“For,” he added, “as I told you, although I shall not impose my company on you, I am your guardian same as ever. I will see that your allowance comes to you regular, including enough for all household bills and pay for the hired help and so on. If you need any extras at any time let me know and, if they seem to me right and proper, I will send money for them. You will stay where you are, Caroline, and Stevie must go back to college right away. Tell him I say so, and if he does not I shall begin reducing his allowance according as I wrotehim. He will understand what I mean. I guess that is all until I send you my address and any other sailing orders that seem necessary to me then. And, Caroline, I want you and Stevie to feel that I am your anchor to windward, and when you get in a tight place, if you ever do, you can depend on me. Last night’s talk has no bearing on that whatever. Good-by, then, until my next.
“For,” he added, “as I told you, although I shall not impose my company on you, I am your guardian same as ever. I will see that your allowance comes to you regular, including enough for all household bills and pay for the hired help and so on. If you need any extras at any time let me know and, if they seem to me right and proper, I will send money for them. You will stay where you are, Caroline, and Stevie must go back to college right away. Tell him I say so, and if he does not I shall begin reducing his allowance according as I wrotehim. He will understand what I mean. I guess that is all until I send you my address and any other sailing orders that seem necessary to me then. And, Caroline, I want you and Stevie to feel that I am your anchor to windward, and when you get in a tight place, if you ever do, you can depend on me. Last night’s talk has no bearing on that whatever. Good-by, then, until my next.
“ELISHA WARREN.”
Stephen read this screed to the end, then crumpled it in his fist and threw it angrily on the floor.
“The nerve!” he exclaimed. “He seems to think I’m a sailor on one of his ships, to be ordered around as he sees fit. I’ll go back to college when I’m good and ready—not before.”
Caroline shook her head. “Oh, no!” she said. “You must go to-day. He’s right, Steve; it’s the thing for you to do. He and I were agreed as to that. And you wouldn’t stay and make it harder for me, would you, dear?”
He growled a reluctant assent. “I suppose I shall have to go,” he said, sullenly. “My allowance is too beastly small to have him cutting it; and the old shark would do that very thing; he’d take delight in doing it, confound him! Well, he knows what we think of him, that’s some comfort.”
She did not answer. He looked at her curiously.
“Why, hang it all, Caro!” he exclaimed in disgust; “what ails you? Blessed if I sha’n’t begin to believe you’re sorry he’s gone. You act as if you were.”
“No, I’m not. Of course I’m not. I’m—I’m glad. He couldn’t stay, of course. But I’m afraid—I can’t help feeling that you and I were too harsh last night. We said things—dreadful things—”
“Be hanged! We didn’t say half enough. Oh, don’t be a fool, Caro! I was just beginning to be proud of your grit. And now you want to take it all back. Honestly, girls are the limit! You don’t know your own minds for twelve consecutive hours. Answer me now!Areyou sorry he’s gone?”
“No. No, I’m not, really. But I—I feel somehow as if—as if everything was on my shoulders. You’re going away, and he’s gone, and—What is it, Edwards?”
The butler entered, with a small parcel in his hand.
“I beg your pardon, Miss Caroline,” he said. “I should have given you this last evening. It was by your place at the table. I think Captain Warren put it there, miss.”
Caroline took the parcel and looked at it wonderingly.
“For me?” she repeated.
“Yes, Miss Caroline. It is marked with your name. And breakfast is served, when you and Mr. Stephen are ready.”
He bowed and retired. The girl sat turning the little white box in her hands.
“Heleft it for me,” she said. “What can it be?”
Her brother snatched it impatiently.
“Why don’t you open it and find out?” he demanded. “Perhaps it’s his latch key. Here! I’ll do it myself.”
He cut the cord and removed the cover of the little box. Inside was the jeweler’s leather case. He took it out and pressed the spring. The cover flew up.
“Whew!” he whistled. “It’s a present. And rather a decent one, too, by gad! Look, Caro!”
He handed her the open case. She looked at the chain, spread carefully on the white satin lining. Inside the cover was fitted a card. She turned it over and read: “To my niece, Caroline. With wishes for manyhappy returns, and much love, from her Uncle Elisha Warren.”
She sat gazing at the card. Stephen bent down, read the inscription, and then looked up into her face.
“What?” he cried. “I believe—You’re notcryingWell, I’ll be hanged! Sis, youarea fool!”
The weather that morning was fine and clear. James Pearson, standing by the window of his rooms at the boarding house, looking out at the snow-covered roofs sparkling in the sun, was miserable. When he retired the night before it was with a solemn oath to forget Caroline Warren altogether; to put her and her father and the young cad, her brother, utterly from his mind, never to be thought of again. As a preliminary step in this direction, he began, the moment his head touched the pillow, to review, for the fiftieth time, the humiliating scene in the library, to think of things he should have said, and—worse than all—to recall, word for word, the things she had said to him. In this cheerful occupation he passed hours before falling asleep. And, when he woke, it was to begin all over again.
Why—whyhad he been so weak as to yield to Captain Elisha’s advice? Why had he not acted like a sensible, self-respecting man, done what he knew was right, and persisted in his refusal to visit the Warrens? Why? Because he was an idiot, of course—a hopeless idiot, who had got exactly what he deserved! Which bit of philosophy did not help make his reflections less bitter.
He went down to breakfast when the bell rang, but his appetite was missing, and he replied only in monosyllables to the remarks addressed to him by his fellow boarders. Mrs. Hepton, the landlady, noticed the change.
“You not ill, Mr. Pearson, I hope?” she queried. “I do hope you haven’t got cold, sleeping with your windows wide open, as you say you do. Fresh air is a good thing, in moderation, but one should be careful. Don’t you think so, Mr. Carson?”
Mr. Carson was a thin little man, a bachelor, who occupied the smallest room on the third story. He was a clerk in a department store, and his board was generally in arrears. Therefore, when Mrs. Hepton expressed an opinion he made it a point to agree with her. In this instance, however, he merely grunted.
“I say fresh air in one’s sleeping room is a good thing in moderation. Don’t you think so, Mr. Carson?” repeated the landlady.
Mr. Carson rolled up his napkin and inserted it in the ring. His board, as it happened, was paid in full to date. Also, although he had not yet declared his intention, he intended changing lodgings at the end of the week.
“Humph!” he sniffed, with sarcasm, “it may be. I couldn’t get none inmyroom if I wanted it, so I can’t say sure. Morning.”
He departed hurriedly. Mrs. Hepton looked disconcerted. Mrs. Van Winkle Ruggles smiled meaningly across the table at Miss Sherborne, who smiled back.
Mr. Ludlow, the bookseller, quietly observed that he hoped Mr. Pearson had not gotten cold. Colds were prevalent at this time of the year. “‘These are the days when the Genius of the weather sits in mournful meditation on the threshold,’ as Mr. Dickens tells us,” he added. “I presume he sits on the sills of open windows, also.”
The wife of the Mr. Dickens there present pricked up her ears.
“When did you write that, ‘C.’ dear?” she asked, turning to her husband. “I remember it perfectly, of course, but I have forgotten, for the moment, in which of your writings it appears.”
The illustrious one’s mouth being occupied with a section of scorching hot waffle, he was spared the necessity of confession.
“Pardon me,” said Mr. Ludlow. “I was not quoting our Mr. Dickens this time, but his famous namesake.”
The great “C.” drowned the waffle with a swallow of water.
“Maria,” he snapped, “don’t be so foolish. Ludlow quotes from—er—‘Bleak House.’ I have written some things—er—similar, but not that. Why don’t you pass the syrup?”
The bookseller, who was under the impression that he had quoted from the “Christmas Carol,” merely smiled and remained silent.
“My father, the Senator,” began Mrs. Van Winkle Ruggles, “was troubled with colds during his political career. I remember his saying that the Senate Chamber at the Capitol was extremely draughty. Possibly Mr. Pearson’s ailment does come from sleeping in a draught. Not that father was accustomed tosleepduring the sessions—Oh, dear, no! not that, of course. How absurd!”
She laughed gayly. Pearson, who seemed to think it time to say something, declared that, so far as he knew, he had no cold or any symptoms of one.
“Well,” said Mrs. Hepton, with conviction, “something ails you, I know. We can all see it; can’t we?” turning to the rest of the company. “Why, you’ve scarcely spoken since you sat down at the table. And you’ve eaten next to nothing. Perhaps there is sometrouble, something on your mind which is worrying you. Oh, Ihopenot!”
“No doubt it is the preoccupation of genius,” remarked Mrs. Dickens. “I’m sure it must be that. When ‘C.’ is engaged with some particularly trying literary problem he frequently loses all his appetite and does not speak for hours together. Isn’t it so, dear?”
“C.,” who was painfully conscious that he might have made a miscue in the matter of the quotation, answered sharply.
“No,” he said. “Not at all. Don’t be silly, Maria.”
Miss Sherborne clasped her hands. “Iknow!” she exclaimed in mock rapture; “Mr. Pearson is in love!”
This suggestion was received with applause and hilarity. Pearson pushed back his chair and rose.
“I’m much obliged for this outburst of sympathy,” he observed, dryly. “But, as I say, I’m perfectly well, and the other diagnoses are too flattering to be true. Good morning.”
Back in his room he seated himself at his desk, took the manuscript of his novel from the drawer, and sat moodily staring at it. He was in no mood for work. The very sight of the typewritten page disgusted him. As he now felt, the months spent on the story were time wasted. It was ridiculous for him to attempt such a thing; or to believe that he could carry it through successfully; or to dream that he would ever be anything better than a literary hack, a cheap edition of “C.” Dickens, minus the latter’s colossal self-satisfaction.
He was still sitting there, twirling an idle pencil between his fingers, when he heard steps outside his door. Someone knocked.
“Well, what is it?” he asked.
His landlady answered.
“Mr. Pearson,” she said, “may I see you?”
He threw down the pencil and, rising, walked to the door and opened it. Mrs. Hepton was waiting in the hall. She seemed excited.
“Mr. Pearson,” she said, “will you step downstairs with me for a moment? I have a surprise for you.”
“A surprise? What sort of a surprise?”
“Oh, a pleasant one. At least I think it is going to be pleasant for all of us. But I’m not going to tell you what it is. You must come down and see for yourself.”
She led the way downstairs, the young man following her, wondering what the surprise might be, and fairly certain it, nor anything else, could be pleasant on that day.
He supposed, of course, that he must descend to the parlor to reach the solution of the mystery, but he was mistaken. On the second floor Mrs. Hepton stopped and pointed.
“It’s in there,” she said, pointing.
“There” was the room formerly occupied by Mr. Saks, the long-haired artist. Since his departure it had been vacant. Pearson looked at the closed door and then at the lady.
“A surprise for me inthere?” he repeated. “What’s the joke, Mrs. Hepton?”
By way of answer she took him by the arm, and, leading him to the door, threw the latter open.
“Here he is!” she said.
“Hello, Jim!” hailed Captain Elisha Warren, cheerfully. “Ship ahoy! Glad to see you.”
He was standing in the middle of the room, his hat on the table and his hands in his pockets.
Pearson was surprised; there was no doubt of that—notso much at the sight of his friend—he had expected to see or hear from the captain before the day was over—as at seeing him in that room. He could not understand what he was doing there.
Captain Elisha noted his bewildered expression, and chuckled.
“Come aboard, Jim!” he commanded. “Come in and inspect. I’ll see you later, Mrs. Hepton,” he added, “and give you my final word. I want to hold officer’s council with Mr. Pearson here fust.”
The landlady accepted the broad hint and turned to go.
“Very well,” she said, “but I do hope for all our sakes that word will beyes, Mr. Warren—Excuse me, it is Captain Warren, isn’t it?”
“It used to be, yes, ma’am. And at home it is yet. ’Round here I’ve learned to be like a barroom poll-parrot, ready to answer to most everything. There!” as the door closed after her; “now we can be more private. Set down, Jim! How are you, anyway?”
Pearson sat down mechanically. “I’m well enough—everything considered,” he replied, slowly. “But what—what are you in here for? I don’t understand.”
“You will in a minute. What do you think of this—er—saloon cabin?” with a comprehensive sweep of his arm.
The room was of fair size, furnished in a nondescript, boarding-house fashion, and with two windows overlooking the little back yard of the house and those of the other adjoining it. Each yard contained an assortment of ash cans, and there was an astonishing number of clothes lines, each fluttering a variety of garments peculiarly personal to their respective owners.
“Pretty snug, ain’t it?” continued the captain.“Not exactly up to that I’ve been luxuriatin’ in lately, but more fittin’ to my build and class than that was, I shouldn’t wonder. No Corot paintin’s nor five thousand dollar tintypes of dory codders; but I can manage to worry along without them, if I try hard. Neat but not gaudy, I call it—as the architect feller said about his plans for the addition to the county jail at Ostable. Hey? Ho! Ho!”
Pearson began to get a clue to the situation.
“Captain Warren,” he demanded, “have you—Do you mean to say you’ve taken this room tolivein?”
“No, I ain’t said all that yet. I wanted to talk with you a little afore I said it. But that was my idea, if you and I agreed on sartin matters.”
“You’ve come here to live! You’ve left your—your niece’s house?”
“Ya-as, I’ve left. That is, I left the way the Irishman left the stable where they kept the mule. He said there was all out doors in front of him and only two feet behind. That’s about the way ’twas with me.”
“Have your nephew and niece—”
“Um-hm. They hinted that my room was better than my company, and, take it by and large, I guess they was right for the present, anyhow. I set up till three o’clock thinkin’ it over, and then I decided to get out afore breakfast this mornin’. I didn’t wait for any good-bys. They’d been said, or all I cared to hear”—Captain Elisha’s smile disappeared for an instant—“last evenin’. The dose was sort of bitter, but it had the necessary effect. At any rate, I didn’t hanker for another one. I remembered what your landlady told me when I was here afore, about this stateroom bein’ vacated, and I come down to look at it. It suits me well enough; seems like a decent moorin’s for an old saltwater derelict like me; the price is reasonable, and I guess likely I’ll take it. IguessI will.”
“Why do you guess? By George, I hope you will!”
“Do you? I’m much obliged. I didn’t know but after last night, after the scrape I got you into, you might feel—well, sort of as if you’d seen enough of me.”
The young man smiled bitterly. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said. “It was mine entirely. I’m quite old enough to decide matters for myself, and I should have decided as my reason, and not my inclinations, told me. You weren’t to blame.”
“Yes, I was. If you’re old enough, I’mtooold, I cal’late. But I did think—However, there’s no use goin’ over that. I ask your pardon, Jim. And you don’t hold any grudge?”
“Indeed I don’t. I may be a fool—I guess I am—but not that kind.”
“Thanks. Well, there’s one objection out of the way, then, only I don’t want you to think that I’ve hove overboard that ‘responsibility’ I was so easy and fresh about takin’ on my shoulders. It’s there yet; and I’ll see you squared with Caroline afore this v’yage is over, if I live.”
His friend frowned.
“You needn’t mind,” he said. “I prefer that you drop the whole miserable business.”
“Well, maybe, but—Jim, you’ve taken hold of these electric batteries that doctors have sometimes? It’s awful easy to grab the handles of one of those contraptions, but when you want to drop ’em you can’t. They don’t drop easy. I took hold of the handles of ’Bije’s affairs, and, though it might be pleasanter to drop ’em, I can’t—or I won’t.”
“Then you’re leaving your nephew and niece doesn’t mean that you’ve given up the guardianship?”
Captain Elisha’s jaw set squarely.
“I don’t remember sayin’ that it did,” he answered, with decision. Then, his good-nature returning, he added, “And now, Jim, I’d like your opinion of these new quarters that I may take. What do you think of ’em? Come to the window and take a look at the scenery.”
Pearson joined him at the window. The captain waved toward the clothes-lines and grinned.
“Looks as if there was some kind of jubilee, don’t it,” he observed. “Every craft in sight has strung the colors.”
Pearson laughed. Then he said:
“Captain, I think the room will do. It isn’t palatial, but one can live in worse quarters, as I know from experience.”
“Yup. Well, Jim, there’s just one thing more. Have I disgraced you a good deal, bein’ around with you and chummin’ in with you the way I have? That is, do youthinkI’ve disgraced you? Are you ashamed of me?”
“I? Ashamed ofyou? You’re joking!”
“No, I’m serious. Understand now, I’m not apologizin’. My ways are my ways, and I think they’re just as good as the next feller’s, whether he’s from South Denboro or—well, Broad Street. I’ve got a habit of thinkin’ for myself and actin’ for myself, and when I take off my hat it’s to a biggermanthan I am and not to a more stylish hat. But, since I’ve lived here in New York, I’ve learned that, with a whole lot of folks, hats themselves count more than what’s underneath ’em. I haven’t changed mine, and I ain’t goin’ to. Now, with that plain and understood, do you want me to live here,in the same house with you? I ain’t fishin’ for compliments. I want an honest answer.”
He got it. Pearson looked him squarely in the eye.
“I do,” he said. “I like you, and I don’t care a damn about your hat. Is that plain?”
Captain Elisha’s reply was delivered over the balusters in the hall.
“Hi!” he called. “Hi, Mrs. Hepton.”
The landlady had been anxiously waiting. She ran from the dining room to the foot of the stairs.
“Yes?” she cried. “What is it?”
“It’s a bargain,” said the captain. “I’m ready to engage passage.”
Thus Captain Elisha entered another of New York’s “circles,” that which centered at Mrs. Hepton’s boarding house. Within a week he was as much a part of it as if he had lived there for years. At lunch, on the day of his arrival, he made his appearance at the table in company with Pearson, and when the landlady exultantly announced that he was to be “one of our little party” thereafter, he received and replied to the welcoming salutations of his fellow boarders with unruffled serenity.
“How could I help it?” he asked. “Human nature’s liable to temptation, they tell us. The flavor of that luncheon we had last time I was here has been hangin’ ’round the edges of my mouth and tantalizin’ my memory ever since.”
“We had a souffle that noon, if I remember correctly, Captain,” observed the flattered Mrs. Hepton.
“Did you? Well, I declare! I’d have sworn ’twas a biled-dinner hash. Knew ’twas better than any I ever ate afore, but I’d have bet ’twas hash, just the same. Tut! tut! tut! Now, honest, Mrs. Hepton, ain’t this—er—whatever-you-call-it a close relation—a sort of hash with its city clothes on, hey?”
The landlady admitted that a souffle was something not unlike a hash. Captain Elisha nodded.
“I thought so,” he declared. “I was sartin sure I couldn’t be mistaken. What is it used to be in the song book? ‘You can smash—you can—’ Well, I don’t remember.Somethin’ about your bein’ able to smash the vase if you wanted to, but the smell of the posies was there yet.”
Mr. Ludlow, the bookseller, supplied the quotation.
“‘You may break, you may shatterThe vase if you will,But the scent of the rosesWill cling to it still,’”
“‘You may break, you may shatterThe vase if you will,But the scent of the rosesWill cling to it still,’”
he said, smiling.
“That’s it. Much obliged. You can warm up and rechristen the hash if you will; but the corned beef and cabbage stay right on deck. Ain’t that so, Mr. Dickens?”
The illustrious “C.” bowed.
“Moore?” he observed, with dignity.
“Yes. That’s whatIsaid—‘More!’ Said it twice, I believe. Glad you agree with me. The hymn says that weakness is sin, but there’s no sin in havin’ a weakness for corned-beef hash.”
Miss Sherborne and Mrs. Van Winkle Ruggles were at first inclined to snub the new boarder, considering him a country boor whose presence in their select society was almost an insult. The captain did not seem to notice their hints or sneers, although Pearson grew red and wrathful.
“Laura, my dear,” said Mrs. Ruggles, addressing the teacher of vocal culture, “don’t you feel quite rural to-day? Almost as if you were visiting the country?”
“I do, indeed,” replied Miss Sherborne. “Refreshing, isn’t it? Ha! ha!”
“It is if one cares for such things. I am afraidIdon’t appreciate them. They may be well enough in their place, but—”
She finished with a shrug of her shoulders. Captain Elisha smiled.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said politely, joining in the conversation; “that’s what the boy said about the cooky crumbs in the bed. You don’t care for the country, I take it, ma’am.”
“I donot!”
“So? Well, it’s a mercy we don’t think alike; even Heaven would be crowded if we did—hey? You didn’t come from the country, either?” turning to Miss Sherborne.
The young lady would have liked to answer with an uncompromising negative. Truth and the fact that some of those present were acquainted with it compelled her to forego this pleasure.
“I was born in a—a small town,” she answered coldly. “But I came to the city as soon as I possibly could.”
“Um-hm. Well, I came when I couldn’t possibly stay away. We can agree on one thing—we’re all here. Yes, and on another—that that cake is fust-rate. I’ll take a second piece, if you’ve no objection, Mrs. Hepton.”
When they were alone once more, in the captain’s room, Pearson vented his indignation.
“Why didn’t you give them as good as they sent?” he demanded. “Couldn’t you see they were doing their best to hurt your feelings?”
“Ya-as. I could see it. Didn’t need any specs to see that.”
“Then why didn’t you answer them as they deserved?”
“Oh, I don’t know. What’s the use? They’ve got troubles of their own. One of ’em’s a used-to-be, andthe other’s a never-was. Either disease is bad enough without addin’ complications.”
Pearson laughed. “I don’t get the whole of that, Captain,” he said. “Mrs. Van is the used-to-be, I suppose. But what is it that Miss Sherborne never was?”
“Married,” was the prompt reply. “Old maiditis is creepin’ on her fast. You want to be careful, Jim; a certain kind of female gets desperate about her stage.”
Pearson laughed again.
“Oh, get out!” he exclaimed, turning to go.
“All right! I will, when you and she are together and you give me the signal. But I tell you honest, I’d hate to do it. Judgin’ by the way she smiles and looks up under her eye-winkers at you, you’re in danger of kidnappin’. So long. I’ll see you again after I get my dunnage unpacked.”
The snubbing and sneering came to an abrupt end. Pearson, in conversation with Mrs. Ruggles, casually imparted the information that Captain Elisha was the brother of A. Rodgers Warren, late society leader and wealthy broker. Also, that he had entire charge of the latter’s estate. Thereafter Mrs. Ruggles treated the captain as one whose rank was equal to her own, and, consequently, higher than anyone’s else in the boarding-house. She made it a point to publicly ask his advice concerning “securities” and “investments,” and favored him with many reminiscences of her distinguished father, the Senator. Miss Sherborne, as usual, followed her lead. Captain Elisha, when Pearson joked him on the altered behavior of the two ladies, merely grinned.
“You may thank me for that, Captain,” said the young man. “When I told Mrs. Ruggles who and what you were she almost broke down and sobbed. The fact that she had risked offending one so closely connectedwith the real thing on Fifth Avenue and Wall Street was too dreadful. But she’s yours devotedly now. There’s an 18-karat crown on your head.”
“Yup. I suppose so. Well, I ain’t so sot up with pride over wearin’ that crown. It used to belong to ’Bije, and I never did care much for second-hand things. Rather have a new sou’wester of my own, any day in the week. When I buy a sou’wester I know what it’s made of.”
“Mrs. Ruggles knows what the crown is made of—gold, nicely padded with bonds and preferred stock.”
“Humph! Sometimes I wonder if the paddin’s waterproof. As for the gold—well, you can make consider’ble shine with brass when you’re dealin’ with nigh-sighted folks ... and children.”
To this indirect reference to Miss Warren and her brother Pearson made no reply. The pair conversed freely on other subjects, but each avoided this one. The novel, too, was laid on the shelf for the present. Its author had not yet mustered sufficient courage to return to it. Captain Elisha once or twice suggested a session with “Cap’n Jim,” but, finding his suggestions received with more or less indifference, did not press them. His mind was busy with other things. A hint dropped by Sylvester, the lawyer, was one of these. It suggested alarming possibilities, and his skepticism concerning the intrinsic worth of his inherited “crown” was increased by it.
He paid frequent visits to the offices of Sylvester, Kuhn, and Graves in Pine Street. Upon the senior partner, whom he esteemed and trusted not only as a business adviser but a friend, he depended for information concerning happenings at the Warren apartment.
Caroline sent him regular statements of her weeklyexpenditures, also bills for his approval, but she had written him but once, and then only a brief note. The note brought by a messenger, accompanied a package containing the chain which he and Pearson selected with such deliberation and care at the Fifth Avenue jeweler’s. Under the existing circumstances, the girl wrote, she felt that she did not wish to accept presents from him and therefore returned this one. He was alone when the note and package came and sat by the window of his room, looking out at the dismal prospect of back yards and clothes-lines, turning the leather case over and over in his hands. Perhaps this was the most miserable afternoon he had spent since his arrival in the city. He tried to comfort himself by the exercise of his usual philosophy, but it was cold comfort. He had no right to expect gratitude, so he told himself, and the girl undoubtedly felt that she was justified in her treatment of him; but it is hard to be misunderstood and misjudged, even by one whose youth is, perhaps, an excuse. He forgave Caroline, but he could not forgive those who were responsible for her action.
After Pearson had departed, on the morning when the conversation dealing with Mrs. Van Winkle Ruggles and her change of attitude took place, Captain Elisha put on his hat and coat and started for his lawyer’s office. Sylvester was glad to see him and invited him to lunch.
“No, thank you,” replied the captain. “I just run down to ask if there was anything new in the offin’. Last time I see you, you hinted you and your mates had sighted somethin’ or other through the fog, and it might turn out to be a rock or a lighthouse, you couldn’t tell which. Made up your mind yet?”
Sylvester shook his head. “No,” he said, slowly;“it is still foggy. We’re busy investigating, but we’re not ready to report.”
“Humph! Well, what’s the thing look like? You must be a little nigher to it by now.”
The lawyer tapped his desk with a pencil. “I don’t know what it looks like,” he answered. “That is to say, I don’t—I can’t believe it is what it appears, at this distance, to be. If it is, it is the most—”
He paused. Captain Elisha waited for him to go on and, when he did not do so, asked another question.
“The most what?” he demanded. “Is it likely to be very bad?”
“Why—why—well, I can’t say even that yet. But there! as I told you, I’m not going to permit it to worry me. And you mustn’t worry, either. That’s why I don’t give you any further particulars. There may be nothing in it, after all.”
His visitor smiled. “Say, Mr. Sylvester,” he said, “you’re like the young-ones used to be when I was a boy. There’d be a gang of ’em waitin’ by the schoolhouse steps and when the particular victim hove in sight they’d hail him with, ‘Ah, ha!you’regoin’ to get it!’ ‘Wait till teacher sees you!’ and so on. Course the victim would want to know what it meant. All the satisfaction he got from them was, ‘That’s all right! You’ll find out! You just wait!’ And the poor feller put in the time afore the bell rung goin’ over all the things he shouldn’t have done and had, and wonderin’ which it was this time. You hinted to me a week ago that there was a surprisin’ possibility loomin’ up in ’Bije’s financial affairs. And ever since then I’ve been puzzlin’ my brains tryin’ to guess what could happen. Ain’t discovered any more of those Cut Short bonds, have you?”
The bonds to which he referred were those of a defunctShort Line railroad. A large number of these bonds had been discovered among A. Rodgers Warren’s effects; part of his “tangled assets,” the captain had termed them, differentiating from the “tangible” variety.
“Abbie, my housekeeper, has been writin’ me,” he went on, “about havin’ the sewin’ room papered. She wants my advice concernin’ the style of paper; says it ought to be pretty and out of the common, but not too expensive. I judge what she wants is somethin’ that looks like money but ain’t really wuth more than ten cents a mile. I’ve been thinkin’ I’d send her a bale or so of those bonds; they’d fill the bill in those respects, wouldn’t they?”
Sylvester laughed. “They certainly would, Captain,” he replied. “No, we haven’t unearthed any more of that sort. And, as for this mystery of ours, I’ll give you the answer—if it’s worth giving at all, in a very short time. Meanwhile, you go home and forget it.”
“Well, I’ll try. But I guess it sticks out on my face, like a four days’ toothache. But Iwon’tworry about that. You know best whether to tell me now or not, and—well, I’m carryin’ about all the worry my tonnage’ll stand, as ’tis.”
He drew a long breath. Sylvester regarded him sympathetically.
“You mustn’t take your nephew’s and niece’s treatment too much to heart,” he said.
“Oh, I don’t. That is, I pretend I don’t. And I do try not to. But I keep thinkin’, thinkin’, and wonderin’ if ’twould have been better if I hadn’t gone there to live at all. Hi hum! a man of my age hadn’t ought to mind what a twenty-year-old girl says, or does; ’specially when her kind, advisin’ friends have shown her howshe’s been deceived and hypocrit-ted. By the way, speakin’ of hypocrites, I suppose there’s just as much ‘Dunnin’’ as ever goin’ on up there?”
“Yes. A little more, if anything, I’m afraid. Your niece and Mrs. Dunn and her precious son are together now so constantly that people are expecting—well, you know what they expect.”
“I can guess. I hope they’ll be disapp’inted.”
“So do I, but I must confess I’m fearful. Malcolm himself isn’t so wise, but his mother is—”
“A whole Book of Proverbs, hey? I know. She’s an able old frigate. I did think I had her guns spiked, but she turned ’em on me unexpected. I thought I had her and her boy in a clove hitch. I knew somethin’ that I was sartin sure they wouldn’t want Caroline to know, and she and Malcolm knew I knew it. Her tellin’ Caroline of it,herstory of it, when I wasn’t there to contradict, was as smart a piece of maneuverin’ as ever was. It took the wind out of my sails, because, though I’m just as right as I ever was, Caroline wouldn’t listen to me, nor believe me, now.”
“She’ll learn by experience.”
“Yup. But learnin’ by experience is a good deal like shippin’ green afore the mast; it’ll make an able seaman of you, if it don’t kill you fust. When I was a boy there was a man in our town name of Nickerson Cummin’s. He was mate of a ship and smart as a red pepper poultice on a skinned heel. He was a great churchgoer when he was ashore and always preachin’ brotherly love and kindness and pattin’ us little shavers on the head, and so on. Most of the grown folks thought he was a sort of saint, and I thought he was more than that. I’d have worshiped him, I cal’late, if my Methodist trainin’ would have allowed me to worshipanybody who wa’n’t named in Scriptur’. If there’d been an apostle or a prophet christened Nickerson I’d have fell on my knees to this Cummin’s man, sure. So, when I went to sea as a cabin boy, a tow-headed snub-nosed little chap of fourteen, I was as happy as a clam at highwater ’cause I was goin’ in the ship he was mate of.”
He paused. There was a frown on his face, and his lower jaw was thrust forward grimly.
“Well?” inquired Sylvester. “What happened?”
“Hey? Oh, excuse me. When I get to thinkin’ of that v’yage I simmer inside, like a teakettle on a hot stove. The second day out—seasick and homesick and so miserable I wished I could die all at once instead of by lingerin’ spasms—I dropped a dish on the cabin floor and broke it. Cummin’s was alone with me, eatin’ his dinner; and he jumped out of his chair when I stooped to pick up the pieces and kicked me under the table. When I crawled out, he kicked me again and kept it up. When his foot got tired he used his fist. ‘There!’ says he between his teeth, ‘I cal’late that’ll learn you that crockery costs money.’
“It did. I never broke anything else aboard that ship. Cummin’s was a bully and a sneak to everybody but the old man, and a toady to him. He never struck me or anybody else when the skipper was around, but there was nothin’ too mean for him to do when he thought he had a safe chance. And he took pains to let me know that if I ever told a soul at home he’d kill me. I’d learned by experience, not only about the price of crockery, but other things, things that a youngster ought not to learn—how to hate a man so that you can wait years to get even with him, for one. I’m sorry I learned that, and,” dryly, “so was Cummin’s, later. But I did learn, onceand for all, not to take folks on trust, nor to size ’em up by their outside, or the noise they make in prayer-meetin’, nor the way they can spread soft soap when they think it’s necessary. I’d learned that, and I’d learned it early enough to be of use to me, which was a mercy.
“It was a hard lesson for me,” he added, reflectively; “but I managed to come out of it without lettin’ it bitter my whole life. I don’t mind so much Caroline’s bein’ down on me. She’ll know better some day, I hope; and if she don’t—well, I’m only a side-issue in her life, anyhow, hove in by accident, like the section of dog collar in the sassage. But I do hope her learnin’ by experience won’t come too late to save her from ... what she’ll be awful sorry for by and by.”
“It must,” declared the lawyer, with decision. “You must see to it, Captain Warren. You are her guardian. She is absolutely under your charge. She can do nothing of importance unless you consent.”
“Yup. That’s so—for one more year; just one, remember! Then she’ll be of age, and I can’t say ‘Boo!’ And her share of ’Bije’s money’ll be hers, too. And don’t you believe that that fact has slipped Sister Dunn’s memory. I ain’t on deck to head her off now; if she puts Malcolm up to gettin’ Caroline to give her word, and Caroline gives it—well, I know my niece. She’s honorable, and she’ll stick to her promise if it runs her on the rocks. And Her Majesty Dunn knows that, too. Therefore, the cat bein’ away, she cal’lates now’s the time to make sure of the cheese.”
“But the cat can come back. The song says it did, you know.”
“Um-hm. And got another kick, I shouldn’t wonder.However, my claws’ll stay sharp for a year or thereabouts, and, if it comes to a shindy, there’ll be some tall scratchin’ afore I climb a tree. Keep a weather eye on what goes on, won’t you?”
“I will. You can depend on me.”
“I do. And say! for goodness’ sakes put me out of my misery regardin’ that rock or lighthouse on ’Bije’s chart, soon’s ever you settle which it is.”
“Certainly! And, remember, don’t worry. It may be a lighthouse, or nothing at all. At all events, I’ll report very soon.”
But, in spite of his promise, Sylvester did not report during the following week or the next. Meanwhile, his client tried his best to keep the new mystery from troubling his thoughts, and succeeded only partially. The captain’s days and evenings were quiet and monotonous. He borrowed a book or two from Mrs. Hepton’s meager library, read, walked a good deal, generally along the water front, and wrote daily letters to Miss Baker. He and Pearson were together for at least a portion of each day. The author, fighting down his dejection and discouragement, set himself resolutely to work once more on the novel, and his nautical adviser was called in for frequent consultation. The story, however, progressed but slowly. There was something lacking. Each knew what that something was, but neither named it.
One evening Pearson entered the room tenanted by his friend to find the latter seated beside the table, his shoes partially unlaced, and a pair of big slippers ready for putting on.
“Captain,” said the visitor, “you look so comfortable I hate to disturb you.”
Captain Elisha, red-faced and panting, desisted from the unlacing and straightened in his chair.
“Whew!” he puffed. “Jim, your remarks prove that your experience of the world ain’t as big as it ought to be. When you get to my age and waist measure you’ll realize that stoopin’ over and comfort don’t go together.I hope to be comfortable pretty soon; but I sha’n’t be till them boots are off. Set down. The agony’ll be over in a minute.”
Pearson declined to sit. “Not yet,” he said. “And you let those shoes alone, until you hear what I’ve got to say. A newspaper friend of mine has sent me two tickets for the opera to-night. I want you to go with me.”
Captain Elisha was surprised.
“To the opera?” he repeated. “Why, that’s a—a sort of singin’ theater ain’t it?”
“Yes, you’re fond of music; you told me so. And Aïda is beautiful. Come on! it will do us both good.”
“Hum! Well, I don’t know.”
“I do. Get ready.”
The captain looked at his caller’s evening clothes.
“What do you mean by gettin’ ready?” he asked. “You’ve got on your regimentals, open front and all. My uniform is the huntin’ case kind; fits in better with church sociables and South Denboro no’theasters. If I wore one of those vests like yours Abbie’d make me put on a red flannel lung-protector to keep from catchin’ pneumonia. And she’d think ’twas sinful waste besides, runnin’ the risk of sp’ilin’ a clean biled shirt so quick. Won’t I look like an undertaker, sittin’ alongside of you?”
“Not a bit. If it will ease your mind I’ll change to a business suit.”
“I don’t care. You know how I feel; we had a little talk about hats a spell ago, you remember. If you’re willin’ to take me ‘just as I am, without a plea,’ as the hymn-tune says, why, I cal’late I’ll say yes and go. Set down and wait while I get on my ceremonials.”
He retired to the curtain alcove, and Pearson heardhim rustling about, evidently making a hurried change of raiment. During this process he talked continuously.
“Jim,” he said, “I ain’t been to the theater but once since I landed in New York. Then I went to see a play named ‘The Heart of a Sailor.’ Ha! ha! that was a great show! Ever take it in, did you?”
“No. I never did.”
“Well, you’d ought to. It’s a wonder of it’s kind. I learned more things about life-savin’ and ’longshore life from that drayma than you’d believe was possible. You’d have got some p’ints for your Cap’n Jim yarn from that play; you sartin would! Yes, indeed! Way I happened to go to it was on account of seein’ a poster on a fence over nigh where that Moriarty tribe lived. The poster pictured a bark ashore, on her beam ends, in a sea like those off the Horn. On the beach was a whole parcel of life-savers firin’ off rockets and blue lights. Keepin’ the Fourth of July, I judged they was, for I couldn’t see any other reason. The bark wa’n’t more’n a hundred foot from ’em, and if all hands on board didn’t know they was in trouble by that time, then they deserved to drown. Anyhow, they wa’n’t likely to appreciate the celebration. Ho! ho! Well, when I run afoul of that poster I felt I hadn’t ought to let anything like that get away; so I hunted up the theater—it wa’n’t but a little ways off—and got a front seat for that very afternoon.”
“Was it up to the advertising?” asked Pearson.
“Wasit? Hi hum! I wish you’d been there. More ’special I wished some of the folks from home had been there, for the whole business was supposed to happen on the Cape, and they’d have realized how ignorant we are about the place we live in. The hero was astrappin’ six-footer, sort of a combination fisherman and parson, seemed so. He wore ileskins in fair weather and went around preachin’ or defyin’ folks that provoked him and makin’ love to the daughter of a long-haired old relic that called himself an inventor.... Oh, consarn it!”
“What’s the matter?”
“Dropped my collar button, as usual. Collar buttons are one of the Old Harry’s pet traps. I’ll bet their responsible for ’most as many lapses from grace as tangled fishlines. Where.... Ow!... All right; I found it with my bare foot, and edge up, of course.”
A series of grunts and short-breathed exclamations followed, indicating that the sufferer was struggling with a tight collar.
“Go on,” commanded Pearson. “Tell me some more about the play.”
“Hey? Oh, the play. Where was I?”
“You were saying that the heroine’s father was an inventor.”
“That’s whathesaid he was, though he never furnished any proof. His daughter helped him with his inventions, but if she’d cut his hair once in a while ’twould have been a better way of puttin’ in the time, ’cordin’ to my notion. And there was a rich squire, who made his money by speculatin’ in wickedness, and a mortgage, and—I don’t know what all. And those Cape Cod folks! and the houses they lived in! and the way they talked! Oh, dear! oh, dear! I got my money’s wuth that afternoon.”
“What about the wreck? How did that happen?”
“Don’t know. It happened ’cause it had to be in the play, I cal’late. The mortgage, or an ‘invention’or somethin’, was on board the bark and just naturally took a short cut for home, way I figgered it out. But, Jim, you ought to have seen that hero! He peeled off his ileskin-slicker—he’d kept it on all through the sunshine, but now, when ’twas rainin’ and rainin’ and wreckin’ and thunderin’, he shed it—and jumped in and saved all hands and the ship’s cat. ’Twas great business! No wonder the life-savers set off fireworks! And thunder! Why, say, it never stopped thunderin’ in that storm except when somebody had to make a heroic speech; then it let up and give ’em a chance. Most considerate thunder ever I heard. And the lightnin’! and the way the dust flew from the breakers! I was glad I went.... There!” appearing fully dressed from behind the curtains. “I’m ready if you are. Did I talk your head off? I ask your pardon; but that ‘Heart of a Sailor’ touched mine, I guess. I know I was afraid I’d laugh until it stopped beatin’. And all around the people were cryin’. It was enough sight damper amongst the seats than in those cloth waves.”
The pair walked over to Broadway, boarded a street car, and alighted before the Metropolitan Opera House. Pearson’s seats were good ones, well down in the orchestra. Captain Elisha turned and surveyed the great interior and the brilliantly garbed audience.
“Whew!” he muttered. “This is considerable of a show in itself, Jim. They could put our town hall inside here and the folks on the roof wouldn’t be so high as those in that main skys’l gallery up aloft there. Can they see or hear, do you think?”
“Oh, yes. The accepted idea is that they are the real music lovers.theycome for the opera itself. Some of the others come because—well, because it is the proper thing.”
“Yes, yes; I see. That’s the real article right over our heads, I suppose.”
“Yes. That’s the ‘Diamond Horseshoe.’”
“All proper things there, hey?”
“Why—er—yes, I suppose so. What makes you ask?”
“Nothing much. I was thinking ’twas better Abbie wa’n’t along on this cruise. She’d probably want to put an ‘im’ in front of that ‘proper.’ I envy those women, Jim;theydidn’t have to stop to hunt up collar buttons, did they.”
He was silent during the first act of the opera. When the curtain fell his companion asked how he liked it.
“Good singin’,” he replied; “best I ever heard. Do you understand what they say?”
“No. But I’m familiar with the story of Aïda, of course. It’s a favorite of mine. And the words don’t really matter.”
“I suppose not. It’s the way they say it. I had an Irishman workin’ round my barn once, and Tim Bailey drove down from Bayport to see me. I was out and Tim and the Irishman run afoul of each other. Tim stuttered so that he made a noise when he talked like one of these gasoline bicycles goin’ by. He watched Mike sweepin’ out the horse stall and he says, ‘You’re a pup—pup ... I say you’re a pup—.’ He didn’t get any further ’cause Mike went for him with the broom. Turned out later that he was tryin’ to compliment that Irishman by sayin’ he was a particular sort of feller. These folks on the stage might be sayin’ most anythin’, and I wouldn’t know it. But I sha’n’t knock ’em down, for I like the way it’s said. When the Almighty give us music he more than made up for makin’ us subject to toothache, didn’t he.”
Pearson bought a copy of the libretto, and the captain followed the performance of the next two acts with interest.
“Say, Jim,” he whispered, with a broad grin, “it’s a good thing this opera idea ain’t carried into real life. If you had to sing every word you said ’twould be sort of distressin’, ’specially if you was in a hurry. A fust-rate solo when you was orderin’ the crew to shorten sail would be a high old brimstone anthem, I’ll bet you. And think of the dinner table at our boardin’ house! Mrs. Van and C. Dickens both goin’ at once, and Marm Hepton serenadin’ the waiter girl! Ho! ho! A cat fight wouldn’t be a circumstance.”
Between the third and the fourth acts the pair went out into the foyer, where, ascending to the next floor, they made the round of the long curve behind the boxes, Pearson pointing out to his friend the names of the box lessees on the brass plates.
“There!” he observed, as, the half circle completed, they turned and strolled back again, “isn’t that an imposing list, Captain? Don’t you feel as if you were close to the real thing?”
“Godfreys mighty!” was the solemn reply; “I was just thinkin’ I felt as if I’d been readin’ one of those muck-rakin’ yarns in the magazines!”
The foyer had its usual animated crowd, and among them Pearson recognized a critic of his acquaintance. He offered to introduce the captain, but the latter declined the honor, saying that he cal’lated he wouldn’t shove his bows in this time. “You heave ahead and see your friend, Jim,” he added. “I’ll come to anchor by this pillar and watch the fleet go by. I’ll have to write Abbie about all this; she’ll want to know how the female craft was rigged.”
Left alone, he leaned against the pillar and watched the people pass and repass just behind him. Two young men paused just behind him. He could not help overhearing their conversation.
“I presume you’ve heard the news?” asked one, casually.
“Yes,” replied the other, “I have. That is, if you mean the news concerning Mal Dunn. The mater learned it this afternoon and sprung it at dinner. No one was greatly surprised. Formal announcement made, and all that sort of thing, I believe. Mal’s to be congratulated.”
“His mother is, you mean. She managed the campaign. The old lady is some strategist, and I’d back her to win under ordinary circumstances. But I understand these were not ordinary; wise owl of a guardian to be circumvented, or something of that sort.”
“From what I hear the Dunns haven’t won so much after all. There was a big shrinkage when papa died, so they say. Instead of three or four millions it panned out to be a good deal less than one. I don’t know much about it, because our family and theirs have drifted apart since they moved.”
“Humph! I imagine whatever the pan-out it will be welcome. The Dunns are dangerously close to the ragged edge; everybody has been on to that for some time. And it takes a few ducats to keep Mal going. He’s no Uncle Russell when it comes to putting by for the rainy day.”
“Well, on the whole, I’m rather sorry for—the other party. Mal is a good enough fellow, and he certainly is a game sport; but—”
They moved on, and Captain Elisha heard no more. But what he had heard was quite sufficient. He satthrough the remainder of the opera in silence and answered all his friend’s questions and remarks curtly and absently.
As they stepped into the trolley Pearson bought an evening paper, not thePlanet, but a dignified sheet which shunned sensationalism and devoted much space to the doings of the safe, sane, and ultra-respectable element. Perceiving that his companion, for some reason, did not care to talk, he read as the car moved downtown. Suddenly Captain Elisha was awakened from his reverie by hearing his friend utter an exclamation. Looking up, the captain saw that he was leaning back in the seat, the paper lying unheeded in his lap.
“What’s the matter?” asked the older man, anxiously.
Pearson started, glanced quickly at his friend, hesitated, and looked down again.
“Nothing—now,” he answered, brusquely. “We get out here. Come.”
He rose, picked up the paper with a hand that shook a little, and led the way to the door of the car. Captain Elisha followed, and they strode up the deserted side street. Pearson walked so rapidly that his companion was hard pushed to keep pace with him. When they stood together in the dimly lit hall of the boarding house, the captain spoke again.
“Well, Jim,” he asked in a low tone, “what is it? You may as well tell me. Maybe I can guess, anyhow.”
The young man reached up and turned the gas full on. In spite of the cold from which they had just come, his face was white. He folded the paper in his hand, and with his forefinger pointed to its uppermost page.
“There it is,” he said. “Read it.”
Captain Elisha took the paper, drew his spectacle casefrom his pocket, adjusted his glasses and read. The item was among those under the head of “Personal and Social.” It was what he expected. “The engagement is to-day announced of Miss Caroline Warren, daughter of the late A. Rodgers Warren, the well-known broker, to Mr. Malcolm Corcoran Dunn, of Fifth Avenue. Miss Warren, it will be remembered, was one of the most charming of our season-before-last’s débutantes and—” etc.
The captain read the brief item through.
“Yes,” he said, slowly, “I see.”
Pearson looked at him in amazement.
“Yousee!” he repeated. “You—Why!Did you know it?”
“I’ve been afraid of it for some time. To-night, when you left me alone there in the quarter-deck of that opera house, I happened to hear two young chaps talkin’ about it. So you might say I knew—Yes.”
“Good heavens! and you can stand there and—What are you going to do about it?”
“I don’t know—yet.”
“Are you going to permit her to marry that—thatfellow?”
“Well, I ain’t sartin that I can stop her.”
“My God, man! Do you realize—andshe—your niece—why—”
“There! there! Jim. I realize it all, I cal’late. It’s my business to realize it.”
“And it isn’t mine. No, of course it isn’t; you’re right there.”
He turned and strode toward the foot of the stairs.
“Hold on!” commanded the captain. “Hold on, Jim! Don’t you go off ha’f cocked. When I said ’twas my business to realize this thing, I meant justthat and nothin’ more. I wa’n’t hintin’, and you ought to know it. You do know it, don’t you?”
The young man paused. “Yes,” he answered, after an instant’s struggle with his feelings; “yes, I do. I beg your pardon, Captain.”
“All right. And here’s somethin’ else; I just told you I wasn’t sartin I could stop the marriage. That’s the truth. But I don’t recollect sayin’ I’d actually hauled down the colors, not yet. Good night.”
“Good night, Captain. I shouldn’t have misunderstood you, of course. But, as you know, I respected and admired your niece. And this thing has—has—”
“Sort of knocked you on your beam ends, I understand. Well, Jim,” with a sigh, “I ain’t exactly on an even keel myself.”
They separated, Pearson going to his room. As Captain Elisha was passing through the hall on the second floor, he heard someone calling him by name. Turning, he saw his landlady’s head, bristling with curl papers, protruding from behind the door at the other end of the passage.
“Captain Warren,” she asked, “is that you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied the captain, turning back.
“Well, I’ve got a message for you. A Mr. Sylvester has ’phoned you twice this evening. He wishes to see you at his office at the earliest possible moment. He says it isveryimportant.”