The story of the events which led up to the coming, on this December
night, of a “half-breed” grandson to the Snow homestead, was an old
story in South Harniss. The date of its beginning was as far back as the
year 1892.
In the fall of that year Captain Zelotes Snow was in Savannah. He was in
command of the coasting schooner Olive S. and the said schooner was then
discharging a general cargo, preparatory to loading with rice and cotton
for Philadelphia. With the captain in Savannah was his only daughter,
Jane Olivia, age a scant eighteen, pretty, charming, romantic and
head over heels in love with a handsome baritone then singing in a
popular-priced grand opera company. It was because of this handsome
baritone, who, by the way, was a Spaniard named Miguel Carlos Speranza,
that Jane Snow was then aboard her father's vessel. Captain Lote was not
in the habit of taking his women-folks on his voyages with him. “Skirts
clutter up the deck too much,” was his opinion.
He had taken Jane, however, not only on this voyage, but on that
preceding it, which had been to Rio. It was Captain Lote's belief,
and his wife's hope, that a succession of sea winds might blow away
recollections of Senor Speranza--“fan the garlic out of her head,” as
the captain inelegantly expressed it. Jane had spent her sixteenth and
seventeenth years at a school for girls near Boston. The opera company
of which Speranza was a member was performing at one of the
minor theaters. A party of the school girls, duly chaperoned and
faculty-guarded, of course, attended a series of matinees. At these
matinees Jane first saw her hero, brave in doublet and hose, and braver
still in melody and romance. She and her mates looked and listened
and worshiped from afar, as is the habit of maidenly youth under such
circumstances. There is no particular danger in such worship provided
the worshiper remains always at a safely remote distance from the idol.
But in Jane's case this safety-bar was removed by Fate. The wife of a
friend of her father's, the friend being a Boston merchant named Cole
with whom Captain Zelotes had had business dealings for many years, was
a music lover. She was in the habit of giving what she was pleased to
call “musical teas” at her home. Jane, to whom Mr. and Mrs. Cole had
taken a marked fancy, was often invited to those teas and, because the
Coles were “among our nicest people,” she was permitted by the school
authorities to attend.
At one of those teas Senor Miguel Carlos Speranza was the brightest
star. The Senor, then in his twenty-ninth year, handsome, talented and
picturesque, shone refulgent. Other and far more experienced feminine
hearts than Jane Snow's were flutteringly disturbed by the glory of
his rays. Jane and he met, they shook hands, they conversed. And at
subsequent teas they met again, for Speranza, on his part, was strongly
attracted to the simple, unaffected Cape Cod schoolgirl. It was not
her beauty alone--though beauty she had and of an unusual type--it
was something else, a personality which attracted all who met her.
The handsome Spaniard had had many love affairs of a more or less
perfunctory kind, but here was something different, something he had
not known. He began by exerting his powers of fascination in a lazy,
careless way. To his astonishment the said powers were not overwhelming.
If Jane was fascinated she was not conquered. She remained sweet,
simple, direct, charmingly aloof.
And Speranza was at first puzzled, then piqued, then himself madly
fascinated. He wrote fervid letters, he begged for interviews, he
haunted each one of Mrs. Cole's “teas.” And, at last, he wrung from Jane
a confession of her love, her promise to marry him. And that very week
Miss Donaldson, the head of the school, discovered and read a package of
the Senor's letters to her pupil.
Captain Zelotes happened to be at home from a voyage. Being summoned
from South Harniss, he came to Boston and heard the tale from Miss
Donaldson's agitated lips. Jane was his joy, his pride; her future was
the great hope and dream of his life. WHEN she married--which was not
to be thought of for an indefinite number of years to come--she would of
course marry a--well, not a President of the United States, perhaps--but
an admiral possibly, or a millionaire, or the owner of a fleet of
steamships, or something like that. The idea that she should even
think of marrying a play-actor was unbelievable. The captain had never
attended the performance of an opera; what was more, he never expected
to attend one. He had been given to understand that a “parcel of
play-actin' men and women hollered and screamed to music for a couple
of hours.” Olive, his wife, had attended an opera once and, according
to her, it was more like a cat fight than anything else. Nobody but
foreigners ever had anything to do with operas. And for foreigners of
all kinds--but the Latin variety of foreigner in particular--Captain
Zelotes Snow cherished a detest which was almost fanatic.
And now his daughter, his own Janie, was receiving ardent love
letters from a play-acting foreigner, a Spaniard, a “Portygee,” a
“macaroni-eater”! When finally convinced that it was true, that the
letters had really been written to Jane, which took some time, he
demanded first of all to be shown the “Portygee.” Miss Donaldson could
not, of course, produce the latter forthwith, but she directed her irate
visitor to the theater where the opera company was then performing. To
the theater Captain Zelotes went. He did not find Speranza there, but
from a frightened attendant he browbeat the information that the singer
was staying at a certain hotel. So the captain went to the hotel. It was
eleven o'clock in the morning, Senor Speranza was in bed and could not
be disturbed. Couldn't, eh? By the great and everlasting et cetera and
continued he was going to be disturbed then and there. And unless some
of the hotel's “hired help” set about the disturbing it would be done
for them. So, rather than summon the police, the hotel management
summoned its guest, and the first, and only, interview between the
father and lover of Jane Snow took place.
It was not a long interview, but it was spirited. Captain Zelotes began
by being what he considered diplomatic. Having assured his wife before
leaving home, and the alarmed Miss Donaldson subsequently, that there
was to be no trouble whatever--everything would be settled as smooth
and easy as slidin' downhill; “that feller won't make any fuss, you'll
see”--having thus prophesied, the captain felt it incumbent upon himself
to see to the fulfillment. So he began by condescendingly explaining
that of course he was kind of sorry for the young man before him, young
folks were young folks and of course he presumed likely 'twas natural
enough, and the like of that, you understand. But of course also Mr.
Speranza must realize that the thing could not go on any further. Jane
was his daughter and her people were nice people, and naturally, that
being the case, her mother and he would be pretty particular as to who
she kept company with, to say nothing of marrying, which event was
not to be thought of for ten years, anyway. Now he didn't want to
be--er--personal or anything like that, and of course he wouldn't think
of saying that Mr. Speranza wasn't a nice enough man for--well, for--for
. . . You see, everybody wasn't as particular as he and Mrs. Snow were.
But--
Here Senor Speranza interrupted. He politely desired to know if the
person speaking was endeavoring to convey the idea that he, Miguel
Carlos Speranza, was not of sufficient poseetion, goodness, standing,
what it is? to be considered as suitor for that person's daughter's
hand. Did Meester Snow comprehend to whom he addressed himself?
The interview terminated not long after. The captain's parting remark
was in the nature of an ultimatum. It was to the effect that if
Speranza, or any other condemned undesirable like him, dared to so
much as look in the direction of Jane Olivia Snow, his daughter, he
personally would see that the return for that look was a charge of
buckshot. Speranza, white-faced and furiously gesticulative, commanded
the astonished bellboy to put that “Bah! pig-idiot!” out into the hall
and air the room immediately afterward.
Having, as he considered, satisfactorily attended to the presumptuous
lover, Captain Zelotes returned to the school and to what he believed
would be the comparatively easy task, the bringing of his daughter to
reason. Jane had always been an obedient girl, she was devoted to her
parents. Of course, although she might feel rather disappointed at
first, she would soon get over it. The idea that she might flatly
refuse to get over it, that she might have a will of her own, and a
determination equal to that of the father from whom she inherited it,
did not occur to the captain at all.
But his enlightenment was prompt and complete. Jane did not rage or
become hysterical, she did not even weep in his presence. But, quietly,
with a set of her square little chin, she informed Captain Zelotes that
she loved Speranza, that she meant to marry him and that she should
marry him, some day or other. The captain raged, commanded, pleaded,
begged. What was the matter with her? What had come over her? Didn't she
love her father and mother any more that she should set out to act this
way? Yes, she declared that she loved them as much as ever, but that
she loved her lover more than all the world, and no one--not even her
parents--should separate them.
Captain Zelotes gave it up at last. That is, he gave up the appeal to
reason and the pleadings. But he did not give up the idea of having his
own way in the matter; being Zelotes Snow, he certainly did not give
that up. Instead he took his daughter home with him to South Harniss,
where a tearful and heart-broken Olive added her persuasions to his.
But, when she found Jane obdurate, Mrs. Snow might have surrendered.
Not her husband, however. Instead he conceived a brilliant idea. He was
about to start on a voyage to Rio Janeiro; he would take his wife and
daughter with him. Under their immediate observation and far removed
from the influence of “that Portygee,” Jane would be in no danger and
might forget.
Jane made no remonstrance. She went to Rio and returned. She was always
calm, outwardly pleasant and quiet, never mentioned her lover unless in
answer to a question; but she never once varied from her determination
not to give him up. The Snows remained at home for a month. Then
Zelotes, Jane accompanying him, sailed from Boston to Savannah. Olive
did not go with them; she hated the sea and by this time both she and
her husband were somewhat reassured. So far as they could learn by
watchful observation of their daughter, the latter had not communicated
with Speranza nor received communications from him. If she had not
forgotten him it seemed likely that he had forgotten her. The thought
made the captain furiously angry, but it comforted him, too.
During the voyage to Savannah this sense of comfort became stronger.
Jane seemed in better spirits. She was always obedient, but now she
began to seem almost cheerful, to speak, and even laugh occasionally
just as she used to. Captain Zelotes patted himself on the back,
figuratively. His scheme had been a good one.
And in Savannah, one afternoon, Jane managed to elude her father's
observation, to leave the schooner and to disappear completely. And
that night came a letter. She and Miguel Carlos Speranza had been
in correspondence all the time, how or through whose connivance is a
mystery never disclosed. He had come to Savannah, in accordance with
mutual arrangement; they had met, were married, and had gone away
together.
“I love you, Father,” Jane wrote in the letter. “I love you and Mother
so very, VERY much. Oh, PLEASE believe that! But I love him, too. And I
could not give him up. You will see why when you know him, really know
him. If it were not for you I should be SO happy. I know you can't
forgive me now, but some day I am sure you will forgive us both.”
Captain Zelotes was far, far from forgiveness as he read that letter.
His first mate, who was beside him when he opened and read it, was
actually frightened when he saw the look on the skipper's face. “He went
white,” said the mate; “not pale, but white, same as a dead man, or--or
the underside of a flatfish, or somethin'. 'For the Lord sakes, Cap'n,'
says I, 'what's the matter?' He never answered me, stood starin' at
the letter. Then he looked up, not at me, but as if somebody else was
standin' there on t'other side of the cabin table. 'Forgive him!' he
says, kind of slow and under his breath. 'I won't forgive his black soul
in hell.' When I heard him say it I give you my word my hair riz under
my cap. If ever there was killin' in a man's voice and in his looks
'twas in Cap'n Lote's that night. When I asked him again what was the
matter he didn't answer any more than he had the first time. A few
minutes afterwards he went into his stateroom and shut the door. I
didn't see him again until the next mornin'.”
Captain Zelotes made no attempt to follow the runaway couple. He did
take pains to ascertain that they were legally married, but that
was all. He left his schooner in charge of the mate at Savannah and
journeyed north to South Harniss and his wife. A week he remained at
home with her, then returned to the Olive S. and took up his command and
its duties as if nothing had happened. But what had happened changed his
whole life. He became more taciturn, a trifle less charitable, a little
harder and more worldly. Before the catastrophe he had been interested
in business success and the making of money chiefly because of his plans
for his daughter's future. Now he worked even harder because it helped
him to forget. He became sole owner of the Olive S., then of other
schooners. People spoke of him as one destined to become a wealthy man.
Jane lived only a few years after her marriage. She died at the birth of
her second child, who died with her. Her first, a boy, was born a year
after the elopement. She wrote her mother to tell that news and Olive
answered the letter. She begged permission of her husband to invite Jane
and the baby to visit the old home. At first Zelotes said no, flatly;
the girl had made her bed, let her lie in it. But a year later he had
so far relented as to give reluctant consent for Jane and the child to
come, provided her condemned husband did not accompany them. “If that
low-lived Portygee sets foot on my premises, so help me God, I'll
kill him!” declared the captain. In his vernacular all foreigners were
“Portygees.”
But Jane was as proud and stubborn as he. Where her husband was not
welcome she would not go. And a little later she had gone on the longest
of all journeys. Speranza did not notify her parents except to send a
clipped newspaper account of her death and burial, which arrived a week
after the latter had taken place. The news prostrated Olive, who was ill
for a month. Captain Zelotes bore it, as he had borne the other great
shock, with outward calm and quiet. Yet a year afterward he suddenly
announced his determination of giving up the sea and his prosperous and
growing shipping business and of spending the rest of his days on the
Cape.
Olive was delighted, of course. Riches--that is, more than a comfortable
competency--had no temptations for her. The old house, home of three
generations of Snows, was painted, repaired and, to some extent,
modernized. For another year Captain Zelotes “loafed,” as he called it,
although others might have considered his activities about the place
anything but that. At the end of that year he surprised every one by
buying from the heirs of the estate the business equipment of the late
Eben Raymond, hardware dealer and lumber merchant of South Harniss,
said equipment comprising an office, a store and lumber yards near
the railway station. “Got to have somethin' to keep me from gettin'
barnacled,” declared Captain Lote. “There's enough old hulks rottin' at
their moorin's down here as 'tis. I don't know anything about lumber and
half as much about hardware, but I cal'late I can learn.” As an aid in
the learning process he retained as bookkeeper Laban Keeler, who had
acted in that capacity for the former proprietor.
The years slipped away, a dozen of them, as smoothly and lazily as South
Harniss years have always slipped. Captain Zelotes was past sixty
now, but as vigorous as when forty, stubborn as ever, fond of using
quarter-deck methods on shore and especially in town-meeting, and
very often in trouble in consequence. He was a member of the Board of
Selectmen and was in the habit of characterizing those whose opinions
differed from his as “narrow-minded.” They retorted by accusing him of
being “pig-headed.” There was some truth on both sides. His detest of
foreigners had not abated in the least.
And then, in this December of the year 1910, fell as from a clear sky
the legacy of a grandson. From Senor Miguel Carlos Speranza the Snows
had had no direct word, had received nothing save the newspaper clipping
already mentioned. Olive had never seen him; her husband had seen him
only on the occasion of the memorable interview in the hotel room. They
never spoke of him, never mentioned him to each other. Occasionally,
in the Boston newspapers, his likeness in costume had appeared amid the
music notes or theatrical jottings. But these had not been as numerous
of late. Of his son, their own daughter's child, they knew nothing;
he might be alive or he might be dead. Sometimes Olive found herself
speculating concerning him, wondering if he was alive, and if he
resembled Jane. But she put the speculation from her thoughts; she
could not bear to bring back memories of the old hopes and their bitter
ending. Sometimes Captain Lote at his desk in the office of “Z. Snow
& Co., Lumber and Builders' Hardware,” caught himself dreaming of his
idolized daughter and thinking how different the future might have been
for him had she married a “white man,” the kind of man he had meant for
her to marry. There might be grandchildren growing up now, fine boys
and girls, to visit the old home at South Harniss. “Ah hum! Well! . . .
Labe, how long has this bill of Abner Parker's been hangin' on?
For thunder sakes, why don't he pay up? He must think we're runnin' a
meetin'-house Christmas tree.”
The letter from the lawyer had come first. It was written in New York,
was addressed to “Captain Lotus Snow,” and began by taking for granted
the fact that the recipient knew all about matters of which he knew
nothing. Speranza was dead, so much was plain, and the inference was
that he had been fatally injured in an automobile accident, “particulars
of which you have of course read in the papers.” Neither Captain Lote
nor his wife had read anything of the kind in the papers. The captain
had been very busy of late and had read little except political news,
and Mrs. Snow never read of murders and accidents, their details at
least. She looked up from the letter, which her husband had hastened
home from the office to bring her, with a startled face.
“Oh, Zelotes,” she cried, “he's dead!”
The captain nodded.
“Seems so,” he said. “That part's plain enough, but go on. The rest of
it is what I can't get a hand-hold on. See what you make of the rest of
it, Olive.”
The rest of it was to the effect that the writer, being Mr. Speranza's
business adviser, “that is to say, as much or more so than any one
else,” had been called in at the time of the accident, had conferred
with the injured man, and had learned his last wishes. “He expressed
himself coherently concerning his son,” went on the letter, “and it is
in regard to that son that I am asking an interview with you. I should
have written sooner, but have been engaged with matters pertaining to
Mr. Speranza's estate and personal debts. The latter seem to be large--”
“I'LL bet you!” observed Captain Zelotes, sententiously, interrupting
his wife's reading by pointing to this sentence with a big forefinger.
“'And the estate's affairs much tangled,'” went on Olive, reading aloud.
“'It seems best that I should see you concerning the boy at once. I
don't know whether or not you are aware that he is at school in ----,
New York. I am inclined to think that the estate itself will scarcely
warrant the expense of his remaining there. Could you make it convenient
to come to New York and see me at once? Or, if not, I shall be in
Boston on Friday of next week and can you meet me there? It seems almost
impossible for me to come to you just now, and, of course, you will
understand that I am acting as a sort of temporary executor merely
because Mr. Speranza was formerly my friend and not because I have any
pecuniary interest in the settlement of his affairs.
“'Very truly yours,
“'MARCUS W. WEISSMANN.'”
“Weissman! Another Portygee!” snorted Captain Lote.
“But--but what does it MEAN?” begged Mrs. Snow. “Why--why should he want
to see you, Zelotes? And the boy--why--why, that's HER boy. It's Janie's
boy he must mean, Zelotes.”
Her husband nodded.
“Hers and that blasted furriner's,” he muttered. “I suppose so.”
“Oh, DON'T speak that way, Zelotes! Don't! He's dead.”
Captain Lote's lips tightened. “If he'd died twenty years ago 'twould
have been better for all hands,” he growled.
“Janie's boy!” repeated Olive slowly. “Why--why, he must be a big boy
now. Almost grown up.”
Her husband did not speak. He was pacing the floor, his hands in his
pockets.
“And this man wants to see you about him,” said Olive. Then, after a
moment, she added timidly: “Are you goin', Zelotes?”
“Goin'? Where?”
“To New York? To see this lawyer man?”
“I? Not by a jugful! What in blazes should I go to see him for?”
“Well--well, he wants you to, you know. He wants to talk with you about
the--the boy.”
“Humph!”
“It's her boy, Zelotes.”
“Humph! Young Portygee!”
“Don't, Zelotes! Please! . . . I know you can't forgive that--that man.
We can't either of us forgive him; but--”
The captain stopped in his stride. “Forgive him!” he repeated. “Mother,
don't talk like a fool. Didn't he take away the one thing that I was
workin' for, that I was plannin' for, that I was LIVIN' for? I--”
She interrupted, putting a hand on his sleeve.
“Not the only thing, dear,” she said. “You had me, you know.”
His expression changed. He looked down at her and smiled.
“That's right, old lady,” he admitted. “I had you, and thank the
Almighty for it. Yes, I had you . . . But,” his anger returning, “when
I think how that damned scamp stole our girl from us and then neglected
her and killed her--”
“ZELOTES! How you talk! He DIDN'T kill her. How can you!”
“Oh, I don't mean he murdered her, of course. But I'll bet all I've got
that he made her miserable. Look here, Mother, you and she used to write
back and forth once in a while. In any one of those letters did she ever
say she was happy?”
Mrs. Snow's answer was somewhat equivocal. “She never said she was
unhappy,” she replied. Her husband sniffed and resumed his pacing up and
down.
After a little Olive spoke again.
“New York IS a good ways,” she said. “Maybe 'twould be better for you to
meet this lawyer man in Boston. Don't you think so?”
“Bah!”
Another interval. Then: “Zelotes?”
“Yes,” impatiently. “What is it?”
“It's her boy, after all, isn't it? Our grandson, yours and mine. Don't
you think--don't you think it's your duty to go, Zelotes?”
Captain Lote stamped his foot.
“For thunderation sakes, Olive, let up!” he commanded. “You ought to
know by this time that there's one thing I hate worse than doin' my
duty, that's bein' preached to about it. Let up! Don't you say another
word.”
She did not, having learned much by years of experience. He said the
next word on the subject himself. At noon, when he came home for dinner,
he said, as they rose from the table: “Where's my suitcase, up attic?”
“Why, yes, I guess likely 'tis. Why?”
Instead of answering he turned to the housekeeper, Mrs. Ellis.
“Rachel,” he said, “go up and get that case and fetch it down to the
bedroom, will you? Hurry up! Train leaves at half-past two and it's
'most one now.”
Both women stared at him. Mrs. Ellis spoke first.
“Why, Cap'n Lote,” she cried; “be you goin' away?”
Her employer's answer was crisp and very much to the point. “I am if
I can get that case time enough to pack it and make the train,” he
observed. “If you stand here askin' questions I probably shall stay to
home.”
The housekeeper made a hasty exit by way of the back stairs. Mrs. Snow
still gazed wonderingly at her husband.
“Zelotes,” she faltered, “are you--are you--”
“I'm goin' to New York on to-night's boat. I've telegraphed that--that
Weiss--Weiss--what-do-you-call-it--that Portygee lawyer--that I'll be to
his office to-morrow mornin'.”
“But, Zelotes, we haven't scarcely talked about it, you and I, at all.
You might have waited till he came to Boston. Why do you go so SOON?”
The captain's heavy brows drew together.
“You went to the dentist's last Friday,” he said. “Why didn't you wait
till next week?”
“Why--why, what a question! My tooth ached and I wanted to have it fixed
quick as possible.”
“Um-m, yes. Well, this tooth aches and I want it fixed or hauled out,
one or t'other. I want the thing off my mind. . . . Don't TALK to me?”
he added, irritably. “I know I'm a fool. And,” with a peremptory wave of
the hand, “don't you DARE say anything about DUTY!”
He was back again two days later. His wife did not question him, but
waited for him to speak. Those years of experience already mentioned had
taught her diplomacy. He looked at her and pulled his beard. “Well,” he
observed, when they were alone together, “I saw him.”
“The--the boy?” eagerly.
“No, no! Course not! The boy's at school somewhere up in New York State;
how could I see him! I saw that lawyer and I found out about--about the
other scamp. He was killed in an auto accident, drunk at the time, I
cal'late. Nigh's I can gather he's been drinkin' pretty heavy for the
last six or seven years. Always lived high, same as his kind generally
does, and spent money like water, I judge--but goin' down hill fast
lately. His voice was givin' out on him and he realized it, I presume
likely. Now he's dead and left nothin' but trunks full of stage clothes
and photographs and,” contemptuously, “letters from fool women, and
debts--Lord, yes! debts enough.”
“But the boy, Zelotes. Janie's boy?”
“He's been at this school place for pretty nigh ten years, so the lawyer
feller said. That lawyer was a pretty decent chap, too, for a furriner.
Seems he used to know this--Speranza rascal--when Speranza was younger
and more decent--if he ever was really decent, which I doubt. But this
lawyer man was his friend then and about the only one he really had when
he was hurt. There was plenty of make-believe friends hangin' on, like
pilot-fish to a shark, for what they could get by spongin' on him, but
real friends were scarce.”
“And the boy--”
“For the Lord sakes, Mother, don't keep sayin' 'The boy,' 'the boy,'
over and over again like a talkin' machine! Let me finish about the
father first. This Weis--er--thingamajig--the lawyer, had quite a talk
with Speranza afore he died, or while he was dyin'; he only lived a few
hours after the accident and was out of his head part of that. But
he said enough to let Weiss--er--er--Oh, why CAN'T I remember that
Portygee's name?--to let him know that he'd like to have him settle up
what was left of his affairs, and to send word to us about--about the
boy. There! I hope you feel easier, Mother; I've got 'round to 'the boy'
at last.”
“But why did he want word sent to us, Zelotes? He never wrote a line to
us in his life.”
“You bet he didn't!” bitterly; “he knew better. Why did he want word
sent now? The answer to that's easy enough. 'Cause he wanted to get
somethin' out of us, that's the reason. From what that lawyer could
gather, and from what he's found out since, there ain't money enough
for the boy to stay another six weeks at that school, or anywhere else,
unless the young feller earns it himself. And, leavin' us out of the
count, there isn't a relation this side of the salt pond. There's
probably a million or so over there in Portygee-land,” with a derisive
sniff; “those foreigners breed like flies. But THEY don't count.”
“But did he want word sent to us about the--”
“Sshh! I'm tellin' you, Olive, I'm tellin' you. He wanted word sent
because he was in hopes that we--you and I, Mother--would take that son
of his in at our house here and give him a home. The cheek of it! After
what he'd done to you and me, blast him! The solid brass nerve of it!”
He stormed up and down the room. His wife did not seem nearly so much
disturbed as he at the thought of the Speranza presumption. She looked
anxious--yes, but she looked eager, too, and her gaze was fixed upon her
husband's face.
“Oh!” she said, softly. “Oh! . . . And--and what did you say, Zelotes?”
“What did I say? What do you suppose I said? I said no, and I said it
good and loud, too.”
Olive made no comment. She turned away her head, and the captain,
who now in his turn was watching her, saw a suspicious gleam, as of
moisture, on her cheek. He stopped his pacing and laid a hand on her
shoulder.
“There, there, Mother,” he said, gently. “Don't cry. He's comin'.”
“Comin'?” She turned pale. “Comin'?” she repeated. “Who?”
“That boy! . . . Sshh! shh!” impatiently. “Now don't go askin' me
questions or tellin' me what I just said I said. I SAID the right thing,
but--Well, hang it all, what else could I DO? I wrote the boy--Albert--a
letter and I wrote the boss of the school another one. I sent a check
along for expenses and--Well, he'll be here 'most any day now, I
shouldn't wonder. And WHAT in the devil are we goin' to do with him?”
His wife did not reply to this outburst. She was trembling with
excitement.
“Is--is his name Albert?” she faltered.
“Um-hm. Seems so.”
“Why, that's your middle name! Do you--do you s'pose Janie could have
named him for--for you?”
“I don't know.”
“Of course,” with some hesitation, “it may be she didn't. If she'd named
him Zelotes--”
“Good heavens, woman! Isn't one name like that enough in the family?
Thank the Lord we're spared two of 'em! But there! he's comin'. And when
he gets here--then what?”
Olive put her arm about her big husband.
“I hope--yes, I'm sure you did right, Zelotes, and that all's goin' to
turn out to be for the best.”
“Are you? Well, _I_ ain't sure, not by a thousand fathom.”
“He's Janie's boy.”
“Yes. And he's that play-actor's boy, too. One Speranza pretty nigh
ruined your life and mine, Olive. What'll this one do? . . . Well, God
knows, I suppose likely, but He won't tell. All we can do is wait and
see. I tell you honest I ain't very hopeful.”