The young man plunged across the threshold, the skirts of his dripping
overcoat flapping about his knees and the water pouring from the brim of
his hat. He carried the ruin of what had been an umbrella in his hand.
It had been blown inside out, and was now but a crumpled tangle of wet
fabric and bent and bristling wire. He stumbled over the sill, halted,
and turning, addressed the man who had opened the door.
"Cap'n," he stammered, breathlessly, "I--I--I've come to see you. I--I
know you must think--I don't know what you can think--but--but----"
Kendrick interrupted. He was surprised, but he did not permit his
astonishment to loosen his grip on realities.
"Go in the other room," he ordered. "In the kitchen there by the fire.
I'll be with you soon as I shut this door. Go on. Don't wait!"
Kent did not seem to hear him.
"Cap'n," he began, again, "I----"
"Do as I tell you. Go in there by the stove."
He seized his visitor by the shoulder and pushed him out of the entry.
Then he closed and fastened the outer door. This was a matter of main
strength, for the gale was fighting mad. When the latch clicked and the
hook dropped into the staple he, too, entered the kitchen. Kent had
obeyed orders to the extent of going over to the stove, but he had not
removed his hat or coat and seemed to be quite oblivious of them or the
fire or anything except the words he was trying to utter.
"Cap'n Kendrick," he began again, "I----"
"Sshh! Hush! Take off your things. Man alive, you're sheddin' water
like a whistlin' buoy. Give me that coat. And that umbrella, what there
is left of it. That's the ticket. Now sit down in that rocker and put
your feet up on the hearth.... Whew! Are you wet through?"
"No. No, I guess not. I----"
"Haven't got a chill, have you? Can't I get you somethin' hot to drink?
Judah generally has a bottle of some sort of life-saver hid around in
the locker somewhere. A hot toddy now?... Eh? Well, all right, all
right. No, don't talk yet. Get warm first."
Kent refused the hot toddy and would have persisted in talking at once
if his host had permitted. The latter refused to listen, and so the
young man sat silent in the rocking chair, his soaked trouser legs and
boots steaming in the heat from the open door of the oven, while the
captain bustled about, hanging the wet overcoat on a nail in the corner,
tossing the wrecked umbrella behind the stove and pretending not to look
at his caller.
He did look, however, and what he saw was interesting certainly and
might have been alarming had he been a person easily frightened or
unduly apprehensive. Kent's wet cheeks had dried and they were flushed
now from the warmth, but they were haggard, his eyes were underscored
with dark semicircles, and his hands as he held them over the red-hot
stove lids were trembling. He looked almost as if he were sick, but a
sick man would scarcely be out of doors in such a storm. He had,
apparently, forgotten his desire to talk, and was now silent, his gaze
fixed upon the wall behind the stove.
Kendrick quietly placed a chair beside him and sat down.
"Well, George?" he asked.
Kent started. "Oh!" he exclaimed. And then, "Oh, yes! Cap'n Kendrick,
I--I know you must think my coming here is queer, after--after----"
He hesitated. The captain helped him on.
"Not a bit, George," he said. "Not a bit. I'm mighty glad to see you. I
told you to come any time, you remember. Well, you've come, haven't you?
Now what is it?"
Kent's gaze left the wall and turned toward his companion. "Cap'n
Kendrick," he began, then stopped. "Cap'n Kendrick," he repeated,
"I--Mrs. Macomber said--she told me you said that--that----"
"All right, George, all right. I told her to remind you that one time
you promised to come to me if you was in any--er--well, trouble, or if
you had anything on your mind. I judge that's what you've come for,
isn't it?"
Kent started violently. His feet slipped from the hearth and struck the
floor with a thump.
"How did you know I was in trouble?" he demanded. "Who told you? Did
they tell you what----"
"No, no, no. Nobody told me anything especial. Sarah did say you hadn't
looked well lately and she was afraid you was worried about somethin'.
That's all. I've been worried myself durin' my lifetime and I've
generally found it helped a little to tell my worries to somebody else.
At any rate it didn't do any harm. What's wrong, George? Nothin'
serious, I hope."
Kent breathed heavily. "Serious!" he repeated. "I--I...." Then in a
sudden outburst: "Oh, my God, Cap'n Kendrick, I think they'll put me in
jail."
Sears looked at him. Then, leaning forward, he laid a hand on the boy's
knee.
"Nonsense, George," he exclaimed, heartily. "Stuff and nonsense! They
don't put fellows like you in jail. You're scared, that's all. Tell me
about it."
"But they will, they will. You don't know Ed Stedman. He doesn't like
me. He always has had it in for me. He's prejudiced Clara against me and
she hates me, too. They're pressing me for the money now. The last
letter I had from them Stedman said he wouldn't wait another fortnight.
And a week is gone already. He'll----"
"Hold on. Who's Stedman?"
"Oh, I thought you knew. He's my half-sister's husband up in
Springfield. When my aunt died.... But I told you I was administrator of
her estate. I remember I told you. That day when----"
"Yes, yes, I remember; that is, I remember a little. Tell me the whole
of it. What's happened?"
"Yes--yes, I want to. I'm going to. Oh, if you _can_ help me I'll--I'll
never forget it. I'll do anything for you, Cap'n Kendrick. I know I
shouldn't have done it. I had no right to take the risk. But Mr.
Phillips said--he said----"
"Eh?" Sears' interruption this time was quite unpremeditated.
"Phillips?" he repeated, sharply. "Egbert, you mean? Oh, yes....
Humph.... Is he mixed up in this?"
"Why--why, yes. If it hadn't been for him it wouldn't have happened. I
don't mean that he is to blame, exactly. I guess nobody is to blame but
myself. But when I think---- Oh, Cap'n Kendrick, do you suppose you can
help me out of it? If you can, I----"
Here followed another outburst of agonized entreaty. The boy's nerves
were close to breaking, he was almost hysterical. Slowly and with the
exercise of much patience and tact the captain drew from him the details
of his trouble. It was, as he told it, a long and complicated story,
but, boiled down, it amounted to something like this:
Kent and Phillips had been very friendly for some time, their intimacy
beginning even before the latter came to board at Sarah Macomber's.
Egbert's polished manners, his stories of life abroad, his easy
condescending geniality, had from the first made a great impression upon
George. The latter, already esteeming himself above the average of
mentality and enterprise in what he considered the "slow-poke" town of
Bayport, found in the brilliant arrival from foreign parts the
personification of his ideals, a satisfying specimen of that much read
of _genus_, "the complete man of the world." He fell on his knees before
that specimen and worshiped. Such idolatry could not but have some
effect, even upon as _blase_ an idol as Mr. Phillips, so the latter at
first tolerated and then even encouraged the acquaintanceship. He began
to take this young follower more and more into his confidence, to speak
with him concerning matters more intimate and personal.
George soon gathered that Egbert had been much in moneyed circles. He
spoke casually of the "market" and referred to friends who had made and
remade fortunes in stocks, as well as of others whose horses had brought
them riches, or who had brought off what he called _coups_ at foreign
gaming tables. The young man, who had been brought up in a strict
Puritanical household, was at first rather shocked at the thought of
gambling or racing, but Mr. Phillips treated his prejudices in a
condescendingly joking way, and Kent gradually grew ashamed of his
"insularity" and _bourgeois_ ideas. Egbert habitually read the stock
quotations in the Boston _Advertiser_ and the mails brought him brokers'
circulars and letters. Kent was led to infer that he still took a small
"flyer" occasionally. "Nothing of consequence, my boy, nothing to get
excited about; haven't the wherewithal since our dear friend Knowles and
his--ah--satellites took to drawing wills and that sort of thing. But if
my friends in the Street send me a bit of judicious advice--as they do
occasionally, for old times' sake--why, I try to cast a few crumbs upon
the waters, trusting that they may be returned, in the shape of a small
loaf, after not too many days. Ha, ha! Yes. And sometimes they do
return--yes, sometimes they do. Otherwise how could I rejoice in the
good, but sometimes tiresome, Mrs. Macomber's luxurious hospitality?"
It seemed an easy way to turn one's crumbs into loaves. Kent, now the
possessor of the little legacy left him by his aunt, wished that the
eight hundred dollars, the amount of that legacy, might be raised to
eight thousand. He was executor of the small estate, which was to be
equally divided between his half-sister and himself. There had been a
little land involved, that had been sold and the money, most of it, paid
him. So he had in his possession about sixteen hundred dollars, half his
and half Mrs. Stedman's. If he could do no better than double his own
eight hundred it would not be so bad. He wished that _he_ had friends
in the Street.
He hinted as much to Phillips. The latter was, as always, generously
kind. "If I get the word of another good thing, my boy, I shall
be glad to let you in. Mind, I shan't advise. I shall take no
responsibility--one mustn't do that. I shall only pass on the good word
and tell you what I intend doing myself." George, very grateful, felt
that this was indeed true friendship.
The chance at the good thing came along in due season. The New York
brokerage firm wrote Phillips concerning it. It appeared that there was
a certain railway stock named Central Midland Common. According to the
gossip on the street, Central Midland--called C. M. for short--was just
about due for a big rise. Certain eminent financiers and manipulators
were quietly buying and the road was to be developed and exploited. Only
a few, a select few, knew of this and so, obviously, now was the time to
get aboard. Kent asked questions. Was Egbert going to get aboard? Egbert
smilingly intimated that he was thinking of it. Would it be possible for
him, Kent, to get aboard at the same time? Well, it might be; Egbert
would think about that, too.
He did think about it and, as a result of his thinking, he and Kent
bought C. M. Common together. Of course to buy any amount worth while
would be impossible because of the small amount of ready cash possessed
by either. "But," said Phillips, "I seldom buy outright. The latest
quotation of C. M. is at 40, or thereabouts. I intend buying about two
hundred shares. That would be eight thousand dollars if I paid cash, but
of course I can't do that. I shall buy on a ten per cent margin, putting
up eight hundred. If it goes up twenty points I make two thousand
dollars. If it goes up fifty points, as they say it will, why----" And
so on.
It ended--or began--by Phillips and Kent buying, as partners, four
hundred shares of C. M. on a ten per cent margin. George turned over to
Egbert the eight hundred dollars in cash, and Egbert sent to the brokers
six hundred of those dollars and a bond, which he had in his
possession, for one thousand dollars. Yes, Kent, had seen the broker's
receipt. Yes, the bond was a good one; at least the brokers were
perfectly satisfied. Where did Egbert get the bond? Kent did not know.
It was one he owned, that is all he knew about it.
For a week or so after the purchase was made C. M. Common did continue
to rise in price. At one time they had a joint profit of nearly two
thousand dollars. Of course that seemed trifling compared with the
thousands they expected, and so they waited. Then the market slumped. In
two days their profit had gone and C. M. Common was selling several
points below the figure at which they purchased. By the end of the
fourth day, unless they wished to be wiped out altogether, additional
margin--another ten per cent--must be deposited immediately.
And to George Kent this seemed an impossibility because he had not
another eight hundred, or anything like it, of his own.
Why, oh, why, had he been such a fool? In his chagrin, disappointment
and discouragement he asked himself that question a great many times.
But when he asked it of his partner in the deal that partner laughed at
him. According to Phillips he had not been a fool at all. The slump was
only temporary; the stock was just as good as it had ever been; all this
was but a part of the manipulation, the insiders were driving down the
price in order to buy at lower figures. And letters from the brokers
seemed to bear this out. Nevertheless the fact remained that more margin
must be deposited and where was Kent's share of that margin coming from?
The rest of the story was exactly like fifty thousand similar stories.
In order to save the eight hundred dollars of his own George put up as
margin with the New York brokers the eight hundred dollars belonging to
Mrs. Stedman, his half sister. Again he paid the eight hundred to
Phillips, who sent to New York another one thousand dollar bond and six
hundred in cash. And C. M. Common continued to go down, went down until
once more the partners were in imminent danger of being wiped out. Then
it rose a point or so, and there the price remained. All at once every
one seemed to lose interest in the stock; instead of thousands of shares
bought and sold daily, the sales dropped to a few odd lots. And instead
of the profits which were to have been theirs by this time, the firm of
Phillips and Kent owned together a precarious interest in four hundred
shares of Central Midland Common which if sold at present prices would
return them only a minimum of their investment, practically nothing when
brokerage commissions should be deducted.
And then Edward Stedman, Kent's brother-in-law, demanded an immediate
settlement of the estate. The land had been sold, the estate had been
settled--he knew it--now he and his wife wanted their share.
So that was the situation which was driving the young fellow to
desperation. _What_ could he do? He could not satisfy Stedman because he
had not eight hundred dollars and he could not confess it, at least not
without answering questions which he did not dare answer. As matters
stood he was a thief; he had taken money which did not belong to him. He
and Stedman had not been friendly for a long time. According to George
his brother-in-law would put him in jail without the slightest
compunction. And, even if he managed--which he was certain he could
not--to avoid imprisonment, there was the disgrace and its effect upon
his future. Why, if the affair became known, at the very least his
career as a lawyer would be ruined. Who would trust him after this? He
would have to go away; but where could he go? He had counted on his
little legacy to help him get a start, to--to help him to all sorts of
things. Now---- Oh, what _should_ he do? Suicide seemed to be the sole
solution. He had a good mind to kill himself. He should--yes, he was
almost sure that he should do that very thing.
It was pitiful and distressing enough, and Kendrick, although he did not
take the threat of self-destruction very seriously--somehow he could
scarcely fancy George Kent in the role of a suicide--was sincerely
sorry for the boy. He did his best to comfort.
"There, there, George," he said, "we won't talk about killin' ourselves
yet awhile. Time enough to hop overboard when the last gun's fired, and
we haven't begun to take aim yet. Brace up, George. You'll get through
the breakers somehow."
"But, Cap'n Kendrick, I can't--I can't. I've got only a week or so left,
and I haven't got the money."
"Sshh! Sshh! Because you haven't got it now doesn't mean you won't have
it before the week's out--not necessarily it doesn't.... Humph! Let's
take an observation now, and get our bearin's, if we can. You've talked
this over with Egbert--with Phillips, of course. After all, he was the
fellow that got you into it. What does he say?"
It appeared that Mr. Phillips said little which was of immediate solace.
He professed confidence unbounded. C. M. was a good stock, it was going
higher, all they had to do was wait until it did.
"Yes," put in Sears, "that's good advice, maybe, but it's too much like
tellin' a man who can't swim to keep up till the tide goes out and he'll
be in shallow water. The trouble is neither that man nor you could keep
afloat so long. Is that all he said? He understands your position,
doesn't he, George?"
Yes, Mr. Phillips understood, but he could do nothing to help. He had no
money to lend--had practically nothing except the two one thousand
dollar bonds, and those were deposited as collateral with the brokers.
"Um--ye-es," drawled Kendrick. "Those bonds are interestin' of
themselves. We'll come to those pretty soon. But hasn't he got _any_
ready money? Seems as if he must have a little. Why, you paid him
sixteen hundred in cash and, accordin' to your story, he sent only
twelve hundred along with the bonds. He must have four hundred left, at
least. That is, unless he's been heavin' overboard more 'crumbs' that
you don't know about."
Kent knew nothing of his partner's resources beyond what the latter had
told him. And, at any rate, what good would four hundred be to him?
Unless he could raise eight hundred within the week----
"Yes, yes, yes, I know. But four hundred is half of eight hundred and
seems to me if I was in his shoes and had been responsible for gettin'
you into a clove hitch like this I'd do what I could to get you out. And
he couldn't--or wouldn't--do anything; eh?"
"He can't, Cap'n Kendrick. He can't. Don't you see, he hasn't got it.
He's poor, himself. Of course he came here to Bayport, after his wife's
death, thinking that he owned the Fair Harbor property and--and a lot
more. Why, he thought he was rich. _He_ didn't know that old Knowles had
used his influence with Mrs. Phillips when she was half sick and tricked
her into----"
"Here, here!" The captain's tone was rather sharp this time. "Never mind
that. Old Knowles, as you call him, was a friend of mine.... I thought
he was your friend, too, George, for the matter of that."
George was embarrassed. "Well, he was," he admitted. "I haven't got
anything against him; in fact he was very good to me. But that is what
Mr. Phillips says, you know, and everybody--or about everybody--seems to
believe it. At least they are awfully sorry for Phillips."
"So I judged. But about you, now. Do _you_ believe in--er--Saint Egbert
as much as you did?"
"Why--why, I don't know. I---- Of course it seems almost as if he ought
to do something to help me, but if he can't he can't, I suppose."
"I suppose not. Look here, he won't tell anybody about your scrape, will
he?"
The junior partner in the firm of Phillips and Kent was indignant.
"Of course not," he declared. "He told me he should not breathe a word.
And he is really very much disturbed about it all. He told me himself
that he felt almost guilty. Mr. Phillips is a gentleman."
"Is that so? Must be nice to be that way. But tell me a little more
about those bonds, George. There were two of 'em, you say, a thousand
dollars each."
"Yes."
"And you don't know what sort of bonds they were?"
His visitor's pride was touched. "Why, of course I know," he declared.
"What sort of a business man would I be if I didn't know that, for
heaven's sake?"
Sears did not answer the question. For a moment it seemed that he was
going to, but if so, he changed his mind. However, there was an odd look
in his eye when he spoke.
"Beg your pardon, George," he said. "I must have misunderstood you. What
bonds were they?"
"They were City of Boston bonds. Seems to me they were--er--er--well, I
forget just what--er--issue, you know, but that's what they were, City
of Boston bonds."
"I see ... I see.... Humph! Seems kind of odd, doesn't it?"
"What?"
"Oh, nothin'. Only Phillips, accordin' to his tell, is pretty close to
poverty. Yet he hung on to those two bonds all this time."
"Well, he had to hang on to something, didn't he? And he probably has a
_little_ more; if he hasn't what has he been living on?"
"Yes, that's so--that's so. Still.... However, we won't worry about
that. Now, George, sit still a minute and let me think."
"But, Cap'n Kendrick, do you think there is a chance? I'm almost crazy.
I--I----"
"Sshh! shh! I guess likely we'll get you off the rocks somehow. Let me
think a minute or two."
So Kent possessed his soul in such patience as it could muster, while
the wind howled about the old house, the wistaria vine rattled and
scraped, the shutters groaned and whined, and the rain dashed and poured
and dripped outside. At length the captain sat up straight in his chair.
"George," he said, briskly, "as I see it, first of all we want to find
out just how this affair of yours stands. You write to those New York
brokers and get from them a statement of your account--yours and
Egbert's. Just what you've bought, how much margin has been put up, how
much is left, about those bonds--kind, ratin', numbers and all that. Ask
'em to send you that by return mail. Will you?"
"Why--why, yes, I suppose so. But I have seen all that. Mr.
Phillips----"
"We aren't helpin' out Phillips now. He isn't askin' help, at least I
gather he's satisfied to wait. You get this statement on your own hook,
and don't tell him you're gettin' it. Will you?"
"I'll write for it to-night."
"Good! That'll get things started, anyhow. Now is there anything else
you want to tell me?"
"No--no, I guess not. But, Cap'n Kendrick, do you honestly think there
is a chance for me?"
For an instant his companion lost patience. "Don't ask that again," he
ordered. "There is a chance--yes. How much of a chance we can't tell
yet. You go home and stop worryin'. You've turned the wheel over to me,
haven't you? Yes; well, then let me do the steerin' for a spell."
Kent rose from his chair. He drew a long breath. He looked at the
captain, who had risen also, and it was evident that there was still
something on his mind. He fidgeted, hesitated, and then hurried forth a
labored apology.
"I--I am awfully ashamed of myself, Cap'n Kendrick," he began.
"That's all right, George. We all make mistakes--business mistakes
especially. If I hadn't made one, and a bad one, I might not be stranded
here in Judah's galley to-night."
"I didn't mean business. I meant I was ashamed of treating you as I
have. Ever since that time when--when Elizabeth was here and I came over
and--and said all those fool things to you, I--I've been ashamed. I
_was_ a fool. I am a fool most of the time, I guess."
"Oh, I guess not, George. We're all taken with the foolish disease once
in a while."
"But I was such a fool. The idea of my being jealous of you--a man
pretty nearly old enough to be my father. No, not so old as that, of
course, but--older. I don't know what ailed me, but whatever it was,
I've paid for it.... She--she has hardly spoken to me since."
"I'm sorry, George."
"Yes.... Has she--has she said anything about me to you, Cap'n?"
"Why--er--no, George, not much. She and I are not--well, not very
confidential, outside of business matters, that is."
"No, I suppose not. Mr. Phillips told me she had--well, that she and you
were not--not as----"
"Yes, all right, all right, George; I understand. Outside of Fair Harbor
managin' we don't talk of many things."
"No, that's what he said. He seemed to think you two had had some sort
of quarrel--or disagreement, you know. But I never took much stock in
that. After all, why should you and she be interested in the same sort
of things? She isn't much older than I am, about my age really, and of
course you----"
"Yes, yes," hastily. "All right.... Well, I guess your coat is middlin'
dry, George. Here it is."
"Thanks. But that wasn't all I meant to say. You see, Cap'n Kendrick, I
did treat you so badly and yet all the time I've had such confidence in
you. Ever since you gave me that advice the night of the theatricals
I've--well, somehow I've felt as if a fellow could depend on you, you
know--always, in spite of everything. Eh, why, by George, _she_ said
that very thing about you once, said it to me. She said you were so
dependable. Say, that's queer, that she and I should both think the very
same thing about you."
"Um-m. Yes, isn't it?"
"Yes. It shows, after all, how closely alike our minds, hers and mine,
work. We"--he hesitated, reddened, and then continued, with a fresh
outburst of confidence: "You see, Cap'n," he said, "I have felt all the
time that this--this trouble between Elizabeth and me, wasn't going to
last. I was to blame--at least, I guess I probably was, and I meant to
go to her and tell her so. But I waited until--until I had pulled off
this stock deal. I meant to go to her with two or three thousand dollars
that I had made myself, you see, and--and ask her pardon and--well, then
I hoped she would--would.... You understand, don't you, Cap'n Kendrick?"
"Why--er--yes, I guess likely, George, in a way."
"Yes. I wanted to show her that I _was_ good for something, and
then--and then, maybe it would be all right again. You see?"
"Surely, George. Yes, yes.... Ready for your coat?"
Kent ignored the coat. He did not seem to realize that his companion was
holding it. "Yes," he stammered, eagerly. "I think if I went to her in
that way it would be all right again. I was hasty and--and silly maybe,
but perhaps I had some excuse. And, Cap'n Kendrick, I'm sure she
does--er--like me, you know. I'm sure of it.... But now--" as reality
came once more crashing through his dream, "I--I---- Oh, think of me
now! I may be put in prison. And then.... Oh, but Cap'n Kendrick, that's
why I came to you. I knew you'd stand by me, I knew you would. I treated
you damnably, but--but you know, it was on account of her, really. I
knew you'd understand that. You won't hold a grudge against me? You
really will help me? If you don't----"
Kendrick seized his arm. "Shut up, George," he commanded brusquely.
"Shut up. I'll get you out of this, I promise it."
"You will? You promise?"
"Yes. That is, I'll see that you don't go to jail. If we can't get the
eight hundred of your sister's from these brokers I'll get it
somehow--even if I have to borrow it."
"Oh, Great Scott, that's great! That's wonderful. I can hardly believe
it. I'll make it up to you somehow, you know. You're the best man I ever
knew. And--and--if she and I--that is, when she and I are--are as we
used to be--well, then I shall tell her and she'll be as grateful as I
am, I know she will."
"All right, George, all right. Run along. The rain's easin' up a little,
so now's your time. Don't forget to write to those brokers.... Good
night."
"Good night, Cap'n. I shall tell your sister how good you've been to me.
She told me to come to you. Of course she doesn't know why I came,
but----"
"No, and she mustn't know. Don't you tell her or anybody else. Don't you
do it."
"I--why, I won't if you say so, of course. Good night."
Kendrick closed the door. Then he came back to his seat before the
stove. When Judah returned home he found that his lodger had gone to the
spare stateroom, but he could hear his footsteps moving back and forth.
"Ahoy, there, Cap'n Sears!" hailed Judah. "What you doin', up and pacin'
decks this time of night? It's pretty nigh eight bells, didn't you know
it?"
The pacing ceased. "Why, no, is it?" replied the captain's voice. "Guess
I'd better be turnin' in, hadn't I? How's the weather outside?"
"Fairin' off fast. Rain stopped and it's clear as a bell over to the
west'ard. Clear day and a fair wind to-morrer, I cal'late."
Kendrick made no further comment and Judah prepared for bed, singing as
he did so. He sang, not a chantey this time, but portions of a revival
hymn which he had recently heard and which, because of its nautical
nature, had stuck in his memory. The chorus commanded some one or other
to
"Pull for the shore, sailor,
Pull for the shore.
Leave that poor old stranded wreck
And pull for the shore."
Mr. Cahoon sang the chorus over and over. Then he ventured to tackle one
of the verses.
"Light in the darkness, sailor,
Day is at hand."
"Judah!" This from the spare stateroom.
"Aye, aye, Cap'n Sears."
"Better save the rest of that till the day gets here, hadn't you?"
"Eh? Oh, all right, Cap'n. Just goin' to douse the glim this minute.
Good night."
Three days after this interview in the Minot kitchen George Kent again
came to call. He came after dark, of course, and his visit was brief. He
had received from the New York brokers a detailed statement of his and
Phillips' joint account. The statement bore out what he had already told
Sears. Four hundred shares of Central Midland Common had been purchased
at 40. Against this the partners deposited sixteen hundred dollars.
Later they had deposited another sixteen hundred. The New York firm were
as confident as ever that the stock was perfectly good and the
speculation a good one. They advised waiting and, if possible, buying
more at the present low figure.
All this was of little help. The only information of any possible value
was that concerning the bonds which Egbert had contributed as his share
of the margin. Those, according to the brokers, were two City of Boston
4-1/2s, of one thousand dollars each, numbered A610,312 and A610,313.
Kent would have stayed and talked for hours if Kendrick had permitted.
He was as nervous as ever, even more so, because the days were passing
and the time drawing near when his brother-in-law would demand
settlement. The captain comforted him as well as he could, bade him
write his sister or her husband that he would remit early in the
following week, and sent him home again more hopeful, but still very
anxious.
"I don't see how I'm going to get the money, Cap'n Kendrick," he kept
repeating. "I don't see how all this helps us a bit. I don't see----"
Kendrick interrupted at last.
"You don't have to see," he declared. "You've left it to me, now let me
see if _I_ can see. I told you that, somehow or other, I'd tow you into
deep water. Well, give me a chance to get up steam. You write that
letter to your brother-in-law and hold him off till the middle of next
week. That's all you've got to do. I'll do the rest."
So Kent had to be satisfied with that. He departed, professing over and
over again his deathless gratitude. "If you do this, Cap'n Kendrick," he
proclaimed, "I never, never will forget it. And when I think how I
treated you I can't see why you do it. I never heard of such----"
"Sshh! shhh!" The captain waved him to silence. "I don't know why I am
doin' it exactly, George," he said.
"I do. You're doing it for my sake, of course, and----"
"Sshh! I don't know as I am--not altogether. Maybe I'm doin' it to try
and justify my own judgment of human nature--mine and Judge Knowles'. If
that judgment isn't right then I'm no more use than a child in arms, and
I need a guardian as much as--as----"
"As I do, you mean, I suppose. Well, I do need one, I guess. But I don't
understand what you mean by your judgment of human nature. Who have you
been judging?"
"Never mind. Now go home. Judah's out again and that's a mercy. I don't
want him or any one else to know you come here to see me."
George went, satisfied for the time, but Sears Kendrick, left face to
face with his own thoughts, knew that he had told the young man but a
part of the truth. It was not for Kent's sake alone that he had made the
rash promise to get back eight hundred of the sixteen hundred, or
another eight hundred to take its place. Neither was it entirely because
he hoped to confirm his judgment in the case of Egbert Phillips. The
real reason lay deeper than that. Kent had declared that he still loved
Elizabeth Berry and that he had reason to think she returned that love.
Perhaps she did; in spite of some things she had said after their
quarrel, it was possible--yes, probable that she did. If, by saving her
lover from disgrace, he might insure her future and her happiness,
then--then--Sears would have made rasher promises still and have
undertaken to carry them out.
The brokers' letter helped but little, if any. He entered the names and
numbers of the bonds in his memorandum book. Those bonds still perplexed
him. He could not explain them, satisfactorily. It might be that Egbert
had more left from his wife's estate than Judge Knowles expected him to
have or that Bradley was inclined to think he had. Lobelia's will
bequeathed to her beloved husband "all stocks, bonds, securities, etc.,"
remaining. But Knowles had more than intimated that none remained. The
pictures of the horses and the ladies in Egbert's room at Sarah
Macomber's confirmed the captain's belief that the Phillips past had
been a hectic one. It seemed queer that, out of the ruin, there should
have been preserved at least two thousand dollars in good American--yes,
City of Boston--bonds.
In the back of the Kendrick head was a theory--or the ghost of a
theory--concerning those bonds. He did not like to believe it, he would
not believe it yet, but it was a possibility. Elizabeth had been
bequeathed twenty thousand dollars. She and Egbert had been close
friends for a time. She had liked him, had trusted him. Of late, so
Esther Tidditt said, that friendship had been somewhat strained. Was it
possible that.... Humph! Well, Bradley might know. He was Elizabeth's
guardian, he would know if her investments had been disturbed.
Then, too, if worst came to the worst and he had to raise the eight
hundred, which he had promised Kent, by borrowing it, he could, he
thought, arrange to get from Bradley an advance of that amount, or a
part of it, against his salary as manager of the Fair Harbor.
So he determined, as the next move, to go to Orham and visit the lawyer.
On Saturday morning, therefore, he and the Foam Flake once more
journeyed along the wood road to Orham.