WHAT WORRIED MRS. KING
By the middle of May Lovell's Harbor had fully awakened from its
winter's sleep. Freshly painted dories were slipped into the water;
newly rigged yawls and knockabouts were anchored in the bay; the float
was equipped with renovated bumpers, and a general air of anticipation
pervaded the community.
Yes, hot weather was really on the way. Already the summer cottages
were being opened, aired, and put in order, and even some of the
houses had gayly figured hangings at the windows and a film of smoke
could be seen issuing from the chimneys.
At Surfside workmen bustled about, hurrying across the lawn with
boards, paint pots, and hammers. Tim Cavenough and his little host of
helpers scurried to uncover the flower beds, and from morning to night
trudged back and forth from the greenhouses bearing shallow boxes of
seedlings which they transplanted to the gardens. Shutters were
removed and stored away, piazza chairs brought out, awnings put up,
and lawns and tennis courts rolled and cut.
As far as one could see a spangled expanse of ocean dazzled the eye
and the tiny salt creeks that meandered across the meadows were like
winding ribbons of blue. Certainly it was no weather to be shut up in
school and boys and girls went hither with reluctant feet, checking
off the days on their fingers and even counting the hours that must
drag by before they would be free to roam at will amid this panorama
of beauty.
To Walter King it seemed as if the closing period of his captivity
would never be at an end. He studied rebelliously, and with only a
half--nay, rather a quarter--of his mind on his lessons. All his
thought was centered around Surfside and the novel experiences that
beckoned him there. So impatient was he to begin his new duties that
he found it impossible to settle down to anything.
"You'll be failing in your last examinations, Walter, if you don't
watch what you're doing," cautioned his mother. "And should you do
that, little profit would it be that you are hired out to Mr.
Crowninshield for the summer. In the fall you'd have to stay behind
your class, and think of the disgrace of that! Why, I'd be ready to
hide my head with shame! Money or no money, you must buck up and put
the Crowninshields and their doings out of your head. To lose a year
now would mean just that much longer before you could graduate and
take a regular job. I almost wish Jerry Thomas had never asked you to
come up there, I do indeed."
"Oh, don't go getting all fussed up, Ma," returned His Highness,
irritated because he recognized the truth of his mother's words. "I'm
going to buckle down until the term is over, honest I am. It is hard,
though, with the weather so fine. It seems as if I must be out. It's
like being on a leash."
"You're thinking of those dogs again!"
The lad flushed sheepishly.
"No, I wasn't."
"But you were--whether you realized it or not. It is all you talk of
nowadays--_dogs_! What it will be after they get here and you're up at
Surfside living with them I don't know. Whatever else you do, though,
you must not fail in your lessons and at the last moment spoil your
whole year's record. School is your first duty now and you have no
moral right to put anything else in its place."
"I know it, Ma," Walter agreed.
"Of course you know it," was the tart response. "Just see that you do
not forget it, that's all."
With this final admonition Mrs. King whisked about and taking up her
cake of Sapolio and pail of steaming water ascended the stairs. Like
the rest of Lovell's Harbor she was busy as a bee in clovertime. She
had rented all her rooms and had so many things to do in preparation
for her expected guests that she had not a second to waste.
After she had gone Walter loitered in the kitchen, whistling absently
and at the same time winding a piece of string aimlessly over his
fingers. His mother's words had stirred a vague, uncomfortable
possibility in his mind. What if he were to fail in those final exams?
It would be terrible. Such a disaster did not seem real. It couldn't
happen--actually happen--to him. It would be too awful. Nevertheless,
try as he would to banish them, visions of Surfside with its myriad
fascinations would dance in his head.
He had never been away from home for more than a night before and to
take up residence elsewhere for an entire season was in itself a
novelty. Then there were the tennis courts, the golf links, the
automobiles, motor boats, and the yacht! Why, it would be like
fairyland! The next instant, however, his spirits drooped. It was
absurd to imagine for a moment that he was to have any part in those
magic amusements. He was not going to Surfside for recreation but for
work. Notwithstanding that fact, though, it was beyond his power to
forget that all these many activities would be going on about him and
there was the chance, the bare chance, that an occasion might arise
when he would be invited to participate in some of them.
Fancy spinning over the sandy roads of the Cape in that wonderful
racing car! Or sailing the blue waters of the harbor in one of those
snowy motor boats! As for the yacht, with its trimmings of glistening
brass and spotless decks, had he not dreamed of going aboard it ever
since the day it had first steamed into the bay two summers ago?
People said there was every imaginable contrivance aboard: ice-making
machines, electric lights, and electric piano, goodness only knew
what! Simply to see such things would be wonderful. And if it ever
should come about (of course it never would and it was absurd to
picture it--ridiculous) but if it ever _did_ that he should go sailing
out of the bay on that mystic craft what a miracle that would be!
With such visions floating through his mind what marvel that it was
well-nigh out of the question for Walter King to focus his attention
on algebra, Latin, history, and physics. X + Y seemed of very little
consequence, and as for the Punic Wars they were so far away as to be
hazy beyond any reality at all.
Possibly, although she was quite unconscious of it, some of the fault
was his mother's for she kept the topic of his departure to the
Crowninshields' ever before him.
"I have your new shirts almost finished, son," she would assert with
satisfaction, "and they're as neat and well made as any New York
tailor could make them, if I do say it; and you've three pairs of
khaki trousers besides your old woolen ones and corduroys. With your
Sunday suit of blue serge and those fresh ties and cap you'll have
nothing to be ashamed of. Then you've those denim overalls, and your
slicker, and Bob's outgrown pea-coat. I can't see but what you have
everything you can possibly need. Do be watchful of your shoes and use
them carefully, won't you, for they cost a mint of money? And remember
whenever you can to work in your old duds and save your others. You
can just as well as not if you only think of it. Your washing you'll
bring home and don't forget that I want you to keep neat and clean.
Rich folks notice those things a lot. So scrub your hands and neck
and clean your nails, even if I'm not there to tell you to. Just
because you are going to traipse round with the dogs is no excuse for
looking like 'em," concluded she.
"I'll remember, Ma," returned His Highness patiently.
"And if you eat with the chauffeurs and a pack of men, don't go
stuffing yourself with food until you're sick. There's a time to stop,
you know. Don't wait until you've got past it and are so crammed that
you can't swallow another mouthful."
"I won't, Ma," was the meek response.
"Brush your teeth faithfully, too. I've spent too much money on them
to have them go to waste now."
"Yes," came wearily from Walter.
"Of course there's no call for me to talk to a person your age about
smoking," continued his mother. "When you've got your full growth and
can earn money enough to pay for such foolishness you've a right to
indulge in it if you see fit; but until then don't start a habit that
will do you no good and may make a pigmy of you for life."
"I promise you right now, Ma, that I----"
"No, don't promise. A promise is a sacred thing and one that it is a
sacrilege to break. Never make a promise lightly. But just remember,
laddie, that I'd far rather you didn't smoke for a few years yet. But
should you feel you must why come and tell me, that's all."
"I will, Ma," answered the boy soberly. Somehow going away from home
suddenly seemed a very solemn business.
"I guess that's the end of my cautions," smiled Mrs. King, "the end,
except to say that I hope you won't like Surfside so well that you'll
forget to come home now and then and tell me how you are making out.
Of course I'll have my boarders and work same's you; still, there'll
be times when we won't be busy and can see each other," her voice
trembled a little. "Nobody will be more anxious to hear of your doings
than I--remember that. I shall miss you, sonny. It's the first time
you've been away from me and I can't but feel it's a sort of
milestone. You'll be getting grown up and leaving home for good now
before I know it, same as Bob has."
Her eyes glistened and for an instant she turned her head aside.
"Oh, I shan't be branching out to make my fortune yet, Mother,"
protested Walter gayly. "I don't know enough. I'm not clever like
Bob--you said so yourself only the other day."
"You're clever as is good for you," was the ambiguous retort. "I'm
glad you're no different."
"Think of the money I'd be handing in if I could only earn as much as
Bob."
"The money? Aye, there's no denying it would be a help. However, with
what you and Bob and I are going to earn this summer we should make
out very well, even if your Uncle Mark Miller has left us in the lurch
and your Uncle Henry King's investments have gone bad on us. I'll be
turning a tidy penny with my boarders, thanks to you. And for a lad
your age ten dollars a week is not to be sneezed at. Why, we'll have
quite a little fortune between us!"
He saw her face brighten.
"Now if Bob could only be near at hand like you I believe I should be
entirely happy," she sighed. "I hate to think of him way out there on
that spit of sand with the sea booming all around him and nothing for
company but the other fellow, who's asleep whenever he's awake, and
that clicking wireless instrument. Imagine the loneliness of it! The
solitude would drive me crazy inside a week--I know it would."
"Bob doesn't mind."
"He's not the lad to say so if he did," replied the mother grimly.
"Nobody'd be any the wiser for what Bob thinks. Often at night I fall
to wondering what he'd do was he to be taken sick."
"Oh, he'd be all right, Mother," answered His Highness cheerfully.
"O'Connel is there, you know."
"And what kind of a nurse would he be, do you think, with his ear to
that switchboard from daylight until dark?"
"Not quite that. Mother."
"Well, almost that, anyhow. It is all well enough for you to say so
jauntily that Bob doesn't mind being off there with the wind howling
round him and nothing to do but listen to it."
"Nothing to do!" repeated Walter. "Why, Ma, he's busy all the time."
"Tinkering with those wires, you mean?" was the indignant question.
"Yes, I grant he has plenty of that, especially in bad weather. But I
mean pleasures----"
"Moving pictures, church sociables, strawberry festivals," interrupted
the lad mischievously.
"Yes, I do," maintained Mrs. King stoutly. "Folks must have something
to brighten up their lives. Bob doesn't have a thing."
"He often has days that are lively enough, according to his stories."
"When there's wrecks, you mean?" She shook her head gravely. "It isn't
those that I'm talking about. It's sitting day after day and listening
to the meaningless taps and buzzings that come whining through that
instrument."
"They're not meaningless to him."
"No-o, I suppose not," sighed the woman. For a moment she paused only
to resume her complaints. "Then there's the responsibility of it. I
never did like to think of that. Should he tap once too much or too
little when sending one of those dot and dash messages, think what it
might mean! And suppose he heard a dot too much and didn't get the
thing the other fellow was trying to tell him straight?"
"But he has been trained so he does not make mistakes."
"All human clay makes mistakes," was the tragic answer, "although I
will say Bob makes fewer than most. And then the thunder storms--I'm
always worried about those."
"Yes, I'll confess there is some danger from lightning," owned Walter
unwillingly. "And of course there is danger from the current at all
times if one is not careful. Even then accidents sometimes happen.
However, Bob explained once that accidental shocks seldom result
fatally unless the person is left too long without help. The man in
charge of the radio outfit would almost never get the full force of
the current, because part of it would be carried off through the wires
and ground. Such accidents are mainly due to the temporary and faulty
contact of the conductors."
"I can't help what they're due to," sniffed Mrs. King. "The point is
that Bob might get knocked out and die."
"Nonsense, Mother. You would not worry if you understood more about
it. Besides, should a man get a shock, if you go promptly to work over
him and keep at it long enough, you can almost always bring him back
to consciousness. They do just about the same things to restore him
that they do for a person that's been drowned. The aim is to make him
breathe. If you can get him to, he will probably live. Of course,
though, you have to break the circuit first."
"The circuit?"
"Stop the current that is going through his body," explained Walter.
"But how can you?"
"Bob told me how. He saw a chap knocked out once and helped fix him
up. You had to be awfully careful about moving him away from the
apparatus, Bob said, or you might get a shock yourself. They took a
dry stick because it was a nonconductor of electricity, you know, and
rolled the man over to one side, so he was out of reach of the wires.
Had you covered your hands with dry cloth you could have moved him,
too; rubber gloves are best but Bob did not happen to have any handy
at the minute. So they poked the fellow out of the way with the stick,
turned him over on his back, loosened his collar and clothing, and
went to work on him. You know how they always roll up a coat or
something and stuff it under drowned persons' shoulders to throw their
head backward? Well, they did that; and afterward they began to move
his arms up and down to make him breathe. The idea is to depress and
expand the chest. We learned it in our 'first aid' class. Of course
there are lots of things you have to do besides, and if you can get a
doctor he will know of others that are better still. But Bob said the
chief point was not to get discouraged and give up. Sometimes people
die just because the folks fussing over them do not keep at it long
enough. They get tired and when they see no results they decide it is
no use and stop trying. You ought to work an hour anyhow, repeating
the exercises at the rate of sixteen times a minute, Bob said. Then,
if the poor chap does not come to, you can at least feel you have done
all you can."
"Ugh! It makes me shiver to think of it!"
"You didn't shiver when Minnie Carlton fell off the float and almost
got drowned," remarked Walter significantly.
"I had too much to think of," was Mrs. King's laconic reply.
"It was the fussing you did over her that saved her life."
"They said so."
"You know it was."
"Mebbe it was," admitted his mother modestly. "But it wasn't any
credit to me. I've always lived near the water and I feel at home with
drowned people."
"These electric accidents are much the same--easier, if anything,
because the lungs are not filled with water."
"I hadn't thought of that."
"This is just a straight case of making a man breathe. You did that
for Minnie."
"I contrived to, yes."
"Well, this stunt is the same. Bob said if you once got that through
your head and kept in mind what you were driving at instead of flying
off the handle you would get on all right."
"Perhaps he's right. He generally is," sighed Mrs. King. "Still it is
a worrisome business having him tinkering with those wires all the
time. I am thankful you are not doing it. I'd rather you tended dogs."
"But you've forgotten what they're worth," put in His Highness.
"So I had. Oh, dear! I don't see but what I've got to worry about both
of you."
"Pooh, Ma! Don't be foolish. Think of the money we'll have by fall,
the three of us. Why, we'll be rich!"
"Not rich, with that last payment on the mortgage looming ahead."
"But it _is_ the last--think of that! We won't ever have another to
make."
A radiant smile flitted over Mrs. King's face but a moment later it
was eclipsed by a cloud.
"There'll be other things to pay; there always are," fretted she.
"Oh, shucks, Ma! Why borrow trouble? It's always hanging round wanting
to be borrowed. Why gratify it?"
"I know. It is a foolish habit, isn't it? Still, it was always my way
to be prepared for the worst. I've done it all my life."
"Then why not whiffle round now and just for a change be prepared for
the best?"
In spite of herself his mother laughed.
"I expect that if I was as young as you and as happy-go-lucky I'd
never worry," she answered not unkindly. "But since I'm made with a
worrying disposition and bound to worry anyhow, at least I've got
something perfectly legitimate to worry about this summer, and you
can't deny it. With one son liable to be electrocuted by wireless and
the other likely to be run into jail for losing a million-dollar dog I
shall have plenty to occupy my mind, not to mention all those
boarders that are coming."
"Now, Ma, you know you are actually looking forward to the boarders,"
Walter declared. "Already you are simply itching to see them and find
out what they are like."
"And if I am, what then?" admitted his mother flushing that she should
have been read so accurately. "Seeing them isn't all there is to it by
a good sight. There is feeding them, and to keep them filled up in
this bracing climate is no small matter."
"Did you ever know any one to go hungry in this house?"
"Well, no; I can't say I ever did."
"Do you imagine boarders will eat more than Bob or I?"
"Mercy on us! I hope not."
"Well, you always gave us enough to eat. I guess if you contrived to
do that you needn't worry about your boarders," chuckled His Highness.