"'Well, now, Mr. Dixland,' he says, 'I'd like to, fust rate, but you see I don't know nothin' about mechanics.'

"'Professor—' begins Augustus. 'Twas the final straw. Old Whiskers jumped out of the chair, lameness and all.

"'Out of this house, you ingrate!' he bellers. 'Out this instant! I discharge you. Go! go!'

"He was actually frothin' at the mouth. I cal'late Olivia thought he was goin' to die, for she run to him.

"'You'd better go, I think,' says she to her shakin' beau. 'Go, dear, now. I must stay with him for the present, but we will see each other soon. Go now, and trust me.'

"'I disown you, you ungrateful girl,' foams her uncle. 'Scudder, I order you to put that—that creature off this island.'

"'Yes, sir,' says Nate, polite; 'in about two shakes of a heifer's tail.'

"He started for Augustus, and Gus started for the door. I guess Olivia might have interfered, but just then the professor keels over in a kind of faint and she had to tend to him. Gus darts out of the door with Nate after him. Scudder reached the beach just as his nephew was shovin' off in the boat, bound for the mainland.

"'Consarn your empty head!' Nate yelled after him. 'See what you get by not mindin' me, don't you? I'm runnin' things on this island after this. I'm boss here; understand? When you're ready to sign a paper deedin' over ha'f that money your wife's goin' to get to me and Huldy Ann, maybe I'll let you come back. And perhaps then I'll square things for you with Dixland. But if you dare to set foot on these premises until then I'll murder you; I'll drown you; I'll cut you up for bait; I'll feed you to the dog.'

"He sculled off, his oars rattlin' 'Hark from the tomb' in the rowlocks. He b'lieved Nate meant it all. Oh, Scudder had HIM trained all right."



CHAPTER VII

CAPTAIN SOL DECIDES TO MOVE

"Trust Nate for that," interrupted Wingate. "He's just as much a born bully as he is a cheat and a skinflint."

"Yup," went on Captain Sol. "Well, when Nate got back to the house the professor was alone in the chair, lookin' sick and weak. Olivia was up in her room havin' a cryin' fit. Nate got the old man to bed, made him some clam soup and hot tea, and fetched and carried for him like he was a baby. The professor's talk was mainly about the ungrateful desertion, as he called it, of his assistant.

"'Keep him away from this island,' he says. 'If he comes, I shall commit murder; I know it.'

"Scudder promised that Augustus shouldn't come back. The professor wanted guard kept night and day. Nate said he didn't know's he could afford so much time, and Dixland doubled his wages on the spot. So Nate agreed to stand double watches, made him comfort'ble for the night, and left him.

"Olivia didn't come downstairs again. She didn't seem to want any supper, but Nate did and had it, a good one. Galileo, the cat, came yowlin' around, and Nate kicked him under the sofy. Phillips Brooks was howlin' starvation in the woodshed, and Scudder let him howl. If he starved to death Nate wouldn't put no flowers on his grave. Take it altogether, he was havin' a fairly good time.

"And when, later on, he set alone up in his room over the kitchen, he begun to have a better one. Prospects looked good. Maybe old Dixland WOULD disown his niece. If he did, Nate figgered he was as healthy a candidate for adoption as anybody. And Augustus would have to come to terms or stay single. That is, unless him and Olivia got married on nothin' a week, paid yearly. Nate guessed Huldy Ann would think he'd managed pretty well.

"He set there for a long while, thinkin', and then he says he cal'lates he must have dozed off. At any rate, next thing he knew he was settin' up straight in his chair, listenin'. It seemed to him that he'd heard a sound in the kitchen underneath.

"He looked out of the window, and right away he noticed somethin'. 'Twas a beautiful, clear moonlight night, and the high board fence around the buildin's showed black against the white sand. And in that white strip was a ten-foot white gape. Nate had shut that gate afore he went upstairs. Who'd opened it? Then he heard the noise in the kitchen again. Somebody was talkin' down there.

"Nate got up and tiptoed acrost the room. He was in his stockin' feet, so he didn't make a sound. He reached into the corner and took out his old duck gun. It was loaded, both barrels. Nate cocked the gun and crept down the back stairs.

"There was a lamp burnin' low on the kitchen table, and there, in a couple of chairs hauled as close together as they could be, set that Olivia niece and Augustus. They was in a clove hitch again and whisperin' soft and slushy.

"My! but Scudder was b'ilin'! He give one jump and landed in the middle of that kitchen floor.

"'You—you—you!' he yelled, wavin' the shotgun. 'You're back here, are you? You know what I told you I'd do to you? Well, now, I'll do it.'

"The pair of 'em had jumped about as far as Nate had, only the opposite way. Augustus was a paralyzed statue, but Olivia had her senses with her.

"'Run, Augustus!' she screamed. 'He'll shoot you. Run!'

"And then, with a screech like a siren whistle, Augustus commenced to run. Nate was between him and the outside door, so he bolted headfirst into the dining room. And after him went Nate Scudder, so crazy mad he didn't know what he was doin'.

"'Twas pitch dark in the dining room, but through it they went rattlety bang! dishes smashin', chairs upsettin' and 'hurrah, boys!' to pay gen'rally. Then through the best parlor and into the front hall.

"I cal'late Nate would have had him at the foot of the front stairs if it hadn't been for Galileo. That cat had been asleep on the sofy, and the noise and hullabaloo had stirred him up till he was as crazy as the rest of 'em. He run right under Nate's feet and down went Nate sprawlin' and both barrels of the shotgun bust loose like a couple of cannon.

"Galileo took for tall timber, whoopin' anthems. Up them front stairs went Augustus, screechin' shrill, like a woman; he was SURE Nate meant to murder him now. And after him his uncle went on all fours, swearin' tremendous.

"Then 'twas through one bedroom after another, and each one more crowded with noisy, smashable things than that previous. Nate said he could remember the professor roarin' 'Fire!' and 'Help!' as the two of 'em bumped into his bed, but they didn't stop—they was too busy. The whole length of the house upstairs they traveled, then through the ell, then the woodshed loft, and finally out into the upper story of the barn. And there Nate knew he had him. The ladder was down.

"'Now!' says Nate. 'Now, you long-legged villain, if I don't give you what's comin' to you, then—Oh, there ain't no use in your climbin' out there; you can't get down.'

"The big barn doors was open, and, in the moonlight, Nate could see Gus scramblin' up and around on the flyin' stage where the professor's aeroplane was perched, lookin' like some kind of magnified June bug.

"'Come back, you fool!' Scudder yelled at him. 'Come back and be butchered. You might as well; it's too high for you to drop. You won't? Then I'll come after you.'

"Nate says he never shall forget Augustus's face in the blue light when he see his uncle climbin' out on that stage after him. He was simply desperate—that's it, desperate. And the next thing he did was jump into the saddle of the machine and pull the startin' lever.

"There was the buzz of the electric motor, a slippery, slidin' sound, one awful hair-raisin' whoop from Augustus, and then—'F-s-s-s-t!'—down the flyin' stage whizzed that aeroplane and out through the doors.

"Nate set down on the trestles and waited for the sound of the smash. I guess he actually felt conscience stricken. Of course, he'd only done his duty, and yet—

"But no smash came. Instead, there was a long scream from the kitchen—Olivia's voice that was. And then another yell that for pure joy beat anything ever heard.

"'It flies!' screamed Professor Ansel Hobart Whiskers Dixland, from his bedroom window. 'At last! At last! It FLIES!'

"It took Nate some few minutes to paw his way back through the shed loft and the ell over the things him and Gus knocked down on the fust lap, until he got to his room where the trouble had started. Then he went down to the kitchen and outdoor.

"Olivia, a heavenly sort of look on her face, was standin' in the moonlight, with her hands clasped, lookin' up at the sky.

"'It flies!' says she, in a kind of whisper over and over again. 'Oh! it FLIES!'

"Alongside of her was old Dixland, wrapped in a bedquilt, forgettin' all about sprains and lameness; and he likewise was staring at the sky and sayin' over and over:

"'It flies! It really FLIES!'

"And Nate looked up, and there, scootin' around in circles, now up high and now down low, tippin' this way and tippin' that, was that aeroplane. And in the stillness you could hear the buzz of the motor and the yells of Augustus.

"Down flopped Scudder in the sand. 'Great land of love,' he says, 'it FLIES!'

"Well, for five minutes or so they watched that thing swoop and duck and sail up there overhead. And then, slow and easy as a feather in a May breeze, down she flutters and lands soft on a hummock a little ways off. And that Augustus—a fool for luck—staggers out of it safe and sound, and sets down and begins to cry.

"The fust thing to reach him was Olivia. She grabbed him around the neck, and you never heard such goin's on as them two had. Nate come hurryin' up.

"'Here you!' he says, pullin' 'em apart. 'That's enough of this. And you,' he adds to Gus, 'clear right out off this island. I won't make shark bait of you this time, but—'

"And then comes Dixland, hippity-hop over the hummocks. 'My noble boy!' he sings out, fallin' all of a heap onto Augustus's round shoulders. 'My noble boy! My hero!'

"Nate looked on for a full minute with his mouth open. Olivia went away toward the house. The professor and Gus was sheddin' tears like a couple of waterin' pots.

"'Come! come!' says Scudder finally; 'get up, Mr. Dixland; you'll catch cold. Now then, you Tolliver, toddle right along to your boat. Don't you worry, professor, I'll fix him so's he won't come here no more.'

"But the professor turned on him like a flash.

"'How dare you interfere?' says he. 'I forgive him everything. He is a hero. Why, man, he FLEW!'

"Olivia came up behind and touched Nate on the shoulders. 'Don't you think you'd better go, Mr. Scudder?' she purred. 'I've unchained Phillips Brooks.'

"Nate swears he never made better time than he done gettin' to the shore and the boat Augustus had come over in. But that philanthropist dog only missed the supper he'd been waitin' for by about a foot and a half, even as 'twas.

"And that was the end of it, fur's Nate was concerned. Olivia was boss from then on, and Scudder wa'n't allowed to land on his own island. And pretty soon they all went away, flyin' machine and all, and now Gus and Olivia are married."

"Well, by gum!" cried Wingate. "Say, that must have broke Nate's heart completely. All that good money goin' to the poor. Ha! ha!"

"Yes," said Captain Sol, with a broad grin. "Nate told me that every time he realized that Gus's flyin' at all was due to his scarin' him into it, it fairly made him sick of life."

"What did Huldy Ann say? I'll bet the fur flew when SHE heard of it!"

"I guess likely it did. Scudder says her jawin's was the worst of all. Her principal complaint was that he didn't take up with the professor's five-thousand offer and try to fly. 'What if 'twas risky?' she says. 'If anything happened to you the five thousand would have come to your heirs, wouldn't it? But no! you never think of no one but yourself.'"

Mr. Wingate glanced at his watch. "Good land!" he cried, "I didn't realize 'twas so late. I must trot along down and meet Stitt. He and I are goin' to corner the clam market."

"I must be goin', too," said the depot master, rising and moving toward the door, picking up his cap on the way. He threw open the door and exclaimed, "Hello! here's Sim. What you got on your mind, Sim?"

Mr. Phinney looked rather solemn. "I wanted to speak with you a minute, Sol," he began. "Hello! Barzilla, I didn't know you was here."

"I shan't be here but one second longer," replied Mr. Wingate, as he and Phinney shook hands. "I'm late already. Bailey'll think I ain't comin'. Good-by, boys. See you this afternoon, maybe."

"Yes, do," cried Berry, as his guest hurried down to the gate. "I want to hear about those automobiles over your way. You ain't bought one, have you, Barzilla?"

Wingate grinned over his shoulder. "No," he called, "I ain't. But other folks you know have. It's the biggest joke on earth. You and Sim'll want to hear it."

He waved a big hand and walked briskly up the Shore Road. The depot master turned to his friend.

"Well, Sim?" he asked.

"Well, Sol," answered the building mover gravely, "I've just met Mr. Hilton, the minister, and he told me somethin' about Olive Edwards, somethin' I thought you'd want to know. You said for me to find out what she was cal'latin' to do when she had to give up her home and—"

"I know what I said," interrupted the depot master rather sharply. "What did Hilton say?"

"Mr. Hilton told me not to tell," continued Phinney, "and I shan't tell nobody but you, Sol. I know you wont t mention it. The minister says that Olive's hard up as she can be. All she's got in the world is the little furniture and store stuff in her house. The store stuff don't amount to nothin', but the furniture belonged to her pa and ma, and she set a heap by it. Likewise, as everybody knows, she's awful proud and self-respectin'. Anything like charity would kill her. Now out West—in Omaha or somewheres—she's got a cousin who owed her dad money. Old Cap'n Seabury lent this Omaha man two or three thousand dollars and set him up in business. Course, the debt's outlawed, but Olive don't realize that, or, if she did, it wouldn't count with her. She couldn't understand how law would have any effect on payin' money you honestly owe. She's written to the Omaha cousin, tellin' him what a scrape she's in and askin' him to please, if convenient, let her have a thousand or so on account. She figgers if she gets that, she can go to Bayport or Orham or somewheres and open another notion store."

Captain Berry lit a cigar. "Hum!" he said, after a minute. "You say she's written to this chap. Has she got an answer yet?"

"No, not any definite one. She heard from the man's wife sayin' that her husband—the cousin—had gone on a fishin' trip somewheres up in Canady and wouldn't be back afore the eighth of next month. Soon's he does come he'll write her. But Mr. Hilton thinks, and so do I—havin' heard a few things about this cousin—that it's mighty doubtful if he sends any money."

"Yes, I shouldn't wonder. Where's Olive goin' to stay while she's waitin' to hear?"

"In her own house. Mr. Hilton went to Williams and pleaded with him, and he finally agreed to let her stay there until the 'Colonial' is moved onto the lot. Then the Edwardses house'll be tore down and Olive'll have to go, of course."

The depot master puffed thoughtfully at his cigar.

"She won't hear before the tenth, at the earliest," he said. "And if Williams begins to move his 'Colonial' at once, he'll get it to her lot by the seventh, sure. Have you given him your figures for the job?"

"Handed 'em in this very mornin'. One of his high-and-mighty servants, all brass buttons and braid, like a feller playin' in the band, took my letter and condescended to say he'd pass it on to Williams. I'd liked to have kicked the critter, just to see if he COULD unbend; but I jedged 'twouldn't be good business."

"Probably not. If the 'Colonial' gets to Olive's lot afore she hears from the Omaha man, what then?"

"Well, that's the worst of it. The minister don't know what she'll do. There's plenty of places where she'd be more'n welcome to visit a spell, but she's too proud to accept. Mr. Hilton's afraid she'll start for Boston to hunt up a job, or somethin'. You know how much chance she stands of gettin' a job that's wuth anything."

Phinney paused, anxiously awaiting his companion's reply. When it came it was very unsatisfactory.

"I'm goin' to the depot," said the Captain, brusquely. "So long, Sim."

He slammed the door of the house behind him, strode to the gate, flung it open, and marched on. Simeon gazed in astonishment, then hurried to overtake him. Ranging alongside, he endeavored to reopen the conversation, but to no purpose. The depot master would not talk. They turned into Cross Street.

"Well!" exclaimed Mr. Phinney, panting from his unaccustomed hurry, "what be we, runnin' a race? Why! . . . Oh, how d'ye do, Mr. Williams, sir? Want to see me, do you?"

The magnate of East Harniss stepped forward.

"Er—Phinney," he said, "I want a moment of your time. Morning, Berry."

"Mornin', Williams," observed Captain Sol brusquely. "All right, Sim. I'll wait for you farther on."

He continued his walk. The building mover stood still. Mr. Williams frowned with lofty indignation.

"Phinney," he said, "I've just looked over those figures of yours, your bid for moving my new house. The price is ridiculous."

Simeon attempted a pleasantry. "Yes," he answered, "I thought 'twas ridic'lous myself; but I needed the money, so I thought I could afford to be funny."

The Williams frown deepened.

"I didn't mean ridiculously low," he snapped; "I meant ridiculously high. I'd rather help out you town fellows if I can, but you can't work me for a good thing. I've written to Colt and Adams, of Boston, and accepted their offer. You had your chance and didn't see fit to take it. That's all. I'm sorry."

Simeon was angry; also a trifle skeptical.

"Mr. Williams," he demanded, "do you mean to tell me that THEM people have agreed to move you cheaper'n I can?"

"Their price—their actual price may be no lower; but considering their up-to-date outfit and—er—progressive methods, they're cheaper. Yes. Morning, Phinney."

He turned on his heel and walked off. Mr. Phinney, crestfallen and angrier than ever, moved on to where the depot master stood waiting for him. Captain Sol smiled grimly.

"You don't look merry as a Christmas tree, Sim," he observed. "What did his Majesty have to say to you?"

Simeon related the talk with Williams. The depot master's grim smile grew broader.

"Sim," he asked, with quiet sarcasm, "don't you realize that progressive methods are necessary in movin' a house?"

Phinney tried to smile in return, but the attempt was a failure.

"Yes," went on the Captain. "Well, if you can't take the Grand Panjandrum home, you can set on the fence and see him go by. That ought to be honor enough, hadn't it? However, I may need some of your ridiculous figgers on a movin' job of my own, pretty soon. Don't be TOO comical, will you?"

"What do you mean by that, Sol Berry?"

"I mean that I may decide to move my own house."

"Move your OWN house? Where to, for mercy sakes?"

"To that lot on Main Street that belongs to Abner Payne. Abner has wanted to buy my lot here on the Shore Road for a long time. He knows it'll make a fine site for some rich bigbug's summer 'cottage.' He would have bought the house, too, but I think too much of that to sell it. Now Abner's come back with another offer. He'll swap my lot for the Main Street one, pay my movin' expenses and a fair 'boot' besides. He don't really care for my HOUSE, you understand; it's my LAND he's after."

"Are you goin' to take it up?"

"I don't know. The Main Street lot's a good one, and my house'll look good on it. And I'll make money by the deal."

"Yes, but you've always swore by that saltwater view of yours. Told me yourself you never wanted to live anywheres else."

Captain Sol took the cigar from his lips, looked at it, then threw it violently into the gutter.

"What difference does it make where I live?" he snarled. "Who in blazes cares where I live or whether I live at all?"

"Sol Berry, what on airth—"

"Shut up! Let me alone, Sim! I ain't fit company for anybody just now. Clear out, there's a good feller."

The next moment he was striding down the hill. Mr. Phinney drew a long breath, scratched his head and shook it solemnly. WHAT did it all mean?



CHAPTER VIII

THE OBLIGATIONS OF A GENTLEMAN

The methods of Messrs. Colt and Adams, the Boston firm of building movers, were certainly progressive, if promptness in getting to work is any criterion. Two days after the acceptance of their terms by Mr. Williams, a freight car full of apparatus arrived at East Harniss. Then came a foreman and a gang of laborers. Horses were hired, and within a week the "pure Colonial" was off its foundations and on its way to the Edwards lot. The moving was no light task. The big house must be brought along the Shore Road to the junction with the Hill Boulevard, then swung into that aristocratic highway and carried up the long slope, around the wide curve, to its destination.

Mr. Phinney, though he hated the whole operation, those having it in charge, and the mighty Williams especially, could not resist stealing down to see how his successful rivals were progressing with the work he had hoped to do. It caused him much chagrin to see that they were getting on so very well. One morning, after breakfast, as he stood at the corner of the Boulevard and the Shore Road, he found himself engaged in a mental calculation.

Three days more and they would swing into the Boulevard; four or five days after that and they would be abreast the Edwards lot. Another day and . . . Poor Olive! She would be homeless. Where would she go? It was too early for a reply from the Omaha cousin, but Simeon, having questioned the minister, had little hope that that reply would be favorable. Still it was a chance, and if the money SHOULD come before the "pure Colonial" reached the Edwards lot, then the widow would at least not be driven penniless from her home. She would have to leave that home in any event, but she could carry out her project of opening another shop in one of the neighboring towns. Otherwise . . . Mr. Phinney swore aloud.

"Humph!" said a voice behind him. "I agree with you, though I don't know what it's all about. I ain't heard anything better put for a long while."

Simeon spun around, as he said afterwards, "like a young one's pinwheel." At his elbow stood Captain Berry, the depot master, hands in pockets, cigar in mouth, the personification of calmness and imperturbability. He had come out of his house, which stood close to the corner, and walked over to join his friend.

"Land of love!" exclaimed Simeon. "Why don't you scare a fellow to death, tiptoein' around? I never see such a cat-foot critter!"

Captain Sol smiled. "Jumpin' it, ain't they?" he said, nodding toward the "Colonial." "Be there by the tenth, won't it?"

"Tenth!" Mr. Phinney sniffed disgust. "It'll be there by the sixth, or I miss my guess."

"Yup. Say, Sim, how soon could you land that shanty of mine in the road if I give you the job to move it?"

"I couldn't get it up to the Main Street lot inside of a fortnight," replied Sim, after a moment's reflection. "Fur's gettin' it in the road goes, I could have it here day after to-morrow if I had gang enough."

The depot master took the cigar out of his mouth and blew a ring of smoke. "All right," he drawled, "get gang enough."

Phinney jumped. "You mean you've decided to take up with Payne's offer and swap your lot for his?" he gasped. "Why, only two or three days ago you said—"

"Ya-as. That was two or three days ago, and I've been watchin' the 'Colonial' since. I cal'late the movin' habit's catchin'. You have your gang here by noon to-day."

"Sol Berry, are you crazy? You ain't seen Abner Payne; he's out of town—"

"Don't have to see him. He's made me an offer and I'll write and accept it."

"But you've got to have a selectmen's permit to move—"

"Got it. I went up and saw the chairman an hour ago. He's a friend of mine. I nominated him town-meetin' day."

"But," stammered Phinney, very much upset by the suddenness of it all, "you ain't got my price nor—"

"Drat your price! Give it when I ask it. See here, Sim, are you goin' to have my house in the middle of the road by day after to-morrer? Or was that just talk?"

"'Twa'n't talk. I can have it there, but—"

"All right," said Captain Sol coolly, "then have it."

Hands in pockets, he strolled away. Simeon sat down on a rock by the roadside and whistled.

However, whistling was a luxurious and time-wasting method of expressing amazement, and Mr. Phinney could not afford luxuries just then. For the rest of that day he was a busy man. As Bailey Stitt expressed it, he "flew round like a sand flea in a mitten," hiring laborers, engaging masons, and getting his materials ready. That very afternoon the masons began tearing down the chimneys of the little Berry house. Before the close of the following day it was on the rollers. By two of the day after that it was in the middle of the Shore Road, just when its mover had declared it should be. They were moving it, furniture and all, and Captain Sol was, as he said, going to "stay right aboard all the voyage." No cooking could be done, of course, but the Captain arranged to eat at Mrs. Higgins's hospitable table during the transit. His sudden freak was furnishing material for gossip throughout the village, but he did not care. Gossip concerning his actions was the last thing in the world to trouble Captain Sol Berry.

The Williams's "Colonial" was moving toward the corner at a rapid rate, and the foreman of the Boston moving firm walked over to see Mr. Phinney.

"Say," he observed to Simeon, who, the perspiration streaming down his face, was resting for a moment before recommencing his labor of arranging rollers; "say," observed the foreman, "we'll be ready to turn into the Boulevard by tomorrer night and you're blockin' the way."

"That's all right," said Simeon, "we'll be past the Boulevard corner by that time."

He thought he was speaking the truth, but next morning, before work began, Captain Berry appeared. He had had breakfast and strolled around to the scene of operations.

"Well," asked Phinney, "how'd it seem to sleep on wheels?"

"Tiptop," replied the depot master. "Like it fust rate. S'pose my next berth will be somewheres up there, won't it?"

He was pointing around the corner instead of straight ahead. Simeon gaped, his mouth open.

"Up THERE?" he cried. "Why, of course not. That's the Boulevard. We're goin' along the Shore Road."

"That so? I guess not. We're goin' by the Boulevard. Can go that way, can't we?"

"Can?" repeated Simeon aghast. "Course we CAN! But it's like boxin' the whole compass backward to get ha'f a p'int east of no'th. It's way round Robin Hood's barn. It'll take twice as long and cost—"

"That's good," interrupted the Captain. "I like to travel, and I'm willin' to pay for it. Think of the view I'll get on the way."

"But your permit from the selectmen—" began Phinney. Berry held up his hand.

"My permit never said nothin' about the course to take," he answered, his eye twinkling just a little. "There, Sim, you're wastin' time. I move by the Hill Boulevard."

And into the Boulevard swung the Berry house. The Colt and Adams foreman was an angry man when he saw the beams laid in that direction. He rushed over and asked profane and pointed questions.

"Thought you said you was goin' straight ahead?" he demanded.

"Thought I was," replied Simeon, "but, you see, I'm only navigator of this craft, not owner."

"Where is the blankety blank?" asked the foreman.

"If you're referrin' to Cap'n Berry, I cal'late you'll find him at the depot," answered Phinney. To the depot went the foreman. Receiving little satisfaction there, he hurried to the home of his employer, Mr. Williams. The magnate, red-faced and angry, returned with him to the station. Captain Sol received them blandly. Issy, who heard the interview which followed, declared that the depot master was so cool that "an iceberg was a bonfire 'longside of him." Issy's description of this interview, given to a dozen townspeople within the next three hours, was as follows:

"Mr. Williams," said the wide-eyed Issy, "he comes postin' into the waitin' room, his foreman with him. Williams marches over to Cap'n Sol and he says, 'Berry,' he says, 'are you responsible for the way that house of yours is moved?'

"Cap'n Sol bowed and smiled. 'Yes,' says he, sweet as a fresh scallop.

"'You're movin' it to Main Street, aren't you? I so understood.'

"'You understood correct. That's where she's bound.'

"'Then what do you mean by turning out of your road and into mine?'

"'Oh, I don't own any road. Have you bought the Boulevard? The selectmen ought to have told us that. I s'posed it was town thoroughfare.'

"Mr. Williams colored up a little. 'I didn't mean my road in that sense,' he says. 'But the direct way to Main Street is along the shore, and everybody knows it. Now why do you turn from that into the Boulevard?'

"Cap'n Sol took a cigar from his pocket. 'Have one?' says he, passin' it toward Mr. Williams. 'No? Too soon after breakfast, I s'pose. Why do I turn off?' he goes on. 'Well, I'll tell you. I'm goin' to stay right aboard my shack while it's movin', and it's so much pleasanter a ride up the hill that I thought I'd go that way. I always envied them who could afford a house on the Boulevard, and now I've got the chance to have one there—for a spell. I'm sartin I shall enjoy it.'

"The foreman growled, disgusted. Mr. Williams got redder yet.

"'Don't you understand?' he snorts. 'You're blockin' the way of the house I'M movin'. I have capable men with adequate apparatus to move it, and they would be able to go twice as fast as your one-horse country outfit. You're blockin' the road. Now they must follow you. It's an outrage!'

"Cap'n Sol smiled once more. 'Too bad,' says he. 'It's a pity such a nice street ain't wider. If it was my street in my town—I b'lieve that's what you call East Harniss, ain't it?—seems to me I'd widen it.'

"The boss of 'my town' ground his heel into the sand. 'Berry,' he snaps, 'are you goin' to move that house over the Boulevard ahead of mine?'

"The Cap'n looked him square in the eye. 'Williams,' says he, 'I am.'

"The millionaire turned short and started to go.

"'You'll pay for it,' he snarls, his temper gettin' free at last.

"'I cal'late to,' purrs the Cap'n. 'I gen'rally do pay for what I want, and a fair price, at that. I never bought in cheap mortgages and held 'em for clubs over poor folks, never in my life. Good mornin'.'

"And right to Mr. Williams's own face, too," concluded Issy. "WHAT do you think of that?"

Here was defiance of authority and dignity, a sensation which should have racked East Harniss from end to end. But most of the men in the village, the tradespeople particularly, had another matter on their minds, namely, Major Cuthbertson Scott Hardee, of "Silverleaf Hall." The Major and his debts were causing serious worriment.

The creditors of the Major met, according to agreement, on the Monday evening following their previous gathering at the club. Obed Gott, one of the first to arrive, greeted his fellow members with an air of gloomy triumph and a sort of condescending pity.

Higgins, the "general store" keeper, acting as self-appointed chairman, asked if anyone had anything to report. For himself, he had seen the Major and asked point-blank for payment of his bill. The Major had been very polite and was apparently much concerned that his fellow townsmen should have been inconvenienced by any neglect of his. He would write to his attorneys at once, so he said.

"He said a whole lot more, too," added Higgins. "Said he had never been better served than by the folks in this town, and that I kept a fine store, and so on and so forth. But I haven't got any money yet. Anybody else had any better luck?"

No one had, although several had had similar interviews with the master of "Silverleaf Hall."

"Obed looks as if he knew somethin'," remarked Weeks. "What is it, Obed?"

Mr. Gott scornfully waved his hand.

"You fellers make me laugh," he said. "You talk and talk, but you don't do nothin'. I b'lieve in doin', myself. When I went home t'other night, thinks I: 'There's one man that might know somethin' 'bout old Hardee, and that's Godfrey, the hotel man.' So I wrote to Godfrey up to Boston and I got a letter from him. Here 'tis."

He read the letter aloud. Mr. Godfrey wrote that he knew nothing about Major Hardee further than that he had been able to get nothing from him in payment for his board.

"So I seized his trunk," the letter concluded. "There was nothing in it worth mentioning, but I took it on principle. The Major told me a lot about writing to his attorneys for money, but I didn't pay much attention to that. I'm afraid he's an old fraud, but I can't help liking him, and if I had kept on running my hotel I guess he would have got away scot-free."

"There!" exclaimed the triumphant Obed, with a sneer, "I guess that settles it, don't it? Maybe you'd be willin' to turn your bills over to Squire Baker now."

But they were not willing. Higgins argued, and justly, that although the Major was in all probability a fraud, not even a lawyer could get water out of a stone, and that when a man had nothing, suing him was a waste of time and cash.

"Besides," he said, "there's just a chance that he may have attorneys and property somewheres else. Let's write him a letter and every one of us sign it, tellin' him that we'll call on him Tuesday night expectin' to be paid in full. If we call and don't get any satisfaction, why, we ain't any worse off, and then we can—well, run him out of town, if nothin' more."

So the letter was written and signed by every man there. It was a long list of signatures and an alarming total of indebtedness. The letter was posted that night.

The days that followed seemed long to Obed. He was ill-natured at home and ugly at the shop, and Polena declared that he was "gettin' so a body couldn't live with him." Her own spirits were remarkably high, and Obed noticed that, as the days went by, she seemed to be unusually excited. On Thursday she announced that she was going to Orham to visit her niece, one Sarah Emma Cahoon, and wouldn't be back right off. He knew better than to object, and so she went.

That evening each of the signers of the letter to Major Hardee received a courteous note saying that the Major would be pleased to receive the gentlemen at the Hall. Nothing was said about payment.

So, after some discussion, the creditors marched in procession across the fields and up to "Silverleaf Hall."

"Hardee's been to Orham to-day," whispered the keeper of the livery stable, as they entered the yard. "He drove over this mornin' and come back to-night."

"DROVE over!" exclaimed Obed, halting in his tracks. "He did? Where'd he get the team? I'll bet five dollars you was soft enough to let him have it, and never said a word. Well, if you ain't—By jimmy! you wait till I get at him! I'll show you that he can't soft soap me."

Augustus met them at the door and ushered them into the old-fashioned parlor. The Major, calm, cool, and imperturbably polite, was waiting to receive them. He made some observation concerning the weather.

"The day's fine enough," interrupted Obed, pushing to the front, "but that ain't what we come here to talk about. Are you goin' to pay us what you owe? That's what we want to know."

The "gentleman of the old school" did not answer immediately. Instead he turned to the solemn servant at his elbow.

"Augustus," he said, "you may make ready." Then, looking serenely at the irate Mr. Gott, whose clenched fist rested under the center table, which he had thumped to emphasize his demands, the Major asked:

"I beg your pardon, my dear sir, but what is the total of my indebtedness to you?"

"Nineteen dollars and twenty-eight cents, and I want you to understand that—"

Major Hardee held up a slim, white hand.

"One moment, if you please," he said. "Now, Augustus."

Augustus opened the desk in the corner and produced an imposing stack of bank notes. Then he brought forth neat piles of halves, quarters, dimes, and pennies, and arranged the whole upon the table. Obed's mouth and those of his companions gaped in amazement.

"Have you your bill with you, Mr. Gott?" inquired the Major.

Dazedly Mr. Gott produced the required document.

"Thank you. Augustus, nineteen twenty-eight to this gentleman. Kindly receipt the bill, Mr. Gott, if you please. A mere formality, of course, but it is well to be exact. Thank you, sir. And now, Mr. Higgins."

One by one the creditors shamefacedly stepped forward, received the amount due, receipted the bill, and stepped back again. Mr. Peters, the photographer, was the last to sign.

"Gentlemen," said the Major, "I am sorry that my carelessness in financial matters should have caused you this trouble, but now that you are here, a representative gathering of East Harniss's men of affairs, upon this night of all nights, it seems fitting that I should ask for your congratulations. Augustus."

The wooden-faced Augustus retired to the next room and reappeared carrying a tray upon which were a decanter and glasses.

"Gentlemen," continued the Major, "I have often testified to my admiration and regard for your—perhaps I may now say OUR—charming village. This admiration and regard has extended to the fair daughters of the township. It may be that some of you have conscientious scruples against the use of intoxicants. These scruples I respect, but I am sure that none of you will refuse to at least taste a glass of wine with me when I tell you that I have this day taken one of the fairest to love and cherish during life."

He stepped to the door of the dining room, opened it, and said quietly, "My dear, will you honor us with your presence?"

There was a rustle of black silk and there came through the doorway the stately form of her who had been Mrs. Polena Ginn.

"Gentlemen," said the Major, "permit me to present to you my wife, the new mistress of 'Silverleaf Hall.'"

The faces of the ex-creditors were pictures of astonishment. Mr. Gott's expressive countenance turned white, then red, and then settled to a mottled shade, almost as if he had the measles. Polena rushed to his side.

"O Obed!" she exclaimed. "I know we'd ought to have told you, but 'twas only Tuesday the Major asked me, and we thought we'd keep it a secret so's to s'prise you. Mr. Langworthy over to Orham married us, and—"

"My dear," her husband blandly interrupted, "we will not intrude our private affairs upon the patience of these good friends. And now, gentlemen, let me propose a toast: To the health and happiness of the mistress of 'Silverleaf Hall'! Brother Obed, I—"

The outside door closed with a slam; "Brother Obed" had fled.

A little later, when the rest of the former creditors of the Major came out into the moonlight, they found their companion standing by the gate gazing stonily into vacancy. "Hen" Leadbetter, who, with Higgins, brought up the rear of the procession, said reflectively:

"When he fust fetched out that stack of money I couldn't scarcely b'lieve my eyes. I begun to think that we fellers had put our foot in it for sartin, and had lost a mighty good customer; but, of course, it's all plain enough NOW."

"Yes," remarked Weeks with a nod; "I allers heard that P'lena kept a mighty good balance in the bank."

"It looks to me," said Higgins slyly, "as if we owed Obed here a vote of thanks. How 'bout that, Obed?"

And then Major Hardee's new brother-in-law awoke with a jump.

"Aw, you go to grass!" he snarled, and tramped savagely off down the hill.



CHAPTER IX

THE WIDOW BASSETT

These developments, Major Hardee's marriage and Mr. Gott's discomfiture, overshadowed, for the time, local interest in the depot master's house moving. This was, in its way, rather fortunate, for those who took the trouble to walk down to the lower end of the Boulevard were astonished to see how very slowly the moving was progressing.

"Only one horse, Sim?" asked Captain Hiram Baker. "Only one! Why, it'll take you forever to get through, won't it?"

"I'm afraid it'll take quite a spell," admitted Mr. Phinney.

"Where's your other one, the white one?"

"The white horse," said Simeon slowly, "ain't feelin' just right and I've had to lay him off."

"Humph! that's too bad. How does Sol act about it? He's such a hustler, I should think—"

"Sol," interrupted Sim, "ain't unreasonable. He understands."

He chuckled inwardly as he said it. Captain Sol did understand. Also Mr. Phinney himself was beginning to understand a little.

The very day on which Williams and his foreman had called on the depot master and been dismissed so unceremoniously, that official paid a short visit to his mover.

"Sim," he said, the twinkle still in his eye, "his Majesty, Williams the Conqueror, was in to see me just now and acted real peevish. He was pretty disrespectful to you, too. Called your outfit 'one horse.' That's a mistake, because you've got two horses at work right now. It seems a shame to make a great man like that lie. Hadn't you better lay off one of them horses?"

"Lay one OFF?" exclaimed Simeon. "What for? Why, we'll be slow enough, as 'tis. With only one horse we wouldn't get through for I don't know how long."

"That's so," murmured the Captain. "I s'pose with one horse you'd hardly reach the middle of the Boulevard by—well, before the tenth of the month. Hey?"

The tenth of the month! The TENTH! Why, it was on the tenth that that Omaha cousin of Olive Edwards was to—Mr. Phinney began to see—to see and to grin, slow but expansive.

"Hm-m-m!" he mused.

"Yes," observed Captain Sol. "That white horse of yours looks sort of ailin' to me, Sim. I think he needs a rest."

And, sure enough, next day the white horse was pronounced unfit and taken back to the stable. The depot master's dwelling moved, but that is all one could say truthfully concerning its progress.

At the depot the Captain was quieter than usual. He joked with his assistant less than had been his custom, and for the omission Issy was duly grateful. Sometimes Captain Sol would sit for minutes without speaking. He seemed to be thinking and to be pondering some grave problem. When his friends, Mr. Wingate, Captain Stitt, Hiram Baker, and the rest, dropped in on him he cheered up and was as conversational as ever. After they had gone he relapsed into his former quiet mood.

"He acts sort of blue, to me," declared Issy, speaking from the depths of sensational-novel knowledge. "If he was a younger man I'd say he was most likely in love. Ah, hum! I s'pose bein' in love does get a feller mournful, don't it?"

Issy made this declaration to his mother only. He knew better than to mention sentiment to male acquaintances. The latter were altogether too likely to ask embarrassing questions.

Mr. Wingate and Captain Stitt were still in town, although their stay was drawing to a close. One afternoon they entered the station together. Captain Sol seemed glad to see them.

"Set down, fellers," he ordered. "I swan I'm glad to see you. I ain't fit company for myself these days."

"Ain't Betsy Higgins feedin' you up to the mark?" asked Stitt. "Or is house movin' gettin' on your vitals?"

"No," growled the depot master, "grub's all right and so's movin', I cal'late. I'm glad you fellers come in. What's the news to Orham, Barzilla? How's the Old Home House boarders standin' it? Hear from Jonadab regular, do you?"

Mr. Wingate laughed. "Nothin' much," he said. "Jonadab's too busy to write these days. Bein' a sport interferes with letter writing consider'ble."

"Sport!" exclaimed Captain Bailey. "Land of Goshen! Cap'n Jonadab is the last one I'd call a sport."

"That's 'cause you ain't a good judge of human nature, Bailey," chuckled Barzilla. "When ancient plants like Jonadab Wixon DO bloom, they're gay old blossoms, I tell you!"

"What do you mean?" asked the depot master.

"I mean that Jonadab's been givin' me heart disease, that's what; givin' it to me in a good many diff'rent ways, too. We opened the Old Home House the middle of April this year, because Peter T. Brown thought we might catch some spring trade. We did catch a little, though whether it paid to open up so early's a question. But 'twas June 'fore Jonadab got his disease so awful bad. However, most any time in the last part of May the reg'lar programme of the male boarders was stirrin' him up.

"Take it of a dull day, for instance. Sky overcast and the wind aidgin' round to the sou'east, so's you couldn't tell whether 'twould rain or fair off; too cold to go off to the ledge cod fishin' and too hot for billiards or bowlin'; a bunch of the younger women folks at one end of the piazza playin' bridge; half a dozen men, includin' me and Cap'n Jonadab, smokin' and tryin' to keep awake at t'other end; amidships a gang of females—all 'fresh air fiends'—and mainly widows or discards in the matrimony deal, doin' fancywork and gossip. That would be about the usual layout.

"Conversation got to you in homeopath doses, somethin' like this:

"'Did you say "Spades"? WELL! if I'd known you were going to make us lose our deal like that, I'd never have bridged it—not with THIS hand.'

"'Oh, Miss Gabble, have you heard what people are sayin' about—' The rest of it whispers.

"'A—oo—OW! By George, Bill! this is dead enough, isn't it? Shall we match for the cigars or are you too lazy?'

"Then, from away off in the stillness would come a drawn-out 'Honk! honk!' like a wild goose with the asthma, and pretty soon up the road would come sailin' a big red automobile, loaded to the guards with goggles and grandeur, and whiz past the hotel in a hurricane of dust and smell. Then all hands would set up and look interested, and Bill would wink acrost at his chum and drawl:

"'That's the way to get over the country! Why, a horse isn't one—two—three with that! Cap'n Wixon, I'm surprised that a sportin' man like you hasn't bought one of those things long afore this.'

"For the next twenty minutes there wouldn't be any dullness. Jonadab would take care of that. He'd have the floor and be givin' his opinions of autos and them that owned and run 'em. And between the drops of his language shower you'd see them boarders nudgin' each other and rockin' back and forth contented and joyful.

"It always worked. No matter what time of day or night, all you had to say was 'auto' and Cap'n Jonadab would sail up out of his chair like one of them hot-air balloons the youngsters nowadays have on Fourth of July. And he wouldn't come down till he was empty of remarks, nuther. You never see a man get so red faced and eloquent.

"It wa'n't because he couldn't afford one himself. I know that's the usual reason for them kind of ascensions, but 'twa'n't his. No, sir! the summer hotel business has put a considerable number of dollars in Jonadab's hands, and the said hands are like a patent rat trap, a mighty sight easier to get into than out of. He could have bought three automobiles if he'd wanted to, but he didn't want to. And the reason he didn't was named Tobias Loveland and lived over to Orham."

"I know Tobias," interrupted Captain Bailey Stitt.

"Course you do," continued Barzilla. "So does Sol, I guess. Well, anyhow, Tobias and Cap'n Jonadab never did hitch. When they was boys together at school they was always rowin' and fightin', and when they grew up to be thirty and courted the same girl—ten years younger than either of 'em, she was—twa'n't much better. Neither of 'em got her, as a matter of fact; she married a tin peddler named Bassett over to Hyannis. But both cal'lated they would have won if t'other hadn't been in the race, and consequently they loved each other with a love that passed understandin'. Tobias had got well to do in the cranberry-raisin' line and drove a fast horse. Jonadab, durin' the last prosperous year or two, had bought what he thought was some horse, likewise. They met on the road one day last spring and trotted alongside one another for a mile. At the end of that mile Jonadab's craft's jib boom was just astern of Tobias's rudder. Inside of that week the Cap'n had swapped his horse for one with a two-thirty record, and the next time they met Tobias was left with a beautiful, but dusty, view of Jonadab's back hair. So HE bought a new horse. And that was the beginnin'.

"It went along that way for twelve months. Fust one feller's nag would come home freighted with perspiration and glory, and then t'other's. One week Jonadab would be so bloated with horse pride that he couldn't find room for his vittles, and the next he'd be out in the stable growlin' 'cause it cost so much for hay to stuff an old hide rack that wa'n't fit to put in a museum. At last it got so that neither one could find a better horse on the Cape, and the two they had was practically an even match. I begun to have hopes that the foolishness was over. And then the tin peddler's widow drifts in to upset the whole calabash.

"She made port at Orham fust, this Henrietta Bassett did, and the style she slung killed every female Goliath in the Orham sewin' circle dead. Seems her husband that was had been an inventor, as a sort of side line to peddlin' tinware, and all to once he invented somethin' that worked. He made money—nobody knew how much, though all hands had a guess—and pretty soon afterwards he made a will and Henrietta a widow. She'd been livin' in New York, so she said, and had come back to revisit the scenes of her childhood. She was a mighty well-preserved woman—artificial preservatives, I cal'late, like some kinds of tomatter ketchup—and her comin' stirred Orham way down to the burnt places on the bottom of the kettle."

"I guess I remember HER, too," put in Captain Bailey.

"Say!" queried Mr. Wingate snappishly, "do you want to tell about her? If you do, why—"

"Belay, both of you!" ordered the depot master. "Heave ahead, Barzilla."

"The news of her got over to Wellmouth, and me and Jonadab heard of it. He was some subject to widows—most widower men are, I guess—but he didn't develop no alarmin' symptoms in this case and never even hinted that he'd like to see his old girl. Fact is, his newest horse trade had showed that it was afraid of automobiles, and he was beginnin' to get rabid along that line. Then come that afternoon when him and me was out drivin' together, and we—Well, I'll have to tell you about that.

"We was over on the long stretch of wood road between Trumet and Denboro, nice hard macadam, the mare—her name was Celia, but Jonadab had re-christened her Bay Queen after a boat he used to own—skimmin' along at a smooth, easy gait, when, lo and behold you! we rounds a turn and there ahead of us is a light, rubber-tired wagon with a man and woman on the seat of it. I heard Jonadab give a kind of snort.

"'What's the matter?' says I.

"'Nothin',' says he, between his teeth. 'Only, if I ain't some mistaken, that's Tobe Loveland's rig. Wonder if he's got his spunk with him? The Queen's feelin' her oats to-day, and I cal'late I can show him a few things.'

"'Rubbish!' says I, disgusted. 'Don't be foolish, Jonadab. I don't know nothin' about his spunk, but I do know there's a woman with him. 'Tain't likely he'll want to race you when he's got a passenger aboard.'

"'Oh, I don't know!' says he. 'I've got you, Barzilla; so 'twill be two and two. Let's heave alongside and see.'

"So he clucked to the Queen, and in a jiffy we was astern of t'other rig. Loveland looked back over his shoulder.

"'Ugh!' he grunts, 'bout as cordial as a plate of ice cream. ''Lo, Wixon, that you?'

"'Um-hm,' begins Jonadab. 'How's that crowbait of yours to-day, Tobe? Got any go in him? 'Cause if he has, I—'

"He stopped short. The woman in Loveland's carriage had turned her head and was starin' hard.

"'Why!' she gasps. 'I do believe—Why, Jonadab!'

"'HETTIE!' says the Cap'n.

"Well, after that 'twas pull up, of course, and shake hands and talk. The widow, she done most of the talkin'. She was SO glad to see him. How had he been all these years? She knew him instantly. He hadn't changed a mite—that is, not so VERY much. She was plannin' to come over to the Old Home House and stay a spell later on; but now she was havin' SUCH a good time in Orham, Tobias—Mr. Loveland—was makin' it SO pleasant for her. She did enjoy drivin' so much, and Mr. Loveland had the fastest horse in the county—did we know that?

"Tobias and Jonadab glowered back and forth while all this gush was bein' turned loose, and hardly spoke to one another. But when 'twas over and we was ready to start again, the Cap'n says, says he:

"'I'll be mighty glad to see you over to the hotel, when you're ready to come, Hettie. I can take you ridin', too. Fur's horse goes, I've got a pretty good one myself.'

"'Oh!' squeals the widow. 'Really? Is that him? It's awful pretty, and he looks fast.'

"'She is,' says Jonadab. 'There's nothin' round here can beat her.'

"'Humph!' says Loveland. 'Git dap!'

"'Git dap!' says Jonadab, agreein' with him for once.

"Tobias started, and we started. Tobias makes his horse go a little faster, and Jonadab speeded up some likewise. I see how 'twas goin' to be, and therefore I wa'n't surprised to death when the next ten minutes found us sizzlin' down that road, neck and neck with Loveland, dust flyin', hoofs poundin', and the two drivers leanin' way for'ard over the dash, reins gripped and teeth sot. For a little ways 'twas an even thing, and then we commenced to pull ahead a little.

"'Loveland,' yells Jonadab, out of the port corner of his mouth, 'if I ain't showin' you my tailboard by the time we pass the fust house in Denboro, I'll eat my Sunday hat.'

"I cal'late he would 'a' beat, too. We was drawin' ahead all the time and had a three-quarter length lead when we swung clear of the woods and sighted Denboro village, quarter of a mile away. And up the road comes flyin' a big auto, goin' to beat the cars.

"Let's forget the next few minutes; they wa'n't pleasant ones for me. Soon's the Bay Queen sot eyes on that auto, she stopped trottin' and commenced to hop; from hoppin' she changed to waltzin' and high jumpin'. When the smoke had cleared, the auto was out of sight and we was in the bushes alongside the road, with the Queen just gettin' ready to climb a tree. As for Tobias and Henrietta, they was roundin' the turn by the fust house in Denboro, wavin' by-bys to us over the back of the seat.

"We went home then; and every foot of the way Cap'n Jonadab called an automobile a new kind of name, and none complimentary. The boarders, they got wind of what had happened and begun to rag him, and the more they ragged, the madder he got and the more down on autos.

"And, to put a head on the whole business, I'm blessed if Tobias Loveland didn't get in with an automobile agent who was stoppin' in Orham and buy a fifteen-hundred-dollar machine off him. And the very next time Jonadab was out with the Queen on the Denboro road, Tobias and the widow whizzed past him in that car so fast he might as well have been hove to. And, by way of rubbin' it in, they come along back pretty soon and rolled alongside of him easy, while Henrietta gushed about Mr. Loveland's beautiful car and how nice it was to be able to go just as swift as you wanted to. Jonadab couldn't answer back, nuther, bein' too busy keepin' the Queen from turnin' herself into a flyin' machine.

"'Twas then that he got himself swore in special constable to arrest auto drivers for overspeedin'; and for days he wandered round layin' for a chance to haul up Tobias and get him fined. He'd have had plenty of game if he'd been satisfied with strangers, but he didn't want them anyhow, and, besides, most of 'em was on their way to spend money at the Old Home House. 'Twould have been poor business to let any of THAT cash go for fines, and he realized it.

"'Twas in early June, only a few weeks ago, that the widow come to our hotel. I never thought she meant it when she said she was comin', and so I didn't expect her. Fact is, I was expectin' to hear that she and Tobe Loveland was married or engaged. But there was a slip up somewheres, for all to once the depot wagon brings her to the Old Home House, she hires a room, and settles down to stay till the season closed, which would be in about a fortn't.

"From the very fust she played her cards for Jonadab. He meant to be middlin' average frosty to her, I imagine—her bein' so thick with Tobias prejudiced him, I presume likely. But land sakes! she thawed him out like hot toddy thaws out some folks' tongues. She never took no notice of his coldness, but smiled and gushed and flattered, and looked her prettiest—which was more'n average, considerin' her age—and by the end of the third day he was hangin' round her like a cat round a cook.

"It commenced to look serious to me. Jonadab was a pretty old fish to be caught with soft soap and a set of false crimps; but you can't never tell. When them old kind do bite, they gen'rally swallow hook and sinker, and he sartinly did act hungry. I wished more'n once that Peter T. Brown, our business manager, was aboard to help me with advice, but Peter is off tourin' the Yosemite with his wife and her relations, so whatever pilotin' there was I had to do. And every day fetched Jonadab's bows nigher the matrimonial rocks.

"I'd about made up my mind to sound the fog horn by askin' him straight out what he was cal'latin' to do; but somethin' I heard one evenin', as I set alone in the hotel office, made me think I'd better wait a spell.

"The office window was open and the curtain drawed down tight. I was settin' inside, smokin' and goin' over the situation, when footsteps sounded on the piazza and a couple come to anchor on the settee right by that window. Cap'n Jonadab and Henrietta! I sensed that immediate.

"She was laughin' and actin' kind of queer, and he was talkin' mighty earnest.

"'Oh, no, Cap'n! Oh, no!' she giggles. 'You mustn't be so serious on such a beautiful night as this. Let's talk about the moon.'

"'Drat the moon!' says Jonadab. 'Hettie, I—'

"'Oh, just see how beautiful the water looks! All shiny and—"

"'Drat the water, too! Hettie, what's the reason you don't want to talk serious with me? If that Tobe Loveland—'

"'Really, I don't see why you bring Mr. Loveland's name into the conversation. He is a perfect gentleman, generous and kind; and as for the way in which he runs that lovely car of his—'

"The Cap'n interrupted her. He ripped out somethin' emphatic.

"'Generous!' he snarls. ''Bout as generous as a hog in the feed trough, he is. And as for runnin' that pesky auto, if I'd demean myself to own one of them things, I'll bet my other suit I could run it better'n he does. If I couldn't, I'd tie myself to the anchor and jump overboard.'

"The way she answered showed pretty plain that she didn't believe him. 'Really?' she says. 'Do you think so? Good night, Jonadab.'

"I could hear her walkin' off acrost the piazza. He went after her. 'Hettie,' he says, 'you answer me one thing. Are you engaged to Tobe Loveland?'

"She laughed again, sort of teasin' and slow. 'Really,' says she, 'you are—Why, no, I'm not.'

"That was all, but it set me to thinkin' hard. She wa'n't engaged to Loveland; she said so, herself. And yet, if she wanted Jonadab, she was actin' mighty funny. I ain't had no experience, but it seemed to me that then was the time to bag him and she'd put him off on purpose. She was ages too ancient to be a flirt for the fun of it. What was her game?"



CHAPTER X

CAPTAIN JONADAB GOES

Mr. Wingate stopped and roared a greeting to Captain Hiram Baker, who was passing the open door of the waiting room.

"Hello, there, Hime!" he shouted. "Come up in here! What, are you too proud to speak to common folks?"

Captain Hiram entered. "Hello!" he said. "You look like a busy gang, for sure. What you doin'—seatin' chairs?"

"Just now we're automobilin'," observed Captain Sol. "Set down, Hiram."

"Automobilin'?" repeated the new arrival, evidently puzzled.

"Sartin. Barzilla's takin' us out. Go on, Barzilla."

Mr. Wingate smiled broadly. "Well," he began, "we HAVE just about reached the part where I went autoin'. The widow and me and Jonadab."

"Jonadab!" shouted Stitt. "I thought you said—"

"I know what I said. But we went auto ridin' just the same.

"'Twas Henry G. Bradbury that took us out, him and his bran-new big tourin' car. You see, he landed to board with us the next day after Henrietta come—this Henry G. did—and he was so quiet and easy spoken and run his car so slow that even a pizen auto hater like Jonadab couldn't take much offense at him. He wa'n't very well, he said, subject to some kind of heart attacks, and had come to the Old Home for rest.

"Him and the Cap'n had great arguments about the sins of automobilin'. Jonadab was sot on the idee that nine folks out of ten hadn't machine sense enough to run a car. Bradbury, he declared that that was a fact with the majority of autos, but not with his. 'Why, a child could run it,' says he. 'Look here, Cap'n: To start it you just do this. To stop it you do so and so. To make her go slow you haul back on this lever. To make her go faster you shove down this one. And as for steerin'—well, a man that's handled the wheels of as many catboats as you have would simply have a picnic. I'm in entire sympathy with your feelin's against speeders and such—I'd be a constable if I was in your shoes—but this is a gentleman's car and runs like one.'

"All Jonadab said was 'Bosh!' and 'Humph!' but he couldn't help actin' interested, particular as Mrs. Bassett kept him alongside of the machine and was so turrible interested herself. And when, this partic'lar afternoon, Henry G. invites us all to go out with him for a little 'roll around,' the widow was so tickled and insisted so that he just HAD to go; he didn't dast say no.

"Somehow or 'nother—I ain't just sure yet how it happened—the seatin' arrangements was made like this: Jonadab and Bradbury on the front seat, and me and Henrietta in the stuffed cockpit astern. We rolled out and purred along the road, smooth as a cat trottin' to dinner. No speedin', no joltin', no nothin'. 'TWAS a 'gentleman's car'; there wa'n't no doubt about that.

"We went 'way over to Bayport and Orham and beyond. And all the time Bradbury kept p'intin' out the diff'rent levers to Jonadab and tellin' him how to work 'em. Finally, after we'd headed back, he asked Jonadab to take the wheel and steer her a spell. Said his heart was feelin' sort of mean and 'twould do him good to rest.

"Jonadab said no, emphatic and more'n average ugly, but Henry G. kept beggin' and pleadin', and pretty soon the widow put in her oar. He must do it, to please her. He had SAID he could do it—had told her so—and now he must make good. Why, when Mr. Loveland—

"'All right,' snarls Jonadab. 'I'll try. But if ever—'

"'Hold on!' says I. 'Here's where I get out.'

"However, they wouldn't let me, and the Cap'n took the wheel. His jaw was set and his hands shakin', but he done it. Hettie had give her orders and she was skipper.

"For a consider'ble spell we just crawled. Jonadab was steerin' less crooked every minute and it tickled him; you could see that.

"'Answers her hellum tiptop, don't she?' he says.

"'Bet your life!' says Bradbury. 'Better put on a little more speed, hadn't we?'"

He put it on himself, afore the new pilot could stop him, and we commenced to move.

"'When you want to make her jump,' he says, you press down on that with your foot, and you shove the spark back.'

"'Shut up!' howls Jonadab. 'Belay! Don't you dast to touch that. I'm scart to death as 'tis. Here! you take this wheel.'

"But he wouldn't, and we went on at a good clip. For a green hand the Cap'n was leavin' a pretty straight wake.

"'Gosh!' he says, after a spell; 'I b'lieve I'm kind of gettin' the hang of the craft.'

"'Course you are,' says Bradbury. 'I told—Oh!'

"He straightens up, grabs at his vest, and slumps down against the back of the seat.

"'What IS it?' screams the widow. 'Oh, what IS it, Mr. Bradbury?'

"He answers, plucky, but toler'ble faintlike. My heart!' he gasps. 'I—I'm afraid I'm goin' to have one of my attacks. I must get to a doctor quick.'

"'Doctor!' I sings out. 'Great land of love! there ain't a doctor nigher than Denboro, and that's four mile astern.'

"'Never mind,' cries the Bassett woman. 'We must go there, then. Turn around, Jonadab! Turn around at once! Mr. Bradbury—'

"But poor Henry G. was curled up against the cushions and we couldn't get nothin' out of him but groans. And all the time we was sailin' along up the road.

"'Turn around, Jonadab!' orders Henrietta. 'Turn around and go for the doctor!'

"Jonadab's hands was clutched on that wheel, and his face was white as his rubber collar.

"'Jerushy!' he groans desperate, 'I—I don't know HOW to turn around.'

"'Then stop, you foolhead!' I bellers. 'Stop where you be!'

"And he moans—almost cryin' he was: 'I—I've forgotten how to STOP.'

"Talk about your situations! If we wa'n't in one then I miss my guess. Every minute we was sinkin' Denboro below the horizon.

"'We MUST get to a doctor,' says the widow. 'Where is there another one, Mr. Wingate?'

"'The next one's in Bayport,' says I, 'and that's ten mile ahead if it's a foot.'

"However, there wa'n't nothin' else for it, so toward Bayport we put. Bradbury groaned once in a while, and Mrs. Bassett got nervous.

"'We'll never get there at this rate,' says she. 'Go faster, Jonadab. Faster! Press down on—on that thing he told you to. Please! for MY sake.'

"'Don't you—' I begun; but 'twas too late. He pressed, and away we went. We was eatin' up the road now, I tell you, and though I was expectin' every minute to be my next, I couldn't help admirin' the way the Cap'n steered. And, as for him, he was gettin' more and more set up and confident.

"'She handles like a yacht, Barzilla,' he grunts, between his teeth. 'See me put her around the next buoy ahead there. Hey! how's that?'

"The next 'buoy' was a curve in the road, and we went around it beautiful. So with the next and the next and the next. Bayport wa'n't so very fur ahead. All to once another dreadful thought struck me.

"'Look here!' I yells. 'How in time are we goin' to stop when we—OW!'

"The Bassett woman had pinched my arm somethin' savage. I looked at her, and she was scowlin' and shakin' her head.

"'S-sh-sh!' she whispers. 'Don't disturb him. He'll be frightened and—'

"'Frightened! Good heavens to Betsy! I cal'late he won't be the only one that's fri—'

"But she looked so ugly that I shut up prompt, though I done a heap of thinkin'. On we went and, as we turned the next 'buoy,' there, ahead of us, was another auto, somethin' like ours, with only one person in it, a man, and goin' in the same direction we was, though not quite so fast.

"Then I WAS scart. 'Hi, Jonadab!' I sings out. 'Heave to! Come about! Shorten sail! Do you want to run him down? Look OUT!'

"I might as well have saved my breath. Heavin' to and the rest of it wa'n't included in our pilot's education. On we went, same as ever. I don't know what might have happened if the widow hadn't kept her head. She leaned over the for'ard rail of the after cockpit and squeezed a rubber bag that was close to Jonadab's starboard arm. It was j'ined to the fog whistle, I cal'late, 'cause from under our bows sounded a beller like a bull afoul of a barb-wire fence.

"The feller in t'other car turned his head and looked. Then he commenced to sheer off to wind'ard so's to let us pass. But all the time he kept lookin' back and starin' and, as we got nigher, and I could see him plainer through the dust, he looked more and more familiar. 'Twas somebody I knew.

"Then I heard a little grunt, or gasp, from Cap'n Jonadab. He was leanin' for'ard over the wheel, starin' at the man in the other auto. The nigher we got, the harder he stared; and the man in front was actin' similar in regards to him. And, all to once, the head car stopped swingin' off to wind'ard, turned back toward the middle of the road, and begun to go like smoke. The next instant I felt our machine fairly jump beneath me. I looked at Jonadab's foot. 'Twas pressed hard down on the speed lever.

"'You crazy loon!' I screeched. 'You—you—you—Stop it! Take your foot off that! Do you want to—!'

"I was climbin' over the back of the front seat, my knee pretty nigh on Bradbury's head. But, would you believe it, that Jonadab man let go of the wheel with one hand—let GO of it, mind you—and give me a shove that sent me backward in Henrietta Bassett's lap.

"'Barzilla!' he growled, between his teeth, 'you set where you be and keep off the quarterdeck. I'm runnin' this craft. I'll beat that Loveland this time or run him under, one or t'other!'

"As sure as I'm alive this minute, the man in the front car was Tobias Loveland!

"And from then on—Don't talk! I dream about it nights and wake up with my arms around the bedpost. I ain't real sure, but I kind of have an idee that the bedpost business comes from the fact that I was huggin' the widow some of the time. If I did, 'twa'n't knowin'ly, and she never mentioned it afterwards. All I can swear to is clouds of dust, and horns honkin', and telegraph poles lookin' like teeth in a comb, and Jonadab's face set as the Day of Judgment.

"He kept his foot down on the speed place as if 'twas glued. He shoved the 'spark'—whatever that is—'way back. Every once in a while he yelled, yelled at the top of his lungs. What he yelled hadn't no sense to it. Sometimes you'd think that he was drivin' a horse and next that he was handlin' a schooner in a gale.

"'Git dap!' he'd whoop. 'Go it, you cripples! Keep her nose right in the teeth of it! She's got the best of the water, so let her bile! Whe-E-E!'

"We didn't stop at Bayport. Our skipper had made other arrangements. However, the way I figgered it, we was long past needin' a doctor, and you can get an undertaker 'most anywhere. We went through the village like a couple of shootin' stars, Tobias about a length ahead, his hat blowed off, his hair—what little he's got—streamin' out behind, and that blessed red buzz wagon of his fairly skimmin' the hummocks and jumpin' the smooth places. And right astern of him comes Jonadab, hangin' to the wheel, HIS hat gone, his mouth open, and fillin' the dust with yells and coughs.

"You could see folks runnin' to doors and front gates; but you never saw 'em reach where they was goin'—time they done that we was somewheres round the next bend. A pullet run over us once—yes, I mean just that. She clawed the top of the widow's bunnit as we slid underneath her, and by the time she lit we was so fur away she wa'n't visible to the naked eye. Bradbury—who'd got better remarkable sudden—was pawin' at Jonadab's arm, tryin' to make him ease up; but he might as well have pawed the wind. As for Henrietta Bassett, she was acrost the back of the front seat tootin' the horn for all she was wuth. And curled down in a heap on the cockpit floor was a fleshy, sea-farin' person by the name of Barzilla Wingate, sufferin' from chills and fever.

"I think 'twas on the long stretch of the Trumet road that we beat Tobias. I know we passed somethin' then, though just what I ain't competent to testify. All I'm sure of is that, t'other side of Bayport village, the landscape got some less streaked and you could most gen'rally separate one house from the next.

"Bradbury looked at Henrietta and smiled, a sort of sickly smile. She was pretty pale, but she managed to smile back. I got up off the floor and slumped on the cushions. As for Cap'n Jonadab Wixon, he'd stopped yellin', but his face was one broad, serene grin. His mouth, through the dust and the dirt caked around it, looked like a rain gully in a sand-bank. And, occasional, he crowed, hoarse but vainglorious.

"'Did you see me?' he barked. 'Did you notice me lick him? He'll laugh at me, will he?—him and his one-horse tin cart! Ho! HO! Why, you'd think he was settin' down to rest! I've got him where I want him now! Ho, ho! Say, Henrietta, did you go swift as you—? Land sakes! Mr. Bradbury, I forgot all about you. And I—I guess we must have got a good ways past the doctor's place.'

"Bradbury said never mind. He felt much better, and he cal'lated he'd do till we fetched the Old Home dock. He'd take the wheel, now, he guessed.

"But, would you b'lieve it, that fool Jonadab wouldn't let him! He was used to the ship now, he said, and, if 'twas all the same to Henry G. and Hettie, he'd kind of like to run her into port.

"'She answers her hellum fine,' he says. 'After a little practice I cal'late I could steer—'

"'Steer!' sings out Bradbury. 'STEER! Great Caesar's ghost! I give you my word, Cap'n Wixon, I never saw such handlin' of a machine as you did goin' through Bayport, in my life. You're a wonder!'

"'Um-hm,' says Jonadab contented. 'I've steered a good many vessels in my time, through traffic and amongst the shoals, and never run afoul of nothin' yet. I don't see much diff'rence on shore—'cept that it's a little easier.'

"EASIER! Wouldn't that—Well, what's the use of talkin'?

"We got to the Old Home House safe and sound; Jonadab, actin' under Bradbury's orders, run her into the yard, slowin' up and stoppin' at the front steps slick as grease. He got out, his chest swelled up like a puffin' pig, and went struttin' in to tell everybody what he'd done to Loveland. I don't know where Bradbury and the widow went. As for me, I went aloft and turned in. And 'twas two days and nights afore I got up again. I had a cold, anyway, and what I'd been through didn't help it none.

"The afternoon of the second day, Bradbury come up to see me. He was dressed in his city clothes and looked as if he was goin' away. Sure enough, he was; goin' on the next train.

"'Where's Jonadab?' says I.

"'Oh, he's out in his car,' he says. 'Huntin' for Loveland again, maybe.'

"'HIS car? You mean yours.'

"'No, I mean his. I sold my car to him yesterday mornin' for twenty-five hundred dollars cash.'

"I set up in bed. 'Go 'long!' I sings out. 'You didn't nuther!'

"'Yes, I did. Sure thing. After that ride, you couldn't have separated him from that machine with blastin' powder. He paid over the money like a little man.'

"I laid down again. Jonadab Wixon payin' twenty-five hundred dollars for a plaything! Not promisin', but actually PAYIN' it!

"'Has—has the widow gone with him?' I asked, soon's I could get my breath.

"He laughed sort of queer. 'No,' he says, 'she's gone out of town for a few days. Ha, ha! Well, between you and me, Wingate, I doubt if she comes back again. She and I have made all we're likely to in this neighborhood, and she's too good a business woman to waste her time. Good-by; glad to have met you.'

"But I smelt rat strong and wouldn't let him go without seein' the critter.

"'Hold on!' I says. 'There's somethin' underneath all this. Out with it. I won't let on to the Cap'n if you don't want me to.'

"'Well,' says he, laughin' again, 'Mrs. Bassett WON'T come back and I know it. She and I have sold four cars on the Cape in the last five weeks, and the profits'll more'n pay vacation expenses. Two up in Wareham, one over in Orham, to Loveland—'

"'Did YOU sell Tobias his?' I asks, settin' up again.

"'Hettie and I did—yes. Soon's we landed him, we come over to bag old Wixon. I thought one time he'd kill us before we got him, but he didn't. How he did run that thing! He's a game sport.'

"'See here!' says I. 'YOU and Hettie sold—What do you mean by that?'

"'Mrs. Bassett is my backer in the auto business,' says he. 'She put in her money and I furnished the experience. We've got a big plant up in—' namin' a city in Connecticut.

"I fetched a long breath. 'WELL!' says I. 'And all this makin' eyes at Tobe and Jonadab was just—just—'

"'Just bait, that's all,' says he. 'I told you she was a good business woman.'

"I let this sink in good. Then says I, 'Humph! I swan to man! And how's your heart actin' now?'

"'Fine!' he says, winkin'. 'I had that attack so's the Cap'n would learn to run on his own hook. I didn't expect quite so much of a run, but I'm satisfied. Don't you worry about my heart disease. That twenty-five hundred cured it. 'Twas all in the way of business,' says Henry G. Bradbury."

"Whew!" whistled Captain Hiram as Barzilla reached into his pocket for pipe and tobacco. "Whew! I should say your partner had a narrer escape. Want to look out sharp for widders. They're dangerous, hey, Sol?"

The depot master did not answer. Captain Hiram asked another question. "How'd Jonadab take Hettie's leavin'?" he inquired.

"Oh," said Barzilla, "I don't think he minded so much. He was too crazy about his new auto to care for anything else. Then, too, he was b'ilin' mad 'cause Loveland swore out a warrant against him for speedin'.

"'Nice trick, ain't it?' he says. 'I knew Tobe was a poor loser, but I didn't think he'd be so low down as all that. Says I was goin' fifty mile an hour. He! he! Well, I WAS movin', that's a fact. I don't care. 'Twas wuth the twenty-dollar fine.'

"'Maybe so,' I says, 'but 'twon't look very pretty to have a special auto constable hauled up and fined for breakin' the law he's s'posed to protect.'

"He hadn't thought of that. His face clouded over.

"'No use, Barzilla,' says he; 'I'll have to give it up.'

"'Guess you will,' says I. 'Automobilin' is—'

"'I don't mean automobilin',' he snorts disgusted. 'Course not! I mean bein' constable.'

"So there you are! From cussin' automobiles he's got so that he can't talk enough good about 'em. And every day sence then he's out on the road layin' for another chance at Tobias. I hope he gets that chance pretty soon, because—well, there's a rumor goin' round that Loveland is plannin' to swap his car for a bigger and faster one. If he does . . ."

"If he does," interrupted Captain Sol, "I hope you'll fix the next race for over here. I'd like to see you go by, Barzilla."

"Guess you'd have to look quick to see him," laughed Stitt. "Speakin' about automobiles—"

"By gum!" ejaculated Wingate, "you'd have to look somewheres else to find ME. I've got all the auto racin' I want!"

"Speakin' of automobiles," began Captain Bailey again. No one paid the slightest attention.

"How's Dusenberry, your baby, Hiram?" asked the depot master, turning to Captain Baker. "His birthday's the Fourth, and that's only a couple of days off."

The proud parent grinned, then looked troubled.

"Why, he ain't real fust-rate," he said. "Seems to be some under the weather. Got a cold and kind of sore throat. Dr. Parker says he cal'lates it's a touch of tonsilitis. There's consider'ble fever, too. I was hopin' the doctor'd come again to-day, but he's gone away on a fishin' cruise. Won't be home till late to-morrer. I s'pose me and Sophrony hadn't ought to worry. Dr. Parker seems to know about the case."

"Humph!" grunted the depot master, "there's only two bein's in creation that know it all. One's the Almighty and t'other's young Parker. He's right out of medical school and is just as fresh as his diploma. He hadn't any business to go fishin' and leave his patients. We lost a good man when old Dr. Ryder died. He . . . Oh, well! you mustn't worry, Hiram. Dusenberry'll pull out in time for his birthday. Goin' to celebrate, was you?"

Captain Baker nodded. "Um-hm," he said. "Sophrony's goin' to bake a frosted cake and stick three candles on it—he's three year old, you know—and I've made him a 'twuly boat with sails,' that's what he's been beggin' for. Ho! ho! he's the cutest little shaver!"

"Speakin' of automobiles," began Bailey Stitt for the third time.

"That youngster of yours, Hiram," went on the depot master, "is the right kind. Compared with some of the summer young ones that strike this depot, he's a saint."

Captain Hiram grinned. "That's what I tell Sophrony," he said. "Sometimes when Dusenberry gets to cuttin' up and she is sort of provoked, I say to her, 'Old lady,' I say, 'if you think THAT'S a naughty boy, you ought to have seen Archibald.'"

"Who was Archibald?" asked Barzilla.

"He was a young rip that Sim Phinney and I run across four years ago when we went on our New York cruise together. The weir business had been pretty good and Sim had been teasin' me to go on a vacation with him, so I went. Sim ain't stopped talkin' about our experiences yet. Ho! ho!"

"You bet he ain't!" laughed the depot master. "One mix-up you had with a priest, and a love story, and land knows what. He talks about that to this day."

"What was it? He never told me," said Wingate.

"Why, it begun at the Golconda House, the hotel where Sim and I was stayin'. We—"

"Did YOU put up at the Golconda?" interrupted Barzilla. "Why, Cap'n Jonadab and me stayed there when we went to New York."

"I know you did. Jonadab recommended it to Sim, and Sim took the recommendation. That Golconda House is the only grudge I've got against Jonadab Wixon. It sartin is a tough old tavern."

"I give in to that. Jonadab's so sot on it account of havin' stopped there on his honeymoon, years and years ago. He's too stubborn to own it's bad. It's a matter of principle with him, and he's sot on principle."

"Yes," continued Baker. "Well, Sim and me had been at that Golconda three days and nights. Mornin' of the fourth day we walked out of the dinin' room after breakfast, feelin' pretty average chipper. Gettin' safe past another meal at that hotel was enough of itself to make a chap grateful.

"We walked out of the dinin' room and into the office. And there, by the clerk's desk, was a big, tall man, dressed up in clothes that was loud enough to speak for themselves, and with a shiny new tall hat, set with a list to port, on his head. He was smooth-faced and pug-nosed, with an upper lip like a camel's.

"He didn't pay much attention to us, nor to anybody else, for the matter of that. He was as mournful as a hearse, for all his joyful togs.

"'Fine day, ain't it?' says Sim, social.

"The tall chap looked up at him from under the deck of the beaver hat.

"'Huh!' he growls out, and looks down again.

"'I say it's a fine day,' said Phinney again.

"'I was after hearin' yez say it,' says the man, and walks off, scowlin' like a meat ax. We looked after him.