§ 1
On the Fourth of July the Gibbses asked Martin and Jeannette to
spend the holiday and Sunday with them at Cohasset Beach. Jeannette
contemplated the visit in the gayest of spirits. She spent fully two
hours carefully packing her own and Martin’s suitcases. She had some
very smart clothes for such an outing which she had had no opportunity
of wearing since the happy honeymoon days at Atlantic City. The idea of
appearing in these again at such a well-known summer resort as Cohasset
Beach delighted her. She was anxious to be cordial to Mrs. Gibbs for
Martin’s sake, and meant to dispel any unpleasant impression of herself
that either Mr. Gibbs or his wife might have been harboring. To exert
herself particularly in her host’s direction, “draw him out of his
shell”--as Martin expressed it,--and make him like her, was part of her
resolution.
Late Friday afternoon she manfully struggled with the two suitcases to
the Thirty-fourth Street ferry and met Martin as agreed at the entrance
of the waiting-room. They had been anxious to catch an early train from
Long Island City, and it had been arranged that Mr. Gibbs and Martin
should come to the station directly from the office and meet her at the
ferry station.
“My God, Jan!” Martin exclaimed after he had swung himself off the
trolley-car and come running up to where she was waiting. “My God, you
look great! Say,--I never saw you look so--so swell!” Mr. Gibbs was
pleasantly cordial, though suffering much discomfort from the excessive
heat. Sweat trickled down his expressionless face, and continually he
removed his straw hat to mop his forehead with a drenched handkerchief.
It was indeed hot, but the vistas up and down the river as the
ferry-boat blunted its way toward the Long Island shore were all of
cool pinks, palest greens and lavenders in the late summer afternoon,
while the sun, setting through a murky haze, cast an enchanted light
over the scene. In the train, Mr. Gibbs took himself off to the smoking
car, leaving Martin and Jeannette alone. They sat beside a raised
window, their hands linked under a fold of her silk dress, and the
air that reached them was rich with the scent of the open country.
The girl’s heart was overflowing with happiness as Martin whispered
endearments in her ear: she was a wonder, all right; she looked like a
million dollars; gosh! he was proud of her; there was no girl in the
world like his wife! The holiday that was beginning for them, and the
knowledge that they were not to be separated for two whole days--nearly
three!--filled both with great felicity.
Cohasset Beach is a little village of two or three thousand inhabitants
on the Sound side of the Island, some twenty-five or thirty miles from
New York. The Gibbses lived in an unpretentious, white, peaked-roofed
house, with plenty of shade trees about it, and a rather patchy,
ill-kept lawn, bordered with straggling rosebeds. There was a
lattice-sided porch covered with a clambering vine. The place was
attractive though shabby; the house sorely in need of paint, the front
steps worn down to the natural color of the wood, the edges of the
treads frayed and splintery. A sagging hammock hung under scrawny
pepper trees, and a child’s toys were scattered about, while close
to the latticed porch was a pile of play sand hauled up from the
neighboring beach.
Jeannette was disappointed. She had pictured the Gibbses’ house more of
an establishment. Cohasset Beach was a fashionable summer resort; the
Yacht Club there was famous; she had thought to find her hosts living
in some style. But she was not to be daunted; she had come prepared
to have a good time and to make these people like her; she reminded
herself of her determination not to spoil this visit for Martin.
But on encountering Mrs. Gibbs she realized afresh how little in common
she had with her hostess. The woman was devoid of poise, restraint, or
dignity; Jeannette had forgotten her volubility and harsh, unpleasant
laugh. Mrs. Gibbs welcomed her guest eagerly, keeping up a running
fire of remarks, loosing her squeaks of mirth in nervous fashion. She
slipped her arm about Jeannette’s waist and before showing her to her
room or giving her a chance to remove her hat, led her to the nursery
to view little Herbie in his crib. Mr. Gibbs followed for a peep at his
son before the child went off to sleep and he brought Martin with him.
They all hung over the sides of the crib and exclaimed about the baby,
who rolled his solemn, perplexed eyes from face to face. Jeannette
noted he was exactly like his father: flat-headed, expressionless,
with no curve at the back of his neck, but Martin seemed quite taken
with him and when he tickled him with a finger, the baby opened wide
his little red mouth, displayed his toothless red gums and crowed
vigorously. Jeannette was sure she detected in the sound the shrillness
of his mother’s senseless laugh.
The guest room was on the third floor in one gable of the roof, a big
room with sloping ceilings; it was equipped with a washstand on which
stood a basin and ewer; the bathroom was on the floor below. Hattie,
the colored cook, would bring up hot water, Mrs. Gibbs said in her
excited way as she left them, urging her guests to make themselves
comfortable. Jeannette had carefully packed Martin’s dinner clothes,
and her own prettiest dinner frock, but there would evidently be no
formal dressing in such a household. She stood at an open latticed
window that jutted out above the vine-covered porch and looked out over
a rippling billow of tree-tops, softly green now in the fading evening
light, that tumbled down to the water’s edge. The Sound was dotted
with little boats riding at anchor and there was one private yacht,
gay with lights and fluttering pennants. The lambent heavens in the
west touched the shimmering water delicately with pink. She pressed her
lips resolutely together, and stared out upon the scene unmoved by its
beauty.
“Great,--isn’t it?” Martin said, coming to stand beside her and putting
his arm about her. “We’ll have a home like this of our own, some
day,--hey, old girl? And you’ll be the boss of the show and be cooking
me some of your fine dinners when I come home, and I’ll take you out
sailing in the yacht on Sundays.” He laughed his rich buoyant peal and
caught her in his arms.
“Oh, Martin,” she breathed tremulously, sinking her face against his
shoulder, “I love you so,--I love you so!”
As she had foreseen, there was no change of costume for dinner at the
Gibbses’ table. The meal itself had as little distinctiveness as the
host and hostess: soup and vegetables, a large steak followed by apple
pie and the usual accessories. Martin, Mr. Gibbs and his wife drank
beer; it appeared that it was imported, and Martin was eloquent in its
praise. There were cookies too, which made a special appeal to him;
_küchen_, Mrs. Gibbs called them, but Jeannette thought them hard and
tasteless. After dinner, the men walked down to the water and back,
smoking their cigars, while Jeannette sat and listened to a long tale
by Mrs. Gibbs of how she had happened to meet her Herbert, how her
parents had objected, how they had tried to separate them, and how love
had finally triumphed.
But Jeannette went to sleep that night with a happy prospect for the
morrow awaiting her: they were to have lunch at the fashionable yacht
club.
§ 2
Disappointment lay in store for her again. At noon, the next day,
perplexed by the picnic baskets and shoe-boxes of lunch with which they
were laden as they left the house, she learned it was the Family Yacht
Club and not the imposing Cohasset Beach Yacht Club for which they were
headed. Oh, no, Mr. Gibbs explained, only the swell New Yorkers and
the rich nabobs who lived down on the “Point” patronized the Cohasset
Beach Yacht Club; the dues there were fifty dollars a month; the nice
folk in Cohasset all belonged to the Family Yacht Club; she would see
herself how pleasant it was there; the steward served hot coffee and
everybody brought their own lunches. Jeannette looked straight ahead of
her to hide the blur of disappointed tears that for a moment blinded
her. Martin was behind with Mrs. Gibbs carrying Herbie in his arms.
The resolve to try and be pleasant and make these people like her died
hopelessly in the girl’s heart. Oh, it was no use! It had been dreadful
from the moment they arrived; it would remain dreadful till the end!
The club-house of the Family Yacht Club was a low spreading,
wind-blown, sand-battered, gray building that squatted along the shore,
separated from the lisping wavelets of the Sound by a strip of white,
sandy beach; a long pier ran out into the water and a number of small
sail-boats and row-boats were tied to the float at its further end. The
pier, the beach, the wide veranda of the club-house were all crowded
to-day; flags flew or were draped everywhere, and bathers ran up and
down along the wet sand or congregated on the raft anchored a hundred
yards from shore.
“Whew!” exclaimed Martin when he viewed the scene, “isn’t this great!”
His wife threw him a look; it did not seem possible he was serious, but
a glimpse of his delighted face showed her he was indeed.
There were no chairs nor benches on which to sit, but the newcomers
found a clean space on the sandy shore and prepared to establish
themselves there. Jeannette thought of her spotless new white
fibre-silk skirt, and in sad resignation sank into place. About them
were a dozen or so of similar groups, preparing for the midday meal or
already enjoying it. They were all neighbors of the Gibbses, residents
of Cohasset Beach, who knew one another intimately, and hailed each new
arrival, bandying Christian names. A man some distance away shouted in
the direction of the Gibbs party, brandishing a bottle of beer.
“Hey, Gibbsey,” he yelled, “hey there! How’s the old stick-in-the-mud?”
Mrs. Gibbs shrieked across the stretch of sand at the woman beside him.
“How’s the baby?”
“Fine,” came the answer. “Mama’s got him.”
“That’s Zeb Kline over there,” Mrs. Gibbs informed her husband; “it’s
the first time he’s been out since he was sick.... And those folks with
Doc French certainly look like his sister-in-law and that cousin of
hers, Mrs. Prentiss.”
A burst of music and the report of a cannon came distinctly from
farther down the shore. Jeannette, craning her neck, could see a large,
glistening white building with a red roof, gaily decorated with flags;
there were loops of bunting about the railings of its porches.
“That’s the Cohasset Beach Yacht Club,” said Mr. Gibbs; “the
Commodore’s just come to anchor; that’s his yacht out there; there’ll
be some fine racing this aft; the Stars are going out.”
“Ham or cheese?” Mrs. Gibbs inquired, proffering sandwiches. She was
busy with the lunch, snapping strings, opening boxes, squeezing wrapped
tissue-paper packages with her fingers, shaking them, hazarding guesses
as to their contents.
“I wonder what Hattie’s got in here,” she kept saying.
“Do have some sauerkraut; I made it myself. I thought maybe you’d
like it. Don’t you fancy mustard dressing? ... Well, try the stuffed
eggs. Hope you think they’re good. The cake’s Hattie’s; I think her
chocolate’s splendid.... Mr. Devlin, some mustard pickles? Some eggs?
... Goodness gracious, papa! Look out for Herbie! He’ll get himself all
sopping!”
“Say, Mr. Gibbs, this beer is great! How do you manage to have it so
cold?” Martin asked.
“I bring it down a day or two ahead of time and the steward puts it on
the ice for me; just half a dozen bottles, you know; doesn’t put him to
too much trouble.”
“Well, this is a great little Club all right.”
“_We_ think it’s nice. Just a few of us that have children got together
and organized it. The Cohasset Beach has a big bar, and there always is
a good deal of drinking going on down there. The New Yorkers, you know,
come down for a good time. No place for young folk.”
“No, you bet your life.”
Jeannette, in spite of herself, found she was hungry. The fried chicken
in the oiled tissue paper was delicious, and she loved the liverwurst
sandwiches. Mrs. Sturgis and her girls had always been extremely fond
of liverwurst; Kratzmer kept it, and many a luncheon Jeannette, her
mother and sister had made with little else. The hot cup of coffee,
that Mrs. Gibbs poured from the tin pot the Club steward brought and
set down in the sand, put life into her. The pleasant heat of the
day, the sunshine, the life and frolicking in sand and water, forced
enjoyment upon her. But she would not go in swimming when Martin
urged her. One glance at the crude bath-house with its gray boards
and canvas roof was sufficient to decide her on this point. She sat
stiffly beside Mrs. Gibbs, who had rocked Herbie to sleep in her arms,
and now moved so her shadow would keep the sun off the child’s face,
while she watched Mr. Gibbs and her husband disport themselves in the
water. Martin’s swimming always attracted attention and when he made
a beautiful swan dive from the end of the pier, there was a ripple of
applause. She felt proud of him, proud of his fine figure, the beauty
of his young body, his prowess, his unaffectedness.
“Who’s that young fellow doing all the fancy diving out there?” a man
sauntering up asked Mrs. Gibbs.
“S-ssh,” breathed that lady, indicating her sleeping child. “His name’s
Martin Devlin,” she whispered; “he works for Herbert in the city.”
Works for Herbert in the city! Jeannette felt the blood rush to her
face. Works for Herbert! Indeed! Well, he wouldn’t be _working_ for
Herbert much longer. She’d have something to say about _that_. The
idea! The impertinence! Giving the impression that her wonderful Martin
was merely an employee of Herbert Gibbs!
Her husband, wet and dripping, came up to her and flung himself down
panting upon the sand.
“Gee,” he said boyishly, “that water’s great! Never had a better swim
in my life. It’s a shame you didn’t go in, Jan.”
He looked at her, sensing something was amiss, but she smiled at him
and pressed his wet, sandy hand.
Late in the afternoon they prepared to go home. As they were about to
leave the Club, a man climbing into his automobile offered a lift.
Martin and Jeannette begged to be allowed to walk and persuaded their
hosts on account of the baby to take advantage of the car. Left to
themselves, they commenced a leisurely return.
Along the tree-bordered roads that fringed the shore, other groups in
white skirts and flannels were wending their way homeward; flags flew
from poles or were draped over doorways; the strains of a waltz drifted
seductively from the Cohasset Beach Yacht Club; the blue water of the
Sound was dotted with glistening triangles of sails, heeled over and
headed in one direction.
“Those are the Stars,” Martin exclaimed; “the race is finishing; number
seven seems to have it cinched. That steam yacht over there with all
the flags is the judges’ boat.”
They watched for a moment longer. Far out in midstream, one of the
Sound steamers was passing; already lights were beginning to twinkle in
her cabins.
“Wonderful day,” commented Martin, giving his wife’s hand, as it rested
in the crook of his elbow, a squeeze with his arm. They wandered
onward. “I’d love to have a home with you in a place like this, with
the sailing and swimming and tennis and all this outdoor fun. It’s my
idea of living. A fellow Mr. Gibbs introduced me to out on the raft
belongs to the Cohasset Beach Club, too. He told me they’ve got some
swell tennis courts over there and he was after me to play with him
to-morrow.”
“And will you?” Jeannette asked, listlessly.
“Well, I guess I can’t. Mr. Gibbs said something about some friends of
theirs asking us all to go sailing to-morrow.”
“That will be nice,” said his wife, still in a lifeless tone, but
Martin did not notice.
“By George, I think this is a great place. I was asking Mr. Gibbs about
rents, and he tells me we could get a fine little eight-room house for
forty a month, and it’s only three-quarters of an hour from town.”
“And what would you do without your theatres and your shows and your
little dinners downtown?” smiled Jeannette.
“Oh--they could go hang!”
The smile upon his wife’s face twisted skeptically. She knew Martin
better than he knew himself.
“And don’t you think the Gibbses ’re awful nice folks? They don’t put
on any airs but ’re friendly and simple. They’d take us under their
wing and ’d be darned nice neighbors.”
Jeannette shut her mouth. It was not the time to shatter his
enthusiasm; he was having a good time, imagined these people wonderful;
it wouldn’t be kind of her to show him now how vulgar and cheap and
horrid they and their friends and their little ridiculous Club were.
No,--it would only hurt him, and under the influence of the day and the
good time, it would lead to a quarrel,--and she was sick of quarrels.
She reminded herself she was out of sorts from the long day of boredom
and disappointment; it would be madness to say a word now. The time
when she could make him see the Gibbses, their house, their friends,
their tiresome pleasures and cheap environment as she saw them would
come, and she must bide her time.
“... not so particularly interesting,” Martin was saying, “but a darned
good sort, and he’s got a shrewd business head. I think he likes me
first-rate, and I was mighty glad to see you and Mrs. Gibbs pulling
together. She told me she thought you were great, said all manner of
nice things about how swell you looked. She’s not much of a looker,
herself, but she certainly has got the right feeling of hospitality.
Know what I mean, Jan? She gives you the best she’s got, and makes you
feel at home and that she’s glad you’re in her house. I think that’s
bully.... And isn’t that kid a corker? Golly, I think he’s slick! You
know, I carried him all the way down from the house to the Club and he
had his arms round my neck the whole way. He made funny little sounds
in my ear, you know, as though he was kind of enjoying himself! ...
Gee, he’s a great baby!”
That flat-headed, vacant-faced child? ... Well, Martin was _hopeless_!
He must be crazy; there was no use talking to him!
§ 3
In the morning Jeannette vigorously renewed her resolution not to mar
her husband’s pleasure. For the first time, since her marriage, she
felt oddly estranged from him. There was a rent somewhere in the veil
through which he had hitherto appeared so handsome, so considerate,
so wonderfully perfect, and the glimpse she had of him now through
the rift was disconcerting and a little shocking. While they were
dressing, he smoked a cigarette although he well knew the fumes of it
before breakfast made her giddy; at the table he was unnecessarily
noisy, laughed too loudly, with his mouth wide open and full of
muffin, and after breakfast on the ill-kept lawn, he rolled about with
the Gibbs baby, making a buffoon of himself and streaking his white
trousers with grass green and dirt. They were to go sailing at ten
o’clock,--the Websters were to call for them,--and it was thoughtless
of Martin, and indicated all too clearly his utter indifference to
her feelings. He looked a sight in his dirtied flannels! ... But
she _would_ be sweet! She _would_ be amiable! She would _not_ undo
whatever good had been accomplished. At four o’clock they would take
the train back to the city; there remained less than seven hours more
of this dreadful visit! Martin had completely captivated Mrs. Gibbs;
his enthusiasm for the baby had been the last compelling touch; she
shrieked at everything he said, thought him “perfectly killing.” Both
she and Mr. Gibbs had been cordial to Jeannette. Grimly, the girl
determined she would hold herself in leash for the few short hours that
remained, would smile and smirk and simper and do whatever they wanted!
But it was the ten-forty train that night which she and Martin were
able to catch back to town. The Websters’ yacht had been becalmed, and
all day the boat had rocked upon the slow oily swells of the Sound, the
sail flapping dismally, the ropes creaking and straining in the blocks.
The women had huddled together in the scant shade of the sail, while
the men sprawled helplessly in the flagellating sun. Herbie had wailed
and whimpered for hours before his mother had been able to quiet him
off to sleep. She had kept repeating in a sort of justification for
his ill temper: “Why, he wants his bottle; the poor darling wants his
bottle; ’course he’s cross, he wants his bottle.”
At four in the afternoon a motor-boat had come within hailing distance
and generously offered a tow. Fifteen minutes later they were underway
in its wake, when something suddenly went wrong with the motor-boat’s
engine, and both vessels slowly heaved from side to side on the oily
swells. Mrs. Webster frankly became seasick. The men shouted to one
another across the strip of water between the boats, but none of the
suggestions of either party brought results. The motor-boat being
equipped with oars, it was decided to row for assistance,--a matter of
two miles’ steady pull. Martin had wanted to go along and lend a hand,
but Jeannette tugged at his arm and sternly forbade him to leave her.
Effective aid finally appeared towards eight o’clock in the evening
when the gathering darkness had begun to make their position really
perilous, and an hour later the party clambered out on the float
in front of the Family Yacht Club, cramped, hungry, but profoundly
thankful. By the time Martin and Jeannette had reached the Gibbses’
house and made ready for their return to town, the ten-forty had been
the earliest train they could catch back to the city. Their hosts
begged them to remain for the night, but Jeannette was inflexible
in insisting upon returning home. She feared another hour spent at
Cohasset Beach would drive her stark, raving mad.