AT THE RESTAURANT
The captain of the _Seamew_ found himself facing an unpleasant
problem. How could he make the Balls, either Cap'n Ira or Prudence,
understand the kind of girl Ida May was? How could he even bring
them to understand that nothing he could have said would have ever
made Ida May Bostwick see the situation in its true light?
Why, the old couple could never be made to believe that a girl in
her sane senses would turn down cold such a proposition as they had
made. They would suspect that he had failed to put it to her in the
proper light. His "errand of mercy," as Cap'n Ira had called it, had
seemed so reasonable for both sides!
Tunis realized that he had not overurged the matter to the girl. But
there was a reason for that. The difficulty would be in explaining
to the Balls just how unsuitable Ida May was. They would never
believe that the daughter of Sarah Honey could be such a cheap and
inconsequential person as she had actually proved to be.
"It's going to hit 'em 'twixt wind and water, and hit 'em hard,"
muttered the captain of the _Seamew_. "One thing that girl said was
right, I guess. They'd better get somebody from the poor farm,
rather than take her into their house. Such a creature would be
happier with the Balls, and make them happier. But it's pretty tough
when those of your own blood go back on you."
The experience had left a bad taste in Tunis Latham's mouth. He
hoped heartily that he would never see Ida May Bostwick again. He
never intended to if he could help it. To take his mind off the
fiasco entirely, he hopped on to a car and rode out to the art
museum and spent the afternoon in the quiet galleries where the
masters, little and great, are hung.
He came downtown at nightfall, threading the paths of the public
gardens and the common malls of Charles and Beacon Streets, with a
feeling of immense calm in his soul. Tunis Latham possessed keenly
contrasting attributes of character. On the one hand he was of a
rather practical mind and thought; on the other, his love of beauty
and appreciation of nature's greater forces might have made of him
an artist under more liberal conditions of birth and breeding.
Ida May Bostwick had rasped all the finer feelings of the captain
of the _Seamew_. He was happy to be able to get her out of his mind.
In fact, he had put aside thought of any girl. Romance no longer
enmeshed his cogitations. He was utterly calm, unruffled, serene, as
he descended by the twists and turns of certain streets beyond the
State House and came out finally upon the now lighted and bustling
square.
He halted, like a pointer dog, before the eating place where he had
had breakfast.
Tunis Latham felt a certain shock. That girl with the violet eyes
had been farthest from his thought at the moment, and for some hours
now. He had lumped together the whole girl question and had
relegated it to the back of his mind.
And perhaps he was cured. He looked at it more sensibly after the
first moment. It was not thought of the girl that had brought him
here. Habit is strong in most of us. The urge of a healthy appetite
was more likely what had caused him to halt before the restaurant
door.
It was after seven. Following his walk from the Back Bay it was
little wonder that he was hungry. But should he enter this place?
There were several other restaurants in sight of about the same
standard. Tunis Latham did not make a practice of patronizing places
similar to the Barquette when he ate alone.
To pass on and enter another restaurant would be to confess
weakness. He really cared nothing about that girl with the violet
eyes. She very probably was no better and no worse than Ida May
Bostwick. All these city shopgirls were about of a pattern. He had
allowed sentiment to sway him for a few hours. But sentiment had
received a jolt during his interview with the girl from the lace
department of Hoskin & Marl's.
"Cat's foot!" ejaculated the captain of the _Seamew_. "I guess I'm
not afraid to take another look at that girl, if she's in here.
Probably two looks will be about all I want," and he grinned rather
wryly as he approached the door.
The place was well patronized at this hour; and the "lady help" was
much in evidence, flying back and forth from tables to slide and
"dealing 'em off the arm" with a rapidity and dexterity that was
most amazing, Tunis thought. There was even a girl in the cashier's
cage, while the black-haired man he had paid his check to that
forenoon was walking about with a sharp eye for everything that went
on.
The Cape man started down the room for an empty seat. Somebody was
ahead of him and he backed away. A soft voice, a voice that thrilled
Tunis Latham before he saw the speaker at all, said just behind him:
"There is a seat here, sir."
He knew it was she of the violet eyes before he turned about. It
seemed to the seaman the voice matched the beautiful eyes of which
he had thought so often during the past few days. They must belong
together!
He turned to look at her. She was gathering up the soiled dishes
from a table at which was an empty seat. First of all, Tunis secured
it. Then he glanced keenly at the girl.
Would she remember him? Had his face and appearance been
photographed upon her memory as her face had been printed on his?
She did not look at him then. She was busy clearing the enameled top
of the table and wiping off the coffee stains and the wet rings made
by the water glass.
She had black hair and a great deal of it, deep black, glossy, fine
of texture, and very well brushed. Black hair and those velvety
violet eyes, the long, black lashes of which were a most delicate
fringe! The brows were boldly dashed on against her smooth, almost
colorless, but perfect skin. Tunis had never before seen any
feminine loveliness the equal of this girl, this waitress in a cheap
restaurant! Yet a casual glance would scarcely have discovered much
attractive about the girl. Had he not looked so deep into her violet
eyes at the instant of their first meeting, perhaps the captain of
the _Seamew_ would never have given her the second glance. There was
a timidity about her, a shrinking in her very attitude, that would
naturally displease even an observant person.
Her nose, mouth, and chin, were only ordinarily well formed. Nothing
remarkable at all about them. But the texture of her skin, it seemed
to the man, was the finest he had ever beheld. Her figure was
slight, but supple. Every line, accentuated by the common black
dress she wore, was graceful. Her throat was bare and she wore no
ornament. His sharp gaze flashed to her left hand. It was guiltless
of any band. He had begun to flush at the thought which prompted
this last observation, and grabbed at a stained bill of fare to
cover his sudden confusion.
She moved away with the piled-up dishes. His gaze followed her
covertly. Even her walk was graceful, not at all the hobble or the
jerky pace or the slouch of the other waitresses.
By and by she came back. She brought tableware and a glass of water.
She placed them meticulously before him. Then, for the first time it
seemed, she looked at Tunis Latham. She halted, her hand still upon
the water glass. She quivered all over. The water slopped upon the
table.
"Oh, is it you, sir?" she said in that timid, breathless whisper he
so well remembered.
"Good evening," Tunis rejoined. "I hope you are well?"
"Oh, yes, sir! Quite well. What will you have, sir?"
She no longer looked at him. Her gaze was roving about her tables,
but more often fixed upon the broad, alpaca-coated shoulders of the
restaurant proprietor at the front of the room.
Tunis ordered almost at random. She repeated the viands named. There
was a tiny tendril of her hair that curled low upon her neck at one
side, caressing the pale satin sheen of the skin. He felt an
overpowering desire to lean forward and press his lips to the tiny
curl!
As though she comprehended his secret wish, a wave of color stained
her throat and cheeks from the line of her frock to her hair. It
poured up under the pallor of the skin, transfiguring her expression
ravishingly. Instead of her countenance being rather wan and weary
looking, in a moment it became as vivid as a freshly opened flower.
She turned swiftly, departing with his order. Tunis was conscious of
a hoarse voice at his elbow. He glanced aside. His neighbor in the
next chair was a little, common man, with a little, common face, on
which was a little, common leer.
"A pip, I'll tell the world," was the neighbor's comment. "Whadjer
s'pose brought her into this dump?"
"The necessity for earning her living," replied Tunis, without
looking again at the man.
"With a face like that?" suggested the man, and fell wordless
again, but not silent, as he attacked his soup.
If there was an opportunity to speak to the girl again, Tunis could
scarcely do so, he thought, for her own sake. It would attract the
attention not only of the fellow beside him, but of others.
He felt an overpowering desire, however, to talk with her. His
recently born determination to have nothing more to do with any girl
had melted like snow in July. That feeling, which had come through
his experience with Ida May Bostwick, seemed a sacrilege when he
considered this girl.
The man beside him, noisily finishing his soup, ordered
apple-meringue pie when the waitress returned with Tunis' order. The
latter noted that her fingers still trembled when she placed his
food before him. When she brought the pie she reached for the man's
check and punched another hole in it. Tunis was careful not to raise
his own eyes to her face. But all the time he was trying to invent
some way by which he might further his acquaintance with her.
He must be back at the _Seamew_ that night. Tomorrow the cargo would
come aboard and, wind and tide being ordinarily favorable, the
schooner would put to sea as soon as the hatches were battened down.
He could not continue to come here to the restaurant for his meals
and so grasp the frail chance of bolstering his acquaintance with
the girl. Indeed, he felt that such an obvious course would utterly
wreck any chance he might naturally have of knowing her better.
The timidity she evinced was nothing put on. It was real. Its cause
he could not fathom, but to Tunis Latham it seemed that this girl
with the violet eyes was a gentle girl, if not gently bred, and that
she shrank from contact with the rougher elements of life. How she
came to be working in this place was not of moment to him. It would
not have mattered to Tunis Latham where he had met her or under what
circumstances; he only knew that there was a mysterious charm about
her which attracted and held his heart captive.
"Will you have anything more, sir?" The low, yet penetrating voice
was in his ear. She hovered over his chair and her near presence
thrilled him. He had not much more than played with the food. Now he
replied briefly, without thinking:
"Apple-meringue."
"Yes, sir."
His neighbor pushed back his chair and got up noisily. He picked up
his check, glanced at it, and snorted.
"Hey!" he said to the girl returning with Tunis' pie. "What's this
for?"
"Yes, sir?"
"You've rung me up an extry nickel. What's the idea?"
"Fifteen cents for meringue, sir."
"Huh? Who had meringue? I had apple pie, plain apple pie. It's ten
cents. This feller"--indicating Tunis--"ordered apple-meringue; not
me."
He held out the check for correction belligerently.
"You ordered apple-meringue, sir, and I brought it. You ate it. The
check is correct."
Low and timid as the voice was, gently as the words were spoken,
Tunis sensed an undercurrent of firmness and determination in the
girl's character that he had not before suspected.
"Say, you don't put nothing like that over on me!" exclaimed the man
loudly.
Tunis moved in his chair. He saw the black-haired man at the front
of the restaurant swing about to face down the room. He had heard
this unseemly disturbance.
"I will call the manager."
"And so will I--I'll call him good!" sneered the patron. "He knows
that you crooks in here over-charge. He puts you up to it. That's
why he hires jailbirds and--"
Tunis had got up, pushed back his chair with his foot, and as the
girl uttered a horrified gasp at the rough speech, he seized the
man. His grip on the back of the fellow's coat between his shoulders
brought a startled grunt from lips parted to continue his
blackguardism.
"Hey! What d'ye mean?" roared the fellow, as Tunis twisted him into
the aisle.
"You dog!" said the captain of the _Seamew_ in a low voice. "Down on
your knees and ask the lady's pardon for that speech!"
The black-haired man started toward them. His coarse face had a
smile on it as vicious as the snarl of a tiger. He put up his hand
in a gesture of command.
"Beg her pardon!" repeated Tunis, and by the great weight of his
hand crushed the squalling patron of the restaurant to his knees
before the terrified girl.
"Stop that! What do you mean?" cried the manager of the restaurant,
still several yards away.
The patrons of the place had been thinning out for the last few
minutes. Most of those remaining were near the front. Some of the
waitresses were already seated at a table next to the kitchen slide,
eating their suppers.
"Take him off me!" roared the man squirming on the floor under Tunis
Latham's hand. "That thief of a girl set him on me. This is a nice
thing, be overcharged and then assaulted!"
He was talking for the benefit of the black-haired man. The latter
swooped down upon them. His face was purple with wrath and his fat
jowls trembled.
"Let him up! Do you hear me?" he exclaimed.
"He insulted this lady," said Tunis, indicating the waitress. "You
just heard him repeat it. He'll beg her pardon or I'll wring his
neck."
"What do you mean?" cried the restaurant man. "What's the girl to
you? One of her friends, are you? Well, you are doing her no good
with me, I assure you."
The captain of the _Seamew_ flung the little man face down upon the
floor and held him there with his foot while he reached with both
hands for the proprietor. He got him. The latter uttered a squeak
like a captured rat.
"You're another of the same breed, are you?" Tunis demanded. "You'll
beg her pardon, too, or I'll crack the heads of the two of you
together! Come!"
He stood the man on his feet before the waitress with such force
that his teeth rattled. He stooped and yanked the other to an
upright posture likewise. The shrinking girl, Tunis noticed, was not
weeping. She looked at all he did as though she approved. The other
girls were shrieking. The cashier had run to the door and cried into
the street for the police. But that violet-eyed girl, timid as she
naturally was, did not open her lips.
"She's a plucky little lady," thought Tunis Latham. "But somebody's
got to stand up for her."