Meanwhile a singular experience befell Dr. Spellman and his wife. After
their departure from the bungalow, they glided smoothly in the canoe
toward the eastern end of Gosling Lake, keeping a little way off shore
where though the water was crystalline the depth was too great to allow
them to see the pebbly bottom. The woman sat forward, gazing with
tranquil enjoyment upon the soothing picture before them. The husband,
facing in the same direction, was in the stern of the craft, so that the
balance was nicely adjusted. Swinging the paddle well forward, he took
the water with a long easy stroke, finishing with an inward turn of the
wrist that kept the canoe on a straight course.
They had set out to call upon Uncle Elk the hermit. While etiquette, as
has been said, demanded that it should be the other way, especially
since the physician had already left his card at the log cabin, the
matter was too trifling to be regarded. The stories which the couple had
heard of the strange old man stirred their curiosity, and it was in
accord with the sympathetic nature of the woman that she believed she
might do a little to cheer the exile in his loneliness.
The short voyage soon ended. Dr. Spellman guided his boat to the edge of
the wood where Uncle Elk made a practice of landing, and from which a
well marked path wound its way among the trees to the dwelling that was
invisible from the lake. The canoe of the Instructor in Woodcraft was
drawn up the bank and turned over bottom up.
“That looks as if we shall find him at home,” remarked the wife, as she
stepped lightly ashore and was followed by her husband, who pulled the
craft far enough to hold it secure during their absence.
“It may be he is off on a tramp with no telling when he will return. He
seems to be as fond of the Boy Scouts as they are of him, and it is
likely he has gone to the clubhouse to spend the day with them.”
The man took the lead and walked up the path used on his previous call,
with his wife a few paces behind him. On the edge of the clearing, they
stood for a minute or two contemplating the pleasing picture. No signs
of life were visible, but from where they stood they could see the
leathern string dangling outside the door, as if inviting every one who
chose to enter.
Dr. Spellman gently twitched the string and the door swung inward. As he
stepped across the threshold, his wife followed and the two looked
around them. The room was precisely as when the physician called before
and has already been described, but the owner of the premises was not in
sight. No fire smouldered on the hearth and the stillness of the tomb
brooded over everything. It was natural that so excellent a housekeeper
as Mrs. Spellman should exclaim:
“All is as neat as a pin; Uncle Elk needs no one to teach him how to
keep a model home.”
They walked forward and stood in front of the shelves with their
remarkable array of books. The woman, who was known for her excellent
literary taste, commented upon the high character of the volumes, but
neither laid hands on them. She seated herself in the rocking chair
while her husband stood near.
“The question is whether we shall wait here until he comes back,” said
the latter.
“How can we know when he will return?”
“We don’t; it may be within an hour or not until night. It isn’t worth
while to stay; I can leave my card as before.”
He drew the pasteboard from his pocket and wrote a few pleasant words,
reminding Uncle Elk of his obligations to his callers, and urging him to
visit the house at the other side of the lake as soon as possible and
spend the day and evening with them.
While the husband sat at the table in the middle of the room, writing
his hurried message, his wife faced the curtain which shut off the other
half of the cabin and behind which neither of the callers thought of
intruding or peeping. Suddenly a queer thrill passed through her, for
she was sure she saw the curtains move,—so slightly indeed that had she
not been looking directly at it she would not have detected the stir.
She said nothing and of course her husband had no suspicion.
The wife gazed intently at the spot where she had noticed the slight
agitation and listened keenly, but heard nothing nor did she detect any
disturbance. She quietly rose to her feet.
“We may as well go; the day is too lovely to stay within doors.”
“Which probably explains why Uncle Elk is not at home. Do you know, my
dear, I half envy him his life. He is out of the hurly-burly of
politics, strife, and the endless vexations that we who live in cities
cannot escape.”
“And yet you would not be willing to pay the price that he does.”
“No,” was the thoughtful reply of the husband, as he led the way across
the threshold, carefully closed the door, and passed down the path to
their canoe. “There is such a thing as paying too much for what we get.”
When the craft had been paddled some distance, the wife turned her head.
“Wilson, do you know where Uncle Elk is?”
“I haven’t the remotest idea.”
“I can tell you: he is in his cabin and was there all the time we were
inside.”
“What do you mean?” asked the husband, so astonished that he ceased
paddling and stared at her.
“While you sat at the table writing your note to him, he moved the
curtain; I saw it.”
She related what she had witnessed when not dreaming of anything of the
kind.
“The agitation may have been caused by a draft of air.”
“I thought that, but the windows were closed in the room where we sat.”
“There are windows in the other room.”
“But, if either was open, there was nothing to make a draft. There is no
mistake about it;—Uncle Elk was within a few feet of us all the time.”
The wife was so positive that her husband was brought to her way of
thinking.
“Strange as it seems, you are right. There can be no doubt now that he
doesn’t wish to meet us. He must have known of our camp on the other
side of the lake and ought to have paid his respects to us. More than
that, he ignored my invitation, though the time is so brief since it was
made that that of itself is not conclusive. Well, all we can do is to
accept the facts and leave him to himself.”
“He has been represented as the soul of hospitality. Why should he be
repelled by us? Why did he not pull in his latchstring?”
“He was not expecting us or he might have done so.”
The doctor resumed his deliberate paddling and a minute later his wife
asked:
“Have you any suspicion of the reason for his acting as he did?”
“It is a mystery to me. He and I have never met, and I cannot fancy any
cause for his antipathy. Whatever the reason, it surely is unjustifiable
and I am sorry we did not have the chance to demand an explanation. I
think I shall tell what has happened to Scout Master Hall, and get him
to make some guarded inquiries. I cannot rest content until this
misunderstanding is cleared up.”
The couple returned to their home after fishing awhile, and did not
leave again during the day. Neither would confess the fact to the other,
but they missed their child so keenly that they would have paddled to
the other side of the lake and brought her home, had they not felt
ashamed of such weakness. The doctor read, slept, smoked and yawned and
was sure he had never started in on so long an afternoon.
It was not to pass, however, without incident. He stretched in his
hammock, one leg hanging out so that the tip of his tan shoe touched the
ground and gave him enough leverage to sway gently back and forth, while
he smoked his perfecto and longed for the morning when “Stubby” would be
with them again. The wife was seated in the small dwelling, busy with
crochet work, and thinking pretty much as did her husband, when both
were startled by the greeting in a gruff voice that evidently was meant
to be conciliatory:
“Good arternoon, lady and gentleman.”
With a faint gasp, the wife looked up, while the doctor swung both feet
so as to rest them on the ground, sat upright, checked the swaying of
the hammock and picked up his hat which had fallen to the ground.
“Hello! where did _you_ come from?”
Two frowsy, villainous looking tramps had come out of the woods, walking
so softly in their dilapidated gum shoes that they were not heard until
they spoke. These gentry as a rule do not abound in Maine, but no
section of our country is absolutely free of them. The two were burly
vagrants with matted hair, spiky beards, and hickory shirts, much in
need of washing and without collars. One supported his patched trousers
by means of a single soiled suspender which, crossing the shoulder, was
skewered in front by a wooden peg. His companion obtained the same
result by means of a leathern belt buckled around his waist. They were
innocent of stockings and wore straw hats, one of which lacked a crown,
and the other was minus one half of its original brim. Both doffed their
head gear and assumed the cringing attitude of all members of the
begging fraternity.
Dr. Spellman was anything but pleased with his callers. He had hoped he
was rid of the tribe, but here were a couple of them and he faced the
situation.
“We ambled all the way, sir, from Bath since morning,” was the reply of
the one who stood nearest the doctor.
“No you didn’t; the distance is too far and none of your kind could be
persuaded to step aside into a place with such a name as Bath.”
One of the scraggly rogues turned to his companion.
“Say, Saxy, was the last town, where we spent a week at the leading
hotel, Bath or Christmas Cove?”
“Naw; it was Boothby Harbor,—what guff are ye giving us?”
“It is a small matter,” said the doctor; “what is your purpose in
calling here?”
“Jes’ to show our respects, boss; we haven’t our cards wid us, but me
name is Buzy Biggs and my valet here is Saxy Hutt, late from Washington,
where he’s been serving as aide to the President.”
“Whither are you bound?”
“We haven’t made up our minds whether to accept a invite to lecture
afore the Boston Lyceum or to go on to New York and give the folks a
talk on the Whichness of the Which. But that ain’t nyther here nur
there. We have been walking since daylight and hain’t had a mouthful of
grub since yesterday afternoon.”
“We cannot let any one go away from our door hungry,” broke in Mrs.
Spellman, laying aside her fancy work and flitting into the kitchen
department.
“I don’t see how you’re going to help it,” called her husband, “when you
undertake to give a couple of tramps all they can eat. They are like
dogs—always hungry.”
“Ain’t ye a little rough, boss, on a gentleman?” asked Biggs, with an
ominous glint in his piglike eyes.
“Produce the gentleman and I’ll reply.”
The physician’s dislike of the nuisances was so strong that he could not
pretend to hide it. Sharp words might have been followed by something
regrettable, had not the wife come out at this moment bearing a couple
of enormous ham sandwiches. The men again doffed their fragmentary hats,
bowed and mumbled their thanks.
“_There’s_ the gentleman,” said Biggs, nodding toward the smiling woman
and addressing her husband, “which you was saying you would like to see.
These be fine sandwiches and will sarve us very well for starters.”
“That’s what they are meant to do,” said the doctor; “you may start at
once and need not show yourselves here again.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Biggs, speaking with his mouth stuffed full of
meat and bread; “I reckon you don’t own the lake and this part of the
State.”
“I own enough to warn you to keep your distance; we choose our friends.”
“Mebbe we may take a notion to drop in on ye bime by; with thanks, mum,
we now sagaciate.”
Dr. Spellman was a man of quick temper, and felt so incensed by the
smirking glance of the scamp at his wife, that he bounded from his
hammock and into the house for his revolver. Suspecting his purpose, his
wife interposed:
“What are you going to do, Wilson?”
“Shoot that scoundrel! Let me get my pistol.”
“You shall do nothing of the kind; the man hasn’t done me any harm and
is leaving. He doesn’t deserve another thought.”
“He deserves what he will get if he ever dares to show himself here
again.”
The doctor had the good habit of yielding to the domination of his much
better tempered partner. He turned round without his weapon and resumed
his seat in the hammock which he nervously rocked, thereby helping to
soothe his anger. His wife sat on a camp stool and did not speak but
looked at him with a smile whose significance was that of many words.
“Don’t,” he protested; “pitch in and scold all you wish, but don’t look
at me like that—hello! hark!”
From across the lake came the faint, dull report of a revolver. The
doctor raised his hand and whispered:
“Listen!”
In a few seconds, a second report traveled over the water to their ears.
If that was all, it would mean nothing, but with the same interval, the
third sound reached the startled couple.
“It is a call for help!” exclaimed the doctor bounding to his feet; “I
am wanted at once by the Boy Scouts.”
The wife turned white and gasped: “Something has happened to Ruth!”
“We can’t know until we reach camp; come on!”
He dashed into the house, caught up his case of instruments and
revolver, but left his rifle. Quick as he was, she was at the shore
ahead of him and had grasped the canoe to shove it into the water. At
the moment the craft was floating clear and the doctor caught up the
paddle, they heard again the triple reports of the revolver,—one after
the other and with but an interval of a second or two between the shots.
And then Dr. Spellman paddled as he had never paddled before, for no
more powerful motive could have stirred all the strength and energy of
his nature.