THE PORTYGEE

By Joseph Crosby Lincoln

CHAPTER I

Overhead the clouds cloaked the sky; a ragged cloak it was, and, hereand there, a star shone through a hole, to be obscured almost instantlyas more cloud tatters were hurled across the rent. The pines threshed onthe hill tops. The bare branches of the wild-cherry and silverleaf treesscraped and rattled and tossed. And the wind, the raw, chilling Decemberwind, driven in, wet and salty, from the sea, tore over the dunes andbrown uplands and across the frozen salt-meadows, screamed throughthe telegraph wires, and made the platform of the dismal South Harnissrailway station the lonesomest, coldest, darkest and most miserable spoton the face of the earth. 

At least that was the opinion of the seventeen-year-old boy whom thedown train--on time for once and a wonder--had just deposited upon thatplatform. He would not have discounted the statement one iota. The SouthHarniss station platform WAS the most miserable spot on earth and he wasthe most miserable human being upon it. And this last was probably true, for there were but three other humans upon that platform and, judging byexternals, they seemed happy enough. One was the station agent, who wasjust entering the building preparatory to locking up for the night, and the others were Jim Young, driver of the "depot wagon, " and DoctorHolliday, the South Harniss "homeopath, " who had been up to a Bostonhospital with a patient and was returning home. Jim was whistling"Silver Bells, " a tune much in vogue the previous summer, and DoctorHolliday was puffing at a cigar and knocking his feet together to keepthem warm while waiting to get into the depot wagon. These were the onlypeople in sight and they were paying no attention whatever to the lonelyfigure at the other end of the platform. 

The boy looked about him. The station, with its sickly yellow gleamof kerosene lamp behind its dingy windowpane, was apparently the onlyinhabited spot in a barren wilderness. At the edge of the platformcivilization seemed to end and beyond was nothing but a black earthand a black sky, tossing trees and howling wind, and cold--raw, damp, penetrating cold. Compared with this even the stuffy plush seats andsmelly warmth of the car he had just left appeared temptingly homelikeand luxurious. All the way down from the city he had sneered inwardly ata one-horse railroad which ran no Pullmans on its Cape branch in wintertime. Now he forgot his longing for mahogany veneer and individualchairs and would gladly have boarded a freight car, provided there werein it a lamp and a stove. 

The light in the station was extinguished and the agent came out witha jingling bunch of keys and locked the door. "Good-night, Jim, "he shouted, and walked off into the blackness. Jim responded with a"good-night" of his own and climbed aboard the wagon, into the darkinterior of which the doctor had preceded him. The boy at the other endof the platform began to be really alarmed. It looked as if all livingthings were abandoning him and he was to be left marooned, to starve orfreeze, provided he was not blown away first. 

He picked up the suitcase--an expensive suitcase it was, elaboratelystrapped and buckled, with a telescope back and gold fittings--andhastened toward the wagon. Mr. Young had just picked up the reins. 

"Oh, --oh, I say!" faltered the boy. We have called him "the boy" allthis time, but he did not consider himself a boy, he esteemed himselfa man, if not full-grown physically, certainly so mentally. A man, with all a man's wisdom, and more besides--the great, the all-embracingwisdom of his age, or youth. 

"Here, I say! Just a minute!" he repeated. Jim Young put his head aroundthe edge of the wagon curtain. "Eh?" he queried. "Eh? Who's talkin'? Oh, was it you, young feller? Did you want me?"

The young fellow replied that he did. "This is South Harniss, isn't it?"he asked. 

Mr. Young chuckled. "Darn sure thing, " he drawled. "I give in that itlooks consider'ble like Boston, or Providence, R. I. , or some of themcapitols, but it ain't, it's South Harniss, Cape Cod. "

Doctor Holliday, on the back seat of the depot wagon, chuckled. Jimdid not; he never laughed at his own jokes. And his questioner did notchuckle, either. 

"Does a--does a Mr. Snow live here?" he asked. 

The answer was prompt, if rather indefinite. "Um-hm, " said the driver. "No less'n fourteen of him lives here. Which one do you want?"

"A Mr. Z. Snow. "

"Mr. Z. Snow, eh? Humph! I don't seem to recollect any Mr. Z. Snowaround nowadays. There used to be a Ziba Snow, but he's dead. 'Twan'thim you wanted, was it?"

"No. The one I want is--is a Captain Snow. Captain--" he paused beforeuttering the name which to his critical metropolitan ear had seemedso dreadfully countrified and humiliating; "Captain Zelotes Snow, " heblurted, desperately. 

Jim Young laughed aloud. "Good land, Doc!" he cried, turning toward hispassenger; "I swan I clean forgot that Cap'n Lote's name begun with aZ. Cap'n Lote Snow? Why, darn sure! I . . . Eh?" He stopped short, evidently struck by a new idea. "Sho!" he drawled, slowly. "Why, I declare I believe you're . . . Yes, of course! I heard they wasexpectin' you. Doc, you know who 'tis, don't you? Cap'n Lote's grandson;Janie's boy. "

He took the lighted lantern from under the wagon seat and held it up sothat its glow shone upon the face of the youth standing by the wheel. 

"Hum, " he mused. "Don't seem to favor Janie much, does he, Doc. Kind ofgot her mouth and chin, though. Remember that sort of good-lookin' setto her mouth she had? And SHE got it from old Cap'n Lo himself. Thisboy's face must be more like his pa's, I cal'late. Don't you cal'lateso, Doc?"

Whether Doctor Holliday cal'lated so or not he did not say. It may bethat he thought this cool inspection of and discussion concerning astranger, even a juvenile stranger, somewhat embarrassing to its object. Or the lantern light may have shown him an ominous pucker between theboy's black brows and a flash of temper in the big black eyes beneaththem. At any rate, instead of replying to Mr. Young, he said, kindly:

"Yes, Captain Snow lives in the village. If you are going to his houseget right in here. I live close by, myself. "

"Darned sure!" agreed Mr. Young, with enthusiasm. "Hop right in, sonny. "

But the boy hesitated. Then, haughtily ignoring the driver, he said: "Ithought Captain Snow would be here to meet me. He wrote that he would. "

The irrepressible Jim had no idea of remaining ignored. "Did Cap'n Lotewrite you that he'd be here to the depot?" he demanded. "All right, thenhe'll be here, don't you fret. I presume likely that everlastin' mareof his has eat herself sick again; eh, Doc? By godfreys domino, the waythey pet and stuff that fool horse is a sin and a shame. It ain't Lote'sfault so much as 'tis his wife's--she's responsible. Don't you fret, Bub, the cap'n'll be here for you some time to-night. If he said he'llcome he'll come, even if he has to hire one of them limmysines. He, he, he! All you've got to do is wait, and . . . Hey! . . . Hold on a minute!. . . Bub!"

The boy was walking away. And to hail him as "Bub" was, although JimYoung did not know it, the one way least likely to bring him back. 

"Bub!" shouted Jim again. Receiving no reply he added what he hadintended saying. "If I run afoul of Cap'n Lote anywheres on the road, "he called, "I'll tell him you're here a-waitin'. So long, Bub. Git dap, Chain Lightnin'. "

The horse, thus complimented, pricked up one ear, lifted a foot, andjogged off. The depot wagon became merely a shadowy smudge against thedarkness of the night. For a few minutes the "chock, chock" of the hoofsupon the frozen road and the rattle of wheels gave audible evidence ofits progress. Then these died away and upon the windswept platform ofthe South Harniss station descended the black gloom of lonesomenessso complete as to make that which had been before seem, by comparison, almost cheerful. 

The youth upon that platform turned up his coat collar, thrust hisgloved hands into his pockets, and shivered. Then, still shivering, he took a brisk walk up and down beside the suitcase and, finally, circumnavigated the little station. The voyage of discovery wasunprofitable; there was nothing to discover. So far as he couldsee--which was by no means far--upon each side of the building wasnothing but bare fields and tossing pines, and wind and cold andblackness. He came to anchor once more by the suitcase and drew a long, hopeless breath. 

He thought of the cheery dining room at the school he had left the daybefore. Dinner would be nearly over by now. The fellows were havingdessert, or, probably, were filing out into the corridors, the youngerchaps to go to the study hall and the older ones--the lordly seniors, ofwhom he had been one--on the way to their rooms. The picture of his owncheerful, gay room in the senior corridor was before his mind; of thatroom as it was before the telegram came, before the lawyer came withthe letter, before the end of everything as he knew it and the beginningof--this. He had not always loved and longed for that school as he lovedand longed for it now. There had been times when he referred to it as"the old jail, " and professed to hate it. But it had been the only realhome he had known since he was eight years old and now he looked backupon it as a fallen angel might have looked back upon Paradise. Hesighed again, choked and hastily drew his gloved hand across his eyes. At the age of seventeen it is very unmanly to cry, but, at that agealso, manhood and boyhood are closely intermingled. He choked againand then, squaring his shoulders, reached into his coat pocket for thesilver cigarette case which, as a recent acquisition, was the pride ofhis soul. He had just succeeded in lighting a cigarette when, borne uponthe wind, he heard once more the sound of hoofs and wheels and saw inthe distance a speck of light advancing toward the station. 

The sounds drew nearer, so did the light. Then an old-fashioned buggy, drawn by a plump little sorrel, pulled up by the platform and a handheld a lantern aloft. 

"Hello!" hailed a voice. "Where are you?"

The hail did not have to be repeated. Before the vehicle reached thestation the boy had tossed away the cigarette, picked up the suitcase, and was waiting. Now he strode into the lantern light. 

"Here I am, " he answered, trying hard not to appear too eager. "Were youlooking for me?"

The holder of the lantern tucked the reins between the whip-socket andthe dash and climbed out of the buggy. He was a little man, perhapsabout forty-eight or fifty, with a smooth-shaven face wrinkled at thecorners of the mouth and eyes. His voice was the most curious thingabout him; it was high and piping, more like a woman's than a man's. Yethis words and manner were masculine enough, and he moved and spoke witha nervous, jerky quickness. 

He answered the question promptly. "Guess I be, guess I be, " he saidbriskly. "Anyhow, I'm lookin' for a boy name of--name of--My soul toheavens, I've forgot it again, I do believe! What did you say your namewas?"

"Speranza. Albert Speranza. "

"Sartin, sartin! Sper--er--um--yes, yes. Knew it just as well as I didmy own. Well, well, well! Ye-es, yes, yes. Get right aboard, Alfred. Letme take your satchel. "

He picked up the suitcase. The boy, his foot upon the buggy step, stillhesitated. "Then you're--you're not my grandfather?" he faltered. 

"Eh? Who? Your grandfather? Me? He, he, he!" He chuckled shrilly. "No, no! No such luck. If I was Cap'n Lote Snow, I'd be some older'n I be nowand a dum sight richer. Yes, yes. No, I'm Cap'n Lote's bookkeeper overat the lumber consarn. He's got a cold, and Olive--that's his wife--shesaid he shouldn't come out to-night. He said he should, and while theywas Katy-didin' back and forth about it, Rachel--Mrs. Ellis--she's thehired housekeeper there--she telephoned me to harness up and come meetyou up here to the depot. Er--er--little mite late, wan't I?"

"Why, yes, just a little. The other man, the one who drives the mailcart--I think that was what it was--said perhaps the horse was sick, orsomething like that. "

"No-o, no, that wan't it this time. I--er--All tucked in and warmenough, be you? Ye-es, yes, yes. No, I'm to blame, I shouldn't wonder. Istopped at the--at the store a minute and met one or two of the fellers, and that kind of held me up. All right now? Ye-es, yes, yes. G'long, gal. "

The buggy moved away from the platform. Its passenger, his chilly feetand legs tightly wrapped in the robes, drew a breath of relief betweenhis chattering teeth. He was actually going somewhere at last; whateverhappened, morning would not find him propped frozen stiff against thescarred and mangy clapboards of the South Harniss station. 

"Warm enough, be you?" inquired his driver cheerfully. 

"Yes, thank you. "

"That's good, that's good, that's good. Ye-es, yes, yes. Well--er--Frederick, how do you think you're goin' to like SouthHarniss?"

The answer was rather non-committal. The boy replied that he had notseen very much of it as yet. His companion seemed to find the statementhighly amusing. He chuckled and slapped his knee. 

"Ain't seen much of it, eh? No-o, no, no. I guess you ain't, guess youain't. He, he, he . . . Um . . . Let's see, what was I talkin' about?"

"Why, nothing in particular, I think, Mr. --Mr. --"

"Didn't I tell you my name? Sho, sho! That's funny. My name'sKeeler--Laban B. Keeler. That's my name and bookkeeper is my station. South Harniss is my dwellin' place--and I guess likely you'll have tosee the minister about the rest of it. He, he, he!"

His passenger, to whom the old schoolbook quatrain was entirely unknown, wondered what on earth the man was talking about. However, he smiledpolitely and sniffed with a dawning suspicion. It seemed to him therewas an unusual scent in the air, a spirituous scent, a--

"Have a peppermint lozenger, " suggested Mr. Keeler, with suddenenthusiasm. "Peppermint is good for what ails you, so they tell me. Ye-es, yes, yes. Have one. Have two, have a lot. "

He proceeded to have a lot himself, and the buggy was straightwayreflavored, so to speak. The boy, his suspicions by no means dispelled, leaned back in the corner behind the curtains and awaited developments. He was warmer, that was a real physical and consequently a slight mentalcomfort, but the feeling of lonesomeness was still acute. So far hisacquaintanceship with the citizens of South Harniss had not filled himwith enthusiasm. They were what he, in his former and very recent stateof existence, would have called "Rubes. " Were the grandparents whom hehad never met this sort of people? It seemed probable. What sort ofa place was this to which Fate had consigned him? The sense of utterhelplessness which had had him in its clutches since the day when hereceived the news of his father's death was as dreadfully real as ever. He had not been consulted at all. No one had asked him what he wished todo, or where he wished to go. The letter had come from these people, theCape Cod grandparents of whom, up to that time, he had never evenheard, and he had been shipped to them as though he were a piece ofmerchandise. And what was to become of him now, after he reached hisdestination? What would they expect him to do? Or be? How would he betreated?

In his extensive reading--he had been an omnivorous reader--there werenumerous examples of youths left, like him, to the care of distantrelatives, or step-parents, or utter strangers. Their experiences, generally speaking, had not been cheerful ones. Most of them had runaway. He might run away; but somehow the idea of running away, with nomoney, to face hardship and poverty and all the rest, did not make analluring appeal. He had been used to comfort and luxury ever since hecould remember, and his imagination, an unusually active one, visualizedmuch more keenly than the average the tribulations and struggles of arunaway. David Copperfield, he remembered, had run away, but he did itwhen a kid, not a man like himself. Nicholas Nickleby--no, Nicholas hadnot run away exactly, but his father had died and he had been left to anuncle. It would be dreadful if his grandfather should turn out to be aman like Ralph Nickleby. Yet Nicholas had gotten on well in spite of hiswicked relative. Yes, and how gloriously he had defied the oldrascal, too! He wondered if he would ever be called upon to defy hisgrandfather. He saw himself doing it--quietly, a perfect gentlemanalways, but with the noble determination of one performing adisagreeable duty. His chin lifted and his shoulders squared against theback of the buggy. 

Mr. Keeler, who had apparently forgotten his passenger altogether, brokeinto song, "She's my darlin' hanky-panky And she wears a number two, Her father keeps a barber shop Way out in Kalamazoo. "

He sang the foregoing twice over and then added a chorus, plainlyimprovised, made up of "Di doos" and "Di dums" ad lib. And the buggyrolled up and over the slope of a little hill and, in the face of ascreaming sea wind, descended a long, gentle slope to where, scatteredalong a two-mile water frontage, the lights of South Harniss twinkledsparsely. 

 "Did doo dum, dee dum, doo dum Di doo dum, doo dum dee. "

So sang Mr. Keeler. Then he broke off his solo as the little mare turnedin between a pair of high wooden posts bordering a drive, jogged alongthat drive for perhaps fifty feet, and stopped beside the stone stepof a white front door. Through the arched window above that door shonelamplight warm and yellow. 

"Whoa!" commanded Mr. Keeler, most unnecessarily. Then, as if himself abit uncertain as to his exact whereabouts, he peered out at the door andthe house of which it was a part, afterward settling back to announcetriumphantly: "And here we be! Yes, sir, here we be!"

Then the door opened. A flood of lamplight poured upon the buggy and itsoccupants. And the boy saw two people standing in the doorway, a man anda woman. 

It was the woman who spoke first. It was she who had opened the door. The man was standing behind her looking over her shoulder--over her headreally, for he was tall and broad and she short and slender. 

"Is it--?" she faltered. 

Mr. Keeler answered. "Yes, ma'am, " he declared emphatically, "that's who'tis. Here we be--er--er--what's-your-name--Edward. Jump right out. "

His passenger alighted from the buggy. The woman bent forward to look athim, her hands clasped. 

"It--it's Albert, isn't it?" she asked. 

The boy nodded. "Yes, " he said. 

The hands unclasped and she held them out toward him. "Oh, Albert, " shecried, "I'm your grandmother. I--"

The man interrupted. "Wait till we get him inside, Olive, " he said. "Come in, son. " Then, addressing the driver, he ordered: "Labe, take thehorse and team out to the barn and unharness for me, will you?"

"Ye-es, yes, yes, " replied Mr. Keeler. "Yes indeed, Cap'n. Take herright along--right off. Yes indeedy. Git dap!"

He drove off toward the end of the yard, where a large building, presumably a barn, loomed black against the dark sky. He sang ashe drove and the big man on the step looked after him and sniffedsuspiciously. 

Meanwhile the boy had followed the little woman into the house througha small front hall, from which a narrow flight of stairs shot aloft withalmost unbelievable steepness, and into a large room. Albert had aswift impression of big windows full of plants, of pictures of ships andschooners on the walls, of a table set for four. 

"Take your things right off, " cried his grandmother. "Here, I'll take'em. There! now turn 'round and let me look at you. Don't move till Iget a good look. "

He stood perfectly still while she inspected him from head to foot. 

"You've got her mouth, " she said slowly. "Yes, you've got her mouth. Herhair and eyes were brown and yours are black, but--but I THINK you looklike her. Oh, I did so want you to! May I kiss you, Albert? I'm yourgrandmother, you know. "

With embarrassed shyness he leaned forward while she put her arms abouthis neck and kissed him on the cheek. As he straightened again hebecame aware that the big man had entered the room and was regarding himintently beneath a pair of shaggy gray eyebrows. Mrs. Snow turned. 

"Oh, Zelotes, " she cried, "he's got Janie's mouth, don't you think so?And he DOES look like her, doesn't he?"

Her husband shook his head. "Maybe so, Mother, " he said, with a halfsmile. "I ain't a great hand for locatin' who folks look like. How areyou, boy? Glad to see you. I'm your grandfather, you know. "

They shook hands, while each inspected and made a mental estimate of theother. Albert saw a square, bearded jaw, a firm mouth, gray eyes withmany wrinkles at the corners, and a shock of thick gray hair. The eyeshad a way of looking straight at you, through you, as if reading yourthoughts, divining your motives and making a general appraisal of youand them. 

Captain Zelotes Snow, for his part, saw a tall young fellow, slim andstraight, with black curly hair, large black eyes and regular features. A good-looking boy, a handsome boy--almost too handsome, perhaps, orwith just a touch of the effeminate in the good looks. The captain'sglance took in the well-fitting suit of clothes, the expensive tie, thegold watch chain. 

"Humph!" grunted Captain Zelotes. "Well, your grandma and I are gladto have you with us. Let me see, Albert--that's your right name, ain'tit--Albert?"

Something in his grandfather's looks or tone aroused a curious feelingin the youth. It was not a feeling of antagonism, exactly, but more ofdefiance, of obstinacy. He felt as if this big man, regarding him sokeenly from under the heavy brows, was looking for faults, was expectingto find something wrong, might almost be disappointed if he did not findit. He met the gaze for a moment, the color rising to his cheeks. 

"My name, " he said deliberately, "is Alberto Miguel Carlos Speranza. "

Mrs. Snow uttered a little exclamation. "Oh!" she ejaculated. And thenadded: "Why--why, I thought--we--we understood 'twas 'Albert. ' We didn'tknow there was--we didn't know there was any more to it. What did yousay it was?"

Her grandson squared his shoulders. "Alberto Miguel Carlos Speranza, "he repeated. "My father"--there was pride in his voice now--"my father'sname was Miguel Carlos. Of course you knew that. "

He spoke as if all creation must have known it. Mrs. Snow lookedhelplessly at her husband. Captain Zelotes rubbed his chin. 

"We--ll, " he drawled dryly, "I guess likely we'll get along with'Albert' for a spell. I cal'late 'twill come more handy to us Capefolks. We're kind of plain and everyday 'round here. Sapper's ready, ain't it, Mother? Al must be hungry. I'm plaguey sure _I_ am. "

"But, Zelotes, maybe he'd like to go up to his bedroom first. He's beenridin' a long ways in the cars and maybe he'd like to wash up or changehis clothes?"

"Change his clothes! Lord sakes, Olive, what would he want to change hisclothes this time of night for? You don't want to change your clothes, do you, boy?"

"No, sir, I guess not. "

"Sartin sure you don't. Want to wash? There's a basin and soap and towelright out there in the kitchen. "

He pointed to the kitchen door. At that moment the door was partiallyopened and a brisk feminine voice from behind it inquired: "How abouteatin'? Are you all ready in there?"

It was Captain Snow who answered. 

"You bet we are, Rachel!" he declared. "All ready and then some. Trother out. Sit down, Mother. Sit down, Al. Now then, Rachel, all aboard. "

Rachel, it appeared, was the owner of the brisk feminine voice justmentioned. She was brisk herself, as to age about forty, plump, rosy andvery business-like. She whisked the platter of fried mackerel and thedishes of baked potatoes, stewed corn, hot biscuits and all the rest, to the table is no time, and then, to Albert's astonishment, sat down atthat table herself. Mrs. Snow did the honors. 

"Albert, " she said, "this is Mrs. Ellis, who helps me keep house. Rachel, this is my grandson, Albert--er--Speranza. "

She pronounced the surname in a tone almost apologetic. Mrs. Ellis didnot attempt to pronounce it. She extended a plump hand and observed: "Isthat so? Real glad to know you, Albert. How do you think you're goin' tolike South Harniss?"

Considering that his acquaintance with the village had been so decidedlylimited, Albert was somewhat puzzled how to reply. His grandfather savedhim the trouble. 

"Lord sakes, Rachel, " he declared, "he ain't seen more'n three squarefoot of it yet. It's darker'n the inside of a nigger's undershirtoutdoors to-night. Well, Al--Albert, I mean, how are you on mackerel?Pretty good stowage room below decks? About so much, eh?"

Mrs. Snow interrupted. 

"Zelotes, " she said reprovingly, "ain't you forgettin' somethin'?"

"Eh? Forgettin'? Heavens to Betsy, so I am! Lord, we thank thee forthese and all other gifts, Amen. What did I do with the fork; swallowit?"

As long as he lives Albert Speranza will not forget that first meal inthe home of his grandparents. It was so strange, so different fromany other meal he had ever eaten. The food was good and there was anabundance of it, but the surroundings were so queer. Instead of thewell-ordered and sedate school meal, here all the eatables from fishto pie were put upon the table at the same time and the servant--orhousekeeper, which to his mind were one and the same--sat down, notonly to eat with the family, but to take at least an equal part in theconversation. And the conversation itself was so different. Beginningwith questions concerning his own journey from the New York town wherethe school was located, it at length reached South Harniss and therecentered about the diminutive person of Laban Keeler, his loquacious andtuneful rescuer from the platform of the railway station. 

"Where are your things, Albert?" asked Mrs. Snow. "Your trunk ortravelin' bag, or whatever you had, I mean?"

"My trunks are coming by express, " began the boy. Captain Zelotesinterrupted him. 

"Your trunks?" he repeated. "Got more'n one, have you?"

"Why--why, yes, there are three. Mr. Holden--he is the headmaster, youknow--"

"Eh? Headmaster? Oh, you mean the boss teacher up there at the school?Yes, yes. Um-hm. "

"Yes, sir. Mr. Holden says the trunks should get here in a few days. "

Mrs. Ellis, the housekeeper, made the next remark. "Did I understand youto say you had THREE trunks?" she demanded. 

"Why, yes. "

"Three trunks for one boy! For mercy sakes, what have you got in 'em?"

"Why--why, my things. My clothes and--and--everything. "

"Everything, or just about, I should say. Goodness gracious me, whenI go up to Boston I have all I can do to fill up one trunk. And I'mbigger'n you are--bigger 'round, anyway. "

There was no doubt about that. Captain Zelotes laughed shortly. 

"That statement ain't what I'd call exaggerated, Rachel, " he declared. "Every time I see you and Laban out walkin' together he has to keep onthe sunny side or be in a total eclipse. And, by the way, speakin'of Laban--Say, son, how did you and he get along comin' down from thedepot?"

"All right. It was pretty dark. "

"I'll bet you! Laban wasn't very talkative, was he?"

"Why, yes, sir, he talked a good deal but he sang most of the time. "

This simple statement appeared to cause a most surprising sensation. TheSnows and their housekeeper looked at each other. Captain Zelotes leanedback in his chair and whistled. 

"Whew!" he observed. "Hum! Sho! Thunderation!"

"Oh, dear!" exclaimed his wife. 

Mrs. Ellis, the housekeeper, drew a long breath. "I might have expectedit, " she said tartly. "It's past time. He's pretty nigh a month overdue, as 'tis. "

Captain Snow rose to his feet. "I was kind of suspicious when he startedfor the barn, " he declared. "Seemed to me he was singin' then. WHAT didhe sing, boy?" he asked, turning suddenly upon his grandson. 

"Why--why, I don't know. I didn't notice particularly. You see, it waspretty cold and--"

Mrs. Ellis interrupted. "Did he sing anything about somebody's bein' hisdarlin' hanky-panky and wearin' a number two?" she demanded sharply. 

"Why--why, yes, he did. "

Apparently that settled it. Mrs. Snow said, "Oh, dear!" again and thehousekeeper also rose from the table. 

"You'd better go right out to the barn this minute, Cap'n Lote, " shesaid, "and I guess likely I'd better go with you. "

The captain already had his cap on his head. 

"No, Rachel, " he said, "I don't need you. Cal'late I can take careof 'most anything that's liable to have happened. If he ain't put thebridle to bed in the stall and hung the mare up on the harness pegs Ijudge I can handle the job. Wonder how fur along he'd got. Didn't hearhim singin' anything about 'Hyannis on the Cape, ' did you, boy?"

"No. "

"That's some comfort. Now, don't you worry, Mother. I'll be back in afew minutes. "

Mrs. Snow clasped her hands. "Oh, I HOPE he hasn't set the barn afire, "she wailed. 

"No danger of that, I guess. No, Rachel, you 'tend to your supper. Idon't need you. "

He tramped out into the hall and the door closed behind him. Mrs. Snowturned apologetically to her puzzled grandson, who was entirely at aloss to know what the trouble was about. 

"You see, Albert, " she hesitatingly explained, "Laban--Mr. Keeler--theman who drove you down from the depot--he--he's an awful nice man andyour grandfather thinks the world and all of him, but--but every once ina while he--Oh, dear, I don't know how to say it to you, but--"

Evidently Mrs. Ellis knew how to say it, for she broke into theconversation and said it then and there. 

"Every once in a while he gets tipsy, " she snapped. "And I only wish Ihad my fingers this minute in the hair of the scamp that gave him theliquor. "

A light broke upon Albert's mind. "Oh! Oh, yes!" he exclaimed. "Ithought he acted a little queer, and once I thought I smelt--Oh, thatwas why he was eating the peppermints!"

Mrs. Snow nodded. There was a moment of silence. Suddenly thehousekeeper, who had resumed her seat in compliance with CaptainZelotes' order, slammed back her chair and stood up. 

"I've hated the smell of peppermint for twenty-two year, " she declared, and went out into the kitchen. Albert, looking after her, felt hisgrandmother's touch upon his sleeve. 

"I wouldn't say any more about it before her, " she whispered. "She'sawful sensitive. "

Why in the world the housekeeper should be particularly sensitivebecause the man who had driven him from the station ate peppermint wasquite beyond the boy's comprehension. Nor could he thoroughly understandwhy the suspicion of Mr. Keeler's slight inebriety should cause such asensation in the Snow household. He was inclined to think the tipsinessrather funny. Of course alcohol was lectured against often enoughat school and on one occasion a member of the senior class--atwenty-year-old "hold-over" who should have graduated the fallbefore--had been expelled for having beer in his room; but during hislong summer vacations, spent precariously at hotels or in short visitsto his father's friends, young Speranza had learned to be tolerant. Tolerance was a necessary virtue in the circle surrounding SperanzaSenior, in his later years. The popping of corks at all hours of thenight and bottles full, half full or empty, were sounds and sights towhich Albert had been well accustomed. When one has more than once seenhis own father overcome by conviviality and the affair treated as a hugejoke, one is not inclined to be too censorious when others slip. Whatif the queer old Keeler guy was tight? Was that anything to raise such arow about?

Plainly, he decided, this was a strange place, this household of hisgrandparents. His premonition that they might be "Rubes" seemedlikely to have been well founded. What would his father--his great, world-famous father--have thought of them? "Bah! these Yankeebourgeoisie!" He could almost hear him say it. Miguel Carlos Speranzadetested--in private--the Yankee bourgeoisie. He took their money andhe married one of their daughters, but he detested them. During his lastyears, when the money had not flowed his way as copiously, the detestgrew. 

"You won't say anything about Laban before Mrs. Ellis, will you, Albert?" persisted Mrs. Snow. "She's dreadful sensitive. I'll explain byand by. "

He promised, repressing a condescending smile. 

Both the housekeeper and Captain Snow returned in a few minutes. Thelatter reported that the mare was safe and sound in her stall. 

"The harness was mostly on the floor, but Jess was all right, thank theLord, " observed the captain. 

"Jess is our horse's name, Albert, " explained Mrs. Snow. "That is, hername's Jessamine, but Zelotes can't ever seem to say the whole of anyname. When we first bought Jessamine I named her Magnolia, but hecalled her 'Mag' all the time and I COULDN'T stand that. Have some morepreserves, Albert, do. "

All through the meal Albert was uneasily conscious that his grandfatherwas looking at him from under the shaggy brows, measuring him, estimating him, reading him through and through. He resented thescrutiny and the twinkle of sardonic humor which, it seemed to him, accompanied it. His way of handling his knife and fork, his clothes, histie, his manner of eating and drinking and speaking, all these CaptainZelotes seemed to note and appraise. But whatever the results of hisscrutiny and appraisal might be he kept them entirely to himself. Whenhe addressed his grandson directly, which was not often, his remarkswere trivial commonplaces and, although pleasant enough, were terse andto the point. 

Several times Mrs. Snow would have questioned Albert concerning the lifeat school, but each time her husband interfered. 

"Not now, not now, Mother, " he said. "The boy ain't goin' to run awayto-night. He'll be here to-morrow and a good many to-morrows, if"--and here again Albert seemed to detect the slight sarcasm andthe twinkle--"if we old-fashioned 'down easters' ain't too common andevery-day for a high-toned young chap like him to put up with. No, no, don't make him talk to-night. Can't you see he's so sleepy that it'sonly the exercise of openin' his mouth to eat that keeps his eyes fromshuttin'? How about that, son?"

It was perfectly true. The long train ride, the excitement, the coldwait on the station platform and the subsequent warmth of the room, thehearty meal, all these combined to make for sleepiness so overpoweringthat several times the boy had caught his nose descending toward hisplate in a most inelegant nod. But it hurt his pride to think hisgrandfather had noticed his condition. 

"Oh, I'm all right, " he said, with dignity. 

Somehow the dignity seemed to have little effect upon Captain Zelotes. 

"Um--yes, I know, " observed the latter dryly, "but I guess likely you'llbe more all right in bed. Mother, you'll show Albert where to turn in, won't you? There's your suitcase out there in the hall, son. I fetchedit in from the barn just now. "

Mrs. Snow ventured a protest. 

"Oh, Zelotes, " she cried, "ain't we goin' to talk with him at ALL? Why, there is so much to say!"

"'Twill say just as well to-morrow mornin', Mother; better, becausewe'll have all day to say it in. Get the lamp. "

Albert looked at his watch. 

"Why, it's only half-past nine, " he said. 

Captain Zelotes, who also had been looking at the watch, which was avery fine and very expensive one, smiled slightly. "Half-past nine somenights, " he said, "is equal to half-past twelve others. This is one ofthe some. There, there, son, you're so sleepy this minute that you'vegot a list to starboard. When you and I have that talk that's comin'to us we want to be shipshape and on an even keel. Rachel, light thatlamp. "

The housekeeper brought in and lighted a small hand lamp. Mrs. Snowtook it and led the way to the hall and the narrow, breakneck flight ofstairs. Captain Zelotes laid a hand on his grandson's shoulder. 

"Good-night, son, " he said quietly. 

Albert looked into the gray eyes. Their expression was not unkindly, but there was, or he imagined there was, the same quizzical, sardonictwinkle. He resented that twinkle more than ever; it made him feel veryyoung indeed, and correspondingly obstinate. Something of that obstinacyshowed in his own eyes as he returned his grandfather's look. 

"Good-night--sir, " he said, and for the life of him he could not resisthesitating before adding the "sir. " As he climbed the steep stairshe fancied he heard a short sniff or chuckle--he was not certainwhich--from the big man in the dining-room. 

His bedroom was a good-sized room; that is, it would have been of goodsize if the person who designed it had known what the term "square"meant. Apparently he did not, and had built the apartment on thehit-or-miss, higglety-pigglety pattern, with unexpected alcoves cut intothe walls and closets and chimneys built out from them. There werethree windows, a big bed, an old-fashioned bureau, a chest of drawers, awashstand, and several old-fashioned chairs. Mrs. Snow put the lamp uponthe bureau. She watched him anxiously as he looked about the room. 

"Do--do you like it?" she asked. 

Albert replied that he guessed he did. Perhaps there was not too muchcertainty in his tone. He had never before seen a room like it. 

"Oh, I hope you will like it! It was your mother's room, Albert. Sheslept here from the time she was seven until--until she went away. "

The boy looked about him with a new interest, an odd thrill. Hismother's room. His mother. He could just remember her, but that was all. The memories were childish and unsatisfactory, but they were memories. And she had slept there; this had been her room when she was a girl, before she married, before--long before such a person as Alberto MiguelCarlos Speranza had been even dreamed of. That was strange, it was queerto think about. Long before he was born, when she was years younger thanhe as he stood there now, she had stood there, had looked from thosewindows, had--

His grandmother threw her arms about his neck and kissed him. Her cheekwas wet. 

"Good-night, Albert, " she said chokingly, and hurried out of the room. 

He undressed quickly, for the room was very cold. He opened the window, after a desperate struggle, and climbed into bed. The wind, whistlingin, obligingly blew out the lamp for him. It shrieked and howled aboutthe eaves and the old house squeaked and groaned. Albert pulled thecomforter up about his neck and concentrated upon the business of goingto sleep. He, who could scarcely remember when he had had a real home, was desperately homesick. 

Downstairs in the dining-room Captain Zelotes stood, his hands in hispockets, looking through the mica panes of the stove door at the firewithin. His wife came up behind him and laid a hand on his sleeve. 

"What are you thinkin' about, Father?" she asked. 

Her husband shook his head. "I was wonderin', " he said, "what mygranddad, the original Cap'n Lote Snow that built this house, would havesaid if he'd known that he'd have a great-great-grandson come to live init who was, " scornfully, "a half-breed. "

Olive's grip tightened on his arm. 

"Oh, DON'T talk so, Zelotes, " she begged. "He's our Janie's boy. "

The captain opened the stove door, regarded the red-hot coals for aninstant, and then slammed the door shut again. 

"I know, Mother, " he said grimly. "It's for the sake of Janie's halfthat I'm takin' in the other. "

"But--but, Zelotes, don't you think he seems like a nice boy?"

The twinkle reappeared in Captain Lote's eyes. 

"I think HE thinks he's a nice boy, Mother, " he said. "There, there, let's go to bed. "

CHAPTER II

The story of the events which led up to the coming, on this Decembernight, of a "half-breed" grandson to the Snow homestead, was an oldstory in South Harniss. The date of its beginning was as far back as theyear 1892. 

In the fall of that year Captain Zelotes Snow was in Savannah. He was incommand of the coasting schooner Olive S. And the said schooner was thendischarging a general cargo, preparatory to loading with rice and cottonfor Philadelphia. With the captain in Savannah was his only daughter, Jane Olivia, age a scant eighteen, pretty, charming, romantic andhead over heels in love with a handsome baritone then singing in apopular-priced grand opera company. It was because of this handsomebaritone, who, by the way, was a Spaniard named Miguel Carlos Speranza, that Jane Snow was then aboard her father's vessel. Captain Lote was notin the habit of taking his women-folks on his voyages with him. "Skirtsclutter up the deck too much, " was his opinion. 

He had taken Jane, however, not only on this voyage, but on thatpreceding 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 awayrecollections of Senor Speranza--"fan the garlic out of her head, " asthe captain inelegantly expressed it. Jane had spent her sixteenth andseventeenth years at a school for girls near Boston. The opera companyof which Speranza was a member was performing at one of theminor theaters. A party of the school girls, duly chaperoned andfaculty-guarded, of course, attended a series of matinees. At thesematinees Jane first saw her hero, brave in doublet and hose, and braverstill in melody and romance. She and her mates looked and listenedand worshiped from afar, as is the habit of maidenly youth under suchcircumstances. There is no particular danger in such worship providedthe 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 afriend of her father's, the friend being a Boston merchant named Colewith whom Captain Zelotes had had business dealings for many years, wasa music lover. She was in the habit of giving what she was pleased tocall "musical teas" at her home. Jane, to whom Mr. And Mrs. Cole hadtaken a marked fancy, was often invited to those teas and, because theColes were "among our nicest people, " she was permitted by the schoolauthorities to attend. 

At one of those teas Senor Miguel Carlos Speranza was the brighteststar. The Senor, then in his twenty-ninth year, handsome, talented andpicturesque, shone refulgent. Other and far more experienced femininehearts than Jane Snow's were flutteringly disturbed by the glory ofhis rays. Jane and he met, they shook hands, they conversed. And atsubsequent teas they met again, for Speranza, on his part, was stronglyattracted to the simple, unaffected Cape Cod schoolgirl. It was nother beauty alone--though beauty she had and of an unusual type--itwas something else, a personality which attracted all who met her. The handsome Spaniard had had many love affairs of a more or lessperfunctory kind, but here was something different, something he hadnot 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 madlyfascinated. He wrote fervid letters, he begged for interviews, hehaunted each one of Mrs. Cole's "teas. " And, at last, he wrung from Janea confession of her love, her promise to marry him. And that very weekMiss Donaldson, the head of the school, discovered and read a package ofthe Senor's letters to her pupil. 

Captain Zelotes happened to be at home from a voyage. Being summonedfrom South Harniss, he came to Boston and heard the tale from MissDonaldson's agitated lips. Jane was his joy, his pride; her future wasthe great hope and dream of his life. WHEN she married--which was notto be thought of for an indefinite number of years to come--she would ofcourse marry a--well, not a President of the United States, perhaps--butan admiral possibly, or a millionaire, or the owner of a fleet ofsteamships, or something like that. The idea that she should eventhink of marrying a play-actor was unbelievable. The captain had neverattended the performance of an opera; what was more, he never expectedto attend one. He had been given to understand that a "parcel ofplay-actin' men and women hollered and screamed to music for a coupleof hours. " Olive, his wife, had attended an opera once and, accordingto her, it was more like a cat fight than anything else. Nobody butforeigners ever had anything to do with operas. And for foreigners ofall kinds--but the Latin variety of foreigner in particular--CaptainZelotes Snow cherished a detest which was almost fanatic. 

And now his daughter, his own Janie, was receiving ardent loveletters from a play-acting foreigner, a Spaniard, a "Portygee, " a"macaroni-eater"! When finally convinced that it was true, that theletters had really been written to Jane, which took some time, hedemanded first of all to be shown the "Portygee. " Miss Donaldson couldnot, of course, produce the latter forthwith, but she directed her iratevisitor to the theater where the opera company was then performing. Tothe theater Captain Zelotes went. He did not find Speranza there, butfrom a frightened attendant he browbeat the information that the singerwas staying at a certain hotel. So the captain went to the hotel. It waseleven o'clock in the morning, Senor Speranza was in bed and could notbe disturbed. Couldn't, eh? By the great and everlasting et cetera andcontinued he was going to be disturbed then and there. And unless someof the hotel's "hired help" set about the disturbing it would be donefor them. So, rather than summon the police, the hotel managementsummoned its guest, and the first, and only, interview between thefather and lover of Jane Snow took place. 

It was not a long interview, but it was spirited. Captain Zelotes beganby being what he considered diplomatic. Having assured his wife beforeleaving home, and the alarmed Miss Donaldson subsequently, that therewas to be no trouble whatever--everything would be settled as smoothand easy as slidin' downhill; "that feller won't make any fuss, you'llsee"--having thus prophesied, the captain felt it incumbent upon himselfto see to the fulfillment. So he began by condescendingly explainingthat of course he was kind of sorry for the young man before him, youngfolks were young folks and of course he presumed likely 'twas naturalenough, and the like of that, you understand. But of course also Mr. Speranza must realize that the thing could not go on any further. Janewas his daughter and her people were nice people, and naturally, thatbeing the case, her mother and he would be pretty particular as to whoshe kept company with, to say nothing of marrying, which event wasnot to be thought of for ten years, anyway. Now he didn't want tobe--er--personal or anything like that, and of course he wouldn't thinkof 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 theperson speaking was endeavoring to convey the idea that he, MiguelCarlos Speranza, was not of sufficient poseetion, goodness, standing, what it is? to be considered as suitor for that person's daughter'shand. Did Meester Snow comprehend to whom he addressed himself?

The interview terminated not long after. The captain's parting remarkwas in the nature of an ultimatum. It was to the effect that ifSperanza, or any other condemned undesirable like him, dared to somuch as look in the direction of Jane Olivia Snow, his daughter, hepersonally would see that the return for that look was a charge ofbuckshot. Speranza, white-faced and furiously gesticulative, commandedthe astonished bellboy to put that "Bah! pig-idiot!" out into the halland air the room immediately afterward. 

Having, as he considered, satisfactorily attended to the presumptuouslover, Captain Zelotes returned to the school and to what he believedwould be the comparatively easy task, the bringing of his daughter toreason. Jane had always been an obedient girl, she was devoted to herparents. Of course, although she might feel rather disappointed atfirst, she would soon get over it. The idea that she might flatlyrefuse to get over it, that she might have a will of her own, and adetermination 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 orbecome hysterical, she did not even weep in his presence. But, quietly, with a set of her square little chin, she informed Captain Zelotes thatshe loved Speranza, that she meant to marry him and that she shouldmarry him, some day or other. The captain raged, commanded, pleaded, begged. What was the matter with her? What had come over her? Didn't shelove her father and mother any more that she should set out to act thisway? Yes, she declared that she loved them as much as ever, but thatshe loved her lover more than all the world, and no one--not even herparents--should separate them. 

Captain Zelotes gave it up at last. That is, he gave up the appeal toreason and the pleadings. But he did not give up the idea of having hisown way in the matter; being Zelotes Snow, he certainly did not givethat 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 wasabout to start on a voyage to Rio Janeiro; he would take his wife anddaughter with him. Under their immediate observation and far removedfrom the influence of "that Portygee, " Jane would be in no danger andmight forget. 

Jane made no remonstrance. She went to Rio and returned. She was alwayscalm, outwardly pleasant and quiet, never mentioned her lover unless inanswer to a question; but she never once varied from her determinationnot to give him up. The Snows remained at home for a month. ThenZelotes, Jane accompanying him, sailed from Boston to Savannah. Olivedid not go with them; she hated the sea and by this time both she andher husband were somewhat reassured. So far as they could learn bywatchful observation of their daughter, the latter had not communicatedwith Speranza nor received communications from him. If she had notforgotten him it seemed likely that he had forgotten her. The thoughtmade 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 shebegan to seem almost cheerful, to speak, and even laugh occasionallyjust 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'sobservation, to leave the schooner and to disappear completely. Andthat night came a letter. She and Miguel Carlos Speranza had beenin correspondence all the time, how or through whose connivance is amystery never disclosed. He had come to Savannah, in accordance withmutual arrangement; they had met, were married, and had gone awaytogether. 

"I love you, Father, " Jane wrote in the letter. "I love you and Motherso very, VERY much. Oh, PLEASE believe that! But I love him, too. And Icould not give him up. You will see why when you know him, really knowhim. If it were not for you I should be SO happy. I know you can'tforgive 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, wasactually frightened when he saw the look on the skipper's face. "He wentwhite, " said the mate; "not pale, but white, same as a dead man, or--orthe underside of a flatfish, or somethin'. 'For the Lord sakes, Cap'n, 'says I, 'what's the matter?' He never answered me, stood starin' atthe letter. Then he looked up, not at me, but as if somebody else wasstandin' there on t'other side of the cabin table. 'Forgive him!' hesays, kind of slow and under his breath. 'I won't forgive his black soulin hell. ' When I heard him say it I give you my word my hair riz undermy 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 thematter he didn't answer any more than he had the first time. A fewminutes afterwards he went into his stateroom and shut the door. Ididn't see him again until the next mornin'. "

Captain Zelotes made no attempt to follow the runaway couple. He didtake pains to ascertain that they were legally married, but thatwas all. He left his schooner in charge of the mate at Savannah andjourneyed north to South Harniss and his wife. A week he remained athome with her, then returned to the Olive S. And took up his command andits duties as if nothing had happened. But what had happened changed hiswhole life. He became more taciturn, a trifle less charitable, a littleharder and more worldly. Before the catastrophe he had been interestedin business success and the making of money chiefly because of his plansfor his daughter's future. Now he worked even harder because it helpedhim to forget. He became sole owner of the Olive S. , then of otherschooners. 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 ofher second child, who died with her. Her first, a boy, was born a yearafter the elopement. She wrote her mother to tell that news and Oliveanswered the letter. She begged permission of her husband to invite Janeand 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 hadso far relented as to give reluctant consent for Jane and the child tocome, provided her condemned husband did not accompany them. "If thatlow-lived Portygee sets foot on my premises, so help me God, I'llkill him!" declared the captain. In his vernacular all foreigners were"Portygees. "

But Jane was as proud and stubborn as he. Where her husband was notwelcome she would not go. And a little later she had gone on the longestof all journeys. Speranza did not notify her parents except to send aclipped newspaper account of her death and burial, which arrived a weekafter the latter had taken place. The news prostrated Olive, who was illfor a month. Captain Zelotes bore it, as he had borne the other greatshock, with outward calm and quiet. Yet a year afterward he suddenlyannounced his determination of giving up the sea and his prosperous andgrowing shipping business and of spending the rest of his days on theCape. 

Olive was delighted, of course. Riches--that is, more than a comfortablecompetency--had no temptations for her. The old house, home of threegenerations 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 placeanything but that. At the end of that year he surprised every one bybuying from the heirs of the estate the business equipment of the lateEben Raymond, hardware dealer and lumber merchant of South Harniss, said equipment comprising an office, a store and lumber yards nearthe railway station. "Got to have somethin' to keep me from gettin'barnacled, " declared Captain Lote. "There's enough old hulks rottin' attheir moorin's down here as 'tis. I don't know anything about lumber andhalf as much about hardware, but I cal'late I can learn. " As an aid inthe learning process he retained as bookkeeper Laban Keeler, who hadacted in that capacity for the former proprietor. 

The years slipped away, a dozen of them, as smoothly and lazily as SouthHarniss years have always slipped. Captain Zelotes was past sixtynow, but as vigorous as when forty, stubborn as ever, fond of usingquarter-deck methods on shore and especially in town-meeting, andvery often in trouble in consequence. He was a member of the Board ofSelectmen and was in the habit of characterizing those whose opinionsdiffered from his as "narrow-minded. " They retorted by accusing him ofbeing "pig-headed. " There was some truth on both sides. His detest offoreigners had not abated in the least. 

And then, in this December of the year 1910, fell as from a clear skythe legacy of a grandson. From Senor Miguel Carlos Speranza the Snowshad had no direct word, had received nothing save the newspaper clippingalready mentioned. Olive had never seen him; her husband had seen himonly on the occasion of the memorable interview in the hotel room. Theynever spoke of him, never mentioned him to each other. Occasionally, in the Boston newspapers, his likeness in costume had appeared amid themusic notes or theatrical jottings. But these had not been as numerousof late. Of his son, their own daughter's child, they knew nothing;he might be alive or he might be dead. Sometimes Olive found herselfspeculating concerning him, wondering if he was alive, and if heresembled Jane. But she put the speculation from her thoughts; shecould not bear to bring back memories of the old hopes and their bitterending. Sometimes Captain Lote at his desk in the office of "Z. Snow& Co. , Lumber and Builders' Hardware, " caught himself dreaming of hisidolized daughter and thinking how different the future might have beenfor him had she married a "white man, " the kind of man he had meant forher to marry. There might be grandchildren growing up now, fine boysand 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' ameetin'-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 grantedthe fact that the recipient knew all about matters of which he knewnothing. Speranza was dead, so much was plain, and the inference wasthat he had been fatally injured in an automobile accident, "particularsof which you have of course read in the papers. " Neither Captain Lotenor his wife had read anything of the kind in the papers. The captainhad been very busy of late and had read little except political news, and Mrs. Snow never read of murders and accidents, their details atleast. She looked up from the letter, which her husband had hastenedhome 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 ofit is what I can't get a hand-hold on. See what you make of the rest ofit, Olive. "

The rest of it was to the effect that the writer, being Mr. Speranza'sbusiness adviser, "that is to say, as much or more so than any oneelse, " had been called in at the time of the accident, had conferredwith the injured man, and had learned his last wishes. "He expressedhimself coherently concerning his son, " went on the letter, "and it isin regard to that son that I am asking an interview with you. I shouldhave written sooner, but have been engaged with matters pertaining toMr. Speranza's estate and personal debts. The latter seem to be large--"

"I'LL bet you!" observed Captain Zelotes, sententiously, interruptinghis 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. Idon'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 scarcelywarrant the expense of his remaining there. Could you make it convenientto come to New York and see me at once? Or, if not, I shall be inBoston on Friday of next week and can you meet me there? It seems almostimpossible for me to come to you just now, and, of course, you willunderstand that I am acting as a sort of temporary executor merelybecause Mr. Speranza was formerly my friend and not because I have anypecuniary 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 wantto see you, Zelotes? And the boy--why--why, that's HER boy. It's Janie'sboy 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 'twouldhave been better for all hands, " he growled. 

"Janie's boy!" repeated Olive slowly. "Why--why, he must be a big boynow. Almost grown up. "

Her husband did not speak. He was pacing the floor, his hands in hispockets. 

"And this man wants to see you about him, " said Olive. Then, after amoment, 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 aboutthe--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 wasworkin' 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 theAlmighty for it. Yes, I had you . . . But, " his anger returning, "whenI think how that damned scamp stole our girl from us and then neglectedher 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 gotthat he made her miserable. Look here, Mother, you and she used to writeback and forth once in a while. In any one of those letters did she eversay she was happy?"

Mrs. Snow's answer was somewhat equivocal. "She never said she wasunhappy, " she replied. Her husband sniffed and resumed his pacing up anddown. 

After a little Olive spoke again. 

"New York IS a good ways, " she said. "Maybe 'twould be better for you tomeet 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'tyou 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 toknow by this time that there's one thing I hate worse than doin' myduty, that's bein' preached to about it. Let up! Don't you say anotherword. "

She did not, having learned much by years of experience. He said thenext 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 thebedroom, 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 ifI can get that case time enough to pack it and make the train, " heobserved. "If you stand here askin' questions I probably shall stay tohome. "

The housekeeper made a hasty exit by way of the back stairs. Mrs. Snowstill 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--thatWeiss--Weiss--what-do-you-call-it--that Portygee lawyer--that I'll be tohis 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 waittill next week?"

"Why--why, what a question! My tooth ached and I wanted to have it fixedquick 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 ofthe hand, "don't you DARE say anything about DUTY!"

He was back again two days later. His wife did not question him, butwaited for him to speak. Those years of experience already mentioned hadtaught her diplomacy. He looked at her and pulled his beard. "Well, " heobserved, 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 theother scamp. He was killed in an auto accident, drunk at the time, Ical'late. Nigh's I can gather he's been drinkin' pretty heavy for thelast six or seven years. Always lived high, same as his kind generallydoes, and spent money like water, I judge--but goin' down hill fastlately. His voice was givin' out on him and he realized it, I presumelikely. Now he's dead and left nothin' but trunks full of stage clothesand photographs and, " contemptuously, "letters from fool women, anddebts--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 lawyerfeller said. That lawyer was a pretty decent chap, too, for a furriner. Seems he used to know this--Speranza rascal--when Speranza was youngerand more decent--if he ever was really decent, which I doubt. But thislawyer man was his friend then and about the only one he really had whenhe was hurt. There was plenty of make-believe friends hangin' on, likepilot-fish to a shark, for what they could get by spongin' on him, butreal 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 thefather first. This Weis--er--thingamajig--the lawyer, had quite a talkwith Speranza afore he died, or while he was dyin'; he only lived a fewhours after the accident and was out of his head part of that. Buthe said enough to let Weiss--er--er--Oh, why CAN'T I remember thatPortygee's name?--to let him know that he'd like to have him settle upwhat was left of his affairs, and to send word to us about--about theboy. 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 tous in his life. "

"You bet he didn't!" bitterly; "he knew better. Why did he want wordsent now? The answer to that's easy enough. 'Cause he wanted to getsomethin' out of us, that's the reason. From what that lawyer couldgather, and from what he's found out since, there ain't money enoughfor 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 thecount, there isn't a relation this side of the salt pond. There'sprobably a million or so over there in Portygee-land, " with a derisivesniff; "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 sentbecause he was in hopes that we--you and I, Mother--would take that sonof his in at our house here and give him a home. The cheek of it! Afterwhat 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 muchdisturbed as he at the thought of the Speranza presumption. She lookedanxious--yes, but she looked eager, too, and her gaze was fixed upon herhusband'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 itgood 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 ofmoisture, on her cheek. He stopped his pacing and laid a hand on hershoulder. 

"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' mequestions 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--aletter and I wrote the boss of the school another one. I sent a checkalong for expenses and--Well, he'll be here 'most any day now, Ishouldn'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 withexcitement. 

"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 havenamed him for--for you?"

"I don't know. "

"Of course, " with some hesitation, "it may be she didn't. If she'd namedhim 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 whenhe 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' toturn 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 nighruined your life and mine, Olive. What'll this one do? . . . Well, Godknows, I suppose likely, but He won't tell. All we can do is wait andsee. I tell you honest I ain't very hopeful. "

CHAPTER III

A brisk rap on the door; then a man's voice. 

"Hello, there! Wake up. "

Albert rolled over, opened one eye, then the other and raised himself onhis elbow. 

"Eh? Wh-what?" he stammered. 

"Seven o'clock! Time to turn out. "

The voice was his grandfather's. "Oh--oh, all right!" he answered. 

"Understand me, do you?"

"Yes--yes, sir. I'll be right down. "

The stairs creaked as Captain Zelotes descended them. Albert yawnedcavernously, stretched and slid one foot out of bed. He drew it backinstantly, however, for the sensation was that of having thrust it intoa bucket of cold water. The room had been cold the previous evening;plainly it was colder still now. The temptation was to turn back and goto sleep again, but he fought against it. Somehow he had a feeling thatto disregard his grandfather's summons would be poor diplomacy. 

He set his teeth and, tossing back the bed clothes, jumped to the floor. Then he jumped again, for the floor was like ice. The window was wideopen and he closed it, but there was no warm radiator to cuddle againstwhile dressing. He missed his compulsory morning shower, a miss whichdid not distress him greatly. He shook himself into his clothes, sousedhis head and neck in a basin of ice water poured from a pitcher, and, before brushing his hair, looked out of the window. 

It was a sharp winter morning. The wind had gone down, but beforesubsiding it had blown every trace of mist or haze from the air, andfrom his window-sill to the horizon every detail was clean cut anddistinct. He was looking out, it seemed, from the back of the house. Theroof of the kitchen extension was below him and, to the right, the highroof of the barn. Over the kitchen roof and to the left he saw littlerolling hills, valleys, cranberry swamps, a pond. A road wound inand out and, scattered along it, were houses, mostly white with greenblinds, but occasionally varied by the gray of unpainted, weatheredshingles. A long, low-spreading building a half mile off looked as ifit might be a summer hotel, now closed and shuttered. Beyond it was acluster of gray shanties and a gleam of water, evidently a wharf and aminiature harbor. And, beyond that, the deep, brilliant blue of the sea. Brown and blue were the prevailing colors, but, here and there, clumpsand groves of pines gave splashes of green. 

There was an exhilaration in the crisp air. He felt an unwontedliveliness and a desire to be active which would have surprised some ofhis teachers at the school he had just left. The depression of spiritsof which he had been conscious the previous night had disappearedalong with his premonitions of unpleasantness. He felt optimistic thismorning. After giving his curls a rake with the comb, he opened the doorand descended the steep stairs to the lower floor. 

His grandmother was setting the breakfast table. He was a littlesurprised to see her doing it. What was the use of having servants ifone did the work oneself? But perhaps the housekeeper was ill. 

"Good morning, " he said. 

Mrs. Snow, who had not heard him enter, turned and saw him. When hecrossed the room, she kissed him on the cheek. 

"Good morning, Albert, " she said. "I hope you slept well. "

Albert replied that he had slept very well indeed. He was a trifledisappointed that she made no comment on his promptness in answering hisgrandfather's summons. He felt such promptness deserved commendation. Atschool they rang two bells at ten minute intervals, thus giving a fellowa second chance. It had been a point of senior etiquette to acceptnothing but that second chance. Here, apparently, he was expected tojump at the first. There was a matter of course about his grandmother'sattitude which was disturbing. 

She went on setting the table, talking as she did so. 

"I'm real glad you did sleep, " she said. "Some folks can hardlyever sleep the first night in a strange room. Zelotes--I mean yourgrandpa--'s gone out to see to the horse and feed the hens and the pig. He'll be in pretty soon. Then we'll have breakfast. I suppose you'reawful hungry. "

As a matter of fact he was not very hungry. Breakfast was always amore or less perfunctory meal with him. But he was surprised to seethe variety of eatables upon that table. There were cookies there, anddoughnuts, and even half an apple pie. Pie for breakfast! It had been anewspaper joke at which he had laughed many times. But it seemed not tobe a joke here, rather a solemn reality. 

The kitchen door opened and Mrs. Ellis put in her head. To Albert'sastonishment the upper part of the head, beginning just above the brows, was swathed in a huge bandage. The lower part was a picture of hopelessmisery. 

"Has Cap'n Lote come in yet?" inquired the housekeeper, faintly. 

"Not yet, Rachel, " replied Mrs. Snow. "He'll be here in a minute, though. Albert's down, so you can begin takin' up the things. "

The head disappeared. A sigh of complete wretchedness drifted in as thedoor closed. Albert looked at his grandmother in alarm. 

"Is she sick?" he faltered. 

"Who? Rachel? No, she ain't exactly sick . . . Dear me! Where did I putthat clean napkin?"

The boy stared at the kitchen door. If his grandmother had said thehousekeeper was not exactly dead he might have understood. But to sayshe was not exactly sick--

"But--but what makes her look so?" he stammered. "And--and what's shegot that on her head for? And she groaned! Why, she MUST be sick!"

Mrs. Snow, having found the clean napkin, laid it beside her husband'splate. 

"No, " she said calmly. "It's one of her sympathetic attacks; that's whatshe calls 'em, sympathetic attacks. She has 'em every time LabanKeeler starts in on one of his periodics. It's nerves, I suppose. Cap'nZelotes--your grandfather--says it's everlastin' foolishness. Whatever'tis, it's a nuisance. And she's so sensible other times, too. "

Albert was more puzzled than ever. Why in the world Mrs. Ellis shouldtie up her head and groan because the little Keeler person had gone on aspree was beyond his comprehension. 

His grandmother enlightened him a trifle. 

"You see, " she went on, "she and Laban have been engaged to be marriedever since they were young folks. It's Laban's weakness for liquorthat's kept 'em apart so long. She won't marry him while he drinks andhe keeps swearin' off and then breaking down. He's a good man, too; anawful good man and capable as all get-out when he's sober. Lately thatis, for the last seven or eight years, beginnin' with the time when thatlecturer on mesmerism and telegraphy--no, telepathy--thought-transfersand such--was at the town hall--Rachel has been havin' these sympatheticattacks of hers. She declares that alcohol-takin' is a disease andthat Laban suffers when he's tipsy and that she and he are so bound uptogether that she suffers just the same as he does. I must say I nevernoticed him sufferin' very much, not at the beginnin, ' anyhow--actsmore as he was havin' a good time--but she seems to. I don't wonder yousmile, " she added. "'Tis funny, in a way, and it's queer that such apractical, common-sense woman as Rachel Ellis is, should have such anotion. It's hard on us, though. Don't say anything to her about it, anddon't laugh at her, whatever you do. "

Albert wanted to laugh very much. "But, Mrs. Snow--" he began. 

"Mercy sakes alive! You ain't goin' to call me 'Mrs. Snow, ' I hope. "

"No, of course not. But, Grandmother why do you and Captain--you andGrandfather keep her and Keeler if they are so much trouble? Why don'tyou let them go and get someone else?"

"Let 'em go? Get someone else! Why, we COULDN'T get anybody else, anyonewho would be like them. They're almost a part of our family; that is, Rachel is, she's been here since goodness knows when. And, when he'ssober Laban almost runs the lumber business. Besides, they're nicefolks--almost always. "

Plainly the ways of South Harniss were not the ways of the world he hadknown. Certainly these people were "Rubes" and queer Rubes, too. Then heremembered that two of them were his grandparents and that his immediatefuture was, so to speak, in their hands. The thought was not entirelycomforting or delightful. He was still pondering upon it when hisgrandfather came in from the barn. 

The captain said good morning in the same way he had said good night, that is, he and Albert shook hands and the boy was again conscious ofthe gaze which took him in from head to foot and of the quiet twinkle inthe gray eyes. 

"Sleep well, son?" inquired Captain Zelotes. 

"Yes . . . Yes, sir. "

"That's good. I judged you was makin' a pretty good try at it when Ithumped on your door this mornin'. Somethin' new for you to be turnedout at seven, eh?"

"No, sir. "

"Eh? It wasn't?"

"No, sir. The rising bell rang at seven up at school. We were supposedto be down at breakfast at a quarter past. "

"Humph! You were, eh? Supposed to be? Does that mean that you werethere?"

"Yes, sir. "

There was a surprised look in the gray eyes now, a fact which Albertnoticed with inward delight. He had taken one "rise" out of hisgrandfather, at any rate. He waited, hoping for another opportunity, butit did not come. Instead they sat down to breakfast. 

Breakfast, in spite of the morning sunshine at the windows, was somewhatgloomy. The homesickness, although not as acute as on the previousnight, was still in evidence. Albert felt lost, out of his element, lonely. And, to add a touch of real miserableness, the housekeeperserved and ate like a near relative of the deceased at a funeral feast. She moved slowly, she sighed heavily, and the bandage upon her foreheadloomed large and portentous. When spoken to she seldom replied beforethe third attempt. Captain Zelotes lost patience. 

"Have another egg?" he roared, brandishing the spoon containing it atarm's length and almost under her nose. "Egg! Egg! EGG! If you can'thear it, smell it. Only answer, for heaven sakes!"

The effect of this outburst was obviously not what he had hoped. Mrs. Ellis stared first at the egg quivering before her face, then at thecaptain. Then she rose and marched majestically to the kitchen. The doorclosed, but a heartrending sniff drifted in through the crack. Olivelaid down her knife and fork. 

"There!" she exclaimed, despairingly. "Now see what you've done. Oh, Zelotes, how many times have I told you you've got to treat her tactfulwhen she's this way?"

Captain Lote put the egg back in the bowl. 

"DAMN!" he observed, with intense enthusiasm. 

His wife shook her head. 

"Swearin' don't help it a mite, either, " she declared. "Besides Idon't know what Albert here must think of you. " Albert, who, betweenastonishment and a wild desire to laugh, was in a critical condition, appeared rather embarrassed. His grandfather looked at him and smiledgrimly. 

"I cal'late one damn won't scare him to death, " he observed. "Maybe he'sheard somethin' like it afore. Or do they say, 'Oh, sugar!' up at thatschool you come from?" he added. 

Albert, not knowing how to reply, looked more embarrassed than ever. Olive seemed on the point of weeping. 

"Oh, Zelotes, how CAN you!" she wailed. "And to-day, of all days! Hisvery first mornin'!"

Captain Lote relented. 

"There, there, Mother!" he said. "I'm sorry. Forget it. Sorry if Ishocked you, Albert. There's times when salt-water language is the onlything that seems to help me out . . . Well, Mother, what next? What'llwe do now?"

"You know just as well as I do, Zelotes. There's only one thing you cando. That's go out and beg her pardon this minute. There's a dozen placesshe could get right here in South Harniss without turnin' her hand over. And if she should leave I don't know WHAT I'd do. "

"Leave! She ain't goin' to leave any more'n than the ship's cat's goin'to jump overboard. She's been here so long she wouldn't know how toleave if she wanted to. "

"That don't make any difference. The pitcher that goes to thewell--er--er--"

She had evidently forgotten the rest of the proverb. Her husband helpedher out. 

"Flocks together or gathers no moss, or somethin', eh? All right, Mother, don't fret. There ain't really any occasion to, considerin'we've been through somethin' like this at least once every six monthsfor ten years. "

"Zelotes, won't you PLEASE go and ask her pardon?"

The captain pushed back his chair. "I'll be hanged if it ain't a healthynote, " he grumbled, "when the skipper has to go and apologize to thecook because the cook's made a fool of herself! I'd like to know whatkind of rum Labe drinks. I never saw any but his kind that would goto somebody else's head. Two people gettin' tight and only one of 'emdrinkin' is somethin'--"

He disappeared into the kitchen, still muttering. Mrs. Snow smiledfeebly at her grandson. 

"I guess you think we're funny folks, Albert, " she said. "But Rachel isone hired help in a thousand and she has to be treated just so. "

Five minutes later Cap'n 'Lote returned. He shrugged his shoulders andsat down at his place. 

"All right, Mother, all right, " he observed. "I've been heavin' ile onthe troubled waters and the sea's smoothin' down. She'll be kind andcondescendin' enough to eat with us in a minute or so. "

She was. She came into the dining-room with the air of a saint going tomartyrdom and the remainder of the meal was eaten by the quartet almostin silence. When it was over the captain said:

"Well, Al, feel like walkin', do you?"

"Why, why, yes, sir, I guess so. "

"Humph! You don't seem very wild at the prospect. Walkin' ain't much inyour line, maybe. More used to autoin', perhaps?"

Mrs. Snow put in a word. "Don't talk so, Zelotes, " she said. "He'llthink you're makin' fun of him. "

"Who? Me? Not a bit of it. Well, Al, do you want to walk down to thelumber yard with me?"

The boy hesitated. The quiet note of sarcasm in his grandfather's voicewas making him furiously angry once more, just as it had done on theprevious night. 

"Do you want me to?" he asked, shortly. 

"Why, yes, I cal'late I do. "

Albert, without another word, walked to the hat-rack in the hall andbegan putting on his coat. Captain Lote watched him for a moment andthen put on his own. 

"We'll be back to dinner, Mother, " he said. "Heave ahead, Al, if you'reready. "

There was little conversation between the pair during the half milewalk to the office and yards of "Z. Snow and Co. , Lumber and Builders'Hardware. " Only once did the captain offer a remark. That was just asthey came out by the big posts at the entrance to the driveway. Then hesaid:

"Al, I don't want you to get the idea from what happened at the tablejust now--that foolishness about Rachel Ellis--that your grandmotherain't a sensible woman. She is, and there's no better one on earth. Don't let that fact slip your mind. "

Albert, somewhat startled by the abruptness of the observation, lookedup in surprise. He found the gray eyes looking down at him. 

"I noticed you lookin' at her, " went on his grandfather, "as if you waskind of wonderin' whether to laugh at her or pity her. You needn'tdo either. She's kind-hearted and that makes her put up with Rachel'ssilliness. Then, besides, Rachel herself is common sense and practicalnine-tenths of the time. It's always a good idea, son, to sail onev'yage along with a person before you decide whether to class 'em as A. B. Or just roustabout. "

The blood rushed to the boy's face. He felt guilty and the feeling madehim angrier than ever. 

"I don't see why, " he burst out, indignantly, "you should say I waslaughing at--at Mrs. Snow--"

"At your grandmother. "

"Well--yes--at my grandmother. I don't see why you should say that. Iwasn't. "

"Wasn't you? Good! I'm glad of it. I wouldn't, anyhow. She's liable tobe about the best friend you'll have in this world. "

To Albert's mind flashed the addition: "Better than you, that means, "but he kept it to himself. 

The lumber yards were on a spur track not very far from the railwaystation where he had spent that miserable half hour the previousevening. The darkness then had prevented his seeing them. Not that hewould have been greatly interested if he had seen them, nor was hemore interested now, although his grandfather took him on a personallyconducted tour between the piles of spruce and pine and hemlock andpointed out which was which and added further details. "Those are two byfours, " he said. Or, "Those are larger joist, different sizes. " "This isgood, clear stock, as good a lot of white pine as we've got hold of fora long spell. " He gave particulars concerning the "handiest way to drivea team" to one or the other of the piles. Albert found it rather boring. He longed to speak concerning enormous lumber yards he had seen in NewYork or Chicago or elsewhere. He felt almost a pitying condescensiontoward this provincial grandparent who seemed to think his little pilesof "two by fours" so important. 

It was much the same, perhaps a little worse, when they entered thehardware shop and the office. The rows and rows of little drawers andboxes, each with samples of its contents--screws, or bolts, or hooks, or knobs--affixed to its front, were even more boring than the lumberpiles. There was a countryfied, middle-aged person in overalls sweepingout the shop and Captain Zelotes introduced him. 

"Albert, " he said, "this is Mr. Issachar Price, who works around theplace here. Issy, let me make you acquainted with my grandson, Albert. "

Mr. Price, looking over his spectacles, extended a horny hand andobserved: "Yus, yus. Pleased to meet you, Albert. I've heard tell ofyou. "

Albert's private appraisal of "Issy" was that the latter was anotherfunny Rube. Whatever Issy's estimate of his employer's grandson mighthave been, he, also, kept it to himself. 

Captain Zelotes looked about the shop and glanced into the office. 

"Humph!" he grunted. "No sign or symptoms of Laban this mornin', Ipresume likely?"

Issachar went on with his sweeping. 

"Nary one, " was his laconic reply. 

"Humph! Heard anything about him?"

Mr. Price moistened his broom in a bucket of water. "I see Tim Kelleyon my way down street, " he said. "Tim said he run afoul of Laban alongabout ten last night. Said he cal'lated Labe was on his way. He wassingin' 'Hyannis on the Cape' and so Tim figgered he'd got a pretty fairstart already. "

The captain shook his head. "Tut, tut, tut!" he muttered. "Well, thatmeans I'll have to do office work for the next week or so. Humph! Ideclare it's too bad just now when I was countin' on him to--" He didnot finish the sentence, but instead turned to his grandson and said:"Al, why don't you look around the hardware store here while I openthe mail and the safe. If there's anything you see you don't understandIssy'll tell you about it. "

He went into the office. Albert sauntered listlessly to the windowand looked out. So far as not understanding anything in the shop wasconcerned he was quite willing to remain in ignorance. It did notinterest him in the least. A moment later he felt a touch on his elbow. He turned, to find Mr. Price standing beside him. 

"I'm all ready to tell you about it now, " volunteered the unsmilingIssy. "Sweepin's all finished up. "

Albert was amused. "I guess I can get along, " he said. 

"Don't worry. "

"_I_ ain't worried none. I don't believe in worryin'; worryin' don't dofolks no good, the way I look at it. But long's Cap'n Lote wants me totell you about the hardware I'd ruther do it now, than any time. HenryCahoon's team'll be here for a load of lath in about ten minutes or so, and then I'll have to leave you. This here's the shelf where we keepthe butts--hinges, you understand. Brass along here, and iron here. Gotquite a stock, ain't we. "

He took the visitor's arm in his mighty paw and led him from shelvesto drawers and from drawers to boxes, talking all the time, so the boythought, "like a catalogue. " Albert tried gently to break away severaltimes and yawned often, but yawns and hints were quite lost on hisguide, who was intent only upon the business--and victim--in hand. Atthe window looking across toward the main road Albert paused longest. There was a girl in sight--she looked, at that distance, as if she mightbe a rather pretty girl--and the young man was languidly interested. He had recently made the discovery that pretty girls may be quiteinteresting; and, moreover, one or two of them whom he had met at theschool dances--when the young ladies from the Misses Bradshaws' seminaryhad come over, duly guarded and chaperoned, to one-step and fox-trotwith the young gentlemen of the school--one or two of these young ladieshad intimated a certain interest in him. So the feminine possibilityacross the road attracted his notice--only slightly, of course; thesophisticated metropolitan notice is not easily aroused--but still, slightly. 

"Come on, come on, " urged Issachar Price. "I ain't begun to show ye thewhole of it yet . . . Eh? Oh, Lord, there comes Cahoon's team now! Well, I got to go. Show you the rest some other time. So long . . . Eh? Cap'nLote's callin' you, ain't he?"

Albert went into the office in response to his grandfather's call tofind the latter seated at an old-fashioned roll-top desk, piled withpapers. 

"I've got to go down to the bank, Al, " he said. "Some business abouta note that Laban ought to be here to see to, but ain't. I'll be backpretty soon. You just stay here and wait for me. You might be lookin'over the books, if you want to. I took 'em out of the safe and they'reon Labe's desk there, " pointing to the high standing desk by the window. "They're worth lookin' at, if only to see how neat they're kept. A setof books like that is an example to any young man. You might be lookin''em over. "

He hurried out. Albert smiled condescendingly and, instead of lookingover Mr. Keeler's books, walked over to the window and looked out ofthat. The girl was not in sight now, but she might be soon. At any ratewatching for her was as exciting as any amusement he could think ofabout that dull hole. Ah hum! he wondered how the fellows were atschool. 

The girl did not reappear. Signs of animation along the main road werelimited. One or two men went by, then a group of children obviously ontheir way to school. Albert yawned again, took the silver cigarette casefrom his pocket and looked longingly at its contents. He wonderedwhat his grandfather's ideas might be on the tobacco question. But hisgrandfather was not there then . . . And he might not return for sometime . . . And . . . He took a cigarette from the case, tapped, withcareful carelessness, its end upon the case--he would not have dreamedof smoking without first going through the tapping process--lighted thecigarette and blew a large and satisfying cloud. Between puffs he sang:

 "To you, beautiful lady, I raise my eyes. My heart, beautiful lady, To your heart cries: Come, come, beautiful lady, To Par-a-dise, As the sweet, sweet--'"

Some one behind him said: "Excuse me. " The appeal to the beautiful ladybroke off in the middle, and he whirled about to find the girl whom hehad seen across the road and for whose reappearance he had been watchingat the window, standing in the office doorway. He looked at her and shelooked at him. He was embarrassed. She did not seem to be. 

"Excuse me, " she said: "Is Mr. Keeler here?"

She was a pretty girl, so his hasty estimate made when he had firstsighted her was correct. Her hair was dark, so were her eyes, and hercheeks were becomingly colored by the chill of the winter air. She wasa country girl, her hat and coat proved that; not that they were in badtaste or unbecoming, but they were simple and their style perhaps nearerto that which the young ladies of the Misses Bradshaws' seminary hadworn the previous winter. All this Albert noticed in detail later on. Just then the particular point which attracted his embarrassed attentionwas the look in the dark eyes. They seemed to have almost the samedisturbing quality which he had noticed in his grandfather's gray ones. Her mouth was very proper and grave, but her eyes looked as if she werelaughing at him. 

Now to be laughed at by an attractive young lady is disturbing andunpleasant. It is particularly so when the laughter is from theprovinces and the laughee--so to speak--a dignified and sophisticatedcity man. Albert summoned the said dignity and sophistication to hisrescue, knocked the ashes from his cigarette and said, haughtily:

"I beg your pardon?"

"Is Mr. Keeler here?" repeated the girl. 

"No, he is out. "

"Will he be back soon, do you think?"

Recollections of Mr. Price's recent remark concerning the missingbookkeeper's "good start" came to Albert's mind and he smiled, slightly. "I should say not, " he observed, with delicate irony. 

"Is Issy--I mean Mr. Price, busy?"

"He's out in the yard there somewhere, I believe. Would you like to haveme call him?"

"Why, yes--if you please--sir. "

The "sir" was flattering, if it was sincere. He glanced at her. Theexpression of the mouth was as grave as ever, but he was still uncertainabout those eyes. However, he was disposed to give her the benefit ofthe doubt, so, stepping to the side door of the office--that leading tothe yards--he opened it and shouted: "Price! . . . Hey, Price!"

There was no answer, although he could hear Issachar's voice and anotherabove the rattle of lath bundles. 

"Price!" he shouted, again. "Pri-i-ce!"

The rattling ceased. Then, in the middle distance, above a pile of"two by fours, " appeared Issachar's head, the features agitated and theforehead bedewed with the moisture of honest toil. 

"Huh?" yelled Issy. "What's the matter? Be you hollerin' to me?"

"Yes. There's some one here wants to see you. "

"Hey?"

"I say there's some one here who wants to see you. "

"What for?"

"I don't know. "

"Well, find out, can't ye? I'm busy. "

Was that a laugh which Albert heard behind him? He turned around, butthe young lady's face wore the same grave, even demure, expression. 

"What do you want to see him for?" he asked. 

"I wanted to buy something. "

"She wants to buy something, " repeated Albert, shouting. 

"Hey?"

"She wants to--BUY--something. " It was humiliating to have to scream inthis way. 

"Buy? Buy what?"

"What do you want to buy?"

"A hook, that's all. A hook for our kitchen door. Would you mind askinghim to hurry? I haven't much time. "

"She wants a hook. "

"Eh? We don't keep books. What kind of a book?"

"Not book--HOOK. H-O-O-K! Oh, great Scott! Hook! HOOK! Hook for a door!And she wants you to hurry. "

"Eh? Well, I can't hurry now for nobody. I got to load these lathsand that's all there is to it. Can't you wait on him?" Evidently thecustomer's sex had not yet been made clear to the Price understanding. "You can get a hook for him, can't ye? You know where they be, I showedye. Ain't forgot so soon, 'tain't likely. "

The head disappeared behind the "two by fours. " Its face was red, but noredder than Mr. Speranza's at that moment. 

"Fool rube!" he snorted, disgustedly. 

"Excuse me, but you've dropped your cigarette, " observed the young lady. 

Albert savagely slammed down the window and turned away. The droppedcigarette stump lay where it had fallen, smudging and smelling. 

His caller looked at it and then at him. 

"I'd pick it up, if I were you, " she said. "Cap'n Snow HATEScigarettes. "

Albert, his dignity and indignation forgotten, returned her look withone of anxiety. 

"Does he, honest?" he asked. 

"Yes. He hates them worse than anything. "

The cigarette stump was hastily picked up by its owner. 

"Where'll I put it?" he asked, hurriedly. 

"Why don't you--Oh, don't put it in your pocket! It will set you onfire. Put it in the stove, quick. "

Into the stove it went, all but its fragrance, which lingered. 

"Do you think you COULD find me that hook?" asked the girl. 

"I'll try. _I_ don't know anything about the confounded things. "

"Oh!" innocently. "Don't you?"

"No, of course I don't. Why should I?"

"Aren't you working here?"

"Here? Work HERE? ME? Well, I--should--say--NOT!"

"Oh, excuse me. I thought you must be a new bookkeeper, or--or a newpartner, or something. "

Albert regarded her intently and suspiciously for some seconds beforemaking another remark. She was as demurely grave as ever, but hissuspicions were again aroused. However, she WAS pretty, there could beno doubt about that. 

"Maybe I can find the hook for you, " he said. "I can try, anyway. "

"Oh, thank you ever so much, " gratefully. "It's VERY kind of you to takeso much trouble. "

"Oh, " airily, "that's all right. Come on; perhaps we can find ittogether. "

They were still looking when Mr. Price came panting in. 

"Whew!" he observed, with emphasis. "If anybody tells you heavin'bundles of laths aboard a truck-wagon ain't hard work you tell him forme he's a liar, will ye. Whew! And I had to do the heft of everything, 'cause Cahoon sent that one-armed nephew of his to drive the team. Ahealthy lot of good a one-armed man is to help heave lumber! I says tohim, says I: 'What in time did--' Eh? Why, hello, Helen! Good mornin'. Land sakes! you're out airly, ain't ye?"

The young lady nodded. "Good morning, Issachar, " she said. "Yes, I ampretty early and I'm in a dreadful hurry. The wind blew our kitchen doorback against the house last night and broke the hook. I promised FatherI would run over here and get him a new one and bring it back to himbefore I went to school. And it's quarter to nine now. "

"Land sakes, so 'tis! Ain't--er--er--what's-his-name--Albert here, foundit for you yet? He ain't no kind of a hand to find things, is he? We'llhave to larn him better'n that. Yes indeed!"

Albert laughed, sarcastically. He was about to make a satisfyinglycrushing reproof to this piece of impertinence when Mr. Price began tosniff the air. 

"What in tunket?" he demanded. "Sn'f! Sn'f! Who's been smokin' in here?And cigarettes, too, by crimus! Sn'f! Sn'f! Yes, sir, cigarettes, bycrimustee! Who's been smokin' cigarettes in here? If Cap'n Lote knewanybody'd smoked a cigarette in here I don't know's he wouldn't kill'em. Who done it?"

Albert shivered. The girl with the dark blue eyes flashed a quick glanceat him. "I think perhaps someone went by the window when it was openjust now, " she suggested. "Perhaps they were smoking and the smoke blewin. "

"Eh? Well, maybe so. Must have been a mighty rank cigarette to smell upthe whole premises like this just goin' past a window. Whew! Gosh!no wonder they say them things are rank pison. I'd sooner smokeskunk-cabbage myself; 'twouldn't smell no worse and 'twould be a dumsight safer. Whew! . . . Well, Helen, there's about the kind of hook Ical'late you need. Fifteen cents 'll let you out on that. Cheap enoughfor half the money, eh? Give my respects to your pa, will ye. Tell himthat sermon he preached last Sunday was fine, but I'd like it better ifhe'd laid it on to the Univer'lists a little harder. Folks that don'tbelieve in hell don't deserve no consideration, 'cordin' to my notion. So long, Helen . . . Oh say, " he added, as an afterthought, "I guessyou and Albert ain't been introduced, have ye? Albert, this is HelenKendall, she's our Orthodox minister's daughter. Helen, this youngfeller is Albert--er--er--Consarn it, I've asked Cap'n Lote that name adozen times if I have once! What is it, anyway?"

"Speranza, " replied the owner of the name. 

"That's it, Sperandy. This is Albert Sperandy, Cap'n Lote's grandson. "

Albert and Miss Kendall shook hands. 

"Thanks, " said the former, gratefully and significantly. 

The young lady smiled. 

"Oh, you're welcome, " she said. "I knew who you were all the time--or Iguessed who you must be. Cap'n Snow told me you were coming. "

She went out. Issachar, staring after her, chuckled admiringly. "Smartest girl in THIS town, " he observed, with emphasis. "Head of herclass up to high school and only sixteen and three-quarters at that. "

Captain Zelotes came bustling in a few minutes later. He went to hisdesk, paying little attention to his grandson. The latter loitered idlyup and down the office and hardware shop, watching Issachar wait oncustomers or rush shouting into the yard to attend to the wants ofothers there. Plainly this was Issachar's busy day. 

"Crimus!" he exclaimed, returning from one such excursion and moppinghis forehead. "This doin' two men's work ain't no fun. Every time Labegoes on a time seem's if trade was brisker'n it's been for a month. Seems as if all creation and part of East Harniss had been hangin' backwaitin' till he had a shade on 'fore they come to trade. Makes a fellerfeel like votin' the Prohibition ticket. I WOULD vote it, by crimustee, if I thought 'twould do any good. 'Twouldn't though; Labe would taketo drinkin' bay rum or Florida water or somethin', same as Hoppy Rogersdone when he was alive. Jim Young says he went into Hoppy's barber-shoponce and there was Hoppy with a bottle of a new kind of hair-tonic inhis hand. 'Drummer that was here left it for a sample, ' says Hoppy. 'Wanted me to try it and, if I liked it, he cal'lated maybe I'd buysome. I don't think I shall, though, ' he says; 'don't taste right tome. ' Yes, sir, Jim Young swears that's true. Wan't enough snake-killerin that hair tonic to suit Hoppy. I--Yes, Cap'n Lote, what is it? Wantme, do ye?"

But the captain did not, as it happened, want Mr. Price at that time. It was Albert whose name he had called. The boy went into the office andhis grandfather rose and shut the door. 

"Sit down, Al, " he said, motioning toward a chair. When his grandson hadseated himself Captain Zelotes tilted back his own desk chair upon itssprings and looked at him. 

"Well, son, " he said, after a moment, "what do you think of it?"

"Think of it? I don't know exactly what--"

"Of the place here. Shop, yards, the whole business. Z. Snow andCompany--what do you think of it?"

Privately Albert was inclined to classify the entire outfit as one-horseand countrified, but he deemed it wiser not to express this opinion. Sohe compromised and replied that it "seemed to be all right. "

His grandfather nodded. "Thanks, " he observed, dryly. "Glad you find itthat way. Well, then, changin' the subject for a minute or two, what doyou think about yourself?"

"About myself? About me? I don't understand?"

"No, I don't suppose you do. That's what I got you over here thismornin' for, so as we could understand--you and me. Al, have you givenany thought to what you're goin' to do from this on? How you're goin' tolive?"

Albert looked at him uncomprehendingly. 

"How I'm going to live?" he repeated. "Why--why, I thought--I supposed Iwas going to live with you--with you and Grandmother. "

"Um-hm, I see. "

"I just kind of took that for granted, I guess. You sent for me to comehere. You took me away from school, you know. "

"Yes, so I did. You know why I took you from school?"

"No, I--I guess I DON'T, exactly. I thought--I supposed it was becauseyou didn't want me to go there any more. "

"'Twasn't that. I don't know whether I would have wanted you to go thereor not if things had been different. From what I hear it was a prettyextravagant place, and lookin' at it from the outside without knowin'too much about it, I should say it was liable to put a lot of foolishand expensive notions into a boy's head. I may be wrong, of course; Ihave been wrong at least a few times in my life. "

It was evident that he considered the chances of his being wrong in thisinstance very remote. His tone again aroused in the youth the feeling ofobstinacy, of rebellion, of desire to take the other side. 

"It is one of the best schools in this country, " he declared. "My fathersaid so. "

Captain Zelotes picked up a pencil on his desk and tapped his chinlightly with the blunt end. "Um, " he mused. "Well, I presume likely heknew all about it. "

"He knew as much as--most people, " with a slight but significanthesitation before the "most. "

"Um-hm. Naturally, havin' been schooled there himself, I suppose. "

"He wasn't schooled there. My father was a Spaniard. "

"So I've heard. . . . Well, we're kind of off the subject, ain't we?Let's leave your father's nationality out of it for a while. And we'llleave the school, too, because no matter if it was the best one on earthyou couldn't go there. I shouldn't feel 'twas right to spend as muchmoney as that at any school, and you--well, son, you ain't got it tospend. Did you have any idea what your father left you, in the way oftangible assets?"

"No. I knew he had plenty of money always. He was one of the most famoussingers in this country. "

"Maybe so. "

"It WAS so, " hotly. "And he was paid enough in one week to buy thiswhole town--or almost. Why, my father--"

"Sshh! Sssh!"

"No, I'm not going to hush. I'm proud of my father. He was a--a greatman. And--and I'm not going to stand here and have you--"

Between indignation and emotion he choked and could not finish thesentence. The tears came to his eyes. 

"I'm not going to have you or anyone else talk about him that way, " heconcluded, fiercely. 

His grandfather regarded him with a steady, but not at all unkindly, gaze. 

"I ain't runnin' down your father, Albert, " he said. 

"Yes, you are. You hated him. Anybody could see you hated him. "

The captain slowly rapped the desk with the pencil. He did not answer atonce. 

"Well, " he said, after a moment, "I don't know as I ought to deny that. I don't know as I can deny it and be honest. Years ago he took away fromme what amounted to three-quarters of everything that made my life worthwhile. Some day you'll know more about it than you do now, and maybeyou'll understand my p'int of view better. No, I didn't like yourfather--Eh? What was you sayin'?"

Albert, who had muttered something, was rather confused. However, hedid not attempt to equivocate. "I said I guessed that didn't make muchdifference to Father, " he answered, sullenly. 

"I presume likely it didn't. But we won't go into that question now. What I'm tryin' to get at in this talk we're having is you and yourfuture. Now you can't go back to school because you can't afford it. Allyour father left when he died was--this is the honest truth I'm tellin'you now, and if I'm puttin' it pretty blunt it's because I always thinkit's best to get a bad mess out of the way in a hurry--all your fatherleft was debts. He didn't leave money enough to bury him, hardly. "

The boy stared at him aghast. His grandfather, leaning a little towardhim, would have put a hand on his knee, but the knee was jerked out ofthe way. 

"There, that's over, Al, " went on Captain Zelotes. "You know the worstnow and you can say, 'What of it?' I mean just that: What of it? Bein'left without a cent, but with your health and a fair chance to makegood--that, at seventeen or eighteen ain't a bad lookout, by any mannerof means. It's the outlook _I_ had at fifteen--exceptin' the chance--andI ain't asked many favors of anybody since. At your age, or a month ortwo older, do you know where I was? I was first mate of a three-mastedschooner. At twenty I was skipper; and at twenty-five, by the Almighty, I owned a share in her. Al, all you need now is a chance to go to work. And I'm goin' to give you that chance. "

Albert gasped. "Do you mean--do you mean I've got to be a--a sailor?" hestammered. 

Captain Zelotes put back his head and laughed, laughed aloud. 

"A sailor!" he repeated. "Ho, ho! No wonder you looked scared. No, I wan't cal'latin' to make a sailor out of you, son. For one reason, sailorin' ain't what it used to be; and, for another, I have my doubtswhether a young feller of your bringin' up would make much of a gohandlin' a bunch of fo'mast hands the first day out. No, I wasn'tfiggerin' to send you to sea . . . What do you suppose I brought youdown to this place for this mornin'?"

And then Albert understood. He knew why he had been conducted throughthe lumber yards, about the hardware shop, why his grandfather and Mr. Price had taken so much pains to exhibit and explain. His heart sank. 

"I brought you down here, " continued the captain, "because it's afirst-rate idea to look a vessel over afore you ship aboard her. It'skind of late to back out after you have shipped. Ever since I made up mymind to send for you and have you live along with your grandmother andme I've been plannin' what to do with you. I knew, if you was a decent, ambitious young chap, you'd want to do somethin' towards makin' a startin life. We can use--that is, this business can use that kind of a chapright now. He could larn to keep books and know lumber and hardwareand how to sell and how to buy. He can larn the whole thing. There'sa chance here, son. It's your chance; I'm givin' it to you. How big achance it turns out to be 'll depend on you, yourself. "

He stopped. Albert was silent. His thoughts were confused, but out oftheir dismayed confusion two or three fixed ideas reared themselves likecrags from a whirlpool. He was to live in South Hamiss always--always;he was to keep books--Heavens, how he hated mathematics, detail work ofany kind!--for drunken old Keeler; he was to "heave lumber" withIssy Price. He--Oh, it was dreadful! It was horrible. He couldn't! Hewouldn't! He--

Captain Zelotes had been watching him, his heavy brows drawing closertogether as the boy delayed answering. 

"Well?" he asked, for another minute. "Did you hear what I said?"

"Yes. "

"Understood, did you?"

"Yes--sir. "

"Well?"

Albert was clutching at straws. "I--I don't know how to keep books, " hefaltered. 

"I didn't suppose you did. Don't imagine they teach anything aspractical as bookkeepin' up at that school of yours. But you can larn, can't you?"

"I--I guess so. "

"I guess so, too. Good Lord, I HOPE so! Humph! You don't seem to bejumpin' for joy over the prospect. There's a half dozen smart youngfellers here in South Harniss that would, I tell you that. "

Albert devoutly wished they had jumped--and landed--before his arrival. His grandfather's tone grew more brusque. 

"Don't you want to work?" he demanded. 

"Why, yes, I--I suppose I do. I--I hadn't thought much about it. "

"Humph! Then I think it's time you begun. Hadn't you had ANY notion ofwhat you wanted to do when you got out of that school of yours?"

"I was going to college. "

"Humph! . . . Yes, I presume likely. Well, after you got out of college, what was you plannin' to do then?"

"I wasn't sure. I thought I might do something with my music. I canplay a little. I can't sing--that is, not well enough. If I could, "wistfully, "I should have liked to be in opera, as father was, ofcourse. "

Captain Zelotes' only comment was a sniff or snort, or combination ofboth. Albert went on. 

"I had thought of writing--writing books and poems, you know. I'vewritten quite a good deal for the school magazine. And I think I shouldlike to be an actor, perhaps. I--"

"Good God!" His grandfather's fist came down upon the desk before him. Slowly he shook his head. 

"A--a poetry writer and an actor!" he repeated. "Whew! . . . Well, there! Perhaps maybe we hadn't better talk any more just now. You canhave the rest of the day to run around town and sort of get acquainted, if you want to. Then to-morrow mornin' you and I'll come over heretogether and we'll begin to break you in. I shouldn't wonder, " he added, dryly, "if you found it kind of dull at first--compared to that schooland poetry makin' and such--but it'll be respectable and it'll pay forboard and clothes and somethin' to eat once in a while, which maynot seem so important to you now as 'twill later on. And some day Ical'late--anyhow we'll hope--you'll be mighty glad you did it. "

Poor Albert looked and felt anything but glad just then. CaptainZelotes, his hands in his pockets, stood regarding him. He, too, did notlook particularly happy. 

"You'll remember, " he observed, "or perhaps you don't know, that whenyour father asked us to look out for you--"

Albert interrupted. "Did--did father ask you to take care of me?" hecried, in surprise. 

"Um-hm. He asked somebody who was with him to ask us to do just that. "

The boy drew a long breath. "Well, then, " he said, hopelessly, "I'll--I'll try. "

"Thanks. Now you run around town and see the sights. Dinner's at halfpast twelve prompt, so be on hand for that. "

After his grandson had gone, the captain, hands still in his pockets, stood for some time looking out of the window. At length he spoke aloud. 

"A play actor or a poetry writer!" he exclaimed. "Tut, tut, tut! No usetalkin', blood will tell!"

Issachar, who was putting coal on the office fire, turned his head. 

"Eh?" he queried. 

"Nothin', " said Captain Lote. 

He would have been surprised if he could have seen his grandson just atthat moment. Albert, on the beach whither he had strayed in his desireto be alone, safely hidden from observation behind a sand dune, waslying with his head upon his arms and sobbing bitterly. 

A disinterested person might have decided that the interview which hadjust taken place and which Captain Zelotes hopefully told his wife thatmorning would probably result in "a clear, comf'table understandin'between the boy and me"--such a disinterested person might have decidedthat it had resulted in exactly the opposite. In calculating the resultsto be obtained from that interview the captain had not taken intoconsideration two elements, one his own and the other his grandson's. These elements were prejudice and temperament. 

CHAPTER IV

The next morning, with much the same feeling that a convict mustexperience when he enters upon a life imprisonment, Albert entered theemploy of "Z. Snow and Co. , Lumber and Builders' Hardware. " The day, he would have sworn it, was at least a year long. The interval betweenbreakfast and dinner was quite six months, yet the dinner hour itselfwas the shortest sixty minutes he had ever known. Mr. Keeler had not yetreturned to his labors, so there was no instruction in bookkeeping;but his grandfather gave him letters to file and long dreary columns ofinvoice figures to add. Twice Captain Zelotes went out and then, justas Albert settled back for a rest and breathing spell, Issachar Priceappeared, warned apparently by some sort of devilish intuition, andinvented "checking up stock" and similar menial and tiresome tasks tokeep him uncomfortable till the captain returned. The customers who camein asked questions concerning him and he was introduced to at leasta dozen citizens of South Harniss, who observed "Sho!" and "I want toknow!" when told his identity and, in some instances, addressed him as"Bub, " which was of itself a crime deserving capital punishment. 

That night, as he lay in bed in the back bedroom, he fell asleep facingthe dreary prospect of another monotonous imprisonment the followingday, and the next day, and the day after that, and after that--andafter that--and so on--and on--and on--forever and ever, as long aslife should last. This, then, was to be the end of all his dreams, thisdrudgery in a country town among these commonplace country people. Thiswas the end of his dreams of some day writing deathless odes and sonnetsor thrilling romances; of treading the boards as the hero of romanticdrama while star-eyed daughters of multi-millionaires gazed from theboxes in spellbound rapture. This . . . The thought of the star-eyedones reminded him of the girl who had come into the office the afternoonof his first visit to that torture chamber. He had thought of her manytimes since their meeting and always with humiliation and resentment. Itwas his own foolish tongue which had brought the humiliation upon him. When she had suggested that he might be employed by Z. Snow and Co. Hehad replied: "Me? Work HERE! Well, I should say NOT!" And all the timeshe, knowing who he was, must have known he was doomed to work there. Heresented that superior knowledge of hers. He had made a fool of himselfbut she was to blame for it. Well, by George, he would NOT work there!He would run away, he would show her, and his grandfather and all therest what was what. Night after night he fell asleep vowing to run away, to do all sorts of desperate deeds, and morning after morning he wentback to that office. 

On the fourth morning the prodigal came home, the stray lamb returnedto the fold--Mr. Keeler returned to his desk and his duties. There wasa premonition of his return at the Snow breakfast table. For three daysMrs. Ellis had swathed her head in white and her soul in black. Forthree days her favorite accompaniment to conversation had been a groanor a sigh. Now, on this fourth morning, she appeared without the bandageon her brow or the crape upon her spirit. She was not hilarious butshe did not groan once, and twice during the meal she actually smiled. Captain Lote commented upon the change, she being absent from tablemomentarily. 

"Whew!" he observed, in an undertone, addressing his wife. "If it ain'ta comfort to see the wrinkles on Rachel's face curvin' up instead ofdown. I'm scared to death that she'll go out some time in a cold spellwhen she's havin' one of them sympathetics of hers, and her face'llfreeze that way. Well, Albert, " turning to his grandson, "the colors'llbe h'isted to the truck now instead of half-mast and life'll besomethin' besides one everlastin' 'last look at the remains. ' Now we cantake off the mournin' till the next funeral. "

"Yes, " said Olive, "and Laban'll be back, too. I'm sure you must havemissed him awfully, Zelotes. "

"Missed him! I should say so. For one thing, I miss havin' him betweenme and Issy. When Labe's there Is talks to him and Labe keeps onthinkin' of somethin' else and so it don't worry him any. I can't dothat, and my eardrums get to wearin' thin and that makes me nervous. Maybe you've noticed that Issy's flow of conversation ain't what you'dcall a trickle, " he added, turning to Albert. 

Albert had noticed it. "But, " he asked, "what makes Rachel--Mrs. Ellis--so cheerful this morning? Does she know that Mr. Keeler will beback at work? How does she know? She hasn't seen him, has she?"

"No, " replied the captain. "She ain't seen him. Nobody sees him, far'sthat goes. He generally clears out somewheres and locks himself up ina room, I judge, till his vacation's over. I suppose that's one way tohave fun, but it ain't what I'd call hilarious. "

"Don't, Zelotes, " said Mrs. Snow. "I do wish you wouldn't call it fun. "

"I don't, but Laban seems to. If he don't do it for fun I don't knowwhat he does it for. Maybe it's from a sense of duty. It ain't to obligeme, I know that. "

Albert repeated his question. "But how does she know he will be backto-day?" he asked. 

His grandmother shook her head. "That's the mysterious part about it, "she whispered. "It makes a person think there may be somethin' in thesympathetic notion she talks so much about. She don't see him at all andyet we can always tell when he's comin' back to work by her spirits. Ifhe ain't back to-day he will be to-morrow, you'll see. She never missesby more than a day. _I_ think it's real sort of mysterious, but Zeloteslaughs at me. "

Captain Lote's lip twitched. "Yes, Mother, " he said, "it's about asmysterious as the clock's strikin' twelve when it's noon. _I_ know it'smorally sartin that Labe'll be back aboard to-day or to-morrow becausehis sprees don't ever last more than five days. I can't swear to howshe knows, but that's how _I_ know--and I'm darned sure there's no'sympathy' about my part. " Then, as if realizing that he had talked morethan usual, he called, brusquely: "Come on, Al, come on. Time we were onthe job, boy. "

Sure enough, as they passed the window of the office, there, seated onthe stool behind the tall desk, Albert saw the diminutive figure of theman who had been his driver on the night of his arrival. He was curiousto see how the delinquent would apologize for or explain his absence. But Mr. Keeler did neither, nor did Captain Snow ask a question. Insteadthe pair greeted each other as if they had parted in that office at theclose of business on the previous day. 

"Mornin', Cap'n Lote, " said Laban, quietly. 

"Mornin', Labe, " replied the captain, just as calmly. 

He went on and opened his own desk, leaving his grandson standing bythe door, not knowing whether to speak or offer to shake hands. Thesituation was a little difficult, particularly as Mr. Keeler gave nosign of recognition, but, after a glance at his employer's companion, went on making entries in the ledger. 

Captain Zelotes looked up a moment later. His gray eyes inspectedthe pair and the expression on Albert's face caused them to twinkleslightly. "Labe, " he said, "this is my grandson, Albert, the one I toldyou was comin' to live with us. "

Laban turned on the stool, regarded Albert over his spectacles, andextended a hand. 

"Pleased to meet you, " he said. "Yes, yes . . . Yes, yes, yes. . . Pleased to meet you. Cap'n Lote said you was comin'--er--er--Alfred. Howdy do. "

They shook hands. Mr. Keeler's hand trembled a little, but that wasthe only symptom of his recent "vacation" which the youth could notice. Certain vivid remembrances of his father's bad humor on morningsfollowing convivial evenings recurred to him. Was it possible that thisodd, precise, dried-up little man had been on a spree for four days? Itdid not seem possible. He looked more as if he might be expected to rapon the desk and ask the school to come to order. 

"Albert's goin' to take hold here with us in the office, " went onCaptain Lote. "You'll remember I spoke to you about that when we talkedabout his comin'. Al, Labe--Mr. Keeler here--will start you in larnin'to bookkeep. He'll be your first mate from now on. Don't forget you'rea fo'mast hand yet awhile and the way for a fo'mast hand to get aheadis to obey orders. And don't, " he added, with a quiet chuckle, "do anyplay-actin' or poetry-makin' when it's your watch on deck. Laban nor Iain't very strong for play-actin', are we, Labe?"

Laban, to whom the reference was anything but clear, replied rathervaguely that he didn't know as he was, very. Albert's temper flaredup again. His grandfather was sneering at him once more; he was alwayssneering at him. All right, let him sneer--now. Some day he would beshown. He scowled and turned away. And Captain Zelotes, noticing thescowl, was reminded of a scowl he had seen upon the face of a Spanishopera singer some twenty years before. He did not like to be reminded ofthat man. 

He went out soon afterward and then Laban, turning to Albert, asked afew questions. 

"How do you think you're goin' to like South Harniss, Ansel?" he asked. 

Albert was tempted to reply that he, Keeler, had asked him that veryquestion before, but he thought it best not to do so. 

"I don't know yet, " he answered, carelessly. "Well enough, I guess. "

"You'll like it fust-rate bimeby. Everybody does when they get usedto it. Takes some time to get used to a place, don't you know it does, Ansel?"

"My name is Albert. "

"Eh? Yes, yes, so 'tis. Yes, yes, yes. I don't know why I called youAnsel, 'less 'twas on account of my knowin' an Ansel Olsen once . . . Hum . . . Yes, yes. Well, you'll like South Harniss when you get used toit. "

The boy did not answer. He was of the opinion that he should die longbefore the getting used process was completed. Mr. Keeler continued. 

"Come on yesterday's train, did you?" he asked. 

Albert looked at him. Was the fellow joking? He did not look as if hewas. 

"Why no, " he replied. "I came last Monday night. Don't you remember?"

"Eh? Oh, yes . . . Yes, yes, yes . . . Last Monday night you come, eh?On the night train, eh?" He hesitated a moment and then asked. "Cap'nLote fetch you down from the depot?"

Albert stared at him open-mouthed. 

"Why, no!" he retorted. "You drove me down yourself. "

For the first time a slight shade of embarrassment crossed thebookkeeper's features. He drew a long breath. 

"Yes, " he mused. "Yes, yes, yes. I kind of thought I--yes, yes, --I--Ithought likely I did . . . Yes, yes, course I did, course I did. Well, now maybe we'd better be startin' you in to work--er--Augustus. Knowanything about double-entry, do you?"

Albert did not, nor had he the slightest desire to learn. But beforethe first hour was over he foresaw that he was destined to learn, if heremained in that office, whether he wanted to or not. Laban Keeler mightbe, and evidently was, peculiar in his ways, but as a bookkeeper he wasthoroughness personified. And as a teacher of his profession he was justas thorough. All that forenoon Albert practiced the first principlesof "double entry" and, after the blessed hour for dinner, came back topractice the remainder of the working day. 

And so for many days. Little by little he learned to invoice andjournalize and "post in the ledger" and all the rest of the detail ofbookkeeping. Not that his instructor permitted him to do a great dealof actual work upon the books of Z. Snow and Co. Those books were toospotless and precious for that. Looking over them Albert was surprisedand obliged to admit a grudging admiration at the manner in which, forthe most part, they had been kept. Page after page of the neatest ofminute figures, not a blot, not a blur, not an erasure. So for months;then, in the minor books, like the day-book or journal, would suddenlybreak out an eruption of smudges and scrawls in the rugged handwritingof Captain Zelotes. When he first happened upon one of these Albertunthinkingly spoke to Mr. Keeler about it. He asked the latter what itmeant. 

Laban slowly stroked his nose with his thumb and finger, a habit he had. 

"I cal'late I was away for a spell then, " he said, gravely. "Yes, yes . . . Yes, yes, yes. I was away for a little spell. "

He went soberly back to his desk. His new assistant, catching a glimpseof his face, felt a pang of real pity for the little man. Of course thereason for the hiatus in the books was plain enough. He knew about those"little spells. " Oddly enough Laban seemed to feel sorry for them. Heremembered how funny the bookkeeper had appeared at their first meeting, when one "spell" was just developing, and the contrast between thesinging, chirruping clown and the precise, grave little person at thedesk struck even his youthful mind as peculiar. He had read "DoctorJekyll and Mr. Hyde, " and now here was an example of something similar. He was beginning to like Laban Keeler, although he was perfectly surethat he should never like bookkeeping. 

He did not slave at the books all the time, of course. For stretches, sometimes lasting whole days, his slavery was of another sort. Then hewas working in the lumber yard with Issachar, or waiting on customers inthe hardware shop. The cold of winter set in in earnest now and handling"two by fours" and other timber out where the raw winds swept piercinglythrough one's overcoat and garments and flesh to the very bone was atrying experience. His hands were chapped and cracked, even though hisgrandmother had knit him a pair of enormous red mittens. He appreciatedthe warmth of the mittens, but he hated the color. Why in the name ofall that was inartistic did she choose red; not a deep, rich crimson, but a screeching vermilion, like a fireman's shirt?

Issachar, when he had the opportunity, was a hard boss. It suited Mr. Price to display his superior knowledge and to find fault with hishelper's lack of skill. Albert's hot temper was at the boiling pointmany times, but he fought it down. Occasionally he retorted in kind, buthis usual and most effective weapon was a more or less delicate sarcasm. Issachar did not understand sarcasm and under rapid fire he was inclinedto lose his head. 

"Consarn it!" he snapped, irritably, on one occasion. "Consarn it, Al, why don't you h'ist up on t'other end of that j'ist? What do youcal'late you're out here along of me for; to look harnsome?"

Albert shook his head. "No, Is, " he answered, gravely. "No, thatwouldn't be any use. With you around nobody else has a look-in at the'handsome' game. Issy, what do you do to your face?"

"Do to it? What do you mean by do to it?"

"What do you do to it to make it look the way it does? Don't tell me itgrew that way naturally. "

"Grew! Course it grew! What kind of talk's that?"

"Issy, with a face like yours how do you keep the birds away?"

"Eh? Keep the birds away! Now look here, just--"

"Excuse me. Did I say 'birds, ' Issy? I didn't mean birds like--likecrows. Of course a face like yours would keep the crows away all rightenough. I meant girls. How do you keep the girls away? I should thinkthey would be making love all the time. "

"Aw, you shut up! Just 'cause you're Cap'n Lote's grandson I presumelikely you think you can talk any kind of talk, don't ye?"

"Not any kind, Is. I can't talk like you. Will you teach me?"

"Shut up! Now, by Crimus, you--you furriner--you Speranzy--"

Mr. Keeler appeared at the office window. His shrill voice rose pipinglyin the wintry air as he demanded to know what was the trouble out there. 

Mr. Price, still foaming, strode toward the window; Albert laughinglyfollowed him. 

"What's the matter?" repeated Laban. "There's enough noise for a sewin'circle. Be still, Is, can't you, for a minute. Al, what's the trouble?"

"Issy's been talking about his face, " explained Albert, soberly. 

"I ain't neither. I was h'istin' up my end of a j'ist, same as I'mpaid to do, and, 'stead of helpin' he stands there and heaves out talkabout--about--"

"Well, about what?"

"Aw, about--about me and--and girls--and all sorts of dum foolishness. I tell ye, I've got somethin' else to do beside listen to that kind ofcheap talk. "

"Um. Yes, yes. I see. Well, Al, what have you got to say?"

"Nothing. I'm sure I don't know what it is all about. I was working ashard as I could and all at once he began pitching into me. "

"Pitchin' into you? How?"

"Oh, I don't know. Something about my looks he didn't like, I guess. Wanted to know if I thought I was as handsome as he was, or somethinglike that. "

"Eh? I never neither! All I said was--"

Mr. Keeler raised his hand. "Seems to be a case for an umpire, " heobserved. "Um. Seem's if 'twas, seems so, seems so. Well, Captain Lote'sjust comin' across the road and, if you say the word, I'll call him into referee. What do you say?"

They said nothing relevant to the subject in hand. Issachar made theonly remark. "Crimus-TEE!" he ejaculated. "Come on, Al, come on. "

The pair hurried away to resume lumber piling. Laban smiled slightly andclosed the window. It may be gathered from this incident that when thecaptain was in charge of the deck there was little idle persiflage amongthe "fo'mast hands. " They, like others in South Harniss, did not presumeto trifle with Captain Lote Snow. 

So the business education of Alberto Miguel Carlos Speranza progressed. At the end of the first six weeks in South Harniss he had learned alittle about bookkeeping, a little about selling hardware, a littleabout measuring and marking lumber. And it must be admitted that thatlittle had been acquired, not because of vigorous application on thepart of the pupil, but because, being naturally quick and intelligent, he could not help learning something. He liked the work just as littleas he had in the beginning of his apprenticeship. And, although he wasforgetting his thoughts of running away, of attempting fortune on hisown hook, he was just as rebellious as ever against a future to be spentin that office and at that work. 

Outside the office and the hateful bookkeeping he was beginning to findseveral real interests. At the old house which had for generations beencalled "the Snow place, " he was beginning to feel almost at home. Heand his grandmother were becoming close friends. She was not looking fortrouble, she never sat for long intervals gazing at him as if she wereguessing, guessing, guessing concerning him. Captain Zelotes did that, but Olive did not. She had taken the boy, her "Janie's boy, " to herheart from the moment she saw him and she mothered him and loved him ina way which--so long as it was not done in public--comforted his lonelysoul. They had not yet reached the stage where he confided in her toany great extent, but that was certain to come later. It was hisgrandmother's love and the affection he was already beginning to feelfor her which, during these first lonesome, miserable weeks, kept himfrom, perhaps, turning the running away fantasy into a reality. 

Another inmate of the Snow household with whom Albert wasbecoming better acquainted with was Mrs. Rachel Ellis. Their realacquaintanceship began one Sunday forenoon when Captain Zelotes andOlive had gone to church. Ordinarily he would have accompanied them, to sit in the straight-backed old pew on a cushion which felt lumpy andsmelt ancient and musty, and pretend to listen while old Mr. Kendallpreached a sermon which was ancient and musty likewise. 

But this Sunday morning he awoke with a headache and his grandmother hadpleaded for him, declaring that he ought to "lay to bed" a while and getover it. He got over it with surprising quickness after the church bellceased ringing, and came downstairs to read Ivanhoe in the sitting room. He had read it several times before, but he wanted to read something andthe choice of volumes in the Snow bookcase was limited. He was stretchedout on the sofa with the book in his hand when the housekeeper entered, armed with a dust-cloth. She went to church only "every other" Sunday. This was one of the others without an every, and she was at home. 

"What are you readin', Albert?" she asked, after a few' minutes vigorouswielding of the dust-cloth. "It must be awful interestin', you stick atit so close. "

The Black Knight was just then hammering with his battle-axe at the gateof Front de Buef's castle, not minding the stones and beams castdown upon him from above "no more than if they were thistle-down orfeathers. " Albert absently admitted that the story was interesting. Thehousekeeper repeated her request to be told its name. 

"Ivanhoe, " replied the boy; adding, as the name did not seem to conveyany definite idea to his interrogator's mind: "It's by Walter Scott, youknow. "

Mrs. Ellis made no remark immediately. When she did it was to the effectthat she used to know a colored man named Scott who worked at the hotelonce. "He swept out and carried trunks and such things, " she explained. "He seemed to be a real nice sort of colored man, far as ever I heard. "

Albert was more interested in the Black Knight of Ivanhoe than the blackman of the hotel, so he went on reading. Rachel sat down in a chair bythe window and looked out, twisting and untwisting the dust-cloth in herlap. 

"I presume likely lots and lots of folks have read that book, ain'tthey?" she asked, after another interval. 

"What? Oh, yes, almost everybody. It's a classic, I suppose. "

"What's that?"

"What's what?"

"What you said the book was. A class-somethin' or other?"

"Oh, a classic. Why, it's--it's something everybody knows about, or--or ought to know about. One of the big things, you know. Like--likeShakespeare or--or Robinson Crusoe or Paradise Lost or--lots of them. It's a book everybody reads and always will. "

"I see. Humph! Well, I never read it. . . . I presume likely you thinkthat's pretty funny, don't you?"

Albert tore himself away from the fight at the gate. 

"Why, I don't know, " he replied. 

"Yes, you do. You think it's awful funny. Well, you wouldn't if you knewmore about how busy I've been all my life. I ain't had time to read theway I'd ought to. I read a book once though that I'll never forget. Didyou ever read a book called Foul Play?"

"No. . . . Why, hold on, though; I think I have. By Charles Reade, wasn't it?"

"Yes, that's who wrote it, a man named Charles Reade. Laban told me thatpart of it; he reads a lot, Laban does. I never noticed who wrote it, myself. I was too interested in it to notice little extry things likethat. But ain't that a WONDERFUL book? Ain't that the best book you everread in all your LIFE?"

She dropped the dust-cloth and was too excited and enthusiastic to pickit up. Albert did his best to recall something definite concerning FoulPlay. The book had been in the school library and he, who read almosteverything, had read it along with the others. 

"Let me see, " he said musingly. "About a shipwreck--something about ashipwreck in it, wasn't there?"

"I should say there was! My stars above! Not the common kind ofshipwreck, neither, the kind they have down to Setuckit P'int on theshoals. No sir-ee! This one was sunk on purpose. That Joe Wylie boredholes right down through her with a gimlet, the wicked thing! And thatset 'em afloat right out on the sea in a boat, and there wan't anythingto eat till Robert Penfold--oh, HE was the smart one; he'd findanything, that man!--he found the barnacles on the bottom of the boat, just the same as he found out how to diffuse intelligence tied onto aduck's leg over land knows how many legs--leagues, I mean--of ocean. Butthat come later. Don't you remember THAT?"

Albert laughed. The story was beginning to come back to him. 

"Oh, sure!" he exclaimed. "I remember now. He--the Penfold fellow--andthe girl landed on this island and had all sorts of adventures, and fellin love and all that sort of stuff, and then her dad came and took herback to England and she--she did something or other there to--to get thePenfold guy out of trouble. "

"Did somethin'! I should say she did! Why, she found out all about whoforged the letter--the note, I mean--that's what she done. 'Twas ArthurWardlaw, that's who 'twas. And he was tryin' to get Helen all the timefor himself, the skinner! Don't talk to me about that Arthur Wardlaw! Inever could bear HIM. "

She spoke as if she had known the detested Wardlaw intimately fromchildhood. Young Speranza was hugely amused. Ivanhoe was quiteforgotten. 

"Foul Play was great stuff, " he observed. "When did you read it?"

"Eh? When? Oh, ever and ever so long ago. When I was about twenty, Iguess, and laid up with the measles. That's the only time I ever wasreal what you might call down sick in my life, and I commenced withmeasles. That's the way a good many folks commence, I know, but theydon't generally wait till they're out of their 'teens afore they start. I was workin' for Mrs. Philander Bassett at the time, and she says tome: 'Rachel, ' she says, 'you're on the mendin' hand now, wouldn't youlike a book to read?' I says, 'Why, maybe I would. ' And she fetchedup three of 'em. I can see 'em now, all three, plain as day. One wasBarriers Burned Away. She said that was somethin' about a big fire. Well, I'm awful nervous about fires, have been from a child, so I didn'tread that. And another had the queerest kind of a name, if you'd call ita name at all; 'twas She. "

Albert nodded. 

"Yes, " he said. "I've read that. "

"Have you? Well, I begun to, but my stars, THAT wasn't any book to giveto a person with nerve symptoms. I got as far as where those Indians orwhatever they was started to put red-hot kettles on folks's heads, andthat was enough for ME. 'Give me somethin' civilized, ' says I, 'or notat all. ' So I commenced Foul Play, and I tell you I kept right on to theend. 

"I don't suppose, " she went on, "that there ever was a much better bookthan that wrote, was there?"

Albert temporized. "It is a good one, " he admitted. 

"Don't seem to me there could be much better. Laban says it's good, though he won't go so far as to say it's the very best. He's read lotsand lots of books, Laban has. Reads an awful lot in his spare time. He'swhat you'd call an educated person, which is what I ain't. And I guessyou'll say that last is plain enough without bein' told, " she added. 

Her companion, not exactly knowing how to answer, was silent for amoment. Rachel, who had picked up and was again twisting the dust-cloth, returned to the subject she so delighted in. 

"But that Foul Play book, " she continued, "I've read till I've prettynigh wore the covers off. When Mrs. Bassett saw how much I liked itshe gave it to me for a present. I read a little bit in it every littlewhile. I kind of fit the folks in that book to folks in real life, sortof compare 'em, you know. Do you ever do that?"

Albert, repressing a chuckle, said, "Sure!" again. She nodded. 

"Now there's General Rolleson in that book, " she said. "Do you know whohe makes me think of? Cap'n Lote, your grandpa, that's who. "

General Rolleson, as Albert remembered him, was an extremely dignified, cultured and precise old gentleman. Just what resemblance there mightbe between him and Captain Zelotes Snow, ex-skipper of the Olive S. , he could not imagine. He could not repress a grin, and the housekeepernoticed it. 

"Seems funny to you, I presume likely, " she said. "Well, now you thinkabout it. This General Rolleson man was kind of proud and sot in hisways just as your grandpa is, Albert. He had a daughter he thought allthe world of; so did Cap'n Lote. Along come a person that wanted tomarry the daughter. In the book 'twas Robert Penfold, who had beena convict. In your grandpa's case, 'twas your pa, who had been aplay-actor. So you see--"

Albert sat up on the sofa. "Hold on!" he interrupted indignantly. "Doyou mean to compare my father with a--with a CONVICT? I want you tounderstand--"

Mrs. Ellis held up the dust-cloth. "Now, now, now, " she protested. "Don't go puttin' words in my mouth that I didn't say. I don't doubtyour pa was a nice man, in his way, though I never met him. But 'twan'tCap'n Lote's way any more than Robert Penfold's was General Rolleson's. "

"My father was famous, " declared the youth hotly. "He was one of themost famous singers in this country. Everybody knows that--that is, everybody but Grandfather and the gang down here, " he added, in disgust. 

"I don't say you're wrong. Laban tells me that some of those singin'folks get awful high wages, more than the cap'n of a steamboat, he says, though that seems like stretchin' it to me. But, as I say, Cap'n Lotewas proud, and nobody but the best would satisfy him for Janie, yourmother. Well, in that way, you see, he reminds me of General Rolleson inthe book. "

"Look here, Mrs. Ellis. Tell me about this business of Dad's marrying mymother. I never knew much of anything about it. "

"You didn't? Did your pa never tell you?"

"No. "

"Humph! That's funny. Still, I don't know's as 'twas, after all, considerin' you was only a boy. Probably he'd have told you some day. Well, I don't suppose there's any secret about it. 'Twas town talk downhere when it happened. "

She told him the story of the runaway marriage. Albert listened withinterest and the almost incredulous amazement with which the youngalways receive tales of their parents' love affairs. Love, for people ofhis age or a trifle older, was a natural and understandable thing, butfor his father, as he remembered him, to have behaved in this way wasincomprehensible. 

"So, " said Rachel, in conclusion, "that's how it happened. That's whyCap'n Lote couldn't ever forgive your father. "

He tossed his head. "Well, he ought to have forgiven him, " he declared. "He was dead lucky to get such a man for a son-in-law, if you ask me. "

"He didn't think so. And he wouldn't ever mention your pa's name. "

"Oh, I don't doubt that. Anybody can see how he hated Father. And hehates me the same way, " he added moodily. 

Mrs. Ellis was much disturbed. "Oh, no, he don't, " she cried. "Youmustn't think that, Albert. He don't hate you, I'm sure of it. He'sjust kind of doubtful about you, that's all. He remembers how your paacted--or how he thinks he acted--and so he can't help bein' the leastmite afraid the same thing may crop out in you. If you just stick toyour job over there at the lumber yards and keep on tryin' to pleasehim, he'll get all over that suspicion, see if he don't. Cap'n LoteSnow is stubborn sometimes and hard to turn, but he's square as a brick. There's some that don't like him, and a good many that don't agree withhim--but everybody respects him. "

Albert did not answer. The housekeeper rose from her chair. 

"There!" she exclaimed. "I don't know when I've set down for so long. Goodness knows I've got work enough to do without settin' aroundtalkin'. I can't think what possessed me to do it this time, unless'twas seein' you readin' that book. " She paused a moment and then said:"Albert, I--I don't want you and your grandpa to have any quarrels. Yousee--well, you see, I used to know your mother real well, and--and Ithought an awful sight of her. I wish--I do wish when you and the cap'nhave any trouble or anything, or when you think you're liable to haveany, you'd come and talk it over with me. I'm like the feller that Labantells about in his dog-fight yarn. This feller was watchin' the fightand when they asked him to stop it afore one or t'other of the dogswas killed, he just shook his head. 'No-o, ' he says, kind of slow andmoderate, 'I guess I shan't interfere. One of 'em's been stealin' mychickens and the other one bit me. I'm a friend to both parties, ' hesays. Course I don't mean it exactly that way, " she added, with a smile, "but you know what I do mean, I guess. WILL you talk things over with mesometimes, Albert?"

His answer was not very enthusiastic, but he said he guessed so, andRachel seemed satisfied with that. She went on with her dusting, and hewith his reading, but the conversation was the first of many between thepair. The housekeeper appeared to consider his having read her belovedFoul Play a sort of password admitting him to her lodge and thatthereafter they were, in consequence, to be confidants and comrades. Shenever hesitated to ask him the most personal questions concerning hiswork, his plans, the friends or acquaintances he was making in thevillage. Some of those questions he answered honestly and fully, some hedodged, some he did not answer at all. Mrs. Ellis never resented his notanswering. "I presume likely that ain't any of my business, is it?" shewould say, and ask about something else. 

On the other hand, she was perfectly outspoken concerning her ownaffairs. He was nearly overcome with hilarious joy when, one day, sheadmitted that, in her mind, Robert Penfold, the hero of Foul Play, livedagain in the person of Laban Keeler. 

"Why, Mrs. Ellis, " he cried, as soon as he could trust himself to speakat all, "I don't see THAT. Penfold was a six-footer, wasn't he?And--and athletic, you know, and--and a minister, and young--younger, Imean--and--"

Rachel interrupted. "Yes, yes, I know, " she said. "And Laban is little, and not very young, and, whatever else he is, he ain't a minister. Iknow all that. I know the outside of him don't look like Robert Penfoldat all. But, " somewhat apologetically, "you see I've been acquaintedwith him so many years I've got into the habit of seein' his INSIDE. Now that sounds kind of ridiculous, I know, " she added. "Sounds as ifI--I--well, as if I was in the habit of takin' him apart, like a watchor somethin'. What I mean is that I know him all through. I've known himfor a long, long while. He ain't much to look at, bein' so little andsort of dried up, but he's got a big, fine heart and big brains. He cando 'most anything he sets his hand to. When I used to know him, when Iwas a girl, folks was always prophesyin' that Laban Keeler would turnout to be a whole lot more'n the average. He would, too, only for onething, and you know what that is. It's what has kept me from marryin'him all this time. I swore I'd never marry a man that drinks, and Inever will. Why, if it wasn't for liquor Labe would have been runnin'his own business and gettin' rich long ago. He all but runs Cap'n Lote'splace as 'tis. The cap'n and a good many other folks don't realize that, but it's so. "

It was plain that she worshiped the little bookkeeper and, except duringthe periods of "vacation" and "sympathetics, " was tremendously proudof him. Albert soon discovered that Mr. Keeler's feeling for her wasequally strong. In his case, though, there was also a strong strain ofgratitude. 

"She's a fine woman, Al, " he confided to his assistant on one occasion. "A fine woman. . . . Yes, yes, yes. They don't make 'em any finer. Ahhum! And not so long ago I read about a passel of darn fools arguin'that the angels in heaven was all he-ones. . . . Umph! . . . Sho, sho!If men was as good as women, Ansel--Alfred--Albert, I mean--we couldstart an opposition heaven down here most any time. 'Most any time--yes, yes. "

It was considerable for him to say. Except when on a vacation, Laban wasnot loquacious. 

Each Sunday afternoon, when the weather was pleasant, he came, dressedin his best black cutaway, shiny at elbows and the under part of thesleeves, striped trousers and a pearl gray soft hat with a black band, a hat which looked as much out of place above his round, withered littleface as a red roof might have looked on a family vault, and he and thehousekeeper went for a walk. 

Rachel, in her Sunday black, bulked large beside him. As Captain Zelotessaid, the pair looked like "a tug takin' a liner out to sea. "

CHAPTER V

Outside of the gates of the Snow place Albert was making manyacquaintances and a few friends. After church on Sundays his grandmotherhad a distressful habit of suddenly seizing his arm or his coat-tail ashe was hurrying toward the vestibule and the sunshine of outdoors, andsaying: "Oh, Albert, just a minute! Here's somebody you haven't metyet, I guess. Elsie"--or Nellie or Mabel or Henry or Charlie or George, whichever it happened to be--"this is my grandson, Albert Speranza. " Andthe young person to whom he was thus introduced would, if a male, extenda hesitating hand, give his own an embarrassed shake, smile uncertainlyand say, "Yes--er--yes. Pleased to meet you. " Or, if of the other sex, would blush a little and venture the observation that it was a lovelymorning, and wasn't the sermon splendid. 

These Sabbath introductions led to week-day, or rather week-evening, meetings. The principal excitement in South Harniss was "going for themail. " At noon and after supper fully one-half of the village populationjourneyed to the post office. Albert's labors for Z. Snow and Co. Prevented his attending the noon gatherings--his grandfather usuallygot the morning mail--but he early formed the habit of sauntering "downstreet" in the evening if the weather was not too cold or disagreeable. There he was certain to find groups of South Harniss youth of bothsexes, talking, giggling, skylarking and flirting. Sometimes he joinedone or the other of these groups; quite as often he did not, but keptaloof and by himself, for it may as well be acknowledged now, if it isnot already plain, that the son of Miguel Carlos Speranza had inheriteda share of his father's temperament and self-esteem. The whim of themoment might lead him to favor these young people with his society, buthe was far from considering himself under obligation to do so. He hadnot the least idea that he was in any way a snob, he would have hotlyresented being called one, but he accepted his estimate of his own worthas something absolute and certain, to be taken for granted. 

Now this attitude of mind had its dangers. Coupled with its possessor'sextraordinary good looks, it was fascinating to a large percentage ofthe village girls. The Speranza eyes and the Speranza curls and noseand chin were, when joined with the easy condescension of the Speranzamanner, a combination fatal to the susceptible. The South Harniss"flappers, " most of them, enthused over the new bookkeeper in the lumberoffice. They ogled and giggled and gushed in his presence, and he wastolerant or bored, just as he happened to be feeling at the moment. Buthe never displayed a marked interest in any one of them, for the verygood reason that he had no such interest. To him they were merely girls, nice enough in their way, perhaps, but that way not his. Most of thetown young fellows of his age he found had a "girl" and almost everygirl had a "fellow"; there was calf love in abundance, but he was adifferent brand of veal. 

However, a great man must amuse himself, and so he accepted invitationsto church socials and suppers and to an occasional dance or party. Hisstyle of dancing was not that of South Harniss in the winter. It wascommon enough at the hotel or the "tea house" in July and August whenthe summer people were there, but not at the town hall at the Red Men'sAnnual Ball in February. A fellow who could foxtrot as he could sweptall before him. Sam Thatcher, of last year's class in the high school, but now clerking in the drug store, who had hitherto reigned as the best"two-stepper" in town, suddenly became conscious of his feet. Then, too, the contents of the three trunks which had been sent on from school werenow in evidence. No Boston or Brockton "Advanced Styles" held a candleto those suits which the tailor of the late Miguel Carlos had turned outfor his patron's only son. No other eighteen-year-older among the town'syear-around residents possessed a suit of evening clothes. Albert worehis "Tux" at the Red Men's Ball and hearts palpitated beneath new muslingowns and bitter envy stirred beneath the Brockton "Advanced Styles. "

In consequence, by spring the social status of Albert Speranza amongthose of his own age in the village had become something like this: Hewas in high favor with most of the girls and in corresponding disfavorwith most of the young fellows. The girls, although they agreed that hewas "stand-offish and kind of queer, " voted him "just lovely, all thesame. " Their envious beaux referred to him sneeringly among themselvesas a "stuck-up dude. " Some one of them remembered having been told thatCaptain Zelotes, years before, had been accustomed to speak of his hatedson-in-law as "the Portygee. " Behind his back they formed the habitof referring to their new rival in the same way. The first time Albertheard himself called a "Portygee" was after prayer meeting on Fridayevening, when, obeying a whim, he had walked home with Gertie Kendrick, quite forgetful of the fact that Sam Thatcher, who aspired to beGertie's "steady, " was himself waiting on the church steps for thatprivilege. 

Even then nothing might have come of it had he and Sam not met in thepath as he was sauntering back across lots to the main road and home. Itwas a brilliant moonlight night and the pair came together, literally, at the bend where the path turns sharply around the corner of ElijahDoane's cranberry shanty. Sam, plowing along, head down and hands in hispockets, swung around that corner and bumped violently into Albert, who, a cigarette between his lips--out here in the fields, away fromcivilization and Captain Zelotes, was a satisfyingly comfortable placeto smoke a cigarette--was dreaming dreams of a future far away fromSouth Harniss. Sam had been thinking of Gertie. Albert had not. She hadbeen a mere incident of the evening; he had walked home with her becausehe happened to be in the mood for companionship and she was ratherpretty and always talkative. His dreams during the stroll back alonein the moonlight had been of lofty things, of poetry and fame andhigh emprise; giggling Gerties had no place in them. It was distinctlydifferent with Sam Thatcher. 

They crashed together, gasped and recoiled. 

"Oh, I'm sorry!" exclaimed Albert. 

"Can't you see where you're goin', you darned Portygee half-breed?"demanded Sam. 

Albert, who had stepped past him, turned and came back. 

"What did you say?" he asked. 

"I said you was a darned half-breed, and you are. You're a no-goodPortygee, like your father. "

It was all he had time to say. For the next few minutes he was too busyto talk. The Speranzas, father and son, possessed temperament; also theypossessed temper. Sam's face, usually placid and good-natured, for Samwas by no means a bad fellow in his way, was fiery red. Albert's, on thecontrary, went perfectly white. He seemed to settle back on his heelsand from there almost to fly at his insulter. Five minutes or so laterthey were both dusty and dirty and dishevelled and bruised, but Sam waspretty thoroughly licked. For one thing, he had been taken by surpriseby his adversary's quickness; for another, Albert's compulsory trainingin athletics at school gave him an advantage. He was by no means anunscarred victor, but victor he was. Sam was defeated, and very muchastonished. He leaned against the cranberry house and held on to hisnose. It had been a large nose in the beginning, it was larger now. 

Albert stood before him, his face--where it was not a pleasingcombination of black and blue--still white. 

"If you--if you speak of my father or me again like that, " he panted, "I'll--I'll kill you!"

Then he strode off, a bit wobbly on his legs, but with dignity. 

Oddly enough, no one except the two most interested ever knew of thisencounter. Albert, of course, did not tell. He was rather ashamed of it. For the son of Miguel Carlos Speranza to conquer dragons was a worthyand heroic business, but there seemed to be mighty little heroism inlicking Sam Thatcher behind 'Lije Doane's cranberry shack. And Sam didnot tell. Gertie next day confided that she didn't care two cents forthat stuck-up Al Speranza, anyway; she had let him see her home onlybecause Sam had danced so many times with Elsie Wixon at the ballthat night. So Sam said nothing concerning the fight, explaining thecondition of his nose by saying that he had run into something in thedark. And he did not appear to hold a grudge against his conqueror; onthe contrary when others spoke of the latter as a "sissy, " Sam defendedhim. "He may be a dude, " said Sam; "I don't say he ain't. But he ain'tno sissy. "

When pressed to tell why he was so certain, his answer was: "Because hedon't act like one. " It was not a convincing answer, the general opinionbeing that that was exactly how Al Speranza did act. 

There was one young person in the village toward whom Albert foundhimself making exceptions in his attitude of serenely impersonaltolerance. That person was Helen Kendall, the girl who had come into hisgrandfather's office the first morning of his stay in South Harniss. Hewas forced to make these exceptions by the young lady herself. When hemet her the second time--which was after church on his first Sunday--hismanner was even more loftily reserved than usual. He had distinctrecollections of their first conversation. His own part in it had notbeen brilliant, and in it he had made the absurd statement--absurd inthe light of what came after--that he was certainly NOT employed by Z. Snow and Co. 

So he was cool and superior when his grandmother brought them togetherafter the meeting was over. If Helen noticed the superiority, she wascertainly not over-awed by it, for she was so simple and natural andpleasant that he was obliged to unbend and be natural too. In fact, at their third meeting he himself spoke of the interview in thelumber office and again expressed his thanks for warning him of hisgrandfather's detestation of cigarettes. 

"Gee!" he exclaimed, "I'm certainly glad that you put me on to the oldboy's feelings. I think he'd have murdered me if he had come back andfound me puffing a Pall Mall in there. "

She smiled. "He does hate them, doesn't he?" she said. 

"Hate them! I should say he did. Hating cigarettes is about the onlypoint where he and Issy get along without an argument. If a traveler fora hardware house comes into the office smoking a cig, Issy opens all thewindows to let the smell out, and Grandfather opens the door to throwthe salesman out. Well, not exactly to throw him out, of course, but henever buys a single cent's worth of a cigarette smoker. "

Helen glanced at him. "You must be awfully glad you're not a travelingsalesman, " she said demurely. 

Albert did not know exactly what to make of that remark. He, in histurn, looked at her, but she was grave and quite unconcerned. 

"Why?" he asked, after a moment. 

"Why--what?"

"Why ought I to be glad I'm not a traveling salesman?"

"Oh, I don't know. It just seemed to me that you ought, that's all. "

"But why?"

"Well, if you were you wouldn't make a great hit with your grandfather, would you?"

"Eh? . . . Oh, you mean because I smoke. Say, YOU'RE not silly enough tobe down on cigarettes the way grandfather is, are you?"

"No-o, I'm not down on them, especially. I'm not very well acquaintedwith them. "

"Neither is he. He never smoked one in his life. It's just countryprejudice, that's all. "

"Well, I live in the country, too, you know. "

"Yes, but you're different. "

"How do you know I am?"

"Oh, because any one can see you are. " The manner in which this remarkwas made, a manner implying a wide knowledge of humanity and a hint ofpersonal interest and discriminating appreciation, had been found quiteeffective by the precocious young gentleman uttering it. With variationsto suit the case and the individual it had been pleasantly received byseveral of the Misses Bradshaw's pupils. He followed it with anotherequally tried and trustworthy. 

"Say, " he added, "would YOU rather I didn't smoke?"

The obvious reply should have been, "Oh, would you stop if I asked youto?" But Helen Kendall was a most disconcerting girl. Instead of purringa pleased recognition of the implied flattery, she laughed merrily. TheSperanza dignity was hurt. 

"What is there to laugh at?" he demanded. "Are you laughing at me?"

The answer was as truthful as truth itself. 

"Why, of course I am, " she replied; and then completed his discomfitureby adding, "Why should I care whether you smoke or not? You had betterask your grandfather that question, I should think. "

Now Alberto Miguel Carlos Speranza had not been accustomed to this sortof treatment from young persons of the other sex, and he walked away ina huff. But the unusual is always attractive, and the next time he andMiss Kendall met he was as gracious and cordial as ever. But it wasnot long before he learned that the graciousness was, in her case, amistake. Whenever he grew lofty, she took him down, laughed at him withcomplete frankness, and refused to treat him as anything but a boy. Sothey gradually grew friendly, and when they met at parties or churchsocials he spent most of the time in her company, or, rather, he wouldhave so spent it had she permitted. But she was provokingly impartialand was quite as likely to refuse a dance with him to sit out onewith Sam Thatcher or Ben Hammond or any other village youth of heracquaintance. However, although she piqued and irritated him, he wasobliged to admit to his inner consciousness that she was the mostinteresting person he had yet discovered in South Harniss, also thateven in the eyes of such connoisseurs as his fellow members of thesenior class at school she would have been judged a "good looker, " inspite of her country clothes. 

He met her father, of course. The Reverend Mr. Kendall was a dreamylittle old gentleman with white hair and the stooped shoulders of astudent. Everybody liked him, and it was for that reason principallythat he was still the occupant of the Congregational pulpit, for toquote Captain Zelotes, his sermons were inclined to be like the sandyroad down to Setuckit Point, "ten mile long and dry all the way. " He wasa widower and his daughter was his companion and managing housekeeper. There was a half-grown girl, one of the numerous Price family, a cousinof Issachar's, who helped out with the sweeping, dish-washing andcooking, but Helen was the real head of the household. 

"And she's a capable one, too, " declared Mrs. Snow, when at supper oneevening Helen's name had come into the conversation. "I declare when Iwas there yesterday to see the minister about readin' poetry to us atsewin'-circle next Monday that parlor was as neat as wax. And 'twas allHelen's work that kept it so, that was plain enough. You could see herway of settin' a vase or puttin' on a table cloth wherever you looked. Nobody else has just that way. And she does it after school or beforeschool or 'most any odd time. And whatever 'tis is done right. "

The housekeeper put in a word. "There's no doubt about that, " she said, "and there ain't any more doubt that she don't get much help from her paor that Maria B. " There were so many Prices within the township limitsthat individuals were usually distinguished by their middle initial. "Asfor Mr. Kendall, " went on Rachel, "he moves with his head in the cloudsand his feet cruisin' with nobody at the wheel two-thirds of the time. Emma Smith says to me yesterday, says she, 'Mr. Kendall is a saint onearth, ain't he, ' says she. 'Yes, ' says I, 'and he'll be one in heavenany minute if he goes stumblin' acrost the road in front of DoctorHolliday's automobile the way I see him yesterday. ' The doctor put onthe brakes with a slam and a yell. The minister stopped right there inthe middle of the road with the front wheels of that auto not MORE'N twofoot from his old baggy trousers' knees, and says he, 'Eh? Did you wantme, Doctor?' The doctor fetched a long breath. 'Why, no, Mr. Kendall, 'he says, 'I didn't, but I come darn nigh gettin' you. ' I don't know whatWOULD become of him if he didn't have Helen to look out for him. "

As they came to know each other better their conversation dealt withmatters more personal. They sometimes spoke of plans for the future. Albert's plans and ambitions were lofty, but rather vague. Helen'swere practical and definite. She was to graduate from high school thatspring. Then she was hoping to teach in the primary school there in thevillage; the selectmen had promised her the opportunity. 

"But, of course, " she said, "I don't mean to stay here always. When Ican, after I have saved some money and if Father doesn't need metoo badly, I shall go away somewhere, to Bridgewater, or perhaps toRadcliffe, and study. I want to specialize in my teaching, you know. "

Albert regarded her with amused superiority. 

"I don't see why on earth you are so anxious to be a school-marm, " hesaid. "That's the last job I'd want. "

Her answer was given promptly, but without the least trace of temper. That was one of the most provoking things about this girl, she would notlose her temper. He usually lost his trying to make her. She spoke now, pleasantly, and deliberately, but as if she were stating an undesirablefact. 

"I think it would be the last one you would get, " she said. 

"Why? Great Scott! I guess I could teach school if I wanted to. But youbet I wouldn't want to! . . . NOW what are you laughing at?"

"I'm not laughing. "

"Yes, you are. I can always tell when you're laughing; you get that lookin your eyes, that sort of--of--Oh, I can't tell you what kind of lookit is, but it makes me mad. It's the same kind of look my grandfatherhas, and I could punch him for it sometimes. Why should you and he thinkI'm not going to amount to anything?"

"I don't think so. And I'm sure he doesn't either. And I wasn't laughingat you. Or, if I was, it--it was only because--"

"Well, because what?"

"Oh, because you are so AWFULLY sure you know--well, know more than mostpeople. "

"Meaning I'm stuck on myself, I suppose. Well, now I tell you I'mnot going to hang around in this one-horse town all my life to pleasegrandfather or any one else. "

When he mentioned his determination to win literary glory she was alwaysgreatly interested. Dreams of histrionic achievement were more coldlyreceived. The daughter of a New England country clergyman, even in thesedays of broadening horizons, could scarcely be expected to look withfavor upon an actor's career. 

June came and with it the first of the summer visitors. For the nextthree months Albert was happy with a new set of acquaintances. They wereHIS kind, these young folks from the city, and his spare moments werefor the most part spent in their society. He was popular with them, too. Some of them thought it queer that he should be living all the year inthe village and keeping books for a concern like Z. Snow and Co. , butjuvenile society is tolerant and a youth who could sing passably, dancewonderfully and, above all, was as beautifully picturesque as AlbertSperanza, was welcomed, especially by the girls. So the Saturdays andSundays and evenings of that summer were pleasant for him. He saw littleof Helen or Gertie Kendrick while the hotel or the cottages remainedopen. 

Then came the fall and another long, dreary winter. Albert plodded on athis desk or in the yard, following Mr. Keeler's suggestions, obeying hisgrandfather's orders, tormenting Issy, doing his daily stint because hehad to, not because he liked it. For amusement he read a good deal, wentto the usual number of sociables and entertainments, and once took partin amateur theatricals, a play given by the church society in thetown hall. There was where he shone. As the dashing young hero he wasresplendent. Gertie Kendrick gazed upon him from the third setteecenter with shining eyes. When he returned home after it was over hisgrandmother and Mrs. Ellis overwhelmed him with praises. 

"I declare you was perfectly splendid, Albert!" exclaimed Olive. "I wasso proud of you I didn't know what to do. "

Rachel looked upon him as one might look upon a god from Olympus. 

"All I could think of was Robert Penfold, " she said. "I says so toLaban: 'Laban, ' says I, ain't he Robert Penfold and nobody else?' Thereyou was, tellin' that Hannibal Ellis that you was innocent and some daythe world would know you was, just the way Robert Penfold done in thebook. I never did like that Hannie Ellis!"

Mrs. Snow smiled. "Mercy, Rachel, " she said, "I hope you're not blamin'Hannie because of what he did in that play. That was his part, he had todo it. "

But Rachel was not convinced. "He didn't have to be so everlastin' meanand spiteful about it, anyhow, " she declared. "But there, that familyof Ellises never did amount to nothin' much. But, as I said to Laban, Albert, you was Robert Penfold all over. "

"What did Labe say to that?" asked Albert, laughing. 

"He never had a chance to say nothin'. Afore he could answer, that MariaB. Price--she was settin' right back of me and eatin' molasses candy outof a rattly paper bag till I thought I SHOULD die--she leaned forwardand she whispered: 'He looks more to me like that Stevie D. That used towork for Cap'n Crowell over to the Center. Stevie D. Had curly hair likethat and HE was part Portygee, you remember; though there was a littlenigger blood in him, too, ' she says. I could have shook her! And thenshe went to rattlin' that bag again. "

Even Mr. Keeler congratulated him at the office next morning. "You donewell, Al, " he said. "Yes--yes--yes. You done fust-rate, fust-rate. "

His grandfather was the only one who refused to enthuse. 

"Well, " inquired Captain Zelotes, sitting down at his desk and glancingat his grandson over his spectacles, "do you cal'late to be able to getdown to earth this mornin' far enough to figger up the payroll? You canput what you made from play-actin' on a separate sheet. It's about asmuch as the average person makes at that job, " he added. 

Albert's face flushed. There were times when he hated his grandfather. Mr. Keeler, a moment later, put a hand on his shoulder. 

"You mustn't mind the old man, Al, " he whispered. "I expect that seein'you last night brought your dad's job back to him strong. He can't bearplay-actin', you know, on your dad's account. Yes--yes. That was it. Yes--yes--yes. "

It may have been a truthful explanation, but as an apology it was alimited success. 

"My father was a gentleman, at any rate, " snapped Albert. Laban openedhis mouth to reply, but closed it again and walked back to his books. 

In May, which was an unusually balmy month, the Congregational SundaySchool gave an automobile excursion and box-luncheon party at High PointLight down at Trumet. As Rachel Ellis said, it was pretty early forpicnickin', but if the Almighty's season was ahead of time there didn'tseem to be any real good reason why one of his Sunday schools shouldn'tbe. And, which was the principal excuse for the hurry, the hotel bussescould be secured, which would not be the case after the season opened. 

Albert went to the picnic. He was not very keen on going, but hisgrandfather had offered him a holiday for the purpose, and it was oneof his principles never to refuse a chance to get away from that office. Besides, a number of the young people of his age were going, and GertieKendrick had been particularly insistent. 

"You just MUST come, Al, " she said. "It won't be any fun at all if youdon't come. "

It is possible that Gertie found it almost as little fun when hedid come. He happened to be in one of his moods that day; "Portygeestreaks, " his grandfather termed these moods, and told Olive that theywere "that play-actor breakin' out in him. " He talked but little duringthe ride down in the bus, refused to sing when called upon, and, afterdinner, when the dancing in the pavilion was going on, stepped quietlyout of the side door and went tramping along the edge of the bluff, looking out over the sea or down to the beach, where, one hundred andfifty feet below, the big waves were curling over to crash into a creamymass of froth and edge the strand with lacy ripples. 

The high clay bluffs of Trumet are unique. No other part of the Capeshows anything just like them. High Point Light crowns their highestand steepest point and is the flashing beacon the rays of which spell"America" to the incoming liner Boston bound. 

Along the path skirting the edge of the bluff Albert strolled, his handsin his pockets and his thoughts almost anywhere except on the picnicand the picnickers of the South Harniss Congregational Church. Hisparticular mood on this day was one of discontent and rebellion againstthe fate which had sentenced him to the assistant bookkeeper's positionin the office of Z. Snow and Co. At no time had he reconciled himself tothe idea of that position as a permanent one; some day, somehow he wasgoing to break away and do--marvelous things. But occasionally, andusually after a disagreeable happening in the office, he awoke from hisyouthful day dreams of glorious futures to a realization of the dismalto-day. 

The happening which had brought about realization in this instance washumorous in the eyes of two-thirds of South Harniss's population. Theywere chuckling over it yet. The majority of the remaining third wereshocked. Albert, who was primarily responsible for the whole affair, wasneither amused nor shocked; he was angry and humiliated. 

The Reverend Seabury Calvin, of Providence, R. I. , had arrived in townand opened his summer cottage unusually early in the season. Whatwas quite as important, Mrs. Seabury Calvin had arrived with him. TheReverend Calvin, whose stay was in this case merely temporary, wasplanning to build an addition to his cottage porch. Mrs. Calvin, who wasthe head of the summer "Welfare Workers, " whatever they were, had calleda meeting at the Calvin house to make Welfare plans for the season. 

The lumber for the new porch was ordered of Z. Snow and Co. The ReverendCalvin ordered it himself in person. Albert received the order. 

"I wish this delivered to-morrow without fail, " said Mr. Calvin. Albertpromised. 

But promises are not always easy to keep. One of Z. Snow and Co. 's teamswas busy hauling lumber for the new schoolhouse at Bayport. The otherIssachar had commandeered for deliveries at Harniss Center and refusedto give up his claim. And Laban Keeler, as it happened, was absenton one of his "vacations. " Captain Zelotes was attending a directors'meeting at Osham and from there was going to Boston for a day's stay. 

"The ship's in your hands, Al, " he had said to his grandson. "Let me seehow you handle her. "

So, in spite of Albert's promise, the Calvin lumber was not delivered ontime. The Reverend gentleman called to ask why. His manner was anythingbut receptive so far as excuses were concerned. 

"Young man, " he said loftily, "I am accustomed to do business withbusiness people. Did you or did you not promise to deliver my orderyesterday?"

"Why, yes sir, I promised, but we couldn't do it. We--"

"I don't care to know why you didn't do it. The fact that you did not issufficient. Will that order of mine be delivered to-day?"

"If it is a possible thing, Mr. Calvin, it--"

"Pardon me. Will it be delivered?"

The Speranza temper was rising. "Yes, " said the owner of that temper, succinctly. 

"Does yes mean yes, in this case; or does it mean what it meant before?"

"I have told you why--"

"Never mind. Young man, if that lumber is not delivered to-day I shallcancel the order. Do you understand?"

Albert swallowed hard. "I tell you, Mr. Calvin, that it shall bedelivered, " he said. "And it will be. "

But delivering it was not so easy. The team simply could NOT be takenoff the schoolhouse job, fulfillment of a contract was involved there. And the other horse had gone lame and Issachar swore by all that wassolemn that the animal must not be used. 

"Let old Calvin wait till to-morrow, " said Issy. "You can use the bigteam then. And Cap'n Lote'll be home, besides. "

But Albert was not going to let "old Calvin" wait. That lumber was goingto be delivered, if he had to carry it himself, stick by stick. He askedMr. Price if an extra team might not be hired. 

"Ain't none, " said Issy. "Besides, where'd your granddad's profits beif you spent money hirin' extry teams to haul that little mite of stuff?I've been in this business a good long spell, and I tell you--"

He did not get a chance to tell it, for Albert walked off and left him. At half-past twelve that afternoon he engaged "Vessie" Young--christenedSylvester Young and a brother to the driver of the depot wagon--tohaul the Calvin lumber in his rickety, fragrant old wagon. SimpsonMullen--commonly called "Simp"--was to help in the delivery. 

Against violent protests from Issy, who declared that Ves Young'srattle-trap wan't fit to do nothin' but haul fish heads to thefertilizer factory, the Calvin beams and boards were piled high onthe wagon and with Ves on the driver's seat and Simp perched, like adisreputable carrion crow on top of the load, the equipage started. 

"There!" exclaimed Albert, with satisfaction. "He can't say it wasn'tdelivered this time according to promise. "

"Godfreys!" snorted Issy, gazing after the departing wagon. "He won't beable to say nothin' when he sees that git-up--and smells it. Ves cartseverything in that cart from dead cows to gurry barrels. Whew! I'dhate to have to set on that porch when 'twas built of that lumber. And, unless I'm mistook, Ves and Simp had been havin' a little somethin'strong to take, too. "

Mr. Price, as it happened, was not "mistook. " Mr. Young had, as theSouth Harniss saying used to be, "had a jug come down" on the train fromBoston that very morning. The jug was under the seat of his wagon andits contents had already been sampled by him and by Simp. The journey tothe Calvin cottage was enlivened by frequent stops for refreshment. 

Consequently it happened that, just as Mrs. Calvin's gathering ofWelfare Workers had reached the cake and chocolate stage in theirproceedings and just as the Reverend Mr. Calvin had risen by invitationto say a few words of encouragement, the westerly wind blowing in atthe open windows bore to the noses and ears of the assembled faithful aperfume and a sound neither of which was sweet. 

Above the rattle and squeak of the Young wagon turning in at the Calvingate arose the voices of Vessie and Simp uplifted in song. 

"'Here's to the good old whiskey, drink 'er daown, '" sang Mr. Young. 

 "'Here's to the good old whiskey, Drink 'er daown! Here's to the good old whiskey, It makes you feel so frisky, Drink 'er--'

Git up there, blank blank ye! What the blankety blank you stoppin' herefor? Git up!"

The horse was not the only creature that got up. Mrs. Calvin rose fromher chair and gazed in horror at the window. Her husband, being alreadyon his feet, could not rise but he broke off short the opening sentenceof his "few words" and stared and listened. Each Welfare Worker staredand listened also. 

"Git up, you blankety blank blank, " repeated Ves Young, with cheerfulenthusiasm. Mr. Mullen, from the top of the load of lumber, caroleddreamily on:

 "'Here's to the good old rum, Drink 'er daown! Here's to the good old rum, Drink 'er daown! Here's to the good old rum, Ain't you glad that you've got some? Drink 'er daown! Drink 'er daown! Drink 'er daown!'"

And floating, as it were, upon the waves of melody came the odor of theYoung wagon, an odor combining deceased fish and late lamented cow andgoodness knows what beside. 

The dissipated vehicle stopped beneath the parlor windows of the Calvincottage. Mr. Young called to his assistant. 

"Here we be, Simp!" he yelled. "A-a-ll ashore that's goin' ashore! Wakeup there, you unmentionably described old rum barrel and help unloadthis everlastingly condemned lumber. "

Mr. Calvin rushed to the window. "What does this mean?" he demanded, infrothing indignation. 

Vessie waved at him reassuringly. "'Sall right, Mr. Calvin, " he shouted. "Here's your lumber from Ze-lotes Snow and Co. , South Harniss, Mass. , U. S. A. 'Sall right. Let 'er go, Simp! Let 'er blankety-blank go!"

Mr. Mullen responded with alacrity and a whoop. A half dozen boardscrashed to the ground beneath the parlor windows. Mrs. Calvin rushed toher husband's side. 

"This is DREADFUL, Seabury!" she cried. "Send those creatures and--andthat horrible wagon away at once. "

The Reverend Calvin tried to obey orders. He commanded Mr. Young to goaway from there that very moment. Vessie was surprised. 

"Ain't this your lumber?" he demanded. 

"It doesn't make any difference whether it is or not, I--"

"Didn't you tell Z. Snow and Co. That this lumber'd got to be deliveredto-day or you'd cancel the order?"

"Never mind. That is my business, sir. You--"

"Hold on! Ho-o-ld on! _I_ got a business, too. My business is deliverin'what I'm paid to deliver. Al Speranzy he says to me: 'Ves, ' he says, 'ifyou don't deliver that lumber to old man Calvin to-day you don't get nomoney, see. Will you deliver it?' Says I, 'You bet your crashety-blanklife I'll (hic) d'liver it! What I say I'll do, I'll do!' And I'mdeliverin' it, ain't I? Hey? Ain't I? Well, then, what the--" And soforth and at length, while Mrs. Calvin collapsed half fainting in aneasy-chair, and horrified Welfare Workers covered their ears--and longedto cover their noses. 

The lumber was delivered that day. Its delivery was, from the viewpointof Messrs. Young and Mullen, a success. The spring meeting of theWelfare Workers was not a success. 

The following day Mr. Calvin called at the office of Z. Snow and Co. Hehad things to say and said them. Captain Zelotes, who had returned fromBoston, listened. Then he called his grandson. 

"Tell him what you've just told me, Mr. Calvin, " he said. 

The reverend gentleman told it, with added details. 

"And in my opinion, if you'll excuse me, Captain Snow, " he said, inconclusion, "this young man knew what he was doing when he sent thosedrunken scoundrels to my house. He did it purposely, I am convinced. "

Captain Zelotes looked at him. 

"Why?" he asked. 

"Why, because--because of--of what I said to him--er--er--when I calledhere yesterday morning. He--I presume he took offense and--and thisoutrage is the result. I am convinced that--"

"Wait a minute. What did you say for him to take offense at?"

"I demanded that order should be delivered as promised. I am accustomedto do business with business men and--"

"Hold on just a minute more, Mr. Calvin. We don't seem to be gettin' atthe clam in this shell as fast as we'd ought to. Al, what have you gotto say about all this business?"

Albert was white, almost as white as when he fought Sam Thatcher, but ashe stood up to Sam so also did he face the irate clergyman. He toldof the latter's visit to the office, of the threat to cancel the orderunless delivery was promised that day, of how his promise to deliver wasexacted, of his effort to keep that promise. 

"I HAD to deliver it, Grandfather, " he said hotly. "He had all butcalled me a liar and--and by George, I wasn't going to--"

His grandfather held up a warning hand. 

"Sshh! Ssh!" he said. "Go on with your yarn, boy. "

Albert told of the lame horse, of his effort to hire another team, andfinally how in desperation he had engaged Ves Young as a last resort. The captain's face was serious but there was the twinkle under his heavybrows. He pulled at his beard. 

"Humph!" he grunted. "Did you know Ves and Simp had been drinkin' whenyou hired 'em?"

"Of course I didn't. After they had gone Issy said he suspected thatthey had been drinking a little, but _I_ didn't know it. All I wantedwas to prove to HIM, " with a motion toward Mr. Calvin, "that I kept myword. "

Captain Zelotes pulled at his beard. "All right, Al, " he said, after amoment; "you can go. "

Albert went out of the private office. After he had gone the captainturned to his irate customer. 

"I'm sorry this happened, Mr. Calvin, " he said, "and if Keeler or I hadbeen here it probably wouldn't. But, " he added, "as far as I can see, the boy did what he thought was the best thing to do. And, " the twinklereappeared in the gray eyes, "you sartinly did get your lumber when'twas promised. "

Mr. Calvin stiffened. He had his good points, but he suffered from whatLaban Keeler once called "ingrowin' importance, " and this ailment oftenaffected his judgment. Also he had to face Mrs. Calvin upon his returnhome. 

"Do I understand, " he demanded, "that you are excusing that young manfor putting that outrage upon me?"

"We-ll, as I say, I'm sorry it happened. But, honest, Mr. Calvin, Idon't know's the boy's to blame so very much, after all. He deliveredyour lumber, and that's somethin'. "

"Is that all you have to say, Captain Snow? Is that--that impudent youngclerk of yours to go unpunished?"

"Why, yes, I guess likely he is. "

"Then I shall NEVER buy another dollar's worth of your house again, sir. "

Captain Zelotes bowed. "I'm sorry to lose your trade, Mr. Calvin, " hesaid. "Good mornin'. "

Albert, at his desk in the outer office, was waiting rebelliously to becalled before his grandfather and upbraided. And when so called he wasin a mood to speak his mind. He would say a few things, no matter whathappened in consequence. But he had no chance to say them. CaptainZelotes did not mention the Calvin affair to him, either that day orafterward. Albert waited and waited, expecting trouble, but the trouble, so far as his grandfather was concerned, did not materialize. He couldnot understand it. 

But if in that office there was silence concerning the unusual deliveryof the lumber for the Calvin porch, outside there was talk enough andto spare. Each Welfare Worker talked when she reached home and the storyspread. Small boys shouted after Albert when he walked down the mainstreet, demanding to know how Ves Young's cart was smellin' these days. When he entered the post office some one in the crowd was almost sure tohum, "Here's to the good old whiskey, drink her down. " On the trainon the way to the picnic, girls and young fellows had slyly nagged himabout it. The affair and its consequence were the principal causes ofhis mood that day; this particular "Portygee streak" was due to it. 

The path along the edge of the high bluff entered a grove of scraggypitch pines about a mile from the lighthouse and the picnic ground. Albert stalked gloomily through the shadows of the little grove andemerged on the other side. There he saw another person ahead of him onthe path. This other person was a girl. He recognized her even at thisdistance. She was Helen Kendall. 

She and he had not been quite as friendly of late. Not that there wasany unfriendliness between them, but she was teaching in the primaryschool and, as her father had not been well, spent most of her eveningsat home. During the early part of the winter he had called occasionallybut, somehow, it had seemed to him that she was not quite as cordial, oras interested in his society and conversation as she used to be. It wasbut a slight indifference on her part, perhaps, but Albert Speranzawas not accustomed to indifference on the part of his feminineacquaintances. So he did not call again. He had seen her at the picnicground and they had spoken, but not at any length. 

And he did not care to speak with her now. He had left the pavilionbecause of his desire to be alone, and that desire still persisted. However, she was some little distance ahead of him and he waited in theedge of the grove until she should go over the crest of the little hillat the next point. 

But she did not go over the crest. Instead, when she reached it, shewalked to the very edge of the bluff and stood there looking off at theocean. The sea breeze ruffled her hair and blew her skirts about her andshe made a pretty picture. But to Albert it seemed that she was standingmuch too near the edge. She could not see it, of course, but from wherehe stood he could see that the bank at that point was much undercut bythe winter rains and winds, and although the sod looked firm enough fromabove, in reality there was little to support it. Her standing theremade him a trifle uneasy and he had a mind to shout and warn her. He hesitated, however, and as he watched she stepped back of her ownaccord. He turned, re-entered the grove and started to walk back to thepavilion. 

He had scarcely done so when he heard a short scream followed by athump and a rumbling, rattling sound. He turned like a flash, his heartpounding violently. 

The bluff edge was untenanted. A semi-circular section of the sod whereHelen had stood was missing. From the torn opening where it had beenrose a yellow cloud of dust. 

CHAPTER VI

A goodly number of the South Harniss "natives, " those who had not seenhim play tennis, would have been willing to swear that running was, forAlbert Speranza, an impossibility. His usual gait was a rather languidsaunter. They would have changed their minds had they seen him now. 

He ran along that path as he had run in school at the last track meet, where he had been second in the hundred-yard dash. He reached the spotwhere the sod had broken and, dropping on his knees, looked fearfullyover. The dust was still rising, the sand and pebbles were stillrattling in a diminishing shower down to the beach so far below. But hedid not see what he had so feared to see. 

What he did see, however, was neither pleasant nor altogetherreassuring. The bluff below the sod at its top dropped sheer andundercut for perhaps ten feet. Then the sand and clay sloped outward andthe slope extended down for another fifty feet, its surface broken byoccasional clinging chunks of beach grass. Then it broke sharply again, a straight drop of eighty feet to the mounds and dunes bordering thebeach. 

Helen had of course fallen straight to the upper edge of the slope, where she had struck feet first, and from there had slid and rolled tothe very edge of the long drop to the beach. Her skirt had caught inthe branches of an enterprising bayberry bush which had managed to findroothold there, and to this bush and a clump of beach grass she wasclinging, her hands outstretched and her body extended along the edge ofthe clay precipice. 

Albert gasped. 

"Helen!" he called breathlessly. 

She turned her head and looked up at him. Her face was white, but shedid not scream. 

"Helen!" cried Albert, again. "Helen, do you hear me?"

"Yes. "

"Are you badly hurt?"

"No. No, I don't think so. "

"Can you hold on just as you are for a few minutes?"

"Yes, I--I think so. "

"You've got to, you know. Here! You're not going to faint, are you?"

"No, I--I don't think I am. "

"You can't! You mustn't! Here! Don't you do it! Stop!"

There was just a trace of his grandfather in the way he shouted theorder. Whether or not the vigor of the command produced the result is aquestion, but at any rate she did not faint. 

"Now you stay right where you are, " he ordered again. "And hang on astight as you can. I'm coming down. "

Come down he did, swinging over the brink with his face to the bank, dropping on his toes to the upper edge of the slope and digging bootsand fingers into the clay to prevent sliding further. 

"Hang on!" he cautioned, over his shoulder. "I'll be there in a second. There! Now wait until I get my feet braced. Now give me your hand--yourleft hand. Hold on with your right. "

Slowly and cautiously, clinging to his hand, he pulled her away from theedge of the precipice and helped her to scramble up to where he clung. There she lay and panted. He looked at her apprehensively. 

"Don't go and faint now, or any foolishness like that, " he orderedsharply. 

"No, no, I won't. I'll try not to. But how are we ever going to climbup--up there?"

Above them and at least four feet out of reach, even if they stood up, and that would be a frightfully risky proceeding, the sod projected overtheir heads like the eaves of a house. 

Helen glanced up at it and shuddered. 

"Oh, how CAN we?" she gasped. 

"We can't. And we won't try. "

"Shall we call for help?"

"Not much use. Nobody to hear us. Besides, we can always do that ifwe have to. I think I see a way out of the mess. If we can't get up, perhaps we can get down. "

"Get DOWN?"

"Yes, it isn't all as steep as it is here. I believe we might sort ofzig-zag down if we were careful. You hold on here just as you are; I'mgoing to see what it looks like around this next point. "

The "point" was merely a projection of the bluff about twenty feet away. He crawfished along the face of the slope, until he could see beyond it. Helen kept urging him to be careful--oh, be careful!

"Of course I'll be careful, " he said curtly. "I don't want to break myneck. Yes--yes, by George, it IS easier around there! We could get downa good way. Here, here; don't start until you take my hand. And be sureyour feet are braced before you move. Come on, now. "

"I--I don't believe I can. "

"Of course you can. You've GOT to. Come on. Don't look down. Look at thesand right in front of you. "

Getting around that point was a decidedly ticklish operation, but theymanaged it, he leading the way, making sure of his foothold beforemoving and then setting her foot in the print his own had made. On theother side of the projection the slope was less abrupt and extended muchnearer to the ground below. They zigzagged down until nearly to the edgeof the steep drop. Then Albert looked about for a new path to safety. Hefound it still farther on. 

"It takes us down farther, " he said, "and there are bushes to hold on toafter we get there. Come on, Helen! Brace up now, be a sport!"

She was trying her best to obey orders, but being a sport was no slightundertaking under the circumstances. When they reached the clump ofbushes her guide ordered her to rest. 

"Just stop and catch your breath, " he said. "The rest is going to beeasier, I think. And we haven't so very far to go. "

He was too optimistic. It was anything but easy; in fact, the lastthirty feet was almost a tumble, owing to the clay giving way beneaththeir feet. But there was soft sand to tumble into and they reached thebeach safe, though in a dishevelled, scratched and thoroughly smearedcondition. Then Helen sat down and covered her face with her hands. Her rescuer gazed triumphantly up at the distant rim of broken sod andgrinned. 

"There, by George!" he exclaimed. "We did it, didn't we? Say, that wasfun!"

She removed her hands and looked at him. 

"WHAT did you say it was?" she faltered. 

"I said it was fun. It was great! Like something out of a book, eh?"

She began to laugh hysterically. He turned to her in indignant surprise. "What are you laughing at?" he demanded. 

"Oh--oh, don't, please! Just let me laugh. If I don't laugh I shall cry, and I don't want to do that. Just don't talk to me for a few minutes, that's all. "

When the few minutes were over she rose to her feet. 

"Now we must get back to the pavilion, I suppose, " she said. "My, butwe are sights, though! Do let's see if we can't make ourselves a littlemore presentable. "

She did her best to wipe off the thickest of the clay smears with herhandkerchief, but the experiment was rather a failure. As they startedto walk back along the beach she suddenly turned to him and said:

"I haven't told you how--how much obliged I am for--for what you did. Ifyou hadn't come, I don't know what would have happened to me. "

"Oh, that's all right, " he answered lightly. He was reveling in thedramatic qualities of the situation. She did not speak again for sometime and he, too, walked on in silence enjoying his day dream. Suddenlyhe became aware that she was looking at him steadily and with an oddexpression on her face. 

"What is it?" he asked. "Why do you look at me that way?"

Her answer was, as usual, direct and frank. 

"I was thinking about you, " she said. "I was thinking that I must havebeen mistaken, partly mistaken, at least. "

"Mistaken? About me, do you mean?"

"Yes; I had made up my mind that you were--well, one sort of fellow, andnow I see that you are an entirely different sort. That is, you've shownthat you can be different. "

"What on earth do you mean by that?"

"Why, I mean--I mean--Oh, I'm sure I had better not say it. You won'tlike it, and will think I had better mind my own affairs--which I shoulddo, of course. "

"Go on; say it. "

She looked at him again, evidently deliberating whether or not to speakher thought. Then she said:

"Well, I will say it. Not that it is really my business, but because ina way it is begging your pardon, and I ought to do that. You see, I hadbegun to believe that you were--that you were--well, that you were notvery--very active, you know. "

"Active? Say, look here, Helen! What--"

"Oh, I don't wonder you don't understand. I mean that you wererather--rather fond of not doing much--of--of--"

"Eh? Not doing much? That I was lazy, do you mean?"

"Why, not exactly lazy, perhaps, but--but--Oh, how CAN I say just whatI mean! I mean that you were always saying that you didn't like the workin your grandfather's office. "

"Which I don't. "

"And that some day you were going to do something else. "

"Which I am. "

"Write or act or do something--"

"Yes, and that's true, too. "

"But you don't, you know. You don't do anything. You've been talkingthat way ever since I knew you, calling this a one-horse town and sayinghow you hated it, and that you weren't going to waste your life here, and all that, but you keep staying here and doing just the same things. The last long talk we had together you told me you knew you could writepoems and plays and all sorts of things, you just felt that you could. You were going to begin right away. You said that some months ago, andyou haven't done any writing at all. Now, have you?"

"No-o. No, but that doesn't mean I shan't by and by. "

"But you didn't begin as you said you would. That was last spring, morethan a year ago, and I don't believe you have tried to write a singlepoem. Have you?"

He was beginning to be ruffled. It was quite unusual for any one, mostof all for a girl, to talk to him in this way. 

"I don't know that I have, " he said loftily. "And, anyway, I don't seethat it is--is--"

"My business whether you have or not. I know it isn't. I'm sorry Ispoke. But, you see, I--Oh, well, never mind. And I do want you to knowhow much I appreciate your helping me as you did just now. I don't knowhow to thank you for that. "

But thanks were not exactly what he wanted at that moment. 

"Go ahead and say the rest, " he ordered, after a short pause. "You'vesaid so much that you had better finish it, seems to me. I'm lazy, youthink. What else am I?"

"You're brave, awfully brave, and you are so strong and quick--yes, and--and--masterful; I think that is the right word. You ordered meabout as if I were a little girl. I didn't want to keep still, as youtold me to; I wanted to scream. And I wanted to faint, too, but youwouldn't let me. I had never seen you that way before. I didn't know youcould be like that. That is what surprises me so. That is why I said youwere so different. "

Here was balm for wounded pride. Albert's chin lifted. "Oh, that wasnothing, " he said. "Whatever had to be done must be done right off, Icould see that. You couldn't hang on where you were very long. "

She shuddered. "No, " she replied, "I could not. But _I_ couldn't thinkWHAT to do, and you could. Yes, and did it, and made me do it. "

The chin lifted still more and the Speranza chest began to expand. Helen's next remark was in the natures of a reducer for the saidexpansion. 

"If you could be so prompt and strong and--and energetic then, " shesaid, "I can't help wondering why you aren't like that all the time. Ihad begun to think you were just--just--"

"Lazy, eh?" he suggested. 

"Why--why, no-o, but careless and indifferent and with not muchambition, certainly. You had talked so much about writing and yet younever tried to write anything, that--that--"

"That you thought I was all bluff. Thanks! Any more compliments?"

She turned on him impulsively. "Oh, don't!" she exclaimed. "Pleasedon't! I know what I am saying sounds perfectly horrid, and especiallynow when you have just saved me from being badly hurt, if not killed. But don't you see that--that I am saying it because I am interested inyou and sure you COULD do so much if you only would? If you would onlytry. "

This speech was a compound of sweet and bitter. Albertcharacteristically selected the sweet. 

"Helen, " he asked, in his most confidential tone, "would you like tohave me try and write something? Say, would you?"

"Of course I would. Oh, will you?"

"Well, if YOU asked me I might. For your sake, you know. "

She stopped and stamped her foot impatiently. 

"Oh, DON'T be silly!" she exclaimed. "I don't want you to do it formy sake. I want you to do it for your own sake. Yes, and for yourgrandfather's sake. "

"My grandfather's sake! Great Scott, why do you drag him in? HE doesn'twant me to write poetry. "

"He wants you to do something, to succeed. I know that. "

"He wants me to stay here and help Labe Keeler and Issy Price. He wantsme to spend all my life in that office of his; that's what HE wants. Now hold on, Helen! I'm not saying anything against the old fellow. Hedoesn't like me, I know, but--"

"You DON'T know. He does like you. Or he wants to like you very muchindeed. He would like to have you carry on the Snow Company's businessafter he has gone, but if you can't--or won't--do that, I know he wouldbe very happy to see you succeed at anything--anything. "

Albert laughed scornfully. "Even at writing poetry?" he asked. 

"Why, yes, at writing; although of course he doesn't know a thing aboutit and can't understand how any one can possibly earn a living that way. He has read or heard about poets and authors starving in garrets and hethinks they're all like that. But if you could only show him and proveto him that you could succeed by writing, he would be prouder of youthan any one else would be. I know it. "

He regarded her curiously. "You seem to know a lot about mygrandfather, " he observed. 

"I do know something about him. He and I have been friends ever sinceI was a little girl, and I like him very much indeed. If he were mygrandfather I should be proud of him. And I think you ought to be. "

She flashed the last sentence at him in a sudden heat of enthusiasm. Hewas surprised at her manner. 

"Gee! You ARE strong for the old chap, aren't you?" he said. "Well, admitting that he is all right, just why should I be proud of him? I AMproud of my father, of course; he was somebody in the world. "

"You mean he was somebody just because he was celebrated and lots ofpeople knew about him. Celebrated people aren't the only ones who doworth while things. If I were you, I should be proud of Captain Zelotesbecause he is what he has made himself. Nobody helped him; he did itall. He was a sea captain and a good one. He has been a business man anda good one, even if the business isn't so very big. Everybody herein South Harniss--yes, and all up and down the Cape--knows of him andrespects him. My father says in all the years he has preached in hischurch he has never heard a single person as much as hint that CaptainSnow wasn't absolutely honest, absolutely brave, and the same toeverybody, rich or poor. And all his life he has worked and worked hard. What HE has belongs to him; he has earned it. That's why I should beproud of him if he were my grandfather. "

Her enthusiasm had continued all through this long speech. Albertwhistled. 

"Whew!" he exclaimed. "Regular cheer for Zelotes, fellows! One--two--!Grandfather's got one person to stand up for him, I'll say that. But whythis sudden outbreak about him, anyhow? It was me you were talking aboutin the beginning--though I didn't notice any loud calls for cheers inthat direction, " he added. 

She ignored the last part of the speech. "I think you yourself made methink of him, " she replied. "Sometimes you remind me of him. Not often, but once in a while. Just now, when we were climbing down that awfulplace you seemed almost exactly like him. The way you knew just what todo all the time, and your not hesitating a minute, and the way you tookcommand of the situation and, " with a sudden laugh, "bossed me around;every bit of that was like him, and not like you at all. Oh, I don'tmean that, " she added hurriedly. "I mean it wasn't like you as youusually are. It was different. "

"Humph! Well, I must say--See here, Helen Kendall, what is it you expectme to do; sail in and write two or three sonnets and a 'Come Intothe Garden, Maud, ' some time next week? You're terribly keen aboutGrandfather, but he has rather got the edge on me so far as age goes. He's in the sixties, and I'm just about nineteen. "

"When he was nineteen he was first mate of a ship. "

"Yes, so I've heard him say. Maybe first-mating is a little bit easierthan writing poetry. "

"And maybe it isn't. At any rate, he didn't know whether it was easy ornot until he tried. Oh, THAT'S what I would like to see you do--TRYto do something. You could do it, too, almost anything you tried, I dobelieve. I am confident you could. But--Oh, well, as you said at thebeginning, it isn't my business at all, and I've said ever and ever somuch more than I meant to. Please forgive me, if you can. I think mytumble and all the rest must have made me silly. I'm sorry, Albert. There are the steps up to the pavilion. See them!"

He was tramping on beside her, his hands in his pockets. He did not lookat the long flight of steps which had suddenly come into view around thecurve of the bluff. When he did look up and speak it was in a differenttone, some such tone as she had heard him use during her rescue. 

"All right, " he said, with decision, "I'll show you whether I can tryor not. I know you think I won't, but I will. I'm going up to my roomto-night and I'm going to try to write something or other. It may be therottenest poem that ever was ground out, but I'll grind it if it killsme. "

She was pleased, that was plain, but she shook her head. 

"Not to-night, Albert, " she said. "To-night, after the picnic, isFather's reception at the church. Of course you'll come to that. "

"Of course I won't. Look here, you've called me lazy and indifferent anda hundred other pet names this afternoon. Well, this evening I'll makeyou take some of 'em back. Reception be hanged! I'm going to writeto-night. "

That evening both Mrs. Snow and Rachel Ellis were much disturbed becauseAlbert, pleading a headache, begged off from attendance at the receptionto the Reverend Mr. Kendall. Either, or both ladies would have been onlytoo willing to remain at home and nurse the sufferer through his attack, but he refused to permit the sacrifice on their part. After they hadgone his headache disappeared and, supplied with an abundance of paper, pens and ink, he sat down at the table in his room to invoke the Muse. The invocation lasted until three A. M. At that hour, with a genuineheadache, but a sense of triumph which conquered pain, Albert climbedinto bed. Upon the table lay a poem, a six stanza poem, having thesewords at its head:

 TO MY LADY'S SPRING HAT By A. M. Speranza. 

The following forenoon he posted that poem to the editor of The Cape CodItem. And three weeks later it appeared in the pages of that journal. Of course there was no pecuniary recompense for its author, and the factwas indisputable that the Item was generally only too glad to publishcontributions which helped to fill its columns. But, nevertheless, Albert Speranza had written a poem and that poem had been published. 

CHAPTER VII

It was Rachel who first discovered "To My Lady's Spring Hat" in the Itemthree weeks later. She came rushing into the sitting room brandishingthe paper. 

"My soul! My soul! My soul!" she cried. 

Olive, sitting sewing by the window, was, naturally, somewhat startled. "Mercy on us, Rachel!" she exclaimed. "What IS it?"

"Look!" cried the housekeeper, pointing to the contribution in the"Poets' Corner" as Queen Isabella may have pointed at the evidence ofher proteges discovery of a new world. "LOOK!"

Mrs. Snow looked, read the verses to herself, and then aloud. 

"Why, I declare, they're real sort of pretty, ain't they?" sheexclaimed, in astonished admiration. 

"Pretty! They're perfectly elegant! And right here in the paper for allhands to see. Ain't you PROUD of him, Mrs. Snow?"

Olive had been growing more and more proud of her handsome grandson eversince his arrival. She was prouder still now and said so. Rachel nodded, triumphantly. 

"He'll be a Robert Penfold afore he dies, or I miss MY guess!" shedeclared. 

She showed it to feminine acquaintances all over town, and Olive, whencallers came, took pains to see that a copy of the Item, folded with the"Poets' Corner" uppermost, lay on the center table. Customers, droppingin at the office, occasionally mentioned the poem to its author. 

"See you had a piece in the Item, Al, " was their usual way of referringto it. "Pretty cute piece 'twas, too, seemed to me. Say, that girl ofyours must have SOME spring bunnit. Ho, ho!"

Issachar deigned to express approval, approval qualified with discerningcriticism of course, but approval nevertheless. 

"Pretty good piece, Al, " he observed. "Pretty good. Glad to see you doneso well. Course you made one little mistake, but 'twan't a very big one. That part where you said--What was it, now? Where'd I put that piece ofpoetry? Oh, yes, here 'tis! Where you said--er--er--

 'It floats upon her golden curls As froth upon the wave. '

Now of course nothin'--a hat or nothin' else--is goin' to float on topof a person's head. Froth floatin', that's all right, you understand;but even if you took froth right out of the water and slapped it up ontoanybody's hair 'twouldn't FLOAT up there. If you'd said, 'It SETS up onto her golden curls, Same as froth sets on top of a wave. '

that would have been all right and true. But there, don't feel bad aboutit. It's only a little mistake, same as anybody's liable to make. Ninepersons out of ten wouldn't have noticed it. I'm extry partic'lar, Ipresume likely. I'm findin' mistakes like that all the time. "

Laban's comment was less critical, perhaps, but more reserved. 

"It's pretty good, Al, " he said. "Yes--er--yes, sir, it's pretty good. It ain't all new, there's some of it that's been written before, but Irather guess that might have been said about Shakespeare's poetry whenhe fust commenced. It's pretty good, Al. Yes--yes, yes. It is so. "

Albert was inclined to resent the qualified strain in the bookkeeper'spraise. He was tempted to be sarcastic. 

"Well, " he observed, "of course you've read so much real poetry that youought to know. "

Laban nodded, slowly. "I've read a good deal, " he said quietly. "Readin'is one of the few things I ain't made a failure of in this life. Um-hm. One of the few. Yes yes--yes. "

He dipped his pen in the inkwell and carefully made an entry in theledger. His assistant felt a sudden pang of compunction. 

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Keeler, " he said. "That was pretty fresh of me. I'm sorry. "

Laban looked up in mild surprise. "Sorry?" he repeated. "What for? . . . Oh, that's all right, Al, that's all right. Lord knows I'm the last oneon earth who'd ought to criticize anybody. All I had in mind in sayin'what I did was to--well, to kind of keep you from bein' too wellsatisfied and not try harder on the next one. It don't pay to be toowell satisfied. . . . Years ago, I can remember, _I_ was pretty wellsatisfied--with myself and my work. Sounds like a joke, I know, but'twas so. . . . Well, I've had a nice long chance to get over it. Um-hm. Yes--yes. So I have, so I have. "

Only Captain Zelotes at first said nothing about the poem. He read it, his wife saw to that, but his comment even to her was a non-committalgrunt. 

"But don't you think it's real sort of pretty, Zelotes?" she asked. 

The captain grunted again. "Why, I guess likely 'tis if you say so, Mother. I don't know much about such things. "

"But everybody says it is. "

"Want to know! Well, then 'twon't make much difference whether I say itor not. "

"But ain't you goin' to say a word to Albert about it, Zelotes?"

"Humph! I don't know's I know what to say. "

"Why, say you like it. "

"Ye-es, and if I do he'll keep on writin' more. That's exactly what Idon't want him to do. Come now, Mother, be sensible. This piece of hismay be good or it may not, _I_ wouldn't undertake to say. But this I doknow: I don't want the boy to spend his time writin' poetry slush forthat 'Poets' Corner. ' Letitia Makepeace did that--she had a piece inthere about every week--and she died in the Taunton asylum. "

"But, Zelotes, it wasn't her poetry got her into the asylum. "

"Wan't it? Well, she was in the poorhouse afore that. I don't knowwhether 'twas her poetryin' that got her in there, but I know darnedwell it didn't get her out. "

"But ain't you goin' to say one word? 'Twould encourage him so. "

"Good Lord! We don't want to encourage him, do we? If he was takin' tothievin' you wouldn't encourage him in that, would you?"

"Thievin'! Zelotes Snow, you don't mean to say you compare a poet to aTHIEF!"

The captain grinned. "No-o, Mother, " he observed drily. "Sometimes athief can manage to earn a livin' at his job. But there, there, don'tfeel bad. I'll say somethin' to Al, long's you think I ought to. "

The something was not much, and yet Captain Zelotes really meant it tobe kindly and to sound like praise. But praising a thing of which youhave precious little understanding and with which you have absolutely nosympathy is a hard job. 

"See you had a piece in the Item this week, Al, " observed the captain. 

"Why--yes, sir, " said Albert. 

"Um-hm. I read it. I don't know much about such things, but they tell meit is pretty good. "

"Thank you, sir. "

"Eh? Oh, you're welcome. "

That was all. Perhaps considering its source it was a good deal, butAlbert was not of the age where such considerations are likely to bemade. 

Helen's praise was warm and enthusiastic. "I knew you could do it if youonly would, " she declared. "And oh, I'm SO glad you did! Now you mustkeep on trying. "

That bit of advice was quite superfluous. Young Speranza having sampledthe sublime intoxication of seeing himself in print, was not ready tosober off yet a while. He continued to bombard the Item with verses. They were invariably accepted, but when he sent to a New York magazinea poem which he considered a gem, the promptness with which it wasreturned staggered his conceit and was in that respect a good thing forhim. 

However, he kept on trying. Helen would not have permitted him togive up even if he had wished. She was quite as much interested in hisliterary aspirations as he was himself and her encouragement was a greathelp to him. After months of repeated trial and repeated rejection heopened an envelope bearing the name of a fairly well-known periodical tofind therein a kindly note stating that his poem, "Sea Spaces" had beenaccepted. And a week later came a check for ten dollars. That was a dayof days. Incidentally it was the day of a trial balance in the officeand the assistant bookkeeper's additions and multiplications containedno less than four ghastly errors. 

The next afternoon there was an interview in the back office. CaptainZelotes and his grandson were the participants. The subject discussedwas "Business versus Poetry, " and there was a marked difference ofopinion. Albert had proclaimed his triumph at home, of course, hadexhibited his check, had been the recipient of hugs and praises from hisgrandmother and had listened to paeans and hallelujahs from Mrs. Ellis. When he hurried around to the parsonage after supper, Helen had beenexcited and delighted at the good news. Albert had been patted on theback quite as much as was good for a young man whose bump of self-esteemwas not inclined toward under-development. When he entered the privateoffice of Z. Snow and Co. In answer to his grandfather's summons, he didso light-heartedly, triumphantly, with self-approval written large uponhim. 

But though he came like a conquering hero, he was not received like one. Captain Zelotes sat at his desk, the copy of the Boston morning paperwhich he had been reading sticking out of the waste basket into whichit had been savagely jammed a half hour before. The news had not been tothe captain's liking. These were the September days of 1914; the GermanKaiser was marching forward "mit Gott" through Belgium, and it began tolook as if he could not be stopped short of Paris. Consequently, CaptainZelotes, his sympathies from the first with England and the Allies, wasnot happy in his newspaper reading. 

Albert entered, head erect and eyes shining. If Gertie Kendrick couldhave seen him then she would have fallen down and worshiped. Hisgrandfather looked at him in silence for a moment, tapping his desk withthe stump of a pencil. Albert, too, was silent; he was already thinkingof another poem with which to dazzle the world, and his head was amongthe rosy clouds. 

"Sit down, Al, " said Captain Zelotes shortly. 

Albert reluctantly descended to earth and took the battered armchairstanding beside the desk. The captain tapped with his pencil upon thefigure-covered sheet of paper before him. Then he said:

"Al, you've been here three years come next December, ain't you?"

"Why--yes, sir, I believe I have. "

"Um-hm, you have. And for the heft of that time you've been in thisoffice. "

"Yes, sir. "

"Yes. And Labe Keeler and I have been doin' our best to make a businessman out of you. You understand we have, don't you?"

Albert looked puzzled and a little uneasy. Into his roseate dreams wasjust beginning to filter the idea that his grandfather's tone and mannerwere peculiar. 

"Why, yes, sir, of course I understand it, " he replied. 

"Well, I asked you because I wasn't quite sure whether you did or not. Can you guess what this is I've got on my desk here?"

He tapped the figure-covered sheet of paper once more. Before Albertcould speak the captain answered his own question. 

"I'll tell you what it is, " he went on. "It's one of the latest samplesof your smartness as a business man. I presume likely you know thatLaban worked here in this office until three o'clock this mornin', didn't you?"

Albert did not know it. Mr. Keeler had told him nothing of the sort. 

"Why, no, " he replied. "Did he? What for?"

"Ye-es, he did. And what for? Why, just to find out what was the matterwith his trial balance, that's all. When one of Labe's trial balancesstarts out for snug harbor and ends up on a reef with six foot of waterin her hold, naturally Labe wants to get her afloat and pumped dry asquick as possible. He ain't used to it, for one thing, and it makes himnervous. "

Albert's uneasiness grew. When his grandfather's speech became sarcasticand nautical, the young man had usually found that there was troublecoming for somebody. 

"I--I'm sorry Laban had to stay so late, " he stammered. "I should havebeen glad to stay and help him, but he didn't ask me. "

"No-o. Well, it may possibly be that he cal'lated he was carryin' aboutall your help that the craft would stand, as 'twas. Any more might sinkher. See here, young feller--" Captain Zelotes dropped his quiet sarcasmand spoke sharp and brisk: "See here, " he said, "do you realize thatthis sheet of paper I've got here is what stands for a day's work doneby you yesterday? And on this sheet there was no less than four sillymistakes that a child ten years old hadn't ought to make, that anable-bodied idiot hadn't ought to make. But YOU made 'em, and they keptLabe Keeler here till three o'clock this mornin'. Now what have you gotto say for yourself?"

As a matter of fact, Albert had very little to say, except that he wassorry, and that his grandfather evidently did not consider worth thesaying. He waved the protestation aside. 

"Sorry!" he repeated impatiently. "Of course you're sorry, though evenat that I ain't sure you're sorry enough. Labe was sorry, too, I don'tdoubt, when his bedtime went by and he kept runnin' afoul of one of yourmistakes after another. I'm sorry, darned sorry, to find out thatyou can make such blunders after three years on board here under suchteachin' as you've had. But bein' sorry don't help any to speak of. Anyfool can be sorry for his foolishness, but if that's all, it don't helpa whole lot. Is bein' sorry the best excuse you've got to offer? Whatmade you make the mistakes in the first place?"

Albert's face was darkly red under the lash of his grandfather's tongue. Captain Zelotes and he had had disagreements and verbal encountersbefore, but never since they had been together had the captain spokenlike this. And the young fellow was no longer seventeen, he was twenty. The flush began to fade from his cheeks and the pallor which meant therise of the Speranza temper took its place. 

"What made you make such fool blunders?" repeated the captain. "You knewbetter, didn't you?"

"Yes, " sullenly, "I suppose I did. "

"You know mighty well you did. And as nigh as I can larn from what Igot out of Laban--which wasn't much; I had to pump it out of him wordby word--this ain't the first set of mistakes you've made. You make 'emright along. If it wasn't for him helpin' you out and coverin' up yourmistakes, this firm would be in hot water with its customers two-thirdsof the time and the books would be fust-rate as a puzzle, somethin' touse for a guessin' match, but plaguey little good as straight accountsof a goin' concern. Now what makes you act this way? Eh? What makesyou?"

"Oh, I don't know. See here, Grandfather--"

"Hold on a minute. You don't know, eh? Well, I know. It ain't becauseyou ain't smart enough to keep a set of books and keep 'em well. I don'texpect you to be a Labe Keeler; there ain't many bookkeepers like him onthis earth. But I do know you're smart enough to keep my books and keep'em as they'd ought to be, if you want to keep 'em. The trouble withyou is that you don't want to. You've got too much of yourgood-for-nothin--" Captain Lote pulled up short, cleared his throat, and went on: "You've got too much 'poet' in you, " he declared, "that'swhat's the matter. "

Albert leaned forward. "That wasn't what you were going to say, " he saidquickly. "You were going to say that I had too much of my father in me. "

It was the captain's turn to redden. "Eh?" he stammered. "Why, I--I--Howdo you know what I was goin' to say?"

"Because I do. You say it all the time. Or, if you don't say it, youlook it. There is hardly a day that I don't catch you looking at me asif you were expecting me to commit murder or do some outrageous thingor other. And I know, too, that it is all because I'm my father's son. Well, that's all right; feel that way about me if you want to, I can'thelp it. "

"Here, here, Al! Hold on! Don't--"

"I won't hold on. And I tell you this: I hate this work here. You sayI don't want to keep books. Well, I don't. I'm sorry I made the errorsyesterday and put Keeler to so much trouble, but I'll probably makemore. No, " with a sudden outburst of determination, "I won't makeany more. I won't, because I'm not going to keep books any more. I'mthrough. "

Captain Zelotes leaned back in his chair. 

"You're what?" he asked slowly. 

"I'm through. I'll never work in this office another day. I'm through. "

The captain's brows drew together as he stared steadily at his grandson. He slowly tugged at his beard. 

"Humph!" he grunted, after a moment. "So you're through, eh? Goin' toquit and go somewheres else, you mean?"

"Yes. "

"Um-hm. I see. Where are you goin' to go?"

"I don't know. But I'm not going to make a fool of myself at this jobany longer. I can't keep books, and I won't keep them. I hate business. I'm no good at it. And I won't stay here. "

"I see. I see. Well, if you won't keep on in business, what will you dofor a livin'? Write poetry?"

"Perhaps. "

"Um-m. Be kind of slim livin', won't it? You've been writin' poetryfor about a year and a half, as I recollect, and so far you've made tendollars. "

"That's all right. If I don't make it I may starve, as you are alwayssaying that writers do. But, starve or not, I shan't ask YOU to takecare of me. "

"I've taken care of you for three years or so. "

"Yes. But you did it because--because--Well, I don't know why you did, exactly, but you won't have to do it any longer. I'm through. "

The captain still stared steadily, and what he saw in the dark eyeswhich flashed defiance back at him seemed to trouble him a little. Histugs at his beard became more strenuous. 

"Humph!" he muttered. "Humph! . . . Well, Al, of course I can't make youstay by main force. Perhaps I could--you ain't of age yet--but I shan't. And you want to quit the ship altogether, do you?"

"If you mean this office--yes, I do. "

"I see, I see. Want to quit South Harniss and your grandmother--andRachel--and Labe--and Helen--and all the rest of 'em?"

"Not particularly. But I shall have to, of course. "

"Yes. . . . Um-hm. . . . Yes. Have you thought how your grandmother'sliable to feel when she hears you are goin' to clear out and leave her?"

Albert had not thought in that way, but he did now. His tone was atrifle less combative as he answered. 

"She'll be sorry at first, I suppose, " he said, "but she'll get overit. "

"Um-hm. Maybe she will. You can get over 'most anything in time--'MOSTanything. Well, and how about me? How do you think I'll feel?"

Albert's chin lifted. "You!" he exclaimed. "Why, you'll be mighty gladof it. "

Captain Zelotes picked up the pencil stump and twirled it in hisfingers. "Shall I?" he asked. "You think I will, do you?"

"Of course you will. You don't like me, and never did. "

"So I've heard you say. Well, boy, don't you cal'late I like you atleast as much as you like me?"

"No. What do you mean? I like you well enough. That is, I should ifyou gave me half a chance. But you don't do it. You hate me because myfather--"

The captain interrupted. His big palm struck the desk. 

"DON'T say that again!" he commanded. "Look here, if I hated you do yousuppose I'd be talkin' to you like this? If I hated you do you cal'lateI'd argue when you gave me notice? Not by a jugful! No man ever came tome and said he was goin' to quit and had me beg him to stay. If we wasat sea he stayed until we made port; then he WENT, and he didn't hangaround waitin' for a boat to take him ashore neither. I don't hate you, son. I'd ask nothin' better than a chance to like you, but you won'tgive it to me. "

Albert's eyes and mouth opened. 

"_I_ won't give YOU a chance?" he repeated. 

"Sartin. DO you give me one? I ask you to keep these books of mine. You could keep 'em A Number One. You're smart enough to do it. But youwon't. You let 'em go to thunder and waste your time makin' up foolpoetry and such stuff. "

"But I like writing, and I don't like keeping books. "

"Keepin' books is a part of l'arnin' the business, and business is theway you're goin' to get your livin' by and by. "

"No, it isn't. I am going to be a writer. "

"Now DON'T say that silly thing again! I don't want to hear it. "

"I shall say it because it is true. "

"Look here, boy: When I tell you or anybody else in this office to door not to do a thing, I expect 'em to obey orders. And I tell you notto talk any more of that foolishness about bein' a writer. D'youunderstand?"

"Yes, of course I understand. "

"All right, then, that much is settled. . . . Here! Where are yougoin'?"

Albert had turned and was on his way out of the office. He stopped andanswered over his shoulder, "I'm going home, " he said. 

"Goin' HOME? Why, you came from home not more than an hour and a halfago! What are you goin' there again now for?"

"To pack up my things. "

"To pack up your things! To pack up--Humph! So you really mean it!You're really goin' to quit me like this? And your grandma, too!"

The young man felt a sudden pang of compunction, a twinge of conscience. 

"Grandfather, " he said, "I'm sorry. I--"

But the change in his attitude and tone came too late. Captain Lote'stemper was boiling now, contradiction was its worst provocative. 

"Goin' to quit!" he sneered. "Goin' to quit because you don't like towork. All right, quit then! Go ahead! I've done all I can to make a manof you. Go to the devil in your own way. "

"Grandfather, I--"

"Go ahead! _I_ can't stop you. It's in your breed, I cal'late. "

That was sufficient. Albert strode out of the private office, headerect. Captain Zelotes rose and slammed the door after his departinggrandson. 

At ten that evening Albert was in his room, sitting in a chair by thewindow, gloomily looking out. The packing, most of it, had been done. Hehad not, as he told his grandfather he intended doing, left the officeimmediately and come straight home to pack. As he emerged from the inneroffice after the stormy interview with the captain he found Laban Keelerhard at work upon the books. The sight of the little man, so patientlyand cheerfully pegging away, brought another twinge of conscience tothe assistant bookkeeper. Laban had been such a brick in all theirrelationships. It must have been a sore trial to his particular, business-like soul, those errors in the trial balance. Yet he had notfound fault nor complained. Captain Zelotes himself had said that everyitem concerning his grandson's mistakes and blunders had been draggedfrom Mr. Keeler much against the latter's will. Somehow Albert could notbear to go off and leave him at once. He would stay and finish his day'swork, for Labe Keeler's sake. 

So stay he did and when Captain Zelotes later came out of his privateoffice and found him there neither of them spoke. At home, duringsupper, nothing was said concerning the quarrel of the afternoon. YetAlbert was as determined to leave as ever, and the Captain, judging bythe expression of his face, was just as determined to do nothing more toprevent him. After supper the young man went to his room and began thepacking. His grandfather went out, an unusual proceeding for him, sayingthat he guessed he would go down street for a spell. 

Now Albert, as he sat there by the window, was gloomy enough. The wind, howling and wailing about the gables of the old house, was not an aidto cheerfulness and he needed every aid. He had sworn to go away, he wasgoing away--but where should he go? He had a little money put by, notmuch but a little, which he had been saving for quite another purpose. This would take him a little way, would pay his bills for a short time, but after that--Well, after that he could earn more. With the optimismof youth and the serene self-confidence which was natural to him he wassure of succeeding sooner or later. It was not the dread of failure andprivation which troubled him. The weight which was pressing upon hisspirit was not the fear of what might happen to him. 

There was a rap upon the door. Then a voice, the housekeeper's voice, whispered through the crack. 

"It's me, Al, " whispered Mrs. Ellis. "You ain't in bed yet, are you? I'dlike to talk with you a minute or two, if I might. "

He was not anxious to talk to her or anyone else just then, but he toldher to come in. She entered on tiptoe, with the mysterious air of aconspirator, and shut the door carefully after her. 

"May I set down just a minute?" she asked. "I can generally talk bettersettin'. "

He pulled forward the ancient rocker with the rush seat. Thecross-stitch "tidy" on the back was his mother's handiwork, she had madeit when she was fifteen. Rachel sat down in the rocker. 

"Al" she began, still in the same mysterious whisper, "I know all aboutit. "

He looked at her. "All about what?" he asked. 

"About the trouble you and Cap'n Lote had this afternoon. I know you'replannin' to leave us all and go away somewheres and that he told you togo, and all that. I know what you've been doin' up here to-night. Fur'sthat goes, " she added, with a little catch in her breath and a wave ofher hand toward the open trunk and suitcase upon the floor, "I wouldn'tneed to know, I could SEE. "

Albert was surprised and confused. He had supposed the whole affair tobe, so far, a secret between himself and his grandfather. 

"You know?" he stammered. "You--How did you know?"

"Laban told me. Labe came hurryin' over here just after supper andtold me the whole thing. He's awful upset about it, Laban is. He thinksalmost as much of you as he does of Cap'n Lote or--or me, " with anapologetic little smile. 

Albert was astonished and troubled. "How did Labe know about it?" hedemanded. 

"He heard it all. He couldn't help hearin'. "

"But he couldn't have heard. The door to the private office was shut. "

"Yes, but the window at the top--the transom one, you know--was wideopen. You and your grandpa never thought of that, I guess, and Labancouldn't hop up off his stool and shut it without givin' it away thathe'd been hearin'. So he had to just set and listen and I know how hehated doin' that. Laban Keeler ain't the listenin' kind. One thing aboutit all is a mercy, " she added, fervently. "It's the Lord's own mercythat that Issy Price wasn't where HE could hear it, too. If Issy heardit you might as well paint it up on the town-hall fence; all creationand his wife wouldn't larn it any sooner. "

Albert drew a long breath. "Well, " he said, after a moment, "I'm sorryLabe heard, but I don't suppose it makes much difference. Everyone willknow all about it in a day or two . . . I'm going. "

Rachel leaned forward. 

"No, you ain't, Al, " she said. 

"I'm not? Indeed I am! Why, what do you mean?"

"I mean just what I say. You ain't goin'. You're goin' to stay righthere. At least I hope you are, and I THINK you are. . . . Oh, I know, "she added, quickly, "what you are goin' to say. You're goin' to tell methat your grandpa is down on you on account of your father, and that youdon't like bookkeepin', and that you want to write poetry and--and such. You'll say all that, and maybe it's all true, but whether 'tis or notain't the point at all just now. The real point is that you're JanieSnow's son and your grandpa's Cap'n Lote Snow and your grandma's OliveSnow and there ain't goin' to be another smash-up in this family if Ican help it. I've been through one and one's enough. Albert, didn't youpromise me that Sunday forenoon three years ago when I came into thesettin'-room and we got talkin' about books and Robert Penfold andeverything--didn't you promise me then that when things between you andyour grandpa got kind of--of snarled up and full of knots you'd cometo me with 'em and we'd see if we couldn't straighten 'em out together?Didn't you promise me that, Albert?"

Albert remembered the conversation to which she referred. As heremembered it, however, he had not made any definite promise. 

"You asked me to talk them over with you, Rachel, " he admitted. "I thinkthat's about as far as it went. "

"Well, maybe so, but now I ask you again. Will you talk this over withme, Albert? Will you tell me every bit all about it, for my sake? Andfor your grandma's sake. . . . Yes, more'n that, for your mother's sake, Albert; she was pretty nigh like my own sister, Jane Snow was. Differentas night from day of course, she was pretty and educated and all thatand I was just the same then as I am now, but we did think a lot of eachother, Albert. Tell me the whole story, won't you, please. Just whatCap'n Lote said and what you said and what you plan to do--and all?Please, Albert. "

There were tears in her eyes. He had always liked her, but it wasa liking with a trace of condescension in it. She was peculiar, her"sympathetic attacks" were funny, and she and Laban together were an oddpair. Now he saw her in a new light and he felt a sudden rush of realaffection for her. And with this feeling, and inspired also by hisloneliness, came the impulse to comply with her request, to tell her allhis troubles. 

He began slowly at first, but as he went on the words came quicker. Shelistened eagerly, nodding occasionally, but saying nothing. When he hadfinished she nodded again. 

"I see, " she said. "'Twas almost what Laban said and about what he andI expected. Well, Albert, I ain't goin' to be the one to blame you, notvery much anyhow. I don't see as you are to blame; you can't help theway you're made. But your grandfather can't help bein' made his way, either. He can't see with your spectacles and you can't see with his. "

He stirred rebelliously. "Then we had better go our own ways, I shouldsay, " he muttered. 

"No, you hadn't. That's just what you mustn't do, not now, anyhow. AsI said before, there's been enough of all hands goin' their own ways inthis family and look what came of it. "

"But what do you expect me to do? I will not give up every plan I'vemade and my chance in the world just because he is too stubborn andcranky to understand them. I will NOT do it. "

"I don't want you to. But I don't want you to upset the whole kettlejust because the steam has scalded your fingers. I don't want you togo off and leave your grandma to break her heart a second time and yourgrandpa to give up all his plans and hopes that he's been makin' aboutyou. "

"Plans about me? He making plans about me? What sort of plans?"

"All sorts. Oh, he don't say much about 'em, of course; that ain't hisway. But from things he's let drop I know he has hoped to take you inwith him as a partner one of these days, and to leave you the businessafter he's gone. "

"Nonsense, Rachel!"

"No, it ain't nonsense. It's the one big dream of Cap'n Lote's life. That Z. Snow and Co. Business is his pet child, as you might say. Hebuilt it up, he and Labe together, and when he figgered to take youaboard with him 'twas SOME chance for you, 'cordin' to his lookout. Nowyou can't hardly blame him for bein' disappointed when you chuck thatchance away and take to writin' poetry pieces, can you?"

"But--but--why, confound it, Rachel, you don't understand!"

"Yes, I do, but your grandpa don't. And you don't understand him. . . . Oh, Albert, DON'T be as stubborn as he is, as your mother was--the Lordand she forgive me for sayin' it. She was partly right about marryin'your pa and Cap'n Lote was partly right, too. If they had met half wayand put the two 'partlys' together the whole thing might have been rightin the end. As 'twas, 'twas all wrong. Don't, don't, DON'T, Albert, beas stubborn as that. For their sakes, Al, --yes, and for my sake, for I'mone of your family, too, or seems as if I was--don't. "

She hastily wiped her eyes with her apron. He, too was greatly moved. 

"Don't cry, Rachel, " he muttered, hurriedly. "Please don't. . . . Ididn't know you felt this way. I didn't know anybody did. I don't wantto make trouble in the family--any more trouble. Grandmother has beenawfully good to me; so, too, has Grandfather, I suppose, in his way. But--oh, what am I going to do? I can't stay in that office all my life. I'm not good at business. I don't like it. I can't give up--"

"No, no, course you mustn't. I don't want you to give up. "

"Then what do you want me to do?"

"I want you to go to your grandpa and talk to him once more. Not givin'up your plans altogether but not forcin' him to give up his either, notright away. Tell him you realize he wants you to go on with Z. Snow andCompany and that you will--for a while--"

"But--"

"For a while, I said; three or four years, say. You won't be so dreadfulold then, not exactly what you'd call a Methusalem. Tell him you'lldo that and on his side he must let you write as much as you please, provided you don't let the writin' interfere with the Z. Snow and Co. Work. Then, at the end of the three or four years, if you still feelthe same as you do now, you can tackle your poetry for keeps and he andyou'll still be friends. Tell him that, Albert, and see what he says. . . . Will you?"

Albert took some moments to consider. At length he said: "If I did Idoubt if he would listen. "

"Oh, yes he would. He'd more than listen, I'm pretty sartin. I thinkhe'd agree. "

"You do?"

"Yes, I do. You see, " with a smile, "while I've been talkin' to youthere's been somebody else talkin' to him. . . . There, there! don't youask any questions. I promised not to tell anybody and if I ain't exactlybroke that promise, I've sprained its ankle, I'm afraid. Good night, Albert, and thank you ever and ever so much for listenin' so longwithout once tellin' me to mind my own business. "

"Good night, Rachel. . . . And thank you for taking so much interest inmy affairs. You're an awfully good friend, I can see that. "

"Don't--don't talk that way. And you WILL have that talk with yourgrandpa?"

"Yes, I will. "

"Oh, I'm SO glad! There! Good night. I come pretty nigh kissin' youthen and for a woman that's been engaged to be married for upwards ofeighteen years that's a nice way to act, ain't it! Good night, goodnight. "

She hurried out of the room. Albert sat down again in his chair by thewindow. He had promised to go to his grandfather and talk to him. As hesat there, thinking of the coming interview, he realized more and morethat the keeping of that promise was likely to be no easy matter. Hemust begin the talk, he must break the ice--and how should he breakit? Timid and roundabout approaches would be of little use; unless hisgrandfather's state of mind had changed remarkably since theirparting in the Z. Snow and Co. Office they and their motive would bemisunderstood. No, the only way to break the ice was to break it, toplunge immediately into the deepest part of the subject. It promised tobe a chilly plunge. He shivered at the prospect. 

A half hour later he heard the door of the hall open and shut and knewthat Captain Zelotes had returned. Rising, he descended the stairs. He descended slowly. Just as he reached the foot of the narrow flightCaptain Zelotes entered the hall from the dining-room and turned towardhim. Both were surprised at the meeting. Albert spoke first. 

"Good evening, Grandfather, " he stammered. "I--I was just coming down tosee you. Were you going to bed?"

Captain Lote shook his head. "No-o, " he said, slowly, "not exactly. "

"Do you mind waiting a minute? I have a few things--I have something tosay to you and--and I guess I shall sleep better if I say it to-night. I--I won't keep you long. "

The captain regarded him intently for an instant, then he turned and ledthe way to the dining-room. 

"Go ahead, " he ordered, laconically. Albert squared his shoulders, preparatory to the plunge. 

"Grandfather, " he began, "first of all I want to tell you I am sorryfor--for some of the things I said this afternoon. "

He had rehearsed this opening speech over and over again, but in spiteof the rehearsals it was dreadfully hard to make. If his grandfatherhad helped him even a little it might have been easier, but the captainmerely stood there, expressionless, saying nothing, waiting for him tocontinue. 

Albert swallowed, clenched his fists, and took a new start. 

"Of course, " he began, "I am sorry for the mistakes I made in mybookkeeping, but that I have told you before. Now--now I want to sayI am sorry for being so--well, so pig-headed about the rest of it. Irealize that you have been mighty kind to me and that I owe you abouteverything that I've got in this world. "

He paused again. It had seemed to him that Captain Zelotes was about tospeak. However, he did not, so the young man stumbled on. 

"And--and I realize, too, " he said, "that you have, I guess, been tryingto give me a real start in business, the start you think I ought tohave. "

The captain nodded slowly. "That was my idea in startin' you, " he said. 

"Yes--and fact that I haven't done more with the chance is because I'mmade that way, I guess. But I do want to--yes, and I MEAN to try tosucceed at writing poetry or stories or plays or something. I likethat and I mean to give it a trial. And so--and so, you see, I've beenthinking our talk over and I've concluded that perhaps you may be right, maybe I'm not old enough to know what I really am fitted for, and yetperhaps _I_ may be partly right, too. I--I've been thinking that perhapssome sort of--of--"

"Of what?"

"Well, of half-way arrangement--some sort of--of compromise, you know, might be arranged. I might agree to stay in the office and do my verybest with bookkeeping and business for--well, say, three years or so. During that time I should be trying to write of course, but I wouldonly do that sort of writing evenings or on Saturdays and holidays. Itshouldn't interfere with your work nor be done in the time you pay mefor. And at the end of the three or four years--"

He paused again. This time the pause was longer than ever. CaptainLote broke the silence. His big right hand had wandered upward and wastugging at his beard. 

"Well? . . . And then?" he asked. 

"Why, then--if--if--Well, then we could see. If business seemed to bewhere I was most likely to succeed we'd call it settled and I would staywith Z. Snow and Co. If poetry-making or--or--literature seemed morelikely to be the job I was fitted for, that would be the job I'd take. You--you see, don't you, Grandfather?"

The captain's beard-pulling continued. He was no longer looking hisgrandson straight in the eye. His gaze was fixed upon the braided mat athis feet and he answered without looking up. 

"Ye-es, " he drawled, "I cal'late I see. Well, was that all you had tosay?"

"No-o, not quite. I--I wanted to say that which ever way it turnedout, I--I hoped we--you and I, you know--would agree to be--to begood-natured about it and--and friends just the same. I--I--Well, there!That's all, I guess. I haven't put it very well, I'm afraid, but--butwhat do you think about it, Grandfather?"

And now Captain Zelotes did look up. The old twinkle was in his eye. Hisfirst remark was a question and that question was rather surprising. 

"Al, " he asked, "Al, who's been talkin' to you?"

The blood rushed to his grandson's face. "Talking to me?" he stammered. "Why--why, what do you mean?"

"I mean just that. You didn't think out this scheme all by yourself. Somebody's been talkin' to you and puttin' you up to it. Haven't they?"

"Why--why, Grandfather, I--"

"Haven't they?"

"Why--Well, yes, someone has been talking to me, but the whole ideaisn't theirs. I WAS sorry for speaking to you as I did and sorry tothink of leaving you and grandmother. I--I was sitting up there in myroom and feeling blue and mean enough and--and--"

"And then Rachel came aboard and gave you your sailin' orders; eh?"

Albert gasped. "For heaven's sake how did you know that?" he demanded. "She--Why, she must have told you, after all! But she said--"

"Hold on, boy, hold on!" Captain Lote chuckled quietly. "No, " he said, "Rachel didn't tell me; I guessed she was the one. And it didn't takea Solomon in all his glory to guess it, neither. Labe Keeler's beentalkin' to ME, and when you come down here and began proposin' the samescheme that I was just about headin' up to your room with to proposeto you, then--well, then the average whole-witted person wouldn't needmore'n one guess. It couldn't be Labe, 'cause he'd been whisperin' in MYear, so it must have been the other partner in the firm. That's all themiracle there is to it. "

Albert's brain struggled with the situation. "I see, " he said, after amoment. "She hinted that someone had been talking to you along the sameline. Yes, and she was so sure you would agree. I might have known itwas Laban. "

"Um-hm, so you might. . . . Well, there have been times when if a manhad talked to me as Labe did to-night I'd have knocked him down, or toldhim to go to--um--well, the tropics--told him to mind his own business, at least. But Labe is Labe, and besides MY conscience was plaguin' me alittle mite, maybe . . . Maybe. "

The young man shook his head. "They must have talked it over, those two, and agreed that one should talk to you and the other to me. By George, Iwonder they had the nerve. It wasn't their business, really. "

"Not a darn bit. "

"Yet--yet I--I'm awfully glad she said it to me. I--I needed it, Iguess. "

"Maybe you did, son. . . . And--humph--well, maybe I needed it, too. . . . Yes, I know that's consider'ble for me to say, " he added dryly. 

Albert was still thinking of Laban and Rachel. 

"They're queer people, " he mused. "When I first met them I thoughtthey were about the funniest pair I ever saw. But--but now I can'thelp liking them and--and--Say, Grandfather, they must think a lot ofyour--of our family. "

"Cal'late they do, son. . . . Well, boy, we've had our sermon, you andme, what shall we do? Willin' to sign for the five years trial cruise ifI will, are you?"

Albert couldn't help smiling. "It was three years Rachel proposed, notfive, " he said. 

"Was, eh? Suppose we split the difference and make it four? Willin' totry that?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Agreement bein' that you shall stick close to Z. Snow and Co. Durin'work hours and write as much poetry as you darned please other times, neither side to interfere with those arrangements? That right?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Good! Shall we shake hands on it?"

They shook, solemnly. Captain Lote was the first to speak afterratification of the contract. 

"There, now I cal'late I'll go aloft and turn in, " he observed. Then headded, with a little hesitation, "Say, Al, maybe we'd better not troubleyour grandma about all this fool business--the row this afternoonand all. 'Twould only worry her and--" he paused, looked embarrassed, cleared his throat, and said, "to tell you the truth, I'm kind ofashamed of my part---er--er--that is, some of it. "

His grandson was very much astonished. It was not often that CaptainZelotes Snow admitted having been in the wrong. He blurted out thequestion he had been dying to ask. 

"Grandfather, " he queried, "had you--did you really mean what yousaid about starting to come to my room and--and propose this scheme ofours--I mean of Rachel's and Labe's--to me?"

"Eh? . . . Ye-es--yes. I was on my way up there when I met you justnow. "

"Well, Grandfather, I--I--"

"That's all right, boy, that's all right. Don't let's talk any moreabout it. "

"We won't. And--and--But, Grandfather, I just want you to know that Iguess I understand things a little better than I did, and--and when myfather--"

The captain's heavy hand descended upon his shoulder. 

"Heave short, Al!" he commanded. "I've been doin' consider'ble thinkin'since Labe finished his--er--discourse and pronounced the benediction, and I've come to a pretty definite conclusion on one matter. I'veconcluded that you and I had better cut out all the bygones from thisnew arrangement of ours. We won't have fathers or--or--elopements--orpast-and-done-with disapp'intments in it. This new deal--this four yeartrial v'yage of ours--will be just for Albert Speranza and Zelotes Snow, and no others need apply. . . . Eh? . . . Well, good night, Al. "

CHAPTER VIII

So the game under the "new deal" began. At first it was much easier thanthe old. And, as a matter of fact, it was never as hard as before. Theheart to heart talk between Captain Zelotes and his grandson had giveneach a glimpse of the other's inner self, a look from the other'spoint of view, and thereafter it was easier to make allowances. But thenecessity for the making of those allowances was still there and wouldcontinue to be there. At first Albert made almost no mistakes in hisbookkeeping, was almost painfully careful. Then the carefulness relaxed, as it was bound to do, and some mistakes occurred. Captain Lotefound little fault, but at times he could not help showing somedisappointment. Then his grandson would set his teeth and buckle down topainstaking effort again. He was resolved to live up to the very letterof the agreement. 

In his spare time he continued to write and occasionally he soldsomething. Whenever he did so there was great rejoicing among thefeminine members of the Snow household; his grandmother and Rachel Elliswere enraptured. It was amusing to see Captain Zelotes attempt to jointhe chorus. He evidently felt that he ought to praise, or at least thatpraise was expected from him, but it was also evident that he did notapprove of what he was praising. 

"Your grandma says you got rid of another one of your poetry pieces, Al, " he would say. "Pay you for it, did they?"

"Not yet, but they will, I suppose. "

"I see, I see. How much, think likely?"

"Oh, I don't know. Ten dollars, perhaps. "

"Um-hm . . . I see. . . . Well, that's pretty good, considerin', Isuppose. . . . We did first-rate on that Hyannis school-house contract, didn't we. Nigh's I can figger it we cleared over fourteen hundred andeighty dollars on that. "

He invariably followed any reference to the profit from the sale ofverses by the casual mention of a much larger sum derived from the saleof lumber or hardware. This was so noticeable that Laban Keeler wasimpelled to speak of it. 

"The old man don't want you to forget that you can get more for hardpine than you can for soft sonnets, sellin' 'em both by the foot, "observed Labe, peering over his spectacles. "More money in shinglesthan there is in jingles, he cal'lates. . . . Um. . . . Yes, yes. . . . Consider'ble more, consider'ble. "

Albert smiled, but it astonished him to find that Mr. Keeler knew what asonnet was. The little bookkeeper occasionally surprised him by breakingout unexpectedly in that way. 

From the indiscriminate praise at home, or the reluctant praise of hisgrandfather, he found relief when he discussed his verses with HelenKendall. Her praise was not indiscriminate, in fact sometimes shedid not praise at all, but expressed disapproval. They had somedisagreements, marked disagreements, but it did not affect theirfriendship. Albert was a trifle surprised to find that it did not. 

So as the months passed he ground away at the books of Z. Snow andCompany during office hours and at the poetry mill between times. Theseeing of his name in print was no longer a novelty and he poetized notquite as steadily. Occasionally he attempted prose, but the two or threeshort stories of his composition failed to sell. Helen, however, urgedhim to try again and keep trying. "I know you can write a good story andsome day you are going to, " she said. 

His first real literary success, that which temporarily lifted him intothe outer circle of the limelight of fame, was a poem written the dayfollowing that upon which came the news of the sinking of the Lusitania. Captain Zelotes came back from the post-office that morning, a crumplednewspaper in his hand, and upon his face the look which mutinousforemast hands had seen there just before the mutiny ended. Laban Keelerwas the first to notice the look. "For the land sakes, Cap'n, what'sgone wrong?" he asked. The captain flung the paper upon the desk. "Readthat, " he grunted. Labe slowly spread open the paper; the big blackheadlines shrieked the crime aloud. 

"Good God Almighty!" exclaimed the little bookkeeper. Captain Zelotessnorted. "He didn't have anything to do with it, " he declared. "Thebunch that pulled that off was handled from the other end of the line. And I wish to thunder I was young enough to help send 'em back there, "he added, savagely. 

That evening Albert wrote his poem. The next day he sent it to a Bostonpaper. It was published the following morning, spread across two columnson the front page, and before the month was over had been copied widelyover the country. Within the fortnight its author received his firstrequest, a bona fida request for verse from a magazine. Even CaptainLote's praise of the Lusitania poem was whole-hearted and ungrudging. 

That summer was a busy one in South Harniss. There was the usual amountof summer gaiety, but in addition there were the gatherings of thevarious committees for war relief work. Helen belonged to many ofthese committees. There were dances and theatrical performances for thefinancial benefit of the various causes and here Albert shone. Buthe did not shine alone. Helen Kendall was very popular at the socialgatherings, popular not only with the permanent residents but with thesummer youth as well. Albert noticed this, but he did not notice it soparticularly until Issy Price called his attention to it. 

"Say, Al, " observed Issy, one afternoon in late August of that year, "how do YOU like that Raymond young feller?"

Albert looked up absently from the page of the daybook. 

"Eh? What?" he asked. 

"I say how do YOU like that Eddie Raymond, the Down-at-the-Neck one?"

"Down at the neck? There's nothing the matter with his neck that I knowof. "

"Who said there was? He LIVES down to the Neck, don't he? I mean thatyoung Raymond, son of the New York bank man, the ones that's had theCahoon house all summer. How do you like him?"

Albert's attention was still divided between the day-book and Mr. Price. "Oh, I guess he's all right, " he answered, carelessly. "I don't know himvery well. Don't bother me, Issy, I'm busy. "

Issachar chuckled. "He's busy, too, " he observed. "He, he, he! He'sbusy trottin' after Helen Kendall. Don't seem to have time for much elsethese days. Noticed that, ain't you, Al? He, he!"

Albert had not noticed it. His attention left the day-book altogether. Issachar chuckled again. 

"Noticed it, ain't you, Al?" he repeated. "If you ain't you're the onlyone. Everybody's cal'latin' you'll be cut out if you ain't careful. Folks used to figger you was Helen's steady comp'ny, but it don't lookas much so as it did. He, he! That's why I asked you how you liked theRaymond one. Eh? How do you, Al? Helen, SHE seems to like him fust-rate. He, he, he!"

Albert was conscious of a peculiar feeling, partly of irritation atIssachar, partly something else. Mr. Price crowed delightedly. 

"Hi!" he chortled. "Why, Al, your face is gettin' all redded up. Haw, haw! Blushin', ain't you, Al? Haw, haw, haw! Blushin', by crimustee!"

Albert laid down his pen. He had learned by experience that, in Issy'scase, the maxim of the best defensive being a strong offensive wasabsolutely true. He looked with concern about the office. 

"There's a window open somewhere, isn't there, Is?" he inquired. "There's a dreadful draught anyhow. "

"Eh? Draught? I don't feel no draught. Course the window's open; it'sgenerally open in summer time, ain't it. Haw, haw!"

"There it is again! Where--Oh, _I_ see! It's your mouth that's open, Issy. That explains the draught, of course. Yes, yes, of course. "

"Eh? My mouth! Never you mind my mouth. What you've got to think aboutis that Eddie Raymond. Yes sir-ee! Haw, haw!"

"Issy, what makes you make that noise?"

"What noise?"

"That awful cawing. If you're trying to make me believe you're a crowyou're wasting your time. "

"Say, look here, Al Speranzy, be you crazy?"

"No-o, I'M not. But in your case--well, I'll leave it to any fair-mindedperson--"

And so on until Mr. Price stamped disgustedly out of the office. It waseasy enough, and required nothing brilliant in the way of strategy orrepartee, to turn Issachar's attack into retreat. But all the restof that afternoon Albert was conscious of that peculiar feeling ofuneasiness. After supper that night he did not go down town at once butsat in his room thinking deeply. The subjects of his thoughts were EdwinRaymond, the young chap from New York, Yale, and "The Neck"--and HelenKendall. He succeeded only in thinking himself into an even moreuneasy and unpleasant state of mind. Then he walked moodily down tothe post-office. He was a little late for the mail and the laughing andchatting groups were already coming back after its distribution. Onesuch group he met was made up of half a dozen young people on their wayto the drug store for ices and sodas. Helen was among them and with herwas young Raymond. They called to him to join them, but he pretended notto hear. 

Now, in all the years of their acquaintance it had not once occurredto Albert Speranza that his interest in Helen Kendall was anythingmore than that of a friend and comrade. He liked her, had enjoyed hersociety--when he happened to be in the mood to wish society--and itpleased him to feel that she was interested in his literary effortsand his career. She was the only girl in South Harniss who would have"talked turkey" to him as she had on the day of their adventure at HighPoint Light and he rather admired her for it. But in all his dreams ofromantic attachments and sentimental adventure, and he had such dreamsof course, she had never played a part. The heroines of these dreamswere beautiful and mysterious strangers, not daughters of Cape Codclergymen. 

But now, thanks to Issy's mischievous hints, his feelings were in apuzzled and uncomfortable state. He was astonished to find that hedid not relish the idea of Helen's being particularly interested in EdRaymond. He, himself, had not seen her as frequently of late, she havingbeen busy with her war work and he with his own interests. But that, according to his view, was no reason why she should permit Raymond tobecome friendly to the point of causing people to talk. He was not readyto admit that he himself cared, in a sentimental way, for Helen, buthe resented any other fellow's daring to do so. And she should nothave permitted it, either. As a matter of fact, Alberto Miguel CarlosSperanza, hitherto reigning undisputed king of hearts in South Harniss, was for the first time in his imperial life feeling the pangs ofjealousy. 

He stalked gloomily on to the post-office. Gertie Kendrick, on thearm of Sam Thatcher, passed him and he did not even notice her. Gertiewhispered to Sam that he, Albert, was a big stuck-up nothing, butshe looked back over Sam's shoulder, nevertheless. Albert climbed thepost-office steps and walked over to the rack of letter boxes. The Snowbox contained little of interest to him, and he was turning away when heheard his name spoken. 

"Good evening, Mr. Speranza, " said a feminine voice. 

Albert turned again, to find Jane Kelsey and another young lady, astranger, standing beside him. Miss Kelsey was one of South Harniss'ssummer residents. The Kelsey "cottage, " which was larger by considerablethan the Snow house, was situated on the Bay Road, the most exclusivesection of the village. Once, and not so many years before, the Bay Roadwas contemptuously referred to as "Poverty Lane" and dwellers along itswinding, weed-grown track vied with one another in shiftless shabbiness. But now all shabbiness had disappeared and many-gabled "cottages"proudly stood where the shanties of the Poverty Laners once humblyleaned. 

Albert had known Jane Kelsey for some time. They had met at one of thehotel tea-dances during his second summer in South Harniss. He and shewere not intimate friends exactly, her mother saw to that, but they werewell acquainted. She was short and piquant, had a nose which freckled inthe Cape Cod sunshine, and she talked and laughed easily. 

"Good evening, Mr. Speranza, " she said, again. "You looked so veryforlorn I couldn't resist speaking. Do tell us why you are so sad; we'redying to know. "

Albert, taken by surprise, stammered that he didn't know that he wassad. Miss Kelsey laughed merrily and declared that everyone who saw himknew it at once. "Oh, excuse me, Madeline, " she added. "I forgot thatyou and Mr. Speranza had not met. Of course as you're going to livein South Harniss you must know him without waiting another minute. Everybody knows everybody down here. He is Albert Speranza--and wesometimes call him Albert because here everybody calls everyone elseby their first names. There, now you know each other and it's all veryproper and formal. "

The young lady who was her companion smiled. The smile was distinctlyworth looking at, as was the young lady herself, for that matter. 

"I doubt if Mr. Speranza knows me very well, Jane, " she observed. 

"Doesn't know you! Why, you silly thing, haven't I just introduced you?"

"Well, I don't know much about South Harniss introductions, but isn't itcustomary to mention names? You haven't told him mine. "

Miss Kelsey laughed in high delight. "Oh, how perfectly ridiculous!"she exclaimed. "Albert--Mr. Speranza, I mean--this is my friend MissMadeline Fosdick. She is from New York and she has decided to spend hersummers in South Harniss--which _I_ consider very good judgment. Herfather is going to build a cottage for her to spend them in down on theBay Road on the hill at the corner above the Inlet. But of course you'veheard of THAT!"

Of course he had. The purchase of the Inlet Hill land by FletcherFosdick, the New York banker, and the price paid Solomon Dadgett forthat land, had been the principal topics of conversation around SouthHarniss supper tables for the past ten days. Captain Lote Snow hadsummed up local opinion of the transaction when he said: "We-ll, SolDadgett's been talkin' in prayer-meetin' ever since I can remember aboutthe comin' of Paradise on earth. Judgin' by the price he got for theInlet Hill sand heap he must have cal'lated Paradise had got here and hewas sellin' the golden streets by the runnin' foot. " Or, as Laban Keelerput it: "They say King Soloman was a wise man, but I guess likely 'twasa good thing for him that Sol Dadgett wasn't alive in his time. King Solwould have needed all his wisdom to keep Dadgett from talkin' him intobuying the Jerusalem salt-ma'sh to build the temple on. . . . Um. . . . Yes--yes--yes. "

So Albert, as he shook hands with Miss Fosdick, regarded her withunusual interest. And, judging by the way in which she looked at him, she too was interested. After some minutes of the usual conventionalsummer-time chat the young gentleman suggested that they adjourn to thedrug store for refreshments. The invitation was accepted, the vivaciousMiss Kelsey acting as spokesman--or spokeswoman--in the matter. 

"I think you must be a mind-reader, Mr. Speranza, " she declared. "I amdying for a sundae and I have just discovered that I haven't my purseor a penny with me. I should have been reduced to the humiliation ofborrowing from Madeline here, or asking that deaf old Burgess man totrust me until to-morrow. And he is so frightfully deaf, " she added inexplanation, "that when I asked him the last time he made me repeat ituntil I thought I should die of shame, or exhaustion, one or the other. Every time I shouted he would say 'Hey?' and I was obliged to shoutagain. Of course, the place was crowded, and--Oh, well, I don't liketo even think about it. Bless you, bless you, Albert Speranza! And doplease let's hurry!"

When they entered the drug store--it also sold, according to its sign, "Cigars, soda, ice-cream, patent medicines, candy, knick-knacks, chewinggum, souvenirs and notions"--the sextette of which Helen Kendall madeone was just leaving. She nodded pleasantly to Albert and he nodded inreturn, but Ed Raymond's careless bow he did not choose to see. He hadhitherto rather liked that young gentleman; now he felt a sudden butviolent detestation for him. 

Sundaes pleasant to the palate and disastrous to all but youthfuldigestions were ordered. Albert's had a slight flavor of gall andwormwood, but he endeavored to counterbalance this by the sweetnessderived from the society of Jane Kelsey and her friend. His conversationwas particularly brilliant and sparkling that evening. Jane laughed muchand chatted more. Miss Fosdick was quieter, but she, too, appeared to beenjoying herself. Jane demanded to know how the poems were developing. She begged him to have an inspiration now--"Do, PLEASE, so that Madelineand I can see you. " It seemed to be her idea that having an inspirationwas similar to having a fit. Miss Fosdick laughed at this, but shedeclared that she adored poetry and specified certain poems which wereobjects of her especial adoration. The conversation thereafter becamewhat Miss Kelsey described as "high brow, " and took the form of adialogue between Miss Fosdick and Albert. It was interrupted by thearrival of the Kelsey limousine, which rolled majestically up to thedrug store steps. Jane spied it first. 

"Oh, mercy me, here's mother!" she exclaimed. "And your mother, too, Madeline. We are tracked to our lair. . . . No, no, Mr. Speranza, youmustn't go out. No, really, we had rather you wouldn't. Thanks, ever somuch, for the sundaes. Come, Madeline. "

Miss Fosdick held out her hand. 

"Thank you, Mr. Speranza, " she said. "I have enjoyed our poetry talk SOmuch. It must be wonderful to write as you do. Good night. "

She looked admiringly into his eyes as she said it. In spite of the galland wormwood Albert found it not at all unpleasant to be looked at inthat way by a girl like Madeline Fosdick. His reflections on that pointwere interrupted by a voice from the car. 

"Come, Madeline, come, " it said, fussily. "What ARE you waiting for?"

Albert caught a glimpse of a majestic figure which, seated beside Mrs. Kelsey on the rear seat of the limousine, towered above that short, plump lady as a dreadnaught towers above a coal barge. He surmised thisfigure to be that of the maternal Fosdick. Madeline climbed in besideher parent and the limousine rolled away. 

Albert's going-to-bed reflections that evening were divided in flavor, like a fruit sundae, a combination of sweet and sour. The sour wasfurnished by thoughts of Edwin Raymond and Helen Kendall, the former'spresumption in daring to seek her society as he did, and Helen'samazing silliness in permitting such a thing. The sweet, of course, wasfurnished by a voice which repeated to his memory the words, "It must bewonderful to write as you do. " Also the tone of that voice and the lookin the eyes. 

Could he have been privileged to hear the closing bits of a conversationwhich was taking place at that moment his reflections might have beenstill further saccharined. Miss Jane Kelsey was saying: "And NOW whatdo you think of our Cape Cod poet? Didn't I promise you to show yousomething you couldn't find on Fifth Avenue?" And to this Miss MadelineFosdick made reply: "I think he is the handsomest creature I ever saw. And so clever! Why, he is wonderful, Jane! How in the world does hehappen to be living here--all the time?"

It is perhaps, on the whole, a good thing that Albert Speranza could nothear this. It is certainly a good thing that Captain Zelotes Snow didnot hear it. 

And although the balance of sweet and sour in Albert's mind thatnight was almost even, the sour predominated next day and continued topredominate. Issachar Price had sowed the seed of jealousy in the mindof the assistant bookkeeper of Z. Snow and Company, and that seed tookroot and grew as it is only too likely to do under such circumstances. That evening Albert walked again to the post-office. Helen was notthere, neither was Miss Kelsey or Miss Fosdick. He waited for a time andthen determined to call at the Kendall home, something he had not donefor some time. As he came up to the front walk, between the arbor-vitaehedges, he saw that the parlor windows were alight. The window shade wasbut partially drawn and beneath it he could see into the room. Helen wasseated at the piano and Edwin Raymond was standing beside her, ready toturn the page of her music. 

Albert whirled on his heel and walked out of the yard and down thestreet toward his own home. His attitude of mind was a curious one. He had a mind to wait until Raymond left and then go into the Kendallparlor and demand of Helen to know what she meant by letting that fellowmake such a fool of himself. What right had he--Raymond--to call uponher, and turn her music and--and set the whole town talking? Why--Oh, he could think of many things to ask and say. The trouble was that thesaying of them would, he felt sure, be distinctly bad diplomacy on hispart. No one--not even he--could talk to Helen Kendall in that fashion;not unless he wished it to be their final conversation. 

So he went home, to fret and toss angrily and miserably half the night. He had never before considered himself in the slightest degree in lovewith Helen, but he had taken for granted the thought that she liked himbetter than anyone else. Now he was beginning to fear that perhapsshe did not, and, with his temperament, wounded vanity and poeticimagination supplied the rest. Within a fortnight he considered himselfdesperately in love with her. 

During this fortnight he called at the parsonage, the Kendall home, several times. On the first of these occasions the Reverend Mr. Kendall, having just completed a sermon dealing with the war and, being full ofhis subject, read the said sermon to his daughter and to Albert. Thereading itself lasted for three-quarters of an hour and Mr. Kendall'spost-argument and general dissertation on German perfidy another hourafter that. By that time it was late and Albert went home. The secondcall was even worse, for Ed Raymond called also and the two young menglowered at each other until ten o'clock. They might have continued toglower indefinitely, for neither meant to leave before the other, butHelen announced that she had some home-study papers to look over and sheknew they would excuse her under the circumstances. On that hintthey departed simultaneously, separating at the gate and walking withdeliberate dignity in opposite directions. 

At his third attempt, however, Albert was successful to the extentthat Helen was alone when he called and there was no school work tointerrupt. But in no other respect was the interview satisfactory. All that week he had been boiling with the indignation of the landedproprietor who discovers a trespasser on his estate, and before thiscall was fifteen minutes old his feelings had boiled over. 

"What IS the matter with you, Al?" asked Helen. "Do tell me and let'ssee if I can't help you out of your trouble. "

Her visitor flushed. "Trouble?" he repeated, stiffly. "I don't know whatyou mean. "

"Oh yes, do. You must. What IS the matter?"

"There is nothing the matter with me. "

"Nonsense! Of course there is. You have scarcely spoken a word ofyour own accord since you came, and you have been scowling like athundercloud all the time. Now what is it? Have I done something youdon't like?"

"There is nothing the matter, I tell you. "

"Please don't be so silly. Of course there is. I thought there mustbe something wrong the last time you were here, that evening, when Edcalled, too. It seemed to me that you were rather queer then. Now youare queerer still. What is it?"

This straightforward attack, although absolutely characteristic ofHelen, was disconcerting. Albert met it by an attack of his own. 

"Helen, " he demanded, "what does that Raymond fellow mean by coming tosee you as he does?"

Now whether or not Helen was entirely in the dark as to the cause of hervisitor's "queerness" is a question not to be answered here. She was farfrom being a stupid young person and it is at least probable that shemay have guessed a little of the truth. But, being feminine, she did notpermit Albert to guess that she had guessed. If her astonishment at thequestion was not entirely sincere, it certainly appeared to be so. 

"What does he mean?" she repeated. "What does he mean by coming to seeme? Why, what do YOU mean? I should think that was the question. Whyshouldn't he come to see me, pray?"

Now Albert has a dozen reasons in his mind, each of which was to himsufficiently convincing. But expressing those reasons to Helen Kendallhe found singularly difficult. He grew confused and stammered. 

"Well--well, because he has no business to come here so much, " was thebest he could do. Helen, strange to say, was not satisfied. 

"Has no business to?" she repeated. "Why, of course he has. I asked himto come. "

"You did? Good heavens, you don't LIKE him, do you?"

"Of course I like him. I think he is a very nice fellow. Don't you?"

"No, I don't. "

"Why not?"

"Well--well, because I don't, that's all. He has no business tomonopolize you all the time. Why, he is here about every night in theweek, or you're out with him, down town, or--or somewhere. Everybody istalking about it and--"

"Wait a minute, please. You say everybody is talking about Ed Raymondand me. What do you mean by that? What are they saying?"

"They're saying. . . . Oh, they're saying you and he are--are--"

"Are what?"

"Are--are--Oh, they're saying all sorts of things. Look here, Helen, I--"

"Wait! I want to know more about this. What have you heard said aboutme?"

"Oh, a lot of things. . . . That is--er--well, nothing in particular, perhaps, but--"

"Wait! Who have you heard saying it?"

"Oh, never mind! Helen--"

"But I do mind. Who have you heard saying this 'lot of things' aboutme?"

"Nobody, I tell you. . . . Oh, well, if you must know, Issy Pricesaid--well, he said you and this Raymond fellow were what he called'keeping company' and--and that the whole town was talking about it. "

She slowly shook her head. 

"Issy Price!" she repeated. "And you listened to what Issy Price said. Issy Price, of all people!"

"Well--well, he said everyone else said the same thing. "

"Did he say more than that?"

"No, but that was enough, wasn't it. Besides, the rest was plain. Icould see it myself. He is calling here about every night in the week, and--and being around everywhere with you and--and--Oh, anyone can see!"

Helen's usually placid temper was beginning to ruffle. 

"Very well, " she said, "then they may see. Why shouldn't he call here ifhe wishes--and I wish? Why shouldn't I be 'around with him, ' as you say?Why not?"

"Well, because I don't like it. It isn't the right thing for you to do. You ought to be more careful of--of what people say. "

He realized, almost as soon as this last sentence was blurted out, theabsolute tactlessness of it. The quiet gleam of humor he had so oftennoticed in Helen's eyes was succeeded now by a look he had never beforeseen there. 

"Oh, I'm sorry, " he added, hastily. "I beg your pardon, Helen. I didn'tmean to say that. Forgive me, will you?"

She did not answer immediately. Then she said, "I don't know whether Ishall or not. I think I shall have to think it over. And perhaps you hadbetter go now. "

"But I'M sorry, Helen. It was a fool thing to say. I don't know why Iwas such an idiot. Do forgive me; come!"

She slowly shook her head. "I can't--yet, " she said. "And this you mustunderstand: If Ed Raymond, or anyone else, calls on me and I choose topermit it, or if I choose to go out with him anywhere at any time, thatis my affair and not 'everyone else's'--which includes Issachar Price. And my FRIENDS--my real friends--will not listen to mean, ridiculousgossip. Good night. "

So that was the end of that attempt at asserting the Divine Right bythe South Harniss king of hearts. Albert was more miserable than ever, angrier than ever--not only at Raymond and Helen, but at himself--andhis newly-discovered jealousy burned with a brighter and greener flame. The idea of throwing everything overboard, going to Canada and enlistingin the Canadian Army--an idea which had had a strong and alluring appealever since the war broke out--came back with redoubled force. But therewas the agreement with his grandfather. He had given his word; how couldhe break it? Besides, to go away and leave his rival with a clear fielddid not appeal to him, either. 

On a Wednesday evening in the middle of September the final social eventof the South Harniss summer season was to take place. The Society forthe Relief of the French Wounded was to give a dance in the ballroom ofthe hotel, the proceeds from the sale of tickets to be devoted to thepurpose defined by the name of this organization. Every last memberof the summer colony was to attend, of course, and all those of thepermanent residents who aspired to social distinction and cared to paythe high price of admission. 

Albert was going, naturally. That is, he had at first planned to go, then--after the disastrous call at the parsonage--decided that he wouldgo under no circumstances, and at the last changed his mind once moreto the affirmative. Miss Madeline Fosdick, Jane Kelsey's friend, wasresponsible for the final change. She it was who had sold him his ticketand urged him to be present. He and she had met several times sincethe first meeting at the post-office. Usually when they met they talkedconcerning poetry and kindred lofty topics. Albert liked Miss Fosdick. It is hard not to like a pretty, attractive young lady who takes such aflattering interest in one's aspirations and literary efforts. The "highbrow chit-chats"--quoting Miss Kelsey again--were pleasant in manyways; for instance, they were in the nature of a tonic for weakenedself-esteem, and the Speranza self-esteem was suffering just at thistime, from shock. 

Albert had, when he first heard that the dance was to take place, intended inviting Helen to accompany him. He had taken her acceptancefor granted, he having acted as her escort to so many dances andsocial affairs. So he neglected inviting her and then came Issy'smischief-making remarks and the trouble which followed. So, as invitingher was out of the question, he resolved not to attend, himself. ButMiss Fosdick urged so prettily that he bought his ticket and promised tobe among those present. 

"Provided, of course, " he ventured, being in a reckless mood, "that yousave me at least four dances. " She raised her brows in mock dismay. 

"Oh, my goodness!" she exclaimed. "I'm afraid I couldn't do that. Fouris much too many. One I will promise, but no more. "

However, as he persisted, she yielded another. He was to have two dancesand, possibly an "extra. "

"And you are a lucky young man, " declared Jane Kelsey, who had alsopromised two. "If you knew how many fellows have begged for just one. But, of course, " she added, "THEY were not poets, second editions ofTennyson and Keats and all that. It is Keats who was the poet, isn't it, Madeline?" she added, turning to her friend. "Oh, I'm so glad I got itright the first time. I'm always mixing him up with Watts, the man whoinvented the hymns and wrote the steam-engine--or something. "

The Wednesday evening in the middle of September was a beautiful oneand the hotel was crowded. The Item, in its account the following week, enumerating those present, spoke of "Our new residents, Mrs. FletcherStory Fosdick and Miss Madeline Fosdick, who are to occupy themagnificent residence now about being built on the Inlet Hill by theirhusband and father, respectively, Fletcher Story Fosdick, Esquire, thewell-known New York banker. " The phrasing of this news note causedmuch joy in South Harniss, and the Item gained several new and hopefulsubscribers. 

But when the gushing reporter responsible for this added that "MissFosdick was a dream of loveliness on this occasion" he was stating onlythe truth. She was very beautiful indeed and a certain young man whostepped up to claim his first dance realized the fact. The said youngman was outwardly cool, but red-hot within, the internal rise intemperature being caused by the sight of Helen Kendall crossing thefloor arm in arm with Edwin Raymond. Albert's face was white with anger, except for two red spots on his cheeks, and his black eyes flashed. Consequently he, too, was considered quite worth the looking at andfeminine glances followed him. 

"Who is that handsome, foreign-looking fellow your friend is dancingwith?" whispered one young lady, a guest at the hotel, to Miss Kelsey. Jane told her. 

"But he isn't a foreigner, " she added. "He lives here in South Harnissall the year. He is a poet, I believe, and Madeline, who knows aboutsuch things--inherits it from her mother, I suppose--says his poetry isbeautiful. "

Her companion watched the subject of their conversation as, with MissFosdick, he moved lightly and surely through the crowd on the floor. 

"He LOOKS like a poet, " she said, slowly. "He is wonderfully handsome, so distinguished, and SUCH a dancer! But why should a poet livehere--all the year? Is that all he does for a living--write poetry?"

Jane pretended not to hear her and, a masculine friend coming to claimhis dance, seized the opportunity to escape. However, another "sitterout" supplied the information. 

"He is a sort of assistant bookkeeper at the lumber yard by the railroadstation, " said this person. "His grandfather owns the place, I believe. One would never guess it to look at him now. . . . Humph! I wonder ifMrs. Fosdick knows. They say she is--well, not democratically inclined, to say the least. "

Albert had his two promised dances with Madeline Fosdick, but the"extra" he did not obtain. Mrs. Fosdick, the ever watchful, had seenand made inquiries. Then she called her daughter to her and issued anultimatum. 

"I am SO sorry, " said the young lady, in refusing the plea for the"extra. " "I should like to, but I--but Mother has asked me to dance witha friend of ours from home. I--I AM sorry, really. "

She looked as if she meant it. Albert was sorry, too. This had beena strange evening, another combination of sweet and sour. He glancedacross the floor and saw Helen and the inevitable Raymond emergetogether from the room where the refreshments were served. Ragingjealousy seized him at the sight. Helen had not been near him, hadscarcely spoken to him since his arrival. He forgot that he had not beennear nor spoken to her. 

He danced twice or thrice more with acquaintances, "summer" orpermanent, and then decided to go home. Madeline Fosdick he saw at theother end of the room surrounded by a group of young masculinity. Helen he could not see at the moment. He moved in the direction of thecoatroom. Just as he reached the door he was surprised to see Ed Raymondstride by him, head down and looking anything but joyful. He watched andwas still more astonished to see the young man get his coat and hat fromthe attendant and walk out of the hotel. He saw him stride awayalong the drive and down the moonlit road. He was, apparently, goinghome--going home alone. 

He got his own coat and hat and, before putting them on, stepped backfor a final look at the ballroom. As he stood by the cloakroom doorsomeone touched his arm. Turning he saw Helen. 

"Why--why, Helen!" he exclaimed, in surprise. 

"Are you going home?" she asked, in a low tone. 

"Yes, I--"

"And you are going alone?"

"Yes. "

"Would you mind--would it trouble you too much to walk with me as far asour house?"

"Why--why of course not. I shall be delighted. But I thought you--Ithought Ed Raymond--"

"No, I'm alone. Wait here; I will be ready in just a minute. "

She hurried away. He gazed after her in bewilderment. She and he hadscarcely exchanged a word during the evening, and now, when the eveningwas almost over, she came and asked him to be her escort. What in thewide world--?

The minute she had specified had hardly elapsed when she reappeared, ready for out of doors. She took his arm and they walked down the stepsof the hotel, past the group of lights at the head of the drive andalong the road, with the moon shining down upon it and the damp, saltbreeze from the ocean blowing across it. They walked for the first fewminutes in silence. There were a dozen questions he would have liked toask, but his jealous resentment had not entirely vanished and his prideforbade. It was she who spoke first. 

"Albert, " she said, "you must think this very odd. "

He knew what she meant, but he did not choose to admit it. 

"What?" he asked. 

"Why, my asking you to walk home with me, after--after our trouble. Itis strange, I suppose, particularly as you had not spoken before thiswhole evening. "

"_I_--spoken to YOU? Why, you bowed to me when I came into the room andthat was the only sign of recognition you gave me until just now. Not adance--not one. "

"Did you expect me to look you up and beg you to dance with me?"

"Did you expect me to trot at that fellow's heels and wait my chance toget a word with you, to take what he left? I should say not! By George, Helen, I--"

She interrupted him. "Hush, hush!" she pleaded. "This is all so silly, so childish. And we mustn't quarrel any more. I have made up my mind tothat. We mustn't. "

"Humph! All right, _I_ had no thought of quarreling in the beginning. But there are some things a self-respecting chap can't stand. I haveSOME pride, I hope. "

She caught her breath quickly. "Do you think, " she asked, "that it wasno sacrifice to my pride to beg you to walk home with me? After--afterthe things you said the other evening? Oh, Albert, how could you saythem!"

"Well--" he hesitated, and then added, "I told you I was sorry. "

"Yes, but you weren't really sorry. You must have believed the thingsthat hateful Issachar Price said or you wouldn't have repeated them. . . . Oh, but never mind that now, I didn't mean to speak of it at all. Iasked you to walk home with me because I wanted to make up our quarrel. Yes, that was it. I didn't want to go away and feel that you and I werenot as good friends as ever. So, you see, I put all MY pride to oneside--and asked. "

One phrase in one sentence of this speech caught and held the youngman's attention. He forgot the others. 

"You are going away?" he repeated. "What do you mean? Where are yougoing?"

"I am going to Cambridge to study. I am going to take some courses atRadcliffe. You know I told you I hoped to some day. Well, it hasbeen arranged. I am to live with my cousin, father's half sister inSomerville. Father is well enough to leave now and I have engaged acapable woman, Mrs. Peters, to help Maria with the housework. I am goingFriday morning, the day after to-morrow. "

He stopped short to stare at her. 

"You are going away?" he asked, again. "You are going to do thatand--and--Why didn't you tell me before?"

It was a characteristic return to his attitude of outraged royalty. Shehad made all these plans, had arranged to do this thing, and he hadnot been informed. At another time Helen might have laughed at him; shegenerally did when he became what she called the "Grand Bashaw. " She didnot laugh now, however, but answered quietly. 

"I didn't know I was going to do it until a little more than a weekago, " she said. "And I have not seen you since then. "

"No, you've been too busy seeing someone else. "

She lost patience for the instant. "Oh, don't, don't, don't!" she cried. "I know who you mean, of course. You mean Ed Raymond. Don't you know whyhe has been at the house so much of late? Why he and I have been so muchtogether? Don't you really know?"

"What? . . . No, I don't--except that you and he wanted to be together. "

"And it didn't occur to you that there might be some other reason? Youforgot, I suppose, that he and I were appointed on the Ticket Committeefor this very dance?"

He had forgotten it entirely. Now he remembered perfectly the meetingof the French Relief Society at which the appointment had been made. Infact Helen herself had told him of it at the time. For the moment he wasstaggered, but he rallied promptly. 

"Committee meetings may do as an excuse for some things, " he said, "butthey don't explain the rest--his calls here every other evening and--andso on. Honest now, Helen, you know he hasn't been running after you inthis way just because he is on that committee with you; now don't you?"

They were almost at the parsonage. The light from Mr. Kendall's studywindow shone through the leaves of the lilac bush behind the whitefence. Helen started to speak, but hesitated. He repeated his question. 

"Now don't you?" he urged. 

"Why, why, yes, I suppose I do, " she said, slowly. "I do know--now. ButI didn't even think of such a thing until--until you came that eveningand told me what Issy Price said. "

"You mean you didn't guess at all?"

"Well--well, perhaps I--I thought he liked to come--liked to--Oh, whatis the use of being silly! I did think he liked to call, but only as afriend. He was jolly and lots of fun and we were both fond of music. Ienjoyed his company. I never dreamed that there was anything more thanthat until you came and were so--disagreeable. And even then I didn'tbelieve--until to-night. "

Again she hesitated. "To-night?" he repeated. "What happened to-night?"

"Oh nothing. I can't tell you. Oh, why can't friends be friends and not. . . . That is why I spoke to you, Albert, why I wanted to have this talkwith you. I was going away so soon and I couldn't bear to go with anyunfriendliness between us. There mustn't be. Don't you see?"

He heard but a part of this. The memory of Raymond's face as he had seenit when the young man strode out of the cloakroom and out of the hotelcame back to him and with it a great heart-throbbing sense of relief, oftriumph. He seized her hand. 

"Helen, " he cried, "did he--did you tell him--Oh, by George, Helen, you're the most wonderful girl in the world! I'm--I--Oh, Helen, you knowI--I--"

It was not his habit to be at a loss for words, but he was just then. Hetried to retain her hand, to put his arm about her. 

"Oh, Helen!" he cried. "You're wonderful! You're splendid! I'm crazyabout you! I really am! I--"

She pushed him gently away. "Don't! Please don't!" she said. "Oh, don't!"

"But I must. Don't you see I. . . . Why, you're crying!"

Her face had, for a moment, been upturned. The moon at that moment hadslipped behind a cloud, but the lamplight from the window had shownhim the tears in her eyes. He was amazed. He could have shouted, havelaughed aloud from joy or triumphant exultation just then, but to weep!What occasion was there for tears, except on Ed Raymond's part?

"You're crying!" he repeated. "Why, Helen--!"

"Don't!" she said, again. "Oh, don't! Please don't talk that way. "

"But don't you want me to, Helen? I--I want you to know how I feel. Youdon't understand. I--"

"Hush! . . . Don't, Al, don't, please. Don't talk in that way. I don'twant you to. "

"But why not?"

"Oh, because I don't. It's--it is foolish. You're only a boy, you know. "

"A boy! I'm more than a year older than you are. "

"Are you? Why yes, I suppose you are, really. But that doesn't make anydifference. I guess girls are older than boys when they are our age, lots older. "

"Oh, bother all that! We aren't kids, either of us. I want you tolisten. You don't understand what I'm trying to say. "

"Yes, I do. But I'm sure you don't. You are glad because you havefound you have no reason to be jealous of Ed Raymond and that makes yousay--foolish things. But I'm not going to have our friendship spoiledin that way. I want us to be real friends, always. So you mustn't besilly. "

"I'm not silly. Helen, if you won't listen to anything else, will youlisten to this? Will you promise me that while you are away you won'thave other fellows calling on you or--or anything like that? And I'llpromise you that I'll have nothing to say to another girl--in any waythat counts, I mean. Shall we promise each other that, Helen? Come!"

She paused for some moment before answering, but her reply, when itcame, was firm. 

"No, " she said, "I don't think we should promise anything, except toremain friends. You might promise and then be sorry, later. "

"_I_ might? How about you?"

"Perhaps we both might. So we won't take the risk. You may come and seeme to-morrow evening and say good-by, if you like. But you mustn't staylong. It is my last night with father for some time and I mustn't cheathim out of it. Good night, Albert. I'm so glad our misunderstanding isover, aren't you?"

"Of course I am. But, Helen--"

"I must go in now. Good night. "

The reflections of Alberto Speranza during his walk back to the Snowplace were varied but wonderful. He thought of Raymond's humiliationand gloried in it. He thought of Helen and rhapsodized. And if, occasionally, he thought also of the dance and of Madeline Fosdick, forgive him. He was barely twenty-one and the moon was shining. 

CHAPTER IX

The good-by call the following evening was, to him at least, not verysatisfactory. Helen was tired, having been busy all day with the finalpreparations for leaving, and old Mr. Kendall insisted on being presentduring the entire visit and in telling long and involved stories of thetrip abroad he had made when a young man and the unfavorable opinionwhich he had then formed of Prussians as traveling companions. Albert'sopinion of Prussians was at least as unfavorable as his own, but hiscomplete and even eager agreement with each of the old gentleman'sstatements did not have the effect of choking the latter off, but ratherseemed to act as encouragement for more. When ten o'clock came and itwas time to go Albert felt as if he had been listening to a lecture onthe Hohenzollerns. "Great Scott, Helen, " he whispered, as she came tothe door with him, "I don't feel as if I had talked with you a minute. Why, I scarcely--"

But just here Mr. Kendall came hurrying from the sitting-room to tellof one incident which he had hitherto forgotten, and so even this briefinterval of privacy was denied. But Albert made one more attempt. 

"I'm going to run over to the station to-morrow morning to see you off, "he called from the gate. "Good night. "

The morning train left at nine o'clock, and at a quarter to nine Albert, who had kept his eye on the clock ever since eight, his hour of arrivingat the office, called to Mr. Price. 

"I say, " he said, in a low tone and one as casual as he could assume, "Iam going to run out for a few minutes. I'll be right back. "

Issachar's response was as usual anything but low. 

"Eh?" he shouted. "Goin' out? Where you goin'?"

"Oh, I'm just going out--er--on an errand. "

"What kind of an errand? I was cal'latin' to run out myself for a littlespell. Can't I do your errand for you?"

"No, no. . . There, there, don't bother me any more. I'm in a hurry. "

"Hurry! So'm I in a hurry. I was cal'latin' to run acrost to the deepoand see Helen Kendall start for Boston. She's goin' this morning; didyou know it?"

Before the somewhat flustered assistant bookkeeper could reply CaptainZelotes called from the inner office:

"Wouldn't wonder if that was where Al was bound, too, " he observed. "AndI was thinkin' of the same thing. Suppose we all go together. Labe'llkeep shop, won't you, Labe?"

Mr. Keeler looked over his spectacles. "Eh?" he observed. "Oh, yes, yes. . . Yes, yes, yes. And say good-by to Helen for me, some of you, ifyou happen to think of it. Not that 'twill make much difference to her, "he added, "whether she gets my good-bys or not, but it might make someto me. . . . Um, yes, yes. "

Mr. Price was eager to oblige. 

"I'll tell her you sent 'em, Labe, " he said, patronizingly. "Set yourmind to rest; I'll tell her. "

Laban's lip twitched. "Much obliged, Is, " he chirruped. "That's a greatrelief! My mind's rested some already. "

So, instead of going alone to the railway station, Albert made one of adelegation of three. And at the station was Mr. Kendall, and two of theschool committee, and one or two members of the church sewing circle, and the president and secretary of the Society for the Relief of theFrench Wounded. So far from being an intimate confidential farewell, Helen's departure was in the nature of a public ceremony withspeech-making. Mr. Price made most of the speeches, in fact the lowerportion of his countenance was in violent motion most of the tenminutes. 

"Take care of yourself, Helen, " he urged loudly. "Don't you worry aboutyour pa, we'll look out for him. And don't let none of them Bostonfellers carry you off. We'll watch and see that Eddie Raymond and Alhere don't get into mischief while you're gone. I . . . Crimustee! JimYoung, what in time's the matter with you? Can't ye see nothin'?"

This last outburst was directed at the driver of the depot-wagon, who, wheeling a trunk on a baggage truck, had bumped violently into the rearof Mr. Price's legs, just at the knee joint, causing their owner to bendbackward unexpectedly, and with enthusiasm. 

"Can't you see nothin' when it's right in front of ye?" demandedIssachar, righteously indignant. 

Jim Young winked over his shoulder at Albert. "Sorry, Is, " he said, ashe continued toward the baggage car. "I didn't notice you WAS in frontof me. "

"Well, then, you'd better. . . . Eh? See here, what do you mean bythat?"

Even after Mr. Price had thus been pushed out of the foreground, so tospeak, Albert was denied the opportunity of taking his place by Helen'sside. Her father had a few last messages to deliver, then CaptainZelotes shook her hand and talked for a moment, and, after that, theladies of the sewing circle and the war work society felt it their dutyto, severally and jointly, kiss her good-by. This last was a tryingoperation to watch. 

Then the engine bell rang and the train began to move. Albert, runningbeside the platform of the last car, held up his hand for a farewellclasp. 

"Good-by, " he said, and added in a whisper, "You'll write, won't you?"

"Of course. And so must you. Good-by. "

The last car and the handkerchief waving figure on its platformdisappeared around the curve. The little group by the station broke up. Albert and his grandfather walked over to the office together. 

"There goes a good girl, Al, " was Captain Lote's only comment. "A mightygood capable girl. "

Albert nodded. A moment later he lifted his hat to a group in a passingautomobile. 

"Who were those folks?" asked the Captain. 

"The Fosdicks, " was the reply. "The people who are going to build downby the Inlet. "

It was Madeline and her mother. The latter had been serenelyindifferent, but the young lady had smiled and bowed behind the maternalshoulders. 

"Oh; that so?" observed Captain Zelotes, looking after the flying carwith interest. "That's who 'tis, eh? Nice lookin', the young one, ain'tshe?"

Albert did not answer. With the noise of the train which was carryingHelen out of his life still ringing in his ears it seemed wicked even tomention another girl's name, to say nothing of commenting upon her goodlooks. For the rest of that day he was a gloomy spirit, a dark shadow inthe office of Z. Snow and Co. 

Before the end of another fortnight the season at South Harniss wasdefinitely over. The hotel closed on the Saturday following the dance, and by October first the last of the cottages was locked and shuttered. The Kelseys went on the twentieth and the Fosdicks went with them. Albert met Madeline and Jane at the post-office in the evening of thenineteenth and there more farewells were said. 

"Don't forget us down here in the sand, will you?" he suggested to MissFosdick. It was Jane Kelsey who answered. 

"Oh, she won't forget, " returned that young lady. "Why she has yourphotograph to remember you by. "

Madeline colored becomingly and was, as Jane described it, "awfullyfussed. "

"Nonsense!" she exclaimed, with much indignation, "I haven't any suchthing. You know I haven't, Jane. "

"Yes, you have, my dear. You have a photograph of him standing in frontof the drug store and looking dreamily in at--at the strawberry sundaes. It is a most romantic pose, really. "

Albert laughed. He remembered the photograph. It was one of a series ofsnapshots taken with Miss Kelsey's camera one Saturday afternoon whena party of young people had met in front of the sundae dispensary. Janehad insisted on "snapping" everyone. 

"That reminds me that I have never seen the rest of those photographs, "he said. 

"Haven't you?" exclaimed Jane. "Well, you ought to see them. I haveMadeline's with me. It is a dream, if I do say it as I took it. "

She produced the snapshot, which showed her friend standing beside thesilver-leaf tree before the druggist's window and smiling at the camera. It was a good likeness and, consequently, a very pretty picture. 

"Isn't it a dream, just as I said?" demanded the artist. "Honest now, isn't it?"

Albert of course declared it to be beyond praise. 

"May I have this one?" he asked, on the impulse of the moment. 

"Don't ask me, stupid, " commanded Jane, mischievously. "It isn't myfuneral--or my portrait, either. "

"May I?" he repeated, turning to Madeline. She hesitated. 

"Why--why yes, you may, if you care for it, " she said. "That particularone is Jane's, anyway, and if she chooses to give it away I don't seehow I can prevent her. But why you should want the old thing I can'tconceive. I look as stiff and wooden as a sign-post. "

Jane held up a protesting finger. 

"Fibs, fibs, fibs, " she observed. "Can't conceive why he should want it!As if you weren't perfectly aware that he will wear it next his heartand--Oh, don't put it in THAT pocket! I said next your heart, and thatisn't on your RIGHT side. "

Albert took the photograph home and stuck it between the frame and glassof his bureau. Then came a sudden remembrance of his parting with Helenand with it a twinge of conscience. He had begged her to have nothingto do with any other fellow. True she had refused to promise andconsequently he also was unbound, but that made no difference--shouldnot make any. So he put the photograph at the back of the drawer wherehe kept his collars and ties, with a resolve never to look at it. He didnot look at it--very often. 

Then came another long winter. He ground away at the bookkeeping--he wasmore proficient at it, but he hated it as heartily as ever--and wrotea good deal of verse and some prose. For the first time he sold a prosearticle, a short story, to a minor magazine. He wrote long letters toHelen and she replied. She was studying hard, she liked her work, andshe had been offered the opportunity to tutor in a girls' summer camp inVermont during July and August and meant to accept provided her father'shealth continued good. Albert protested violently against her beingabsent from South Harniss for so long. "You will scarcely be home atall, " he wrote. "I shall hardly see you. What am I going to do? As itis now I miss you--" and so on for four closely written pages. Havinggotten into the spirit of composition he, so to speak, gloried in hisloneliness, so much so that Helen was moved to remonstrate. "Your lettermade me almost miserable, " she wrote, "until I had read it over twice. Then I began to suspect that you were enjoying your wretchedness, or enjoying writing about it. I truly don't believe anyone--youespecially--could be quite as lonesome as all that. Honestly now, Albert, weren't you exaggerating a little? I rather think you were?"

He had been, of course, but it irritated him to think that sherecognized the fact. She had an uncanny faculty of seeing through hisevery pretense. In his next letter he said nothing whatever about beinglonesome. 

At home, and at the office, the war was what people talked about mostof the time. Since the Lusitania's sinking Captain Zelotes had been abattle charger chafing at the bit. He wanted to fight and to fight atonce. 

"We've got to do it, Mother, " he declared, over and over again. "Sooneror later we've got to fight that Kaiser gang. What are we waitin' for;will somebody tell me that?"

Olive, as usual, was mild and unruffled. 

"Probably the President knows as much about it as you and me, Zelotes, "she suggested. "I presume likely he has his own reasons. "

"Humph! When Seth Bassett got up in the night and took a drink out ofthe bottle of Paris Green by mistake 'Bial Cahoon asked him what in timehe kept Paris Green in his bedroom for, anyhow. All that Seth would saywas that he had his own reasons. The rest of the town was left to guesswhat those reasons was. That's what the President's doin'--keepin' usguessin'. By the everlastin', if I was younger I'd ship aboard a Britishlime-juicer and go and fight, myself!"

It was Rachel Ellis who caused the Captain to be a bit more restrainedin his remarks. 

"You hadn't ought to talk that way, Cap'n Lote, " she said. "Not whenAlbert's around, you hadn't. "

"Eh? Why not?"

"Because the first thing you know he'll be startin' for Canada toenlist. He's been crazy to do it for 'most a year. "

"He has? How do you know he has?"

"Because he's told me so, more'n once. "

Her employer looked at her. 

"Humph!" he grunted. "He seems to tell you a good many things he doesn'ttell the rest of us. "

The housekeeper nodded. "Yes, " she said gravely, "I shouldn't wonderif he did. " A moment later she added, "Cap'n Lote, you will be careful, won't you? You wouldn't want Al to go off and leave Z. Snow and Companywhen him and you are gettin' on so much better. You ARE gettin' onbetter, ain't you?"

The captain pulled at his beard. 

"Yes, " he admitted, "seems as if we was. He ain't any wonder atbookkeepin', but he's better'n he used to be; and he does seem to tryhard, I'll say that for him. "

Rachael beamed gratification. "He'll be a Robert Penfold yet, " shedeclared; "see if he isn't. So you musn't encourage him into enlistin'in the Canadian army. You wouldn't want him to do that any more'n therest of us would. "

The captain gazed intently into the bowl of the pipe which he had beencleaning. He made no answer. 

"You wouldn't want him to do that, would you?" repeated the housekeeper. 

Captain Lote blew through the pipe stem. Then he said, "No, I wouldn't. . . But I'm darn glad he's got the spunk to WANT to do it. We mayget that Portygee streak out of him, poetry and all, give us time; eh, Rachael?"

It was the first time in months that he had used the word "Portygee" inconnection with his grandson. Mrs. Ellis smiled to herself. 

In April the arbutus buds began to appear above the leaf mold betweenthe scrub oaks in the woods, and the walls of Fletcher Fosdick's newsummer home began to rise above the young pines on the hill by theInlet in the Bay Road. The Item kept its readers informed, by weeklyinstallments, of the progress made by the builders. 

The lumber for Mr. Fletcher Fosdick's new cottage is beginning to behauled to his property on Inlet Hill in this town. Our enterprising firmof South Harniss dealers, Z. Snow & Co. , are furnishing said lumber. Mr. Nehemiah Nickerson is to do the mason work. Mr. Fosdick shows goodjudgment as well as a commendable spirit in engaging local talent inthis way. We venture to say he will never regret it. 

A week later:

Mr. Fletcher Fosdick's new residence is beginning building, thefoundation being pretty near laid. 

And the following week:

The Fosdick mansion is growing fast. South Harniss may well be proud ofits new ornament. 

The rise in three successive numbers from "cottage" to "mansion" isperhaps sufficient to indicate that the Fosdick summer home was to be, as Issachar Price described it, "Some considerable house! Yes sir, bycrimus, some considerable!"

In June, Helen came home for a week. At the end of the week she left totake up her new duties at the summer camp for girls in Vermont. Albertand she were together a good deal during that week. Anticipating herarrival, the young man's ardent imagination had again fanned what hedelighted to think of as his love for her into flame. During thelast months of the winter he had not played the languishing swain asconscientiously as during the autumn. Like the sailor in the song"is 'eart was true to Poll" always, but he had broken away from hisself-imposed hermitage in his room at the Snow place several timesto attend sociables, entertainments and, even, dances. Now, whenshe returned he was eagerly awaiting her and would have haunted theparsonage before and after working hours of every day as well as theevening, if she had permitted, and when with her assumed a proprietaryair which was so obvious that even Mr. Price felt called upon to commenton it. 

"Say, Al, " drawled Issachar, "cal'late you've cut out Eddie Raymondalong with Helen, ain't ye? Don't see him hangin' around any since shegot back, and the way you was actin' when I see you struttin' into theparsonage yard last night afore mail time made me think you must have afirst mortgage on Helen and her pa and the house and the meetin'-houseand two-thirds of the graveyard. I never see such an important-lookin'critter in MY life. Haw, haw! Eh? How 'bout it?"

Albert did not mind the Price sarcasm; instead he felt rather gratefulto have the proletariat recognize that he had triumphed again. The flyin his ointment, so to speak, was the fact that Helen herself did not inthe least recognize that triumph. She laughed at him. 

"Don't look at me like that, please, please, don't, " she begged. 

"Why not?" with a repetition of the look. 

"Because it is silly. "

"Silly! Well, I like that! Aren't you and I engaged? Or just the same asengaged?"

"No, of course we are not. "

"But we promised each other--"

"No, we did not. And you know we didn't. "

"Helen, why do you treat me that way? Don't you know that--that I justworship the ground you tread on? Don't you know you're the only girl inthis world I could ever care for? Don't you know that?"

They were walking home from church Sunday morning and had reached thecorner below the parsonage. There, screened by the thicket of youngsilver-leafs, she stopped momentarily and looked into his face. Then shewalked on. 

"Don't you know how much I care?" he repeated. 

She shook her head. "You think you do now, perhaps, " she said, "but youwill change your mind. "

"What do you mean by that? How do you know I will?"

"Because I know you. There, there, Albert, we won't quarrel, will we?And we won't be silly. You're an awfully nice boy, but you are just aboy, you know. "

He was losing his temper. 

"This is ridiculous!" he declared. "I'm tired of being grandmotheredby you. I'm older than you are, and I know what I'm doing. Come, Helen, listen to me. "

But she would not listen, and although she was always kind and frank andfriendly, she invariably refused to permit him to become sentimental. Itirritated him, and after she had gone the irritation still remained. Hewrote her as before, although not quite so often, and the letters werepossibly not quite so long. His pride was hurt and the Speranza pridewas a tender and important part of the Speranza being. If Helen notedany change in his letters she did not refer to it nor permit it toinfluence her own, which were, as always, lengthy, cheerful, and full ofinterest in him and his work and thoughts. 

During the previous fall, while under the new influence aroused in himby his discovery that Helen Kendall was "the most wonderful girl in theworld, " said discovery of course having been previously made for him bythe unfortunate Raymond, he had developed a habit of wandering off intothe woods or by the seashore to be alone and to seek inspiration. Whena young poet is in love, or fancies himself in love, inspiration isusually to be found wherever sought, but even at that age and to one inthat condition solitude is a marked aid in the search. There were twoor three spots which had become Albert Speranza's favorites. One was ahigh, wind-swept knoll, overlooking the bay, about a half mile from thehotel, another was a secluded nook in the pine grove beside Carver'sPond, a pretty little sheet of water on the Bayport boundary. Onpleasant Saturday afternoons or Sundays, when the poetic fit was onhim, Albert, with a half dozen pencils in his pocket, and a rhymingdictionary and a scribbling pad in another, was wont to stroll towardsone or the other of these two retreats. There he would sprawl amid thebeachgrass or upon the pine-needles and dream and think and, perhaps, ultimately write. 

One fair Saturday in late June he was at the first of these respectivepoints. Lying prone on the beach grass at the top of the knoll andpeering idly out between its stems at the water shimmering in the summersun, he was endeavoring to find a subject for a poem which should dealwith love and war as requested by the editor of the Columbian Magazine. "Give us something with a girl and a soldier in it, " the editor hadwritten. Albert's mind was lazily drifting in search of the pleasingcombination. 

The sun was warm, the breeze was light, the horizon was veiled with aliquid haze. Albert's mind was veiled with a similar haze and the ideahe wanted would not come. He was losing his desire to find it and was, in fact, dropping into a doze when aroused by a blood-curdling outburstof barks and yelps and growls behind him, at his very heels. He cameout of his nap with a jump and, scrambling to a sitting position andturning, he saw a small Boston bull-terrier standing within a yard ofhis ankles and, apparently, trying to turn his brindled outside in, orhis inside out, with spiteful ferocity. Plainly the dog had come uponhim unexpectedly and was expressing alarm, suspicion and disapproval. 

Albert jerked his ankles out of the way and said "Hello, boy, " in ascheerfully cordial a tone as he could muster at such short notice. Thedog took a step forward, evidently with the idea of always keeping theankles within jumping distance, showed a double row of healthy teeth andgrowled and barked with renewed violence. 

"Nice dog, " observed Albert. The nice dog made a snap at the nearestankle and, balked of his prey by a frenzied kick of the foot attached tothe ankle, shrieked, snarled and gurgled like a canine lunatic. 

"Go home, you ugly brute, " commanded the young man, losing patience, andlooking about for a stone or stick. On the top of that knoll the largeststone was the size of a buckshot and the nearest stick was, to be Irish, a straw. 

"Nice doggie! Nice old boy! Come and be patted! . . . Clear out withyou! Go home, you beast!"

Flatteries and threats were alike in their result. The dog continued tosnarl and growl, darting toward the ankles occasionally. Evidently hewas mustering courage for the attack. Albert in desperation scooped upa handful of sand. If worst came to worst he might blind the creaturetemporarily. What would happen after that was not clear. Unless he mightby a lucky cast fill the dog's interior so full of sand that--like thefamous "Jumping Frog"--it would be too heavy to navigate, he saw noway of escape from a painful bite, probably more than one. What CaptainZelotes had formerly called his "Portygee temper" flared up. 

"Oh, damn you, clear out!" he shouted, springing to his feet. 

From a little way below him; in fact, from behind the next dune, betweenhimself and the beach, a feminine voice called his name. 

"Oh, Mr. Speranza!" it said. "Is it you? I'm so glad!"

Albert turned, but the moment he did so the dog made a dash at his legs, so he was obliged to turn back again and kick violently. 

"Oh, I am so glad it is you, " said the voice again. "I was sure it was adreadful tramp. Googoo loathes tramps. "

As an article of diet that meant, probably. Googoo--if that was thedog's name--was passionately fond of poets, that was self-evident, andintended to make a meal of this one, forthwith. He flew at the Speranzaankles. Albert performed a most undignified war dance, and dashed hishandful of sand into Googoo's open countenance. For a minute or so therewas a lively shindy on top of that knoll. At the end of the minute thedog, held tightly in a pair of feminine arms, was emitting growlsand coughs and sand, while Madeline Fosdick and Albert Speranza werekneeling in more sand and looking at each other. 

"Oh, did he bite you?" begged Miss Fosdick. 

"No . . . No, I guess not, " was the reply. "I--I scarcely know yet. . . . Why, when did you come? I didn't know you were in town. "

"We came yesterday. Motored from home, you know. I--be still, Goo, youbad thing! It was such a lovely day that I couldn't resist going fora walk along the beach. I took Googoo because he does love it so, and--Goo, be still, I tell you! I am sure he thinks you are a tramp, outhere all alone in the--in the wilderness. And what were you doing here?"

Albert drew a long breath. "I was half asleep, I guess, " he said, "whenhe broke loose at my heels. I woke up quick enough then, as you mayimagine. And so you are here for the summer? Your new house isn'tfinished, is it?"

"No, not quite. Mother and Goo and I are at the hotel for a month. But you haven't answered my question. What were you doing off here allalone? Have you been for a walk, too?"

"Not exactly. I--well, I come here pretty often. It is one of myfavorite hiding places. You see, I . . . Don't laugh if I tell you, willyou?"

"Of course not. Go on; this is very mysterious and interesting. "

"Well, I come here sometimes on pleasant days, to be alone--and write. "

"Write? Write poetry, do you mean?"

"Yes. "

"Oh, how wonderful! Were you writing when I--when Goo interrupted you?"

"No; I had made two or three attempts, but nothing that I did satisfiedme. I had just about decided to tear them up and to give up trying forthis afternoon. "

"Oh, I hope you won't tear them up. I'm sure they shouldn't be. Perhapsyou were not in a proper mood to judge, yourself. "

"Perhaps not. Perhaps they might look a little less hopeless to some oneelse. But that person would have to be really interested, and there arefew people in South Harniss who know or care anything about poetry. "

"I suppose that is true. I--I don't suppose you would care to show themto me, would you?"

"Why, " eagerly, "would you really care to see them?"

"Indeed I should! Not that my judgment or advice is worth anything, ofcourse. But I am very, very fond of poetry, and to see how a real poetwrote would be wonderful. And if I could help you, even the least littlebit, it would be such an honor. "

This sort of thing was balm to the Speranza spirit. Albert'stemperamental ego expanded under it like a rosebud under a summer sun. Yet there was a faint shadow of doubt--she might be making fun of him. He looked at her intently and she seemed to read his thoughts, for shesaid:

"Oh, I mean it! Please believe I do. I haven't spoken that way when Janewas with me, for she wouldn't understand and would laugh, but I mean it, Mr. Speranza. It would be an honor--a great honor. "

So the still protesting and rebellious Googoo was compelled to go a fewfeet away and lie down, while his mistress and the young man whom he hadattempted to devour bent their heads together over a scribbling-padand talked and exclaimed during the whole of that hour and a fullthree-quarters of the next. Then the distant town clock in the steepleof the Congregational church boomed five times and Miss Fosdick rose toher feet. 

"Oh, " she said, "it can't really be five o'clock, can it? But it is!What WILL mother fancy has become of me? I must go this minute. Thankyou, Mr. Speranza. I have enjoyed this so much. It has been a wonderfulexperience. "

Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were shining. She had grownhandsomer than ever during the winter months. Albert's eyes were shiningalso as he impulsively seized her hand. 

"Thank you, Miss Fosdick, " he said. "You have helped me more than Ican tell you. I was about to give up in despair before you came, andnow--now I KNOW I shall write the best thing I have ever done. And youwill be responsible for it. "

She caught her breath. "Oh, not really!" she exclaimed. "You don't meanit, really?"

"Indeed I do! If I might have your help and sympathy once in awhile, Ibelieve--I believe I could do almost anything. Will you help me againsome day? I shall be here almost every pleasant Saturday and Sundayafternoon. Will you come again?"

She hesitated. "I--I'll see; perhaps, " she answered hurriedly. "But Imust go now. Come, Goo. "

She hastened away, down the knoll and along the beach toward the hotel. Googoo followed her, turning occasionally to cast diabolical glances atthe Speranza ankles. Albert gazed until the graceful figure in the trimsport costume disappeared behind the corner of the point of the beach. Just at the point she paused to wave to him. He waved in return. Thenhe tramped homeward. There was deep sand beneath his feet and, later, pine-needles and grass. They were all alike to him, for he was travelingon air. 

That evening at supper his radiant appearance caused comment. 

"What makes you look so happy, Albert?" asked his grandmother. "Seems tome I never saw you look so sort of--well, glorified, as you might say. What is the reason?"

The glorified one reddened and was confused. He stammered that he didnot know, he was not aware of any particular reason. 

Mrs. Ellis beamed upon him. "I presume likely his bookkeepin' at theoffice has been goin' pretty well lately, " she suggested. 

Captain Zelote's gray eyes twinkled. "Cal'late he's been makin' up morepoetry about girls, " was his offering. "Another one of those piecesabout teeth like pearls and hair all curls, or somethin' like that. Say, Al, why don't you poetry-makin' fellers try a new one once in a while?Say, 'Her hair's like rope and her face has lost hope. ' Eh? Why not, fora change?"

The protests on the part of Olive and the housekeeper against thecaptain's innovation in poetry-making had the effect of distractingattention from Albert's "glorified" appearance. The young man himselfwas thankful for the respite. 

That night before he retired he took Madeline Fosdick's photograph fromthe back of the drawer among the ties and collars and looked at it forfive minutes at least. She was a handsome girl, certainly. Not thatthat made any difference to him. And she was an intelligent girl; sheunderstood his poetry and appreciated it. Yes, and she understood him, too, almost as well as Helen. . . . Helen! He hastily returned theFosdick photograph to the drawer; but this time he did not put it quiteso near the back. 

On the following Saturday he was early at the knoll, a brand-newscribbling-pad in his pocket and in his mind divine gems whichwere later, and with Miss Fosdick's assistance, to be strung intoa glittering necklace of lyric song and draped, with the stringer'scompliments, about the throat of a grateful muse. But no gems werestrung that day. Madeline did not put in an appearance, and by and byit began to rain, and Albert walked home, damp, dejected, and disgusted. When, a day or two later, he met Miss Fosdick at the post office andasked why she had not come he learned that her mother had insisted upona motor trip to Wapatomac that afternoon. 

"Besides, " she said, "you surely mustn't expect me EVERY Saturday. "

"No, " he admitted grudgingly, "I suppose not. But you will comesometimes, won't you? I have a perfectly lovely idea for a ballad and Iwant to ask your advice about it. "

"Oh, do you really? You're not making fun? You mean that my advice isreally worth something? I can't believe it. "

He convinced her that it was, and the next Saturday afternoon they spenttogether at the inspiration point among the dunes, at work upon theballad. It was not finished on that occasion, nor on the next, for itwas an unusually long ballad, but progress was made, glorious progress. 

And so, during that Summer, as the Fosdick residence upon the Bay Roadgrew and grew, so did the acquaintanceship, the friendship, the poeticpartnership between the Fosdick daughter and the grandson of CaptainZelotes Snow grow and grow. They met almost every Saturday, they met atthe post office on week evenings, occasionally they saw each other for amoment after church on Sunday mornings. Mrs. Fletcher Fosdick could notimagine why her only child cared to attend that stuffy little countrychurch and hear that prosy Kendall minister drone on and on. "I hope, my dear, that I am as punctilious in my religious duties as the averagewoman, but one Kendall sermon was sufficient for me, thank you. What yousee in THAT church to please you, _I_ can't guess. "

If she had attended as often as Madeline did she might have guessed andsaved herself much. But she was busy organizing, in connection withMrs. Seabury Calvin, a Literary Society among the summer people of SouthHarniss. The Society was to begin work with the discussion of the poetryof Rabindranath Tagore. Mrs. Fosdick said she doted on Tagore; Mrs. Calvin expressed herself as being positively insane about him. Awarm friendship had sprung up between the two ladies, as each wasparticularly fond of shining as a literary light and neither under anycircumstances permitted a new lion to roar unheard in her neighborhood, provided, of course, that the said roarings had been previously endorsedand well advertised by the critics and the press. 

So Mrs. Fosdick was too busy to accompany Madeline to church on Sundayor to walk on Saturday, and the young lady was left to wander prettymuch at her own sweet will. That sweet will led her footsteps to trailsfrequented by Albert Speranza and they walked and talked and poetizedtogether. As for Mr. Fletcher Fosdick, he was busy at his office in NewYork and came to South Harniss only for infrequent week-ends. 

The walks and talks and poetizings were innocent enough. Neither of thepartners in poesy had the least idea of anything more than being justthat. They liked each other, they had come to call each other by theirChristian names, and on Albert's bureau Madeline's photograph now stoodopenly and without apology. Albert had convinced himself there wasnothing to apologize for. She was his friend, that was all. He liked towrite and she liked to help him--er--well, just as Helen used to whenshe was at home. He did not think of Helen quite as often as formerly, nor were his letters to her as frequent or as long. 

So the summer passed and late August came, the last Saturday afternoonof that month. Albert and Madeline were together, walking together alongthe beach from the knoll where they had met so often. It was six o'clockand the beach was deserted. There was little wind, the tiny waves werelapping and plashing along the shore, and the rosy light of the sinkingsun lay warm upon the water and the sand. They were thinking andspeaking of the summer which was so near its end. 

"It has been a wonderful summer, hasn't it?" said Albert. 

"Yes, wonderful, " agreed Madeline. 

"Yes, I--I--by George, I never believed a summer could be so wonderful. "

"Nor I. "

Silence. Then Albert, looking at her, saw her eyes looking into his andsaw in them--

He kissed her. 

That morning Albert Speranza had arisen as usual, a casual, careless, perfectly human young fellow. He went to bed that night a superman, anarchangel, a demi-god, with his head in the clouds and the earth a clothof gold beneath his feet. Life was a pathway through Paradise archedwith rainbows. 

He and Madeline Fosdick loved each other madly, devotedly. They wereengaged to be married. They had plighted troth. They were to be eachother's, and no one else's, for ever--and ever--and ever. 

CHAPTER X

The remainder of that summer was a paradisical meandering over the clothof gold beneath the rainbows. Albert and his Madeline met often, veryoften. Few poems were written at these meetings. Why trouble to putpenciled lines on paper when the entire universe was a poem especiallycomposed for your benefit? The lovers sat upon the knoll amid thesand dunes and gazed at the bay and talked of themselves separately, individually, and, more especially, collectively. They strolled throughthe same woody lanes and discussed the same satisfactory subjects. Theymet at the post office or at the drug store and gazed into each other'seyes. And, what was the most astonishing thing about it all, theirsecret remained undiscovered. Undiscovered, that is to say, by thoseby whom discovery would have meant calamity. The gossips among thetownspeople winked and chuckled and cal'lated Fletcher Fosdick hadbetter look out or his girl would be took into the firm of Z. Snow andCo. Issachar Price uttered sarcastic and sly innuendoes. Jane Kelseyand her set ragged the pair occasionally. But even these never reallysuspected that the affair was serious. And neither Mrs. Fletcher Fosdicknor Captain and Mrs. Zelotes Snow gave it a minute's attention. 

It was serious enough with the principals, however. To them it was theonly serious matter in the world. Not that they faced or discussed thefuture with earnest and complete attention. Some day or other--that wasof course the mutually accepted idea--some day or other they were tomarry. In the meantime here was the blissful present with its rosesand rainbows and here, for each, was the other. What would be likely tohappen when the Fosdick parents learned of the engagement of theironly child to the assistant bookkeeper of the South Harniss lumber andhardware company was unpleasant to contemplate, so why contemplate it?Upon one point they were agreed--never, never, NEVER would theygive each other up. No power on earth--which included parents andgrandparents--should or could separate them. 

Albert's conscience troubled him slightly at first when he thought ofHelen Kendall. It had been in reality such a short time--although ofcourse it seemed ages and ages--since he had fancied himself in lovewith her. Only the previous fall--yes, even that very spring, hehad asked her to pledge herself to him. Fortunately--oh, how veryfortunately!--she had refused, and he had been left free. Now he knewthat his fancied love for her had been merely a passing whim, a delusionof the moment. This--THIS which he was now experiencing was the grandpassion of his life. He wrote a poem with the title, "The GreaterLove"--and sold it, too, to a sensational periodical which circulatedlargely among sentimental shopgirls. It is but truthful to state thatthe editor of the magazine to which he first submitted it sent it backwith the brief note--"This is a trifle too syrupy for our use. Fear thepages might stick. Why not send us another war verse?" Albert treatedthe note and the editor with the contempt they deserved. He pitied thelatter; poor soul, doubtless HE had never known the greater love. 

He and Madeline had agreed that they would tell no one--no one atall--of their betrothal. It should be their own precious secret for thepresent. So, under the circumstances, he could not write Helen thenews. But ought he to write her at all? That question bothered him nota little. He no longer loved her--in fact, he was now certain that henever had loved her--but he liked her, and he wanted her to keep onliking him. And she wrote to him with regularity. What ought he to doabout writing her?

He debated the question with himself and, at last, and with sometrepidation, asked Madeline's opinion of his duty in the matter. Heropinion was decisive and promptly given. Of course he must not writeHelen again. "How would you like it if I corresponded with anotherfellow?" she asked. Candor forced him to admit that he should not likeit at all. "But I want to behave decently, " he said. "She is merely afriend of mine"--oh, how short is memory!--"but we have been friends fora long time and I wouldn't want to hurt her feelings. " "No, insteadyou prefer to hurt mine. " "Now, dearest, be reasonable. " It was theirnearest approach to a quarrel and was a very, very sad affair. The making-up was sweet, of course, but the question of furthercorrespondence with Helen Kendall remained just where it was at thebeginning. And, meanwhile, the correspondence lapsed. 

September came far, far too soon--came and ended. And with it endedalso the stay of the Fosdicks in South Harniss. Albert and Madeline saidgood-by at their rendezvous by the beach. It was a sad, a tearful, buta very precious farewell. They would write each other every day, theywould think of each other every minute of every day, they would livethrough the winter somehow and look forward to the next spring and theirnext meeting. 

"You will write--oh, ever and ever so many poems, won't you, dear?"begged Madeline. "You know how I love them. And whenever I see one ofyour poems in print I shall be so proud of you--of MY poet. "

Albert promised to write ever and ever so many. He felt that there wouldbe no difficulty in writing reams of poems--inspired, glorious poems. The difficulty would be in restraining himself from writing too manyof them. With Madeline Fosdick as an inspiration, poetizing became asnatural as breathing. 

Then, which was unusual for them, they spoke of the future, the dim, vague, but so happy future, when Albert was to be the nation's poetlaureate and Madeline, as Mrs. Laureate, would share his glory andwear, so to speak, his second-best laurels. The disagreeable problemsconnected with the future they ignored, or casually dismissed with, "Never mind, dear, it will be all right by and by. " Oh, it was awonderful afternoon, a rosy, cloudy, happy, sorrowful, bitter-sweetafternoon. 

And the next morning Albert, peeping beneath Z. Snow and Co. 's officewindow shade, saw his heart's desire step aboard the train, saw thattrain puff out of the station, saw for just an instant a small handwaved behind the dingy glass of the car window. His own hand waved inreply. Then the raucous voice of Mr. Price broke the silence. 

"Who was you flappin' your flipper at?" inquired Issachar. "Girl, I'llbet you! Never saw such a critter as you be to chase after the girls. Which one is it this time?"

Albert made no reply. Between embarrassment and sorrow he was incapableof speech. Issachar, however, was not in that condition; at all timeswhen awake, and sometimes when asleep, Mr. Price could, and usually did, speak. 

"Which one is it this time, Al?" demanded Issy. "Eh? Crimus, see him getred! Haw, haw! Labe, " to Mr. Keeler, who came into the office from theinner room, "which girl do you cal'late Al here is wavin' by-bye to thismornin'? Who's goin' away on the cars this mornin', Labe?"

Laban, his hands full of the morning mail, absently replied that hedidn't know. 

"Yes, you do, too, " persisted Issy. "You ain't listenin', that's all. Who's leavin' town on the train just now?"

"Eh? Oh, I don't know. The Small folks are goin' to Boston, I believe. And George Bartlett's goin' to Ostable on court business, he told me. Oh, yes, I believe Cap'n Lote said that Fosdick woman and her daughterwere goin' back to New York. Back to New York--yes--yes--yes. "

Mr. Price crowed triumphantly. "Ah, ha!" he crowed. "Ah, ha! That's theanswer. That's the one he's shakin' day-days to, that Fosdick girl. I'veseen you 'round with her at the post office and the ice cream s'loon. I'm onto you, Al. Haw, haw! What's her name? Adeline? Dandelion?Madeline?--that's it! Say, how do you think Helen Kendall's goin' tolike your throwin' kisses to the Madeline one, eh?"

The assistant bookkeeper was still silent. The crimson, however, wasleaving his face and the said face was paling rapidly. This was anominous sign had Mr. Price but known it. He did not know it and cackledmerrily on, "Guess I'll have to tell Helen when she comes back home, " he announced. "Cal'late I'll put a flea in her ear. 'Helen, ' I'll say, 'don't feeltoo bad now, don't cry and get your handkerchief all soakin', or nothin'like that. I just feel it's my duty to tell ye that your little Albertis sparkin' up to somebody else. He's waitin' on a party by the name ofPadeline--no, Madeline--Woodtick--no, Fosdick--and . . . ' Here! let goof me! What are you doin'?"

That last question was in the nature of a gurgle. Albert, his face nowvery white indeed, had strode across the office, seized the speaker bythe front of his flannel shirt and backed him against the wall. 

"Stop, " commanded Albert, between his teeth. "That's enough of that. Don't you say any more!"

"Eh? Ugh! Ur-gg! Leggo of my shirt. "

Albert let go, but he did not step back. He remained where he was, exactly in front of Mr. Price. 

"Don't you say any more about--about what you were saying, " he repeated. 

"Eh? Not say any more? Why not? Who's goin' to stop me, I'd like toknow?"

"I am. "

"I want to know! What'll you do?"

"I don't know. If you weren't so old, I would--but I'll stop you, anyhow. "

Albert felt a hand on his arm and heard Mr. Keeler's voice at his ear. 

"Careful, Al, careful, " it said. "Don't hit him. "

"Of course I shan't hit him, " indignantly. "What do you think I am? Buthe must promise not to mention--er--Miss Fosdick's name again. "

"Better promise, Is, " suggested Laban. Issachar's mouth opened, but nopromise came forth. 

"Promise be darned!" he yelled furiously. "Mention her name! I'llmention any name I set out to, and no Italyun Portygee is goin' to stopme, neither. "

Albert glanced about the office. By the wall stood two brimming pails ofwater, brought in by Mr. Price for floor-washing purposes. He lifted oneof the pails. 

"If you don't promise I'll duck you, " he declared. "Let go of me, Keeler, I mean it. "

"Careful, Al, careful, " said Mr. Keeler. "Better promise, Is. "

"Promise nawthin'! Fosdick! What in time do I care for Fosdicks, Madelines or Padelines or Dandelions or--"

His sentence stopped just there. The remainder of it was washed backand down his throat by the deluge from the bucket. Overcome by shock andsurprise, Mr. Price leaned back against the wall and slid slowly downthat wall until he reclined in a sitting posture, upon the floor. 

"Crimustee, " he gasped, as soon as he could articulate, "I'm--awk--I'mdrownded. "

Albert put down the empty bucket and picked up the full one. 

"Promise, " he said again. 

Laban Keeler rubbed his chin. 

"I'd promise if I was you, Is, " he said. "You're some subject torheumatism, you know. "

Issachar, sitting in a spreading puddle, looked damply upward at theremaining bucket. "By crimustee--" he began. Albert drew the bucketbackward; the water dripped from its lower brim. 

"I--I--darn ye, I promise!" shouted Issachar. Albert put down the bucketand walked back to his desk. Laban watched him curiously, smiling just alittle. Then he turned to Mr. Price, who was scrambling to his feet. 

"Better get your mop and swab up here, Is, " he said. "Cap'n Lote'll bein 'most any minute. "

When Captain Zelotes did return to the office, Issachar wasindustriously sweeping out, Albert was hard at work at the books, andLaban was still rubbing his chin and smiling at nothing in particular. 

The next day Albert and Issachar made it up. Albert apologized. 

"I'm sorry, Issy, " he said. "I shouldn't have done it, but you made memad. I have a--rather mean temper, I'm afraid. Forgive me, will you?"

He held out his hand, and Issachar, after a momentary hesitation, tookit. 

"I forgive you this time, Al, " he said solemnly, "but don't never donothin' like it again, will ye? When I went home for dinner yesterdaynoon I give you my word my clothes was kind of dampish even then. Ifit hadn't been nice warm sunshine and I was out doors and dried offconsiderable I'd a had to change everything, underclothes and all, and'tain't but the middle of the week yet. "

His ducking had an effect which Albert noticed with considerablesatisfaction--he was never quite as flippantly personal in his commentsconcerning the assistant bookkeeper. He treated the latter, if not withrespect, at least with something distantly akin to it. 

After Madeline's departure the world was very lonely indeed. Albertwrote long, long letters and received replies which varied in lengthbut never in devotion. Miss Fosdick was obliged to be cautious in hercorrespondence with her lover. "You will forgive me if this is not muchmore than a note, won't you, dear?" she wrote. "Mother seems to be verycurious of late about my letters and to whom I write and I had to juststeal the opportunity this morning. " An older and more apprehensiveperson might have found Mrs. Fosdick's sudden interest in her daughter'scorrespondence suspicious and a trifle alarming, but Albert neverdreamed of being alarmed. 

He wrote many poems, all dealing with love and lovers, and sold some ofthem. He wrote no more letters to Helen. She, too, had ceased to writehim, doubtless because of the lack of reply to her last two or threeletters. His conscience still troubled him about Helen; he could nothelp feeling that his treatment of her had not been exactly honorable. Yet what else under the circumstances could he do? From Mr. Kendall helearned that she was coming home to spend Thanksgiving. He would see herthen. She would ask him questions? What should his answer be? He facedthe situation in anticipation many, many times, usually after he hadgone to bed at night, and lay awake through long torturing hours inconsequence. 

But when at last Helen and he did meet, the day before Thanksgiving, their meeting was not at all the dreadful ordeal he had feared. Hergreeting was as frank and cordial as it had always been, and there wasno reproach in her tone or manner. She did not even ask him why he hadstopped writing. It was he, himself, who referred to that subject, and he did so as they walked together down the main road. Just why hereferred to it he could not probably have told. He was aware only thathe felt mean and contemptible and that he must offer some explanation. His not having any to offer made the task rather difficult. 

But she saved him the trouble. She interrupted one of his blundering, stumbling sentences in the middle. 

"Never mind, Albert, " she said quietly. "You needn't explain. I think Iunderstand. "

He stopped and stared at her. "You understand?" he repeated. "Why--why, no, you don't. You can't. "

"Yes, I can, or I think I can. You have changed your mind, that is all. "

"Changed my mind?"

"Yes. Don't you remember I told you you would change your mindabout--well, about me? You were so sure you cared so very, very much forme, you know. And I said you mustn't promise anything because I thoughtyou would change your mind. And you have. That is it, isn't it? You havefound some one else. "

He gazed at her as if she were a witch who had performed a miracle. 

"Why--why--well, by George!" he exclaimed. "Helen--how--how did youknow? Who told you?"

"No one told me. But I think I can even guess who it is you have found. It is Madeline Fosdick, isn't it?"

His amazement now was so open-mouthed as well as open-eyed that shecould not help smiling. 

"Don't! Don't stare at me like that, " she whispered. "Every one islooking at you. There is old Captain Pease on the other side of thestreet; I'm sure he thinks you have had a stroke or something. Here!Walk down our road a little way toward home with me. We can talk as wewalk. I'm sure, " she added, with just the least bit of change in hertone, "that your Madeline won't object to our being together to thatextent. "

She led the way down the side street toward the parsonage and hefollowed her. He was still speechless from surprise. 

"Well, " she went on, after a moment, "aren't you going to say anything?"

"But--but, Helen, " he faltered, "how did you know?"

She smiled again. "Then it IS Madeline, " she said. "I thought it mustbe. "

"You--you thought--What made you think so?"

For an instant she seemed on the point of losing her patience. 

Then she turned and laid her hand on his arm. 

"Oh, Al, " she said, "please don't think I am altogether an idiot. I surmised when your letters began to grow shorter and--well, different--that there was something or some one who was changing them, and I suspected it was some one. When you stopped writing altogether, IKNEW there must be. Then father wrote in his letters about you and aboutmeeting you, and so often Madeline Fosdick was wherever he met you. So Iguessed--and, you see, I guessed right. "

He seized her hand. 

"Oh, Helen, " he cried, "if you only knew how mean I have felt and howashamed I am of the way I have treated you! But, you see, I--I COULDN'Twrite you and tell you because we had agreed to keep it a secret. Icouldn't tell ANY ONE. "

"Oh, it is as serious as that! Are you two really and truly engaged?"

"Yes. There! I've told it, and I swore I would never tell. "

"No, no, you didn't tell. I guessed. Now tell me all about her. She isvery lovely. Is she as sweet as she looks?"

He rhapsodized for five minutes. Then all at once he realized what hewas saying and to whom he was saying it. He stopped, stammering, in thevery middle of a glowing eulogium. 

"Go on, " said Helen reassuringly. But he could not go on, under thecircumstances. Instead he turned very red. As usual, she divined histhought, noticed his confusion, and took pity on it. 

"She must be awfully nice, " she said. "I don't wonder you fell in lovewith her. I wish I might know her better. "

"I wish you might. By and by you must. And she must know you. Helen, I--I feel so ashamed of--of--"

"Hush, or I shall begin to think you are ashamed because you likedme--or thought you did. "

"But I do like you. Next to Madeline there is no one I like so much. But, but, you see, it is different. "

"Of course it is. And it ought to be. Does her mother--do her peopleknow of the engagement?"

He hesitated momentarily. "No-o, " he admitted, "they don't yet. She andI have decided to keep it a secret from any one for the present. I wantto get on a little further with my writing, you know. She is like you inthat, Helen--she's awfully fond of poetry and literature. "

"Especially yours, I'm sure. Tell me about your writing. How are yougetting on?"

So he told her and, until they stood together at the parsonage gate, Madeline's name was not again mentioned. Then Helen put out her hand. 

"Good morning, Albert, " she said. "I'm glad we have had this talk, everso glad. "

"By George, so am I! You're a corking friend, Helen. The chap who doesmarry you will be awfully lucky. "

She smiled slightly. "Perhaps there won't be any such chap, " she said. "I shall always be a schoolmarm, I imagine. "

"Indeed you won't, " indignantly. "I have too high an opinion of men forthat. "

She smiled again, seemed about to speak, and then to change her mind. Aninstant later she said, "I must go in now. But I shall hope to see you again before I go back tothe city. And, after your secret is out and the engagement is announced, I want to write Madeline, may I?"

"Of course you may. And she'll like you as much as I do. "

"Will she? . . . Well, perhaps; we'll hope so. "

"Certainly she will. And you won't let my treating you as--as I havemake any difference in our friendship?"

"No. We shall always be friends, I hope. Good-by. "

She went into the house. He waited a moment, hoping she might turn againbefore entering, but she did not. He walked home, pondering deeply, histhoughts a curious jumble of relief and dissatisfaction. He was gladHelen had seen her duty and given him over to Madeline, but he felt atrifle piqued to think she had done it with such apparent willingness. If she had wept or scolded it would have been unpleasant but much moregratifying to his self-importance. 

He could not help realizing, however, that her attitude toward him wasexceptionally fine. He knew well that he, if in her place, would nothave behaved as she had done. No spite, no sarcasm, no taunts, nounpleasant reminders of things said only a few months before. And withall her forgiveness and forbearance and understanding there had beenalways that sense of greater age and wisdom; she had treated him as shemight have treated a boy, younger brother, perhaps. 

"She IS older than I am, " he thought, "even if she really isn't. It'sfunny, but it's a fact. "

December came and Christmas, and then January and the new year, the year1917. In January, Z. Snow and Co. Took its yearly account of stock, andCaptain Lote and Laban and Albert and Issachar were truly busy duringthe days of stock-taking week and tired when evening came. Laban workedthe hardest of the quartette, but Issy made the most fuss about it. Labe, who had chosen the holiday season to go on one of his periodicalvacations, as rather white and shaky and even more silent than usual. Mr. Price, however, talked with his customary fluency and continuity, sothere was no lack of conversation. Captain Zelotes was moved to comment. 

"Issy, " he suggested gravely, looking up from a long column of figures, "did you ever play 'Door'?"

Issachar stared at him. 

"Play 'Door'?" he repeated. "What's that?"

"It's a game. Didn't you ever play it?"

"No, don't know's I ever did. "

"Then you'd better begin right this minute. The first thing to do is toshut up and the next is to stay that way. You play 'Door' until I tellyou to do somethin' else; d'you hear?"

At home the week between Christmas and the New Year was rather dismal. Mr. Keeler's holiday vacation had brought on one of his fiancee's"sympathetic attacks, " and she tied up her head and hung crape uponher soul, as usual. During these attacks the Snow household walked ontiptoe, as if the housekeeper were an invalid in reality. Even consolingspeeches from Albert, who with Laban when the latter was sober, enjoyedin her mind the distinction of being the reincarnation of "RobertPenfold, " brought no relief to the suffering Rachel. Nothing but thenews brought by the milkman, that "Labe was taperin' off, " and wouldprobably return to his desk in a few days, eased her pain. 

One forenoon about the middle of the month Captain Zelotes himselfstopped in at the post office for the morning mail. When he returned tothe lumber company's building he entered quietly and walked to his owndesk with a preoccupied air. For the half hour before dinner time he satthere, smoking his pipe, and speaking to no one unless spoken to. Theoffice force noticed his preoccupation and commented upon it. 

"What ails the old man, Al?" whispered Issachar, peering in around thecorner of the door at the silent figure tilted back in the revolvingchair, its feet upon the corner of the desk. "Ain't said so much as'Boo' for up'ards of twenty minutes, has he? I was in there just nowfillin' up his ink-stand and, by crimus, I let a great big gob of inkcome down ker-souse right in the middle of the nice, clean blottin'paper in front of him. I held my breath, cal'latin' to catch whatStephen Peter used to say he caught when he went fishin' Sundays. Steveysaid he generally caught cold when he went and always caught the OldHarry when he got back. I cal'lated to catch the Old Harry part sure, 'cause Captain Lote is always neat and fussy 'bout his desk. But no, theold man never said a word. I don't believe he knew the ink was spilledat all. What's on his mind, Al; do you know?"

Albert did not know, so he asked Laban. Laban shook his head. 

"Give it up, Al, " he whispered. "Somethin's happened to bother him, that's sartin'. When Cap'n Lote gets his feet propped up and his headtilted back that way I can 'most generally cal'late he's doin' some realthinkin'. Real thinkin'--yes, sir-ee--um-hm--yes--yes. When he h'istshis boots up to the masthead that way it's safe to figger his brainshave got steam up. Um-hm--yes indeed. "

"But what is he thinking about? And why is he so quiet?"

"I give up both riddles, Al. He's the only one's got the answers andwhen he gets ready enough maybe he'll tell 'em. Until then it'll pay usfo'mast hands to make believe we're busy, even if we ain't. Hear that, do you, Is?"

"Hear what?" demanded Issachar, who was gazing out of the window, hishands in his pockets. 

"I say it will pay us--you and Al and me--to make believe we're workin'even if we ain't. "

"'Workin'!" indignantly. "By crimus, I AM workin'! I don't have to makebelieve. "

"That so? Well, then, I'd pick up that coal-hod and make believeplay for a spell. The fire's 'most out. Almost--um-hm--prettynigh--yes--yes. "

Albert and his grandfather walked home to dinner together, as was theircustom, but still the captain remained silent. During dinner he spokenot more than a dozen words and Albert several times caught Mrs. Snowregarding her husband intently and with a rather anxious look. She didnot question him, however, but Rachel was not so reticent. 

"Mercy on us, Cap'n Lote, " she demanded, "what IS the matter? You're asdumb as a mouthful of mush. I don't believe you've said ay, yes or nosince we sat down to table. Are you sick?"

Her employer's calm was unruffled. 

"No-o, " he answered, with deliberation. 

"That's a comfort. What's the matter, then; don't you WANT to talk?"

"No-o. "

"Oh, " with a toss of the head, "well, I'm glad I know. I was beginnin'to be afraid you'd forgotten how. "

The captain helped himself to another fried "tinker" mackerel. 

"No danger of that around here, Rachel, " he said serenely. "So long asmy hearin's good I couldn't forget--not in this house. "

Olive detained her grandson as he was following Captain Zelotes from thedining room. 

"What's wrong with him, Albert?" she whispered. "Do you know?"

"No, I don't, Grandmother. Do you think there is anything wrong?"

"I know there's somethin' troublin' him. I've lived with him too manyyears not to know the signs. Oh, Albert--you haven't done anything todisplease him, have you?"

"No, indeed, Grandmother. Whatever it is, it isn't that. "

When they reached the office, the captain spoke to Mr. Keeler. 

"Had your dinner, Labe?" he asked. 

"Yes--yes, indeed. Don't take me long to eat--not at my boardin' house. A feller'd have to have paralysis to make eatin' one of Lindy Dadgett'smeals take more'n a half hour. Um-hm--yes. "

Despite his preoccupation, Captain Zelotes could not help smiling. 

"To make it take an hour he'd have to be ossified, wouldn't he, like thefeller in the circus sideshow?" he observed. 

Laban nodded. "That--or dead, " he replied. "Yes--just about--just so, Cap'n. "

"Where's Issachar?"

"He's eatin' yet, I cal'late. He don't board at Lindy's. "

"When he gets back set him to pilin' that new carload of spruce underNumber Three shed. Keep him at it. "

"Yes, sir. Um-hm. All right. "

Captain Zelotes turned to his grandson. "Come in here, Al, " he said. "Iwant to see you for a few minutes. "

Albert followed him into the inner office. He wondered what in the worldhis grandfather wished to see him about, in this very private fashion. 

"Sit down, Al, " said the captain, taking his own chair and pointing toanother. "Oh, wait a minute, though! Maybe you'd better shut that hatchfirst. "

The "hatch" was the transom over the door between the offices. Albert, remembering how a previous interview between them had been overheardbecause of that open transom, glanced at his grandfather. The twinklein the latter's eye showed that he too, remembered. Albert closed the"hatch. " When he came back to his seat the twinkle had disappeared;Captain Zelotes looked serious enough. 

"Well, Grandfather?" queried the young man, after waiting a moment. Thecaptain adjusted his spectacles, reached into the inside pocket of hiscoat and produced an envelope. It was a square envelope with eithera trade-mark or a crest upon the back. Captain Lote did not open theenvelope, but instead tapped his desk with it and regarded his grandsonin a meditative way. 

"Al, " he said slowly, "has it seemed to you that your cruise aboard thiscraft of ours here had been a little smoother the last year or two thanit used to be afore that?"

Albert, by this time well accustomed to his grandfather's nauticalphraseology, understood that the "cruise" referred to was his voyage asassistant bookkeeper with Z. Snow and Co. He nodded. 

"I have tried to make it so, " he answered. "I mean I have tried to makeit smoother for you. "

"Um-hm, I think you have tried. I don't mind tellin' you that it haspleased me consid'ble to watch you try. I don't mean by that, " headded, with a slight curve of the lip, "that you'd win first prize asa lightnin'-calculator even yet, but you're a whole lot better one thanyou used to be. I've been considerable encouraged about you; I don'tmind tellin' you that either. . . . And, " he added, after anotherinterval during which he was, apparently, debating just how much ofan admission it was safe to make, "so far as I can see, this poetryfoolishness of yours hasn't interfered with your work any to speak of. "

Albert smiled. "Thanks, Grandfather, " he said. 

"You're welcome. So much for that. But there's another side to ourrelations together, yours and mine, that I haven't spoken of to youafore. And I have kept still on purpose. I've figgered that so long asyou kept straight and didn't go off the course, didn't drink or gamble, or go wild or the like of that, what you did was pretty much your ownbusiness. I've noticed you're considerable of a feller with the girls, but I kept an eye on the kind of girls and I will say that so far as Ican see, you've picked the decent kind. I say so far as I can see. Ofcourse I ain't fool enough to believe I see all you do, or know all youdo. I've been young myself, and when I get to thinkin' how much I knowabout you I try to set down and remember how much my dad didn't knowabout me when I was your age. That--er--helps some toward givin' me mycorrect position on the chart. "

He paused. Albert's brain was vainly striving to guess what allthis meant. What was he driving at? The captain crossed his legs andcontinued. 

"I did think for a spell, " he said, "that you and Helen Kendall weregettin' to understand each other pretty well. Well, Helen's a good girland your grandma and I like her. Course we didn't cal'late anythingvery serious was liable to come of the understandin', not for some time, anyhow, for with your salary and--well, sort of unsettled prospects, Igave you credit for not figgerin' on pickin' a wife right away. . . . Haven't got much laid by to support a wife on, have you, Al?"

Albert's expression had changed during the latter portion of the speech. Now he was gazing intently at his grandfather and at the letter in thelatter's hands. He was beginning to guess, to dread, to be fearful. 

"Haven't got much to support a wife on, Al, have you?" repeated CaptainZelotes. 

"No, sir, not now. "

"Um. . . . But you hope to have by and by, eh? Well, I hope you will. But UNTIL you have it would seem to older folks like me kind of riskynavigatin' to--to . . . Oh, there was a letter in the mail for you thismornin, Al. "

He put down the envelope he had hitherto held in his hand and, reachinginto his pocket, produced another. Even before he had taken it fromhis grandfather's hand Albert recognized the handwriting. It was fromMadeline. 

Captain Zelotes, regarding him keenly, leaned back again in his chair. "Read it if you want to, Al, " he said. "Maybe you'd better. I can wait. "

Albert hesitated a moment and then tore open the envelope. The notewithin was short, evidently written in great haste and agitation andwas spotted with tear stains. He read it, his cheeks paling and hishand shaking as he did so. Something dreadful had happened. Mother--Mrs. Fosdick, of course--had discovered everything. She had found allhis--Albert's--letters and read them. She was furious. There had beenthe most terrible scene. Madeline was in her own room and was smugglinghim this letter by Mary, her maid, who will do anything for me, andhas promised to mail it. Oh, dearest, they say I must give you up. Theysay--Oh, they say dreadful things about you! Mother declares she willtake me to Japan or some frightful place and keep me there until Iforget you. I don't care if they take me to the ends of the earth, Ishall NEVER forget you. I will never--never--NEVER give you up. And youmustn't give me up, will you, darling? They say I must never write youagain. But you see I have--and I shall. Oh, what SHALL we do? I was SOhappy and now I am so miserable. Write me the minute you get this, butoh, I KNOW they won't let me see your letters and then I shall die. Butwrite, write just the same, every day. Oh what SHALL we do?

Yours, always and always, no matter what everyone does or says, lovinglyand devotedly, MADELINE. 

When the reading was finished Albert sat silently staring at the floor, seeing it through a wet mist. Captain Zelotes watched him, his heavybrows drawn together and the smoke wreaths from his pipe curling slowlyupward toward the office ceiling. At length he said:

"Well, Al, I had a letter, too. I presume likely it came from the sameport even if not from the same member of the family. It's about you, and I think you'd better read it, maybe. I'll read it to you, if you'drather. "

Albert shook his head and held out his hand for the second letter. Hisgrandfather gave it to him, saying as he did so: "I'd like to have youunderstand, Al, that I don't necessarily believe all that she says aboutyou in this thing. "

"Thanks, Grandfather, " mechanically. 

"All right, boy. "

The second letter was, as he had surmised, from Mrs. Fosdick. It hadevidently been written at top speed and at a mental temperature wellabove the boiling point. Mrs. Fosdick addressed Captain Zelotes Snowbecause she had been given to understand that he was the nearestrelative, or guardian, or whatever it was, of the person concerning whomthe letter was written and therefore, it was presumed, might be expectedto have some measure of control over that person's actions. The personwas, of course, one Albert Speranza, and Mrs. Fosdick proceeded to setforth her version of his conduct in sentences which might almost haveblistered the paper. Taking advantage of her trust in her daughter'sgood sense and ability to take care of herself--which trust itappeared had been in a measure misplaced--he, the Speranza person, hadsneakingly, underhandedly and in a despicably clandestine fashion--thelady's temper had rather gotten away from her here--succeeded in meetingher daughter in various places and by various disgraceful means and hadfurthermore succeeded in ensnaring her youthful affections, et cetera, et cetera. 

"The poor child actually believes herself in love with him, " wrote thepoor child's mother. "She protests ridiculously that she is engaged tohim and will marry him in spite of her father or myself or the protestsof sensible people. I write to you, therefore, assuming you likewise tobe a sensible person, and requesting that you use your influence withthe--to put the most charitable interpretation of his conduct--misguidedand foolish young man and show him the preposterous folly of hispretended engagement to my daughter. Of course the whole affair, CORRESPONDENCE INCLUDED, must cease and terminate AT ONCE. "

And so on for two more pages. The color had returned to Albert's cheekslong before he finished reading. When he had finished he rose to hisfeet and, throwing the letter upon his grandfather's desk, turned away. 

"Well, Al?" queried Captain Zelotes. 

Albert's face, when he turned back to answer, was whiter than ever, buthis eyes flashed fire. 

"Do you believe that?" he demanded. 

"What?"

"That--that stuff about my being a--a sneak and--and ensnaring her--andall the rest? Do you?"

The captain took his pipe from his mouth. 

"Steady, son, steady, " he said. "Didn't I tell you before you begunto read at all that I didn't necessarily believe it because that womanwrote it. "

"You--you or no one else had better believe it. It's a lie. "

"All right, I'm glad to hear you say so. But there's a little mite oftruth here and there amongst the lies, I presume likely. For instance, you and this Fosdick girl have been--er--keepin' company?"

"Her name is Madeline--and we are engaged to be married. "

"Oh! Hum--I see--I see. And, bein' as the old lady--her mother, Mrs. Fosdick, I mean--hasn't suspected anything, or, at any rate, hasn'tfound out anything until now, yesterday, or whenever it was, I judge youhave been meetin'--er--Madeline at places where there wasn't--well, toolarge a crowd. Eh?"

Albert hesitated and was, momentarily, a trifle embarrassed. But herecovered at once. 

"I met her first at the drug store last summer, " he said defiantly. "Then I met her after that at the post office and at the hotel dancelast fall, and so on. This year I met her--well, I met her first down bythe beach, where I went to write. She liked poetry and--and she helpedme with mine. After that she came--well, she came to help me again. Andafter that--after that--"

"After that it just moved along kind of natural, eh? Um-hm, I see. "

"Look here, Grandfather, I want you to understand that she is--is--byGeorge, she is the cleanest, finest, best girl in the world. Don't youget the idea that--that she isn't. She came to meet me just because shewas interested in my verse and wanted to help. It wasn't until the verylast that we--that we found out we cared for each other. "

"All right, boy, all right. Go on, tell me the whole yarn, if you feellike it. I don't want to pry too much into your affairs, but, after all, I AM interested in those affairs, Al. Tell me as much as you can. "

"I'll tell you the whole. There's nothing I can't tell, nothing I'm notproud to tell. By George, I ought to be proud! Why, Grandfather, she'swonderful!"

"Sartin, son, sartin. They always are. I mean she is, of course. Heaveahead. "

So Albert told his love story. When he had finished Captain Zelote'spipe was empty, and he put it down. 

"Albert, " he said slowly, "I judge you mean this thing seriously. Youmean to marry her some day. "

"Yes, indeed I do. And I won't give her up, either. Her mother--why, what right has her mother got to say--to treat her in this way? Or tocall me what she calls me in that letter? Why, by George--"

"Easy, son. As I understand it, this Madeline of yours is the only childthe Fosdicks have got and when our only child is in danger of bein'carried off by somebody else--why, well, their mothers and fathers areliable to be just a little upset, especially if it comes on 'em sudden. . . . Nobody knows that better than I do, " he added slowly. 

Albert recognized the allusion, but he was not in the mood to beaffected by it. He was not, just then, ready to make allowances for anyone, particularly the parental Fosdicks. 

"They have no business to be upset--not like that, anyhow, " he declared. "What does that woman know about me? What right has she to say that Iensnared Madeline's affection and all that rot? Madeline and I fell inlove with each other, just as other people have, I suppose. "

"You suppose right, " observed Captain Zelotes, dryly. "Other peoplehave--a good many of 'em since Adam's time. "

"Well, then! And what right has she to give orders that I stopwriting or seeing Madeline, --all that idiotic stuff about ceasingand terminating at once? She--she--" His agitation was making himincoherent--"She talks like Lord Somebody-or-other in an old-fashionednovel or play or something. Those old fools were always rejectingundesirable suitors and ordering their daughters to do this and that, breaking their hearts, and so on. But that sort of thing doesn't gonowadays. Young people have their own ideas. "

"Um-hm, Al; so I've noticed. "

"Yes, indeed they have. Now, if Madeline wants to marry me and I want tomarry her, who will stop us?"

The captain pulled at his beard. 

"Why, nobody, Al, as I know of, " he said; "provided you both keep onwantin' to marry each other long enough. "

"Keep on wanting long enough? What do you mean by that?"

"Why, nothin' much, perhaps; only gettin' married isn't all just goin'to the parson. After the ceremony the rent begins and the grocers' billsand the butchers' and the bakers' and a thousand or so more. Somebody'sgot to pay 'em, and the money's got to come from somewhere. Your wageshere, Al, poetry counted in, ain't so very big yet. Better wait a spellbefore you settle down to married life, hadn't you?"

"Well--well, I--I didn't say we were to be married right away, Grandfather. She and I aren't unreasonable. I'm doing better and betterwith my writings. Some day I'll make enough, and more. Why not?"

There was enough of the Speranza egotism in this confident assurance tobring the twinkle to the captain's eye. He twisted his beard between hisfinger and thumb and regarded his grandson mildly. 

"Have you any idea how much 'enough' is liable to be, Al?" he inquired. "I don't know the facts about 'em, of course, but from what I have heardI judge the Fosdicks have got plenty of cash. I've heard it estimatedaround town from one million to fifty millions. Allowin' it's only onemillion, it seems likely that your--er--what's-her-name--Madeline hasbeen used to havin' as much as fifty cents to spend whenever she wantedit. Do you cal'late to be able to earn enough makin' up poetry to keepher the way her folks have been doin'?"

"No, of course not--not at first. "

"Oh, but later on--when the market price of poetry has gone up--you can, eh?"

"Look here, Grandfather, if you're making fun of me I tell you I won'tstand it. This is serious; I mean it. Madeline and I are going to bemarried some time and no one can stop us. "

"All right, son, all right. But it did seem to me that in the light ofthis letter from--er--your mother-in-law that's goin' to be, we oughtto face the situation moderately square, anyhow. First comes marriage. Well, that's easy; any fool can get married, lots of 'em do. But then, as I said, comes supportin' yourself and wife--bills, bills, and morebills. You'll say that you and she will economize and fight it outtogether. Fine, first-rate, but later on there may be more of you, achild, children perhaps--"

"Grandfather!"

"It's possible, son. Such things do happen, and they cost money. Moremouths to feed. Now I take it for granted that you aren't marryin' theFosdick girl for her money--"

The interruption was prompt and made with fiery indignation. 

"I never thought of her money, " declared Albert. "I don't even know thatshe has any. If she has, I don't want it. I wouldn't take it. She is allI want. "

Captain Zelotes' lip twitched. 

"Judgin' from the tone of her ma's last letter to me, " he observed, "sheis all you would be liable to get. It don't read as if many--er--weddin'presents from the bride's folks would come along with her. But, there, there, Al don't get mad. I know this is a long ways from bein' a joke toyou and, in a way, it's no joke for me. Course I had realized that someday you'd be figgerin', maybe, on gettin' married, but I did hope thefiggerin' wouldn't begin for some years yet. And when you did, I ratherhoped--well, I--I hoped. . . . However, we won't stop to bother withthat now. Let's stick to this letter of Mrs. Fosdick's here. I mustanswer that, I suppose, whether I want to or not, to-day. Well, Al, you tell me, I understand that there has been nothin' underhand in youracquaintance with her daughter. Other than keepin' the engagement asecret, that is?"

"Yes, I do. "

"And you mean to stick by your guns and. . . . Well, what is it? Comein!"

There had been a knock upon the office door. In answer to his employer'ssummons, Mr. Keeler appeared. He held a card in his hand. 

"Sorry to disturb you, Cap'n Lote, " he said. "Yes, I be, yes, sir. ButI judged maybe 'twas somethin' important about the lumber for hishouse and he seemed anxious to see you, so I took the risk and knocked. Um-hm--yes, yes, yes. "

Captain Zelotes looked at the card. Then he adjusted his spectacles andlooked again. 

"Humph!" he grunted. "Humph! . . . We-ell, Labe, I guess likely youmight show him in here. Wait just a minute before you do it, though. I'll open the door when I want him to come. "

"All right, Cap'n Lote. Yes, yes, " observed Mr. Keeler and departed. Thecaptain looked thoughtfully at the card. 

"Al, " he said, after a moment's reflection, "we'll have to cut thistalk of ours short for a little spell. You go back to your desk and waitthere until I call you. Hold on, " as his grandson moved toward the doorof the outer office. "Don't go that way. Go out through the side doorinto the yard and come in the front way. There's--er--there's a manwaitin' to see me, and--er--perhaps he'd better not see you first. "

Albert stared at him uncomprehendingly. 

"Better not see ME?" he repeated. "Why shouldn't he see me?"

Captain Zelotes handed the card to Albert. 

"Better let me talk with him first, Al, " he said. "You can have yourchance later on. "

The card bore the name of Mr. Fletcher Story Fosdick. 

CHAPTER XI

Albert read the name on the card. He was too astonished to speak. Herfather! He was here! He--

His grandfather spoke again, and his tone was brisk and businesslike. 

"Go on, Al, " he ordered. "Out through this side door and around to thefront. Lively, son, lively!"

But the young man's wits were returning. He scowled at the card. 

"No, " he said stoutly, "I'm not going to run away. I'm not afraid ofhim. I haven't done anything to be ashamed of. "

The captain nodded. "If you had, I should ASK you to run away, " he said. "As it is, I just ask you to step out and wait a little while, that'sall. "

"But, Grandfather, I WANT to see him. "

"All right, I want you to--but not until he and I have talked first. Come, boy, come! I've lived a little longer than you have, and maybe Iknow about half as much about some things. This is one of 'em. You clearout and stand by. I'll call you when I want you. "

Albert went, but reluctantly. After he had gone his grandfather walkedto the door of the outer office and opened it. 

"Step aboard, Mr. Fosdick, " he said. "Come in, sir. "

Mr. Fletcher Fosdick was a large man, portly, and with a head which wasrapidly losing its thatch. His smoot-shaven face was ruddy and his blueeye mild. He entered the private office of Z. Snow and Co. And shook thehand which Captain Zelotes proffered. 

"How do you do, Captain Snow?" he asked pleasantly. "You and I have hadsome business dealings, but we have never met before, I believe. "

The captain waved toward a chair. "That's a fact, Mr. Fosdick, " he said. "I don't believe we ever have, but it's better late than by and by, asthe feller said. Sit down, sit down, Mr. Fosdick. Throw off your coat, won't you? It's sort of warm in here compared to out door. "

The visitor admitted the difference in temperature between the interiorand exterior of the building, and removed his overcoat. Also he satdown. Captain Zelotes opened a drawer of his desk and produced a box ofcigars. 

"Have a smoke, won't you?" he inquired. 

Mr. Fosdick glanced at the label on the box. 

"Why--why, I was rather hoping you would smoke one of mine, " he said. "Ihave a pocket full. "

"When I come callin' on you at your place in New York I will smokeyours. Now it kind of looks to me as if you'd ought to smoke mine. Seemsreasonable when you think it over, don't it?"

Fosdick smiled. "Perhaps you're right, " he said. He took one of thegaudily banded perfectos from his host's box and accepted a light fromthe match the captain held. Both men blew a cloud of smoke and throughthose clouds each looked at the other. The preliminaries were over, butneither seemed particularly anxious to begin the real conversation. Itwas the visitor who, at last, began it. 

"Captain Snow, " he said, "I presume your clerk told you I wished to seeyou on a matter of business. "

"Who? Oh, Labe, you mean? Yes, he told me. "

"I told him to tell you that. It may surprise you, however, to learnthat the business I wished to see you about--that I came on from NewYork to see you about--has nothing whatever to do with the house I'mbuilding down here. "

Captain Zelotes removed his cigar from his lips and looked meditativelyat its burning end. "No-o, " he said slowly, "that don't surprise me verymuch. I cal'lated 'twasn't about the house you wished to see me. "

"Oh, I see! . . . Humph!" The Fosdick mild blue eye lost, for themoment, just a trifle of its mildness and became almost keen, as itsowner flashed a glance at the big figure seated at the desk. "I see, "said Mr. Fosdick. "And have you--er--guessed what I did come to see youabout?"

"No-o. I wouldn't call it guessin', exactly. "

"Wouldn't you? What would you call it?"

"We-ll, I don't know but I'd risk callin' it knowin'. Yes, I thinklikely I would. "

"Oh, I see. . . . Humph! Have you had a letter--on the subject?"

"Ye-es. "

"I see. From Mrs. Fosdick, of course. She said she was going towrite--I'm not sure she didn't say she had written; but I had theimpression it was to--well, to another member of your family, CaptainSnow. "

"No, 'twas to me. Come this mornin's mail. "

"I see. My mistake. Well, I'm obliged to her in a way. If the news hasbeen broken to you, I shan't have to break it and we can get down tobrass tacks just so much sooner. The surprise being over--I take it, itWAS a surprise, Captain?"

"You take it right. Just as much of a surprise to me as you. "

"Of course. Well, the surprise being over for both of us, we can talk ofthe affair--calmly and coolly. What do you think about it, Captain?"

"Oh, I don't know as I know exactly what to think. What do YOU thinkabout it, Mr. Fosdick?"

"I think--I imagine I think very much as you do. "

"I shouldn't be surprised. And--er--what's your notion of what I think?"

Captain Zelotes' gray eye twinkled as he asked the question, and theFosdick blue eye twinkled in return. Both men laughed. 

"We aren't getting very far this way, Captain, " observed the visitor. "There's no use dodging, I suppose. I, for one, am not very wellpleased. Mrs. Fosdick, for another, isn't pleased at all; she isabsolutely and entirely opposed to the whole affair. She won't hear ofit, that's all, and she said so much that I thought perhaps I had bettercome down here at once, see you, and--and the young fellow with thequeer name--"

"My grandson. "

"Why yes. He is your grandson, isn't he? I beg your pardon. "

"That's all right. I shan't fight with you because you don't like hisname. Go ahead. You decided to come and see him--and me--?"

"Yes, I did. I decided to come because it has been my experience thata frank, straight talk is better, in cases like this, than a hundredletters. And that the time to talk was now, before matters between theyoung foo--the young people went any further. Don't you agree with me?"

Captain Zelotes nodded. 

"That now is a good time to talk? Yes, I do, " he said. 

"Good! Then suppose we talk. "

"All right. "

There was another interval of silence. Then Fosdick broke it with achuckle. "And I'm the one to do the talking, eh?" he said. 

Captain Lote's eye twinkled. "We-ll, you came all the way from NewYork on purpose, you know, " he observed. Then he added: "But there, Mr. Fosdick, I don't want you to think I ain't polite or won't talk, myself. I'll do my share when the time comes. But it does seem to me that youought to do yours first as it's your family so far that's done theobjectin'. . . . Your cigar's gone out. Have another light, won't you?"

The visitor shook his head. "No, thank you, not now, " he said hastily, placing the defunct cigar carefully on the captain's desk. "I won'tsmoke for the minute. So you want me to begin the talking, do you? Itseems to me I have begun it. I told you that I do not like the ideaof my daughter's being engaged to--to say nothing of marrying--yourgrandson. My wife likes it even less than I do. That is enough of astatement to begin with, isn't it?"

"Why, no, not exactly, if you'll excuse my sayin' so. Your daughterherself--how does she feel about it?"

"Oh, she is enthusiastic, naturally. She appears to be suffering fromtemporary insanity on the subject. "

"She don't seem to think it's quite as--er--preposterous, and ridiculousand outrageous--and Lord knows what all--as your wife does, eh?"

"No. I say, Snow, I hope you're not too deeply offended by what my wifewrote you. I judge you are quoting from her letter and apparently shepiled it on red-hot. You'll have to excuse her; she was almost wild allday yesterday. I'll ask your pardon on her behalf. "

"Sho, sho! No need, Mr. Fosdick, no need at all. I know what womenare, even the easy-goin' kind, when they've got steam up. I've got awife--and I had a daughter. But, gettin' back on the course again, youthink your daughter's crazy because she wants to marry my grandson. Isthat it?"

"Why, no, I wouldn't say that, exactly. Of course, I wouldn't say that. "

"But, you see, you did say it. However, we'll leave that to one sidefor a spell. What objection--what real objection is there to those twomarryin'--my grandson and your daughter--provided that they care foreach other as they'd ought to?"

Mr. Fosdick's expression changed slightly. His tone, as he replied tothe question, was colder and his manner less cordial. 

"I don't know that it is worth while answering that in detail, " he said, after an instant's pause. "Frankly, Captain Snow, I had rather hopedyou would see, for yourself, the reasons why such a marriage wouldn't bedesirable. If you don't see them, if you are backing up your grandsonin his business, why--well, there is no use in our discussing the matterany further, is there? We should only lose our tempers and not gainmuch. So we had better end it now, I think. "

He rose to his feet. Captain Zelotes, leaning forward, held up aprotesting hand. 

"Now--now, Mr. Fosdick, " he said earnestly, "I don't want you tomisunderstand me. And I'm sorry if what I said has made you mad. "

Fosdick smiled. "Oh, I'm not mad, " he answered cheerfully. "I make ita rule in all my business dealings not to get mad, or, more especially, not to let the other fellow know that I'm getting that way. My temperhasn't a ruffle in it just now, and I am leaving merely because I wantit to remain smooth. I judge that you and I aren't going to agree. Allright, then we'll differ, but we'll differ without a fight, that's all. Good afternoon, Captain. "

But Captain Lote's hand still remained uplifted. 

"Mr. Fosdick, " he said, "just a minute now--just a minute. You neverhave met Albert, my grandson, have you? Never even seen him, maybe?"

"No, but I intend to meet him and talk with him before I leave SouthHarniss. He was one of the two people I came here to meet. "

"And I was the other, eh? Um-hm. . . . I see. You think you've found outwhere I stand and now you'll size him up. Honest, Mr. Fosdick, I . . . Humph! Mind if I tell you a little story? 'Twon't take long. When I wasa little shaver, me and my granddad, the first Cap'n Lote Snow--there'sbeen two since--were great chums. When he was home from sea he and Istuck together like hot pitch and oakum. One day we were sittin' out inthe front yard of his house--it's mine, now--watchin' a hoptoad catchflies. You've seen a toad catch flies, haven't you, Mr. Fosdick? Mr. Toad sits there, lookin' half asleep and as pious and demure as apickpocket at camp-meetin', until a fly comes along and gets too near. Then, Zip! out shoots about six inches of toad tongue and that fly'sbeen asked in to dinner. Well, granddad and I sat lookin' at ourparticular toad when along came a bumble-bee and lighted on ahoneysuckle blossom right in front of the critter. The toad didn't taketime to think it over, all he saw was a square meal, and his tongueflashed out and nailed that bumble-bee and snapped it into the pantry. In about a half second, though, there was a change. The pantry had beenemptied, the bumble-bee was on his way again, and Mr. Toad was onhis, hoppin' lively and huntin' for--well, for ice water or somethin'coolin', I guess likely. Granddad tapped me on the shoulder. 'Sonny, 'says he, 'there's a lesson for you. That hoptoad didn't wait to makesure that bumble-bee was good to eat; he took it for granted, and wassorry afterward. It don't pay to jump at conclusions, son, ' he says. 'Some conclusions are like that bumble-bee's, they have stings in 'em. '"

Captain Lote, having finished his story, felt in his pocket for a match. Fosdick, for an instant, appeared puzzled. Then he laughed. 

"I see, " he said. "You think I made too quick a jump when I concludedyou were backing your grandson in this affair. All right, I'm glad tohear it. What do you want me to do, sit down again and listen?"

He resumed his seat as he asked the question. Captain Zelotes nodded. 

"If you don't mind, " he answered. "You see, you misunderstood me, Mr. Fosdick. I didn't mean any more than what I said when I asked youwhat real objection there was, in your opinion to Albert's marryin'your--er--Madeline, that's her name, I believe. Seems to me the way forus to get to an understandin'--you and I--is to find out just how thesituation looks to each of us. When we've found out that, we'll know hownigh we come to agreein' or disagreein' and can act accordin'. Soundsreasonable, don't it?"

Fosdick nodded in his turn. "Perfectly, " he admitted. "Well, ask yourquestions, and I'll answer them. After that perhaps I'll ask somemyself. Go ahead. "

"I have gone ahead. I've asked one already. "

"Yes, but it is such a general question. There may be so manyobjections. "

"I see. All right, then I'll ask some: What do the lawyers call'em?--Atlantic? Pacific? I've got it--I'll ask some specific questions. Here's one. Do you object to Al personally? To his character?"

"Not at all. We know nothing about his character. Very likely he may bea young saint. "

"Well, he ain't, so we'll let that slide. He's a good boy, though, sofar as I've ever been able to find out. Is it his looks? You've neverseen him, but your wife has. Don't she like his looks?"

"She hasn't mentioned his looks to me. "

"Is it his money? He hasn't got any of his own. "

"We-ell, of course that does count a little bit. Madeline is our onlychild, and naturally we should prefer to have her pick out a husbandwith a dollar or so in reserve. "

"Um-hm. Al's twenty-one, Mr. Fosdick. When I was twenty-one I had someput by, but not much. I presume likely 'twas different with you, maybe. Probably you were pretty well fixed. "

Fosdick laughed aloud. "You make a good cross-examiner, Snow, " heobserved. "As a matter of fact, when I was twenty-one I was assistantbookkeeper in a New Haven broker's office. I didn't have a cent exceptmy salary, and I had that only for the first five days in the week. "

"However, you got married?"

"Yes, I did. More fool I! If I had known anything, I should have waitedfive years at least. I didn't have any one to tell me so. My father andmother were both dead. "

"Think you'd have listened to 'em if they had been alive and had toldyou? However, however, that's all to one side. Well, Albert's havin' nomoney to speak of is an objection--and a good honest one from your pointof view. His prospects here in this business of mine are fair, and heis doin' better at it than he was, so he may make a comf'table livin'--acomf'table South Harniss livin', that is--by and by. "

"Oh, he is with you, then? Oh, yes, I remember my wife said he worked inyour office. But she said more about his being some sort of a--a poet, wasn't it?"

For the first time since the interview began the captain looked ill atease and embarrassed. 

"Thunderation!" he exclaimed testily, "you mustn't pay attention tothat. He does make up poetry' pieces--er--on the side, as you might say, but I keep hopin' all the time he'll grow out of it, give him time. It'ain't his regular job, you mustn't think 'tis. "

The visitor laughed again. "I'm glad of that, " he said, "both for yoursake and mine. I judge that you and I, Snow, are in complete agreementas far as our opinion of poetry and that sort of stuff is concerned. Of course I'm not condemning all poetry, you understand. Longfellow andTennyson and the regular poets are all right. You understand what I'mgetting at?"

"Sartin. I used to know 'Down went the R'yal George with all her crewcomplete, ' and a lot more. Used to say 'em over to myself when I firstwent to sea and stood watch alone nights. But they were different, youknow; they--they--"

"Sure! My wife--why, I give you my word that my own wife and her setgo perfectly daffy over chaps who write stuff that rhymes and that thepapers are printing columns about. Snow, if this grandson of yours wasa genuine press-touted, women's club poet instead of a would-be--well, I don't know what might happen. In that case she might be as strong FORthis engagement as she is now against it. "

He paused, seeming a bit ashamed of his own heat. Captain Zelotes, however, regarded him with more approval than he had yet shown. 

"It's been my observation that women are likely to get off the coursechasin' false signals like that, " he observed. "When a man beginslettin' his hair and his mouth run wild together seems as if thecombination had an attraction for a good many women folks. Al keeps hishair cut, though, I'll say that for him, " he added. "It curls some, butit ain't long. I wouldn't have him in the office if 'twas. "

"Well, Mr. Fosdick, " he continued, "what other objections are they?Manners? Family and relations? Education? Any objections along thatline?"

"No-o, no; I--well, I don't know; you see, I don't know much about theyoung fellow. "

"Perhaps I can help you out. As to manners--well, you can judge them foryourself when you see him. He seems to be in about every kind of socialdoin's there is down here, and he's as much or more popular with thesummer folks than with the year-'rounders. Education? Well, that'sfair to middlin', as I see it. He spent nine or ten years in a mightyexpensive boardin' school up in New York State. "

"Did he? What school?"

The captain gave the name of the school. Fosdick looked surprised. 

"Humph! That IS a good school, " he said. 

"Is it? Depends on what you call good, I cal'late. Al learned a gooddeal of this and that, a little bit of foreign language, some that theycall dead and some that ought to be dead--and buried, 'cordin' to mynotion. When he came to me he couldn't add up a column of ten figgerswithout makin' a mistake, and as for business--well, what he knew aboutbusiness was about equal to what Noah knew about a gas engine. "

He paused to chuckle, and Fosdick chuckled with him. 

"As to family, " went on Captain Lote, "he's a Snow on his mother's side, and there's been seven generations of Snow's in this part of the Capesince the first one landed here. So far as I know, they've all managedto keep out of jail, which may have been more good luck than deservin'in some cases. "

"His father?" queried Fosdick. 

The captain's heavy brows drew together. "His father was a Portygee--orSpaniard, I believe is right--and he was a play-actor, one ofthose--what do you call 'em?--opera singers. "

Fosdick seemed surprised and interested. "Oh, indeed, " he exclaimed, "anopera singer? . . . Why, he wasn't Speranza, the baritone, was he?"

"Maybe; I believe he was. He married my daughter and--well, we won'ttalk about him, if you don't mind. "

"But Speranza was a--"

"IF you don't mind, Mr. Fosdick. "

Captain Lote lapsed into silence, drumming the desk with his bigfingers. His visitor waited for a few moments. At length he said:

"Well, Captain Snow, I have answered your questions and you haveanswered mine. Do you think we are any nearer an agreement now?"

Captain Zelotes seemed to awake with a start. "Eh?" he queried. "Agreement? Oh, I don't know. Did you find any--er--what you might callvital objections in the boy's record?"

"No-o. No, all that is all right. His family and his education and allthe rest are good enough, I'm sure. But, nevertheless--"

"You still object to the young folks gettin' married. "

"Yes, I do. Hang it all, Snow, this isn't a thing one can reason out, exactly. Madeline is our only child; she is our pet, our baby. Naturallyher mother and I have planned for her, hoped for her, figured that someday, when we had to give her up, it would be to--to--"

"To somebody that wasn't Albert Speranza of South Harniss, Mass. . . . Eh?"

"Yes. Not that your grandson isn't all right. I have no doubt he is atip-top young fellow. But, you see--"

Captain Lote suddenly leaned forward. "Course I see, Mr. Fosdick, " heinterrupted. "Course I see. You object, and the objection ain't a miteweaker on account of your not bein' able to say exactly what 'tis. "

"That's the idea. Thank you, Captain. "

"You're welcome. I can understand. I know just how you feel, becauseI've been feelin' the same way myself. "

"Oh, you have? Good! Then you can sympathize with Mrs. Fosdick and withme. You see--you understand why we had rather our daughter did not marryyour grandson. "

"Sartin. You see, I've had just the same sort of general kind ofobjection to Al's marryin' your daughter. "

Mr. Fletcher Fosdick leaned slowly backward in his chair. His appearancewas suggestive of one who has received an unexpected thump between theeyes. 

"Oh, you have!" he said again, but not with the same expression. 

"Um-hm, " said Captain Zelotes gravely. "I'm like you in one way; I'venever met your Madeline any more than you have met Al. I've seen heronce or twice, and she is real pretty and nice-lookin'. But I don't knowher at all. Now I don't doubt for a minute but that she's a real nicegirl and it might be that she'd make Al a fairly good wife. "

"Er--well, --thanks. "

"Oh, that's all right, I mean it. It might be she would. And I ain't gota thing against you or your folks. "

"Humph, --er--thanks again. "

"That's all right; you don't need to thank me. But it's this way withme--I live in South Harniss all the year round. I want to live here tillI die, and--after I die I'd like first-rate to have Al take up the Z. Snow and Co. Business and the Snow house and land and keep them goin'till HE dies. Mind, I ain't at all sure that he'll do it, or be capableof doin' it, but that's what I'd like. Now you're in New York most ofthe year, and so's your wife and daughter. New York is all right--Iain't sayin' a word against it--but New York and South Harniss aredifferent. "

The Fosdick lip twitched. "Somewhat different, " he admitted. 

"Um-hm. That sounds like a joke, I know; but I don't mean it so, notnow. What I mean is that I know South Harniss and South Harniss folks. Idon't know New York--not so very well, though I've been there plenty oftimes--and I don't know New York ways. But I do know South Harniss ways, and they suit me. Would they suit your daughter--not just for summer, but as a reg'lar thing right straight along year in and out? I doubtit, Mr. Fosdick, I doubt it consid'able. Course I don't know yourdaughter--"

"I do--and I share your doubts. "

"Um-hm. But whether she liked it or not she'd have to come here if shemarried my grandson. Either that or he'd have to go to New York. And ifhe went to New York, how would he earn his livin'? Get a new bookkeepin'job and start all over again, or live on poetry?"

Mr. Fosdick opened his mouth as if to speak, seemed to change his mindand closed it again, without speaking. Captain Zelotes, looking keenlyat him, seemed to guess his thoughts. 

"Of course, " he said deliberately, but with a firmness which permittedno misunderstanding of his meaning, "of course you mustn't get it intoyour head for one minute that the boy is figgerin' on your daughter'sbein' a rich girl. He hasn't given that a thought. You take my word forthat, Mr. Fosdick. He doesn't know how much money she or you have gotand he doesn't care. He doesn't care a continental darn. "

His visitor smiled slightly. "Nevertheless, " he began. The captaininterrupted him. 

"No, there ain't any nevertheless, " he said. "Albert has been with meenough years now so that I know a little about him. And I know that allhe wants is your daughter. As to how much she's worth in money or howthey're goin' to live after he's got her--I know that he hasn't given itone thought. I don't imagine she has, either. For one reason, " he added, with a smile, "he is too poor a business man to think of marriage as abusiness, bill-payin' contract, and for another, --for another--why, goodLord, Fosdick!" he exclaimed, leaning forward, "don't you know what thisthing means to those two young folks? It means just moonshine and mushand lookin' into each other's eyes, that's about all. THEY haven'tthought any practical thoughts about it. Why, think what their ages are!Think of yourself at that age! Can't you remember. . . . Humph! Well, I'm talkin' fifty revolutions to the second. I beg your pardon. "

"That's all right, Snow. And I believe you have the situation sized upas it is. Still--"

"Excuse me, Mr. Fosdick, but don't you think it's about time you had alook at the boy himself? I'm goin' to ask him to come in here and meetyou. "

Fosdick looked troubled. "Think it is good policy?" he asked doubtfully. "I want to see him and speak with him, but I do hate a scene. "

"There won't be any scene. You just meet him face to face and talkenough with him to get a little idea of what your first impression is. Don't contradict or commit yourself or anything. And I'll send him outat the end of two or three minutes. "

Without waiting for a reply, he rose, opened the door to the outeroffice and called, "Al, come in here!" When Albert had obeyed theorder he closed the door behind him and turning to the gentleman inthe visitor's chair, said: "Mr. Fosdick, this is my grandson, AlbertSperanza. Al, shake hands with Mr. Fosdick from New York. "

While awaiting the summons to meet the father of his adored, Albert hadbeen rehearsing and re-rehearsing the speeches he intended making whenthat meeting took place. Sitting at his desk, pen in hand and pretendingto be busy with the bookkeeping of Z. Snow and Company, he had seen, not the ruled page of the day book, but the parental countenance of theHonorable Fletcher Fosdick. And, to his mind's eye, that countenancewas as rugged and stern as the rock-bound coast upon which the Pilgrimslanded, and about as unyielding and impregnable as the door of theoffice safe. So, when his grandfather called him, he descended from thetall desk stool and crossed the threshold of the inner room, a triflepale, a little shaky at the knees, but with the set chin and erect headof one who, facing almost hopeless odds, intends fighting to the lastgasp. 

To his astonishment the Fosdick countenance was not as his imaginationhad pictured it. The blue eyes met his, not with a glare or a glower, but with a look of interest and inquiry. The Fosdick hand shook his withpoliteness, and the Fosdick manner was, if not genial, at least quietand matter of fact. He was taken aback. What did it mean? Was itpossible that Madeline's father was inclined to regard her engagementto him with favor? A great throb of joy accompanied the thought. Thenhe remembered the letter he had just read, the letter from Madeline'smother, and the hope subsided. 

"Albert, " said Captain Zelotes, "Mr. Fosdick has come on here to talkwith us; that is, with me and you, about your affairs. He and I havetalked up to the point where it seemed to me you ought to come in fora spell. I've told him that the news that you and his daughterwere--er--favorably disposed toward each other was as sudden and as biga surprise to me as 'twas to him. Even your grandma don't know it yet. Now I presume likely he'd like to ask you a few questions. Heave ahead, Mr. Fosdick. "

He relit his cigar stump and leaned back in his chair. Mr. Fosdickleaned forward in his. Albert stood very straight, his shoulders bracedfor the encounter. The quizzical twinkle shone in Captain Lote's eye ashe regarded his grandson. Fosdick also smiled momentarily as he caughtthe expression of the youth's face. 

"Well, Speranza, " he began, in so cheerful a tone that Albert'sastonishment grew even greater, "your grandfather has been kind enoughto get us through the preliminaries, so we'll come at once to theessentials. You and my daughter consider yourselves engaged to marry?"

"Yes, sir. We ARE engaged. "

"I see. How long have you--um--been that way, so to speak?"

"Since last August. "

"Why haven't you said anything about it to us--to Mrs. Fosdick or me oryour people here? You must excuse these personal questions. As I havejust said to Captain Snow, Madeline is our only child, and her happinessand welfare mean about all there is in life to her mother and me. So, naturally, the man she is going to marry is an important consideration. You and I have never met before, so the quickest way of reaching anunderstanding between us is by the question route. You get my meaning?"

"Yes, sir, I guess I do. "

"Good! Then we'll go ahead. Why have you two kept it a secret so long?"

"Because--well, because we knew we couldn't marry yet a while, so wethought we had better not announce it for the present. "

"Oh! . . . And the idea that perhaps Mrs. Fosdick and I might beslightly interested didn't occur to you?"

"Why, yes, sir, it did. But, --but we thought it best not to tell youuntil later. "

"Perhaps the suspicion that we might not be overjoyed by the news hada little weight with you, eh? Possibly that helped to delaythe--er--announcement?"

"No, sir, I--I don't think it did. "

"Oh, don't you! Perhaps you thought we WOULD be overjoyed?"

"No, sir. We didn't think so very much about it. Well, that's not quitetrue. Madeline felt that her mother--and you, too, sir, I suppose, although she didn't speak as often of you in that way--she felt that hermother would disapprove at first, and so we had better wait. "

"Until when?"

"Until--until by and by. Until I had gone ahead further, you know. "

"I'm not sure that I do know. Gone ahead how? Until you had a betterposition, more salary?"

"No, not exactly. Until my writings were better known. Until I was alittle more successful. "

"Successful? Until you wrote more poetry, do you mean?"

"Yes, sir. Poetry and other things, stories and plays, perhaps. "

"Do you mean--Did you figure that you and Madeline were to live on whatyou made by writing poetry and the other stuff?"

"Yes, sir, of course. "

Fosdick looked across at Captain Zelotes. The Captain's face was worthlooking at. 

"Here, here, hold on!" he exclaimed, jumping into the conversation. "Al, what are you talkin' about? You're bookkeeper for me, ain't you; forthis concern right here where you are? What do you mean by talkin' asif your job was makin' up poetry pieces? That's only what you do on theside, and you know it. Eh, ain't that so?"

Albert hesitated. He had, momentarily, forgotten his grandfather andthe latter's prejudices. After all, what was the use of stirring upadditional trouble. 

"Yes, Grandfather, " he said. 

"Course it's so. It's in this office that you draw your wages. "

"Yes, Grandfather. "

"All right. Excuse me for nosin' in, Mr. Fosdick, but I knew the boywasn't puttin' the thing as plain as it ought to be, and I didn't wantyou to get the wrong notion. Heave ahead. "

Fosdick smiled slightly. "All right, Captain, " he said. "I get it, Ithink. Well, then, " turning again to Albert, "your plan for supportingmy daughter was to wait until your position here, plus the poetry, should bring in sufficient revenue. It didn't occur to you that--well, that there might be a possibility of getting money--elsewhere?"

Albert plainly did not understand, but it was just as plain that hisgrandfather did. Captain Zelotes spoke sharply. 

"Mr. Fosdick, " he said, "I just answered that question for you. "

"Yes, I know. But if you were in my place you might like to have himanswer it. I don't mean to be offensive, but business is business, and, after all, this is a business talk. So--"

The Captain interrupted. "So we'll talk it in a business way, eh?" hesnapped. "All right. Al, what Mr. Fosdick means is had you cal'latedthat, if you married his daughter, maybe her dad's money might help youand her to keep goin'? To put it even plainer: had you planned some onher bein' a rich girl?"

Fosdick looked annoyed. "Oh, I say, Snow!" he cried. "That's too strong, altogether. "

"Not a mite. It's what you've had in the back of your head all along. I'm just helpin' it to come out of the front. Well, Al?"

The red spots were burning in the Speranza cheeks. He choked as heanswered. 

"No, " he cried fiercely. "Of course I haven't planned on any such thing. I don't know how rich she is. I don't care. I wish she was as pooras--as I am. I want HER, that's all. And she wants me. We don't eitherof us care about money. I wouldn't take a cent of your money, Mr. Fosdick. But I--I want Madeline and--and--I shall have her. "

"In spite of her parents, eh?"

"Yes. . . . I'm sorry to speak so, Mr. Fosdick, but it is true. We--welove each other. We--we've agreed to wait for each other, no matter--nomatter if it is years and years. And as for the money and all that, ifyou disinherit her, or--or whatever it is they do--we don't care. I--Ihope you will. I--she--"

Captain Zelotes' voice broke in upon the impassioned outburst. 

"Steady, Al; steady, son, " he cautioned quietly. "I cal'late you've saidenough. I don't think any more's necessary. You'd better go back to yourdesk now. "

"But, Grandfather, I want him to understand--"

"I guess likely he does. I should say you'd made it real plain. Go now, Al. "

Albert turned, but, with a shaking hand upon the doorknob, turned backagain. 

"I'm--I--I'm sorry, Mr. Fosdick, " he faltered. "I--I didn't mean to sayanything to hurt your feelings. But--but, you see, Madeline--she andI--we--"

He could not go on. Fosdick's nod and answer were not unkindly. "Allright, Speranza, " he said, "I'm not offended. Hope I wasn't too blunt, myself. Good-day. "

When the door had closed behind the young man he turned to Captain Lote. 

"Sorry if I offended you, Snow, " he observed. "I threw in that hintabout marrying just to see what effect it would have, that's all. "

"Um-hm. So I judged. Well, you saw, didn't you?"

"I did. Say, Captain, except as a prospective son-in-law, and then onlybecause I don't see him in that light--I rather like that grandson ofyours. He's a fine, upstanding young chap. "

The captain made no reply. He merely pulled at his beard. However, hedid not look displeased. 

"He's a handsome specimen, isn't he?" went on Fosdick. "No wonderMadeline fell for his looks. Those and the poetry together are acombination hard to resist--at her age. And he's a gentleman. He handledhimself mighty well while I was stringing him just now. "

The beard tugging continued. "Um-hm, " observed Captain Zelotes dryly;"he does pretty well for a--South Harniss gentleman. But we're kindof wastin' time, ain't we, Mr. Fosdick? In spite of his looks and hismanners and all the rest, now that you've seen him you still object tothat engagement, I take it. "

"Why, yes, I do. The boy is all right, I'm sure, but--"

"Sartin, I understand. I feel the same way about your girl. She's allright, I'm sure, but--"

"We're agreed on everything, includin' the 'but. ' And the 'but' is thatNew York is one place and South Harniss is another. "

"Exactly. "

"So we don't want 'em to marry. Fine. First rate! Only now we cometo the most important 'but' of all. What are we going to do about it?Suppose we say no and they say yes and keep on sayin' it? Suppose theydecide to get married no matter what we say. How are we goin' to stopit?"

His visitor regarded him for a moment and then broke into a heartylaugh. 

"Snow, " he declared, "you're all right. You surely have the faculty ofputting your finger on the weak spots. Of course we can't stop it. Ifthese two young idiots have a mind to marry and keep that mind, theyWILL marry and we can't prevent it any more than we could prevent thetide coming in to-morrow morning. _I_ realized that this was a sort offool's errand, my coming down here. I know that this isn't the age whenparents can forbid marriages and get away with it, as they used to onthe stage in the old plays. Boys and girls nowadays have a way of goingtheir own gait in such matters. But my wife doesn't see it in exactlythat way, and she was so insistent on my coming down here to stop thething if I could that--well, I came. "

"I'm glad you did, Mr. Fosdick, real glad. And, although I agree withyou that the very worst thing to do, if we want to stop this team frompullin' together, is to haul back on the bits and holler 'Whoa, ' stillI'm kind of hopeful that, maybe . . . Humph! I declare, it looks as ifI'd have to tell you another story. I'm gettin' as bad as Cap'n HannibalDoane used to be, and they used to call him 'The Rope Walk' 'cause hespun so many yarns. "

Fosdick laughed again. "You may go as far as you like with your stories, Captain, " he said. "I can grow fat on them. "

"Thanks. Well, this ain't a story exactly; it just kind of makes thepoint I'm tryin' to get at. Calvin Bangs had a white mare one time andthe critter had a habit of runnin' away. Once his wife, Hannah J. , wasin the buggy all by herself, over to the Ostable Fair, Calvin havin' gotout to buy some peanuts or somethin'. The mare got scared of the noiseand crowd and bolted. As luck would have it, she went right through thefence and out onto the trottin' track. And around that track she went, hell bent for election. All hands was runnin' alongside hollerin' 'Stopher! Stop her! 'but not Calvin--no SIR! He waited till the mare wasabreast of him, the mare on two legs and the buggy on two wheels andHannah 'most anywheres between the dasher and the next world, and thenhe sung out: 'Give her her head, Hannah! Give her her head. She'll stopwhen she runs down. '"

He laughed and his visitor laughed with him. 

"I gather, " observed the New Yorker, "that you believe it the betterpolicy to give our young people their heads. "

"In reason--yes, I do. It's my judgment that an affair like this willhurry more and more if you try too hard to stop it. If you don't try atall so any one would notice it, it may run down and stop of itself, theway Calvin's mare did. "

Fosdick nodded reflectively. "I'm inclined to agree with you, " he said. "But does that mean that they're to correspond, write love letters, andall that?"

"Why, in reason, maybe. If we say no to that, they'll write anyhow, won't they?"

"Of course. . . . How would it do to get them to promise to writenothing that their parents might not see? Of course I don't mean foryour grandson to show you his letters before he sends them to Madeline. He's too old for that, and he would refuse. But suppose you asked himto agree to write nothing that Madeline would not be willing to show hermother--or me. Do you think he would?"

"Maybe. I'll ask him. . . . Yes, I guess likely he'd do that. "

"My reason for suggesting it is, frankly, not so much on account of theyoung people as to pacify my wife. I am not afraid--not very much afraidof this love affair. They are young, both of them. Give them time, and--as you say, Snow, the thing may run down, peter out. "

"I'm in hopes 'twill. It's calf love, as I see it, and I believe 'twillpay to give the calves rope enough. "

"So do I. No, I'm not much troubled about the young people. But Mrs. Fosdick--well, my trouble will be with her. She'll want to have your boyshot or jailed or hanged or something. "

"I presume likely. I guess you'll have to handle her the way anotherfeller who used to live here in South Harniss said he handled his wife. 'We don't never have any trouble at all, ' says he. 'Whenever she saysyes or no, I say the same thing. Later on, when it comes to doin', I dowhat I feel like. ' . . . Eh? You're not goin', are you, Mr. Fosdick?"

His visitor had risen and was reaching for his coat. Captain Zelotesalso rose. 

"Don't hurry, don't hurry, " he begged. 

"Sorry, but I must. I want to be back in New York tomorrow morning. "

"But you can't, can you? To do that you'll have to get up to Boston orFall River, and the afternoon train's gone. You'd better stay and havesupper along with my wife and me, stay at our house over night, and takethe early train after breakfast to-morrow. "

"I wish I could; I'd like nothing better. But I can't. "

"Sure?" Then, with a smile, he added: "Al needn't eat with us, you know, if his bein' there makes either of you feel nervous. "

Fosdick laughed again. "I think I should be willing to risk thenervousness, " he replied. "But I must go, really. I've hired a chapat the garage here to drive me to Boston in his car and I'll take themidnight train over. "

"Humph! Well, if you must, you must. Hope you have a comf'table trip, Mr. Fosdick. Better wrap up warm; it's pretty nigh a five-hour run toBoston and there's some cool wind over the Ostable marshes this time ofyear. Good-by, sir. Glad to have had this talk with you. "

His visitor held out his hand. "So am I, Snow, " he said heartily. "Mighty glad. "

"I hope I wasn't too short and brisk at the beginnin'. You see, I'djust read your wife's letter, and--er--well, of course, I didn'tknow--just--you see, you and I had never met, and so--"

"Certainly, certainly. I quite understand. And, fool's errand or not, I'm very glad I came here. If you'll pardon my saying so, it was worththe trip to get acquainted with you. I hope, whatever comes of the otherthing, that our acquaintanceship will continue. "

"Same here, same here. Go right out the side door, Mr. Fosdick, savesgoin' through the office. Good day, sir. "

He watched the bulky figure of the New York banker tramping across theyard between the piles of lumber. A moment later he entered theouter office. Albert and Keeler were at their desks. Captain Zelotesapproached the little bookkeeper. 

"Labe, " he queried, "there isn't anything particular you want me to talkabout just now, is there?"

Lahan looked up in surprise from his figuring. 

"Why--why, no, Cap'n Lote, don't know's there is, " he said. "Don'tknow's there is, not now, no, no, no. "

His employer nodded. "Good!" he exclaimed. "Then I'm goin' back insidethere and sit down and rest my chin for an hour, anyhow. I've talked somuch to-day that my jaws squeak. Don't disturb me for anything short ofa fire or a mutiny. "

CHAPTER XII

He was not disturbed and that evening, after supper was over, hewas ready to talk again. He and Albert sat together in the sittingroom--Mrs. Snow and Rachel were in the kitchen washing dishes--andCaptain Zelotes told his grandson as much as he thought advisable totell of his conversation with the Honorable Fletcher Fosdick. At firstAlbert was inclined to rebel at the idea of permitting his letters toMadeline to be read by the latter's parents, but at length he agreed. 

"I'll do it because it may make it easier for her, " he said. "She'llhave a dreadful time, I suppose, with that unreasonable mother ofhers. But, by George, Grandfather, " he exclaimed, "isn't she splendid, though!"

"Who? Mrs. Fosdick?"

"No, of course not, " indignantly. "Madeline. Isn't she splendid and fineand loyal! I want you to know her, Grandfather, you and Grandmother. "

"Um-hm. Well, we'll hope to, some day. Now, son, I'm goin' to ask foranother promise. It may seem a hard one to make, but I'm askin' you tomake it. I want you to give me your word that, no matter what happensor how long you have to wait, you and Madeline won't get married withouttellin' her folks and yours beforehand. You won't run away and marry. Will you promise me that?"

Albert looked at him. This WAS a hard promise to make. In their talksbeneath the rainbows, whenever he and Madeline had referred to thefuture and its doubts, they had always pushed those doubts aside withvague hints of an elopement. If the unreasonableness of parents andgrandparents should crowd them too far, they had always as a lastresort, the solution of their problem by way of a runaway marriage. Andnow Captain Zelotes was asking him to give up this last resort. 

The captain, watching him keenly, divined what was in his grandson'smind. 

"Think it over, Al, " he said kindly. "Don't answer me now, but think itover, and to-morrow mornin' tell me how you feel about it. " He hesitateda moment and then added: "You know your grandmother and I, we--well, we have maybe cause to be a little mite prejudiced against this elopin'business. "

So Albert thought, and the next morning, as the pair were walkingtogether to the office, he spoke his thought. Captain Zelotes had notmentioned the subject. 

"Grandfather, " said Albert, with some embarrassment, "I'm going to giveyou that promise. "

His grandfather, who had been striding along, his heavy brows drawntogether and his glance fixed upon the frozen ground beneath his feet, looked up. 

"Eh?" he queried, uncomprehendingly. 

"You asked me last night to promise you something, you know. . . . You asked me to think it over. I have, and I'm going to promise youthat--Madeline and I won't marry without first telling you. "

Captain Zelotes stopped in his stride; then he walked on again. 

"Thank you, Al, " he said quietly. "I hoped you'd see it that way. "

"Yes--yes, I--I do. I don't want to bring any more--trouble of that kindto you and Grandmother. . . . It seems to me that you--that you have hadtoo much already. "

"Thank you, son. . . . Much obliged. "

The captain's tone was almost gruff and that was his only reference tothe subject of the promise; but somehow Albert felt that at that momenthe and his grandfather were closer together, were nearer to a mutualunderstanding and mutual appreciation than they had ever been before. 

To promise, however, is one thing, to fulfill the obligation another. Asthe days passed Albert found his promise concerning letter-writing very, very hard to keep. When, each evening he sat down at the table inhis room to pour out his soul upon paper it was a most unsatisfactoryoutpouring. The constantly enforced recollection that whatever he wrotewould be subject to the chilling glance of the eye of Fosdick mater wasof itself a check upon the flow. To write a love letter to Madeline hadhitherto been a joy, a rapture, to fill pages and pages a delight. Now, somehow, these pages were hard to fill. Omitting the very things youwere dying to say, the precious, the intimate things--what wasthere left? He and she had, at their meetings and in their formercorrespondence, invented many delightful little pet names for eachother. Now those names were taboo; or, at any rate, they might as wellbe. The thought of Mrs. Fosdick's sniff of indignant disgust at findingher daughter referred to as some one's ownest little rosebud witheredthat bud before it reached the paper. 

And Madeline's letters to him were quite as unsatisfactory. They werelengthy, but oh, so matter of fact! Saharas of fact without one oasis ofsentiment. She was well and she had done this and that and had beento see such and such plays and operas. Father was well and very busy. Mother, too, was well, so was Googoo--but these last two bits of newsfailed to comfort him as they perhaps should. He could only try to gleanbetween the lines, and as Mrs. Fosdick had raked between those linesbefore him, the gleaning was scant picking indeed. 

He found himself growing disconsolate and despondent. Summer seemed agesaway. And when at last it should come--what would happen then? He couldsee her only when properly chaperoned, only when Mother, and probablyGoogoo, were present. He flew for consolation to the Muse and theMuse refused to console. The poems he wrote were "blue" and despairinglikewise. Consequently they did not sell. He was growing desperate, ready for anything. And something came. Germany delivered to ourGovernment its arrogant mandate concerning unlimited submarine warfare. A long-suffering President threw patience overboard and answered thatmandate in unmistakable terms. Congress stood at his back and behindthem a united and indignant people. The United States declared war uponthe Hun. 

South Harniss, like every other community, became wildly excited. Captain Zelotes Snow's gray eyes flashed fiery satisfaction. The flagsat the Snow place and at the lumber yard flew high night and day. Hebought newspapers galore and read from them aloud at meals, in theevenings, and before breakfast. Issachar, as usual, talked much and saidlittle. Laban Keeler's comments were pithy and dryly pointed. Albert wasvery quiet. 

But one forenoon he spoke. Captain Lote was in the inner office, themorning newspaper in his hand, when his grandson entered and closed thedoor behind him. The captain looked up. 

"Well, Al, what is it?" he asked. 

Albert came over and stood beside the desk. The captain, after amoment's scrutiny of the young man's face, put down his newspaper. 

"Well, Al?" he said, again. 

Albert seemed to find it hard to speak. 

"Grandfather, " he began, "I--I--Grandfather, I have come to ask a favorof you. "

The captain nodded, slowly, his gaze fixed upon his grandson's face. 

"All right; heave ahead, " he said quietly. 

"Grandfather, you and I have had a four years' agreement to worktogether in this office. It isn't up yet, but--but I want to break it. Iwant you to let me off. "

"Humph! . . . Let you off, eh? . . . What for?"

"That's what I came here to tell you. Grandfather, I can't stayhere--now. I want to enlist. "

Captain Zelotes did not answer. His hand moved upward and pulled at hisbeard. 

"I want to enlist, " repeated Albert. "I can't stand it another minute. I must. If it hadn't been for you and our promise and--and Madeline, Ithink I should have joined the Canadian Army a year or more ago. But nowthat we have gone into the war, I CAN'T stay out. Grandfather, you don'twant me to, do you? Of course you don't. "

His grandfather appeared to ponder. 

"If you can wait a spell, " he said slowly, "I might be able to fix itso's you can get a chance for an officer's commission. I'd ought to havesome pull somewheres, seems so. "

Albert sniffed impatient disgust. "I don't want to get a commission--inthat way, " he declared. 

"Humph! You'll find there's plenty that do, I shouldn't wonder. "

"Perhaps, but I'm not one of them. And I don't care so much for acommission, unless I can earn it. And I don't want to stay here andstudy for it. I want to go now. I want to get into the thing. I don'twant to wait. "

Captain Lote leaned forward. His gray eyes snapped. 

"Want to fight, do you?" he queried. 

"You bet I do!"

"All right, my boy, then go--and fight. I'd be ashamed of myself if Iheld you back a minute. Go and fight--and fight hard. I only wish to GodI was young enough to go with you. "

CHAPTER XIII

And so, in this unexpected fashion, came prematurely the end of thefour year trial agreement between Albert Speranza and Z. Snow and Co. Of course neither Captain Zelotes nor Albert admitted that it had ended. Each professed to regard the break as merely temporary. 

"You'll be back at that desk in a little while, Al, " said the captain, "addin' up figgers and tormentin' Issy. " And Albert's reply wasinvariably, "Why, of course, Grandfather. "

He had dreaded his grandmother's reception of the news of his intendedenlistment. Olive worshiped her daughter's boy and, although an ardentpatriot, was by no means as fiercely belligerent as her husband. Sheprayed each night for the defeat of the Hun, whereas Captain Lote wasfor licking him first and praying afterwards. Albert feared a scene; hefeared that she might be prostrated when she learned that he was togo to war. But she bore it wonderfully well, and as for the dreaded"scene, " there was none. 

"Zelotes says he thinks it's the right thing for you to do, Albert, " shesaid, "so I suppose I ought to think so, too. But, oh, my dear, DO youreally feel that you must? I--it don't seem as I could bear to . . . Butthere, I mustn't talk so. It ain't a mite harder for me than it is forthousands of women all over this world. . . . And perhaps the governmentfolks won't take you, anyway. Rachel said she read in the Item aboutsome young man over in Bayport who was rejected because he had fat feet. She meant flat feet, I suppose, poor thing. Oh, dear me, I'm laughin', and it seems wicked to laugh a time like this. And when I think of yougoin', Albert, I--I . . . But there, I promised Zelotes I wouldn't. . . . And they MAY not take you. . . . But oh, of course they will, ofcourse they will! . . . I'm goin' to make you a chicken pie for dinnerto-day; I know how you like it. . . . If only they MIGHT reject you!. . . But there, I said I wouldn't and I won't. "

Rachel Ellis's opinion on the subject and her way of expressing thatopinion were distinctly her own. Albert arose early in the morningfollowing the announcement of his decision to enter the service. He hadnot slept well; his mind was too busy with problems and speculationsto resign itself to sleep. He had tossed about until dawn and had thenrisen and sat down at the table in his bedroom to write Madeline ofthe step he had determined to take. He had not written her while he wasconsidering that step. He felt, somehow, that he alone with no pressurefrom without should make the decision. Now that it was made, andirrevocably made, she must of course be told. Telling her, however, wasnot an easy task. He was sure she would agree that he had done the rightthing, the only thing, but--

"It is going to be very hard for you, dear, " he wrote, heedless ofthe fact that Mrs. Fosdick's censorious eye would see and condemn the"dear. " "It is going to be hard for both of us. But I am sure you willfeel as I do that I COULDN'T do anything else. I am young and strong andfit and I am an American. I MUST go. You see it, don't you, Madeline. Ican hardly wait until your letter comes telling me that you feel I didjust the thing you would wish me to do. "

He hesitated and then, even more regardless of the censor, added thequotation which countless young lovers were finding so apt just then:

 "I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honor more. "

So when, fresh from the intimacy of this communication with his adoredand with the letter in his hand, he entered the sitting-room at thatearly hour he was not overjoyed to find the housekeeper there aheadof him. And her first sentence showed that she had been awaiting hiscoming. 

"Good mornin', Albert, " she said. "I heard you stirrin' 'round up inyour room and I came down here so's you and I could talk together for aminute without anybody's disturbin' us. . . . Humph! I guess likely youdidn't sleep any too well last night, did you?"

Albert shook his head. "Not too well, Rachel, " he replied. 

"I shouldn't wonder. Well, I doubt if there was too much sleep anywheresin this house last night. So you're really goin' to war, are you, Albert?"

"Yes. If the war will let me I certainly am. "

"Dear, dear! . . . Well, I--I think it's what Robert Penfold would havedone if he was in your place. I've been goin' over it and goin' over ithalf the night, myself, and I've come to that conclusion. It's goin' tobe awful hard on your grandma and grandfather and me and Labe, all usfolks here at home, but I guess it's the thing you'd ought to do, thePenfold kind of thing. "

Albert smiled. "I'm glad you think so, Rachel, " he said. 

"Well, I do, and if I'm goin' to tell the truth I might as well say Itried terrible hard to find some good reasons for thinkin' 'twan't. Idid SO! But the only good reasons I could scare up for makin' you stayto home was because home was safe and comf'table and where you was goin'wan't. And that kind of reasonin' might do fust-rate for a passelof clams out on the flats, but it wouldn't be much credit to decent, self-respectin' humans. When General Rolleson came to that island andfound his daughter and Robert Penfold livin' there in that house madeout of pearls he'd built for her--Wan't that him all over! Another man, the common run of man, would have been satisfied to build her a houseout of wood and lucky to get that, but no, nothin' would do himbut pearls, and if they'd have been di'monds he'd have been bettersatisfied. Well. . . . Where was I? . . . Oh yes! When General Rollesoncame there and says to his daughter, 'Helen, you come home along ofme, ' and she says, 'No, I shan't leave him, ' meanin' Robert Penfold, youunderstand--When she says that did Robert Penfold say, 'That's the talk!Put that in your pipe, old man, and smoke it?' No, SIR, he didn't! Hesays, 'Helen, you go straight home along with your pa and work like furytill you find out who forged that note and laid it onto me. You findthat out, ' he says, 'and then you can come fetch me and not afore. 'That's the kind of man HE was! And they sailed off and left him behind. "

Albert shook his head. He had heard only about half of the housekeeper'sstory. "Pretty rough on him, I should say, " he commented, absently. 

"I GUESS 'twas rough on him, poor thing! But 'twas his duty and so hedone it. It was rough on Helen, havin' to go and leave him, but 'twasrougher still on him. It's always roughest, seems to me, " she added, "on the ones that's left behind. Those that go have somethin' to take uptheir minds and keep 'em from thinkin' too much. The ones that stay tohome don't have much to do EXCEPT think. I hope you don't get the notionthat I feel your part of it is easy, Al. Only a poor, crazy idiot couldread the papers these days and feel that any part of this war was EASY!It's awful, but--but it WILL keep you too busy to think, maybe. "

"I shouldn't wonder, Rachel. I understand what you mean. "

"We're all goin' to miss you, Albert. This house is goin' to be a prettylonesome place, I cal'late. Your grandma'll miss you dreadful and sowill I, but--but I have a notion that your grandpa's goin' to miss youmore'n anybody else. "

He shook his head. "Oh, not as much as all that, Rachel, " he said. "Heand I have been getting on much better than we used to and we have cometo understand each other better, but he is still disappointed in me. I'mafraid I don't count for much as a business man, you see; and, besides, Grandfather can never quite forget that I am the son of what he calls aPortygee play actor. "

Mrs. Ellis looked at him earnestly. "He's forgettin' it better everyday, Albert, " she said. "I do declare I never believed Capt'n Lote Snowcould forget it the way he's doin'. And you--well, you've forgot a wholelot, too. Memory's a good thing, the land knows, " she added, sagely, "but a nice healthy forgetery is worth consider'ble--some times and insome cases. "

Issachar Price's comments on his fellow employee's decision to become asoldier were pointed. Issy was disgusted. 

"For thunder sakes, Al, " he demanded, "'tain't true that you've enlistedto go to war and fight them Germans, is it?"

Albert smiled. "I guess it is, Issy, " he replied. 

"Well, by crimus!"

"Somebody had to go, you see, Is. "

"Well, by crimustee!"

"What's the matter, Issy? Don't you approve?"

"Approve! No, by crimus, I don't approve! I think it's a divil of anote, that's what I think. "

"Why?"

"WHY? Who's goin' to do the work in this office while you're gone? Labeand me, that's who; and I'll do the heft of it. Slavin' myself half todeath as 'tis and now--Oh, by crimustee! This war is a darned nuisance. It hadn't ought to be allowed. There'd ought to be a law against it. "

But of all the interviews which followed Albert's decision the mostsurprising and that which he was the least likely to forget was hisinterview with Laban Keeler. It took place on the evening of the thirdday following the announcement of his intention to enlist. All that day, and indeed for several days, Albert had noted in the little bookkeepercertain symptoms, familiar symptoms they were and from experience theyoung man knew what they portended. Laban was very nervous, his fingerstwitched as he wrote, occasionally he rose from his chair and walkedup and down the room, he ran his hand through his scanty hair, he wasinclined to be irritable--that is, irritable for him. Albert had notedthe symptoms and was sorry. Captain Zelotes noted them and frowned andpulled his beard. 

"Al, " he said to his grandson, "if you can put off goin' up to enlistfor a little spell, a few days, I wish you would. Labe's gettin' readyto go on one of his vacations. "

Albert nodded. "I'm afraid he is, " he said. 

"Oh, it's as sartin as two and two makes four. I've lived with himtoo many years not to know the signs. And I did hope, " he added, regretfully, "that maybe he was tryin' to break off. It's been a goodlong spell, an extry long spell, since he had his last spree. Ah hum!it's a pity a good man should have that weak spot in him, ain't it? Butif you could hang around a few more days, while the vacation's goin' on, I'd appreciate it, Al. I kind of hate to be left here alone with nobodybut Issachar to lean on. Issy's a good deal like a post in some ways, especially in the makeup of his head, but he's too ricketty to lean onfor any length of time. "

That evening Albert went to the post-office for the mail. On his wayback as he passed the dark corner by the now closed and shutteredmoving-picture theater he was hailed in a whisper. 

"Al, " said a voice, "Al. "

Albert turned and peered into the deep shadow of the theater doorway. Inthe summer this doorway was a blaze of light and gaiety; now it was coldand bleak and black enough. From the shadow a small figure emerged ontiptoe. 

"Al, " whispered Mr. Keeler. "That's you, ain't it? Yes, yes--yes, yes, yes--I thought 'twas, I thought so. "

Albert was surprised. For one thing it was most unusual to see thelittle bookkeeper abroad after nine-thirty. His usual evening procedure, when not on a vacation, was to call upon Rachel Ellis at the Snow placefor an hour or so and then to return to his room over Simond's shoestore, which room he had occupied ever since the building was erected. 

There he read, so people said, until eleven sharp, when his lamp wasextinguished. During or at the beginning of the vacation periods heusually departed for some unknown destination, destinations which, apparently, varied. He had been seen, hopelessly intoxicated, inBayport, in Ostable, in Boston, once in Providence. When he returned henever seemed to remember exactly where he had been. And, as most peoplewere fond of and pitied him, few questions were asked. 

"Why, Labe!" exclaimed Albert. "Is that you? What's the matter?"

"Busy, are you, Al?" queried Laban. "In a hurry, eh? Are you? In ahurry, Al, eh?"

"Why no, not especially. "

"Could you--could you spare me two or three minutes? Two or threeminutes--yes, yes? Come up to my room, could you--could you, Al?"

"Yes indeed. But what is it, Labe?"

"I want to talk. Want to talk, I do. Yes, yes, yes. Saw you go by andI've been waitin' for you. Waitin'--yes, I have--yes. "

He seized his assistant by the arm and led him across the road towardthe shoe store. Albert felt the hand on his arm tremble violently. 

"Are you cold, Labe?" he asked. "What makes you shiver so?"

"Eh? Cold? No, I ain't cold--no, no, no. Come, Al, come. "

Albert sniffed suspiciously, but no odor of alcohol rewarded the sniff. Neither was there any perfume of peppermint, Mr. Keeler's transparentcamouflage at a vacation's beginning. And Laban was not humming therefrain glorifying his "darling hanky-panky. " Apparently he had not yetembarked upon the spree which Captain Lote had pronounced imminent. Butwhy did he behave so queerly?

"I ain't the way you think, Al, " declared the little man, divining histhought. "I'm just kind of shaky and nervous, that's all. That's all, that's all, that's all. Yes, yes. Come, come! COME!"

The last "come" burst from him in an agony of impatience. Alberthastened up the narrow stairs, Laban leading the way. The latter fumbledwith a key, his companion heard it rattling against the keyhole plate. Then the door opened. There was a lamp, its wick turned low, burningupon the table in the room. Mr. Keeler turned it up, making a tremblyjob of the turning. Albert looked about him; he had never been in thatroom before. 

It was a small room and there was not much furniture in it. And it was aneat room, for the room of an old bachelor who was his own chambermaid. Most things seemed to have places where they belonged and most of themappeared to be in those places. What impressed Albert even more was thenumber of books. There were books everywhere, in the cheap bookcase, onthe pine shelf between the windows, piled in the corners, heaped on thetable beside the lamp. They were worn and shabby volumes for the mostpart, some with but half a cover remaining, some with none. He picked upone of the latter. It was Locke on The Human Understanding; and next it, to his astonishment, was Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. 

Mr. Keeler looked over his shoulder and, for an instant, the whimsicalsmile which was characteristic of him curved his lip. 

"Philosophy, Al, " he observed. "If Locke don't suit you try the 'madhatter' feller. I get consider'ble comfort out of the hatter, myself. Do you remember when the mouse was tellin' the story about the threesisters that lived in the well? He said they lived on everything thatbegan with M. Alice says 'Why with an M?' And the hatter, or the Marchhare, I forget which 'twas, says prompt, 'Why not?' . . . Yes, yes, whynot? that's what he said. . . . There's some philosophy in that, Al. Whydoes a hen go across the road? Why not? Why is Labe Keeler a disgrace toall his friends and the town he lives in? Why not? . . . Eh? . . . Yes, yes. That's it--why not?"

He smiled again, but there was bitterness and not humor in the smile. Albert put a hand on his shoulder. 

"Why, Labe, " he asked, in concern, "what is it?"

Laban turned away. 

"Don't mind, me, Al, " he said, hurriedly. "I mean don't mind if I actfunny. I'm--I'm kind of--of--Oh, good Lord A'mighty, DON'T look at melike that! . . . I beg your pardon, Al. I didn't mean to bark like a dogat you. No, I didn't--no, no. Forgive me, will you? Will you, Al, eh?"

"Of course I will. But what is the matter, Labe? Sit down and tell meabout it. "

Instead of sitting the little bookkeeper began to walk up and down. 

"Don't mind me, Al, " he said, hurriedly. "Don't mind me. Let me go myown gait. My own gait--yes, yes. You see, Al, I--I'm tryin' to enlist, same as you're goin' to do, and--and MY fight's begun already. Yesindeed--yes, yes--it has so. "

Albert was more astonished than ever. There was no smell of alcohol, andKeeler had declared that he had not been drinking; but--

"You're going to ENLIST?" repeated Albert. "YOU? Why, Labe, what--"

Laban laughed nervously. "Not to kill the Kaiser, " he replied. "No, no, not that--not exactly. I'd like to, only I wouldn't be much help thatway. But--but Al, I--I want to do somethin'. I--I'd like to try toshow--I'd like to be an American, a decent American, and the best wayto begin, seems to me, is to try and be a man, a decent man. Eh? Youunderstand, I--I--Oh, Lord, what a mess I am makin' of this! I--I--Al, "turning and desperately waving his hands, "I'm goin' to try to swearoff. Will you help me?"

Albert's answer was enthusiastic. "You bet I will!" he exclaimed. Keelersmiled pathetically. 

"It's goin' to be some job, I cal'late, " he said. "Some job, yes, yes. But I'm goin' to try it, Al. I read in the papers 'tother day thatAmerica needed every man. Then you enlisted, Al, --or you're goin' toenlist. It set me to thinkin' I'd try to enlist, too. For the durationof the war, eh? Yes, yes. "

"Good for you, Labe! Bully!"

Laban held up a protesting hand. "Don't hurrah yet, Al, " he said. "Thisain't the first time I've tried it. I've swore off a dozen times in thelast fifteen years. I've promised Rachel and broke the promise over andover again. Broke my promise to her, the best woman in the world. Showswhat I am, what sort I am, don't it, Al? Yes, it does, --yes, yes. Andshe's stuck by me, too, Lord knows why. Last time I broke it I said I'dnever promise her again. Bad enough to be a common drunk without bein' aliar--yes, yes. But this is a little different. Seems to me--seems so. "

He began his pacing up and down again. 

"Seems different, somehow, " he went on. "Seems like a new chance. I wantto do somethin' for Uncle Sam. I--I'd like to try and enlist for theduration of the war--swear off for that long, anyhow. Then, maybe, I'dbe able to keep on for life, you know--duration of Labe Keeler, eh? Yes, yes, yes. But I could begin for just the war, couldn't I? Maybe, 'twouldfool me into thinkin' that was easier. "

"Of course, Labe. It's a good idea. "

"Maybe; and maybe it's a fool one. But I'm goin' to try it. I AM tryin'it, have been all day. "

He paused, drew a shaking hand across his forehead and then asked, "Al, will you help me? I asked you up here hopin' you would. Will you, Al, eh? Will you?"

Albert could not understand how he could possibly help another man keepthe pledge, but his promise was eagerly given. 

"Certainly, Labe, " he said. 

"Thanks . . . Thank you, Al. . . . And now will you do something forme--a favor?"

"Gladly. What is it?"

Laban did not answer at once. He appeared to be on the point ofdoing so, but to be struggling either to find words or to overcome atremendous reluctance. When he did speak the words came in a burst. 

"Go down stairs, " he cried. "Down those stairs you came up. At the footof 'em, in a kind of cupboard place, under 'em, there's--there probablyis a jug, a full jug. It was due to come by express to-day and Ical'late it did, cal'late Jim Young fetched it down this afternoon. I--Icould have looked for myself and seen if 'twas there, " he added, aftera momentary hesitation, "but--but I didn't dare to. I was afraidI'd--I'd--"

"All right, Labe. I understand. What do you want me to do with it if itis there?"

"I want you--I want you to--to--" The little bookkeeper seemed to befighting another internal battle between inclination and resolution. Thelatter won, for he finished with, "I want you to take it out back of thebuildin' and--and empty it. That's what I want you to do, empty it, Al, every drop. . . . And, for the Almighty's sake, go quick, " he ordered, desperately, "or I'll tell you not to before you start. Go!"

Albert went. He fumbled in the cupboard under the stairs, found thejug--a large one and heavy--and hastened out into the night with it inhis hands. Behind the shoe store, amid a heap of old packing boxesand other rubbish, he emptied it. The process was rather lengthy anddecidedly fragrant. As a finish he smashed the jug with a stone. Then heclimbed the stairs again. 

Laban was waiting for him, drops of perspiration upon his forehead. 

"Was--was it there?" he demanded. 

Albert nodded. 

"Yes, yes. 'Twas there, eh? And did you--did you--?"

"Yes, I did, jug and all. "

"Thank you, Al . . . Thank you . . . I--I've been trying to muster upspunk enough to do it myself, but--but I swan I couldn't. I didn't dastto go nigh it . . . I'm a fine specimen, ain't I, now?" he added, with atwisted smile. "Some coward, eh? Yes, yes. Some coward. "

Albert, realizing a little of the fight the man was making, was affectedby it. "You're a brick, Labe, " he declared, heartily. "And as for beinga coward--Well, if I am half as brave when my turn comes I shall besatisfied. "

Laban shook his head. "I don't know how scared I'd be of a Germanbombshell, " he said, "but I'm everlastin' sure I wouldn't run from itfor fear of runnin' towards it, and that's how I felt about that jug. . . . Yes, yes, yes. I did so . . . I'm much obliged to you, Al. I shan'tforget it--no, no. I cal'late you can trot along home now, if you wantto. I'm pretty safe--for to-night, anyhow. Guess likely the new recruitwon't desert afore morning. "

But Albert, watching him intently, refused to go. 

"I'm going to stay for a while, Labe, " he said. "I'm not a bit sleepy, really. Let's have a smoke and talk together. That is, of course, unlessyou want to go to bed. "

Mr. Keeler smiled his twisted smile. "I ain't crazy to, " he said. "Theway I feel now I'd get to sleep about week after next. But I hadn'tought to keep you up, Al. "

"Rubbish! I'm not sleepy, I tell you. Sit down. Have a cigar. Now whatshall we talk about? How would books do? What have you been readinglately, Labe?"

They smoked and talked books until nearly two. Then Laban insisted uponhis guest departing. "I'm all right, Al" he declared, earnestly. "I amhonest--yes, yes, I am. I'll go to sleep like a lamb, yes indeed. "

"You'll be at the office in the morning, won't you, Labe?"

The little bookkeeper nodded. "I'll be there, " he said. "Got to answerroll call the first mornin' after enlistment. Yes, yes. I'll be there, Al. "

He was there, but he did not look as if his indulgence in the lamb-likesleep had been excessive. He was so pale and haggard that his assistantwas alarmed. 

"You're not sick, are you, Labe?" he asked, anxiously. Laban shook hishead. 

"No, " he said. "No, I ain't sick. Been doin' picket duty up and down theroom since half past three, that's all. Um-hm, that's all. Say, Al, ifGeneral what's-his-name--er--von Hindenburg--is any harder scrapperthan old Field Marshal Barleycorn he's a pretty tough one. Say, Al, youdidn't say anything about--about my--er--enlistin' to Cap'n Lote, didyou? I meant to ask you not to. "

"I didn't, Labe. I thought you might want it kept a secret. "

"Um-hm. Better keep it in the ranks until we know how thisfirst--er--skirmish is comin' out. Yes, yes. Better keep it that way. Um-hm. "

All day he stuck manfully at his task and that evening, immediatelyafter supper, Albert went to the room over the shoe store, found himthere and insisted upon his coming over to call upon Rachel. He had notintended doing so. 

"You see, Al, " he explained, "I'm--I'm kind of--er--shaky and Rachelwill be worried, I'm afraid. She knows me pretty well and she'llcal'late I'm just gettin' ready to--to bust loose again. "

Albert interrupted. "No, she won't, Laban, " he said. "We'll show herthat you're not. "

"You won't say anything to her about my--er--enlistin', Al? Don't. No, no. I've promised her too many times--and broke the promises. Ifanything should come of this fight of mine I'd rather she'd find it outfor herself. Better to surprise her than to disapp'int her. Yes, yes, lots better. "

Albert promised not to tell Rachel and so Laban made his call. When itwas over the young man walked home with him and the pair sat and talkeduntil after midnight, just as on the previous night. The followingevening it was much the same, except that, as Mr. Keeler pronouncedhimself more than usually "shaky" and expressed a desire to "keepmovin', " they walked half way to Orham and back before parting. By theend of the week Laban declared the fight won--for the time. 

"You've pulled me through the fust tussle, Al, " he said. "I shan'tdesert now, not till the next break-out, anyhow. I cal'late it'll get meharder than ever then. Harder than ever--yes, yes. And you won't be hereto help me, neither. "

"Never mind; I shall be thinking of you, Labe. And I know you're goingto win. I feel it in my bones. "

"Um-hm. . . . Yes, yes, yes. . . In your bones, eh? Well, MY bones don'tseem to feel much, except rheumatics once in a while. I hope yoursare better prophets, but I wouldn't want to bet too high on it. No, Iwouldn't--no, no. However, we'll do our best, and they say angels can'tdo any more--though they'd probably do it in a different way . . . Somedifferent. . . . Um-hm. . . . Yes, indeed. "

Two letters came to Albert before that week ended. The first was fromMadeline. He had written her of his intention to enlist and this was herreply. The letter had evidently been smuggled past the censor, for itcontained much which Mrs. Fosdick would have blue-penciled. Its contentswere a blend of praise and blame, of exaltation and depression. He wasa hero, and so brave, and she was so proud of him. It was wonderful hisdaring to go, and just what she would have expected of her hero. If onlyshe might see him in his uniform. So many of the fellows she knew hadenlisted. They were wonderfully brave, too, although of course nothinglike as wonderful as her own etcetera, etcetera. She had seen some ofTHEM in their uniforms and they were PERFECTLY SPLENDID. But theywere officers, or they were going to be. Why wasn't he going to be anofficer? It was so much nicer to be an officer. And if he were one hemight not have to go away to fight nearly so soon. Officers stayed herelonger and studied, you know. Mother had said something about "a commonprivate, " and she did not like it. But never mind, she would be just asproud no matter what he was. And she should dream of him and think ofhim always and always. And perhaps he might be so brave and wonderfulthat he would be given one of those war crosses, the Croix de Guerre orsomething. She was sure he would. But oh, no matter what happened, hemust not go where it was TOO dangerous. Suppose he should be wounded. Oh, suppose, SUPPOSE he should be killed. What would she do then? Whatwould become of her? MUST he go, after all? Couldn't he stay at home andstudy or something, for a while, you know? She should be so lonely afterhe was gone. And so frightened and so anxious. And he wouldn't forgether, would he, no matter where he went? Because she never, never, neverwould forget him for a moment. And he must write every day. And--

The letter was fourteen pages long. 

The other letter was a surprise. It was from Helen. The Reverend Mr. Kendall had been told of Albert's intended enlistment and had writtenhis daughter. 

So you are going into the war, Albert (she wrote). I am not surprisedbecause I expected you would do just that. It is what all of us wouldlike to do, I'm sure, and you were always anxious to go, even before theUnited States came in. So I am writing this merely to congratulate youand to wish you the very best of good luck. Father says you are notgoing to try for a commission but intend enlisting as a private. Isuppose that is because you think you may get to the actual fightingsooner. I think I understand and appreciate that feeling too, but areyou sure it is the best plan? You want to be of the greatest serviceto the country and with your education and brains--This ISN'T flattery, because it is true--don't you think you might help more if you were incommand of men? Of course I don't know, being only a girl, but I havebeen wondering. No doubt you know best and probably it is settled beforethis; at any rate, please don't think that I intend butting in. "Buttingin" is not at all a proper expression for a schoolmarm to use but it isa relief to be human occasionally. Whatever you do I am sure will be theright thing and I know all your friends are going to be very, very proudof you. I shall hear of you through the people at home, I know, andI shall be anxious to hear. I don't know what I shall do to help thecause, but I hope to do something. A musket is prohibitive to femalesbut the knitting needle is ours and I CAN handle that, if I do say it. And I MAY go in for Red Cross work altogether. But I don't count much, and you men do, and this is your day. Please, for the sake of yourgrandparents and all your friends, don't take unnecessary chances. I cansee your face as you read that and think that I am a silly idiot. I'mnot and I mean what I say. You see I know YOU and I know you will not becontent to do the ordinary thing. We want you to distinguish yourself, but also we want you to come back whole and sound, if it is possible. We shall think of you a great deal. And please, in the midst of theexcitement of the BIG work you are doing, don't forget us home folk, including your friend, HELEN KENDALL. 

Albert's feelings when he read this letter were divided. He enjoyedhearing from Helen. The letter was just like herself, sensible andgood-humored and friendly. There were no hysterics in it and noheroics but he knew that no one except his grandparents and Rachel andLaban--and, of course, his own Madeline--would think of him oftener orbe more anxious for his safety and welfare than Helen. He was glad shewas his friend, very glad. But he almost wished she had not written. Hefelt a bit guilty at having received the letter. He was pretty surethat Madeline would not like the idea. He was tempted to say nothingconcerning it in his next letter to his affianced, but that seemedunderhanded and cowardly, so he told her. And in her next letter to himMadeline made no reference at all to Helen or her epistle, so he knewshe was displeased. And he was miserable in consequence. 

But his misery did not last long. The happenings which followed crowdedit from his mind, and from Madeline's also, for that matter. Onemorning, having told no one except his grandfather of his intention, hetook the morning train to Boston. When he returned the next day hewas Uncle Sam's man, sworn in and accepted. He had passed the physicalexamination with flying colors and the recruiting officers expressedthemselves as being glad to get him. He was home for but one day leave, then he must go to stay. He had debated the question of going in for acommission, but those were the early days of our participation inthe war and a Plattsburg training or at least some sort of militaryeducation was almost an essential. He did not want to wait; as he hadtold his grandfather, he wanted to fight. So he enlisted as a private. 

And when the brief leave was over he took the train for Boston, nolonger Alberto Miguel Carlos Speranza, South Harniss's Beau Brummel, poet and Portygee, but Private Speranza, U. S. A. The farewells were briefand no one cried--much. His grandmother hugged and kissed him, Rachellooked very much as if she wanted to. Laban and Issachar shook handswith him. 

"Good luck to you, boy, " said Mr. Keeler. "All the luck there is. "

"Same to you, old man, " replied Albert. Then, in a lower tone, he added, "We'll fight it out together, eh?"

"We'll try. Yes, yes. We'll try. So long, Al. "

Issachar struck the reassuring note. "Don't fret about things in theoffice, " he said. "I'll look out for 'em long's I keep my health. "

"Be sure and keep that, Issy. "

"You bet you! Only thing that's liable to break it down is over-work. "

Captain Zelotes said very little. "Write us when you can, Al, " he said. "And come home whenever you get leave. "

"You may be sure of that, Grandfather. And after I get to camp perhapsyou can come and see me. "

"Maybe so. Will if I can. . . . Well, Al, I . . . I. . . . Good luck toyou, son. "

"Thank you, Grandfather. "

They shook hands. Each looked as if there was more he would have likedto say but found the saying hard. Then the engine bell rang and thehands fell apart. The little group on the station platform watchedthe train disappear. Mrs. Snow and Rachel wiped their eyes with theirhandkerchiefs. Captain Zelotes gently patted his wife's shoulder. 

"The team's waitin', Mother, " he said. "Labe'll drive you and Rachelhome. "

"But--but ain't you comin', too, Zelotes?" faltered Olive. Her husbandshook his head. 

"Not now, Mother, " he answered. "Got to go back to the office. "

He stood for an instant looking at the faint smear of smoke above thecurve in the track. Then, without another word, he strode off in thedirection of Z. Snow and Co. 's buildings. Issachar Price sniffed. 

"Crimus, " he whispered to Laban, as the latter passed him on the way towhere Jessamine, the Snow horse, was tied, "the old man takes it cool, don't he! I kind of imagined he'd be sort of shook up by Al's goin' offto war, but he don't seem to feel it a mite. "

Keeler looked at him in wonder. Then he drew a long breath. 

"Is, " he said, slowly, "it is a mighty good thing for the Seven Wise Menof Greece that they ain't alive now. "

It was Issachar's turn to stare. "Eh?" he queried. "The Seven Wise Menof Which? Good thing for 'em they ain't alive? What kind of talk's that?Why is it a good thing?"

Laban spoke over his shoulder. "Because, " he drawled, "if they was alivenow they'd be so jealous of you they'd commit suicide. Yes, they would. . . . Yes, yes. "

With which enigmatical remark he left Mr. Price and turned his attentionto the tethered Jessamine. 

And then began a new period, a new life at the Snow place and in theoffice of Z. Snow and Co. Or, rather, life in the old house and at thelumber and hardware office slumped back into the groove in which it hadrun before the opera singer's son was summoned from the New York schoolto the home and into the lives of his grandparents. Three people insteadof four sat down at the breakfast table and at dinner and at supper. Captain Zelotes walked alone to and from the office. Olive Snow nolonger baked and iced large chocolate layer cakes because a certaininmate of her household was so fond of them. Rachel Ellis discussedFoul Play and Robert Penfold with no one. The house was emptier, moreold-fashioned and behind the times, more lonely--surprisingly empty andbehind the times and lonely. 

The daily mails became matters of intense interest and expectation. Albert wrote regularly and of course well and entertainingly. Hedescribed the life at the camp where he and the other recruits weretraining, a camp vastly different from the enormous military towns builtlater on for housing and training the drafted men. He liked the lifepretty well, he wrote, although it was hard and a fellow had preciouslittle opportunity to be lazy. Mistakes, too, were unprofitable for themaker. Captain Lote's eye twinkled when he read that. 

Later on he wrote that he had been made a corporal and his grandmother, to whom a major general and a corporal were of equal rank, rejoiced muchboth at home and in church after meeting was over and friends came tohear the news. Mrs. Ellis declared herself not surprised. It was theRobert Penfold in him coming out, so she said. 

A month or two later one of Albert's letters contained an interestingitem of news. In the little spare time which military life afforded himhe continued to write verse and stories. Now a New York publisher, notone of the most prominent but a reputable and enterprising one, hadwritten him suggesting the collecting of his poems and their publicationin book form. The poet himself was, naturally, elated. 

"Isn't it splendid!" he wrote. "The best part of it, of course, is thathe asked to publish, I did not ask him. Please send me my scrapbook andall loose manuscript. When the book will come out I'm sure I don't know. In fact it may never come out, we have not gotten as far as terms andcontracts yet, but I feel we shall. Send the scrapbook and manuscriptright away, PLEASE. "

They were sent. In his next letter Albert was still enthusiastic. 

"I have been looking over my stuff, " he wrote, "and some of it is prettygood, if you don't mind my saying so. Tell Grandfather that when thisbook of mine is out and selling I may be able to show him that poetrymaking isn't a pauper's job, after all. Of course I don't know how muchit will sell--perhaps not more than five or ten thousand at first--buteven at ten thousand at, say, twenty-five cents royalty each, would betwenty-five hundred dollars, and that's something. Why, Ben Hur, thenovel, you know, has sold a million, I believe. "

Mrs. Snow and Rachel were duly impressed by this prophecy of affluence, but Captain Zelotes still played the skeptic. 

"A million at twenty-five cents a piece!" exclaimed Olive. "Why, Zelotes, that's--that's an awful sight of money. "

Mental arithmetic failing her, she set to work with a pencil and paperand after a strenuous struggle triumphantly announced that it came totwo hundred and fifty thousand dollars. 

"My soul and body!" she cried. "Two hundred and fifty thousand DOLLARS!My SOUL, Zelotes! Suppose--only suppose Albert's book brought him in asmuch as that!"

Her husband shook his head. "I can't, Olive, " he said, without lookingup from his newspaper. "My supposer wouldn't stand the strain. "

"But it might, Zelotes, it MIGHT. Suppose it did, what would you saythen?"

The captain regarded her over the top of the Transcript. "I shouldn'tsay a word, Olive, " he answered, solemnly. "I should be down sick by thetime it got up as far as a thousand, and anything past two thousandyou could use to buy my tombstone with. . . . There, there, Mother, "he added, noticing the hurt look on her face, "don't feel bad. I'm onlyjokin'. One of these days Al's goin' to make a nice, comf'table livin'sellin' lumber and hardware right here in South Harniss. I can SEE thatmoney in the offin'. All this million or two that's comin' from poetryand such is out of sight in the fog. It may be there but--humph! well, IKNOW where Z. Snow and Co. Is located. "

Olive was not entirely placated. "I must say I think you're awfuldiscouragin' to the poor boy, Zelotes, " she said. Her husband put downhis paper. 

"No, no, I ain't, Mother, " he replied, earnestly. "At least I don't meanto be. Way I look at it, this poetry-makin' and writin' yarns and thatsort of stuff is just part of the youngster's--er--growin' up, as youmight say. Give him time he'll grow out of it, same as I cal'late hewill out of this girl business, this--er--Madel--humph--er--ahem. . . . Looks like a good day to-morrow, don't it. "

He pulled up suddenly, and with considerable confusion. He had kept thenews of his grandson's infatuation and engagement even from his wife. No one in South Harniss knew of it, no one except the captain. HelenKendall knew, but she was in Boston. 

Rachel Ellis picked up the half knitted Red Cross mitten in her lap. "Well, I don't know whether he's right or you are, Cap'n Lote, " shesaid, with a sigh, "but this I do know--I wish this awful war was overand he was back home again. "

That remark ended the conversation. Olive resumed her own knitting, seeing it but indistinctly. Her husband did not continue his newspaperreading. Instead he rose and, saying something about cal'latin' he wouldgo for a little walk before turning in, went out into the yard. 

But the war did not end, it went on; so too did the enlisting andtraining. In the early summer Albert came home for a two days' leave. Hewas broader and straighter and browner. His uniform became him and, morethan ever, the eyes of South Harniss's youthful femininity, native orimported, followed him as he walked the village streets. But the glanceswere not returned, not in kind, that is. The new Fosdick home, althoughcompleted, was not occupied. Mrs. Fosdick had, that summer, decidedthat her duties as mover in goodness knows how many war work activitiesprevented her taking her "usual summer rest. " Instead she and Madelineoccupied a rented villa at Greenwich, Connecticut, coming into townfor meetings of all sorts. Captain Zelotes had his own suspicions as towhether war work alone was the cause of the Fosdicks' shunning of whatwas to have been their summer home, but he kept those suspicions tohimself. Albert may have suspected also, but he, too, said nothing. Thecensored correspondence between Greenwich and the training camp traveledregularly, and South Harniss damsels looked and longed in vain. Hesaw them, he bowed to them, he even addressed them pleasantly andcharmingly, but to him they were merely incidents in his walks to andfrom the post-office. In his mind's eye he saw but one, and she, alas, was not present in the flesh. 

Then he returned to the camp where, later on, Captain Zelotes and Olivevisited him. As they came away the captain and his grandson exchanged afew significant words. 

"It is likely to be almost any time, Grandfather, " said Albert, quietly. "They are beginning to send them now, as you know by the papers, and wehave had the tip that our turn will be soon. So--"

Captain Lote grasped the significance of the uncompleted sentence. 

"I see, Al, " he answered, "I see. Well, boy, I--I--Good luck. "

"Good luck, Grandfather. "

That was all, that and one more handclasp. Our Anglo-Saxon inheritancedescends upon us in times like these. The captain was silent for most ofthe ride to the railroad station. 

Then followed a long, significant interval during which there were noletters from the young soldier. After this a short reassuring cablegramfrom "Somewhere in France. " "Safe. Well, " it read and Olive Snow carriedit about with her, in the bosom of her gown, all that afternoon and putit upon retiring on her bureau top so that she might see it the firstthing in the morning. 

Another long interval, then letters, the reassuring but so tantalizinglyunsatisfactory letters we American families were, just at that time, beginning to receive. Reading the newspapers now had a personalinterest, a terrifying, dreadful interest. Then the packing and sendingof holiday boxes, over the contents of which Olive and Rachel spent muchcareful planning and anxious preparation. Then another interval of moreletters, letters which hinted vaguely at big things just ahead. 

Then no letter for more than a month. 

And then, one noon, as Captain Zelotes returned to his desk after thewalk from home and dinner, Laban Keeler came in and stood beside thatdesk. 

The captain, looking up, saw the little bookkeeper's face. "What is it, Labe?" he asked, sharply. 

Laban held a yellow envelope in his hand. 

"It came while you were gone to dinner, Cap'n, " he said. "Ben Kelleyfetched it from the telegraph office himself. He--he said he didn'thardly want to take it to the house. He cal'lated you'd better have ithere, to read to yourself, fust. That's what he said--yes, yes--that'swhat 'twas, Cap'n. "

Slowly Captain Zelotes extended his hand for the envelope. He did nottake his eyes from the bookkeeper's face. 

"Ben--Ben, he told me what was in it, Cap'n Lote, " faltered Laban. "I--Idon't know what to say to you, I don't--no, no. "

Without a word the captain took the envelope from Keeler's fingers, andtore it open. He read the words upon the form within. 

Laban leaned forward. 

"For the Lord sakes, Lote Snow, " he cried, in a burst of agony, "why couldn't it have been some darn good-for-nothin' like meinstead--instead of him? Oh, my God A'mighty, what a world this is! WHATa world!"

Still Captain Zelotes said nothing. His eyes were fixed upon the yellowsheet of paper on the desk before him. After a long minute he spoke. 

"Well, " he said, very slowly, "well, Labe, there goes--there goes Z. Snow and Company. "

CHAPTER XIV

The telegram from the War Department was brief, as all such telegramswere perforce obliged to be. The Secretary of War, through hisrepresentative, regretted to inform Captain Zelotes Snow that SergeantAlbert Speranza had been killed in action upon a certain day. It wasenough, however--for the time quite enough. It was not until laterthat the little group of South Harniss recovered sufficiently from thestunning effect of those few words to think of seeking particulars. Albert was dead; what did it matter, then, to know how he died?

Olive bore the shock surprisingly well. Her husband's fears for herseemed quite unnecessary. The Captain, knowing how she had idolized herdaughter's boy, had dreaded the effect which the news might have uponher. She was broken down by it, it is true, but she was quiet andbrave--astonishingly, wonderfully quiet and brave. And it was she, rather than her husband, who played the part of the comforter in thoseblack hours. 

"He's gone, Zelotes, " she said. "It don't seem possible, I know, buthe's gone. And he died doin' his duty, same as he would have wantedto die if he'd known 'twas comin', poor boy. So--so we must do ours, I suppose, and bear up under it the very best we can. It won't be verylong, Zelotes, " she added. "We're both gettin' old. "

Captain Lote made no reply. He was standing by the window of thesitting-room looking out into the wet backyard across which thewind-driven rain was beating in stormy gusts. 

"We must be brave, Zelotes, " whispered Olive, tremulously. "He'd want usto be and we MUST be. "

He put his arm about her in a sudden heat of admiration. "I'd be ashamednot to be after seein' you, Mother, " he exclaimed. 

He went out to the barn a few moments later and Rachel, entering thesitting-room, found Olive crumpled down in the big rocker in an agony ofgrief. 

"Oh, don't, Mrs. Snow, don't, " she begged, the tears streaming down herown cheeks. "You mustn't give way to it like this; you mustn't. "

Olive nodded. 

"I know it, I know it, " she admitted, chokingly, wiping her eyes with asoaked handkerchief. "I shan't, Rachel, only this once, I promise you. You see I can't. I just can't on Zelotes's account. I've got to bear upfor his sake. "

The housekeeper was surprised and a little indignant. 

"For his sake!" she repeated. "For mercy sakes why for his sake? Is itany worse for him than 'tis for you. "

"Oh, yes, yes, lots worse. He won't say much, of course, bein' ZelotesSnow, but you and I know how he's planned, especially these last years, and how he's begun to count on--on Albert. . . . No, no, I ain't goin'to cry, Rachel, I ain't--I WON'T--but sayin' his name, you know, kindof--"

"I know, I know. Land sakes, DON'T I know! Ain't I doin' it myself?"

"Course you are, Rachel. But we mustn't when Zelotes is around. Wewomen, we--well, times like these women HAVE to keep up. What wouldbecome of the men if we didn't?"

So she and Rachel "kept up" in public and when the captain was present, and he for his part made no show of grief nor asked for pity. He wassilent, talked little and to the callers who came either at the house oroffice was uncomplaining. 

"He died like a man, " he told the Reverend Mr. Kendall when the lattercalled. "He took his chance, knowin' what that meant--"

"He was glad to take it, " interrupted the minister. "Proud and glad totake it. "

"Sartin. Why not? Wouldn't you or I have been glad to take ours, if wecould?"

"Well, Captain Snow, I am glad to find you so resigned. "

Captain Zelotes looked at him. "Resigned?" he repeated. "What do youmean by resigned? Not to sit around and whimper is one thing--any decentman or woman ought to be able to do that in these days; but if by bein'resigned you mean I'm contented to have it so--well, you're mistaken, that's all. "

Only on one occasion, and then to Laban Keeler, did he open his shellsufficiently to give a glimpse of what was inside. Laban entered theinner office that morning to find his employer sitting in the deskchair, both hands jammed in his trousers' pockets and his gaze fixed, apparently, upon the row of pigeon-holes. When the bookkeeper spoke tohim he seemed to wake from a dream, for he started and looked up. 

"Cap'n Lote, " began Keeler, "I'm sorry to bother you, but that lastcarload of pine was--"

Captain Zelotes waved his hand, brushing the carload of pine out of theconversation. 

"Labe, " he said, slowly, "did it seem to you that I was too hard onhim?"

Laban did not understand. "Hard on him?" he repeated. "I don't know's Ijust get--"

"Hard on Al. Did it seem to you as if I was a little too much of thebucko mate to the boy? Did I drive him too hard? Was I unreasonable?"

The answer was prompt. "No, Cap'n Lote, " replied Keeler. 

"You mean that? . . . Um-hm. . . . Well, sometimes seems as if I mighthave been. You see, Labe, when he first come I--Well, I cal'late Iwas consider'ble prejudiced against him. Account of his father, youunderstand. "

"Sartin. Sure. I understand. "

"It took me a good while to get reconciled to the Portygee streak inhim. It chafed me consider'ble to think there was a foreign streak inour family. The Snows have been straight Yankee for a good long while. . . . Fact is, I--I never got really reconciled to it. I kept bein'fearful all the time that that streak, his father's streak, would breakout in him. It never did, except of course in his poetry and that sortof foolishness, but I was always scared 'twould, you see. And now--nowthat this has happened I--I kind of fret for fear that I may have let mynotions get ahead of my fair play. You think I did give the boy a squaredeal, Labe?"

"Sure thing, Cap'n. "

"I'm glad of that. . . . And--and you cal'late he wasn't--wasn't tooprejudiced against me? I don't mean along at first, I mean this lastyear or two. "

Laban hesitated. He wished his answer to be not an overstatement, butthe exact truth. 

"I think, " he said, with emphasis, "that Al was comin' to understandyou better every day he lived, Cap'n. Yes, and to think more and moreof you, too. He was gettin' older, for one thing--older, more of aman--yes, yes. "

Captain Zelotes smiled sadly. "He was more boy than man by a good dealyet, " he observed. "Well, Labe, he's gone and I'm just beginnin' torealize how much of life for me has gone along with him. He'd been doin'better here in the office for the last two or three years, seemed to becatchin' on to business better. Didn't you think so, Labe?"

"Sartin. Yes indeed. Fust-rate, fust-rate. "

"No, not first-rate. He was a long ways from a business man yet, but Idid think he was doin' a lot better. I could begin to see him pilotin'this craft after I was called ashore. Now he's gone and . . . Well, Idon't see much use in my fightin' to keep it afloat. I'm gettin' alongin years--and what's the use?"

It was the first time Laban had ever heard Captain Zelotes refer tohimself as an old man. It shocked him into sharp expostulation. 

"Nonsense!" he exclaimed. "You ain't old enough for the scrap heap by abig stretch. And besides, he made his fight, didn't he? He didn't quit, Al didn't, and he wouldn't want us to. No sir-ee, he wouldn't! No, sir, no! . . . I--I hope you'll excuse me, Cap'n Lote. I--declare it mustseem to you as if I was talkin' pretty fresh. I swan I'm sorry. I am so. . . Sorry; yes, yes, I be. "

The captain was not offended. He waved the apologies aside. 

"So you think it's worth while my fightin' it out, do you, Labe?" heasked, reflectively. 

"I--I think it's what you ought to do anyhow, whether it's worthwhile or not. The whole world's fightin'. Uncle Sam's fightin'. Al wasfightin'. You're fightin'. I'm fightin'. It's a darn sight easier toquit, a darn sight, but--but Al didn't quit. And--and we mustn't--not ifwe can help it, " he added, drawing a hand across his forehead. 

His agitation seemed to surprise Captain Zelotes. "So all hands arefightin', are they, Labe, " he observed. "Well, I presume likely there'ssome truth in that. What's your particular fight, for instance?"

The little bookkeeper looked at him for an instant before replying. The captain's question was kindly asked, but there was, or so Labanimagined, the faintest trace of sarcasm in its tone. That trace decidedhim. He leaned across the desk. 

"My particular fight?" he repeated. "You--you want to know what 'tis, Cap'n Lote? All right, all right, I'll tell you. "

And without waiting for further questioning and with, for him, surprisingly few repetitions, he told of his "enlistment" to fight JohnBarleycorn for the duration of the war. Captain Zelotes listened to thevery end in silence. Laban mopped his forehead with a hand which shookmuch as it had done during the interview with Albert in the room abovethe shoe store. 

"There--there, " he declared, in conclusion, "that's my fight, Cap'nLote. Al and I, we--we kind of went into it together, as you might say, though his enlistin' was consider'ble more heroic than mine--yes indeed, I should say so . . . Yes, yes, yes. But I'm fightin' too . . . Er . . . I'm fightin' too. "

Captain Zelotes pulled his beard. 

"How's the fight goin', Labe?" he asked, quietly. 

"Well--well, it's kind of--kind of spotty, as you might say. There'sspots when I get along fairly smooth and others when--well, when it'spretty rough goin'. I've had four hard spots since Al went away, butthere's two that was the hardest. One was along Christmas and New Yeartime; you know I 'most generally had one of my--er--spells along aboutthen. And t'other is just now; I mean since we got word about--aboutAl. I don't suppose likely you surmised it, Cap'n, but--but I'd come tothink a lot of that boy--yes, I had. Seems funny to you, I don't doubt, but it's so. And since the word come, you know--I--I--well, I've hadsome fight, some fight. I--I don't cal'late I've slept more'n four hoursin the last four nights--not more'n that, no. Walkin' helps me most, seems so. Last night I walked to West Orham. "

"To West Orham! You WALKED there? Last NIGHT?"

"Um-hm. Long's I can keep walkin' I--I seem to part way forget--toforget the stuff, you know. When I'm alone in my room I go 'mostcrazy--pretty nigh loony. . . . But there! I don't know why I got totalkin' like this to you, Cap'n Lote. You've got your troubles and--"

"Hold on, Labe. Does Rachel know about your fight?"

"No. No, no. Course she must notice how long I've been--been straight, but I haven't told her. I want to be sure I'm goin' to win before Itell her. She's been disappointed times enough before, poor woman. . . . There, Cap'n Lote, don't let's talk about it any more. Please don't getthe notion that I'm askin' for pity or anything like that. And don'tthink I'm comparin' what I call my fight to the real one like Al's. There's nothin' much heroic about me, eh? No, no, I guess not. Tell thatto look at me, eh?"

Captain Zelotes rose and laid his big hand on his bookkeeper's shoulder. 

"Don't you believe it, Labe, " he said. "I'm proud of you. . . . And, Ideclare, I'm ashamed of myself. . . . Humph! . . . Well, to-night youcome home with me and have supper at the house. "

"Now, now, Cap'n Lote--"

"You do as I tell you. After supper, if there's any walkin' to bedone--if you take a notion to frog it to Orham or San Francisco orsomewheres--maybe I'll go with you. Walkin' may be good for my fight, too; you can't tell till you try. . . . There, don't argue, Labe. I'mskipper of this craft yet and you'll obey my orders; d'you hear?"

The day following the receipt of the fateful telegram the captain wrotea brief note to Fletcher Fosdick. A day or two later he received areply. Fosdick's letter was kindly and deeply sympathetic. He had beengreatly shocked and grieved by the news. 

Young Speranza seemed to me, (he wrote) in my one short interview withhim, to be a fine young fellow. Madeline, poor girl, is almost frantic. She will recover by and by, recovery is easier at her age, but it willbe very, very hard for you and Mrs. Snow. You and I little thought whenwe discussed the problem of our young people that it would be solvedin this way. To you and your wife my sincerest sympathy. When you hearparticulars concerning your grandson's death, please write me. Madelineis anxious to know and keeps asking for them. Mrs. Fosdick is too muchconcerned with her daughter's health to write just now, but she joins mein sympathetic regards. 

Captain Zelotes took Mrs. Fosdick's sympathy with a grain of salt. Whenhe showed this letter to his wife he, for the first time, told her ofthe engagement, explaining that his previous silence had been due toAlbert's request that the affair be kept a secret for the present. Olive, even in the depth of her sorrow, was greatly impressed by thegrandeur of the alliance. 

"Just think, Zelotes, " she exclaimed, "the Fosdick girl--and our Albertengaged to marry her! Why, the Fosdicks are awful rich, everybody saysso. Mrs. Fosdick is head of I don't know how many societies and clubsand things in New York; her name is in the paper almost every day, soanother New York woman told me at Red Cross meetin' last summer. And Mr. Fosdick has been in politics, way up in politics. "

"Um-hm. Well, he's reformed lately, I understand, so we mustn't holdthat against him. "

"Why, Zelotes, what DO you mean? How can you talk so? Just think what itwould have meant to have our Albert marry a girl like Madeline Fosdick. "

The captain put his arm about her and gently patted her shoulder. 

"There, there, Mother, " he said, gently, "don't let that part of it fretyou. "

"But, Zelotes, " tearfully, "I don't understand. It would have been sucha great thing for Albert. "

"Would it? Well, maybe. Anyhow, there's no use worryin' about it now. It's done with--ended and done with . . . Same as a good many otherplans that's been made in the world. "

"Zelotes, don't speak like that, dear, so discouraged. It makes mefeel worse than ever to hear you. And--and he wouldn't want you to, I'msure. "

"Wouldn't he? No, I cal'late you're right, Mother. We'll try not to. "

Other letters came, including one from Helen. It was not long. Mrs. Snowwas a little inclined to feel hurt at its brevity. Her husband, however, did not share this feeling. 

"Have you read it carefully, Mother?" he asked. 

"Of course I have, Zelotes. What do you mean?"

"I mean--well, I tell you, Mother, I've read it three time. The firsttime I was like you; seemed to me as good a friend of Al and of us asHelen Kendall ought to have written more than that. The second time Iread it I begun to wonder if--if--"

"If what, Zelotes?"

"Oh, nothin', Mother, nothin'. She says she's comin' to see us just assoon as she can get away for a day or two. She'll come, and when shedoes I cal'late both you and I are goin' to be satisfied. "

"But why didn't she WRITE more, Zelotes? That's what I can'tunderstand. "

Captain Zelotes tugged at his beard reflectively. "When I wrote Fosdickthe other day, " he said, "I couldn't write more than a couple of pages. I was too upset to do it. I couldn't, that's all. "

"Yes, but you are Albert's grandfather. "

"I know. And Helen's always . . . But there, Mother, don't you worryabout Helen Kendall. I've known her since she was born, pretty nigh, and_I_ tell you she's all RIGHT. "

Fosdick, in his letter, had asked for particulars concerning Albert'sdeath. Those particulars were slow in coming. Captain Zelotes wroteat once to the War Department, but received little satisfaction. TheDepartment would inform him as soon as it obtained the information. Thename of Sergeant Albert Speranza had been cabled as one of a list offatalities, that was all. 

"And to think, " as Rachel Ellis put it, "that we never knew that he'dbeen made a sergeant until after he was gone. He never had time to writeit, I expect likely, poor boy. "

The first bit of additional information was furnished by the press. Acorrespondent of one of the Boston dailies sent a brief dispatch to hispaper describing the fighting at a certain point on the Allied front. Asmall detachment of American troops had taken part, with the French, in an attack on a village held by the enemy. The enthusiastic reporterdeclared it to be one of the smartest little actions in which oursoldiers had so far taken part and was eloquent concerning the braveryand dash of his fellow countrymen. "They proved themselves, " he wenton, "and French officers with whom I have talked are enthusiastic. Ourlosses, considering the number engaged, are said to be heavy. Amongthose reported as killed is Sergeant Albert Speranza, a Massachusettsboy whom American readers will remember as a writer of poetry andmagazine fiction. Sergeant Speranza is said to have led his companyin the capture of the village and to have acted with distinguishedbravery. " The editor of the Boston paper who first read this dispatchturned to his associate at the next desk. 

"Speranza? . . . Speranza?" he said aloud. "Say, Jim, wasn't it AlbertSperanza who wrote that corking poem we published after the Lusitaniawas sunk?"

Jim looked up. "Yes, " he said. "He has written a lot of pretty goodstuff since, too. Why?"

"He's just been killed in action over there, so Conway says in thisdispatch. "

"So? . . . Humph! . . . Any particulars?"

"Not yet. 'Distinguished bravery, ' according to Conway. Couldn't we havesomething done in the way of a Sunday special? He was a Massachusettsfellow. "

"We might. We haven't a photograph, have we? If we haven't, perhaps wecan get one. "

The photograph was obtained--bribery and corruption of the Orhamphotographer--and, accompanied by a reprint of the Lusitania poem, appeared in the "Magazine Section" of the Sunday newspaper. With thesealso appeared a short notice of the young poet's death in the service ofhis country. 

That was the beginning. At the middle of that week Conway sent anotherdispatch. The editor who received it took it into the office of theSunday editor. 

"Say, " he said, "here are more particulars about that young chapSperanza, the one we printed the special about last Sunday. He must havebeen a corker. When his lieutenant was put out of business by a shrapnelthis Speranza chap rallied the men and jammed 'em through the Huns likea hot knife through butter. Killed the German officer and took threeprisoners all by himself. Carried his wounded lieutenant to the rearon his shoulders, too. Then he went back into the ruins to get anotherwounded man and was blown to slivers by a hand grenade. He's been citedin orders and will probably be decorated by the French--that is, his memory will be. Pretty good for a poet, I'd say. No 'lilies andlanguors' about that, eh?"

The Sunday editor nodded approval. 

"Great stuff!" he exclaimed. "Let me have that dispatch, will you, whenyou've finished. I've just discovered that this young Speranza's fatherwas Speranza, the opera baritone. You remember him? And his mother wasthe daughter of a Cape Cod sea captain. How's that? Spain, Cape Cod, opera, poetry and the Croix de Guerre. And have you looked at the youngfellow's photograph? Combination of Adonis and 'Romeo, where art thou. 'I've had no less than twenty letters about him and his poetry already. Next Sunday we'll have a special 'as is. ' Where can I get hold of a lotof his poems?"

The "special as was" occupied an entire page. A reporter had visitedSouth Harniss and had taken photographs of the Snow place and some ofits occupants. Captain Zelotes had refused to pose, but there was aview of the building and yards of "Z. Snow and Co. " with the picturesquefigure of Mr. Issachar Price tastefully draped against a pile of boardsin the right foreground. Issy had been a find for the reporter; hesupplied the latter with every fact concerning Albert which he couldremember and some that he invented on the spur of the moment. Accordingto Issy, Albert was "a fine, fust-class young feller. Him and me waslike brothers, as you might say. When he got into trouble, or wasundecided or anything, he'd come to me for advice and I always gave itto him. Land, yes! I always give to Albert. No matter how busy I was Ialways stopped work to help HIM out. " The reporter added that Mr. Pricestopped work even while speaking of it. 

The special attracted the notice of other newspaper editors. Thisskirmish in which Albert had taken so gallant part was among the firstin which our soldiers had participated. So the story was copied andrecopied. The tale of the death of the young poet, the "happy warrior, "as some writer called him, was spread from the Atlantic to the Pacificand from Canada to the Gulf. And just at this psychological moment theNew York publisher brought out the long deferred volume. The Lances ofDawn, Being the Collected Poems of Albert M. C. Speranza, such was itstitle. 

Meanwhile, or, rather, within the week when the Lances of Dawn flashedupon the public, Captain Zelotes received a letter from the captain ofAlbert's regiment in France. It was not a long letter, for the captainwas a busy man, but it was the kindly, sympathetic letter of one whowas, literally, that well-advertised combination, an officer and agentleman. It told of Albert's promotion to the rank of sergeant, "apromotion which, had the boy been spared, would, I am sure, have beenthe forerunner of others. " It told of that last fight, the struggle forthe village, of Sergeant Speranza's coolness and daring and of his rushback into the throat of death to save a wounded comrade. 

The men tell me they tried to stop him (wrote the captain). He washimself slightly wounded, he had just brought Lieutenant Stacey backto safety and the enemy at that moment was again advancing through thevillage. But he insisted upon going. The man he was trying to rescue wasa private in his company and the pair were great friends. So he startedback alone, although several followed him a moment later. They saw himenter the ruined cottage where his friend lay. Then a party of theenemy appeared at the corner and flung grenades. The entire side of thecottage which he had just entered was blown in and the Germans passed onover it, causing our men to fall back temporarily. We retook the placewithin half an hour. Private Kelly's body--it was Private Kelly whomSergeant Speranza was attempting to rescue--was found and another, badlydisfigured, which was at first supposed to be that of your grandson. Butthis body was subsequently identified as that of a private named Hamlinwho was killed when the enemy first charged. Sergeant Speranza's bodyis still missing, but is thought to be buried beneath the ruins of thecottage. These ruins were subsequently blown into further chaos by ahigh explosive shell. 

Then followed more expressions of regret and sympathy and confirmationof the report concerning citation and the war cross. Captain Lote readthe letter at first alone in his private office. Then he brought ithome and gave it to his wife to read. Afterward he read it aloud to Mrs. Ellis and to Laban, who was making his usual call in the Snow kitchen. 

When the reading was ended Labe was the first to speak. His eyes wereshining. 

"Godfreys!" he exclaimed. "Godfreys, Cap'n Lote!"

The captain seemed to understand. 

"You're right, Labe, " he said. "The boy's made us proud of him. . . . Prouder than some of us are of ourselves, I cal'late, " he added, risingand moving toward the door. 

"Sho, sho, Cap'n, you mustn't feel that way. No, no. "

"Humph! . . . Labe, I presume likely if I was a pious man, one of theold-fashioned kind of pious, and believed the Almighty went out of hisway to get square with any human bein' that made a mistake or didn't dothe right thing--if I believed that I might figger all this was a sortof special judgment on me for my prejudices, eh?"

Mr. Keeler was much disturbed. 

"Nonsense, nonsense, Cap'n Lote!" he protested. "You ain't fair toyourself. You never treated Al anyhow but just honest and fair andsquare. If he was here now instead of layin' dead over there in France, poor feller, he'd say so, too. Yes, he would. Course he would. "

The captain made no reply, but walked from the room. Laban turned toMrs. Ellis. 

"The old man broods over that, " he said. "I wish. . . . Eh? What's thematter, Rachel? What are you lookin' at me like that for?"

The housekeeper was leaning forward in her chair, her cheeks flushed andher hands clenched. 

"How do you know he's dead?" she asked, in a mysterious whisper. 

"Eh? How do I know who's dead?"

"Albert. How do you know he's dead?"

Laban stared at her. 

"How do I know he's DEAD!" he repeated. "How do I know--"

"Yes, yes, yes, " impatiently; "that's what I said. Don't run it overthree or four times more. How do you know Albert's dead?"

"Why, Rachel, what kind of talk's that? I know he's dead because thenewspapers say so, and the War Department folks say so, and this cap'nman in France that was right there at the time, HE says so. All handssay so--yes, yes. So don't--"

"Sh! I don't care if they all say so ten times over. How do they KNOW?They ain't found him dead, have they? The report from the War Departmentfolks was sent when they thought that other body was Albert's. Now theyknow that wasn't him. Where is he?"

"Why, under the ruins of that cottage. 'Twas all blown to pieces andmost likely--"

"Um-hm. There you are! 'Most likely!' Well, I ain't satisfied with mostlikelys. I want to KNOW. "

"But--but--"

"Laban Keeler, until they find his body I shan't believe Albert's dead. "

"But, Rachel, you mustn't try to deceive yourself that way. Don't yousee--"

"No, I don't see. Labe, when Robert Penfold was lost and gone for allthem months all hands thought he was dead, didn't they? But he wasn't;he was on that island lost in the middle of all creation. What's tohinder Albert bein' took prisoner by those Germans? They came back tothat cottage place after Albert was left there, the cap'n says so inthat letter Cap'n Lote just read. What's to hinder their carryin' Al offwith 'em? Eh? What's to hinder?"

"Why--why, nothin', I suppose, in one way. But nine chances out often--"

"That leaves one chance, don't it. I ain't goin' to give up that chancefor--for my boy. I--I--Oh, Labe, I did think SO much of him. "

"I know, Rachel, I know. Don't cry any more than you can help. And ifit helps you any to make believe--I mean to keep on hopin' he's alivesomewheres--why, do it. It won't do any harm, I suppose. Only I wouldn'thint such a thing to Cap'n Lote or Olive. "

"Of course not, " indignantly. "I ain't quite a fool, I hope. . . . And Ipresume likely you're right, Laban. The poor boy is dead, probably. ButI--I'm goin' to hope he isn't, anyhow, just to get what comfort I canfrom it. And Robert Penfold did come back, you know. "

For some time Laban found himself, against all reason, asking the veryquestion Rachel had asked: Did they actually KNOW that Albert was dead?But as the months passed and no news came he ceased to ask it. Wheneverhe mentioned the subject to the housekeeper her invariable reply was:"But they haven't found his body, have they?" She would not give upthat tenth chance. As she seemed to find some comfort in it he did notattempt to convince her of its futility. 

And, meanwhile The Lances of Dawn, Being the Collected Poems ofAlbert M. C. Speranza was making a mild sensation. The critics weresurprisingly kind to it. The story of the young author's recent andromantic death, of his gallantry, his handsome features displayed innewspapers everywhere, all these helped toward the generous welcomeaccorded the little volume. If the verses were not inspired--why, theywere at least entertaining and pleasant. And youth, high-hearted youthsang on every page. So the reviewers were kind and forbearing to thepoems themselves, and, for the sake of the dead soldier-poet, were oftenenthusiastic. The book sold, for a volume of poems it sold very wellindeed. 

At the Snow place in South Harniss pride and tears mingled. Olive readthe verses over and over again, and wept as she read. Rachel Ellislearned many of them by heart, but she, too, wept as she recited them toherself or to Laban. In the little bookkeeper's room above Simond's shoestore The Lances of Dawn lay under the lamp upon the center table asbefore a shrine. Captain Zelotes read the verses. Also he read allthe newspaper notices which, sent to the family by Helen Kendall, were promptly held before his eyes by Olive and Rachel. He read thepublisher's advertisements, he read the reviews. And the more he readthe more puzzled and bewildered he became. 

"I can't understand it, Laban, " he confided in deep distress to Mr. Keeler. "I give in I don't know anything at all about this. I'm cleanoff soundin's. If all this newspaper stuff is so Albert was rightall the time and I was plumb wrong. Here's this feller, " picking up aclipping from the desk, "callin' him a genius and 'a gifted youth' andthe land knows what. And every day or so I get a letter from somebody Inever heard of tellin' me what a comfort to 'em those poetry pieces ofhis are. I don't understand it, Labe. It worries me. If all this is truethen--then I was all wrong. I tried to keep him from makin' up poetry, Labe--TRIED to, I did. If what these folks say is so somethin' oughtto be done to me. I--I--by thunder, I don't know's I hadn't ought to behung! . . . And yet--and yet, I did what I thought was right and didit for the boy's sake . . . And--and even now I--I ain't sartin I waswrong. But if I wasn't wrong then this is . . . Oh, I don't know, Idon't know!"

And not only in South Harniss were there changes of heart. In New YorkCity and at Greenwich where Mrs. Fosdick was more than ever busy withwar work, there were changes. When the newspaper accounts of youngSperanza's heroic death were first published the lady paid littleattention to them. Her daughter needed all her care just then--all thecare, that is, which she could spare from her duties as president ofthis society and corresponding secretary of that. If her feelings uponhearing the news could have been analyzed it is probable that theirlarger proportion would have been a huge sense of relief. THAT problemwas solved, at all events. She was sorry for poor Madeline, of course, but the dear child was but a child and would recover. 

But as with more and more intensity the limelight of publicity wasturned upon Albert Speranza's life and death and writing, the wife ofthe Honorable Fletcher Fosdick could not but be impressed. As head ofseveral so-called literary societies, societies rather neglected sincethe outbreak of hostilities, she had made it her business to huntliterary lions. Recently it was true that military lions--MajorVermicelli of the Roumanian light cavalry, or Private Drinkwater of theTank Corps--were more in demand than Tagores, but, as Mrs. Fosdick readof Sergeant Speranza's perils and poems, it could not help occurring toher that here was a lion both literary and martial. Decidedly she hadnot approved of her daughter's engagement to that lion, but now the saidlion was dead, which rendered him a perfectly harmless yet not theless fascinating animal. And then appeared The Lances of Dawn and Mrs. Fosdick's friends among the elect began to read and talk about it. 

It was then that the change came. Those friends, one by one, individualsjudiciously chosen, were told in strict confidence of poor Madeline'sromantic love affair and its tragic ending. These individuals, chosenjudiciously as has been stated, whispered, also in strict confidence, the tale to other friends and acquaintances. Mrs. Fosdick began toreceive condolences on her daughter's account and on her own. Soon shebegan to speak publicly of "My poor, dear daughter's dead fiance. Such aloss to American literature. Sheer genius. Have you read the article inthe Timepiece? Madeline, poor girl, is heartbroken, naturally, but veryproud, even in the midst of her grief. So are we all, I assure you. "

She quoted liberally from The Lances of Dawn. A copy specially bound, lay upon her library table. Albert's photograph in uniform, obtainedfrom the Snows by Mr. Fosdick, who wrote for it at his wife's request, stood beside it. To callers and sister war workers Mrs. Fosdick gavedetails of the hero's genius, his bravery, his devotion to her daughter. It was all so romantic and pleasantly self-advertising--and perfectlysafe. 

Summer came again, the summer of 1918. The newspapers now were gravelypersonal reading to millions of Americans. Our new army was tryingits metal on the French front and with the British against the vauntedHindenburg Line. The transports were carrying thousands on every trip tojoin those already "over there. " In South Harniss and in Greenwich andNew York, as in every town and city, the ordinary summer vacations andplaytime occupations were forgotten or neglected and war charities andwar labors took their place. Other soldiers than Sergeant Speranza werethe newspaper heroes now, other books than The Lances of Dawn talkedabout. 

As on the previous summer the new Fosdick cottage was not occupied byits owners. Mrs. Fosdick was absorbed by her multitudinous war dutiesand her husband was at Washington giving his counsel and labor tothe cause. Captain Zelotes bought to his last spare dollar of eachsuccessive issue of Liberty Bonds, and gave that dollar to the Red Crossor the Y. M. C. A. ; Laban and Rachel did likewise. Even Issachar Pricebought Thrift Stamps and exhibited them to anyone who would stop longenough to look. 

"By crimus, " declared Issy, "I'm makin' myself poor helpin' out thegov'ment, but let 'er go and darn the Kaiser, that's my motto. But theyain't all like me. I was down to the drug store yesterday and oldman Burgess had the cheek to tell me I owed him for some cigars Ibought--er--last fall, seems to me 'twas. I turned right around andlooked at him--'I've got my opinion, ' says I, 'of a man that thinks ofcigars and such luxuries when the country needs every cent. What haveyou got that gov'ment poster stuck up on your wall for?' says I. 'Readit, ' I says. 'It says' '"Save! Save! Save!"' don't it? All right. That'swhat I'M doin'. I AM savin'. ' Then when he was thinkin' of somethin' toanswer back I walked right out and left him. Yes sir, by crimustee, Ileft him right where he stood!"

August came; September--the Hindenburg Line was broken. Each day thetriumphant headlines in the papers were big and black and also, alas, the casualty lists on the inside pages long and longer. Then October. The armistice was signed. It was the end. The Allied world went wild, cheered, danced, celebrated. Then it sat back, thinking, thanking God, solemnly trying to realize that the killing days, the frightful days ofwaiting and awful anxiety, were over. 

And early in November another telegram came to the office of Z. Snow andCo. This time it came, not from the War Department direct, but from theBoston headquarters of the American Red Cross. 

And this time, just as on the day when the other fateful telegram came, Laban Keeler was the first of the office regulars to learn its contents. Ben Kelley himself brought this message, just as he had brought thattelling of Albert Speranza's death. And the usually stolid Ben wasgreatly excited. He strode straight from the door to the bookkeeper'sdesk. 

"Is the old man in, Labe?" he whispered, jerking his head toward theprivate office, the door of which happened to be shut. 

Laban looked at him over his spectacles. "Cap'n Lote, you mean?" heasked. "Yes, he's in. But he don't want to be disturbed--no, no. Goin'to write a couple of important letters, he said. Important ones. . . . Um-hm. What is it, Ben? Anything I can do for you?"

Kelley did not answer that question. Instead he took a telegram from hispocket. 

"Read it, Labe, " he whispered. "Read it. It's the darndestnews--the--the darnedest good news ever you heard in your life. It don'tseem as if it could he, but, by time, I guess 'tis. Anyhow, it's fromthe Red Cross folks and they'd ought to know. "

Laban stared at the telegram. It was not in the usual envelope; Kelleyhad been too anxious to bring it to its destination to bother with anenvelope. 

"Read it, " commanded the operator again. "See if you think Cap'n Loteought to have it broke easy to him or--or what? Read it, I tell you. Lord sakes, it's no secret! I hollered it right out loud when it come inover the wire and the gang at the depot heard it. They know it and it'llbe all over town in ten minutes. READ IT. "

Keeler read the telegram. His florid cheeks turned pale. 

"Good Lord above!" he exclaimed, under his breath. 

"Eh? I bet you! Shall I take it to the cap'n? Eh? What do you think?"

"Wait. . . . Wait . . . I--I--My soul! My soul! Why . . . It's--it'strue. . . . And Rachel always said . . . Why, she was right . . . I . . . "

From without came the sound of running feet and a series of yells. 

"Labe! Labe!" shrieked Issy. "Oh, my crimus! . . . Labe!"

He burst into the office, his eyes and mouth wide open and his handswaving wildly. 

"Labe! Labe!" he shouted again. "Have you heard it? Have you? It's true, too. He's alive! He's alive! He's alive!"

Laban sprang from his stool. "Shut up, Is!" he commanded. "Shut up! Holdon! Don't--"

"But he's alive, I tell you! He ain't dead! He ain't never been dead!Oh, my crimus! . . . Hey, Cap'n Lote! HE'S ALIVE!"

Captain Zelotes was standing in the doorway of the private office. Thenoise had aroused him from his letter writing. 

"Who's alive? What's the matter with you this time, Is?" he demanded. 

"Shut up, Issy, " ordered Laban, seizing the frantic Mr. Price by thecollar. "Be still! Wait a minute. "

"Be still? What do I want to be still for? I cal'late Cap'n Lote'llholler some, too, when he hears. He's alive, Cap'n Lote, I tell ye. Letgo of me, Labe Keeler! He's alive!"

"Who's alive? What is it? Labe, YOU answer me. Who's alive?"

Laban's thoughts were still in a whirl. He was still shaking from thenews the telegraph operator had brought. Rachel Ellis was at that momentin his mind and he answered as she might have done. 

"Er--er--Robert Penfold, " he said. 

"Robert PENFOLD! What--"

Issachar could hold in no longer. 

"Robert Penfold nawthin'!" he shouted. "Who in thunder's he? 'Tain'tRobert Penfold nor Robert Penholder neither. It's Al Speranza, that'swho 'tis. He ain't killed, Cap'n Lote. He's alive and he's been aliveall the time. "

Kelley stepped forward. 

"Looks as if 'twas so, Cap'n Snow, " he said. "Here's the telegram fromthe Red Cross. "

CHAPTER XV

There was nothing miraculous about it. That is to say, it was no more ofa miracle than hundreds of similar cases in the World War. The papers ofthose years were constantly printing stories of men over whose supposedgraves funeral sermons had been preached, to whose heirs insurancepayments had been made, in whose memory grateful communities had madespeeches and delivered eulogiums--the papers were telling of instanceafter instance of those men being discovered alive and in the flesh, ascasuals in some French hospital or as inmates of German prison camps. 

Rachel Ellis had asked what was to hinder Albert's having been takenprisoner by the Germans and carried off by them. As a matter of factnothing had hindered and that was exactly what had happened. SergeantSperanza, wounded by machine gun fire and again by the explosion of thegrenade, was found in the ruins of the cottage when the detachment ofthe enemy captured it. He was conscious and able to speak, so insteadof being bayonetted was carried to the rear where he might be questionedconcerning the American forces. The questioning was most unsatisfactoryto the Prussian officers who conducted it. Albert fainted, recoveredconsciousness and fainted again. So at last the Yankee swine was leftto die or get well and his Prussian interrogators went about otherbusiness, the business of escaping capture themselves. But when theyretreated the few prisoners, mostly wounded men, were taken with them. 

Albert's recollections of the next few days were hazy and very doubtful. Pain, pain and more pain. Hours and hours--they seemed like years--ofjolting over rough roads. Pawing-over by a fat, bearded surgeon, whomay not have been intentionally brutal, but quite as likely may. A greatdesire to die, punctuated by occasional feeble spurts of wishing tolive. Then more surgical man-handling, more jolting--in freight carsthis time--a slow, miserable recovery, nurses who hated their patientsand treated them as if they did, then, a prison camp, a German prisoncamp. Then horrors and starvation and brutality lasting many months. Then fever. 

He was wandering in that misty land between this world and thenext when, the armistice having been signed, an American Red Crossrepresentative found him. In the interval between fits of deliriumhe told this man his name and regiment and, later, the name of hisgrandparents. When it seemed sure that he was to recover the Red Crossrepresentative cabled the facts to this country. And, still later, thosefacts, or the all-important fact that Sergeant Albert M. C. Speranza wasnot dead but alive, came by telegraph to Captain Zelotes Snow of SouthHarniss. And, two months after that, Captain Zelotes himself, standingon the wharf in Boston and peering up at a crowded deck above him, sawthe face of his grandson, that face which he had never expected to seeagain, looking eagerly down upon him. 

A few more weeks and it was over. The brief interval of camp life andthe mustering out were things of the past. Captain Lote and Albert, seated in the train, were on their way down the Cape, bound home. Home!The word had a significance now which it never had before. Home!

Albert drew a long breath. "By George!" he exclaimed. "By George, Grandfather, this looks good to me!"

It might not have looked as good to another person. It was raining, thelong stretches of salt marsh were windswept and brown and bleak. In thedistance Cape Cod Bay showed gray and white against a leaden sky. Thedrops ran down the dingy car windows. 

Captain Zelotes understood, however. He nodded. 

"It used to look good to me when I was bound home after a v'yage, " heobserved. "Well, son, I cal'late your grandma and Rachel are up to thedepot by this time waitin' for you. We ain't due for pretty nigh an houryet, but I'd be willin' to bet they're there. "

Albert smiled. "My, I do want to see them!" he said. 

"Shouldn't wonder a mite if they wanted to see you, boy. Well, I'm kindof glad I shooed that reception committee out of the way. I presumedlikely you'd rather have your first day home to yourself--and us. "

"I should say so! Newspaper reporters are a lot of mighty good fellows, but I hope I never see another one. . . . That's rather ungrateful, Iknow, " he added, with a smile, "but I mean it--just now. "

He had some excuse for meaning it. The death of Albert Speranza, poetand warrior, had made a newspaper sensation. His resurrection and returnfurnished material for another. Captain Zelotes was not the only personto meet the transport at the pier; a delegation of reporters was therealso. Photographs of Sergeant Speranza appeared once more in print. Thistime, however, they were snapshots showing him in uniform, likenessesof a still handsome, but less boyish young man, thinner, a scar uponhis right cheek, and the look in his eyes more serious, and infinitelyolder, the look of one who had borne much and seen more. The reportersfound it difficult to get a story from the returned hero. He seemed toshun the limelight and to be almost unduly modest and retiring, whichwas of itself, had they but known it, a transformation sufficientlymarvelous to have warranted a special "Sunday special. "

"Will not talk about himself, " so one writer headed his article. GertieKendrick, with a brand-new ring upon her engagement finger, sniffed asshe read that headline to Sam Thatcher, who had purchased the ring. "AlSperanza won't talk about himself!" exclaimed Gertie. "Well, it's theFIRST time, then. No wonder they put it in the paper. "

But Albert would not talk, claiming that he had done nothing worthtalking about, except to get himself taken prisoner in almost his firstengagement. "Go and ask some of the other fellows aboard here, " heurged. "They have been all through it. " As he would not talk thenewspaper men were obliged to talk for him, which they did by describinghis appearance and his manner, and by rehashing the story of the fightin the French village. Also, of course, they republished some of hisverses. The Lances of Dawn appeared in a special edition in honor of itsauthor's reappearance on this earth. 

"Yes sir, " continued Captain Zelotes, "the reception committee wasconsider'ble disappointed. They'd have met you with the Orham band ifthey'd had their way. I told 'em you'd heard all the band music youwanted in camp, I guessed likely, and you'd rather come home quiet. There was goin' to be some speeches, too, but I had them put off. "

"Thanks, Grandfather. "

"Um-hm. I had a notion you wouldn't hanker for speeches. If you doIssy'll make one for you 'most any time. Ever since you got into thepapers Issy's been swellin' up like a hot pop-over with pride becauseyou and he was what he calls chummies. All last summer Issachar spenthis evenin's hangin' around the hotel waitin' for the next boarder tomention your name. Sure as one did Is was ready for him. 'Know him?'he'd sing out. 'Did I know Al Speranza? ME? Well, now say!--' And so on, long as the feller would listen. I asked him once if he ever told any of'em how you ducked him with the bucket of water. He didn't think I knewabout that and it kind of surprised him, I judged. "

Albert smiled. "Laban told you about it, I suppose, " he said. "What akid trick that was, wasn't it?"

The captain turned his head and regarded him for an instant. The oldtwinkle was in his eye when he spoke. 

"Wouldn't do a thing like that now, Al, I presume likely?" he said. "Feel a good deal older now, eh?"

Albert's answer was seriously given. 

"Sometimes I feel at least a hundred and fifty, " he replied. 

"Humph! . . . Well, I wouldn't feel like that. If you're a hundred andfifty I must be a little older than Methuselah was in his last years. I'm feelin' younger to-day, younger than I have for quite a spell. Yes, for quite a spell. "

His grandson put a hand on his knee. "Good for you, Grandfather, " hesaid. "Now tell me more about Labe. Do you know I think the old chap'ssticking by his pledge is the bulliest thing I've heard since I've beenhome. "

So they talked of Laban and of Rachel and of South Harniss happeningsuntil the train drew up at the platform of that station. And upon thatplatform stepped Albert to feel his grandmother's arms about him and hervoice, tremulous with happiness, at his ear. And behind her loomed Mrs. Ellis, her ample face a combination of smiles and tears, "all sunshineand fair weather down below but rainin' steady up aloft, " as CaptainLote described it afterwards. And behind her, like a foothill inthe shadow of a mountain, was Laban. And behind Laban--No, that is amistake--in front of Laban and beside Laban and in front of and besideeveryone else when opportunity presented was Issachar. And Issachar'sexpression and bearings were wonderful to see. A stranger, and therewere several strangers amid the group at the station, might have gainedthe impression that Mr. Price, with of course a very little help fromthe Almighty, was responsible for everything. 

"Why, Issy!" exclaimed Albert, when they shook hands. "You're here, too, eh?"

Mr. Price's already protuberant chest swelled still further. His replyhad the calmness of finality. 

"Yes, sir, " said Issy, "I'm here. 'Who's goin' to look out for Z. Snowand Co. If all hands walks out and leaves 'em?' Labe says. 'I don'tknow, ' says I, 'and I don't care. I'm goin' to that depot to meet AlSperanzy and if Z. Snow and Co. Goes to pot while I'm gone I can't helpit. I have sacrificed, ' I says, 'and I stand ready to sacrifice prettynigh everything for my business, but there's limits and this is one of'em. I'm goin' acrost to that depot to meet him, ' says I, 'and don't youtry to stop me, Labe Keeler. '"

"Great stuff, Is!" said Albert, with a laugh. "What did Labe say tothat?"

"What was there for him to say? He could see I meant it. Course he hoveout some of his cheap talk, but it didn't amount to nothin'. Asked if Iwan't goin' to put up a sign sayin' when I'd be back, so's to ease thecustomers' minds. 'I don't know when I'll be back, ' I says. 'All right, 'says he, 'put that on the sign. That'll ease 'em still more. ' Just cheaptalk 'twas. He thinks he's funny, but I don't pay no attention to him. "

Others came to shake hands and voice a welcome. The formal reception, that with the band, had been called off at Captain Zelotes's request, but the informal one was, in spite of the rain, which was now much lessheavy, quite a sizable gathering. 

The Reverend Mr. Kendall held his hand for a long time and talked much, it seemed to Albert that he had aged greatly since they last met. Hewandered a bit in his remarks and repeated himself several times. 

"The poor old gentleman's failin' a good deal, Albert, " said Mrs. Snow, as they drove home together, he and his grandparents, three on theseat of the buggy behind Jessamine. "His sermons are pretty tiresomenowadays, but we put up with 'em because he's been with us so long. . . . Ain't you squeezed 'most to death, Albert? You two big men and me allmashed together on this narrow seat. It's lucky I'm small. Zelotes oughtto get a two-seated carriage, but he won't. "

"Next thing I get, Mother, " observed the captain, "will be anautomobile. I'll stick to the old mare here as long as she's able tonavigate, but when she has to be hauled out of commission I'm goin'to buy a car. I believe I'm pretty nigh the last man in this countyto drive a horse, as 'tis. Makes me feel like what Sol Dadgett callsa cracked teapot--a 'genuine antique. ' One of these city women will becollectin' me some of these days. Better look out, mother. "

Olive sighed happily. "It does me good to hear you joke again, Zelotes, " she said. "He didn't joke much, Albert, while--when we thoughtyou--you--"

Albert interrupted in time to prevent the threatened shower. 

"So Mr. Kendall is not well, " he said. "I'm very sorry to hear it. "

"Of course you would be. You and he used to be so friendly when Helenwas home. Oh, speakin' of Helen, she IS comin' home in a fortni't orthree weeks, so I hear. She's goin' to give up her teachin' and comeback to be company for her father. I suppose she realizes he needs her, but it must be a big sacrifice for her, givin' up the good positionshe's got now. She's such a smart girl and such a nice one. Why, shecame to see us after the news came--the bad news--and she was so kindand so good. I don't know what we should have done without her. Zelotessays so too, don't you, Zelotes?"

Her husband did not answer. Instead he said: "Well, there's home, Al. Rachel's there ahead of us and dinner's on the way, judgin' by the smokefrom the kitchen chimney. How does the old place look to you, boy?"

Albert merely shook his head and drew a long breath, but hisgrandparents seemed to be quite satisfied. 

There were letters and telegrams awaiting him on the table in thesitting-room. Two of the letters were postmarked from a town on theFlorida coast. The telegram also was from that same town. 

"_I_ had one of those things, " observed Captain Zelotes, alluding tothe telegram. "Fosdick sent me one of those long ones, night-lettersI believe they call 'em. He wants me to tell you that Mrs. Fosdick isbetter and that they cal'late to be in New York before very long andshall expect you there. Of course you knew that, Al, but I presumelikely the main idea of the telegram was to help say, 'Welcome home' toyou, that's all. "

Albert nodded. Madeline and her mother had been in Florida all winter. Mrs. Fosdick's health was not good. She declared that her nerves hadgiven way under her frightful responsibilities during the war. Therewas, although it seems almost sacrilege to make such a statement, acertain similarity between Mrs. Fletcher Fosdick and Issachar Price. Thetelegram was, as his grandfather surmised, an expression of welcome andof regret that the senders could not be there to share in the reception. The two letters which accompanied it he put in his pocket to read lateron, when alone. Somehow he felt that the first hours in the oldhouse belonged exclusively to his grandparents. Everything else, evenMadeline's letters, must take second place for that period. 

Dinner was, to say the least, an ample meal. Rachel and Olive had, asCaptain Lote said, "laid themselves out" on that dinner. It began welland continued well and ended best of all, for the dessert was one ofwhich Albert was especially fond. They kept pressing him to eat untilLaban, who was an invited guest, was moved to comment. 

"Humph!" observed Mr. Keeler. "I knew 'twas the reg'lar program tokill the fatted calf when the prodigal got home, but I see now it's theproper caper to fat up the prodigal to take the critter's place. No, no, Rachel, I'd like fust-rate to eat another bushel or so to please you, but somethin'--that still, small voice we're always readin' about, orsomethin'--seems to tell me 'twouldn't be good jedgment. . . . Um-hm. . . . 'Twouldn't be good jedgment. . . . Cal'late it's right, too. . . . Yes, yes, yes. "

"Now, Cap'n Lote, " he added, as they rose from the table, "you stayright to home here for the rest of the day. I'll hustle back to theoffice and see if Issy's importance has bust his b'iler for him. So-long, Al. See you pretty soon. Got some things to talk about, you andI have. . . . Yes, yes. "

Later, when Rachel was in the kitchen with the dishes, Olive left thesitting room and reappeared with triumph written large upon her face. Inone hand she held a mysterious envelope and in the other a book. Albertrecognized that book. It was his own, The Lances of Dawn. It wasno novelty to him. When first the outside world and he had reopenedcommunication, copies of that book had been sent him. His publisherhad sent them, Madeline had sent them, his grandparents had sent them, comrades had sent them, nurses and doctors and newspaper men had broughtthem. No, The Lances of Dawn was not a novelty to its author. But hewondered what was in the envelope. 

Mrs. Snow enlightened him. "You sit right down now, Albert, " she said. "Sit right down and listen because I've got somethin' to tell you. Yes, and somethin' to show you, too. Here! Stop now, Zelotes! You can't runaway. You've got to sit down and look on and listen, too. "

Captain Zelotes smiled resignedly. There was, or so it seemed to hisgrandson, an odd expression on his face. He looked pleased, but notaltogether pleased. However, he obeyed his wife's orders and sat. 

"Stop, look and listen, " he observed. "Mother, you sound like a railroadcrossin'. All right, here I am. Al, the society of 'What did I tell you'is goin' to have a meetin'. "

His wife nodded. "Well, " she said, triumphantly, "what DID I tell you?Wasn't I right?"

The captain pulled his beard and nodded. 

"Right as right could be, Mother, " he admitted. "Your figgers was afew hundred thousand out of the way, maybe, but barrin' that you wasperfectly right. "

"Well, I'm glad to hear you say so for once in your life. Albert, "holding up the envelope, "do you know what this is?"

Albert, much puzzled, admitted that he did not. His grandmother put downthe book, opened the envelope and took from it a slip of paper. 

"And can you guess what THIS is?" she asked. Albert could not guess. 

"It's a check, that's what it is. It's the first six months' royalties, that's what they call 'em, on that beautiful book of yours. And how muchdo you suppose 'tis?"

Albert shook his head. "Twenty-five dollars?" he suggested jokingly. 

"Twenty-five dollars! It's over twenty-five HUNDRED dollars. It'stwenty-eight hundred and forty-three dollars and sixty-five cents, that's what it is. Think of it! Almost three thousand dollars! AndZelotes prophesied that 'twouldn't be more than--"

Her husband held up his hand. "Sh-sh! Sh-sh, Mother, " he said. "Don'tget started on what I prophesied or we won't be through till doomsday. I'll give in right off that I'm the worst prophet since the feller thath'isted the 'Fair and Dry' signal the day afore Noah's flood begun. Yousee, " he explained, turning to Albert, "your grandma figgered out thatyou'd probably clear about half a million on that book of poetry, Al. Ical'lated 'twan't likely to be much more'n a couple of hundred thousand, so--"

"Why, Zelotes Snow! You said--"

"Yes, yes. So I did, Mother, so I did. You was right and I was wrong. Twenty-eight hundred ain't exactly a million, Al, but it's a darn sightmore than I ever cal'lated you'd make from that book. Or 'most anybodyelse ever made from any book, fur's that goes, " he added, with a shakeof the head. "I declare, I--I don't understand it yet. And a poetrybook, too! Who in time BUYS 'em all? Eh?"

Albert was looking at the check and the royalty statement. 

"So this is why I couldn't get any satisfaction from the publisher, " heobserved. "I wrote him two or three times about my royalties, and he putme off each time. I began to think there weren't any. "

Captain Zelotes smiled. "That's your grandma's doin's, " he observed. "The check came to us a good while ago, when we thought youwas--was--well, when we thought--"

"Yes. Surely, I understand, " put in Albert, to help him out. 

"Yes. That's when 'twas. And Mother, she was so proud of it, becauseyou'd earned it, Al, that she kept it and kept it, showin' it to allhands and--and so on. And then when we found out you wasn't--that you'dbe home some time or other--why, then she wouldn't let me put it in thebank for you because she wanted to give it to you herself. That's whatshe said was the reason. I presume likely the real one was thatshe wanted to flap it in my face every time she crowed over my badprophesyin', which was about three times a day and four on Sundays. "

"Zelotes Snow, the idea!"

"All right, Mother, all right. Anyhow, she got me to write yourpublisher man and ask him not to give you any satisfaction about thoseroyalties, so's she could be the fust one to paralyze you with 'em. And, " with a frank outburst, "if you ain't paralyzed, Al, I own up that_I_ am. Three thousand poetry profits beats me. _I_ don't understandit. "

His wife sniffed. "Of course you don't, " she declared. "But Albert does. And so do I, only I think it ought to have been ever and ever so muchmore. Don't you, yourself, Albert?"

The author of The Lances of Dawn was still looking at the statement ofits earnings. 

"Approximately eighteen thousand sold at fifteen cents royalty, " heobserved. "Humph! Well, I'll be hanged!"

"But you said it would be twenty-five cents, not fifteen, " protestedOlive. "In your letter when the book was first talked about you saidso. "

Albert smiled. "Did I?" he observed. "Well, I said a good many thingsin those days, I'm afraid. Fifteen cents for a first book, especially abook of verse, is fair enough, I guess. But eighteen thousand SOLD! Thatis what gets me. "

"You mean you think it ought to be a lot more. So do I, Albert, and sodoes Rachel. Why, we like it a lot better than we do David Harum. Thatwas a nice book, but it wasn't lovely poetry like yours. And DavidHarum sold a million. Why shouldn't yours sell as many? Only eighteenthousand--why are you lookin' at me so funny?"

Her grandson rose to his feet. "Let's let well enough alone, Grandmother, " he said. "Eighteen thousand will do, thank you. I'm likeGrandfather, I'm wondering who on earth bought them. "

Mrs. Snow was surprised and a little troubled. 

"Why, Albert, " she said, "you act kind of--kind of queer, seems to me. You talk as if your poetry wasn't beautiful. You know it is. You used tosay it was, yourself. "

He interrupted her. "Did I, Grandmother?" he said. "All right, then, probably I did. Let's walk about the old place a little. I want to seeit all. By George, I've been dreaming about it long enough!"

There were callers that afternoon, friends among the townsfolk, and morestill after supper. It was late--late for South Harniss, that is--whenAlbert, standing in the doorway of the bedroom he nor they had everexpected he would occupy again, bade his grandparents good night. Olivekissed him again and again and, speech failing her, hastened away downthe hall. Captain Zelotes shook his hand, opened his mouth to speak, shut it again, repeated both operations, and at last with a brief, "Well, good night, Al, " hurried after his wife. Albert closed the door, put his lamp upon the bureau, and sat down in the big rocker. 

In a way the night was similar to that upon which he had first enteredthat room. It had ceased raining, but the wind, as on that first night, was howling and whining about the eaves, the shutters rattled and theold house creaked and groaned rheumatically. It was not as cold ason that occasion, though by no means warm. He remembered how bare andcomfortless he had thought the room. Now it looked almost luxurious. Andhe had been homesick, or fancied himself in that condition. Comparedto the homesickness he had known during the past eighteen months thatyouthful seizure seemed contemptible and quite without excuse. He lookedabout the room again, looked long and lovingly. Then, with a sigh ofcontent, drew from his pocket the two letters which had lain upon thesitting-room table when he arrived, opened them and began to read. 

Madeline wrote, as always, vivaciously and at length. The maternalcensorship having been removed, she wrote exactly as she felt. She couldscarcely believe he was really going to be at home when he receivedthis, at home in dear, quaint, queer old South Harniss. Just think, she had not seen the place for ever and ever so long, not for over twoyears. How were all the funny, odd people who lived there all the time?Did he remember how he and she used to go to church every Sunday and sitthrough those dreadful, DREADFUL sermons by that prosy old ministerjust as an excuse for meeting each other afterward? She was SO sorry shecould not have been there to welcome her hero when he stepped from thetrain. If it hadn't been for Mother's poor nerves she surely would havebeen. He knew it, didn't he? Of course he did. But she should see himsoon "because Mother is planning already to come back to New York in afew weeks and then you are to run over immediately and make us a LONGvisit. And I shall be so PROUD of you. There are lots of Army fellowsdown here now, officers for the most part. So we dance and are verygay--that is, the other girls are; I, being an engaged young lady, amvery circumspect and demure, of course. Mother carries The Lances aboutwith her wherever she goes, to teas and such things, and reads aloudfrom it often. Captain Blanchard, he is one of the family's officerfriends, is crazy about your poetry, dear. He thinks it WONDERFUL. Youknow what _I_ think of it, don't you, and when I think that _I_ actuallyhelped you, or played at helping you write some of it!

"And I am WILD to see your war cross. Some of the officers here havethem--the crosses, I mean--but not many. Captain Blanchard has themilitary medal, and he is almost as modest about it as you are aboutyour decoration. I don't see how you CAN be so modest. If _I_ had aCroix de Guerre I should want EVERY ONE to know about it. At the teadance the other afternoon there was a British major who--"

And so on. The second letter was really a continuation of the first. Albert read them both and, after the reading was finished, sat for sometime in the rocking chair, quite regardless of the time and the cold, thinking. He took from his pocketbook a photograph, one which Madelinehad sent him months before, which had reached him while he lay in theFrench hospital after his removal from the German camp. He looked atthe pretty face in the photograph. She looked just as he remembered her, almost exactly as she had looked more than two years before, smiling, charming, carefree. She had not, apparently, grown older, those age-longmonths had not changed her. He rose and regarded his own reflection inthe mirror of the bureau. He was surprised, as he was constantly beingsurprised, to see that he, too, had not changed greatly in personalappearance. 

He walked about the room. His grandmother had told him that his room wasjust as he had left it. "I wouldn't change it, Albert, " she said, "even when we thought you--you wasn't comin' back. I couldn't touch it, somehow. I kept thinkin', 'Some day I will. Pretty soon I MUST. ' But Inever did, and now I'm so glad. "

He wandered back to the bureau and pulled open the upper drawers. Inthose drawers were so many things, things which he had kept there, either deliberately or because he was too indolent to destroy them. Olddance cards, invitations, and a bundle of photographs, snapshots. Heremoved the rubber band from the bundle and stood looking them over. Photographs of school fellows, of picnic groups, of girls. Sam Thatcher, Gertie Kendrick--and Helen Kendall. There were at least a dozen ofHelen. 

One in particular was very good. From that photograph the face ofHelen as he had known it four years before looked straight up intohis--clear-eyed, honest, a hint of humor and understanding andcommon-sense in the gaze and at the corners of the lips. He looked atthe photograph, and the photograph looked up at him. He had not seenher for so long a time. He wondered if the war had changed her as it hadchanged him. Somehow he hoped it had not. Change did not seem necessaryin her case. 

There had been no correspondence between them since her letter writtenwhen she heard of his enlistment. He had not replied to that becausehe knew Madeline would not wish him to do so. He wondered if she everthought of him now, if she remembered their adventure at High Pointlight. He had thought of her often enough. In those days and nights ofhorror in the prison camp and hospital he had found a little relief, alittle solace in lying with closed eyes and summoning back from memorythe things of home and the faces of home. And her face had been one ofthese. Her face and those of his grandparents and Rachel and Laban, andvisions of the old house and the rooms--they were the substantial thingsto cling to and he had clung to them. They WERE home. Madeline--ah! yes, he had longed for her and dreamed of her, God knew, but Madeline, ofcourse, was different. 

He snapped the rubber band once more about the bundle of photographs, closed the drawer and prepared for bed. 

For the two weeks following his return home he had a thoroughly goodtime. It was a tremendous comfort to get up when he pleased, to eat thethings he liked, to do much or little or nothing at his own sweet will. He walked a good deal, tramping along the beach in the blustering windand chilly sunshine and enjoying every breath of the clean salt air. Hethought much during those solitary walks, and at times, at home in theevenings, he would fall to musing and sit silent for long periods. Hisgrandmother was troubled. 

"Don't it seem to you, Zelotes, " she asked her husband, "as if Albertwas kind of discontented or unsatisfied these days? He's so--so sortof fidgety. Talks like the very mischief for ten minutes and then don'tspeak for half an hour. Sits still for a long stretch and then jumps upand starts off walkin' as if he was crazy. What makes him act so? He'skind of changed from what he used to be. Don't you think so?"

The captain patted her shoulder. "Don't worry, Mother, " he said. "Al'solder than he was and what he's been through has made him older still. As for the fidgety part of it, the settin' down and jumpin' up and allthat, that's the way they all act, so far as I can learn. Elisha Warren, over to South Denboro, tells me his nephew has been that way ever sincehe got back. Don't fret, Mother, Al will come round all right. "

"I didn't know but he might be anxious to see--to see her, you know. "

"Her? Oh, you mean the Fosdick girl. Well, he'll be goin' to see herpretty soon, I presume likely. They're due back in New York 'most anytime now, I believe. . . . Oh, hum! Why in time couldn't he--"

"Couldn't he what, Zelotes?"

"Oh, nothin', nothin'. "

The summons came only a day after this conversation. It came in the formof another letter from Madeline and one from Mrs. Fosdick. They were, sothe latter wrote, back once more in their city home, her nerves, thankHeaven, were quite strong again, and they were expecting him, Albert, tocome on at once. "We are all dying to see you, " wrote Mrs. Fosdick. "Andpoor, dear Madeline, of course, is counting the moments. "

"Stay as long as you feel like, Al, " said the captain, when told of theproposed visit. "It's the dull season at the office, anyhow, and Labeand I can get along first-rate, with Issy to superintend. Stay as longas you want to, only--"

"Only what, Grandfather?"

"Only don't want to stay too long. That is, don't fall in love with NewYork so hard that you forget there is such a place as South Harniss. "

Albert smiled. "I've been in places farther away than New York, " hesaid, "and I never forgot South Harniss. "

"Um-hm. . . . Well, I shouldn't be surprised if that was so. But you'llhave better company in New York than you did in some of those places. Give my regards to Fosdick. So-long, Al. "

CHAPTER XVI

The Fosdick car was at the Grand Central Station when the KnickerbockerLimited pulled in. And Madeline, a wonderfully furred and veiled andhatted Madeline, was waiting there behind the rail as he came up therunway from the train. It was amazing the fact that it was really she. It was more amazing still to kiss her there in public, to hold her handwithout fear that some one might see. To--

"Shall I take your bags, sir?"

It was the Fosdick footman who asked it. Albert started guiltily. Thenhe laughed, realizing that the hand-holding and the rest were no longercriminal offenses. He surrendered his luggage to the man. A few minuteslater he and Madeline were in the limousine, which was moving rapidlyup the Avenue. And Madeline was asking questions and he was answeringand--and still it was all a dream. It COULDN'T be real. 

It was even more like a dream when the limousine drew up before the doorof the Fosdick home and they entered that home together. For there wasMrs. Fosdick, as ever majestic, commanding, awe-inspiring, the same Mrs. Fosdick who had, in her letter to his grandfather, written him down adespicable, underhanded sneak, here was that same Mrs. Fosdick--but notat all the same. For this lady was smiling and gracious, welcoming himto her home, addressing him by his Christian name, treating him kindly, with almost motherly tenderness. Madeline's letters and Mrs. Fosdick'sown letters received during his convalescence abroad had prepared him, or so he had thought, for some such change. Now he realized that he hadnot been prepared at all. The reality was so much more revolutionarythan the anticipation that he simply could not believe it. 

But it was not so very wonderful if he had known all the facts and hadbeen in a frame of mind to calmly analyze them. Mrs. Fletcher Fosdickwas a seasoned veteran, a general who had planned and fought manyhard campaigns upon the political battlegrounds of women's clubs andsocieties of various sorts. From the majority of those campaigns she hademerged victorious, but her experiences in defeat had taught her thatthe next best thing to winning is to lose gracefully, because byso doing much which appears to be lost may be regained. For AlbertSperanza, bookkeeper and would-be poet of South Harniss, Cape Cod, she had had no use whatever as a prospective son-in-law. Even toward aliving Albert Speranza, hero and newspaper-made genius, she might havebeen cold. But when that hero and genius was, as she and every one elsesupposed, safely and satisfactorily dead and out of the way, she hadseized the opportunity to bask in the radiance of his memory. She hadtalked Albert Speranza and read Albert Speranza and boasted of AlbertSperanza's engagement to her daughter before the world. Now that thesaid Albert Speranza had been inconsiderate enough to "come aliveagain, " there was but one thing for her to do--that is, to make the bestof it. And when Mrs. Fletcher Fosdick made the best of anything she madethe very best. 

"It doesn't make any difference, " she told her husband, "whether hereally is a genius or whether he isn't. We have said he is and nowwe must keep on saying it. And if he can't earn his salt by hiswritings--which he probably can't--then you must fix it in some way sothat he can make-believe earn it by something else. He is engaged toMadeline, and we have told every one that he is, so he will have tomarry her; at least, I see no way to prevent it. "

"Humph!" grunted Fosdick. "And after that I'll have to support them, Isuppose. "

"Probably--unless you want your only child to starve. "

"Well, I must say, Henrietta--"

"You needn't, for there is nothing more TO say. We're in it and, whetherwe like it or not, we must make the best of it. To do anything nowexcept appear joyful about it would be to make ourselves perfectlyridiculous. We can't do that, and you know it. "

Her husband still looked everything but contented. 

"So far as the young fellow himself goes, " he said, "I like him, rather. I've talked with him only once, of course, and then he and I weren'tagreeing exactly. But I liked him, nevertheless. If he were anything buta fool poet I should be more reconciled. "

He was snubbed immediately. "THAT, " declared Mrs. Fosdick, withdecision, "is the only thing that makes him possible. "

So Mrs. Fosdick's welcome was whole-handed if not whole-hearted. And herhusband's also was cordial and intimate. The only member of the Fosdickhousehold who did not regard the guest with favor was Googoo. Thataristocratic bull-pup was still irreconcilably hostile. When Albertattempted to pet him he appeared to be planning to devour the caressinghand, and when rebuked by his mistress retired beneath a davenport, growling ominously. Even when ignominiously expelled from the room hegrowled and cast longing backward glances at the Speranza ankles. No, Googoo did not dissemble; Albert was perfectly sure of his standing inGoogoo's estimation. 

Dinner that evening was a trifle more formal than he had expected, andhe was obliged to apologize for the limitations of his wardrobe. Hisdress suit of former days he had found much too dilapidated for use. Besides, he had outgrown it. 

"I thought I was thinner, " he said, "and I think I am. But I must havebroadened a bit. At any rate, all the coats I left behind won't do atall. I shall have to do what Captain Snow, my grandfather, calls 'refit'here in New York. In a day or two I hope to be more presentable. "

Mrs. Fosdick assured him that it was quite all right, really. Madelineasked why he didn't wear his uniform. "I was dying to see you in it, "she said. "Just think, I never have. "

Albert laughed. "You have been spared, " he told her. "Mine was not atriumph, so far as fit was concerned. Of course, I had a complete newrig when I came out of the hospital, but even that was not beautiful. It puckered where it should have bulged and bulged where it should havebeen smooth. "

Madeline professed not to believe him. 

"Nonsense!" she declared. "I don't believe it. Why, almost all thefellows I know have been in uniform for the past two years and theirsfitted beautifully. "

"But they were officers, weren't they, and their uniforms were custommade. "

"Why, I suppose so. Aren't all uniforms custom made?"

Her father laughed. "Scarcely, Maddie, " he said. "The privates havetheir custom-made by the mile and cut off in chunks for the individual. That was about it, wasn't it, Speranza?"

"Just about, sir. "

Mrs. Fosdick evidently thought that the conversation was taking a ratherlow tone. She elevated it by asking what his thoughts were when takenprisoner by the Germans. He looked puzzled. 

"Thoughts, Mrs. Fosdick?" he repeated. "I don't know that I understand, exactly. I was only partly conscious and in a good deal of pain and mythoughts were rather incoherent, I'm afraid. "

"But when you regained consciousness, you know. What were your thoughtsthen? Did you realize that you had made the great sacrifice for yourcountry? Risked your life and forfeited your liberty and all that forthe cause? Wasn't it a great satisfaction to feel that you had donethat?"

Albert's laugh was hearty and unaffected. "Why, no, " he said. "I thinkwhat I was realizing most just then was that I had made a miserable messof the whole business. Failed in doing what I set out to do and beentaken prisoner besides. I remember thinking, when I was clear-headedenough to think anything, 'You fool, you spent months getting into thiswar, and then got yourself out of it in fifteen minutes. ' And it WAS asilly trick, too. "

Madeline was horrified. 

"What DO you mean?" she cried. "Your going back there to rescue yourcomrade a silly trick! The very thing that won you your Croix deGuerre?"

"Why, yes, in a way. I didn't save Mike, poor fellow--"

"Mike! Was his name Mike?"

"Yes; Michael Francis Xavier Kelly. A South Boston Mick he was, and oneof the finest, squarest boys that ever drew breath. Well, poor Mike wasdead when I got to him, so my trip had been for nothing, and if he hadbeen alive I could not have prevented his being taken. As it was, hewas dead and I was a prisoner. So nothing was gained and, for me, personally, a good deal was lost. It wasn't a brilliant thing to do. But, " he added apologetically, "a chap doesn't have time to thinkcollectively in such a scrape. And it was my first real scrap and I wasfrightened half to death, besides. "

"Frightened! Why, I never heard anything so ridiculous! What--"

"One moment, Madeline. " It was Mrs. Fosdick who interrupted. "I wantto ask--er--Albert a question. I want to ask him if during his longimprisonment he composed--wrote, you know. I should have thought thesights and experiences would have forced one to express one's self--thatis, one to whom the gift of expression was so generously granted, " sheadded, with a gracious nod. 

Albert hesitated. 

"Why, at first I did, " he said. "When I first was well enough to think, I used to try to write--verses. I wrote a good many. Afterwards I torethem up. "

"Tore them up!" Both Mrs. And Miss Fosdick uttered this exclamation. 

"Why, yes. You see, they were such rot. The things I wanted to writeabout, the things _I_ had seen and was seeing, the--the fellows likeMike and their pluck and all that--well, it was all too big for meto tackle. My jingles sounded, when I read them over, like tunes on astreet piano. _I_ couldn't do it. A genius might have been equal to thejob, but I wasn't. "

Mrs. Fosdick glanced at her husband. There was something of alarmedapprehension in the glance. Madeline's next remark covered thesituation. It expressed the absolute truth, so much more of the truththan even the young lady herself realized at the time. 

"Why, Albert Speranza, " she exclaimed, "I never heard you speak ofyourself and your work in that way before. Always--ALWAYS you have hadsuch complete, such splendid confidence in yourself. You were neverafraid to attempt ANYTHING. You MUST not talk so. Don't you intend towrite any more?"

Albert looked at her. "Oh, yes, indeed, " he said simply. "That is justwhat I do intend to do--or try to do. "

That evening, alone in the library, he and Madeline had their firstlong, intimate talk, the first since those days--to him they seemed asfar away as the last century--when they walked the South Harniss beachtogether, walked beneath the rainbows and dreamed. And now here wastheir dream coming true. 

Madeline, he was realizing it as he looked at her, was prettier thanever. She had grown a little older, of course, a little more mature, butsurprisingly little. She was still a girl, a very, very pretty girl anda charming girl. And he--

"What are you thinking about?" she demanded suddenly. 

He came to himself. "I was thinking about you, " he said. "You are justas you used to be, just as charming and just as sweet. You haven'tchanged. "

She smiled and then pouted. 

"I don't know whether to like that or not, " she said. "Did you expect tofind me less--charming and the rest?"

"Why, no, of course not. That was clumsy on my part. What I meant wasthat--well, it seems ages, centuries, since we were together there onthe Cape--and yet you have not changed. "

She regarded him reflectively. 

"You have, " she said. 

"Have what?"

"Changed. You have changed a good deal. I don't know whether I like itor not. Perhaps I shall be more certain by and by. Now show me your warcross. At least you have brought that, even if you haven't brought youruniform. "

He had the cross in his pocket-book and he showed it to her. Sheenthused over it, of course, and wished he might wear it even when incitizen's clothes. She didn't see why he couldn't. And it was SUCHa pity he could not be in uniform. Captain Blanchard had calledthe evening before, to see Mother about some war charities she wasinterested in, and he was still in uniform and wearing his decorations, too. Albert suggested that probably Blanchard was still in service. Yes, she believed he was, but she could not see why that should make thedifference. Albert had BEEN in service. 

He laughed at this and attempted to explain. She seemed to resent theattempt or the tone. 

"I do wish, " she said almost pettishly, "that you wouldn't be sosuperior. "

He was surprised. "Superior!" he repeated. "Superior! I? Superiority isthe very least of my feelings. I--superior! That's a joke. "

And, oddly enough, she resented that even more. "Why is it a joke?" shedemanded. "I should think you had the right to feel superior to almostany one. A hero--and a genius! You ARE superior. "

However, the little flurry was but momentary, and she was all sweetnessand smiles when she kissed him good night. He was shown to his room bya servant and amid its array of comforts--to him, fresh from Franceand the camp and his old room at South Harniss, it was luxuriouslymagnificent--he sat for some time thinking. His thoughts should havebeen happy ones, yet they were not entirely so. This is a curiouslyunsatisfactory world, sometimes. 

The next day he went shopping. Fosdick had given him a card to his owntailor and Madeline had given him the names of several shops where, soshe declared, he could buy the right sort of ties and things. From thetailor's Albert emerged looking a trifle dazed; after a visit to two ofthe shops the dazed expression was even more pronounced. His nextvisits were at establishments farther downtown and not as exclusive. He returned to the Fosdick home feeling fairly well satisfied with theresults achieved. Madeline, however, did not share his satisfaction. 

"But Dad sent you to his tailor, " she said. "Why in the world didn't youorder your evening clothes there? And Brett has the most stunning ties. Every one says so. Instead you buy yours at a department store. Nowwhy?"

He smiled. "My dear girl, " he said, "your father's tailor estimatedthat he might make me a very passable dress suit for one hundred andseventy-five dollars. Brett's ties were stunning, just as you say, butthe prices ranged from five to eight dollars, which was more stunningstill. For a young person from the country out of a job, which is mycondition at present, such things may be looked at but not handled. Ican't afford them. "

She tossed her head. "What nonsense!" she exclaimed. "You're not out ofa job, as you call it. You are a writer and a famous writer. You havewritten one book and you are going to write more. Besides, you must havemade heaps of money from The Lances. Every one has been reading it. "

When he told her the amount of his royalty check she expressed theopinion that the publisher must have cheated. It ought to have been everand ever so much more than that. Such wonderful poems!

The next day she went to Brett's and purchased a half dozen of the mostexpensive ties, which she presented to him forthwith. 

"There!" she demanded. "Aren't those nicer than the ones you bought atthat old department store? Well, then!"

"But, Madeline, I must not let you buy my ties. "

"Why not? It isn't such an unheard-of thing for an engaged girl to giveher fiance a necktie. "

"That isn't the idea. I should have bought ties like those myself, but Icouldn't afford them. Now for you to--"

"Nonsense! You talk as if you were a beggar. Don't be so silly. "

"But, Madeline--"

"Stop! I don't want to hear it. "

She rose and went out of the room. She looked as if she were on theverge of tears. He felt obliged to accept the gift, but he disliked theprinciple of the things as much as ever. When she returned she was verytalkative and gay and chatted all through luncheon. The subject of theties was not mentioned again by either of them. He was glad he had nottold her that his new dress suit was ready-made. 

While in France, awaiting his return home, he had purchased a ringand sent it to her. She was wearing it, of course. Compared with otherarticles of jewelry which she wore from time to time, his ring made anextremely modest showing. She seemed quite unaware of the discrepancy, but he was aware of it. 

On an evening later in the week Mrs. Fosdick gave a reception. "Quitean informal affair, " she said, in announcing her intention. "Just a fewintimate friends to meet Mr. Speranza, that is all. Mostly lovers ofliterature--discerning people, if I may say so. "

The quite informal affair looked quite formidably formal to Albert. Thefew intimate friends were many, so it seemed to him. There was stillenough of the former Albert Speranza left in his make-up to preventhis appearing in the least distressed or ill at ease. He was, as hehad always been when in the public eye, even as far back as the schooldancing-classes with the Misses Bradshaw's young ladies, perfectlyself-possessed, charmingly polite, absolutely self-assured. And his goodlooks had not suffered during his years of imprisonment and suffering. He was no longer a handsome boy, but he was an extraordinarilyattractive and distinguished man. 

Mrs. Fosdick marked his manner and appearance and breathed a sigh ofsatisfaction. Madeline noted them. Her young friends of the sex notedthem and whispered and looked approval. What the young men thought doesnot matter so much, perhaps. One of these was the Captain Blanchard, ofwhom Madeline had written and spoken. He was a tall, athletic chap, who looked well in his uniform, and whose face was that of a healthy, clean-living and clean-thinking young American. He and Albert shookhands and looked each other over. Albert decided he should likeBlanchard if he knew him better. The captain was not talkative; in fact, he seemed rather taciturn. Maids and matrons gushed when presented tothe lion of the evening. It scarcely seemed possible that they wereactually meeting the author of The Lances of Dawn. That wonderful book!Those wonderful poems! "How CAN you write them, Mr. Speranza?" "When doyour best inspirations come, Mr. Speranza?" "Oh, if I could write asyou do I should walk on air. " The matron who breathed the last-quotedecstasy was distinctly weighty; the mental picture of her pedestriantrip through the atmosphere was interesting. Albert's hand was patted bythe elderly spinsters, young women's eyes lifted soulful glances to his. 

It was the sort of thing he would have revelled in three or four yearsearlier. Exactly the sort of thing he had dreamed of when the majorityof the poems they gushed over were written. It was much the same thinghe remembered having seen his father undergo in the days when he andthe opera singer were together. And his father had, apparently, ratherenjoyed it. He realized all this--and he realized, too, with a queerfeeling that it should be so, that he did not like it at all. It wassilly. Nothing he had written warranted such extravagances. Hadn't thesepeople any sense of proportion? They bored him to desperation. The solerelief was the behavior of the men, particularly the middle-aged orelderly men, obviously present through feminine compulsion. They seizedhis hand, moved it up and down with a pumping motion, uttered somestereotyped prevarications about their pleasure at meeting him and theirhaving enjoyed his poems very much, and then slid on in the direction ofthe refreshment room. 

And Albert, as he shook hands, bowed and smiled and was charminglyaffable, found his thoughts wandering until they settled upon PrivateMike Kelly and the picturesque language of the latter when he, assergeant, routed him out for guard duty. Mike had not gushed over himnor called him a genius. He had called him many things, but not that. 

He was glad indeed when he could slip away for a dance with Madeline. Hefound her chatting gaily with Captain Blanchard, who had been her mostrecent partner. He claimed her from the captain and as he led her out tothe dance floor she whispered that she was very proud of him. "But I DOwish YOU could wear your war cross, " she added. 

The quite informal affair was the first of many quite as informallyformal. Also Mrs. Fosdick's satellites and friends of the literary clubsand the war work societies seized the opportunity to make much of theheroic author of The Lances of Dawn. His society was requested at teas, at afternoon as well as evening gatherings. He would have refused mostof these invitations, but Madeline and her mother seemed to take hisacceptance for granted; in fact, they accepted for him. A ghastlyhabit developed of asking him to read a few of his own poems on theseoccasions. "PLEASE, Mr. Speranza. It will be such a treat, and such anHONOR. " Usually a particular request was made that he read "The GreaterLove. " Now "The Greater Love" was the poem which, written in thoserapturous days when he and Madeline first became aware of their mutualadoration, was refused by one editor as a "trifle too syrupy. " To readthat sticky effusion over and over again became a torment. There wereoccasions when if a man had referred to "The Greater Love, " its authormight have howled profanely and offered bodily violence. But no men everdid refer to "The Greater Love. "

On one occasion when a sentimental matron and her gushing daughter hadbegged to know if he did not himself adore that poem, if he did notconsider it the best he had ever written, he had answered frankly. He was satiated with cake and tea and compliments that evening andrecklessly truthful. "You really wish to know my opinion of that poem?"he asked. Indeed and indeed they really wished to knew just that thing. "Well, then, I think it's rot, " he declared. "I loathe it. "

Of course mother and daughter were indignant. Their comments reachedMadeline's ear. She took him to task. 

"But why did you say it?" she demanded. "You know you don't mean it. "

"Yes, I do mean it. It IS rot. Lots of the stuff in that book of mineis rot. I did not think so once, but I do now. If I had the book to makeover again, that sort wouldn't be included. "

She looked at him for a moment as if studying a problem. 

"I don't understand you sometimes, " she said slowly. "You are different. And I think what you said to Mrs. Bacon and Marian was very rude. "

Later when he went to look for her he found her seated with CaptainBlanchard in a corner. They were eating ices and, apparently, enjoyingthemselves. He did not disturb them. Instead he hunted up the offendedBacons and apologized for his outbreak. The apology, although graciouslyaccepted, had rather wearisome consequences. Mrs. Bacon declared sheknew that he had not really meant what he said. 

"I realize how it must be, " she declared. "You people of temperament, of genius, of aspirations, are never quite satisfied, you cannot be. Youare always trying, always seeking the higher attainment. Achievements ofthe past, though to the rest of us wonderful and sublime, are to you--asyou say, 'rot. ' That is it, is it not?" Albert said he guessed it was, and wandered away, seeking seclusion and solitude. When the affair brokeup he found Madeline and Blanchard still enjoying each other's society. Both were surprised when told the hour. 

CHAPTER XVII

So the first three weeks of his proposed month's visit passed and thefourth began. And more and more his feelings of dissatisfaction anduneasiness increased. The reasons for those feelings he found hard todefine. The Fosdicks were most certainly doing their best to make himcomfortable and happy. They were kind--yes, more than kind. Mr. Fosdick he really began to like. Mrs. Fosdick's manner had a trace ofcondescension in it, but as the lady treated all creation with much thesame measure of condescension, he was more amused than resentful. AndMadeline--Madeline was sweet and charming and beautiful. There was inher manner toward him, or so he fancied, a slight change, perhaps achange a trifle more marked since the evening when his expressed opinionof "The Greater Love" had offended her and the Bacons. It seemed tohim that she was more impatient, more capricious, sometimes almostoverwhelming him with attention and tenderness and then appearing toforget him entirely and to be quite indifferent to his thoughts andopinions. Her moods varied greatly and there were occasions when hefound it almost impossible to please her. At these times she tookoffense when no offense was intended and he found himself apologizingwhen, to say the least, the fault, if there was any, was not more thanhalf his. But she always followed those moods with others of contritionand penitence and then he was petted and fondled and his forgivenessimplored. 

These slight changes in her he noticed, but they troubled him little, principally because he was coming to realize the great change inhimself. More and more that change was forcing itself upon him. Thestories and novels he had read during the first years of the war, the stories by English writers in which young men, frivolous andinconsequential, had enlisted and fought and emerged from the ordealstrong, purposeful and "made-over"--those stories recurred to him now. He had paid little attention to the "making-over" idea when he readthose tales, but now he was forced to believe there might be somethingin it. Certainly something, the three years or the discipline andtraining and suffering, or all combined, had changed him. He was not ashe used to be. Things he liked very much he no longer liked at all. Andwhere, oh where, was the serene self-satisfaction which once was his?

The change must be quite individual, he decided. All soldiers were notso affected. Take Blanchard, for instance. Blanchard had seen service, more and quite as hard fighting as he had seen, but Blanchard was, toall appearances, as light-hearted and serene and confident as ever. Blanchard was like Madeline; he was much the same now as he had beenbefore the war. Blanchard could dance and talk small talk and laugh andenjoy himself. Well, so could he, on occasions, for that matter, if thathad been all. But it was not all, or if it was why was he at other timesso discontented and uncomfortable? What was the matter with him, anyway?

He drew more and more into his shell and became more quiet and lesstalkative. Madeline, in one of her moods, reproached him for it. 

"I do wish you wouldn't be grumpy, " she said. 

They had been sitting in the library and he had lapsed into a fit ofmusing, answering her questions with absentminded monosyllables. Now helooked up. 

"Grumpy?" he repeated. "Was I grumpy? I beg your pardon. "

"You should. You answered every word I spoke to you with a grunt or agrowl. I might as well have been talking to a bear. "

"I'm awfully sorry, dear. I didn't feel grumpy. I was thinking, Isuppose. "

"Thinking! You are always thinking. Why think, pray? . . . If Ipermitted myself to think, I should go insane. "

"Madeline, what do you mean?"

"Oh, nothing. I'm partially insane now, perhaps. Come, let's go to thepiano. I feel like playing. You don't mind, do you?"

That evening Mrs. Fosdick made a suggestion to her husband. 

"Fletcher, " she said, "I am inclined to think it is time you and Alberthad a talk concerning the future. A business talk, I mean. I am a littleuneasy about him. From some things he has said to me recently I gatherthat he is planning to earn his living with his pen. "

"Well, how else did you expect him to earn it; as bookkeeper for theSouth Harniss lumber concern?"

"Don't be absurd. What I mean is that he is thinking of devoting himselfto literature exclusively. Don't interrupt me, please. That is verybeautiful and very idealistic, and I honor him for it, but I cannot seeMadeline as an attic poet's wife, can you?"

"I can't, and I told you so in the beginning. "

"No. Therefore I should take him to one side and tell him of the openingin your firm. With that as a means of keeping his feet on the ground hisbrain may soar as it likes, the higher the better. "

Mr. Fosdick, as usual, obeyed orders and that afternoon Albert and hehad the "business talk. " Conversation at dinner was somewhat strained. Mr. Fosdick was quietly observant and seemed rather amused aboutsomething. His wife was dignified and her manner toward her guest wasinclined to be abrupt. Albert's appetite was poor. As for Madeline, shedid not come down to dinner, having a headache. 

She came down later, however. Albert, alone in the library, was sitting, a book upon his knees and his eyes fixed upon nothing in particular, when she came in. 

"You are thinking again, I see, " she said. 

He had not heard her enter. Now he rose, the book falling to the floor. 

"Why--why, yes, " he stammered. "How are you feeling? How is your head?"

"It is no worse. And no better. I have been thinking, too, which perhapsexplains it. Sit down, Albert, please. I want to talk with you. That iswhat I have been thinking about, that you and I must talk. "

She seated herself upon the davenport and he pulled forward a chairand sat facing her. For a moment she was silent. When she did speak, however, her question was very much to the point. 

"Why did you say 'No' to Father's offer?" she asked. He had beenexpecting this very question, or one leading up to it. Nevertheless, he found answering difficult. He hesitated, and she watched him, herimpatience growing. 

"Well?" she asked. 

He sighed. "Madeline, " he said, "I am afraid you think me veryunreasonable, certainly very ungrateful. "

"I don't know what to think about you. That is why I feel we musthave this talk. Tell me, please, just what Father said to you thisafternoon. "

"He said--well, the substance of what he said was to offer me a positionin his office, in his firm. "

"What sort of a position?"

"Well, I--I scarcely know. I was to have a desk there and--and begenerally--ornamental, I suppose. It was not very definite, the detailsof the position, but--"

"The salary was good, wasn't it?"

"Yes; more than good. Much too good for the return I could make for it, so it seemed to me. "

"And your prospects for the future? Wasn't the offer what people call agood opportunity?"

"Why, yes, I suppose it was. For the right sort of man it would havebeen a wonderful opportunity. Your father was most kind, most generous, Madeline. Please don't think I am not appreciative. I am, but--"

"Don't. I want to understand it all. He offered you this opportunity, this partnership in his firm, and you would not accept it? Why? Don'tyou like my father?"

"Yes, I like him very much. "

"Didn't you, " with the slightest possible curl of the lip, "think theoffer worthy of you? . . . Oh, I don't mean that! Please forgive me. Iam trying not to be disagreeable. I--I just want to understand, Albert, that's all. "

He nodded. "I know, Madeline, " he said. "You have the right to ask. Itwasn't so much a question of the offer being worthy of me as of my beingworthy the offer. Oh, Madeline, why should you and I pretend? You knowwhy Mr. Fosdick made me that offer. It wasn't because I was likely to beworth ten dollars a year to his firm. In Heaven's name, what use would Ibe in a stockbroker's office, with my make-up, with my lack of businessability? He would be making a place for me there and paying me a highsalary for one reason only, and you know what that is. Now don't you?"

She hesitated now, but only for an instant. She colored a little, butshe answered bravely. 

"I suppose I do, " she said, "but what of it? It is not unheard of, isit, the taking one's prospective son-in-law into partnership?"

"No, but--We're dodging the issue again, Madeline. If I were likelyto be of any help to your father's business, instead of a hindrance, Imight perhaps see it differently. As it is, I couldn't accept unless Iwere willing to be an object of charity. "

"Did you tell Father that?"

"Yes. "

"What did he say?"

"He said a good deal. He was frank enough to say that he did not expectme to be of great assistance to the firm. But I might be of SOME use--hedidn't put it as baldly as that, of course--and at all times I couldkeep on with my writing, with my poetry, you know. The brokeragebusiness should not interfere with my poetry, he said; your mother wouldscalp him if it did that. "

She smiled faintly. "That sounds like dad, " she commented. 

"Yes. Well, we talked and argued for some time on the subject. He askedme what, supposing I did not accept this offer of his, my plans for thefuture might be. I told him they were pretty unsettled as yet. I meantto write, of course. Not poetry altogether. I realized, I told him, thatI was not a great poet, a poet of genius. "

Madeline interrupted. Her eyes flashed. 

"Why do you say that?" she demanded. "I have heard you say it before. That is, recently. In the old days you were as sure as I that you were areal poet, or should be some day. You never doubted it. You used to tellme so and I loved to hear you. "

Albert shook his head. "I was sure of so many things then, " he said. "Imust have been an insufferable kid. "

She stamped her foot. "It was less than three years ago that you saidit, " she declared. "You are not so frightfully ancient now. . . . Well, go on, go on. How did it end, the talk with Father, I mean?"

"I told him, " he continued, "that I meant to write and to earn my livingby writing. I meant to try magazine work--stories, you know--and, soon, a novel. He asked if earning enough to support a wife on would not bea long job at that time. I said I was afraid it might, but that thatseemed to me my particular game, nevertheless. "

She interrupted again. "Did it occur to you to question whether or notthat determination of yours was quite fair to me?" she asked. 

"Why--why, yes, it did. And I don't know that it IS exactly fair to you. I--"

"Never mind. Go on. Tell me the rest. How did it end?"

"Well, it ended in a sort of flare-up. Mr. Fosdick was just a little bitsarcastic, and I expressed my feelings rather freely--too freely, I'mafraid. "

"Never mind. I want to know what you said. "

"To be absolutely truthful, then, this is what I said: I said that Iappreciated his kindness and was grateful for the offer. But my mind wasmade up. I would not live upon his charity and draw a large salary fordoing nothing except be a little, damned tame house-poet led around inleash and exhibited at his wife's club meetings. . . . That was aboutall, I think. We shook hands at the end. He didn't seem to like me anythe less for . . . Why, Madeline, have I offended you? My language waspretty strong, I know, but--"

She had bowed her head upon her arms amid the sofa cushions and wascrying. He sprang to his feet and bent over her. 

"Why, Madeline, " he said again, "I beg your pardon. I'm sorry--"

"Oh, it isn't that, " she sobbed. "It isn't that. I don't care what yousaid. "

"What is it, then?"

She raised her head and looked at him. 

"It is you, " she cried. "It is myself. It is everything. It is allwrong. I--I was so happy and--and now I am miserable. Oh--oh, I wish Iwere dead!"

She threw herself upon the cushions again and wept hysterically. Hestood above her, stroking her hair, trying to soothe her, to comforther, and all the time he felt like a brute, a heartless beast. At lastshe ceased crying, sat up and wiped her eyes with her handkerchief. 

"There!" she exclaimed. "I will not be silly any longer. I won't be! IWON'T! . . . Now tell me: Why have you changed so?"

He looked down at her and shook his head. He was conscience-stricken andfully as miserable as she professed to be. 

"I don't know, " he said. "I am older and--and--and I DON'T see things asI used to. If that book of mine had appeared three years ago I have nodoubt I should have believed it to be the greatest thing ever printed. Now, when people tell me it is and I read what the reviewers said andall that, I--I DON'T believe, I KNOW it isn't great--that is, the mostof it isn't. There is some pretty good stuff, of course, but--You see, I think it wasn't the poems themselves that made it sell; I think it wasall the fool tommyrot the papers printed about me, about my being a heroand all that rubbish, when they thought I was dead, you know. That--"

She interrupted. "Oh, don't!" she cried. "Don't! I don't care aboutthe old book. I'm not thinking about that. I'm thinking about you. YOUaren't the same--the same toward me. "

"Toward you, Madeline? I don't understand what you mean. "

"Yes, you do. Of course you do. If you were the same as you used to be, you would let Father help you. We used to talk about that very thingand--and you didn't resent it then. "

"Didn't I? Well, perhaps I didn't. But I think I remember our speakingsometimes of sacrificing everything for each other. We were to live inpoverty, if necessary, and I was to write, you know, and--"

"Stop! All that was nonsense, nonsense! you know it. "

"Yes, I'm afraid it was. "

"You know it was. And if you were as you used to be, if you--"

"Madeline!"

"What? Why did you interrupt me?"

"Because I wanted to ask you a question. Do you think YOU are exactlythe same--as you used to be?"

"What do you mean?"

"Haven't YOU changed a little? Are you as sure as you were then--as sureof your feeling toward me?"

She gazed at him, wide-eyed. "WHAT do you mean?"

"I mean ARE you sure? It has seemed to me that perhaps--I was out ofyour life for a long time, you know, and during a good deal of thattime it seemed certain that I had gone forever. I am not blaming you, goodness knows, but--Madeline, isn't there--Well, if I hadn't come back, mightn't there have been some one--else?"

She turned pale. 

"What do--" she stammered, inarticulate. "Why, why--"

"It was Captain Blanchard, wasn't it?"

The color came back to her cheeks with a rush. She blushed furiously andsprang to her feet. 

"How--how can you say such things!" she cried. "What do you mean? HowDARE you say Captain Blanchard took advantage of--How--how DARE you sayI was not loyal to you? It is not true. It is not true. I was. I am. There hasn't been a word--a word between us since--since the news camethat you were--I told him--I said--And he has been splendid! Splendid!And now you say--Oh, what AM I saying? What SHALL I do?"

She collapsed once more among the cushions. He leaned forward. 

"My dear girl--" he began, but she broke in. 

"I HAVEN'T been disloyal, " she cried. "I have tried--Oh, I have tried sohard--"

"Hush, Madeline, hush. I understand. I understand perfectly. It is allright, really it is. "

"And I should have kept on trying always--always. "

"Yes, dear, yes. But do you think a married life with so much trying init likely to be a happy one? It is better to know it now, isn't it, agreat deal better for both of us? Madeline, I am going to my room. Iwant you to think, to think over all this, and then we will talkagain. I don't blame you. I don't, dear, really. I think I realizeeverything--all of it. Good night, dear. "

He stooped and kissed her. She sobbed, but that was all. The nextmorning a servant came to his room with a parcel and a letter. Theparcel was a tiny one. It was the ring he had given her, in its case. The letter was short and much blotted. It read:

Dear Albert:

I have thought and thought, as you told me to, and I have concluded thatyou were right. It IS best to know it now. Forgive me, please, PLEASE. Ifeel wicked and horrid and I HATE myself, but I think this is best. Oh, do forgive me. Good-by. 

MADELINE. 

His reply was longer. At its end he wrote:

Of course I forgive you. In the first place there is nothing to forgive. The unforgivable thing would have been the sacrifice of your happinessand your future to a dream and a memory. I hope you will be very happy. I am sure you will be, for Blanchard is, I know, a fine fellow. The bestof fortune to you both. 

The next forenoon he sat once more in the car of the morning train forCape Cod, looking out of the window. He had made the journey from NewYork by the night boat and had boarded the Cape train at Middleboro. Allthe previous day, and in the evening as he tramped the cold wind-sweptdeck of the steamer, he had been trying to collect his thoughts, toreadjust them to the new situation, to comprehend in its entirety thegreat change that had come in his life. The vague plans, the happyindefinite dreams, all the rainbows and roses had gone, shivered to bitslike the reflection in a broken mirror. Madeline, his Madeline, was hisno longer. Nor was he hers. In a way it seemed impossible. 

He tried to analyze his feelings. It seemed as if he should have beencrushed, grief-stricken, broken. He was inclined to reproach himselfbecause he was not. Of course there was a sadness about it, a regretthat the wonder of those days of love and youth had passed. But thesorrow was not bitter, the regret was but a wistful longing, the sweet, lingering fragrance of a memory, that was all. Toward her, Madeline, hefelt--and it surprised him, too, to find that he felt--not the slightesttrace of resentment. And more surprising still he felt none towardBlanchard. He had meant what he said in his letter, he wished for themboth the greatest happiness. 

And--there was no use attempting to shun the fact--his chief feeling, as he sat there by the car window looking out at the familiar landscape, was a great relief, a consciousness of escape from what might havebeen a miserable, crushing mistake for him and for her. And with thisa growing sense of freedom, of buoyancy. It seemed wicked to feel likethat. Then it came to him, the thought that Madeline, doubtless, wasexperiencing the same feeling. And he did not mind a bit; he hoped shewas, bless her!

A youthful cigar "drummer, " on his first Down-East trip, sat down besidehim. 

"Kind of a flat, bare country, ain't it?" observed the drummer, witha jerk of his head toward the window. "Looks bleak enough to me. Knowanything about this neck of the woods, do you?"

Albert turned to look at him. 

"Meaning the Cape?" he asked. 

"Sure. "

"Indeed I do. I know all about it. "

"That so! Say, you sound as if you liked it. "

Albert turned back to the window again. 

"Like it!" he repeated. "I love it. " Then he sighed, a sigh ofsatisfaction, and added: "You see, I BELONG here. "

His grandparents and Rachel were surprised when he walked into the housethat noon and announced that he hoped dinner was ready, because he washungry. But their surprise was more than balanced by their joy. CaptainZelotes demanded to know how long he was going to stay. 

"As long as you'll have me, Grandfather, " was the answer. 

"Eh? Well, that would be a consider'ble spell, if you left it to us, butI cal'late that girl in New York will have somethin' to say as to timelimit, won't she?"

Albert smiled. "I'll tell you about that by and by, " he said. 

He did not tell them until that evening after supper. It was Fridayevening and Olive was going to prayer-meeting, but she delayed "puttingon her things" to hear the tale. The news that the engagement was offand that her grandson was not, after all, to wed the daughter of theHonorable Fletcher Fosdick, shocked and grieved her not a little. 

"Oh, dear!" she sighed. "I suppose you know what's best, Albert, andmaybe, as you say, you wouldn't have been happy, but I DID feel sort ofproud to think my boy was goin' to marry a millionaire's daughter. "

Captain Zelotes made no comment--then. He asked to be told moreparticulars. Albert described the life at the Fosdick home, thereceptions, his enforced exhibitions and readings. At length the recitalreached the point of the interview in Fosdick's office. 

"So he offered you to take you into the firm--eh, son?" he observed. 

"Yes, sir. "

"Humph! Fosdick, Williamson and Hendricks are one of the biggestbrokerage houses goin', so a good many New Yorkers have told me. "

"No doubt. But, Grandfather, you've had some experience with me as abusiness man; how do you think I would fit into a firm of stockbrokers?"

Captain Lote's eye twinkled, but he did not answer the question. Insteadhe asked:

"Just what did you give Fosdick as your reason for not sayin' yes?"

Albert laughed. "Well, Grandfather, " he said, "I'll tell you. I saidthat I appreciated his kindness and all that, but that I would notdraw a big salary for doing nothing except to be a little, damnedtame house-poet led around in leash and shown off at his wife's clubmeetings. "

Mrs. Snow uttered a faint scream. "Oh, Albert!" she exclaimed. She mighthave said more, but a shout from her husband prevented her doing so. 

Captain Zelotes had risen and his mighty hand descended with a stingingslap upon his grandson's shoulder. 

"Bully for you, boy!" he cried. Then, turning to Olive, he added, "Mother, I've always kind of cal'lated that you had one man around thishouse. Now, by the Lord A'Mighty, I know you've got TWO!"

Olive rose. "Well, " she declared emphatically, "that may be; but if boththose men are goin' to start in swearin' right here in the sittin' room, I think it's high time SOMEBODY in that family went to church. "

So to prayer meeting she went, with Mrs. Ellis as escort, and herhusband and grandson, seated in armchairs before the sitting room stove, both smoking, talked and talked, of the past and of the future--not asman to boy, nor as grandparent to grandson, but for the first time asequals, without reservations, as man to man. 

CHAPTER XVIII

The next morning Albert met old Mr. Kendall. After breakfast CaptainZelotes had gone, as usual, directly to the office. His grandson, however, had not accompanied him. 

"What are you cal'latin' to do this mornin', Al?" inquired the captain. 

"Oh, I don't know exactly, Grandfather. I'm going to look about theplace a bit, write a letter to my publishers, and take a walk, I think. You will probably see me at the office pretty soon. I'll look in thereby and by. "

"Ain't goin' to write one or two of those five hundred dollar storiesbefore dinner time, are you?"

"I guess not, sir. I'm afraid they won't be written as quickly as allthat. "

Captain Lote shook his head. "Godfreys!" he exclaimed; "it ain't thewritin' of 'em I'd worry about so much as the gettin' paid for 'em. You're sure that editor man ain't crazy, you say?"

"I hope he isn't. He seemed sane enough when I saw him. "

"Well, I don't know. It's live and learn, I suppose, but if anybody butyou had told me that magazine folks paid as much as five hundred dollarsa piece for yarns made up out of a feller's head without a word of truthin 'em, I'd--well, I should have told the feller that told me to go toa doctor right off and have HIS head examined. But--well, as 'tis Ical'late I'd better have my own looked at. So long, Al. Come in to theoffice if you get a chance. "

He hurried out. Albert walked to the window and watched the sturdyfigure swinging out of the yard. He wondered if, should he live tohis grandfather's age, his step would be as firm and his shoulders assquare. 

Olive laid a hand on his arm. 

"You don't mind his talkin' that way about your writin' those stories, do you, Albert?" she asked, a trace of anxiety in her tone. "He don'tmean it, you know. He don't understand it--says he don't himself--buthe's awful proud of you, just the same. Why, last night, after you andhe had finished talkin' and he came up to bed--and the land knows whattime of night or mornin' THAT was--he woke me out of a sound sleep totell me about that New York magazine man givin' you a written orderto write six stories for his magazine at five hundred dollars a piece. Zelotes couldn't seem to get over it. 'Think of it, Mother, ' he keptsayin'. 'Think of it! Pretty nigh twice what I pay as good a man asLabe Keeler for keepin' books a whole year. And Al says he ought to doa story every forni't. I used to jaw his head off, tellin' him he was onthe road to starvation and all that. Tut, tut, tut! Mother, I've waiteda long time to say it, but it looks as if you married a fool. ' . . . That's the way he talked, but he's a long ways from bein' a fool, yourgrandfather is, Albert. "

Albert nodded. "No one knows that better than I, " he said, withemphasis. 

"There's one thing, " she went on, "that kind of troubled me. He saidyou was goin' to insist on payin' board here at home. Now you know thishouse is yours. And we love to--"

He put his arm about her. "I know it, Grandmother, " he broke in, quickly. "But that is all settled. I am going to try to make my ownliving in my own way. I am going to write and see what I am reallyworth. I have my royalty money, you know, most of it, and I have thisorder for the series of stories. I can afford to pay for my keep andI shall. You see, as I told Grandfather last night, I don't propose tolive on his charity any more than on Mr. Fosdick's. "

She sighed. 

"So Zelotes said, " she admitted. "He told me no less than three timesthat you said it. It seemed to tickle him most to death, for somereason, and that's queer, too, for he's anything but stingy. But there, I suppose you can pay board if you want to, though who you'll pay it tois another thing. _I_ shan't take a cent from the only grandson I've gotin the world. "

It was while on his stroll down to the village that Albert met Mr. Kendall. The reverend gentleman was plodding along carrying a marketbasket from the end of which, beneath a fragment of newspaper, the tailand rear third of a huge codfish drooped. The basket and its contentsmust have weighed at least twelve pounds and the old minister was, asCaptain Zelotes would have said, making heavy weather of it. Albert wentto his assistance. 

"How do you do, Mr. Kendall, " he said; "I'm afraid that basket is ratherheavy, isn't it. Mayn't I help you with it?" Then, seeing that the oldgentleman did not recognize him, he added, "I am Albert Speranza. "

Down went the basket and the codfish and Mr. Kendall seized him by bothhands. 

"Why, of course, of course, " he cried. "Of course, of course. It's ouryoung hero, isn't it. Our poet, our happy warrior. Yes, --yes, of course. So glad to see you, Albert. . . . Er . . . Er . . . How is your mother?"

"You mean my grandmother? She is very well, thank you. "

"Yes--er--yes, your grandmother, of course. . . . Er . . . Er. . . . Did you see my codfish? Isn't it a magnificent one. I am very fond ofcodfish and we almost never have it at home. So just now, I happened tobe passing Jonathan Howes'--he is the--er--fishdealer, you know, and. . . Jonathan is a very regular attendant at my Sunday morning services. He is--is. . . . Dear me. . . . What was I about to say?"

Being switched back to the main track by Albert he explained that hehad seen a number of cod in Mr. Howes' possession and had bought thisspecimen. Howes had lent him the basket. 

"And the newspaper, " he explained; adding, with triumph, "I shall dineon codfish to-day, I am happy to say. " Judging by appearances he mightdine and sup and breakfast on codfish and still have a supply remaining. Albert insisted on carrying the spoil to the parsonage. He was doingnothing in particular and it would be a pleasure, he said. Mr. Kendallprotested for the first minute or so but then forgot just what theprotest was all about and rambled garrulously on about affairs in theparish. He had failed in other faculties, but his flow of language wasstill unimpeded. They entered the gate of the parsonage. Albert put thebasket on the upper step. 

"There, " he said; "now I must go. Good morning, Mr. Kendall. "

"Oh, but you aren't going? You must come in a moment. I want to give youthe manuscript of that sermon of mine on the casting down of Baal, thatis the one in which I liken the military power of Germany to the brazenidol which. . . . Just a moment, Albert. The manuscript is in my deskand. . . . Oh, dear me, the door is locked. . . . Helen, Helen!"

He was shaking the door and shouting his daughter's name. Albert wassurprised and not a little disturbed. It had not occurred to him thatHelen could be at home. It is true that before he left for New York hisgrandmother had said that she was planning to return home to be with herfather, but since then he had heard nothing more concerning her. Neitherof his grandparents had mentioned her name in their letters, nor sincehis arrival the day before had they mentioned it. And Mr. Kendall hadnot spoken of her during their walk together. Albert was troubled andtaken aback. In one way he would have liked to meet Helen very muchindeed. They had not met since before the war. But he did not, somehow, wish to meet her just then. He did not wish to meet anyone who wouldspeak of Madeline, or ask embarrassing questions. He turned to go. 

"Another time, Mr. Kendall, " he said. "Good morning. "

But he had gone only a few yards when the reverend gentleman was callingto him to return. 

"Albert! Albert!" called Mr. Kendall. 

He was obliged to turn back, he could do nothing else, and as he did sothe door opened. It was Helen who opened it and she stood there uponthe threshold and looked down at him. For a moment, a barely perceptibleinterval, she looked, then he heard her catch her breath quickly and sawher put one hand upon the door jamb as if for support. The next, andshe was running down the steps, her hands outstretched and the light ofwelcome in her eyes. 

"Why, Albert Speranza!" she cried. "Why, ALBERT!"

He seized her hands. "Helen!" he cried, and added involuntarily, "My, but it's good to see you again!"

She laughed and so did he. All his embarrassment was gone. They werelike two children, like the boy and girl who had known each other in theold days. 

"And when did you get here?" she asked. "And what do you mean bysurprising us like this? I saw your grandfather yesterday morning and hedidn't say a word about your coming. "

"He didn't know I was coming. I didn't know it myself until the daybefore. And when did you come? Your father didn't tell me you were here. I didn't know until I heard him call your name. "

He was calling it again. Calling it and demanding attention for hisprecious codfish. 

"Yes, Father, yes, in a minute, " she said. Then to Albert, "Come in. Oh, of course you'll come in. "

"Why, yes, if I won't be interfering with the housekeeping. "

"You won't. Yes, Father, yes, I'm coming. Mercy, where did you get sucha wonderful fish? Come in, Albert. As soon as I get Father's treasuresafe in the hands of Maria I'll be back. Father will keep you company. No, pardon me, I am afraid he won't, he's gone to the kitchen already. And I shall have to go, too, for just a minute. I'll hurry. "

She hastened to the kitchen, whither Mr. Kendall, tugging the fishbasket, had preceded her. Albert entered the little sitting-room and satdown in a chair by the window. The room looked just as it used to look, just as neat, just as homelike, just as well kept. And when she cameback and they began to talk, it seemed to him that she, too, was just asshe used to be. She was a trifle less girlish, more womanly perhaps, butshe was just as good to look at, just as bright and cheerful and in herconversation she had the same quietly certain way of dealing directlywith the common-sense realities and not the fuss and feathers. It seemedto him that she had not changed at all, that she herself was one of therealities, the wholesome home realities, like Captain Zelotes and Oliveand the old house they lived in. He told her so. She laughed. 

"You make me feel as ancient as the pyramids, " she said. 

He shook his head. "I am the ancient, " he declared. "This war hasn'tchanged you a particle, Helen, but it has handed me an awful jolt. Attimes I feel as if I must have sailed with Noah. And as if I had wastedmost of the time since. "

She smiled. "Just what do you mean by that?" she asked. 

"I mean--well, I don't know exactly what I do mean, I guess. I seemto have an unsettled feeling. I'm not satisfied with myself. And as Iremember myself, " he added, with a shrug, "that condition of mind wasnot usual with me. "

She regarded him for a moment without speaking, with the appraising lookin her eyes which he remembered so well, which had always reminded himof the look in his grandfather's eyes, and which when a boy he resentedso strongly. 

"Yes, " she said slowly, "I think you have changed. Not because you sayyou feel so much older or because you are uneasy and dissatisfied. Somany of the men I talked with at the camp hospital, the men who had beenover there and had been wounded, as you were, said they felt the sameway. That doesn't mean anything, I think, except that it is dreadfullyhard to get readjusted again and settle down to everyday things. Butit seems to me that you have changed in other ways. You are a littlethinner, but broader, too, aren't you? And you do look older, especiallyabout the eyes. And, of course--well, of course I think I do miss alittle of the Albert Speranza I used to know, the young chap with thechip on his shoulder for all creation to knock off. "

"Young jackass!"

"Oh, no indeed. He had his good points. But there! we're wasting timeand we have so much to talk about. You--why, what am I thinking of! Ihave neglected the most important thing in the world. And you have justreturned from New York, too. Tell me, how is Madeline Fosdick?"

"She is well. But tell me about yourself. You have been in all sorts ofwar work, haven't you. Tell me about it. "

"Oh, my work didn't amount to much. At first I 'Red Crossed' in Boston, then I went to Devens and spent a long time in the camp hospital there. "

"Pretty trying, wasn't it?"

"Why--yes, some of it was. When the 'flu' epidemic was raging and thepoor fellows were having such a dreadful time it was bad enough. Afterthat I was sent to Eastview. In the hospital there I met the boys whohad been wounded on the other side and who talked about old age anddissatisfaction and uneasiness, just as you do. But MY work doesn'tcount. You are the person to be talked about. Since I have seen you youhave become a famous poet and a hero and--"

"Don't!"

She had been smiling; now she was very serious. 

"Forgive me, Albert, " she said. "We have been joking, you and I, butthere was a time when we--when your friends did not joke. Oh, Albert, if you could have seen the Snow place as I saw it then. It was as if allthe hope and joy and everything worth while had been crushed out of it. Your grandmother, poor little woman, was brave and quiet, but weall knew she was trying to keep up for Captain Zelotes' sake. Andhe--Albert, you can scarcely imagine how the news of your death changedhim. . . . Ah! well, it was a hard time, a dreadful time for--for everyone. "

She paused and he, turning to look at her, saw that there were tears inher eyes. He knew of her affection for his grandparents and theirs forher. Before he could speak she was smiling again. 

"But now that is all over, isn't it?" she said. "And the Snows arethe happiest people in the country, I do believe. AND the proudest, ofcourse. So now you must tell me all about it, about your experiences, and about your war cross, and about your literary work--oh, abouteverything. "

The all-inclusive narrative was not destined to get very far. Old Mr. Kendall came hurrying in, the sermon on the casting down of Baal in hishand. Thereafter he led, guided, and to a large extent monopolized theconversation. His discourse had proceeded perhaps as far as "Thirdly"when Albert, looking at his watch, was surprised to find it almostdinner time. Mr. Kendall, still talking, departed to his study to huntfor another sermon. The young people said good-by in his absence. 

"It has been awfully good to see you again, Helen, " declared Albert. "But I told you that in the beginning, didn't I? You seem like--well, like a part of home, you know. And home means something to me nowadays. "

"I'm glad to hear you speak of South Harniss as home. Of course I knowyou don't mean to make it a permanent home--I imagine Madeline wouldhave something to say about that--but it is nice to have you speak as ifthe old town meant something to you. "

He looked about him. 

"I love the place, " he said simply. 

"I am glad. So do I; but then I have lived here all my life. The nexttime we talk I want to know more about your plans for the future--yoursand Madeline's, I mean. How proud she must be of you. "

He looked up at her; she was standing upon the upper step and he on thewalk below. 

"Madeline and I--" he began. Then he stopped. What was the use? He didnot want to talk about it. He waved his hand and turned away. 

After dinner he went out into the kitchen to talk to Mrs. Ellis, whowas washing dishes. She was doing it as she did all her share of thehousework, with an energy and capability which would have delighted thesoul of a "scientific management" expert. Except when under the spell ofa sympathetic attack Rachel was ever distinctly on the job. 

And of course she was, as always, glad to see her protege, her RobertPenfold. The proprietary interest which she had always felt in him wasmore than ever hers now. Had not she been the sole person to hint at thepossibility of his being alive, when every one else had given him up fordead? Had not she been the only one to suggest that he might have beentaken prisoner? Had SHE ever despaired of seeing him again--on thisearth and in the flesh? Indeed, she had not; at least, she had neveradmitted it, if she had. So then, hadn't she a RIGHT to feel that sheowned a share in him? No one ventured to dispute that right. 

She turned and smiled over one ample shoulder when he entered thekitchen. 

"Hello, " she hailed cheerfully. "Come callin', have you, Robert--Albert, I mean? It would have been a great help to me if you'd been christenedRobert. I call you that so much to myself it comes almost more naturalthan the other. On account of you bein' so just like Robert Penfold inthe book, you know, " she added. 

"Yes, yes, of course, Rachel, I understand, " put in Albert hastily. Hewas not in the mood to listen to a dissertation on a text taken fromFoul Play. He looked about the room and sighed happily. 

"There isn't a speck anywhere, is there?" he observed. "It is just as itused to be, just as I used to think of it when I was laid up over there. When I wanted to try and eat a bit, so as to keep what strength I had, I would think about this kitchen of yours, Rachel. It didn't do tothink of the places where the prison stuff was cooked. They werenot--appetizing. "

Mrs. Ellis nodded. "I presume likely not, " she observed. "Well, don'ttell me about 'em. I've just scrubbed this kitchen from stem to stern. If I heard about those prison places, I'd feel like startin' right inand scrubbin' it all over again, I know I should. . . . Dirty pigs! Iwish I had the scourin' of some of those Germans! I'd--I don't know as Iwouldn't skin 'em alive. "

Albert laughed. "Some of them pretty nearly deserved it, " he said. 

Rachel smiled grimly. "Well, let's talk about nice things, " she said. "Oh, Issy Price was here this forenoon; Cap'n Lote sent him over fromthe office on an errand, and he said he saw you and Mr. Kendall goin'down street together just as he was comin' along. He hollered at you, but you didn't hear him. 'Cordin' to Issachar's tell, you was luggin' abasket with Jonah's whale in it, or somethin' like that. "

Albert described his encounter with the minister. Rachel was muchinterested. 

"Oh, so you saw Helen, " she said. "Well, I guess she was surprised tosee you. "

"Not more than I was to see her. I didn't know she was in town. Not asoul had mentioned it--you nor Grandfather nor Grandmother. "

The housekeeper answered without turning her head. "Guess we had so manythings to talk about we forgot it, " she said. "Yes, she's been here overa week now. High time, from what I hear. The poor old parson has failedconsider'ble and Maria Price's housekeepin' and cookin' is enough tomake a well man sick--or wish he was. But he'll be looked after now. Helen will look after him. She's the most capable girl there is inOstable County. Did she tell you about what she done in the Red Crossand the hospitals?"

"She said something about it, not very much. "

"Um-hm. She wouldn't, bein' Helen Kendall. But the Red Cross folks saidenough, and they're sayin' it yet. Why--"

She went on to tell of Helen's work in the Red Cross depots and in thecamp, and hospitals. It was an inspiring story. 

"There they was, " said Rachel, "the poor things, just boys most of 'em, dyin' of that dreadful influenza like rats, as you might say. And, ofcourse it's dreadful catchin', and a good many was more afraid of itthan they would have been of bullets, enough sight. But Helen Kendallwa'n't afraid--no, siree! Why--"

And so on. Albert listened, hearing most of it, but losing some as histhoughts wandered back to the Helen he had known as a boy and the Helenhe had met that forenoon. Her face, as she had welcomed him at theparsonage door--it was surprising how clearly it showed before hismind's eye. He had thought at first that she had not changed inappearance. That was not quite true--she had changed a little, but itwas merely the fulfillment of a promise, that was all. Her eyes, hersmile above a hospital bed--he could imagine what they must have seemedlike to a lonely, homesick boy wrestling with the "flu. "

"And, don't talk!" he heard the housekeeper say, as he drifted out ofhis reverie, "if she wa'n't popular around that hospital, around bothhospitals, fur's that goes! The patients idolized her, and the othernurses they loved her, and the doctors--"

"Did they love her, too?" Albert asked, with a smile, as she hesitated. 

She laughed. "Some of 'em did, I cal'late, " she answered. "You see, Igot most of my news about it all from Bessie Ryder, Cornelius Ryder'sniece, lives up on the road to the Center; you used to know her, Albert. Bessie was nursin' in that same hospital, the one Helen was at first. 'Cordin' to her, there was some doctor or officer tryin' to shine up toHelen most of the time. When she was at Eastview, so Bessie heard, therewas a real big-bug in the Army, a sort of Admiral or Commodore amongstthe doctors he was, and HE was trottin' after her, or would have been ifshe'd let him. 'Course you have to make some allowances for Bessie--shewouldn't be a Ryder if she didn't take so many words to say so littlethat the truth gets stretched pretty thin afore she finished--but theremust have been SOMETHIN' in it. And all about her bein' such a wonderfulnurse and doin' so much for the Red Cross I KNOW is true. . . . Eh? Didyou say anything, Albert?"

Albert shook his head. "No, Rachel, " he replied. "I didn't speak. "

"I thought I heard you or somebody say somethin'. I--Why, Laban Keeler, what are you doin' away from your desk this time in the afternoon?"

Laban grinned as he entered the kitchen. 

"Did I hear you say you thought you heard somebody sayin' somethin', Rachel?" he inquired. "That's queer, ain't it? Seemed to me _I_ heardsomebody sayin' somethin' as I come up the path just now. Seemed as ifthey was sayin' it right here in the kitchen, too. 'Twasn't yourvoice, Albert, and it couldn't have been Rachel's, 'cause she NEVERtalks--'specially to you. It's too bad, the prejudice she's got againstyou, Albert, " he added, with a wink. "Um-hm, too bad--yes, 'tis--yes, yes. "

Mrs. Ellis sniffed. 

"And that's what the newspapers in war time used to call--er--er--oh, dear, what was it?--camel--seems's if 'twas somethin' about a camel--"

"Camouflage?" suggested Albert. 

"That's it. All that talk about me is just camouflage to save himanswerin' my question. But he's goin' to answer it. What are you doin'away from the office this time in the afternoon, I want to know?"

Mr. Keeler perched his small figure on the corner of the kitchen table. 

"Well, to tell you the truth, Rachel, " he said solemnly. "I'm here to dowhat the folks in books call demand an explanation. You and I, Rachel, are just as good as engaged to be married, ain't we? I've been keepin'company with you for the last twenty, forty or sixty years, some suchspell as that. Now, just as I'm gettin' used to it and beginnin' toconsider it a settled arrangement, as you may say, I come into thishouse and find you shut up in the kitchen with another man. Now, what--"

The housekeeper advanced toward him with the dripping dishcloth. 

"Laban Keeler, " she threatened, "if you don't stop your foolishness andanswer my question, I declare I'll--"

Laban slid from his perch and retired behind the table. 

"Another man, " he repeated. "And SOME folks--not many, of course, butsome--might be crazy enough to say he was a better-lookin' man thanI am. Now, bein' ragin' jealous, --All right, Rachel, all right, Isurrender. Don't hit me with all those soapsuds. I don't want to go backto the office foamin' at the mouth. The reason I'm here is that I had togo down street to see about the sheathin' for the Red Men's lodge room. Issy took the order, but he wasn't real sure whether 'twas sheathin'or scantlin' they wanted, so I told Cap'n Lote I'd run down myself andstraighten it out. On the way back I saw you two through the window andI thought I'd drop in and worry you. So here I am. "

Mrs. Ellis nodded. "Yes, " she sniffed. "And all that camel--camel--Oh, DEAR, what DOES ail me? All that camel--No use, I've forgot it again. "

"Never mind, Rachel, " said Mr. Keeler consolingly. "Allthe--er--menagerie was just that and nothin' more. Oh, by the way, Al, "he added, "speakin' of camels--don't you think I've done pretty well togo so long without any--er--liquid nourishment? Not a drop since you andI enlisted together. . . . Oh, she knows about it now, " he added, witha jerk of his head in the housekeeper's direction. "I felt 'twas fairlysafe and settled, so I told her. I told her. Yes, yes, yes. Um-hm, so Idid. "

Albert turned to the lady. 

"You should be very proud of him, Rachel, " he said seriously. "I thinkI realize a little something of the fight he has made, and it is bully. You should be proud of him. "

Rachel looked down at the little man. 

"I am, " she said quietly. "I guess likely he knows it. "

Laban smiled. "The folks in Washington are doin' their best to help meout, " he said. "They're goin' to take the stuff away from everybody so'sto make sure _I_ don't get any more. They'll probably put up a monumentto me for startin' the thing; don't you think they will, Al? Eh? Don'tyou, now?"

Albert and he walked up the road together. Laban told a little more ofhis battle with John Barleycorn. 

"I had half a dozen spells when I had to set my teeth, those I've gotleft, and hang on, " he said. "And the hangin'-on wa'n't as easy asstickin' to fly-paper, neither. Honest, though, I think the hardest waswhen the news came that you was alive, Al. I--I just wanted to start inand celebrate. Wanted to whoop her up, I did. " He paused a moment andthen added, "I tried whoopin' on sass'parilla and vanilla sody, but'twa'n't satisfactory. Couldn't seem to raise a real loud whisper, letalone a whoop. No, I couldn't--no, no. "

Albert laughed and laid a hand on his shoulder. "You're all right, Labe, " he declared. "I know you, and I say so. "

Laban slowly shook his head. His smile, as he answered, was ratherpathetic. 

"I'm a long, long ways from bein' all right, Al, " he said. "A long waysfrom that, I am. If I'd made my fight thirty year ago, I might have beennigher to amountin' to somethin'. . . . Oh, well, for Rachel's sakeI'm glad I've made it now. She's stuck to me when everybody would havepraised her for chuckin' me to Tophet. I was readin' one of Thackeray'sbooks t'other night--Henry Esmond, 'twas; you've read it, Al, of course;I was readin' it t'other night for the ninety-ninth time or thereabouts, and I run across the place where it says it's strange what a man cando and a woman still keep thinkin' he's an angel. That's true, too, Al. Not, " with the return of the slight smile, "that Rachel ever went so faras to call me an angel. No, no. There's limits where you can't stretchher common-sense any farther. Callin' me an angel would be just past thelimit. Yes, yes, yes. I guess SO. "

They spoke of Captain Zelotes and Olive and of their grief anddiscouragement when the news of Albert's supposed death reached them. 

"Do you know, " said Labe, "I believe Helen Kendall's comin' there for aweek did 'em more good than anything else. She got away from her soldiernursin' somehow--must have been able to pull the strings consider'bleharder'n the average to do it--and just came down to the Snow place andsort of took charge along with Rachel. Course she didn't live there, herfather thought she was visitin' him, I guess likely, but she was withCap'n Lote and Olive most of the time. Rachel says she never madea fuss, you understand, just was there and helped and was quiet andsoft-spoken and capable and--and comfortin', that's about the word, Iguess. Rachel always thought a sight of Helen afore that, but since thenshe swears by her. "

That evening--or, rather, that night, for they did not leave the sittingroom until after twelve--Mrs. Snow heard her grandson walking the floorof his room, and called to ask if he was sick. 

"I'm all right, Grandmother, " he called in reply. "Just taking a littleexercise before turning in, that's all. Sorry if I disturbed you. "

The exercise was, as a matter of fact, almost entirely mental, thepacing up and down merely an unconscious physical accompaniment. AlbertSperanza was indulging in introspection. He was reviewing and assortinghis thoughts and his impulses and trying to determine just what theywere and why they were and whither they were tending. It was a mentaland spiritual picking to pieces and the result was humiliating and inits turn resulted in a brand-new determination. 

Ever since his meeting with Helen, a meeting which had been quiteunpremeditated, he had thought of but little except her. During his talkwith her in the parsonage sitting room he had been--there was no usepretending to himself that it was otherwise--more contented with theworld, more optimistic, happier, than he had been for months, it seemedto him for years. Even while he was speaking to her of his uneasinessand dissatisfaction he was dimly conscious that at that moment he wasless uneasy and less dissatisfied, conscious that the solid ground wasbeneath his feet at last, that here was the haven after the storm, herewas--

He pulled up sharply. This line of thought was silly, dangerous, wicked. What did it mean? Three days before, only three days, he had leftMadeline Fosdick, the girl whom he had worshiped, adored, and whohad loved him. Yes, there was no use pretending there, either; he andMadeline HAD loved each other. Of course he realized now that theirlove had nothing permanently substantial about it. It was the romanceof youth, a dream which they had shared together and from which, fortunately for both, they had awakened in time. And of course herealized, too, that the awakening had begun long, long before the actualparting took place. But nevertheless only three days had elapsed sincethat parting, and now--What sort of a man was he?

Was he like his father? Was it what Captain Zelotes used to call the"Portygee streak" which was now cropping out? The opera singer had beenof the butterfly type--in his later years a middle-aged butterfly whosewings creaked somewhat--but decidedly a flitter from flower to flower. As a boy, Albert had been aware, in an uncertain fashion, of hisfather's fondness for the sex. Now, older, his judgment of his parentwas not as lenient, was clearer, more discerning. He understood now. Washis own "Portygee streak, " his inherited temperament, responsible forhis leaving one girl on a Tuesday and on Friday finding his thoughtsconcerned so deeply with another?

Well, no matter, no matter. One thing was certain--Helen shouldnever know of that feeling. He would crush it down, he would use hiscommon-sense. He would be a decent man and not a blackguard. For he hadhad his chance and had tossed it away. What would she think of him nowif he came to her after Madeline had thrown him over--that is what Mrs. Fosdick would say, would take pains that every one else should say, thatMadeline had thrown him over--what would Helen think of him if he cameto her with a second-hand love like that?

And of course she would not think of him as a lover at all. Why shouldshe? In the boy and girl days she had refused to let him speak of such athing. She was his friend, a glorious, a wonderful friend, but that wasall, all she ever dreamed of being. 

Well, that was right; that was as it should be. He should be thankfulfor such a friend. He was, of course. And he would concentrate all hisenergies upon his work, upon his writing. That was it, that was it. Good, it was settled!

So he went to bed and, eventually, to sleep. 

CHAPTER XIX

While dressing in the cold light of dawn his perturbations of theprevious night appeared in retrospect as rather boyish and unnecessary. His sudden and unexpected meeting with Helen and their talk together hadtended to make him over-sentimental, that was all. He and she were to befriends, of course, but there was no real danger of his allowing himselfto think of her except as a friend. No, indeed. He opened the bureaudrawer in search of a tie, and there was the package of "snapshots" justwhere he had tossed them that night when he first returned homeafter muster-out. Helen's photograph was the uppermost. He looked atit--looked at it for several minutes. Then he closed the drawer againand hurriedly finished his dressing. A part, at least, of his resolveof the night before had been sound common-sense. His brain was sufferingfrom lack of exercise. Work was what he needed, hard work. 

So to work he went without delay. A place to work in was the firstconsideration. He suggested the garret, but his grandmother and Rachelheld up their hands and lifted their voices in protest. 

"No, INDEED, " declared Olive. "Zelotes has always talked about writin'folks and poets starvin' in garrets. If you went up attic to work he'dbe teasin' me from mornin' to night. Besides, you'd freeze up there, ifthe smell of moth-balls didn't choke you first. No, you wait; I've got anotion. There's that old table desk of Zelotes' in the settin' room. Hedon't hardly ever use it nowadays. You take it upstairs to your own roomand work in there. You can have the oil-heater to keep you warm. "

So that was the arrangement made, and in his own room Albert sat down atthe battered old desk, which had been not only his grandfather's buthis great-grandfather's property, to concentrate upon the first ofthe series of stories ordered by the New York magazine. He had alreadydecided upon the general scheme for the series. A boy, ragamuffin sonof immigrant parents, rising, after a wrong start, by sheer grit andnatural shrewdness and ability, step by step to competence and success, winning a place in and the respect of a community. There was nothing newin the idea itself. Some things his soldier chum Mike Kelley had toldhim concerning an uncle of his--Mike's--suggested it. The novelty hehoped might come from the incidents, the various problems faced by hishero, the solution of each being a step upward in the latter's careerand in the formation of his character. He wanted to write, if he could, the story of the building of one more worth-while American, for AlbertSperanza, like so many others set to thinking by the war and the warexperiences, was realizing strongly that the gabbling of a formula andthe swearing of an oath of naturalization did not necessarily make anAmerican. There were too many eager to take that oath with tongue incheek and knife in sleeve. Too many, for the first time in theirlives breathing and speaking as free men, thanks to the protection ofColumbia's arm, yet planning to stab their protectress in the back. 

So Albert's hero was to be an American, an American to whom theterm meant the highest and the best. If he had hunted a lifetime forsomething to please and interest his grandfather he could not have hitthe mark nearer the center. Cap'n Lote, of course, pretended a certainmeasure of indifference, but that was for Olive and Rachel's benefit. Itwould never do for the scoffer to become a convert openly and at once. The feminine members of the household clamored each evening to have theauthor read aloud his day's installment. The captain sniffed. 

"Oh, dear, dear, " with a groan, "now I've got to hear all that made-upstuff that happened to a parcel of made-up folks that never lived andnever will. Waste of time, waste of time. Where's my Transcript?"

But it was noticed--and commented upon, you may be sure--by his wife andhousekeeper that the Transcript was likely to be, before the reading hadprogressed far, either in the captain's lap or on the floor. And whenthe discussion following the reading was under way Captain Zelotes'opinions were expressed quite as freely as any one's else. Laban Keelergot into the habit of dropping in to listen. 

One fateful evening the reading was interrupted by the arrival ofMr. Kendall. The reverend gentleman had come to make a pastoral call. Albert's hero was in the middle of a situation. The old clergymaninsisted upon the continuation of the reading. It was continued and sowas the discussion following it; in fact, the discussion seemed likelyto go on indefinitely, for the visitor showed no inclination of leaving. At ten-thirty his daughter appeared to inquire about him and toescort him home. Then he went, but under protest. Albert walked to theparsonage with them. 

"Now we've started somethin', " groaned the captain, as the door closed. "That old critter'll be cruisin' over here six nights out of fivefrom now on to tell Al just how to spin those yarns of his. And he'lltalk--and talk--and talk. Ain't it astonishin' how such a feeble-lookin'craft as he is can keep blowin' off steam that way and still be able tonavigate. "

His wife took him to task. "The idea, " she protested, "of your callin'your own minister a 'critter'! I should think you'd be ashamed. . . . But, oh, dear, I'm afraid he WILL be over here an awful lot. "

Her fears were realized. Mr. Kendall, although not on hand "six nightsout of five, " as the captain prophesied, was a frequent visitor atthe Snow place. As Albert's story-writing progressed the discussionsconcerning the growth and development of the hero's character becamemore and more involved and spirited. They were for the most partconfined, when the minister was present, to him and Mrs. Snow andRachel. Laban, if he happened to be there, sat well back in the corner, saying little except when appealed to, and then answering with one ofhis dry, characteristic observations. Captain Lote, in the rocker, hislegs crossed, his hand stroking his beard, and with the twinkle in hiseyes, listened, and spoke but seldom. Occasionally, when he and hisgrandson exchanged glances, the captain winked, indicating appreciationof the situation. 

"Say, Al, " he said, one evening, after the old clergyman had departed, "it must be kind of restful to have your work all laid out for you thisway. Take it to-night, for instance; I don't see but what everything'splanned for this young feller you're writin' about so you nor he won'thave to think for yourselves for a hundred year or such matter. Coursethere's some little difference in the plans. Rachel wants him to getwrecked on an island or be put in jail, and Mother, she wants him to bea soldier and a poet, and Mr. Kendall thinks it's high time he joinedthe church or signed the pledge or stopped swearin' or chewin' gum. "

"Zelotes, how ridiculous you do talk!"

"All right, Mother, all right. What strikes me, Al, is they don't any of'em stop to ask you what YOU mean to have him do. Course I know 'tain'tany of your business, but still--seems 's if you might be a little miteinterested in the boy yourself. "

Albert laughed. "Don't worry, Grandfather, " he said. "I'm enjoying itall very much. And some of the suggestions may be just what I'm lookingfor. "

"Well, son, we'll hope so. Say, Labe, I've got a notion for keepin' theminister from doin' all the talkin. ' We'll ask Issy Price to drop in;eh?"

Laban shook his head. "I don't know, Cap'n Lote, " he observed. "Soundsto me a good deal like lettin' in a hurricane to blow out a match with. . . . Um-hm. Seems so to me. Yes, yes. "

Mr. Kendall's calls would have been more frequent still had Helen notinterfered. Very often, when he came she herself dropped in a littlelater and insisted upon his making an early start for home. Occasionallyshe came with him. She, too, seemed much interested in the progress ofthe stories, but she offered few suggestions. When directly appealed to, she expressed her views, and they were worth while. 

Albert was resolutely adhering to his determination not to permithimself to think of her except as a friend. That is, he hoped he was;thoughts are hard to control at times. He saw her often. They met on thestreet, at church on Sunday--his grandmother was so delighted when heaccompanied her to "meeting" that he did so rather more frequently, perhaps, than he otherwise would--at the homes of acquaintances, and, ofcourse, at the Snow place. When she walked home with her father after a"story evening" he usually went with them as additional escort. 

She had not questioned him concerning Madeline since their first meetingthat morning at the parsonage. He knew, therefore, that some one--hisgrandmother, probably--had told her of the broken engagement. Whenthey were alone together they talked of many things, casual things, thegeneralities of which, so he told himself, a conversation between merefriends was composed. But occasionally, after doing escort duty, afterMr. Kendall had gone into the house to take his "throat medicine"--amedicine which Captain Zelotes declared would have to be double-strengthpretty soon to offset the wear and tear of the story evenings--theytalked of matters more specific and which more directly concernedthemselves. She spoke of her hospital work, of her teaching before thewar, and of her plans for the future. The latter, of course, were veryindefinite now. 

"Father needs me, " she said, "and I shall not leave him while he lives. "

They spoke of Albert's work and plans most of all. He began to ask foradvice concerning the former. When those stories were written, whatthen? She hoped he would try the novel he had hinted at. 

"I'm sure you can do it, " she said. "And you mustn't give up the poemsaltogether. It was the poetry, you know, which was the beginning. "

"YOU were the beginning, " he said impulsively. "Perhaps I shouldnever have written at all if you hadn't urged me, shamed me out of mylaziness. "

"I was a presuming young person, I'm afraid, " she said. "I wonderyou didn't tell me to mind my own business. I believe you did, but Iwouldn't mind. "

June brought the summer weather and the summer boarders to SouthHarniss. One of the news sensations which came at the same time was thatthe new Fosdick cottage had been sold. The people who had occupied itthe previous season had bought it. Mrs. Fosdick, so rumor said, was notstrong and her doctors had decided that the sea air did not agree withher. 

"Crimustee!" exclaimed Issachar, as he imparted the news to Mr. Keeler, "if that ain't the worst. Spend your money, and a pile of money, too, buyin' ground, layin' of it out to build a house on to live in, thenbuildin' that house and then, by crimus, sellin' it to somebody else forTHEM to live in. That beats any foolishness ever come MY way. "

"And there's some consider'ble come your way at that, ain't they, Is?"observed Laban, busy with his bookkeeping. 

Issachar nodded. "You're right there has, " he said complacently. "I . . . What do you mean by that? Tryin' to be funny again, ain't you?"

Albert heard the news with a distinct feeling of relief. While thefeeling on his part toward Madeline was of the kindliest, and Madeline'swas, he felt sure, the same toward him, nevertheless to meet herday after day, as people must meet in a village no bigger than SouthHarniss, would be awkward for both. And to meet Mrs. Fosdick might bemore awkward still. He smiled as he surmised that the realization by thelady of that very awkwardness was probably responsible for the discoverythat sea air was not beneficial. 

The story-writing and the story evenings continued. Over the fourthstory in the series discussion was warm, for there were markeddifferences of opinion among the listeners. One of the experiencesthrough which Albert had brought his hero was that of working as generalassistant to a sharp, unscrupulous and smooth-tongued rascal who wasproprietor of a circus sideshow and fake museum. He was a kind-heartedswindler, but one who never let a question of honesty interfere with thegetting of a dollar. In this fourth story, to the town where the hero, now a man of twenty-five, had established himself in business, came thischeat of other days, but now he came as a duly ordained clergyman inanswer to the call of the local church. The hero learned that he had nottold the governing body of that church of his former career. Had he doneso, they most certainly would not have called him. The leading man inthat church body was the hero's patron and kindest friend. The question:What was the hero's duty in the matter?

Of course the first question asked was whether or not the ex-sideshowproprietor was sincerely repentant and honestly trying to walk thestraight path and lead others along it. Albert replied that his hero hadinterviewed him and was satisfied that he was; he had been "converted"at a revival and was now a religious enthusiast whose one idea was tosave sinners. 

That was enough for Captain Zelotes. 

"Let him alone, then, " said the captain. "He's tryin' to be a decentman. What do you want to do? Tell on him and have him chucked overboardfrom one church after another until he gets discouraged and takes toswindlin' again?"

Rachel Ellis could not see it that way. 

"If he was a saved sinner, " she declared, "and repentant of his sins, then he'd ought to repent 'em out loud. Hidin' 'em ain't repentin'. And, besides, there's Donald's (Donald was the hero's name) there's Donald'sduty to the man that's been so good to him. Is it fair to that man tokeep still and let him hire a minister that, like as not, will steal thecollection, box and all, afore he gets through? No, sir, Donald ought totell THAT man, anyhow. "

Olive was pretty dubious about the whole scheme. She doubted if anybodyconnected with a circus COULD ever become a minister. 

"The whole--er--er--trade is so different, " she said. 

Mr. Kendall was not there that evening, his attendance being required ata meeting of the Sunday School teachers. Helen, however, was not at thatmeeting and Captain Zelotes declared his intention of asking her opinionby telephone. 

"She'll say same as I do--you see if she don't, " he declared. Whenhe called the parsonage, however, Maria Price answered the phone andinformed him that Helen was spending the evening with old Mrs. Crowell, who lived but a little way from the Snow place. The captain promptlycalled up the Crowell house. 

"She's there and she'll stop in here on her way along, " he saidtriumphantly. "And she'll back me up--you see. "

But she did not. She did not "back up" any one. She merely smiled anddeclared the problem too complicated to answer offhand. 

"Why don't you ask Albert?" she inquired. "After all, he is the one whomust settle it eventually. "

"He won't tell, " said Olive. "He's real provokin', isn't he? And now youwon't tell, either, Helen. "

"Oh, I don't know--yet. But I think he does. "

Albert, as usual, walked home with her. 

"How are you going to answer your hero's riddle?" she asked. 

"Before I tell you, suppose you tell me what your answer would be. "

She reflected. "Well, " she said, "it seems to me that, all things beingas they are, he should do this: He should go to the sideshow man--theminister now--and have a very frank talk with him. He should tell himthat he had decided to say nothing about the old life and to help himin every way, to be his friend--provided that he keep straight, that isall. Of course more than that would be meant, the alternative would bethere and understood, but he need not say it. I think that course ofaction would be fair to himself and to everybody. That is my answer. What is yours?"

He laughed quietly. "Just that, of course, " he said. "You would see it, I knew. You always see down to the heart of things, Helen. You have thegift. "

She shook her head. "It didn't really need a gift, this particularproblem, did it?" she said. "It is not--excuse me--it isn't exactly anew one. "

"No, it isn't. It is as old as the hills, but there are always newtwists to it. "

"As there are to all our old problems. "

"Yes. By the way, your advice about the ending of my third story wasexactly what I needed. The editor wrote me he should never have forgivenme if it had ended in any other way. It probably WOULD have ended inanother way if it hadn't been for you. Thank you, Helen. "

"Oh, you know there was really nothing to thank me for. It was all you, as usual. Have you planned the next story, the fifth, yet?"

"Not entirely. I have some vague ideas. Do you want to hear them?"

"Of course. "

So they discussed those ideas as they walked along the sidewalk of thestreet leading down to the parsonage. It was a warm evening, a lightmist, which was not substantial enough to be a fog, hanging low overeverything, wrapping them and the trees and the little front yards andlow houses of the old village in a sort of cozy, velvety, confidentialquiet. The scent of lilacs was heavy in the air. 

They both were silent. Just when they had ceased speaking neither couldhave told. They walked on arm in arm and suddenly Albert became awarethat this silence was dangerous for him; that in it all his resolves andbrave determinations were melting into mist like that about him; thathe must talk and talk at once and upon a subject which was not personal, which--

And then Helen spoke. 

"Do you know what this reminds me of?" she said. "All this talk of ours?It reminds me of how we used to talk over those first poems of yours. You have gone a long way since then. "

"I have gone to Kaiserville and back. "

"You know what I mean. I mean your work has improved wonderfully. Youwrite with a sure hand now, it seems to me. And your view is so muchbroader. "

"I hope I'm not the narrow, conceited little rooster I used to be. Itold you, Helen, that the war handed me an awful jolt. Well, it did. Ithink it, or my sickness or the whole business together, knocked most ofthat self-confidence of mine galley-west. For so much I'm thankful. "

"I don't know that I am, altogether. I don't want you to lose confidencein yourself. You should be confident now because you deserve to be. Andyou write with confidence, or it reads as if you did. Don't you feelthat you do, yourself? Truly, don't you?"

"Well, perhaps, a little. I have been at it for some time now. I oughtto show some progress. Perhaps I don't make as many mistakes. "

"I can't see that you have made any. "

"I have made one . . . A damnable one. "

"Why, what do you mean?"

"Oh, nothing. I didn't mean to say that. . . . Helen, do you know it isawfully good of you to take all this interest in me--in my work, I mean. Why do you do it?"

"Why?"

"Yes, why?"

"Why, because--Why shouldn't I? Haven't we always talked about yourwritings together, almost since we first knew each other? Aren't we oldfriends?"

There it was again--friends. It was like a splash of cold water in theface, at once awakening and chilling. Albert walked on in silence fora few moments and then began speaking of some trivial subject entirelydisconnected with himself or his work or her. When they reached theparsonage door he said good night at once and strode off toward home. 

Back in his room, however, he gave himself another mental picking topieces. He was realizing most distinctly that this sort of thing wouldnot do. It was easy to say that his attitude toward Helen Kendall wasto be that of a friend and nothing more, but it was growing harder andharder to maintain that attitude. He had come within a breath that verynight of saying what was in his heart. 

Well, if he had said it, if he did say it--what then? After all, wasthere any real reason why he should not say it? It was true that he hadloved, or fancied that he loved, Madeline, that he had been betrothed toher--but again, what of it? Broken engagements were common enough, andthere was nothing disgraceful in this one. Why not go to Helen and tellher that his fancied love for Madeline had been the damnable mistake hehad confessed making. Why not tell her that since the moment when he sawher standing in the doorway of the parsonage on the morning followinghis return from New York he had known that she was the only woman in theworld for him, that it was her image he had seen in his dreams, in thedelirium of fever, that it was she, and not that other, who--

But there, all this was foolishness, and he knew it. He did not dare sayit. Not for one instant had she, by speech or look or action, given himthe slightest encouragement to think her feeling for him was anythingbut friendship. And that friendship was far too precious to risk. Hemust not risk it. He must keep still, he must hide his thoughts, shemust never guess. Some day, perhaps, after a year or two, after hisposition in his profession was more assured, then he might speak. Buteven then there would be that risk. And the idea of waiting was notpleasant. What had Rachel told him concerning the hosts of doctors andofficers and generals who had been "shining up" to her. Some risk there, also. 

Well, never mind. He would try to keep on as he had been going for thepresent. He would try not to see her as frequently. If the strain becameunbearable he might go away somewhere--for a time. 

He did not go away, but he made it a point not to see her as frequently. However, they met often even as it was. And he was conscious always thatthe ice beneath his feet was very, very thin. 

One wonderful August evening he was in his room upstairs. He was notwriting. He had come up there early because he wished to think, to consider. A proposition had been made to him that afternoon, asurprising proposition--to him it had come as a complete surprise--andbefore mentioning it even to his grandparents he wished to think it oververy carefully. 

About ten o'clock his grandfather called to him from the foot of thestairs and asked him to come down. 

"Mr. Kendall's on the phone, " said Captain Zelotes. "He's worried aboutHelen. She's up to West Harniss sittin' up along of Lurany Howes, who'sbeen sick so long. She ain't come home, and the old gentleman's frettin'about her walkin' down from there alone so late. I told him I cal'latedyou'd just as soon harness Jess and drive up and get her. You talk withhim yourself, Al. "

Albert did and, after assuring the nervous clergyman that he would seethat his daughter reached home safely, put on his hat and went out tothe barn. Jessamine was asleep in her stall. As he was about to leadher out he suddenly remembered that one of the traces had broken thatmorning and Captain Zelotes had left it at the harness-maker's to bemended. It was there yet. The captain had forgotten the fact, and so hadhe. That settled the idea of using Jessamine and the buggy. Never mind, it was a beautiful night and the walk was but little over a mile. 

When he reached the tiny story-and-a-half Howes cottage, sitting backfrom the road upon the knoll amid the tangle of silverleaf sprouts, itwas Helen herself who opened the door. She was surprised to see him, andwhen he explained his errand she was a little vexed. 

"The idea of Father's worrying, " she said. "Such a wonderful night asthis, bright moonlight, and in South Harniss, too. Nothing ever happensto people in South Harniss. I will be ready in a minute or two. Mrs. Howes' niece is here now and will stay with her until to-morrow. Thenher sister is coming to stay a month. As soon as I get her medicineready we can go. "

The door of the tiny bedroom adjoining the sitting room was open, andAlbert, sitting upon the lounge with the faded likeness of a pinkdog printed on the plush cover, could hear the querulous voice of theinvalid within. The widow Howes was deaf and, as Laban Keeler describedit, "always hollered loud enough to make herself hear" when she spoke. Helen was moving quietly about the sick room and speaking in a low tone. Albert could not hear what she said, but he could hear Lurania. 

"You're a wonder, that's what you be, " declared the latter, "and I toldyour pa so last time he was here. 'She's a saint, ' says I, 'if everthere was one on this earth. She's the nicest, smartest, best-lookin'girl in THIS town and . . . ' eh?"

There had been a murmur, presumably of remonstrance, from Helen. 

"Eh?"

Another murmur. 

"EH? WHO'D you say was there?"

A third murmur. 

"WHO? . . . Oh, that Speranzy one? Lote Snow's grandson? The one theyused to call the Portygee? . . . Eh? Well, all right, I don't care ifhe did hear me. If he don't know you're nice and smart and good-lookin', it's high time he did. "

Helen, a trifle embarrassed but laughing, emerged a moment later, andwhen she had put on her hat she and Albert left the Howes cottage andbegan their walk home. It was one of those nights such as Cape Codders, year-rounders or visitors, experience three or four times during asummer and boast of the remainder of the year. A sky clear, deep, stretched cloudless from horizon to horizon. Every light at sea or onshore, in cottage window or at masthead or in lighthouse or on lightshipa twinkling diamond point. A moon, apparently as big as a barrel-head, hung up in the east and below it a carpet of cold fire, of dancing, spangled silver spread upon the ocean. The sound of the surf, distant, soothing; and for the rest quiet and the fragrance of the summer woodsand fields. 

They walked rather fast at first and the conversation was brisk, but asthe night began to work its spell upon them their progress was slowerand there were intervals of silence of which neither was aware. Theycame to the little hill where the narrow road from West Harniss comes tojoin the broader highway leading to the Center. There were trees here, a pine grove, on the landward side, and toward the sea nothing to breakthe glorious view. 

Helen caught her breath. "Oh, it is beautiful, beautiful!" she said. 

Albert did not answer. "Why don't you talk?" she asked. "What are youthinking about?"

He did not tell her what he was thinking about. Instead, having caughthimself just in time, he began telling her of what he had been thinkingwhen his grandfather called him to the telephone. 

"Helen, " he said, "I want to ask your advice. I had an astonishingproposal made to me this afternoon. I must make a decision, I must sayyes or no, and I'm not sure which to say. "

She looked up at him inquiringly. 

"This afternoon, " he went on, "Doctor Parker called me into his office. There was a group of men there, prominent men in politics from about thecountry; Judge Baxter from Ostable was there, and Captain Warren fromSouth Denboro, and others like them. What do you suppose they want me todo?"

"I can't imagine. "

"They offer me the party nomination for Congress from this section. Thatis, of course, they want me to permit my name to stand and they seemsure my nomination will be confirmed by the voters. The nomination, theysay, is equivalent to election. They seem certain of it. . . . And theywere insistent that I accept. "

"Oh--oh, Albert!"

"Yes. They said a good many flattering things, things I should like tobelieve. They said my war record and my writing and all that had mademe a prominent man in the county--Please don't think I take any stock inthat--"

"But _I_ do. Go on. "

"Well, that is all. They seemed confident that I would make a goodcongressman. I am not so sure. Of course the thing . . . Well, it doestempt me, I confess. I could keep on with my writing, of course. Ishould have to leave the home people for a part of the year, but I couldbe with them or near them the rest. And . . . Well, Helen, I--I thinkI should like the job. Just now, when America needs Americans and thething that isn't American must be fought, I should like--if I were sureI was capable of it--"

"Oh, but you are--you ARE. "

"Do you really think so? Would you like to have me try?"

He felt her arm tremble upon his. She drew a long breath. 

"Oh, I should be so PROUD!" she breathed. 

There was a quiver in her voice, almost a sob. He bent toward her. Shewas looking off toward the sea, the moonlight upon her face was like aglory, her eyes were shining--and there were tears in them. His heartthrobbed wildly. 

"Helen!" he cried. "Helen!"

She turned and looked up into his face. The next moment her own face washidden against his breast, his arms were about her, and . . . And therisk, the risk he had feared to take, was taken. 

They walked home after a time, but it was a slow, a very slow walk withmany interruptions. 

"Oh, Helen, " he kept saying, "I don't see how you can. How can you? Inspite of it all. I--I treated you so badly. I was SUCH an idiot. And youreally care? You really do?"

She laughed happily. "I really do . . . And . . . And I really have, allthe time. "

"Always?"

"Always. "

"Well--well, by George! And . . . Helen, do you know I think--I think Idid too--always--only I was such a young fool I didn't realize it. WHATa young fool I was!"

"Don't say that, dear, don't. . . . You are going to be a great man. You are a famous one already; you are going to be great. Don't you knowthat?"

He stooped and kissed her. 

"I think I shall have to be, " he said, "if I am going to be worthy ofyou. "

CHAPTER XX

Albert, sitting in the private office of Z. Snow and Co. , dropped hisnewspaper and looked up with a smile as his grandfather came in. CaptainZelotes' florid face was redder even than usual, for it was a cloudy dayin October and blowing a gale. 

"Whew!" puffed the captain, pulling off his overcoat and striding overto warm his hands at the stove; "it's raw as January comin' over thetops of those Trumet hills, and blowin' hard enough to part your backhair, besides. One time there I didn't know but I'd have to reef, cal'late I would if I'd known how to reef an automobile. "

"Is the car running as well as ever?" asked Albert. 

"You bet you! Took all but two of those hills on full steam and neverslowed down a mite. Think of goin' to Trumet and back in a forenoon, and havin' time enough to do the talkin' I went to do besides. Why, Jesswould have needed the whole day to make the down cruise, to say nothin'of the return trip. Well, the old gal's havin' a good rest now, nothin'much to do but eat and sleep. She deserves it; she's been a good horsefor your grandma and me. "

He rubbed his hands before the stove and chuckled. 

"Olive's still scared to death for fear I'll get run into, or run oversomebody or somethin', " he observed. "I tell her I can navigate that carnow the way I used to navigate the old President Hayes, and I coulddo that walkin' in my sleep. There's a little exaggeration there, " headded, with a grin. "It takes about all my gumption when I'm wide awaketo turn the flivver around in a narrow road, but I manage to do it. . . . Well, what are you doin' in here, Al?" he added. "Readin' the Item'sprophesy about how big your majority's goin' to be?"

Albert smiled. "I dropped in here to wait for you, Grandfather, " hereplied. "The novel-writing mill wasn't working particularly well, so Igave it up and took a walk. "

"To the parsonage, I presume likely?"

"Well, I did stop there for a minute or two. "

"You don't say! I'm surprised to hear it. How is Helen this mornin'? Didshe think you'd changed much since you saw her last night?"

"I don't know. She didn't say so if she did. She sent her love to youand Grandmother--"

"What she had left over, you mean. "

"And said to tell you not to tire yourself out electioneering forme. That was good advice, too. Grandfather, don't you know that youshouldn't motor all the way to Trumet and back a morning like this? I'drather--much rather go without the votes than have you do such things. "

Captain Zelotes seated himself in his desk chair. 

"But you ain't goin' to do without 'em, " he chuckled. "Obed Nye--he'schairman of the Trumet committee--figgers you'll have a five-to-onemajority. He told me to practice callin' you 'the Honorable' becausethat's what you'd be by Tuesday night of week after next. And nextwinter Mother and I will be takin' a trip to Washin'ton so as to setin the gallery and listen to you makin' speeches. We'll be someconsider'ble proud of you, too, boy, " he added, with a nod. 

His grandson looked away, out of the window, over the bleak yard withits piles of lumber. The voice of Issacher raised in expostulation withthe driver of Cahoon's "truck-wagon" could be faintly heard. 

"I shall hate to leave you and Grandmother and the old place, " he said. "If I am elected--"

"WHEN you're elected; there isn't any 'if. '"

"Well, all right. I shall hate to leave South Harniss. Every person Ireally care for will be here. Helen--and you people at home. "

"It's too bad you and Helen can't be married and go to Washin'tontogether. Not to stay permanent, " he added quickly, "but just whileCongress is in session. Your grandma says then she'd feel as if you hadsomebody to look after you. She always figgers, you know, that a manain't capable of lookin' out for himself. There'd ought to be at leastone woman to take care of him, see that he don't get his feet wet andgoes to meetin' reg'lar and so on; if there could be two, so much thebetter. Mother would have made a pretty good Mormon, in some ways. "

Albert laughed. "Helen feels she must stay with her father for thepresent, " he said. "Of course she is right. Perhaps by and by we canfind some good capable housekeeper to share the responsibility, but notthis winter. IF I am sent to Washington I shall come back often, you maybe sure. "

"When ARE you cal'latin' to be married, if that ain't a secret?"

"Perhaps next spring. Certainly next fall. It will depend upon Mr. Kendall's health. But, Grandfather, I do feel rather like a deserter, going off and leaving you here--"

"Good Lord! You don't cal'late I'M breakin' down, runnin' strong to talkand weakenin' everywhere else, like old Minister Kendall, do you?"

"Well, hardly. But . . . Well, you see, I have felt a little ungratefulever since I came back from the war. In a way I am sorry that I feel Imust give myself entirely to my writing--and my political work. I wishI might have gone on here in this office, accepted that partnership youwould have given me--"

"You can have it yet, you know. Might take it and just keep it to fallback on in case that story-mill of yours busts altogether or all handsin Ostable County go crazy and vote the wrong ticket. Just take it andwait. Always well to have an anchor ready to let go, you know. "

"Thanks, but that wouldn't be fair. I wish I MIGHT have taken it--foryour sake. I wish for your sake I were so constituted as to be good forsomething at it. Of course I don't mean by that that I should be willingto give up my writing--but--well, you see, Grandfather, I owe you anawful lot in this world . . . And I know you had set your heart on mybeing your partner in Z. Snow and Co. I know you're disappointed. "

Captain Lote did not answer instantly. He seemed to be thinking. Thenhe opened a drawer in his desk and took out a box of cigars similar tothose he had offered the Honorable Fletcher Fosdick on the occasion oftheir memorable interview. 

"Smoke, Al?" he asked. Albert declined because of the nearness to dinnertime, but the captain, who never permitted meals or anything else tointerfere with his smoking, lighted one of the cigars and leaned back inhis chair, puffing steadily. 

"We-ll, Al, " he said slowly, "I'll tell you about that. There was atime--I'll own up that there was a time when the idea you wasn't goin'to turn out a business man and the partner who would take over thisconcern after I got my clearance papers was a notion I wouldn't letmyself think of for a minute. I wouldn't THINK of it, that's all. ButI've changed my mind about that, as I have about some other things. " Hepaused, tugged at his beard, and then added, "And I guess likely I mightas well own up to the whole truth while I'm about it: I didn't change itbecause I wanted to, but because I couldn't help it--'twas changed forme. "

He made this statement more as if he were thinking aloud than as if heexpected a reply. A moment later he continued. 

"Yes, sir, " he said, "'twas changed for me. And, " with a shrug, "I'drather prided myself that when my mind was made up it stayed that way. But--but, well, consarn it, I've about come to the conclusion that I wasa pig-headed old fool, Al, in some ways. "

"Nonsense, Grandfather. You are the last man to--"

"Oh, I don't mean a candidate for the feeble-minded school. There ain'tbeen any Snows put there that I can remember, not our branch of 'em, anyhow. But, consarn it, I--I--" he was plainly finding it hard toexpress his thought, "I--well, I used to think I knew consider'ble, had what I liked to think was good, hard sense. 'Twas hard enough, Ical'late--pretty nigh petrified in spots. "

Albert laid a hand on his knee. 

"Don't talk like that, " he replied impulsively. "I don't like to hearyou. "

"Don't you? Then I won't. But, you see, Al, it bothers me. Look how Iused to talk about makin' up poetry and writin' yarns and all that. Usedto call it silliness and a waste of time, I did--worse names than that, generally. And look what you're makin' at it in money, to say nothin' ofits shovin' you into Congress, and keepin' the newspapers busy printin'stuff about you. . . . Well, well, " with a sigh of resignation, "I don'tunderstand it yet, but know it's so, and if I'd had my pig-headed way'twouldn't have been so. It's a dreadful belittlin' feelin' to a man atmy time of life, a man that's commanded ten-thousand-ton steamers andhandled crews and bossed a business like this. It makes him wonder howmany other fool things he's done. . . . Why, do you know, Al, " he added, in a sudden burst of confidence, "I was consider'ble prejudiced againstyou when you first came here. "

He made the statement as if he expected it to come as a stunningsurprise. Albert would not have laughed for the world, nor in one waydid he feel like it, but it was funny. 

"Well, perhaps you were, a little, " he said gravely. "I don't wonder. "

"Oh, I don't mean just because you was your father's son. I mean on yourown account, in a way. Somehow, you see, I couldn't believe--eh? Oh, come in, Labe! It's all right. Al and I are just talkin' about nothin'in particular and all creation in general. "

Mr. Keeler entered with a paper in his hand. 

"Sorry to bother you, Cap'n Lote, " he said, "but this bill of Colby andSons for that last lot of hardware ain't accordin' to agreement. Theprices on those butts ain't right, and neither's those half-inch screws. Better send it back to em, eh?"

Captain Zelotes inspected the bill. 

"Humph!" he grunted. "You're right, Labe. You generally are, I notice. Yes, send it back and tell 'em--anything you want to. "

Laban smiled. "I want to, all right, " he said. "This is the third timethey've sent wrong bills inside of two months. Well, Al, " turning towardhim, "I cal'late this makes you kind of homesick, don't it, this talkabout bills and screws and bolts and such? Wa'n't teasin' for your oldjob back again, was you, Al? Cal'late he could have it, couldn't he, Cap'n? We'll need somebody to heave a bucket of water on Issy prettysoon; he's gettin' kind of pert and uppish again. Pretty much so. Yes, yes, yes. "

He departed, chuckling. Captain Zelotes looked after him. He tugged athis beard. 

"Al, " he said, "do you know what I've about made up my mind to do?"

Albert shook his head. 

"I've about made up my mind to take Labe Keeler into the firm of Z. Snowand Co. YOU won't come in, and, " with a twinkle, "I need somebody tokeep my name from gettin' lonesome on the sign. "

Albert was delighted. 

"Bully for you, Grandfather!" he exclaimed. "You couldn't do a betterthing for Labe or for the firm. And he deserves it, too. "

"Ye-es, I think he does. Labe's a mighty faithful, capable feller, andnow that he's sworn off on those vacations of his he can be trustedanywheres. Yes, I've as good as made up my mind to take him in. Ofcourse, " with the twinkle in evidence once more, "Issachar'll be alittle mite jealous, but we'll have to bear up under that as best wecan. "

"I wonder what Labe will say when you tell him?"

"He'll say yes. I'll tell Rachel first and she'll tell him to say it. And then I'll tell 'em both I won't do it unless they agree to getmarried. I've always said I didn't want to die till I'd been to thatweddin'. I want to hear Rachel tell the minister she'll 'obey' Labe. Ho, ho!"

"Do you suppose they ever will be married?"

"Why, yes, I kind of think so. I shouldn't wonder if they would be rightoff now if it wasn't that Rachel wouldn't think of givin' up keepin'house for your grandmother. She wouldn't do that and Labe wouldn't wanther to. I've got to fix that somehow. Perhaps they could live along withus. Land knows there's room enough. They're all right, those two. Kindof funny to look at, and they match up in size like a rubber boot and aslipper, but I declare I don't know which has got the most common-senseor the biggest heart. And 'twould be hard to tell which thinks the mostof you, Al. . . . Eh? Why, it's after half-past twelve o'clock! Olive'llbe for combin' our topknots with a belayin' pin if we keep her dinnerwaitin' like this. "

As they were putting on their coats the captain spoke again. 

"I hadn't finished what I was sayin' to you when Labe came in, " heobserved. "'Twasn't much account; just a sort of confession, and theysay that's good for the soul. I was just goin' to say that when youfirst came here I was prejudiced against you, not only because yourfather and I didn't agree, but because he was what he was. Because hewas--was--"

Albert finished the sentence for him. 

"A Portygee, " he said. 

"Why, yes, that's what I called him. That's what I used to call abouteverybody that wasn't born right down here in Yankeeland. I used to beprejudiced against you because you was what I called a half-breed. I'msorry, Al. I'm ashamed. See what you've turned out to be. I declare, I--"

"Shh! shh! Don't, Grandfather. When I came here I was a little snob, aconceited, insufferable little--"

"Here, here! Hold on! No, you wa'n't, neither. Or if you was, you wasonly a boy. I was a man, and I ought to--"

"No, I'm going to finish. Whatever I am now, or whatever I may be. I oweto you, and to Grandmother, and Rachel and Laban--and Helen. You made meover between you. I know that now. "

They walked home instead of riding in the new car. Captain Zelotesdeclared he had hung on to that steering wheel all the forenoon and hewas afraid if he took it again his fingers would grow fast to the rim. As they emerged from the office into the open air, he said:

"Al, regardin' that makin'-over business, I shouldn't be surprised ifit was a kind of--er--mutual thing between you and me. We both had someprejudices to get rid of, eh?"

"Perhaps so. I'm sure I did. "

"And I'm sartin sure I did. And the war and all that came with it putthe finishin' touches to the job. When I think of what the thousandsand thousands of men did over there in those hell-holes of trenches, menwith names that run all the way from Jones and Kelly to--er--"

"Speranza. "

"Yes, and Whiskervitch and the land knows what more. When I think ofthat I'm ready to take off my hat to 'em and swear I'll never be sonarrow again as to look down on a feller because he don't happen to beborn in Ostable County. There's only one thing I ask of 'em, and thatis that when they come here to live--to stay--under our laws and takin'advantage of the privileges we offer 'em--they'll stop bein' Portygeesor Russians or Polacks or whatever they used to be or their folks were, and just be Americans--like you, Al. "

"That's what we must work for now, Grandfather. It's a big job, but itmust be done. "

They walked on in silence for a time. Then the captain said:

"It's a pretty fine country, after all, ain't it, Albert?"

Albert looked about him over the rolling hills, the roofs of the littletown, the sea, the dunes, the pine groves, the scene which had grown sofamiliar to him and which had become in his eyes so precious. 

"It is MY country, " he declared, with emphasis. 

His grandfather caught his meaning. 

"I'm glad you feel that way, son, " he said, "but 'twasn't just SouthHarniss I meant then. I meant all of it, the whole United States. It'sgot its faults, of course, lots of 'em. And if I was an Englishman ora Frenchman I'd probably say it wasn't as good as England or France, whichever it happened to be. That's all right; I ain't findin' any faultwith 'em for that--that's the way they'd ought to feel. But you and I, Al, we're Americans. So the rest of the world must excuse us if we saythat, take it by and large, it's a mighty good country. We've plannedfor it, and worked for it, and fought for it, and we know. Eh?"

"Yes. We know. "

"Yes. And no howlin', wild-eyed bunch from somewhere else that haven'tdone any of these things are goin' to come here and run it their way ifwe can help it--we Americans; eh?"

Alberto Miguel Carlos Speranza, American, drew a long breath. 

"No!" he said, with emphasis. 

"You bet! Well, unless I'm mistaken, I smell salt fish and potatoes, which, accordin' to Cape Cod notion, is a good American dinner. I don'tknow how you feel, Al, but I'm hungry. "