer. She turned away.
"I thought not," she said. "Oh, envy is such a _mean_ trait. Well, I
suppose I shouldn't expect to have many friends--lasting friends."
"Here! hold on, Elizabeth. Don't say that."
"What else can I say? I am sorry I spoke to you as I did, but--I think
you have more than paid the debt.... Yes, mother, I am coming."
She went out of the room and Sears limped moodily home, reflecting, as
most of mankind has reflected at one time or another, upon the
unaccountableness of the feminine character. So far as he could see he
had said much less than he would have been justified in saying. She had
goaded him into saying even that. He pondered and puzzled over it the
greater part of the night and then reached the conclusion which the male
usually reaches under such circumstances, namely, that he had better ask
her pardon.
So when they next met he did that very thing and she accepted the
apology. And at that meeting, and others immediately following it, no
word was said by either concerning "spying" or Mr. Egbert Phillips. Yet
the wall between them was left a little higher than it had been before,
their friendship was not quite the same, and an experienced person, not
much of a prophet at that, could have foretold that the time was coming
when that friendship was to end.
It was little Esther Tidditt who laid the coping of the dividing wall.
Elvira Snowden built some of the upper tiers, but Esther finished the
job. Almost unbelievable as it may seem, she did not like Mr. Phillips.
Of course with her tendency to take the off side in all arguments and to
be almost invariably "agin the government," the fact that the rest of
feminine Bayport adored the glittering Egbert might have been of itself
sufficient to set up her opposition. But he had, or she considered that
he had, snubbed her on several occasions and she was a dangerous person
to snub. Judah expressed it characteristically when he declared that
anybody who "set out" to impose on Esther Tidditt would have as lively
a time as a bare-footed man trying to dance a hornpipe on a wasp's nest.
"She'll keep 'em hoppin' high, _I_ tell ye," proclaimed Judah.
Little Mrs. Tidditt would have liked to keep Mr. Phillips hopping high,
and did administer sly digs to his grandeur whenever she could. In the
praise services among the "inmates" which were almost sure to follow a
call of the great man at the Fair Harbor it was disconcerting and
provoking to the worshipers to have Esther refer to the idol as "that
Eg." Mrs. Brackett took her to task for it.
"You ought to have more respect for his wife's memory, if nothin' else,"
snapped Susanna. "If it hadn't been for her and her generosity you
wouldn't be here, Esther Tidditt."
"Yes, and if it hadn't been for her _he_ wouldn't be here. He'd have
been teachin' singin' school yet--if he wasn't in jail. _You_ can call
him Po-or de-ar Mr. Phillips,' if you want to; _I_ call him 'Old Eg.'
And he is a bad egg, too, 'cordin' to my notion. Prob'ly that's why his
wife and Judge Knowles hove him out of the nest."
And, as Egbert climbed in popularity while Captain Sears Kendrick
slipped back, it followed naturally that Mrs. Tidditt became more and
more the friend and champion of the latter. She went out of her way to
do him favors and she made it her business to keep him posted on the
happenings and gossip at the Fair Harbor. He did not encourage her in
this, in fact he attempted tactfully to discourage her, but Esther was
not easily discouraged.
It was she who first called his attention to Miss Snowden's fondness for
the Phillips society.
"Elviry's set her cap for him," declared Mrs. Tidditt. "The way she sets
and looks mushy at him when he's preachin' about Portygee pictures and
such is enough to keep a body from relishin' their meals."
But of late, according to Esther, Elvira was no longer the first violin
in the Phillips orchestra.
"She's second fiddle," announced the little woman. "There's another
craft cut acrost her bows. If you ask me who 'tis I can tell you, too,
Cap'n Sears."
And Sears made it a point not to ask. Once it was Elvira herself who
more than hinted, and in the presence of Elizabeth and the captain. The
latter pair were at the desk together when Miss Snowden passed through
the room.
"Where is mother?" asked Elizabeth. "Have you seen her, Elvira?"
Elvira's thin lips were shut tight.
"Don't ask _me_," she snapped, viciously. "She's out trapping, I
suppose."
"Trapping!" Elizabeth stared at her. "What are you talking about?
Trapping what?"
"I don't know. _I'm_ not layin' traps to catch anything--or any_body_
either."
She sailed out of the room. Miss Berry turned to Sears.
"Do you know what she means, Cap'n Kendrick?" she asked.
Sears did know, or would have bet heavily on his guess. But he shook his
head. Elizabeth was not satisfied.
"Why do you look like that?" she persisted. "_Do_ you know?"
"Eh?... Oh, no, no; of course not.... I--I think I saw your mother goin'
out of the gate as I came across lots. She--I presume likely she was
goin' to the store or somewhere."
"She didn't tell me she was going. Was she alone?"
"Why--why, no; I think--seems to me Mr. Phillips was with her."
For the next few minutes the captain devoted his entire attention to the
letter he was writing. He did not look up, but he was quite conscious
that her eyes were boring him through and through. During the rest of
his stay she was curt and cool. When he went she did not bid him
good-by.
So the fuse was burning merrily and the inevitable explosion came three
days later. The scene was this time not the Fair Harbor office, but the
Minot kitchen. Judah was out and the captain was alone, reading the
_Item_. The fire in the range was a new one and the kitchen was very
warm, so Sears had opened the outer door in order to cool off a bit. It
was a beautiful late October forenoon.
The captain was deep in the _Item's_ account of the recent wreck on
Peaked Hill Bars. A British bark had gone ashore there and the crew had
been rescued with difficulty. He was himself dragged, metaphorically
speaking, from the undertow by a voice just behind him.
"Well, you're takin' it easy, ain't you, Cap'n Sears?" observed Mrs.
Tidditt. "I wish _I_ didn't have nothin' to do but set and read the
news."
"Oh, good mornin', Esther," said the captain. He was not particularly
glad to see her. "What's wrong; anything?"
"Nothin' but my batch of gingerbread, and a quart of molasses'll save
that. Can you spare it? Oh, don't get up. I know where Judah keeps it;
I've been here afore."
She went to the closet, found the molasses jug, and filled her pitcher.
Then she came back and sat down. She had not been invited to sit, but
Esther scorned ceremony.
"No, sir," she observed, as if carrying on an uninterrupted
conversation, "_I_ can't set and read the newspapers. And I can't go to
walk neither, even if 'tis such weather as 'tis to-day. Some folks can,
though, and they've gone."
Sears turned the page of the _Item_. He made no comment. His silence did
not in the least disturb his caller.
"Yes, they've gone," she repeated. "Right in the middle of the forenoon,
too.... Oh, well! when the Admiral of all creation comes to get you to
go cruisin' along with him, you go, I suppose. That is, some folks do.
I'd like to see the man _I'd_ make such a fool of myself over."
The captain was reading the "Local Jottings" now. Mrs. Tidditt kept
serenely on.
"I wouldn't let any man make such a soft-headed fool of me," she
declared. "'Twould take more than a mustache and a slick tongue to get
_my_ money away from me--if I had any."
Sears was obliged to give up the Jottings. He sighed and put down the
paper.
"What's the matter, Esther?" he asked. "Who's after your money?"
"Nobody, and good reason why, too. And I ain't out cruisin' 'round the
fields with an Eg neither."
"With an egg? Who is?"
"Who do you think? Cordelia Berry, of course. Him and her have gone for
what he calls a little stroll. He said she was workin' her poor brain
too hard and a little fresh air would do her good. Pity about her poor
brain, ain't it? Well, if 'twan't a poor one he'd never coax her into
marryin' _him_, that's sartin."
"Esther, don't talk foolish."
"Nothin' foolish about it. If them two ain't keepin' company then I
never saw anybody that was. He's callin' on her, and squirin' her
'round, and waitin' on her mornin', noon and night. And she--my
patience! she might as well hang out a sign, 'Ready and Willin'.' She
says he's the one real aristocrat she has seen since she left her
father's home. Poor Cap'n Ike, he's all forgotten."
Sears stirred uneasily. Barring Tidditt exaggeration, he was inclined to
believe all this very near the truth. It merely confirmed his own
suspicions.
His visitor went gayly on. "I'm sorry for Elizabeth," she said. "I don't
know whether the poor girl realizes how soon she's liable to have that
Eg for a step-pa. I shouldn't wonder if she suspected a little. I don't
see how she can help it. But, Elviry Snowden--oh, dear, dear! If _she_
ain't the sourest mortal these days. I do get consider'ble fun out of
Elviry. She's the one thing that keeps me reconciled to life."
The captain thought he saw an opportunity to shift Mrs. Berry from the
limelight and substitute some one else.
"I thought Elvira Snowden was the one you said meant to get Egbert," he
suggested.
"So I did, and so she was. But she don't count nowadays."
"Why doesn't she?"
"Well, if you ask me I shall give you an answer. Elviry Snowden ain't
fell heir to five thousand dollars and Cordelia Berry has. That's why."
Sears uneasily shifted again. This conversation was following much too
closely his own line of reasoning.
"Five thousand isn't any great fortune," he observed, "to a man like
Phillips."
The little woman nodded. "It's five thousand dollars to a man just
_like_ Phillips--now," she said, significantly. "And, more'n that,
Cordelia's matron at the Harbor. The Fair Harbor ain't a Eyetalian
palace maybe, but it's a nice, comf'table place where the matron's
husband might live easy and not pay board.... That's _my_ guess. Other
folks can have theirs and welcome."
"But----"
"There ain't no buts about it, Cap'n Kendrick. You know it's so. Eg
Phillips is goin' to marry Cordelia Berry. My name ain't Elijah nor
Jeremiah--no, nor Deuteronomy nuther--but I can prophesy that much."
She rose with a triumphant bounce, turned to the open door behind her,
and saw Elizabeth Berry standing there. Sears Kendrick saw her at the
same time.
There are periods in the life of each individual when it seems as if
Fate was holding a hammer above that individual's head and, at
intervals, as the head ventures to lift itself, knocking it down again.
Each successive tap seems a bit harder, and the victim, during the
interval of its falling, wonders if it is to be the final and finishing
thump.
Sears did not wonder this time, he knew. His thought, as he saw her
there, saw the expression upon her face and realized what she must have
heard, was: "Here it is! This is the end."
Yet he was the first of the two to speak. Elizabeth, white and rigid,
said nothing, and even Mrs. Tidditt's talking machinery seemed to be
temporarily thrown out of gear. So the captain made the attempt, a
feeble one.
"Why, Elizabeth," he faltered, "is that you?... Come in, won't you?"
She did come in, that is, she came as far as the door mat. Then she
turned, not to him, but to his companion.
"What do you mean by speaking in that way of my mother?" she demanded.
Esther was still a trifle off balance. Her answer was rather incoherent.
"I--I don't know's I--as I said--as I said much of anything--much," she
stammered.
"I heard you. How dare you tell such--such _lies_?"
"Lies?"
"Yes; mean, miserable lies. What else are they? How dare you run to--to
_him_ with them?"
Mrs. Tidditt's hand, that grasping the handle of the molasses pitcher,
began to quiver. Her eyes, behind her steel-rimmed spectacles, winked
rapidly.
"Elizabeth Berry," she snapped, with ominous emphasis, "don't you talk
to me like that!"
"I shall talk to you as--as.... Oh, I should be ashamed to talk to you
at all. My mother--my kind, trustful, unsuspecting mother! And you--you
and he _dare_----"
Kendrick, in desperation, tried to put in a word.
"Elizabeth," he begged, "don't misunderstand. Esther hasn't been runnin'
here to tell me things. She came over to borrow some molasses from
Judah, that's all."
"Oh, stop! I tell you I heard what she said. And you were listening.
Listening! Without a word of protest. I suppose you encouraged her. Of
course you did. No doubt this isn't the first time. This may be her
usual report. Not content with--with prying into closets and--and coal
bins and--and----"
"Elizabeth!"
"Doing these things for yourself was not enough, I suppose. You must
encourage her--pay her, perhaps--to listen and whisper scandal and to
spy----"
"Stop! Stop right there!" The captain was not begging now. Even in the
midst of her impassioned outburst the young woman paused, halted
momentarily by the compelling force of that order. But she halted
unwillingly.
"I shall not stop," she declared. "I shall say----"
"You have said a whole lot too much already. And you don't mean what you
have said."
"I do! I do! Oh, I can't tell you what I think of you."
"Well," dryly, "you have made a pretty fair try at tellin' it. If it is
what you really think of me it'll do--it will be quite enough. I shan't
need any more."
He was looking at her gravely and steadily and before his look her own
gaze wavered. If they had been alone it is barely possible that ... but
they were not alone. Mrs. Tidditt was there and, by this time, as Judah
would have said, "her neck-feathers were on end" and her spurs sharpened
for battle. She hopped into the pit forthwith.
"_I_ need consider'ble more," she cackled, defiantly. "I've been called
a spy and a scandal whisperer and the Lord knows what else. Now I'll say
somethin'."
"Esther, be still."
"I shan't be still till I'm ready, not for you, Sears Kendrick, nor for
her nor nobody else. I ain't a spy, 'Liz'beth Berry, and I ain't paid by
no livin' soul. But I see what I see with the eyes the Almighty give me
to see with, and after I've seen it--not alone once but forty dozen
times--I'll talk about it if I want to, when I want to, to anybody I
want to. Now that's that much."
Elizabeth, scornfully silent, was turning to the door, but the little
woman hopped--that seems the only word which describes it--in her way.
"You ain't goin'," she declared, "till I've finished. 'Twon't take me
long to say it, but it's goin' to be said. I told Cap'n Sears that Eg
Phillips was chasin' 'round with your mother. He is. And if she ain't
glad to have him chase her then I never see anybody that was. I said
them two was cal'latin' to get married. Well ... well, if they ain't
then they'd ought to be, that's all I'll say about _that_. And don't you
ever call me a spy again as long as you live, 'Liz'beth Berry."
She hopped again, to the doorway this time. There she turned for a
farewell cackle.
"One thing more," she said. "I told the cap'n I believed the reason that
that Eg man wanted to marry Cordelia was on account of her bein' able to
give him five thousand dollars and the Fair Harbor to live in. I do
believe it. And you can tell her so--or him so. But afore I told anybody
I'd think it over, if I was you, 'Liz'beth Berry. And I'd think _him_
over a whole lot afore I'd let him and his 'ily tongue make trouble
between you and your _real_ friends.... There! Good-by."
She went away. Kendrick pulled at his beard.
"Elizabeth," he began, hastily, "I'm awfully sorry that this happened.
Of course you know that I----"
She interrupted him. "I know," she said, "that if I ever speak to you
again it will be because I am obliged to, not because I want to."
She followed Mrs. Tidditt. Sears Kendrick sat down once more in the
rocking chair.
He did a great deal of hard and unpleasant thinking before he rose from
it. When he did rise it was to go to the drawer in the bureau of the
spare stateroom where he kept his writing materials, take therefrom pen,
ink and paper and sit down at the table to write a letter. The letter
was not long of itself, but composing it was a rather lengthy process.
It was addressed to Elizabeth Berry and embodied his resignation as
trustee and guardian of her inheritance from Judge Knowles.
* * * * *
"As I see it [he wrote] I am not the one to have charge of that money. I
took the job, as you know, because the judge asked me to and because you
asked me. I took it with a good deal of doubt. Now, considering the way
you feel towards me, I haven't any doubt that I should give it up. I
don't want you to make the mistake of thinking that I feel guilty. So
far as I know I have not done anything which was not square and honest
and aboveboard, either where you were concerned, or your mother, or what
I believed to be the best interests of the Fair Harbor. And I am not
giving up my regular berth as general manager of the Harbor itself.
Judge Knowles asked me to keep that as long as I thought it was
necessary for the good of the institution. I honestly believe it is more
necessary now than it ever was. And I shall stay right on deck until I
feel the need is over. I shan't bother you with my company any more than
I can help, but you will have to put up with it about every once in so
often while we go over business affairs. So much for that. The
trusteeship is different and I resign it to Mr. Bradley, who was the
judge's second choice."
* * * * *
He paused here, deliberated for a time, and then added another
paragraph.
* * * * *
"I feel sure Bradley will take it [he wrote]. If he should refuse I will
not give it up to any one else. At least not unless I am perfectly
satisfied with the person chosen. This is for your safety and for no
other reason."
* * * * *
He sent the letter over by Judah. Two days later he received a reply.
It, too, was brief and to the point.
* * * * *
"I accept your resignation [wrote Elizabeth]. It was Judge Knowles' wish
that you be my trustee, and, as you know, it was mine also. Apparently
you no longer feel bound by either wish, and of course I shall not beg
you to change your mind. I have no right to influence you in any way. I
have seen Mr. Bradley and he has consented to act as trustee for me. He
will see you in a day or two. As for the other matters I have nothing to
say. Whenever you wish to consult with me on business affairs I shall be
ready."
* * * * *
There was a postscript. It read:
"I feel that I should thank you for what you have already done. I do
thank you sincerely."
* * * * *
So that ended it, and ended also what had been a happy period for Sears
Kendrick. He made no more informal daily visits to the Fair Harbor.
Twice a week, at stated times, he and Elizabeth met in the office and
conferred concerning bills, letters and accounts. She was calm and
impersonal during these interviews, and he tried to be so. There was no
reference to other matters and no more cheerful and delightful chats, no
more confidences between them. It did seem to him that she was more
absent-minded, less alert and attentive to the business details than she
had been, and at times he thought that she looked troubled and careworn.
Perhaps, however, this was but his imagining, a sort of reflection of
his own misery. For he was miserable--miserable, pessimistic and pretty
thoroughly disgusted with life. His health and strength were gaining
always, but he found little consolation in this. He could not go to sea
just yet. He had promised Judge Knowles to stick it out and stick he
would. But he longed--oh, how he longed!--for the blue water and a deck
beneath his feet. Perhaps, a thousand miles from land, with a gale
blowing and a ship to handle, as a real deep-sea skipper he could
forget--forget a face and a voice and a succession of silly fancies
which could not, apparently, be wholly forgotten by the middle-aged
skipper of an old women's home.
One morning, after a troubled night, on his way to a conference with
Elizabeth at the Fair Harbor office, he met Mr. Egbert Phillips. The
latter, serene, benign, elegant, was entering at the gateway beneath the
swinging sign which proclaimed to the other world that within the Harbor
all was peace. Of late Captain Kendrick had found a certain flavor of
irony in the wording of that sign.
Kendrick and Phillips reached the gate at the same moment. They
exchanged good mornings. Egbert's was sweetly and condescendingly
gracious, the captain's rather short and brusque. Since the encounter in
the office where, in the presence of Elizabeth, Phillips' polite
inuendoes had goaded Sears into an indiscreet revelation of his real
feeling toward the elegant widower--since that day relations between
the two had been maintained on a basis of armed neutrality. They bowed,
they smiled, they even spoke, although seldom at length. Kendrick had
made up his mind not to lose his temper again. His adversary should not
have that advantage over him.
But this morning to save his life he could not have appeared as
unruffled as usual. The night had been uncomfortable, his waking
thoughts disturbing. His position was a hard one, he was feeling
rebellious against Fate and even against Judge Knowles, who, as Fate's
agent, had gotten him into that position. And the sight of the tall
figure, genteelly swinging its cane and beaming patronage upon the world
in general, was a little too much for him. So his good morning was more
of a grunt than a greeting.
It may be that Egbert noticed this. Or it may be that with his triumph
so closely approaching a certainty he could not resist a slight gloat.
At all events he paused for an instant, a demure gleam in his eye and
the corner of his lip beneath the drooping mustache lifting in an amused
smile.
"A beautiful day, Captain," he said.
Kendrick admitted the day's beauty. He would have passed through the
gateway, but Mr. Phillips' figure and Mr. Phillips' cane blocked the
way.
"It seems to me that we do not see as much of you here at the Harbor as
we used, Captain Kendrick," observed Egbert. "Or is that my fancy
merely?"
The captain's answer was noncommittal. Again he attempted to pass and
again the Phillips' walking-stick casually prevented.
"I trust that nothing serious has occurred to deprive us of your
society, Captain?" queried the owner of the stick, solicitously. "No
accident, no further accident, or anything of that sort?"
"No."
"And you are quite well? Pardon me, but I fancied that you
looked--ah--shall I say disturbed--or worried, perhaps?"
"No. I'm all right."
"I am so glad to hear it. I gathered--that is, I feared that perhaps the
cares incidental to your--" again the slight smile--"your labors as
general supervisor of the Harbor might be undermining your health. I am
charmed to have you tell me that that is not the case."
"Thanks."
"Of course--" Mr. Phillips drew a geometrical figure with the
cane in the earth of the flower bed by the path--"of course," he
said, "speaking as one who has had some sad experience with illness
and that sort of thing, it has always seemed to me that one should
not take chances with one's health. If the cares of a particular
avocation--situation--position--whatever it may be--if the cares
and--ah--disappointments incidental to it are affecting one's physical
condition it has always seemed to me wiser to sacrifice the first for
the second. And make the sacrifice in time. You see what I mean?"
Kendrick, standing by the post of the gateway, looked at him.
"Why, no," he said, slowly, "I don't know that I do. What do you mean?"
The cane was drawn through the first figure in the flower bed and began
to trace another. Again Mr. Phillips smiled.
"Why, nothing in particular, my dear sir," he replied. "Perhaps nothing
at all.... I had heard--mere rumor, no doubt--that you contemplated
giving up your position as superintendent here. I trust it is not true?"
"It isn't."
"I am delighted to hear you say so. We--we of the Harbor--should miss
you greatly."
"Thanks. Do you mind telling me who told you I was goin' to give up the
superintendent's position?"
"Why, I don't remember. It came to my ears, it seemed to be a sort of
general impression. Of course, now that you tell me it is not true I
shall take pains to deny it. And permit me to express my gratification."
"Just a minute. Did they say--did this general impression say why I was
givin' up the job?"
"No-o, no, I think not. I believe it was hinted that you were not well
and--perhaps somewhat tired--a little discouraged--that sort of thing.
As I say, it was mere rumor."
Sears smiled now--that is, his lips smiled, his eyes were grave enough.
"Well," he observed, deliberately, "if you have a chance, Mr. Phillips,
you can tell those mere rumorers that I'm not tired at all. My health is
better than it has been for months. So far from bein' discouraged, you
can tell 'em that--well, you know what Commodore Paul Jones told the
British cap'n who asked him to surrender; he told him that he had just
begun to fight. That's the way it is with me, Mr. Phillips, I've just
begun to fight."
The cane was lifted from the flower bed. Egbert nodded in polite
appreciation.
"Really?" he said. "How interesting, Captain!"
Kendrick nodded, also. "Yes, isn't it?" he agreed. "Were you goin' into
the Harbor, Phillips? So am I. We'll walk along together."
But that night he went to his bed in better spirits. Egbert's little dig
had been the very thing he needed, and now he knew it. He had been
discouraged; in spite of his declaration in his letter to Elizabeth
Berry, he had wished that it were possible to run away from the Fair
Harbor and everything connected with it. But now--now he had no wish of
that kind. If Judge Knowles could rise from the grave and bid him quit
he would not do it.
Quit? Not much! Like Paul Jones, he had just begun to fight.