BUSINESS AND PLEASURE
Alone in his little room in the fish cannery Kenneth Gregory found
himself confronted by a new and unexpected problem. A hurried glance at
his watch only served to aggravate the tense lines which creased his
forehead. It was seven-thirty already. He was due at the Lang residence
at eight. And what was he going to wear?
The seriousness of the situation became painfully apparent as he pawed
over his wardrobe. His pre-war clothes had served nicely to wear about
the cannery. But they were hopelessly out of style. Why hadn't he taken
the time to have had something decent made in Port Angeles instead of
taking the first thing in 'hand-me-downs' which the salesman had
offered? He surveyed the suit ruefully. Then he reflected that his
errand was purely one of business and hastily donned the garments.
A nasty fit, he admitted to himself, as he looked into the mirror. He'd
like to get his hands on the man who talked him into it. He looked at
his shoes. They too caused him a commensurate amount of worry. Built on
lines of comfort they displayed a total disregard of fashion. The
longer he examined his attire the more conscious he became of its
defects. Turning from the glass he walked with disgust from the room.
The moon was shining bright when Gregory reached the Lang cottage.
Pausing on the graveled walk to reef in his vest, he walked up the steps
and fumbled about for the bell.
Dickie welcomed him at the door.
"I hardly knew you in those clothes," she began. "They do make a
difference, don't they?"
Gregory pulled his coat closer about him and agreed that they did. Then
he noticed that the girl had discarded her man's attire and was clothed
in a plain white dress. In the light of the little hallway her hair
gleamed like dull gold.
She led the way into a small living-room upon the floor of which a
number of vari-colored rag rugs were scattered about. By a big sewing
table sat a little woman in black. A light shawl draped her shoulders
and a white cap covered her gray-threaded hair. At their entrance she
laid aside her knitting and smiled.
"This is Mr. Gregory, Aunt Mary," Dickie announced in a loud voice. To
Gregory she added: "Miss Lang, my father's sister. She is very hard of
hearing."
Gregory bowed as he took the hand Miss Lang extended.
"I'm glad to know you," she said. "Real glad. Your father was one of my
few friends. We enjoyed many pleasant games of checkers together."
Her keen gray eyes appraised him while she spoke and under the frankness
of her stare, Gregory felt his coat collar slowly pulling away from his
neck. Passing a hand nervously to the lapel he jerked the garment into
place while he responded to her greeting.
"Richard all over again," announced Miss Lang when she had finished her
inspection. "The same eyes, the square chin. Even the same nervous
manner of hitching at your clothes."
"Aunt Mary!" Dickie expostulated. "You're too personal. You----"
But Miss Lang went on with a smile which put her guest wholly at his
ease: "You won't mind what an old lady like me says, I'm sure. I always
told your father just what I thought. And I'm going to do the same with
you."
Gregory listened attentively while she told him of her first meeting
with his father. While she spoke his eyes traveled curiously to the
high-backed organ and the what-not beyond. Richard Gregory had described
the Lang home as a model of neatness and old-fashioned charm. His son
went further. The room possessed a personality. It was not only livable
but lovable as well. The very atmosphere breathed a benediction.
"Do you play checkers?"
Miss Lang's voice recalled Gregory to himself. He shook his head.
"I'm sorry," he began.
"No you're not," put in Dickie quietly. "You're lucky. Don't ever
learn. Aunt Mary never gave your father a chance to say a word. She had
her board out when she heard him in the hall."
A knock on the front door interrupted Miss Lang's request for her
checker-board and Dickie hurried out.
"I can teach you in no time," Aunt Mary was saying. But Gregory was
listening to the sound of a man's voice in the hallway. Then came the
girl's laugh.
"I wasn't angry at all, Jack. Just cranky. But I'm glad you came up just
the same and thanks for the candy."
She reentered the room followed by McCoy. McCoy stopped with surprise as
he caught sight of Gregory. Nodding casually, he went over to greet Miss
Lang.
Aunt Mary welcomed McCoy warmly. Then she addressed her niece.
"Bring us the board, Josephine. Kenneth can watch and I'll explain the
game as we go along."
McCoy sank into a chair and passed a hand wearily over his eyes.
"I have a headache," he shouted. "Don't think I'd better play to-night."
"You've been working too hard," Aunt Mary retorted. "Nothing like a good
game of checkers for relaxation."
Dickie was already on her way for the board. As she passed Gregory he
saw that her eyes were sparkling.
"That's right, Jack," she called back. "Leave it to Aunt Mary to
prescribe for your headache. She knows."
As McCoy drew up to the board Gregory noticed that he was attired in
close-fitting clothes of ultra-fashionable cut. As he saw McCoy look him
over he became ill at ease and moved his chair farther from the light.
Dickie sensed his embarrassment and noting that neither man appeared to
enjoy himself, strove to make her guests feel more at home. Both men she
knew were vitally interested in the operation of the cannery. And
Gregory, at her request, had brought up the balance-sheet. A discussion
of business affairs would relieve the situation and at the same time
rescue McCoy from Aunt Mary's checker-board. The rapid termination of
the first game gave her a chance to interrupt.
"I asked Mr. Gregory to bring up a business statement to-night, Aunt
Mary; you'd like to see it, wouldn't you? I know Jack would."
Miss Lang nodded and promptly laid aside the board.
"Very much," she answered. "I've always been interested in that business
and I understand this young man is making it pay."
McCoy heaved a sigh of relief to learn it was merely business which had
brought Gregory to see Dickie Lang.
At the girl's reference to the object of his errand, Gregory unbuttoned
his coat and delved into his pocket for the paper. He must have put it
in his vest. Again his fingers failed to find the missing document. He
became conscious of a prickly sensation creeping slowly over his flesh.
Where had he left that darned paper anyway? Suddenly he remembered. In
his mortification over his attire he had left the statement lying on his
dresser. He looked up to meet all eyes fixed expectantly upon him. Then
he leaned back in his chair and tried to smile.
"I guess the joke's on me," he said. "I came away in such a hurry I
forgot it."
Dickie laughed at his discomfiture until the tears shone in her eyes,
while McCoy regarded his employer with suspicion. Aunt Mary finished
polishing her spectacles and settled back to listen.
"I'm all ready to hear it," she announced. "Perhaps you had better come
nearer so you will not have to speak so loud."
Dickie came to Gregory's rescue and explained the situation to her aunt.
Then she added in a low voice:
"You must have been stung by another of those ideas of yours."
During the remainder of his visit Kenneth Gregory was content to remain
in the background. McCoy made a few efforts at conversation as he noted
Aunt Mary's eyes roving longingly in the direction of the checker-board.
Then Miss Lang, much to every one's relief, began to monopolize the
conversation. Beckoning Gregory closer, she said:
"I want to give you just one bit of advice though I don't suppose you'll
heed it coming from an old lady like me."
As Gregory encouraged her to go on, she exclaimed:
"Stay away from Diablo Island." Seeing that she had aroused his
interest, she went on: "You're going to ask me why, and I'll have to
answer that I don't know except that it is a dangerous place and has
been the cause of a number of strange accidents during the past few
years. I used to warn my brother to stay away from there. He only
laughed at my fears--at first. When he lost the _Kingfisher_ at El
Diablo he called it bad luck. Any boat was liable to be run down, he
said. Then came the wreck of the _Crane_ off the south coast of the
island and not a body ever recovered."
"Aunt Mary thinks there's ghosts and everything else at Diablo," Dickie
whispered. "If you give her any encouragement, she's as bad as my
fishermen."
Gregory noticed that although the girl's words were intended to ridicule
the idea, the expression of her face showed that her aunt's words were
not regarded by her in the light of idle gossip.
"For a time after that," Miss Lang continued, "my brother stayed away
from Diablo. When fish were scarce he went back. He hadn't had his nets
out a week before he lost them all. No one ever knew what became of
them. Will was getting worried though he tried not to show it. He was
about ready to give it up when your father bought the cannery and came
to Legonia. For a while after that fishing was good everywhere. As long
as they stayed away from that accursed island things went well. But they
were not satisfied. So they sent the _Eagle_ over there. The last they
heard of her she was anchored in Northwest Harbor."
The room grew very still as the old lady continued:
"That worried them. Because they could not find out what became of her.
The fishermen began to refuse to go there and I thanked God it was all
over. Then one night Will and your father went out to Diablo in the
_Gull_. Why they went, heaven only will ever know."
She rose slowly and walked to the door.
"She won't sleep a wink to-night," exclaimed Dickie as the door closed
on her aunt. "I must look after her."
When the girl returned a few minutes later she found Gregory and McCoy
discussing business. Gregory remained on his feet at her entrance.
"I must be going," he said. "I have a lot of work to do."
Bidding McCoy good night, he followed Dickie to the hall.
"I'm glad you came up even if you did forget the balance-sheet. Come up
again any time you're not too busy."
With the girl's words in his ears, Gregory walked into the moonlight.
The evening had not been a complete failure after all. As he turned his
steps in the direction of the town his mind was wholly engrossed with
the events of the past two hours. How Aunt Mary did hate Diablo. Had the
girl noticed how badly his clothes fit him in comparison with McCoy's?
Why had Jack appeared so grouchy?
He stopped short in his descent of the hill road as he saw a man walking
unsteadily toward him. Moving to one side he watched the drunken
fisherman stumble on, heard the low mumbling of his voice. Then the
moonlight fell full upon the man's face.
It was Boris, the crazy Russian.