BRANDON LISTENS TO A SHORT FAMILY HISTORY
“WEEKS! Weeks! I wouldn’t have thought it of you,” exclaimed Adoniram
Pepper sorrowfully, turning away from the ’phone to gaze sternly at the
rascally clerk.
“Wouldn’t have thought it of him?” roared Caleb. “’Doniram, you’re
a fool! It’s just exactly what you might have expected of him. Oh,
you--you swab, you!” he added, shaking his fist at the trembling
culprit. “I wish I had you aboard ship. If I wouldn’t haze you!”
Then he sprang at the fellow, and seizing him ere he could escape,
tossed him face downward over his knee, and, while he held him with one
hand, delivered a most energetic spanking with the other huge palm, to
his squirming prisoner’s manifest discomfort.
“Oh! oh! oh!” roared Weeks, almost black in the face. “Oh, he’s
a-murderin’ me I Let me go! Oh! oh!”
“Stop your bawling, Alfred,” Mr. Pepper commanded, as the breathless
sailor released the scamp and placed him upright with no gentle force.
Brandon, who had been well nigh convulsed with laughter at the mode of
punishment the clerk had received, had not thought it possible for the
jolly Adoniram to ever appear so stern as he did now.
“Weeks,” continued the merchant, the customary smile totally eradicated
from his features, “Weeks, I have done my best for you for ten years.
I’ve helped you the best I know how. I have shielded you from those who
would have given you over to justice more than once, for your petty
crimes. Now, sir, I am through with you!
“This offense is unpardonable. You may go down to the other office and
draw your salary to the end of the month, and never let me see you
again until you have become a respectable member of society, and shown
by your actions, not by words, that you are such. Go at once, sir!”
Weeks hesitated an instant as though he contemplated making an appeal
to his old employer for mercy; but the look on Mr. Pepper’s face
forbade that. The old merchant was an embodiment of justice now; mercy
for the rascally clerk had flown.
Picking up his hat, he limped silently to the door, but ere he
disappeared he turned and looked at Brandon, who, in spite of himself,
was unable to keep his face straight. He glared at the laughing youth
an instant, and then the real nature of the fellow flashed out from
beneath the veneer of apparently harmless impudence and cunning.
His dark, old looking face flushed deeply red, his narrow eyes flashed
with sudden rage, and he shook his clenched fist at Brandon Tarr with
insane fury.
“I’ll even things up with _you_, you young whelp!” he hissed, and in
another moment limped out of the place.
“A nice fellow you’ve harbored, there, ’Doniram, just as I told you,”
Caleb declared. “He’ll knife you some dark night, if you’re not
careful.”
But Adoniram only shook his head sadly and returned to the telephone.
After talking to his manager several minutes, he picked up his hat and
gloves and led the way out of the office, locking it behind him.
“Adoniram Pepper & Co. will take a holiday today,” he said, his old
jovial smile returning. “First let us go to lunch.”
They were all too hungry by this time to go far before attending to the
wants of the inner man; but notwithstanding that they were so far down
town, Adoniram was able to introduce them to a very comfortable looking
little chop house. He also, despite their protestations, settled the
checks himself, and then telephoned to Brandon’s hotel and to the
Marine Hospital for the luggage of both his guests to be sent to his up
town residence.
“We’ll go up leisurely and give the baggage a chance to get there
before us,” said the merchant, as they left the restaurant; “then
Frances will know that company is coming.”
So they saw a bit of New York for Brandon’s benefit, arriving at the
large, though plain looking house in which the merchant resided, just
before six o’clock.
Brandon noticed, as they neared their destination, that the old sailor
seemed ill at ease, and that the conversation was being mostly carried
on by Mr. Pepper and himself. He did not understand this until they
were in the house, and the old merchant had gone to summon his sister
to meet his guests.
Caleb seemed terribly nervous. He sat on the edge of the substantial,
upholstered chair and twisted his hat between his huge hands, his face
and neck of flaming hue, while his eyes were downcast, and he started
at every sound.
Finally, as the merchant did not return at once, Caleb drew forth his
bandanna and blew his nose furiously.
“This ’ere is terrible, isn’t it, lad?” he muttered hoarsely, to
Brandon, who had been eying him in great surprise.
“What is, Caleb?”
“This ’ere meeting ladies, ye know,” responded the mate of the Silver
Swan in a mild roar, laboring under the delusion that he was speaking
very low indeed.
“There isn’t but one, Caleb,” replied Don encouragingly.
“I--I know it,” said Caleb, with a groan; “but she’s--she’s th’
spankin’est craft ever yer see! Sails allus new and fresh, riggin’ all
taut--I tell ye, lad, it allus rattles me for fear I ain’t all trim.”
“You look first rate, Caleb,” Brandon assured him, stifling a desire to
laugh as the old seaman evidently considered the occasion so serious.
“I wouldn’t worry.”
“That’s easy enough for _you_ to say,” returned Caleb, with another
shake of his head. “You wouldn’t be Cap’n Horace’s son if ye didn’t
find it all plain sailin’ in a city droorin’ room, same’s on th’
ship’s deck; but with me it’s different. Oh, Lordy! she’s hove in
sight.”
There was a rustle of silken skirts, and Brandon looked up to see Miss
Frances Pepper entering the room.
She was short and plump like her brother, though of considerable less
weight, and she smiled like him. But otherwise Miss Pepper was rather
prim and exact in her appearance, manner, and dress. As the sailor had
said “her rigging was all taut,” and she looked as though she had just
stepped out of a bandbox.
“My old friend. Mr. Whitherbee!” she exclaimed, holding out her hand to
Caleb with unfeigned warmth.
“Wetherbee--Caleb Wetherbee, ma’am,” responded Caleb, in a monotone
growl, seizing the tips of the lady’s fingers as though they were as
fragile as glass, and he feared to crush them in his calloused palm.
“Oh, yes--Mr. Wetherbee,” she replied brightly, gazing frankly into the
old seaman’s face, which naturally added materially to poor Caleb’s
confusion. “I was very sorry to hear about your illness, and am glad
you have at length been released from the hospital ward.”
Then she turned to Brandon who had also risen. She went up to him, and
seizing both his hands imprinted a motherly kiss upon his forehead.
The youth saw that her soft brown eyes, which could not possibly look
stern as could her brother’s gray ones, were filled with tears.
“God bless you, my boy!” she said, in a low tone. “I knew your father,
Captain Tarr, and a very nice man he was. You are like him.
“And now, brother,” added Miss Frances briskly, “if you will take Mr.
Wetherbee to his room to prepare for dinner, I will show Brandon to
_his_ apartment. Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes.”
Mr. Pepper, who had entered behind his sister, bore Caleb off as she
had commanded, to a room on the lower floor, while Brandon was led up
stairs by Miss Frances. The house was nicely though plainly furnished,
evidences of comfort rather than of great wealth being apparent.
Everywhere, on mantel and table, and in the niches of the hall, were
innumerable curiosities in the line of shells and coral brought from
all parts of the world.
Miss Frances ushered Brandon into a very prettily furnished chamber on
the second floor--almost too daintily furnished for a boy’s room, in
fact. Innumerable bits of fancy work and the like, without doubt the
work of feminine fingers, adorned the place: yet all was fashioned in a
style of at least twenty years back.
Above the bed, in a heavily gilded frame, was a large portrait of a
young woman--not exactly a beautiful woman, but one with a very sweet
and lovable face--which smiled down upon the visitor and attracted his
attention at once.
Miss Frances noticed his glance, and lingered a moment at the door.
“It was our little sister Milly,” she said softly. “This was her room
years ago. She was more than twenty years younger than Adoniram and I.”
“Then she died?” queried Don softly, still gazing up at the smiling
face.
“No, she married against father’s wishes. Father was a very stern,
proud man; not at all like Adoniram, who, I am afraid, is not stern
enough for his good,” and she smiled a little; but there was moisture
in her eyes as she gazed up at the portrait.
“She was a lovely girl--at least _we_ thought so--and she was father’s
favorite, too. But she married a poor sea captain by the name of Frank,
in direct opposition to father’s command, and so he cast her off.
“He forbade Adoniram or me having anything to do with her, or to help
her in any way, and she herself put it out of our power to do so, by
going to the other side of the world with her husband. Several years
later we heard of her death, and were told that there was a child; but
although Adoniram has done all he could he has never been able to find
this Captain Frank.”
The old lady wiped her eyes before continuing.
“After father died we had this room fixed just as she used to have it,
and had that picture hung there.
“Now, Brandon, I won’t bother you longer. There is your satchel, which
the expressman brought an hour ago. If you want anything, please ring.”
Then she departed, and left the captain’s son to make ready for dinner.