Captain Pott's Minister
by Francis L. Cooper · English · Gutenberg #30713 · 377,602 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Captain Pott's Minister
Author: Francis L. Cooper
Illustrator: John Goss
Release date: December 19, 2009 [eBook #30713]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/30713
Credits: Produced by Darleen Dove, Roger Frank and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CAPTAIN POTT'S MINISTER ***
Produced by Darleen Dove, Roger Frank and the Online
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[Illustration: "Then, let me hear you say you love me!"--_Page 335._]
CAPTAIN POTT'S MINISTER
By
FRANCIS L. COOPER
Illustrated By
JOHN GOSS
BOSTON
LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD CO.
Copyright, 1922,
By Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co.
_All Rights Reserved_
Captain Pott's Minister
Printed in U. S. A.
Norwood Press
BERWICK & SMITH CO.
Norwood, Mass.
_To Betty_
ILLUSTRATIONS
FACING PAGE
"Then, let me hear you say you love me!" (page 335) Frontispiece
"Now, see here, Beth, there ain't no use of your
pretending to me." 146
"There ain't money enough in the world to make me do
that." 242
Miss Pipkin had been disturbed by the noise. 262
CAPTAIN POTT'S MINISTER
CHAPTER I
The sound of voices suddenly arrested Captain Pott's fork in mid-air,
and the morsel of untasted salt-mackerel dangled uncertainly from the
points of the dingy tines as he swung about to face the open door. Fork
and mackerel fell to the floor as the seaman abruptly rose and stalked
outside. The stern features of the rugged old face sagged with
astonishment as he blinked at the small army of men swarming over his
littered yard.
"'Mornin', Cap'n," cheerily called Hank Simpson, the village storekeeper,
as he approached the irate man on the stoop.
Captain Pott was so completely jarred out of his usual complacency that
for once he had nothing to say. He forgot even to swear. As the
significance of the movements of the intruders suddenly dawned upon him
he mutely glared at Hank from beneath blackened and swollen eyelids.
"The women-folks said that you'd be wantin' to make your place look
peart, bein' as the new minister is goin' to stay here with you,"
explained Hank, who was apparently the leader of the group. "When we
men-folks heard that they was goin' to clean up on the inside we thought
it wouldn't be no more than neighborly for us to pitch in and give you a
hand with the outside."
It was evident that the Captain did not relish the explanation, for he
bristled with dangerous hostility as he took a step forward. But before
he could refer Hank Simpson and his entire male army to a certain warm
climate where he thought they might go with mutual advantage to himself
and them, the morning breeze carried within earshot another note, higher
in the scale, but unmistakable in significance. Silently the old man
stood and dumbly watched a procession of petticoats march up to his gate
and turn into the cinder path.
The female army took possession of the house even as the men had taken
possession of the yard, and he who had commanded mutinous crews on the
briny deep fled and took refuge in the shade of a spreading elm near the
well. Mrs. Eadie Beaver, the Captain's next-door neighbor, approached
him, requested that he pitch in and help, and then as quickly beat a
retreat before the fierce glare. Hank Simpson once asked where they
might burn the accumulated trash. The answer was unsatisfactory though
forceful. Hank declared, "Them instructions is wuth a heap, Cap'n, but
unless you've got a trap-door to them parts hereabout, I reckon we'll
have to do the crematin' some other way."
All the shutters on the old house were thrown wide open, and sunshine
and air were allowed to penetrate corners where dust and cobwebs had
held undisputed sway for years. Through the open windows came the sound
of tack-hammer and puller, the moving of tables, sideboards, and chairs,
and of every other article of furniture that was not actually built into
the walls. From his place beneath the elm the Captain heard all these
sounds, and watched his old pieces being piled in a confused mass about
the front yard. He was smoking incessantly, and swearing no less
frequently.
From up the road came the sharp thud of beating hoofs. As horse and
rider came into view he deliberately turned in the opposite direction.
At the gate the rider drew rein and swung lithely to the ground. Many
young admirers gathered quickly about the hitching-post, but the girl
was too swift for them. With a friendly nod and smile she tossed her
reins to a bashful youngster, and tripped up the path to where the
seaman was standing.
The daughter of the senior Elder of the Little River church had always
been fond of Captain Pott. When but an infant she had looked up into the
clear blue eyes, adoration and love in her own. During childhood she had
sat contentedly on his knee, or on a stool at his feet, listening with
rapt interest to his stories of adventure by land and sea. The Captain
had never been able to spin the wild yarns commonly known to be his
habit when Elizabeth Fox was his only audience. This was not due to any
fear that she would have detected fraud in his impossible tales, but to
the fact that he could not lie when the gaze of her big blue eyes was
fastened on him.
To-day she edged near and waited for recognition. Locks of her fair
hair, shaken loose by her ride, went straying bewitchingly over her face
and forehead. The smile in her eyes crept down to the corners of her
mouth as she sought the averted face above her. But all she could
glimpse were violent motions of one ragged point of his moustache as it
kept imperfect time with the unseen end which was being viciously
chewed.
At length, the irresistible little attraction at his side proved too
strong for the Captain's stubbornness, and he looked down into her big
blue eyes. At sight of his own blackened and swollen lids Elizabeth
uttered a sharp cry. She took the roughened hand in hers and gave it a
gentle squeeze. But her deep concern was quickly followed by a ripple of
laughter. Hers was a laugh that was as good to see as to hear. The
Captain smiled a wholly unintentional smile and returned the pressure
of her hand.
"Dear me, Uncle Josiah!" she exclaimed. "You look so like a terrible old
storm-cloud! And those awful eyes! Where on earth did you get them?"
"Cal'late I feel a heap sight worse than I look, Beth. That set of
females----"
"But your black eyes!" she interrupted. "Who made them like that? Has
some one been fighting you?"
"A feller handed 'em out to me last night, and I didn't happen to be in
a position to refuse 'em," he replied, his grisly weather-browned
features lighting up with a wry smile.
"Who dared strike you like that!"
"Now, don't you worry, Beth. It ain't as bad as it looks. You see, I was
on my way over from the station last night from the late city train.
When I got to the top of the hill I sot down for a spell, and while I
was thinking, I looked down on my place. I see a light in the pantry
window flicker up, die down, and then settle into a steady glow. I
cal'lated it must be pirates aboard the old craft, so I tore down the
hill like blazes and busted into the house. Something struck me like a
ton of brick, and I went down. I never see so many stars in all my life.
The next thing I heard was a voice asking if I was hurt, and saying,
'You'll pardon me, sir.'" He chuckled with his first sign of mirth.
"When I got my senses back there was a big feller sitting on me, nearly
choking off my wind. He brung out one of them lightning-bug flashlights
and turned it full on me, and then shouted like a maniac, 'Why, it's
Cap'n Pott!' 'That's me, but who in hell be you?' I'm telling you just
as I said it. He told me his name was Mack McGowan. Well, I was real
glad to see him till he told me he was the new preacher and was going to
live with me. Eadie Beaver had put him up in my house a week ago. I was
mad as hops when he told me that, and I was going to throw him out,
but,"--again he chuckled,--"well, I didn't."
"You thought caution was the better part of valor, is that it?"
questioned Elizabeth.
"Something like that, Beth. I cal'late we'd best say nothing to a soul
about this. There'd be some who wouldn't understand the details of the
transaction. It was sort of confidential, as you might say, and there'd
be them who'd blame Mr. McGowan for what he wa'n't exactly responsible
for."
"Oh! Can't I tell it? It's really too good to keep. And then," she added
seriously, "people might think you have been really fighting. Don't you
think it would be best to tell what actually happened?"
"Mighty little any of them would care how I got my shine. But I cal'late
it would be best for the parson if we'd keep it quiet."
"Very well, Uncle Josiah. He is really going to live with you, isn't
he?"
"Don't that look like it?" he asked, pointing his pipe-stem toward the
house.
"But that is for you, too."
"For me? You'd see that set of females getting down on their prayer-bones
for an old sinner like me, except to ask God A'mighty to strike me
dead. I ain't that popular, not yet."
"Captain Pott, I don't like that one bit! I canceled all my engagements
in the city when Father told me the other day what the ladies of the
church were planning to do for you. I did it just to help you, and
now----"
"There, there, Beth." The old man reached out and touched her arm.
"Excuse me, Beth. I feel like a cantankerous old sore-headed bear this
morning. Of course, you come home to help me. I didn't mean to hurt your
feelings."
"They mean well, too," she loyally defended her neighbors.
"It was awful nice of you," he replied, ignoring her reference to those
at work in the house. "It's worth it to put up with that whole pack
inside just to have you come."
"There, now, I have my good old Uncle back again." She had always called
him Uncle. "But tell me, why do you feel so badly?"
"About them in there?" He jerked his thumb toward the house.
"No-o. I think I can understand your feelings about them. I feel the
same way sometimes. If I were the minister it would take all of my
religion during the week so I'd have nothing to preach on Sunday. But,
there! Father must never hear of my saying that."
"He ain't likely to hear it from me."
"Have you quarreled with Father again?" She stared apprehensively.
Denial sprang to the Captain's lips, but when he looked into her eyes
and saw there the expression of eagerness, he turned away.
"You have!" she averred. "I thought so! And after Father was so kind as
to let you have the money to repair and paint your house!"
"Beth, we ain't exactly quarreled. Leastwise, he ain't," he finished
lamely.
"Uncle Josiah, why will you and Father never understand each other?
Father is so kind and good, and so are you, and yet you are never able
to agree. Why is it?" she implored.
"Too much alike, I cal'late. But honest, Beth, I ain't got nothing
particular against your father, and if I had I'd sink my feelings to
Davy's locker for your sake. The trouble is, I've been expecting too
much, and I ain't got any right to ask your father to put himself out
for an old hulk like me."
"What sheer nonsense! I've half a mind to scold you. Of course, Father
is willing to put himself out for you. Only this morning he said he
would do all in his power to get a ship for you to command."
"He's said something like that to me, too, several times."
"Then he'll do it, if you will only be patient. Father always keeps his
word."
"You ain't seen the new parson yet, have you?" asked the seaman, anxious
to change a dangerous subject.
"How could I, when I've just reached home? Father tells me he is a real
Prince Charming," she finished, with a wicked little laugh.
"Humph!"
"Is he, really, Uncle Josiah?"
"He ain't so bad on looks, if that's what you're driving at."
"Father says he must be very strong, too."
"I cal'late he ain't lacking on that p'int, neither," agreed the
Captain, blinking his swollen eyelids.
Elizabeth laughed heartily.
"Oh! By the way, what did you and your handsome minister do to Father
last night?"
"Is your pa ailing, too?"
"He says he is quite lame, and when I asked him what the matter was, he
only smiled, and told me to find out from you. Did your minister take
him for a burglar, too?"
"Is that all your father said about it?"
"Yes, except that it was his own fault."
Captain Pott chuckled. "I feared he wa'n't going to see it that way last
night. Eadie Beaver put the parson in here while I was in the city on a
special trip. She came over the day I left last week, and said it would
be real nice if he could live with me and eat with her. I told her I'd
see about shipping a parson in my house, meaning I'd have nothing to do
with him. Well, she went ahead and bunked him here, thinking I'd meant
it was all right. It 'pears she done it against your father's ideas,
too. So he come over last night and tried to get Mr. McGowan to move
out. That made me madder than what Eadie had done, so I asked him right
then if he was willing to stay. He said he was. Your pa got sore, and
started real dignified to go home. The candle that Mr. McGowan had been
using was on the floor, and your pa's heel hit it. His cane went up and
he went down. His high hat took a swim in a bucket of soapy water that
the parson had been using to swab decks with."
"Father is so very dignified! It must have been quite funny," she
commented, between paroxysms of laughter. "I wish I could have seen
him!"
"'Twas a mite funny. I fished his beaver out the pail, and he made off
holding it away from him like it was p'ison."
Sudden seriousness on the part of the girl caused the Captain to look in
the direction of her gaze. A tall young man had emerged from the back
door of the house, pail in hand. He came hurriedly toward the well.
"That's him," confirmed the seaman in answer to a look from Elizabeth.
"He? A minister?"
"You see now why I wa'n't strong enough to throw him out, don't you? I
cal'late Eadie Beaver would say the Lord took my strength away, but the
Lord don't need to give that feller a hand. He's a hull host to
himself."
"He doesn't look in the least like one," declared Elizabeth.
"He doesn't? Why, his arm is as big----"
"No, no! I mean he doesn't look like a minister."
"He ain't like none I ever see. He used to ship with me during the
summer months when he was in school, and he's man clean to the ground. I
can't see why in tarnation a big feller like him wants to take up such a
sissy's job of piloting a lot of women to heaven."
"But it isn't that kind of work, unless one makes it such," she
defended.
Mr. McGowan came to a halt on the opposite edge of the well-curbing. It
was very unladylike, and Elizabeth knew it, but in spite of herself she
continued to stare.
"Let me interduce you," suggested the Captain.
"Thank you, I'd better run along and help those in the house."
But she failed to suit the action to the word, and for the simple reason
that the gaze of two perfectly normal young people became normally
entangled. At length, a flood of color crept slowly into the girl's
cheeks, and she smiled.
"I--I beg your pardon for----" began the minister.
"Here, young feller," cut in the Captain as Mr. McGowan turned away, "I
want to interduce you to my best friend, Miss Elizabeth Fox. This here
is the new minister, Beth, Mack McGowan."
Elizabeth cordially extended her hand. "I've been hearing very
interesting stories about your prowess, Mr. McGowan."
"I trust they are true."
"Indeed, they are. Captain Pott told me."
"I did make quite an impression on him," replied Mr. McGowan as he
looked at the seaman's swollen eyelids. "I fear you've heard prejudiced
accounts of me."
"I don't like them that way one bit," laughed Elizabeth, "even if a
clergyman did do it."
"See here! I ain't going to stand this insinuating any longer,"
interposed the Captain, his good humor fully restored. "I cal'late they
might want a hand to help swab decks, so I'll be going."
"But, Uncle Josiah,----"
"I know, Beth. I've been unpleasant, but being as you have come from the
city to help me clean up the old craft, I'd otter show my appreciation
by bossing the crew."
He seized the pail from the not unwilling minister, filled it from the
well-bucket, and went to the kitchen to report for duty.
"Do you think you'll like Little River well enough to wish to remain?"
asked Elizabeth.
"Yes, I think I shall. Mr. Simpson has been telling me about your
brother, and about his far-sightedness in organizing the Athletic
Club."
"Did Mr. Simpson tell you how the club came to be formed in the first
place?"
"No, but I think it a splendid idea. I hope the boys will let me be one
of them."
She eyed him curiously. "Father sees no good in the organization. I do.
Most of the boys are Harold's friends,--Harold is my brother,--but there
are some who are not friendly to any one except the Innkeeper. I think
you ought to know that the decent ones were one time in the Sunday
school, but because some of your church members would not try to
understand them, they were forced to go to the Inn to set up their
gymnasium."
"Isn't the Inn as good a place as any?"
"I prefer not to say. You'll doubtless find that out for yourself."
"That is one thing I intend to find out. I've an invitation to visit the
rooms."
"Indeed, so soon? And do you really mean to go?"
"Certainly. Why not?"
"I suppose there is no reason why you should not. But----" she paused.
"I've heard that sort of statement several times to-day, and invariably
with the little 'but' at the end. I'm curious to know why my presence at
the Inn will cause any disturbance. Is that the inference?"
"Other ministers have tried to get hold of the boys, but they went at it
wrong, and failed," she said.
"I'll try to go at the matter from the right end," he replied, smiling.
"Will you go if you find yourself opposed?"
"I think I can interest the boys sufficiently to overcome any opposition
from the Innkeeper, if that is what you mean."
"What if the opposition comes from other sources?"
"From the members of the church?"
"Yes."
"Why should they interfere with me?"
"But suppose they do?"
"I'll go, anyway," he answered decidedly.
"I'm glad to hear you say that, and I trust you will be able to help the
members of the club," she said quietly. "But, there! I really must be
going. The ladies will think I have deserted them."
Elizabeth smiled, and the minister followed the smile down from her eyes
to the corners of her mouth. He made the mental observation that he had
never seen a more beautiful face. As she ran lightly up the path, he
watched her, unmindful of several pairs of observing eyes focused
knowingly in his direction.
When the day was over, and the furniture restored where the greater part
belonged, the "Cleaning Bee" gradually broke up. Captain Pott declared
to Elizabeth: "It wa'n't half so bad a day as I cal'lated it would be,
and it's many a year since the old craft has looked so neat and togged
up."
That evening the Captain sat on his back doorstep, smoking his pipe, and
thinking. He thought about the transformation wrought by the hand of
women inside the house. He heaved a sigh, and thought of Clemmie Pipkin.
If she were only able to forget all the past and consent to his
oft-repeated proposal, but----He had thought that all out before, and
had brought all his persuasive powers against the citadel of her heart,
but to no avail. A new light dawned upon him. Perhaps----
Mr. McGowan came round the corner of the house. The Captain rose to meet
him.
"Mack, how'd you like to go out to the _Jennie P._ with me? That's the
name of my power-boat out there in the harbor. I thought it might be
sort of restful to take a little cruise after this house-cleaning
typhoon."
"That's a splendid idea, Cap'n. It will seem like old times to get
aboard a vessel with you, though it is only a power-boat."
"And, Mack, if there's any time I can step in and help you pilot the
salvation craft you've signed up with, just you let me know. It ain't
likely I'll be much good to you, but----"
The two men gripped hands. Little did they know that night as they
peacefully sailed round the inlet just what the future was to demand in
the way of a fulfilment of that promise.
CHAPTER II
During the following weeks Mr. McGowan continued to grow in favor with
the people of the church and village. Every Sunday the little chapel was
crowded. His sermons, practical in thought, simple in language, and
direct in delivery, were discussed about the tables of the country folk
during Sunday dinner. The boys of the Athletic Club had received him
cordially, not only because of his athletic ability, but because he had
proved himself a good fellow. Elder Fox had strenuously opposed intimate
relationships between the club and former ministers, but he made no
attempt to interfere with Mr. McGowan, although he remained skeptical as
to the wisdom of such secular tendencies. Sim Hicks, the keeper of the
Inn, did not like the minister, and declared he would oust him from the
community if it were the last act of his life.
The one man who responded most naturally, whole-heartedly, and with
simple loyalty to the power of the young man's personality was Captain
Josiah Pott. These two became close companions, and one evening Mrs.
Eadie Beaver remarked concerning it:
"Ain't you glad I got him in with you, Josiah?"
"Cal'late I am, Eadie. I was mad at first, but it's beginning to mean a
heap to me to have him here."
"You always seemed so lonely when you'd come home, and I'd see your
light in the setting-room window. It don't seem that way now when I look
across."
"It is real nice and homelike having him in the house."
"I'm glad it's different for you," declared his next-door neighbor as
she looked about the room. "Things look real trim since the painters got
through."
The seaman's face clouded. "It took a sight more than I thought it
would, though, and it ain't going to be easy to pay back to Jim what I
borrowed to do the repairing with."
"Now, don't you go to crossing any bridges till you get to 'em. The Lord
will provide when the time comes."
"Cal'late He might, but I've always noticed that it's safer to help Him
a mite on the perviding question."
"Well, ain't you helping? You're doing the janitor work at the church,
and that helps some. And, then, you'll get a ship one of these days,
mark my word. Mr. Fox said as much to Harry just the other day."
"I ain't so sure of that, Eadie," remarked the Captain doubtfully. It
was reasonably clear to his mind that the Elder had a fish to fry in
thus starting reports of his willingness to secure a command for the
Captain, and it was also reasonably clear that sooner or later he would
catch a whiff of the frying fat which would indicate the breed of that
fish. Till then, the Captain must be content to wait.
"By the way, Josiah, have you heard that the day has been all set for
the installation service?" asked Mrs. Beaver. "Mr. Fox is arranging it,
and it's going to be a great time."
"What are they aiming to do?"
"Why, don't you know? An installation service is a meeting where all the
ministers of other towns come in and say nice things about our minister.
Elder Fox says this one will be a special one, because some one has said
that Mr. McGowan ain't sound in church doctrine, being as he graduated
from what is called a 'New Theology' school. Mr. Fox says he's going to
prove that ain't so."
"What's all that got to do with him being a man?"
"I guess it ain't got much to do with that. But you know there is a
difference between being just a man and being a real minister."
The Captain looked at her oddly. "And they're planning to change him
from one to the other, is that the idea?"
"No-o, not that exactly. But Mr. Fox thinks it would be a good time to
show all the people that Mr. McGowan is orthodox. There will be
ministers here from everywhere. The Reverend Mr. Means is coming out
from New York."
"If they're all like that feller, they'll be a hot lot."
"Josiah Pott! Haven't you any respect for the cloth?"
"Not for the kind he wears, I ain't. I'd say his cloth is a sort of
sheep's clothing, same as the Bible speaks of."
"If you can't talk decent I sha'n't stay," said Mrs. Beaver. She bridled
past him, and on into her own yard.
What Mrs. Beaver had said concerning plans for the installation service
was true. Elder Fox was carrying the full responsibility, for he wished
to make this meeting one long to be remembered. He selected with great
care those who were to sit on the council. The Reverend Mr. Means had
been chosen for two reasons, first that he was a personal friend of the
Elder, and second because his presence would add dignity to the
occasion. It was even arranged that the city clergyman should be made
moderator.
The eventful day arrived, and with it dignitaries of city and
countryside. It was a fearfully hot humid day in July, one of those days
when to move about was torment, and to work was torture. Not a breath of
air stirred. The clergymen were plainly enervated as they descended from
the various vehicles which had conveyed them over from Little River. The
Reverend Mr. Means mopped his face as the chauffeur assisted him from
the Elder's limousine. He greeted every one with deep sonorous tones.
His manner was graciously condescending, but never once familiar. He
made his way up the steps of the chapel with what was evidently meant
for a majestic stride, but his heavy frame turned it into a decided
waddle. He shook hands with a chosen few, all the while looking far
above their heads as though his vision were not of this world.
The Captain watched the clergyman till he had disappeared behind the
vestibule doors, and then remarked to Mrs. Beaver, "Them kind ain't hard
to sight. I could sight that feller a mile in the offin', on a dark
night, with my eyes shut! If Mack McGowan was that kind, he'd get to
stay here about twenty-four hours, and then he'd smell fire and
brimstone."
Mrs. Beaver surprised the seaman with a wry smile and vigorous nod.
Mr. McGowan arrived in due season under tow of the Elder. Mr. Fox led
him before the clergyman from the city, who was lounging near an open
window in the front of the auditorium.
"How do you do, Brother Fox!" boomed the deep voice of Mr. Means. "And
is this the fortunate young man who has been called to this delightful
little town?"
"Yes, this is Mr. McGowan. Mr. McGowan, this is the Reverend Mr. Means
from New York City."
The studied dignity of the visiting clergyman seemed to receive a
decided shock as he rolled up out of his chair. He stood before the
candidate to whom the Elder had introduced him and forgot to look at the
ceiling. He had been caught off his guard, and through the momentary
look of recognition there flitted across his flabby features an
expression that was far from ecclesiastical. But it was gone as quickly
as it had come, and the Reverend Mr. Means was once more his complacent
unperturbed self.
"Ho! So this is our candidate? So!" he exploded. "I am glad, Mr.
McGowan, to shake your hand, and perhaps we'd better do it now, for we
might not so desire when the grilling is over. So!" He laughed
vociferously at his rude joke, and offered his fish-like palm.
"I'm glad to see you again," lied the candidate, cheerfully.
"Again?" echoed the man, his mirth suddenly controlled by well-feigned
astonishment. "Again?"
"Have you so soon forgotten how strongly you opposed me last year when I
was up before the New York Presbytery for ordination?"
"So? Really so? Ah! Yes. I do remember, now that you call it to mind.
That probably accounts for the familiarity of your face. But I did not
oppose you for personal reasons, I assure you. It was because of your
radical theological beliefs. I do not allow personal reasons to enter
into my religious activities."
"But why should you have personal reasons for not wishing to see me
ordained?"
"Just so! Just so! I did not mean to say I had any. But, as you
doubtless remember, my brethren overruled my objections, and although I
greatly regret the theological laxity of our Presbytery, I am willing to
abide by the decision of the majority. So!"
He dismissed the two men with a wide gesture, and dropped back into his
chair. When Mr. Fox and his charge were out of sight, Mr. Means motioned
to Mr. Harry Beaver. He whispered in the little man's ear, and indicated
the groups of ministers gathered here and there about the room.
Harry Beaver had the misfortune to stutter, and in his eagerness to make
himself understood he would support himself, stork-like, on one leg, and
pump the other up and down with frantic jerks. Mr. Beaver's services
were invaluable in such cases as this when gossip was to be repeated,
for his stuttering compelled him to leave just enough unsaid to make
his news the more startling. He was seen slowly pumping his way from
group to group, and there followed in his wake the buzz of low
whisperings.
When Elder Fox later saw these signs, he was greatly perturbed. He went
directly to the Reverend Mr. Means and demanded particulars. On hearing
what the clergymen had to say, the Elder declared that this was neither
the time nor the place to air theological differences. The city
clergyman leaned forward to whisper a further explanation, but was
interrupted by Mr. Beaver, who announced that he had finished his task.
Mr. Means looked at his watch, declared it was time to open the session,
and rapped sharply for order.
Minor matters of business were quickly dispatched, and Mr.
Means--according to the prearranged plan--was duly elected moderator.
"Brethren and sisters," he roared in his most effective tones, "we now
come to the most important, and, I hope, the most delightful part of
this program. We are to be favored with a statement from the Reverend
Mr. McGowan, who is the candidate for installation as pastor of this
very beautiful church. The members of the council will be given an
opportunity to question Mr. McGowan after he has read to us his
statement. A word of caution needs to be uttered: you are to confine
your questions to theological matters as they may affect the fellowship
of the ministers and churches represented to-day by pastor and delegate.
Mr. McGowan will please come forward."
Mr. McGowan came forward in more ways than one. He concisely stated his
belief in applied Christianity, and followed with a program for future
work in the village. His short statement left the council under the
spell of an embarrassed silence. But the first question broke the
silence, and was followed by others both new and old, which were hurled
at the head of the candidate like shots from a rapid-fire gun.
Captain Pott stood the fusillade as long as his patience permitted, and
then retreated to the quiet of the out-of-doors, where he dragged a box
into the shade of the building, and lit his pipe. Here Elizabeth Fox
found him, when she, too, felt the need of a little fresh air.
"Uncle Josiah, did you ever hear anything so ridiculous? Why did you
come out here?"
"I felt sort as if I was coming up into a reg'lar twister, and thought
it would be safer to reef a mite and make for ca'm waters. My head begun
to whirl, and I cal'lated I'd best weigh anchor while my soundings was
good."
"But isn't it bad form for you to desert like this?" she asked, her big
eyes dancing mischievously.
"I ain't exactly deserting, I cal'late. If I'd been able to pitch into
that crew and shake the devil out of 'em, I'd stayed on deck. But----"
"I want you to go back with me. It's getting too funny to miss!"
"I ain't got much hankering for them officers' meeting, Beth. It makes
me feel like busting chairs on their heads."
"But you must go back! You should hear what he is saying to them.
Come!"
Before the seaman could obey the summons, Miss Edna Splinter emerged
from the rear door. She hurried toward the two. Miss Splinter was one of
those fine spinsters which one so often finds stranded in small villages
located near large cities. She was one of the few friends of the Captain
in Little River.
"It's the most disgusting thing I ever saw or heard!" declared Miss
Splinter, angrily stamping her foot.
"It's really too funny for words!" exclaimed Elizabeth.
"What in tarnation is he doing to them?"
"Doing to them!" flashed Miss Splinter indignantly. "My word! It's what
they're trying to do to him. It is positively disgraceful."
The seaman decided that a scene which could have such opposite effects
on two of his best friends must at least be interesting. He knocked the
tobacco from his pipe and followed them inside. As he listened, his
interest grew, not so much in the ecclesiastical storm of big words, as
in the wildly gesticulating clergymen. The moderator had risen and was
rapping loudly for order.
"Brethren!" he thundered. "It is time that we recognize some of our
laymen. I see Mr. Harry Beaver of this church asking for the floor. Mr.
Beaver may speak."
"M-Mr. Ch-chairman, does M-Mr. Mc-McGowan b-believe in e-ev----"
The unfortunate man blinked, backed, pumped, emitted a series of hissing
sounds like escaping steam, but remained hopelessly stuck. Those round
him dodged his foot gestures, and smiled appreciatively, while those not
engaged in trying to escape mutilation of corns, encouragingly suggested
words such as everlasting, everpresent, etc., which might have bearing
on the subject previously under discussion. The little man spurned them
all with vigorous backings and increased hissings. At last, between a
discouraged hiss and a triumphant sputter, the awful word rolled out.
"Evolution!" he shouted, and sat down.
After the laughter had subsided, the moderator demanded that the
candidate answer the question.
"Yes, Mr. Moderator."
Mr. Means was on his feet in an incredibly short time for one so bulky.
"Then, you deny here in the face of these wise men, as you did before
your superiors in the New York Presbytery, the creation story of the
Bible?"
"I did not deny it then, and I do not deny it now."
"Brethren, we have the right to an explanation from our young brother. I
was denied that privilege at the time of his ordination. But I consider
his contradictory statements so serious a thing that I shall give you
the opportunity that was denied me."
Elder Fox, plainly nettled by the turn affairs had taken, rose and
demanded the floor.
"Brother Fox!" vociferously acknowledged the moderator.
"We have no right to carry this senseless discussion further. There has
not yet been sounded--er--the note of fellowship that should prevail
among the brethren," declared the Elder, eyeing the chairman. Very
gently stroking his side-whiskers, he continued: "We have sprung at our
young friend--er--as if he were before a jury, condemned and found
guilty of a felony. Why should we trouble him about things that are not
fundamental to our faith?"
Captain Pott muttered something under his breath. Never before had he
known of the Elder and the city minister disagreeing.
"That is the very question," expostulated the moderator. "Mr. McGowan
has attacked every sacred doctrine of the church, for he has said what
is equivalent to the statement that my ancestors were monkeys. What
other interpretation can be given to the doctrine of evolution? If it
does not contradict every sacred belief of our past, then I am no
theologian."
The old seaman chuckled, and several shocked faces were turned in his
direction.
"Perhaps it would help if Mr. McGowan would tell us just what he does
believe in regard to the book of Genesis," suggested Mr. Fox.
"It is the story of human redemption."
With a nod of satisfied approval, the Elder sat down, and the moderator
crumpled up.
Captain Pott irreverently observed to Elizabeth: "I cal'late that there
Means is left for once with his sails flopping, without no idea as to
what his longitude is."
A little wizened-looking man smiled cordially and addressed the chair,
but the "chair" seemed oblivious to all about him.
"Should not the ministry of to-day place greater emphasis on the
philosophy of life than upon time-worn theology that has come to us from
the middle ages?" asked the man.
"We should preach both where they affect life; neither where they do
not," was the quick response.
"I am an instructor in philosophy in the high school over at Marble
Point, and I was led by your last reply concerning your belief in the
book of Genesis to believe you are somewhat of a philosopher. Do you not
think that philosophy will touch life more quickly than theology?"
"Religion is something that has outgrown both the classroom and the
cloister. It is the anonymous religion that we must take into account in
the future if the church is to progress with the needs of men."
It was the voice of the Captain who broke the silence of surprise which
followed the unusual statement.
"I want to know!" came the seaman's exclamation in a hoarse stage
whisper.
Every face in the room seemed to register the same question. Mr. McGowan
smiled and explained.
"By anonymous religion I mean every ideal striving for the right and
truth, wherever it is found, and by whatever name it may be known. It
may be found outside the church as readily as within it. Wherever good
is found, the church should make use of it, whether it is counted
orthodox or not."
First one, and then another, was on his feet, till the moderator was
powerless to moderate. Some exclaimed for, and others declaimed against,
the candidate. Still others fired broadside after broadside into all
present.
"It ain't much like a heavenly craft, that there ark, now, is it?"
queried the Captain of his two friends. "Smells more like brimstone
round these parts than it does like heavenly ozone."
Mr. Fox assumed command, and under his steady hand and head the
spiritual elements began slowly to calm.
"In all my life," he lamented, "I have never seen such proceedings in
the house of God. The parish committee arranged this meeting--er--for
the purpose of fellowship, and you have seen fit to make of it child's
play. It is time for us to recognize that Mr. McGowan is big enough, and
broad enough, to supply the needs of a community like this. The very
fact that he has not satisfied each of your unreasonable demands is
evidence that he is competent to meet all of them, if we give him time.
I make the motion--er,--Mr. Moderator, that we proceed with the
installation of the candidate without further delay or discussion."
The motion was seconded, and put to a vote. There were only a few who
had the temerity to register themselves as negative in the face of what
the leading layman had said. Elder Fox suggested that the vote be made
unanimous.
"Brethren," protested the Reverend Mr. Means, slowly rising from the
depths of the easy chair, "before that vote is taken to make the will
of this council unanimous, I wish to have it fully understood that I am
opposed, bitterly opposed, to the calling of unorthodox men to our
pulpits. It is atrocious, and I shall wash my hands of the whole affair.
I regret very much that our beloved Brother Fox has forced me to
disagree with him, and if he is of the same opinion still, I shall have
to ask him to take the chair while the vote he has called for is being
registered."
Mr. Fox took the chair, and the motion passed without one dissenting
voice. Adjournment to the kitchen parlors followed, and when that vote
was taken the voice of him who had washed his hands of the action of the
council was heard booming an affirmative near the Captain's ear.
The bounteous provisions warmed heart and stomach, and that fact,
together with some persuasion from Elder Fox, led the city minister to
the decision that he would lose nothing if he remained to deliver his
prepared address. And he did himself proudly. Even Captain Pott could
find no fault with the impassioned words of the speaker. He was heard
to remark, however, "Them there things he said wa'n't what was inside by
a damn sight, but just smeared on like honey."
It was late that night when the Captain reached home after closing the
church building. The minister was in his study, and the old man tapped
lightly on the door.
"Won't be disturbing your peaceful meditations about that meeting if I
come in for a spell, will I?"
Assured he would not, he entered. He took a chair on the opposite side
of the table and drew out his pipe.
"There ain't no wind so fierce that it don't blow you some good," he
philosophized, as with deliberation he scratched a match on his
trouser-leg. "I'd never hoped to see Jim Fox stand up to that city
feller the way he did."
"What did you think of the whole thing, anyway, Cap'n?"
"Well, so far as I could get the drift, I'd think that there theology
stuff would be purty dry picking. But it was mighty interesting the way
you met up with 'em at every p'int. I was real 'feared that Jim Fox
would get aboard their band-wagon when he see the way things was going
against you."
The minister nodded.
"And the way the Means feller washed his hands! Wa'n't that good as a
show, and then getting up and preaching like Gabriel afterward? Mack,
you ain't got no idea what he made me think of, have you?"
"Not in the least. What?"
"I heard a preacher tell a yarn once about a pilot washing his hands in
hell. It struck me queer about there being a river in hell. If it's as
hot down there as I've heard it described, you'd think the surroundings
would sizzle her up. But that's what the preacher said about this pilot,
whose last name I rec'lect was Pontyhouse. His stay was to be purty
tolerable long with his Satanic majesty. I've always felt sorry for that
chap, seemed kind of lonely, but as I figger it out he's going to have
company one of these hot days."
Mr. McGowan looked up.
"You just bet he is. I knew that Means chap afore he took to religion,
and if he's slated for heavenly bliss I'm going to put in my papers for
the other place, alongside the scrubbing pilot."
"You mean----"
"I mean that one of us is going to keep that feller company in hell.
Beyond that you'll have to guess," said the Captain, rising. "Only don't
you tie too tight to Means, that's all. Good night, I'm going to turn
in."
"All right, Cap'n, I'll promise," replied Mr. McGowan, smiling
appreciatively.
"You'd best go to bed, too, Mack. You're mighty tired."
But the minister did not follow his friend's advice about retiring. He
sat at his desk. The angry men of the afternoon slowly faded from his
thoughts, and into the center of his consciousness came the vision of
the loveliest face he had ever seen. He recalled the words of frank
approval with which Miss Fox had met him after the evening service, and
the cordial manner she had shown. Not that he was in love with one of
the members of his church. That would never do. But there was something
different about the Elder's daughter, something which appealed to his
sense of the beautiful. This, he told himself, he could enjoy without
overstepping the conventions.
The next day he was to dine at the Fox home.
CHAPTER III
On the following evening, just as early as the rules of propriety would
permit, Mr. McGowan turned into the private road that led up to the Fox
estate. He walked slowly along the wide avenue beneath the spreading
elms and stately chestnuts. He had dined with the Elder many times
during the few months he had been in the village, but on those other
occasions Elizabeth had been absent. The house had always seemed cold
and forbidding both outside and inside. As he came out of the shaded
roadway into the sweeping semicircle described before the main entrance
to the house, he caught himself wondering if the stiff interior would
seem softened by the presence of the girl. He began at once to chide
himself for entertaining such a sentimental notion, but before he could
finish the rebuke the door swung back, and Elizabeth Fox stood in the
opening. She was dressed in a simple blue frock of clinging stuff,
which set off the perfect lines of her athletic body. The blue of her
eyes took on a deeper hue as though to harmonize with the shade of her
gown.
"Good evening, Mr. McGowan. We are so glad you could come. Father will
be right down."
The minister's emotions played leap-frog with his heart, and he stumbled
awkwardly on the upper step. He made some stupidly obvious observation
concerning the condition of the weather as he followed his hostess into
the library. He realized that he was acting strangely for one who had
reached the supposedly practical view of life where all sentiment is
barred from social intercourse with the fair sex, but he also realized
that he was powerless to check the surge of what he now felt within.
With kaleidoscopic rapidity there flashed through his mind every
occasion when he had been with Miss Fox, from the first meeting beneath
the elm-tree in the Captain's yard to the present time, and he
recognized what it was that had sent scurrying his practical views of
life. He was in love, not with the beauty of this girl, but with her.
That love had come like the opening strains of a grand symphony, subtly
and gently disturbing his emotional equilibrium, but with accumulative
effect the transitions had come with the passing weeks, till now every
interest in his life seemed to be pouring out into the one emotion he
felt.
Elizabeth had preceded him into the library, and was standing motionless
before the mantel. She became suddenly aware of what was going on within
the mind of Mr. McGowan, and a shy embarrassment crept into her eyes.
Simultaneously, an unreasoning determination took possession of the
minister. Unconsciously, he began to move in her direction, unmindful of
the sound of footfalls on the stair. Only one step remained between Mr.
McGowan and Elizabeth when Elder Fox entered the room.
"I trust I'm not intruding----"
The Elder began nervously to stroke his chops. His breath came heavily,
shutting off his words. A hunted look leaped into his eyes as he
studied the tense face of the eager young man. Could it be possible that
the fears of the Reverend Mr. Means--privately made known to the Elder
after the installation service--had foundation in fact? Or had the
suggestion of Mr. Means lodged in the Elder's mind, playing havoc with
his imagination?
Mr. McGowan drew off to the far end of the mantel, and began,
figuratively, to kick himself. He had often declared that a man in love
was the biggest mule on earth, and now here he was, the king of them
all, a genuine descendant of Balaam's mount with all his asinine
qualities, but lacking his common mule sense.
"I--I beg your pardon," he stammered.
"There is no occasion for excuses," graciously replied the girl.
"Father, Mr. McGowan and I were----" She paused, blushing in confusion.
"Really, Mr. McGowan, what were we saying?"
She laughed, and it was so infectious that the men forgot to look
serious, and joined with her.
"I should say--er--that you have put the matter in a very diplomatic
way," observed the Elder, apparently once more himself. "No explanations
are necessary--er--I assure you. I was once a young man, and have not
forgotten that fact. I apologize, Mr. McGowan, if by my attitude I
appeared--er--to misjudge you. The trouble was with me, not with you. An
odd fancy momentarily got the upper hand of me, and upset me for an
instant. Make yourself quite at home, sir."
It was not long till they were called to table, and in the discussion of
parish matters the strangeness of the Elder's action was for the time
being relegated to the background.
"You have doubtless heard a hundred times to-day how proud we all were
of the way you answered the questions yesterday," commented the Elder
enthusiastically. "You showed a fine spirit, too, sir, one--er--which
some of the older men might well emulate."
"I feel greatly indebted to you, Mr. Fox, for the final outcome."
The Elder waved his hand as though lightly to brush aside such words of
praise, and yet in the same movement he modestly acknowledged that
without his aid the young minister could have done nothing.
"I might also add, that we are delighted with the work you are doing at
the church," continued the Elder magnanimously. "It is--er--very good.
Though I am still a little dubious about your associations down at the
club, still----"
"Father's ambition is to have all the pews filled," broke in Elizabeth,
attempting to divert her father from a delicate topic.
"No, my dear. That is hardly my position. There must never be a
sacrificing of principle, even for the sake of full pews. A full
church--er--is not the most important part of parish work. Am I not
right, Mr. McGowan?"
"Quite right, if that is the end sought in itself."
"I am convinced from what you said yesterday that you will furnish
us--er--with both. I am confidently looking forward to one of our most
prosperous years."
"Both?" queried the minister.
"Yes. I am old-fashioned enough to believe in the need of--er--the
saving power of the gospel. Full pews without that would make our
church the sounding of brass and the tinkling of cymbal. We must have
the old-time power in our churches to-day, Mr. McGowan."
"You think Little River needs reforming, Father?"
"That is exactly the point I make: it is more than reformation we need,
it is conversion. Take the Athletic Club, for example. Will reform stop
them? No, sir, no more than a straw-stack would stop a tornado. They
need--er--a mighty thunderbolt from heaven, and I hope that you will let
God use you, sir, as the transmitting agency."
A picture of himself occupying the place of Zeus, holding in his hand
the lightnings of heaven, flitted through the minister's mind. He smiled
faintly. Elizabeth evidently caught what was in the young man's mind,
for she met his glance with a merry twinkle.
"Really, Father, don't you think Mr. McGowan would look out of place as
a lightning-rod, even on Little River Church?"
"I was speaking figuratively, my dear," he replied, somewhat
crestfallen that his reference should be thus irreverently treated.
"The boys in that club are a reckless lot, and they are doing the
work--er--of the devil. They must be brought to repentance."
"I don't think that is fair, Father. The church is not wholly without
blame for what those boys have done," declared Elizabeth emphatically.
"What did we do to keep them from going out and organizing as they
have?"
"No doubt we did make mistakes in the beginning, but our errors do not
atone for their sins."
"But, Father----"
"There, Beth, never mind. We can never agree on that point, and we
should not entangle Mr. McGowan in our differences. I only hope he will
do all in his power to make them see the sinfulness of their ways."
Conversation turned into other channels under the direction of
Elizabeth. They were discussing modern fiction when the door at the end
of the hall swung back with a bang and a loud halloo echoed through the
house. Elizabeth sprang up from her place and ran to the dining-room
door just as a tall young man bounded through. He came up erect at sight
of the stranger.
"Harold!" cried Elizabeth. "When did you come?"
"Just now. Didn't my war-whoop announce me?"
"But how did you get over from Little River station?"
"Walked."
"Why didn't you telephone? I'd have come over to meet you."
"Needed the exercise. Hello, Dad."
The Elder greeted the young man with a cold nod. His hand trembled
slightly as he stiffly extended it.
"We are just a short time at table. Will you join us?"
"Be glad to, Dad. I'm starved," he declared, eyeing the minister as he
drew up a chair.
"Oh, Mr. McGowan, please excuse us!" cried Elizabeth. "This is my
brother. Harold, this is our new minister, Reverend Mr. McGowan. Harold
comes home so seldom that I fear his unexpected arrival demoralized our
manners."
"Delighted to meet you, Mr. McGowan," cordially greeted Harold. "Heard
of you before I got in sight of the house."
The young men gripped each other's hands. Consternation took possession
of the Elder. Had his son fully understood?
"Mr. McGowan is the minister at our little church," he said
significantly.
"That's what Beth just said. Didn't I say the right thing to him, Dad?
Want me to start all over again like I had to when I was a kid?"
He eyed the minister with a curious expression as they took their seats
about the table.
"Maybe Dad wants me to repeat some verses to you. Used to do it and get
patted on the head."
Mr. McGowan laughed heartily, but the Elder showed his displeasure.
"That will do, Harold," he commanded sternly. "I shall not allow profane
jesting about sacred things in my house."
"Closet next, is it? Never mind, Dad, I'll try not to shock you again.
Haven't had much hankering for closets since I got shut up in that hole
over in Sydney. They called it a prison, but it was more like a
potato-pit than anything else."
"Sydney?" questioned the minister.
"Yes, Australia. You see, Mr. McGowan, I was a real prodigal for more
than two years. Chased out to California after I graduated from Yale,
and got mixed up out there in another fellow's scrape. To save my skin I
shipped on a freighter to Australia. Over there I tried to save another
poor devil from the lock-up, and got in bad with the authorities. Yes, I
was a real prodigal, always trying to help the other fellow out of
trouble and getting the worst end of it every time. The only difference
between me and the Bible chap was that Father did not heap treasure on
me when I left, and didn't kill the fatted calf when I returned."
During this recital the Elder had fidgeted to the end of his chair. "I
cannot see, son, why you persist in telling of your wickedness to
everybody. It's a thing rather to be ashamed of."
"I acknowledge that, Dad, but the closet idea suggested it to my mind.
Then, perhaps, it's not a bad idea for Mr. McGowan to know the worst
side of me first. I spent about a week in that hole they called a
prison," he said turning to the minister, "and seven days there couldn't
be very easily effaced from my memory unless I went bugs and had an
awful lapse. But the result was not so bad, for that place proved to be
my swine-pen where I came to myself. It was just about as much like a
pig-sty as any place I ever didn't sleep in.... Do you happen to know
anything about Sydney, Mr. McGowan?"
"Not much. I know it's quite a trading center, but most of my
information is second-hand."
"It is the best trading center on the Australian coast. An odd case came
to the office from there last week. You know, perhaps, that I'm a member
of the Starr and Jordan law firm in New York. Well, our branch office in
Sydney referred this case to our office in London, and they, in turn,
sent it over here. The reason it was transferred here is that the
documents say the client now lives in America. I happened to be put on
the case because I knew a little about Sydney. The same case has been up
several times, it seems, for some woman over there keeps pounding away
at it. The queer part of it is that the trail has been followed up to a
certain point and then lost at that point every time. It is the same old
story of what is happening every day. Relatives of a wealthy trader left
Sydney several years ago, the trader died, and the heirs to his fortune
can't be found. The strange part of it is that these people can be
traced as far as America without the slightest trouble, and then,
without any apparent reason, they suddenly drop out of existence as
completely as though they had been kidnapped and carried to a desolate
island. So little data has been collected from the other side that the
firm has decided to send me over to Sydney. It promises to be quite an
adventure. That's why I came home to-night, Dad. I'm leaving in the
morning."
Elder Fox had been listening intently, and at mention of the proposed
trip he grew pale.
"I--er--should not go if I were you, Harold. They may arrest you again.
The police of Australia have a way of remembering things against former
prisoners."
"How do you know so much about the police of Australia?"
"I've read it, sir," hastily explained the Elder.
"But I've got to go, Dad. They'll not pinch me. They found the right
chap before they let me go, and couldn't do enough for me when they
discovered their mistake.... You say you've never visited Sydney, Mr.
McGowan?"
"I was born there. But I don't remember anything about the place, as we
moved away when I was a mere lad. I've often heard my father speak about
it. He was a trader there in the early days."
"May I see your father to-night?" asked Harold eagerly. "He may be able
to save me a trip over. Where does he live?"
"He is not living. He and Mother both died a few years after coming to
America. The climate was too severe for them."
"I beg your pardon," apologized Harold. "I didn't know. I'm so anxious
to get news of this man that I rush in where angels would fear to
tread."
"That is perfectly all right. It's no more than natural that you should
think he would be able to help you in your search."
"Yes. He could have doubtless given me valuable information concerning
the traders of his day, and thus have put me on the trail of my client.
This man was arrested on some charge trumped up by two scamps, but was
later released and exonerated. They'd arrest a man over there for
looking at his own watch if he happened to cross his eyes while doing
it. At the time when my client was in trouble the convict-ships were in
business."
The Elder dropped back from the edge of his chair which he had held
since the beginning of the conversation. He gave his son a look of dumb
appeal. With an effort he straightened and glared vacantly across the
table.
"I was aboard the convict-ship _Success_ while she was in the New York
harbor this spring," commented the minister. "I don't see how civilized
men could think out so many different modes of torture and remain
civilized, let alone human."
"Nor I. I was aboard the old tub, too. That was the ship my client was
on. It was when she first came out."
The Elder was acting queerly.
"Dad, what's wrong?" asked Harold, with concern.
"Nothing,--er--nothing. Only I do wish you would not take this trip.
Can't you send some one else?"
"I'm afraid not. You see, I'm not my own boss. No, Dad, I can't get out
of it."
Harold had never seen his father so concerned for his welfare, and it
greatly affected him.
"They won't trouble me, not in the least. To ease your mind I'll go
under an assumed name, if you say so. But I must get my data at the
source concerning this man Adoniah Phillips, if----"
The Elder was sipping his coffee, and his cup fell into the saucer with
a crash, breaking both fragile pieces into fragments. The contents were
sprayed over the linen, and drops stained the Elder's white waistcoat.
"Father!" cried Elizabeth. "What is the matter? You are ill!"
He did not answer. He turned an ashen face toward Mr. McGowan, and with
a wild stare studied that young man's face. The two men sprang to the
old man's assistance, but as the minister reached out his hand Mr. Fox
gave a startled cry and threw up his arm as though to ward off a blow.
"Go back to your seats!" ordered the Elder thickly. "Do not mind me. I'm
all right, or shall be in a few seconds."
He fought helplessly for self-control.
"Come, Dad, you must go to your room," declared Harold, taking his
father tightly by the arm.
"I'm not ill, sir," answered the father, stubbornly. "But it might be as
well for me to retire from the table. You need not trouble, Mr.
McGowan. I shall get on quite well with my son's assistance," he
affirmed, waving the minister back.
Mr. Fox drew his handkerchief across his perspiring forehead, and
dazedly eyed the stained cloth. "I'm sorry, Beth, very sorry I was so
awkward."
"Don't mind the cloth, Father," begged the girl tearfully.
"You remain with Mr. McGowan, Beth. I shall soon be quite myself.
Fainting spell, I guess."
Harold led his father from the room. Elizabeth turned to the minister.
"Oh, Mr. McGowan! Is it--do you think----Oh! I can't say it! It's too
awful!"
"We must telephone for the doctor at once. It may be serious."
"Then, you do think it's a stroke! What shall we do!"
Mr. McGowan telephoned for the doctor, and when he arrived he sent him
at once to the Elder's room. The physician entered unannounced, stopped
short on the threshold, and stared at the two men who were in the midst
of a heated discussion.
Elizabeth met the doctor as he came down the stair.
"Miss Fox, will you be kind enough to tell me if your father has had bad
news, or sudden grief?"
"Not that I know of, Doctor. Harold had just told him that he must start
for Australia to-morrow when Father nearly fainted. That is all that
happened."
"Then, I see no occasion for this. There is nothing organically wrong so
far as I can discover. But I shall take his blood pressure to-morrow
just to be on the safe side. Call me any time during the night if
anything out of the ordinary happens. Keep him perfectly quiet. Good
night."
Harold called Elizabeth from the head of the stair.
"Excuse me, Mr. McGowan. I shall send my brother right down."
"Please, don't do that. Your father will need you both. I shall be
going."
"I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, offering her hand. "You will come again,
very soon, won't you?"
"I shall call in the morning to inquire about your father."
"Thank you. Good night."
"Good night."
Mr. McGowan took his hat from the hall-tree and left the house. As he
walked very slowly through the avenue of trees a strange passage from
the Bible kept tantalizing his attention. "Behold, a shaking, and the
bones came together, bone to his bone.... Then there was no breath in
them.... Then from the four winds the breath came into them, and they
lived."
Half provoked for allowing these words to arouse suspicion, he tried to
cast them out. But the effect of them remained. He had witnessed the
coming together of the dry bones of a past. Were the four winds from the
four corners of the earth to give them life? Had he unwittingly helped
to furnish the dry bones with breath?
He had gone but a short distance when he heard footsteps behind him.
CHAPTER IV
"One minute, Mr. McGowan," called Harold Fox. "Come with me, please."
He drew the minister aside into the path that led into the lower
gardens. Once in the deeper shadows, Harold stopped.
"What have you to do with this man Phillips?" he demanded.
"What's that? Why, Mr. Fox----"
"I'd no sooner got Dad to his room than he began to mumble that you were
to blame for his condition," cut in the lawyer. "He connected you in no
favorable way with some woman in Australia. This man Phillips was
involved, too, from what I could gather. I was questioning him when the
doctor arrived, and after he was gone I could get nothing more out of
him. I hate to go to Australia with him like this, and I have every
reason to surmise that I won't need to go if you tell me all you know."
"I'm very sorry for your father's condition, but I see no way to help
you. I don't see why he should connect me with his condition. How long
ago did all this happen to your client?"
"About twenty-five years ago."
"Then it's ridiculous to associate me with any such trouble. I was not
more than born, if, indeed, that. In what way does it all affect your
father, anyway?"
"That I don't know. It's a mystery to me."
"I should gladly give you aid if it were possible."
"I'm only asking that you tell me all you know."
"All an infant in arms would know would be of little value, I fear."
"But you must know something by hearsay. Father would not take this turn
out of a clear sky. There must be a little moisture where there are so
many clouds."
"But, Mr. Fox, I've told you----"
"See here, Mr. McGowan," broke in Harold impatiently, "don't think me
thickheaded. I've been practising law long enough to smell a rat when
it's round. Father knows something, and he knows you know something. In
some way it involves him. His trouble to-night was purely mental."
"Suppose I am connected with all this mystery in some way, how on earth
can a man call on a child's empty memory----"
"You're stalling, Mr. McGowan. Don't try that alibi stuff with me. It
simply won't go."
"You refuse to accept my statement of ignorance concerning this man?"
"I most certainly do. You and Dad are passing the buck. I thought from
all reports that you would stand up to any proposition like a man, no
matter how unpleasant."
"There is nothing for me to stand up to, Mr. Fox."
"You absolutely refuse to tell me what you know?"
"I absolutely refuse, for I know absolutely nothing."
Harold Fox studied the set features of the minister in the dim light of
the moon. He then cordially extended his hand.
"Pardon me, sir. I believe you. But there's something damned crooked
somewhere, and I intend to ferret it out. If Dad's in it----Well, I hope
to the Lord he isn't. You'd better watch your p's and q's pretty close,
for Dad mentioned the fact that Mr. Means has it in for you, and the two
of them can make it hell for you. I'm sorry to say that, but it's God's
truth. I wouldn't trust Means with a pet skunk. I never have liked the
fellow. I've said too much. Good night, and good luck."
Harold abruptly left, and Mr. McGowan walked slowly and heavily from the
garden into the road that led toward the sea.
* * * * *
Following that night, things began to happen with lightning-like
rapidity. A spirit of distrust and suspicion sprang up among the members
of the little church over night. The congregations dwindled down, till
within a month they were not one-half their original size. But in spite
of the friction that was grinding at the religious machinery, Mr.
McGowan went on steadily about his work. He visited the Inn more
frequently, and won no little renown among the members of the club. But
here he also had his enemies, and they were becoming bolder in
proportion as the church grew more hostile toward its minister. Sim
Hicks, the keeper of the Inn, began an open fight against Mr. McGowan's
intrusions, declaring he would make good a former threat to oust the
"Psalm-singer" from the village.
One evening Mr. McGowan returned to his study deeply perplexed. What was
the meaning in the unjust persecution? Not that he complained; his
difficulty was rather his inability to get at the bottom of it all. He
stood before his window gazing absently out into the gathering dusk,
when Captain Pott quietly opened the door and entered.
"Can I come in, Mack?"
"I'd love to have you. I need company."
"Anything special wrong? I've been noticing you're getting awful thin of
late. Ain't Eadie's cooking agreeing with you?"
"I'm afraid that food cooked to the queen's taste wouldn't agree with me
these days."
"Ain't in love, be you? I've heard tell how it affects people like
that."
The young man turned toward his friend. The wry smile with which he
tried to divert the seaman did not hide the hurt expression in his eyes.
The Captain caught the expression.
"Thought likely," he observed, pulling at his moustache. "But that ain't
no reason for you losing sleep and flesh over, unless she ain't in love
with you."
"There's no reason why she should be."
"Tush, tush, son. Don't ever try to hurry 'em. Let her take all the time
she wants. Women are funny that way."
"Cap'n," said the minister in tense earnestness, "there is something
vitally wrong in this town, and I can't seem to find out what it is."
"I know," nodded the Captain.
"Then I wish you would enlighten me."
"I cal'late I can't do that, Mack. All I can see is that there's
something like mutiny brewing aboard your salvation sloop, and mutiny is
a mighty funny thing. You can't put your finger on it and say, 'Lo,
here, or lo, there,' according to scripture. Ain't that right?"
"You have certainly stated the situation much better than I could hope
to."
"I was only hoping you wouldn't see it."
"I don't see it, and that's my whole trouble. I can only see the
results. I can't say that this one or that one is to blame, for the
thing seems to be in the very air."
"I know just how you feel, Mack. That's where a skipper is hog-tied
against taking any action. You just sort of feel that there's something
devilish afoot, but you don't know enough what it is to be ready to meet
it. Puts me in mind of a song I heard once aboard one of my ships. One
of the new mates sang it, and called it the microbe song. I ain't got
any idea where he picked it up, but it went like this:
"'Johnnie, don't you see 'em on my head and chin,
All them powerful microbes, both outside and in?
Johnnie, up and smite 'em, counting every one,
With the strength that cometh with the pork and bun.
"'Johnnie, don't you feel 'em, how they work within,
Striving, crowding, pulling, kicking just like sin?
Johnnie, don't you tremble, never be downcast,
Gird ye for the battle, we'll kill 'em while it lasts.
"'Johnnie, don't you hear 'em, how they speak ye fair:
"All of us are shipmates, not a bunk is bare!"
Johnnie, answer boldly: "While we breathe we smite!"
And peace shall follow battle, day shall end in night.'"
Mr. McGowan laughed heartily as the Captain brought his song to an
unmusical close.
"That song ain't got much music in it, leastwise not as I sung it, but
it's got a heap of truth. Fact is, Mack, I'm as chuck full of them damn
microbes as you be, and I ain't able to smite 'em. They are right in
here,"--he tapped his head,--"and though I ain't able to say for sure,
yet I've got a purty good idea that they're outside, too, and making a
heap of trouble in this here burg.
"Now, take those pirates down to the Inn," continued the seaman.
"There's something brewing down there, and it smells like hell-fire to
me that's doing the boiling. Sim Hicks and his gang are whooping it up a
mite too lively for comfort. That's microbe army number one. Then,
there's Harry Beaver. He says they won't board you after your month is
up."
"May army number two quickly advance! I shall gladly and willingly
surrender."
"Hey? What's that? Where in the name of the ship's cook would you go,
I'd like to know?"
"Right here."
"Right where? You board with me?"
"Why not?"
The old seaman's face slowly lighted up with appreciation as he fully
grasped the meaning of Mr. McGowan's words, and then suddenly clouded.
"No, Mack. There ain't no sense in that," he declared, shaking his head
emphatically. "I can keep soul and body together, but what I get on with
would kill you. There's worse things in the world than Eadie's biscuits.
No, I ain't going to listen to any such out-and-out murder as my cooking
would commit."
"Don't you think we could hire some one to come in and get our meals?"
asked the minister.
"I'm 'feared that ain't possible. And even if it was it would cause more
talk about town. There's enough gossip aboard the old salvation craft to
sink her now, beam-fust."
"Why should it cause talk for some one to take care of the house for us,
and get our meals?"
"Why should any of this gab be floating round at all? There ain't no
sense in it, but that don't stop it. Mack,"--the Captain leaned eagerly
toward his young friend,--"don't tell me nothing you don't want to, but
what happened up to Jim Fox's house that night you ate there the last
time? Things ain't been going smooth since then. I hear he acted mighty
queer. Was you to blame for it in any way?"
"Did Harold Fox talk to you before he left?"
"No. Harold ain't the gossiping kind."
"Some one has evidently been talking to you."
"Ain't denying that, Mack. There's plenty of 'em in this burg that's
ready to talk, and I'd have to be deaf, dumb, and blind, not to get some
of the gab. The doctor told more than he ought, I guess."
"It might pay him to take a few lessons in keeping his mouth closed,"
impatiently commented Mr. McGowan.
"I know, Mack. I reckon he was pumped pretty hard."
"That doesn't excuse him for----"
"There, Mack, don't get mad. I was asking you for your own good. There's
something mighty mysterious about that affair, and I thought if you'd
tell me just what took place that we'd be able to do something before
that gang of rough-necks down to the Inn get the bits in their teeth."
"I don't see what the men at the Inn have to do with all this."
"They ain't got much to do with it, except to use it for a lever to pry
you loose from the fellers who do like you. There's real trouble of some
sort being hatched down there, but I ain't sure just what it's like.
Maybe there ain't no use my worrying you with these suspicions, but
watch them skunks at the Inn, and don't give 'em the inside of the
track. Cal'late you'd best go over to supper, and see if Harry's going
to shut off the rations."
Three days after this conversation Mr. McGowan's month was up, and the
hammer of Mr. Beaver's authority came down. Captain Pott stood in his
door, watching the pantomime as Mr. Beaver pumped, backed, stuttered,
and blinked out the minister's dismissal from his wife's table. The
Captain had an extra griddle on the stove when Mr. McGowan returned.
Without question or comment he indicated a chair, and the minister
smiled like a schoolboy as he drew it up before the place at the
Captain's table which he was to occupy from now on.
"Best eat 'em while they're sizzling hot," invited the Captain, dumping
a turnerful of cakes on the empty plate.
When the men had divided the last flapjack, the minister announced that
he was going for a stroll along the beach.
He was no sooner out of sight than over came Mrs. Beaver, carrying a
large tin filled with biscuits. Captain Pott took them to the pantry,
and returned with the empty pan.
"Thanks, Eadie. Mr. McGowan will sure appreciate them."
"Oh, Josiah! I hope he won't blame me for what's happened."
"Cal'late he won't blame you," said the seaman sympathetically.
"Why are things so upset in town against him?"
"I ain't able to answer that, Eadie. It does seem that the old ark is
going through quite a squall, don't it?"
"Has Harry said anything to you?"
"Not yet, he ain't, and if I sight him fust he ain't going to say
anything. I ain't got time for him to get his pumps working on me."
"You mark my word, he will say something, and don't you believe one word
when he does. I don't see what's got into him. Somebody has bewitched
him."
The Captain stared at her. Here were signs of a new kind of microbe, and
he could make neither head nor tail of it. It was next to the
miraculous for Mrs. Beaver to espouse an unpopular cause when there was
interesting gossip to repeat.
"You don't say!" exclaimed the seaman.
"I do say. Hank Simpson is the only man in this town beside you who's
got back-bone enough to stand by himself! He'd struck Harry last night
if that Hicks hadn't held him off. I wish he had hit him hard, maybe it
would have brought him to his senses."
"Are you trying to tell me that Harry's got the gossiping fever?"
"Not only that, but what he's saying is pure lies. I can't see why he
wants to do other people's dirty work," complained the unhappy woman.
"I cal'late you'd best give me some idea about this here yarn he's
spinning, so's I can lay for him with a spike."
"It's about Mr. McGowan, and what he's telling ain't true, and I know
it!" Her voice broke into short dry sobs. "He says our minister is doing
things down to the Inn that ain't right. And, then, that Reverend Mr.
Means was up again the other day, and told Mr. Fox something. Harry
won't tell me what it was, but he keeps saying it's awful scandalous."
"Well, Eadie, if I was you I'd quit spilling all that brine, for it
ain't wuth it."
"But, Josiah, it is worth it. They're trying to ruin Mr. McGowan, and
he's such a fine man. Won't you stop Harry's talking in some way? Won't
you go to Mr. Fox?"
"Me go to Jim? What in tarnation would you have me say to him?"
"I don't care what you say, but make him understand that he's to leave
Harry alone, and stop him telling what ain't so."
"Maybe he's the one who has made Harry believe it is so. In that case,
I'm 'feared my views on the subject might set off some real fireworks."
"But you must make him believe you! Can't you say something?"
"I ain't sartin but I might say a thing or two, and they won't be words
fit for a prayer-meeting, either."
"Then, you will speak to him?" she asked eagerly.
"We'll see, Eadie. Maybe I'll do something, too. But I cal'late we'd
best begin as Scripture says, right here at home."
"You mean you'll speak to Harry? What will you say?"
"I ain't got it all figured out yet being as we're camped on this here
sand-heap. If I was aboard ship I'd kick him down the deck and up again,
then into the hatches for a little tonic for disobeying orders. Beyond
that, I ain't able to say right offhand."
Mrs. Beaver clutched the back of a chair. "Oh, don't hurt my Harry! He's
all I've got!"
"He ain't wuth boasting about, Eadie. But being as he is all you've got
in the way of earthly possession, and being as we're on land, I cal'late
I won't do harm. But if I was you I'd steer him clear of these channels
for a spell till I calm down a mite."
"O dear! I've made a mistake coming to you, and I hoped you'd help me. I
shouldn't have told you!"
"We won't argue that p'int."
"Whatever shall I do!"
"The fust thing I'd do,"--suggested the Captain, slowly nodding his
head for emphasis,--"would be to use a little discipline on your fust
mate."
"But I can't make Harry mind any more!"
The pitiful figure gave the Captain an uneasy feeling as he tried to
return her pathetic gaze. He replied kindly:
"Eadie, you've always held a purty tight rein over that husband of
yours, about the best I ever see drawn over a prancing colt. You'd best
tighten up a mite on them reins, right sudden-like."
"But I haven't any power over him now. He's that worked up that I can't
even talk to him. He shuts me right up."
"What's that? You can't handle that little shrimp?"
She uttered a cry, and looked past the Captain, through the dining-room
door, into the hall. The seaman turned in the direction of her wild and
distracted gaze. Mr. Beaver, more wild and distracted than his spouse,
stood in the door, the incarnation of burning passion and pent up fury.
"W-What are you d-doing in this m-man's house?" he shouted, his shrill
voice breaking into a ferocious shriek, as he blinked and pointed at his
frightened wife.
Captain Pott was so surprised that he merely gaped at the infuriated
little man.
"Harry, please don't!" pleaded Mrs. Beaver, drawing back against the
wainscoting.
"C-Come out of h-here!" hissed her husband. He brought his heel down
with such vehemence that he chipped off a splinter from the threshold.
"Best stand back, Eadie, and be careful not to touch him," advised the
Captain, eyeing the human cyclone with amusement and amazement. "Looks
mighty dangerous, and sort as if he might go off."
Harry met these words with a blazing glare.
"Cal'late you'd best come in and cool off a mite, Harry. You seem sort
of het up."
"W-Woman, c-come w-with m-me!" spluttered Mr. Beaver.
He strutted round the room, well out of the Captain's reach, and back
again toward the door, looking for the world like a young barnyard fowl.
But his wife did not follow.
"She ain't going just yet. We was having a quiet-like chat when you
busted in here, and I cal'late we'd best make it three-sided, that is,
if you ain't got no reasonable objection to raise. Come, you ain't in
that rush."
Harry bounded toward the door. So, also, did the Captain. A heavy hand
fell on the shoulder of the little man and spun him about.
"It's real nice of you to come in like this for a friendly conflab,"
said the seaman, dangerously pleasant.
"M-Man, t-take your h-hand off m-me! H-How dare y-you a-assault m-me!
I'll h-have the law on y-you!"
"That's all right, Harry." The expression on the Captain's face
contrasted sharply with his quiet words. "There'll be plenty of time for
that. I've been feeling real slighted because you ain't been to see me
for some time. Cal'late a little conversation will do us both a heap of
good, and clear up the air a mite."
Mr. Beaver again started for the door, but the Captain reached it first.
He closed it, turned the key in the lock, and put the key in his
pocket.
"Now, suppose you spin the yarn to me that you've been spreading round
town," he said, slowly filling his pipe and offering the pouch to Harry
Beaver.
Mr. Beaver spurned the weed of peace with a ferocious glare. With a
little coaching the Captain brought out the story. The gist of the
matter was that Mr. Beaver considered McGowan morally lax in the free
way he was mixing with the boys at the Inn.
"Let's get this straight. Who is the feller you're talking about? Just
repeat his name to me."
"M-McGowan!" defiantly repeated Mr. Beaver.
"When mentioning him to me,"--requested the Captain in a tone that made
the other man start with apprehension,--"you'll call him _Mr._ McGowan.
Understand that?"
Mr. Beaver seemed fully to understand, for he obeyed. When he had
finished his yarn of sheer nonsense, Captain Pott slowly laid his pipe
on the table and his hand on the little man's collar. He led him to the
door, and opened it. Harry tugged like a bull-pup on the end of a leash,
so that when the Captain released his hold--with ever so slight a
shove--Mr. Beaver described a spread-eagle on the cinder path.
"If you repeat that rotten truck to another soul, I ain't going to be
responsible for what happens to you!" He shot each word at the kicking
figure from between set teeth, and brushed one hand over the other as
though to clean them of filth.
Mrs. Beaver ran to her husband, lifted him out of the cinders, and
patted the ashes from his clothing. Harry Beaver stood irresolutely for
a moment, and violently shook his fist at the man standing in the door.
"Y-You'll p-p-pay for this!" He spit out words and cinders with gasping
breath.
Captain Pott went inside. He washed his breakfast dishes. He was by no
means as calm as he appeared. The whole day through he fed the fires of
his anger. That night he urged the minister to stay at home. He even
begged him not to go to the Inn. Mr. McGowan asked the reason for his
deep concern. The Captain could give none, except to say that the
microbes were working overtime. But duty called more loudly than his
friend's fears, and Mr. McGowan went that evening to the Inn. An hour
later the Captain's intuition got the upper hand of his judgment, and he
followed.
CHAPTER V
An ominous murmur of voices, with a deep growling undertone, floated up
from the improvised gymnasium in the basement as Captain Pott entered
the swinging doors of Willow-Tree Inn. This was followed by a more
ominous silence. The seaman bounded down the steps. The sight that met
his gaze caused him to stop short. On each side of the low room men and
boys were drawn up in lines, and the division was as clean cut as though
chosen for a tug of war. The doors at the far end of the gymnasium swung
back, and a stranger, stripped to the waist, stepped gingerly into the
room. Sim Hicks met the man, and began to tie a pair of boxing gloves to
his hands. While the Captain looked on in utter amazement, the doors
again swung back, and Mack McGowan entered. He did not appear surprised
at sight of the crowd, as large audiences had become quite the common
thing during his boxing lessons. Hank Simpson came from out the shadows
and reluctantly tied another pair of gloves to the hands of Mr.
McGowan.
"What in tarnation is the meaning of this damn exhibition?" demanded the
Captain, turning to Jud Johnson, the plumber.
"It means there's dirty work on."
"You mean there's been a crooked deal put over on Mack?"
The plumber nodded.
"Who in hell----"
"Swearing ain't going to do no good, Cap'n. The parson don't stand for
it down here," cut in Jud.
"Whose doing is this?"
"We've got a pretty good idea who the cur is, but we ain't exactly
sure."
"Where'd he come from?"
"The city."
"Who brung him in here?"
"We ain't just sure of that, yet."
"What in h---- What's he cal'lating to do?"
"He figures to lick the tar out of the parson. And by the blazes of the
inferno, if he does----"
It was plain that civil war was to ensue if the contest went against Mr.
McGowan.
"How'd he git into such a scrape?"
"It looks like the work of that d--I wish the parson would let me swear
for once--Sim Hicks."
"You mean Hicks brought him in?"
"He come in here more'n a week ago and asked Mr. McGowan to give him
some lessons. Now the devil's to pay, and if we ain't 'way off Hicks
happens to be that devil."
"How----"
"For God's sake stop asking me questions or I'll cut loose and turn the
air blue round here."
"There ain't a feller living that can fight Mack on a week of training,"
declared the seaman.
"No one said he'd had no more'n a week of training."
"I don't give a tinker's dam if he's had all the training in creation,
he can't lick Mack McGowan and do it fair."
Jud shot the Captain a look of approval. "Them kind don't fight fair."
"But, Jud, I don't see the meaning of it, anyway."
"Then you're a heap sight blinder'n I thought. This thing's all fixed up
to help Hicks get the parson out of town. When the news of this fight
gets out into the church, they'll oust him like a shot from a cannon."
"Then why don't you fellers stop it afore it starts?" blazed the
Captain.
"Stop nothing. Hank's tried it, already."
Hank Simpson came across the room to where the Captain stood, looking
woe-begone.
"The minister says our fears ain't got no foundation about that feller
being crooked, and he won't listen to reason," declared the dejected
Hank.
"By the Almighty, he'll listen to me!" exclaimed the Captain.
"He wouldn't listen to his own mother if she was here. He says if what
we suspect is true, he couldn't show the white feather now. He's the
best sport I've ever seen, and I hate to see him beat up by that
white-livered slugger."
"I sha'n't see it!"
Captain Pott started toward the ring that was rapidly forming about the
boxers. He caught the minister's glance. He halted. In that glance there
was an expression which the Captain had come to recognize and respect.
Mack McGowan was going to take his medicine, or give it, and no one was
to interfere during the dose. The seaman dropped back into the shadow of
the stair.
The boxers faced each other. There was no doubt left in the minds of the
onlookers as to the profession of the stranger as he squared off for
action. The minister recognized, too, the trap that had been set for
him, but he gave no evidence of worry. He met the malicious grin of the
other with a friendly, but grim smile.
The stranger lost no time in preliminaries. He thought himself in full
possession of the minister's boxing ability, and he showed a great
amount of over-confidence. He had studied the other's speed, he had
spied into his style, he had tested his reach. Certainly, with all this
knowledge, he should have a picnic. He had been very careful on all
occasions to appear as nothing more than a novice. He was not unmindful
of the other's endurance, but hoping to make a quick end of the matter,
he tried to force the minister under full headway at once. He went at
him in a whirlwind rush. It seemed to the observers that Mr. McGowan
must certainly be swept from the floor.
But the minister was not caught off his guard. He quickly guessed the
other's intention. With a swiftness that took the breath of the
onlookers, he stepped aside, drew in his left toe under his right heel,
and faced to the right. It was done in a flash! With one long step he
swung out to the left of his adversary. Out of the range of terrific
blows, he smiled and made a closer study of his opponent, eye and brain
alert for information. It took but a moment, and he was facing the
stranger before the man was ready to meet him.
The Captain had never seen his young friend box with greater ease,
although the odds were against him in weight. He warded off blow after
blow with a precision that was maddening to the other. His foot-work was
as quick as that of a cat, and as sure. Again and again the stranger
would rush in with deadly intent, only to find himself blocked, or to
back away severely punished.
A breathless suspense hushed all rooting. The minister had dropped his
guard! Even the other boxer hesitated, as though he could not believe
his own eyes. Mr. McGowan had thrown back his head and shoulders as
though he had partially lost his foothold. The city boxer rushed in and
swung for the other's heart with all his weight behind the blow. When it
was too late he saw his mistake. He had been led into a trap, and the
very movement which had drawn the blow made it ineffective. With
lightning-like swiftness the minister stepped forward, delivered three
blows on his opponent's head with bewildering rapidity, and recovered
himself with ease and without exertion. The stranger recoiled, and for
an instant appeared to be under the impulse to run. But blind rage
seized him as his unexpected punishment began to sting, and he came
back like a madman. Mr. McGowan shoved aside or blocked the terrific
shower of fists with a coolness and precision that drove the stranger
momentarily insane. He bellowed like a mad bull. He began to slug with
the force of a pile-driver without any pretense to fairness. He leaped
from left to right, and back again, like an orangutan stirred to
frenzied anger. Mr. McGowan tried to stop him by calling time, but with
a foul oath he shot a stiff arm into the minister's abdomen. Decidedly
jarred, Mr. McGowan swayed back under the impact of the foul, but
recovered his footing in time to meet the other with a blow full in the
face. The stranger rushed in again, but Mr. McGowan ducked, landed his
glove with a heavy jar on his adversary's body, and cut the man's lip
with a right swing as he sprang to safety.
The sight and smell of his own blood sent the city pugilist into a
crazed frenzy. He threw his elbow into the minister's throat and hurled
him against the wall. Holding him there as though in a vise he landed a
wicked hook under the left ear. Sim Hicks gave an immoderate laugh. A
shout went up from the few who favored the stranger. A deep growl was
the answer from Hank Simpson and his following as they sprang forward.
They seized Mr. McGowan, tore him away from the maddened pugilist, and
led him to a box. Hank steadied him while Jud Johnson massaged the
bruised neck and bathed the bleeding ear. Sim Hicks crossed to where
they were at work.
"Have you got enough?" he asked with a sneer.
"No! And by thunder, you ain't got all that's coming to you, neither,"
growled Jud.
Mr. McGowan leaned heavily against Hank Simpson. As it was apparent that
his mind was beginning to clear, Sim Hicks came closer.
"Are you ready to call quits and stop your damned meddling in my
affairs?" persisted the Innkeeper.
Mr. McGowan shook his head, slowly. Then, with a start, he straightened.
Between the uprights of the stair-banister he had see two faces peering
down into the room. As his vision cleared a little more he saw that one
face was set between silky chops.
Captain Pott had not taken his eyes from the minister's face, but now he
followed the direction of his startled gaze.
"If it ain't that damned menagerie, Fox and Beaver!"
One of the two figures slipped up and out. The other, deeply engrossed,
did not budge. The Captain gave a mirthless chuckle and quietly crept up
the stair. He seized the heels of Mr. Beaver, dragged him bumping down
the stair, and dropped him beneath one of the lights. He gripped the
little man's collar, glanced menacingly into the distorted face, and
remarked:
"Paying off some of them infernal debts you spoke of?"
"L-Let m-m-me g-go! L-Looking's f-f-free, ain't it?" His thin voice rose
with each word till it reached a hissing shriek.
"Yes, the show seems to be free. And if I'm any judge, it's just begun,
so you may as well come down for it all."
Sim Hicks was swearing so loudly that the seaman turned in that
direction. The Innkeeper was shaking his fist in the minister's face.
Captain Pott dragged the squirming Beaver across the room.
"See here, Sim, you'd best shet that trap-door of yours, it's letting
out too much blue smoke, and the dominee don't permit swearing among the
boys. Cal'late I can give you some assistance if you're needing it,"
said the seaman, coming uncomfortably near. "As for that there slugger
of yourn, he's nothing but a white-livered cur of a coward."
"You take back those words, or I'll make you swallow them one at a
time!"
The threat came from the city pugilist, and the Captain swung about to
face him.
"This here is my friend you hurt,"--the seaman's eyes flashed with fury
as he jerked his thumb toward the minister,--"and I cal'late you'd best
apologize for what you've done to him."
"Why, you doddering old idiot! If you didn't want your little pet hurt,
you'd best have kept him home. I understand he's your special hobby."
"You'd best apologize," repeated the Captain in dangerous calm.
The pugilist laughed hoarsely. "When I do it will be in a hotter place
than where we are to-night. I did nothing----"
"Don't lie to me! I see what you done. Either you fight like a
man,--even if you ain't one,--or by the lord Harry----"
For emphasis he clutched the collar he still held, and Mr. Beaver
squirmed as though in fear of being hurled bodily into the face of the
city boxer. Sim Hicks sprang at the Captain's throat with a fierce leap
and an angry growl. But Sim picked himself up from a corner and rubbed
the blood from his streaming nose. The sight of the cringing Innkeeper
seemed to have a temporary effect upon the pugilist, but he quickly
recovered and bristled defiantly.
"You damned city cur! If you don't fight fair I'll measure you out on
the same spot!"
"You go to the devil!" said the man with a sneer.
"When I do I'll take a white-livered, yellow-haired cur along. You take
that grin off your face and stand up to Mack like a man. I'll act as
pilot from now on, and if I sight any more of your dirty tricks, may the
Lord have mercy on you, for I won't. Pitch in!"
The two men obeyed and faced each other. Except for a slight tightening
of the lips, Mr. McGowan gave no sign of having suffered from the severe
punishment because of the other man's foul. Those who had been standing
about the box, now jostled the other faction out of the ring, and
pressed closely about the Captain.
During the next fifteen minutes the boxers worked swiftly. Although the
stranger had publicly defied the seaman's orders to fight fair, yet it
was apparent to all that he was obeying them. Only once did he attempt a
foul. The Captain's quick eyes saw, and with a thundering command that
shook the room he checked the pugilist's stiff arm movement to the
throat. Then the end came. Mr. McGowan brought forward his head and
shoulders with his usual lightning-like swiftness in order to draw a
lead before the other was prepared for it, and at the same time he
accompanied the movement with a quick jerking back of his left hand as
though suddenly changing his mind. The city man did the rest. He halted.
Mr. McGowan stepped to the left just as the other delivered his spent
blow, and with the added weight of his moving body landed his right
glove against the stranger's ear. This was quickly followed with a
crashing upper-cut to the heavy jaw. There was a loud rending and
ripping of splintered wood as the big man fell through one of the thin
panels of the partition. He slid to the floor and lay motionless amidst
the wreckage.
Sim Hicks bawled at him to get up and go on with the fight. Mr. Beaver
squirmed and whined under the tightening grip like a beaten pup. The
crowd stood dumb with amazement. Few of those present had ever witnessed
the effect of a knock-out blow.
Mr. McGowan was the first to the side of the prostrate man. He lifted
him to his feet, and began walking him about. As the stranger regained
his senses, he smiled faintly at Hicks' repeated requests that the
fight be finished.
"How long was I out?" asked the pugilist.
Sim caught the savage glare in the Captain's eyes, and reluctantly
admitted that it had been over a minute.
"But this ain't no regular match!" he shouted.
The pugilist looked in the direction of the Captain as he drew away from
the minister and steadied himself against an upright.
"I guess we'll have to call it regular enough to go by rules," declared
the city boxer. "I'm beaten, Hicks."
"I was sorry to do it, but there seemed no other way. There was too much
at stake to run the risk of losing," said the minister. "May I say, sir,
that you are a good boxer?"
"Mr. McGowan,"--the stranger extended his hand with unaffected
cordiality,--"it's great of you to say that after what I tried to do to
you. I refused to apologize when that old fellow tried to make me, but I
do it now. I'm ashamed of the way I lost my head. If you'll accept my
apology, I'll accept your compliment."
"Gladly!" exclaimed the minister.
Beneath the rough exterior of this savage fighter there was the spirit
of the true sportsman. The two men removed their gloves and gripped bare
hands in a warm grasp.
"The fact of the matter is, you had me outclassed at every turn. Any man
who could do what you have done to-night, after I'd thought I'd spied on
you long enough to secure the key to all your strong points, could make
his fortune in the ring. I'm heartily ashamed that I made myself a party
to this plot to put you out. What your old friend has said is true: I'm
a cur and a white-livered coward to sneak in on you the way I did."
"See here!" shouted Sim Hicks, abandoning all caution, "ain't you going
to finish this little job you've been paid for?"
"It is finished, but it wasn't stipulated in the contract as to who was
going to do the finishing."
"You----"
"Shet that trap of yours, Sim. If you don't it's li'ble to get another
catch," threatened the Captain.
Hicks eyed the seaman, rubbed his swollen nose, and backed away.
Mr. Beaver did a corkscrew dance, and tried in vain to release the hold
on his collar.
"Cap'n Pott!" exclaimed the surprised minister who noticed for the first
time that the seaman was holding Mr. Beaver. "What on earth are you
doing?"
"Well, this little shrimp was mighty interested in the boxing, and I
thought he might as well come down for a few lessons that he wouldn't
forget right off. I cal'lated to give him a few myself."
Mr. Beaver's face was purple. His words would probably have been of the
same hue had there been any possibility of releasing them.
"Let him go, Cap'n, you're strangling him."
"He'd otter be choked, if he's as deep in this thing as I think he is.
But he ain't in no condition for a lesson to-night, he's a mite too
worked up. Harry, I'll let you off, but if this here yarn gets out into
the church through you or through the rest of the menagerie, we'll give
you the little lesson I spoke about, and it will stick like glue to your
anatomy. Now, you run along to Eadie, she'll be missing you, and I'd
hate to send you home mussed up."
Mr. Beaver ran. With a dart he shot for the stair.
The members of the club escorted Mr. McGowan to the Captain's home. As
he said good night, Hank Simpson came forward.
"Mr. McGowan, the fellers want to know if you'll be one of our members
in regular standing."
Mr. McGowan expressed his delight, and declared he would like nothing
better.
"He's 'lected, fellers!" shouted Hank.
A ringing cheer went up from the crowd. The Captain said to Elizabeth
the next morning, when recounting what had taken place, "I was 'feared
that Mack would be mad as hops the way them fellers carried on, but he
wa'n't, not a mite. He seemed tolerable pleased about it. When the
fellers asked a lot of foolish questions as to what was the matter with
Mr. McGowan, and then answered them by saying that he was all right,
Mack looked as happy as a school kid."
Hank once more whispered to the minister. The answer was apparently
satisfactory, for the boys gave a parting cheer, declaring that they
would all be present in church the following Sunday.
CHAPTER VI
The troublesome microbes, of which Captain Pott had so unmelodiously
sung, had been driven out into the open, and were now doing a war-dance
to a jazz tune. Into the domestic life of the Captain there wormed the
most subtle microbe of all. Just what to do with it, or how to meet it,
he did not know. But it continued to bob up at every meal time with a
clamorous demand for attention.
One Monday evening the two men sat in the minister's study, the
clergyman wrapped in silence, and the Captain in a cloud of tobacco
smoke. The seaman was the first to break through his cloud.
"Mack, I'm awful sorry to disturb your meditations, but if they ain't a
heap sight more entertaining than mine, I cal'late you won't mind to
give 'em up for a spell."
"It wouldn't be much of a sacrifice, Cap'n," acknowledged Mr. McGowan,
laughing. "What is troubling you?"
"Well, it's this,"--the Captain blew a cloud of smoke,--"this here's
slow navigating on land without a woman's hand on the wheel. We need
some one to set things to rights round here once in a while."
Mr. McGowan had been lounging lazily before the open fire, but now rose
and stretched himself.
"The idea is all right, but how can we put it into effect?"
"I ain't just exactly sure."
"You must have something to propose, else you wouldn't have mentioned
it."
"There ain't going to be no proposing, leastwise not by me."
The minister smiled. "Afraid of the fair sex, Cap'n?"
"No. Just wise to 'em."
"Why don't you take the suggestion I made some time ago?"
"Meaning, which?"
"Have some one come in once a week to clean up."
"It needs something more than a cleaner round here. What we want is a
cook. I cal'late we'd best ship a general housekeeper."
"A housekeeper!" exclaimed Mr. McGowan, suddenly breaking off a wide
yawn.
The skipper blew a cloud of smoke and watched it thin out into the air
above his head.
"And you have just declared that you didn't intend to propose. I'm
afraid----"
"I ain't interested in your fears, young man. I'm too old a sea-dog for
any of them new-fangled tricks. But being as you're set on staying here
I've decided that we'll take a woman aboard to look after the mess and
swab decks."
The minister became serious. "Is that practical in our present
position?"
"Practical in our present position? If it ain't, then I'd like to know
when in the name of all my ancestors such a thing is practical.
Mack----"
"I mean from the financial point of view. The boxing match seems to have
hit the pocketbooks of the church members harder than the man from the
city hit me. At least, something has given them almost total
paralysis."
"Who's asking you to consarn yourself with a woman's keep? I ain't, be
I?"
"I hope you don't think that I'd permit you to bring a housekeeper in
here for me unless you give me the privilege of sharing in the
expense."
"Mack, this here place ain't your house. Cal'late I'll do about as I
please on that p'int."
"If I can't stand the expense with part salary, you certainly can't
stand it with none," persisted the minister.
"I ain't sartin it would cost anything. Leastwise, it won't cost much. I
ain't sartin,"--repeated the Captain as though in meditation,--"but I
think she'll come."
"Who?"
"Don't let your cur'osity get away with you, young feller. I ain't
promising nothing, but I'm just thinking, that's all. How'd you like to
cruise round the P'int to-morrow, Mack?"
"You have a delightful way of changing the subject when it gets too
hot. But I'd certainly like the cruise and the air."
"I cal'late I ain't changed no subject. We'll go over Riverhead way.
It'll be sort of a vacation from all this mess, and give me a chance to
see about this puzzling woman question."
With this declaration, the Captain retreated into a silence which all of
Mr. McGowan's questions failed to penetrate. The old man was thinking of
Clemmie Pipkin!
Clemmie had been the object of his boyhood ardor till the day when his
dashing half-brother had kidnapped her affections. But no sooner had he
won her from the Captain than he disappeared, leaving the faithful Miss
Pipkin, never to return. She had remained unmarried all these years, in
spite of the oft-repeated attempt on the part of Captain Pott to
rekindle her love. He wondered now, as he sat before the dying fire, if
her presence in his home would change her attitude toward him. This
question wakened anew the desire of his youth, and after he had retired
it kept sleep from his eyes through the long hours of the night. He
must have Clemmie Pipkin to take care of his house.
Daylight had barely kindled her fires over the eastern waters when the
two men boarded the _Jennie P._ Mr. McGowan noticed that the Captain
took particular pains in cleaning and polishing the few brass trimmings.
They both worked hard till the sun appeared, and then hastily ate a
lunch which they had brought aboard with them. After finishing the
sandwiches, the Captain went forward and dropped a measuring-stick into
the gasoline tank.
"I'll swan!" he ejaculated. "There ain't a drop of 'ile in that there
tank. And I left the cans ashore."
"I'll go for them."
"No, you don't, young feller! You stay right aboard here," ordered the
skipper. "You can be working on the engine, or something. I'll get that
'ile myself."
Surprised at the seaman's earnestness, the minister obeyed. He was
working over the engine, his hands covered with grease, when the dory
scraped the side of the boat. He came out of the cockpit, and, to his
amazement, saw the Captain assisting two young ladies into the _Jennie
P._ Each carried a large basket. They were no less surprised than he.
"Why, Mr. McGowan!" exclaimed Elizabeth, the color flooding her already
rosy cheeks.
"Captain Pott!" cried Miss Splinter.
Mr. McGowan said nothing. He folded his hands behind him and looked
foolish.
"I thought maybe a little company might liven up the trip," observed the
seaman, looking like a schoolboy who had sprung a surprise on his
teacher. "Ain't you going to welcome 'em? You'll find their name on the
roster, and they brought their grub with 'em."
"This is a very delightful surprise," faintly declared the minister.
Elizabeth looked troubled, and her discomfort did not add to the
minister's ease. She had been anything but cordial since the incident at
her home when Mr. Fox had taken ill. He had not seen her since the
fight. He feared that the interpretation placed on that by her father
had not bettered his standing.
"I didn't go to bed last night right off, Mack, when I said I was
going," explained the Captain. "I went out and fixed up this little
party for a sort of surprise to all hands. I stowed that 'ile in the
boat-house on purpose so as I could get ashore without too many
questions."
"I trust that our going will make no difference."
The minister's embarrassment had grown painful. With a hopeless gesture
he brought out a pair of black grimy hands. "Indeed, it will make a
difference, Miss Fox, all the difference in the world. If the Captain
had kept his engine cleaner I'd have been able to give you a more hearty
welcome."
The sight of the greasy hands broke the tension, and although Mr.
McGowan cordially extended them neither young lady offered hers in
return.
The cruise was a great success, if we take the Captain's word for it,
which word was given to Mrs. Beaver on their return to Little River.
"Them young folks had the time of their lives, and I never see a more
likely pair than that little Beth and the minister as they stood by the
wheel together steering the _Jennie P._ through them rollers. Beth takes
to water just the same way she takes to everything, with her whole
soul."
It was noon when they cast anchor in the Riverhead Inlet. The men
prepared to go ashore while the girls took out the lunches. As the
baskets were opened, and bundles untied, Mr. McGowan suggested that they
make for shore before their appetites demanded otherwise.
At the landing the men parted, for the Captain had expressed the desire
to make his visit alone. He did not tell the minister that his
destination was the County Farm for fear that he, Mr. McGowan, would not
understand that Clemmie Pipkin was the matron, and not an inmate.
Captain Pott found Miss Pipkin without difficulty. During the past ten
years, he had been a frequent visitor at the Farm, and many knew him. He
went at once to the bare little reception-room and made known his
presence. As Miss Pipkin entered a slight tinge crept into the hollow of
her sallow cheeks. She extended a bony hand.
"I'm real glad to see you, Josiah. It's been a long time since you
called."
"Howdy, Clemmie. It has been a mite long, but I've been purty busy of
late trying to keep people out of trouble."
"Then you must have changed a lot."
"You ain't looking well," he observed solicitously. "Ain't sick, be
you?"
"No," she answered with a deep sigh. "That is, I ain't real sick. I
ain't been feeling quite myself for a spell, but I reckon it will wear
off."
"You'll wear off if you don't get out of this place," replied the
Captain.
Miss Pipkin was far from being a beautiful woman. From all appearances
she had never been pretty, or even good-looking. Her form had a few too
many sharp angles where it should have been curved. Her face was long
and thin, and now age and worry had dug deeply into the homely features,
obliterating the last trace of middle life. She always dressed in
black, and to-day the Captain saw that her clothes were worn and faded.
He moved uneasily as his quick eye took in the meaning of these signs.
"I cal'late they're working you too hard here, Clemmie," he said
tenderly. "You'd best get away for a spell."
"I'd like to have a rest, but I can't leave. There's no one to take my
place."
"Pshaw! There's plenty who'd be glad for the place."
"Anyhow, I ain't got no place to go."
"That's what I've come to see you about, Clemmie."
Miss Pipkin straightened with cold dignity, and her eyes flashed fires
of warning.
"Josiah Pott! Be you proposing to me _again_?"
"Now, don't get mad, Clemmie. I ain't proposing to you," he explained as
calmly as possible. "But as I've said afore----"
"I know what you've said, learnt it like a book. And you know what I've
said, too. My no means NO."
"I cal'late you ain't left no room for me to doubt that. You've made
that purty tolerable plain. I reckon we're getting too old for that now,
anyway. Leastwise, I be," he finished hurriedly, noting a rising color
in her thin cheeks.
"Huh!" she grunted indignantly. "A body'd think you was the grandfather
of Methuselah to hear you talk."
"I am getting on purty well, Clemmie."
"Josiah Pott! If you come over here to talk that nonsense you can go
right back."
"I really come on another matter. I want you to come over and keep house
for me and another man. We're living on the old place, and it ain't what
you'd call hum sweet hum for two males to live alone in a big house like
mine. Thought maybe you wouldn't mind keeping the decks swabbed and the
galley full of pervisions if I'd only pay you the same as you're getting
here. I'd----"
"That will be enough!"
"Thought maybe 'twould."
"I'll not listen to another word from you!" exclaimed the shocked Miss
Pipkin. The expression on her face gave the Captain the feeling that he
had dived into icy water, and had come up suddenly against a hidden
beam.
"Two of you! And you want me to do your work! Well, of all the nerve!"
"I ain't told you yet who the other feller is," suggested the Captain.
"I don't care if he's an angel from heaven. I'd think you'd be ashamed
of yourself to come here and speak of such a thing."
"But I ain't ashamed, Clemmie. A drowning man is willing to grab the
first straw he sees. Listen to me, Clemmie," he pleaded, as she turned
to leave the room.
"Me listen to you proposing for me to come over to Little River and
start talk that would ruin the town? Not if I know what Clemmie Pipkin's
doing."
"I tell you I ain't proposing to you, I'm just asking you. As far as
that town goes, a few things more for it to talk about can't do her no
harm."
Miss Pipkin paused on the threshold to give a parting shot, but the
Captain spoke first and spiked her guns.
"The other feller happens to be the new parson."
Her expression changed. Preachers had long been her specialty at the
Poor Farm, and she knew exactly the care and food they needed.
"What was that you said, Josiah?"
"The other feller living with me is the minister at the brick church."
"The minister living with you!"
"Yes."
"With you? But you ain't got religion."
"I cal'late that's the safest guess you ever made, Clemmie, but just now
it's cooking, and not religion, that's bothering me."
"Lan' sakes! You ain't trying to cook for the minister, be you?" she
asked incredulously.
"You put it just right, I'm trying to. I don't know how long he'll be
able to stand it, but he won't go nowhere else."
"Poor thing!" she exclaimed. "Poor thing!"
"Them's my sentiments, too, Clemmie."
"And no doubt he's a frail creature, too, and ought to have the best of
care. So many of them are that way."
A violent fit of coughing seized the Captain.
"Lan' sakes! Now, what's the matter with you? Been going out without
your rubbers, I'll warrant. Men are worse than babies when left to
themselves. I do believe they'd die if the women-folks didn't look after
them once in a while."
"We sartin would," choked out the Captain. "Do you suppose you can
arrange it to come over?"
"When do you want me?"
"Right now. To-day. I come special for you."
"I'll go," decided Miss Pipkin impulsively. "It's plain as day that it's
my duty. I am getting wore out in this place. They've been putting the
work of three on me, and I ain't got the strength."
"It ain't right, Clemmie, for you to be wearing yourself out in this
kind of work. God intended you for something better. I ain't proposing,"
he hastily added, lest his bird take the sudden notion to wing her way
back into the bush.
Miss Pipkin gave him a quick look, and left the room. She very soon
returned carrying a bundle beneath one arm, and clutching a bulging
telescope suit-case in the other hand. From one end of the bundle
protruded the head of a cat.
"What in tarnation you got in there, Clemmie?" asked the seaman,
pointing toward the bundle.
"You didn't think I was going to leave my Tommy behind to be starved and
abused, did you?"
"Hadn't thought about that," meekly admitted the Captain, as he took the
telescope.
"Have you got a trunk to send over?"
"No."
Miss Pipkin breathed a deep sigh of relief as they passed out of the
gates. She looked back at the weather-beaten old buildings of the County
Farm into which ten years of her life had gone. But she felt no pang on
leaving.
The Captain kept up a constant stream of conversation on the way down
to the wharf. Suddenly, Miss Pipkin stopped, and suspiciously eyed the
seaman.
"Josiah, how are we going back?"
"In my _Jennie P._"
"In your what?"
"In my power-boat, the _Jennie P._"
"Josiah Pott! You know I ain't been aboard a boat for more than twenty
year, and I ain't going to start out on the thing, whatever-you-call-it!"
It appeared as if the Captain would have to come another day, in another
sort of vehicle, to carry home his newly-found housekeeper. He again led
trumps.
"The minister come all the way over with me to get you."
"He did?"
"Sartin did."
"Poor thing! He's been treated so scandalously that he's willing to do
'most anything. Well, it may be the death of me, but I've got this far,
and I may as well go on."
Mr. McGowan was waiting for them at the end of the wharf. The skipper
introduced them with a malicious wink at Miss Pipkin as he indicated
the physical strength of the minister. Her face flushed as nearly
crimson as it had in years. When they finally got into the dory she
leaned close to the Captain and set his staid old heart palpitating. Mr.
McGowan was engaged, waving to the girls in the _Jennie P._
"You ain't going to tell him what I said about his being delicate, and
the like, are you, Josiah?"
He answered with a vigorous shake of the head as he leaned back to draw
the oars through the water. Each time he swung forward he looked into
the eyes of Miss Pipkin. Did he imagine it, or did he see there
something more than interest in her own question?
Aboard the _Jennie P._ the young ladies took charge of Miss Pipkin, and
soon they were chatting companionably. The girls had removed the door to
the cabin, and laying it from seat to seat, had improvised a table. Over
it they had spread cloths, and on the cloths were plates piled high with
good things. The odor of coffee greeted the Captain's nostrils, as he
came forward after securing the dory.
"Well, I'd like to know! Where in tarnation did you get the stove to
b'ile the coffee on?" he asked, sniffing the air.
"We brought it with us," replied Elizabeth.
"You fetched a stove in them baskets?"
"Certainly. Come and see it."
She drew her old friend toward the cockpit. There stood the steaming
coffee-pot over an alcohol flame.
"Well, I swan!"
Paper plates were scattered about over the improvised table, chicken
piled high on some, sandwiches on others, doughnuts, cream-puffs, and
apple tarts on still others. Indeed, not a thing had been left out, so
far as the Captain could see.
"If this ain't the likeliest meal I ever see, then, I'd like to know. I
feel right now as if I could eat the whole enduring lot, I'm that
hungry," declared the skipper.
Elizabeth served, moving about as gracefully as a fawn. Mr. McGowan
watched her with no attempt to hide his admiration. The one question in
his mind all day had been: what did she think of him for his part in the
affair at the Inn? He decided that he would take advantage of the first
opportunity to prove to her that no other course had been left open for
him.
Dinner over, the Captain filled his pipe, and stood in the door of the
cabin. He smoked quietly, and watched the ladies put the things away.
Miss Pipkin was folding the cloths, and on her the seaman's gaze came to
a rest. Would the old home seem different with her in it?
"Hadn't we better start?"
The Captain jumped. "I cal'late I'm getting nervous, jumping like
that."
"Or in love?"
"Maybe you're right, Mack."
"Honest confession?"
"I ain't confessing nothing. I was referring to your idea that we'd best
be under way," explained the Captain, with a wry smile.
As he spoke he leaned over the engine, and gave it a turn. Tommy, Miss
Pipkin's black cat, was mincing contentedly at some scraps when the
chug-chug of the exhaust shot from the side of the boat. Tommy shot from
the cockpit. He paused on the upper step, a startled glare in his eyes.
He forgot the tempting morsels; he forgot his rheumatism; he was bent on
flight. And fly he did. With a wild yodeling yell he sprang forward.
Like a black cyclone he circled the deck. On his fourth time round he
caught sight of the minister's legs. He and Elizabeth were standing at
the wheel, ready to steer the boat out of the harbor. To the cat's
excited glance the man's legs suggested the beginnings of tree trunks,
at the top of which there was safety and repose from the spitting demon
at the side of the boat. Like a flying bat he made the leap. But he had
misjudged both the distance and his own rheumatic muscles. He landed on
the girl, and came to a rest half-way to her shoulder. His claws sank
into the thick folds of her sweater. Elizabeth released her hold on the
wheel, and with a cry fell back against the minister. A pair of strong
arms lost neither time nor opportunity. With a little persuasion Tommy
saw his mistake, and dropped to the deck. He took up his interrupted
flight, finally coming to an uncertain rest somewhere aloft.
Elizabeth looked up, smiled, blushed like a peony, took hold the wheel,
and gently released herself.
"Oh, thank you! Wasn't it stupid of me to let that old cat frighten me
so?"
Mr. McGowan declared that he was delighted to have been of service, and
his emotions began to be very evident to him.
It took considerable coaxing on the part of the Captain, and more
clawing on the part of Tommy, before he could be convinced that the
cabin was as safe as the mast. At last he gave in and came down, and as
the boat left the harbor he was purring contentedly, folded safely in
the arms of Miss Pipkin.
Before they reached Little River harbor, Miss Pipkin had many times
declared she was going to die. The Captain as many times remonstrated
with her, but she only showed a greater determination to die. When the
boat was anchored, she refused to move or be moved. The minister lifted
her bodily, and carried her to the dory. As he was handing her over the
side into the Captain's arms, she objected to the transference by a
sudden lurch, which sent the minister to his knees. His foot caught on
the gunwale, and his ankle was severely wrenched. On releasing his shoe
string that night he discovered a serious sprain.
CHAPTER VII
"Lan' sakes!" exclaimed Miss Pipkin, who, fully recovered, was busily
engaged in the kitchen on the following morning when the minister
entered. "Now, what is the matter with you, Mr. McGowan?"
He was leaning on the back of a chair which he was sliding along the
floor in front of him.
"I twisted my ankle last evening as I was leaving the boat."
"You did! And you never said one word! How did you do it?"
"I slipped just as I handed you over the side."
"It was my foolishness that made you do it. Josiah!" she called, as the
Captain came down by the rear stair. "Get me a basin of water and the
cayenne pepper, quick!"
The Captain obeyed with alacrity. Miss Pipkin soon had the ankle in the
water, and the water was a fiery red in color.
"It'll take the swelling out," she affirmed.
"Ain't you got it a mite too hot with pepper, Clemmie?"
"No, I ain't. That's all you men know about such things."
"Well, I didn't know."
The swelling began to disappear according to the prophecy of the
housekeeper, but the skin took on the color of the reddened water in the
basin. An hour later Mr. McGowan was undecided which was the more
undesirable, the pain from the sprain, or the blisters from the
treatment.
"Cal'late I'll run down to the _Jennie P._," announced the Captain after
breakfast. "You can't navigate that far, can you, Mack?"
"Josiah Pott! What on earth do you mean? Of course he can't, and you
know it. I don't see what you want to go traipsing down to that thing
for, anyhow; it ain't going to get loose, though it'd be a good loss if
it did."
"It ain't likely she'll get away, that's sartin sure, but I thought I'd
do a little work on her. I ain't had much time afore now, with all my
cooking and keeping house. The minister said my engine wa'n't clean."
"Well, if you ain't been cooking better than you've been keeping house,
the wonder is you ain't both dead," she said, peering about the room.
Fearing further comment, the Captain hastily left the house. On reaching
the wharf, he was surprised to see Elizabeth walking from the far end to
meet him.
"Morning, Beth. Out purty early for your constitutional, ain't you?"
"Good morning, Uncle Josiah. I've been waiting for you an awful long
time. Are you going out to the _Jennie P._?"
"That's my calculation. Want to go along?"
"If I may."
"Of course you can. Did you leave something aboard last night?"
"No. I just came down here on purpose to see you. I felt certain you
would be going out."
"You come down just to see me? What do you want to see an old feller
like me for? Now, if it was----"
"You, old! Who's been telling you that?"
"Nobody, 'cepting this infernal rheumatism. But I ain't quite as badly
crippled up this morning as the preacher is, at that."
"Do you mean to say that the minister has the rheumatism?"
"No, he ain't got nothing as tame or ordinary as that. He started with a
sprained j'int from the cruise, but he's going to have something far
worse, if I don't miss my guess. Clemmie's been soaking his ankle in red
pepper." He chuckled quietly as he helped Elizabeth into the dory.
"Soaking his foot in red pepper?"
"Yes. Hot as fire, too, it was. I asked if she didn't have the water a
mite too red, but she said it wa'n't, and I cal'late she'd otter know."
"Isn't she the quaintest little woman? I remember her when I was a
child, but she didn't like me one bit because I spilled some hot water
on her once. Is she going to stay with you?"
"She's going to keep house," replied the Captain, drawing the dory
alongside his power-boat. "Well, here we be, Beth."
Elizabeth sprang lightly over the side. She led the way to the roof of
the cabin, where she sat down. When the Captain had taken his place at
her side, she looked up eagerly into his eyes.
"I do so hope you will understand me, Uncle Josiah!"
"I've always tried to, Beth."
"I know you have! Tell me, did my--did any one you know have anything to
do with making up that boxing match the other night?"
"There was a good many that had to do with it, unless I'm 'way off in my
reckoning."
"Has Mr. McGowan said anything about Father in connection with the
affair?"
"He ain't said nothing to me," responded the Captain.
"Uncle Josiah!" exclaimed the girl, her eyes growing wide in her
earnestness. "I know Father has not treated Mr. McGowan one bit nicely
since what happened at our house, and I don't know why. There must be
some reason, though, for Father would not harm any one without just
reasons. He is the best man in the whole world! But he has had his way
so long with all the other ministers that he cannot become accustomed to
the way Mr. McGowan ignores him. Father does a lot of good, and Mr.
McGowan dare not think ill of him!"
"There, there, Beth," soothed the Captain. "You're trying to tell me
something, but you're getting off the course. Just you tell me calm-like
what it's all about. The fust thing to do is to get our bearings. Has
some one been telling you that Mr. McGowan thinks and talks about your
dad in the way you say?"
"No-o. But I've heard others say that Father knew all about the plans
for that fight before it happened, and that he could have stopped it had
he wished to. It isn't true! And if Mr. McGowan even thinks it's true he
isn't fair. He will misjudge Father if he has the least idea that he
would stoop to such a frame-up."
"I cal'late he ain't misjudging your father none, Beth. So far as
disobeying orders goes, it's because he knows what's best. He ain't
likely to go contrary, unless----"
"But I know he does misjudge Father," broke in the girl in an attempt to
return to her former subject. "And Father feels it keenly. If he doesn't
misjudge him, why doesn't he come to our house any more to ask advice
about parish matters? He just goes ahead to suit himself. Do you think
that fair?"
Captain Pott wanted to say no, in order to agree with his young friend,
but her big blue eyes were too intent with eagerness to permit of
anything but the truth, or to hedge. He chose the easiest way and
hedged.
"I ain't in no position to answer that, Beth."
"Oh, I can't understand it at all! Why can't they be friends as they
were at first? What has happened?"
"I can't answer that, neither."
"It's just because Father has refused to bow to him in some little
matter, I suppose. Isn't there some way to get them together or at
least to get them to compromise?"
"I'm 'feared it ain't in neither of 'em to do either one."
"I suppose not," she replied, a little catch in her voice. "But it is
too bad to have the work go to pieces like it is just because they are
both so stubborn."
"It sartin is, Beth." The seaman fidgeted. What could the girl be
driving at?
"But I'm in sympathy with my father!" she cried.
"That's right for you, Beth. I'd think less of you if you felt any other
way."
"If only Mr. McGowan would go to him!"
"Let's see if I get the hull drift of your argument. You say that you
think your father is right, and the minister is wrong. That being your
conviction you think the minister otter go to him and do a little
apologizing. Well, he won't. What he's done is just as right to him as
what your father thinks he'd otter done is right to your dad. To try to
get 'em together would be like trying to mix 'ile and water, both of
'em good enough in their place, but when you try to mix 'em what you get
ain't one nor t'other, and sp'iles both. Cal'late we'd best leave 'em as
they are."
"I didn't mean that Mr. McGowan should go to Father and apologize. That
would be too much like all of the others before him. But I did think you
might suggest some other way to bring them together before things get
worse."
"Beth, I'd like to accommodate you, if that's what you're asking of me,
but if Mack McGowan had chosen any other way than the one he took, I'd
cut him adrift, sartin as death."
The seaman felt the girl at his side stiffen and tremble against his arm
as she turned from him. Despair seized him.
"Forgive me, Beth, for making you cry like that. I ain't nothing but a
rough old sailor, and can't say things as they'd otter be said. Come, it
ain't wuth crying over. What I meant was that I'd have disowned him,
because I'd have known he was going contrary-wise to what he thought was
right."
She trembled more violently than before. Too miserable for words, he
seized her and turned her about. He was amazed to find no tears in her
eyes.
"I wasn't crying," she choked, drawing the corner of her handkerchief
from her mouth. "It struck me so funny, Uncle Josiah!"
"Your notion of fun is the funniest I ever see," he commented. "Mind
telling me what it was that tickled you so?"
"You! Captain Josiah Pott! Threatening to disown the minister should he
fail to toe your chalk-line! Where, may I ask, can one find a more
high-handed tyranny of spurned authority than that? It's too funny for
words!"
"I cal'late you'd do some disowning, too, if he'd go traipsing round
asking everybody's pardon just because he steps on a few toes now and
again."
"I disown him?" she asked, not able to check the rush of color to her
cheeks. "Pray tell! Why----"
[Illustration: "Now, see here, Beth, there ain't no use of your
pretending to me."--_Page 146._]
"Now, see here, Beth, there ain't no use of your pretending to me. I've
got a pair of eyes, and I make use of 'em. You wouldn't want him a mite
different, and if he was, you'd be as disapp'inted as me. I know what
I'm talking about," he declared, holding up his pipe with a convincing
gesture. "All that he's done is as religious to him as preaching a
sermon, even that fight down to the Inn. It was a heap sight more
religious than a lot of sermons I've listened to in my day."
"But, Uncle Josiah, don't you think his methods are a little too
strenuous and out of the ordinary in dealing with spiritual derelicts?"
she asked, trying hard to hide the pride which the Captain's observation
had wakened.
"I ain't got much of an idea what you mean by spiritual derricks, Beth,
but I'm going to say this: he's the fust real live preacher I ever see,
and if he's got ways of bringing 'em in that's a mite off the set
course, he's going to do it, and there ain't enough men living to stop
him. He has found some of that queer sort of religion what he called
anonymous down there to that Inn, and if he'd have taken water the other
night he'd have lost every one of them boys. He fought that puncher
because he was after the gang behind him. If things had gone against
him, I'd have pitched in and helped him trounce the hull enduring lot,
and I'd have felt mighty religious while I was doing it, too."
"But I think he might prove just as much a success and still not be so
original. It doesn't pay when one's position and salary depend on how
one acts."
"Mack's position and salary can hang from the same gallows, so far as
he's concerned, if they go to putting muzzles on him."
"I'm so glad you said that!" exclaimed the girl, giving his arm a gentle
squeeze.
The seaman stared at her. What on earth could she mean? "Beth, you've
sartin got me gasping to understand you this morning."
"I'm trying so hard to explain without actually telling you. He must
leave the church!"
"Must leave----Say, what in tarnation do you mean?"
"Please, don't hint that I told you, but it has been decided by the
vestry."
"I want to know!"
"It isn't to be on account of the fight, though. Oh, I was real bad and
listened," she explained to the surprised seaman. "I didn't mean to at
first, but I couldn't help hearing. Then, I had to listen to the rest. I
shall tell Father what I have done just as soon as I can, for I know it
was wicked of me. I felt I must come to you. They are going to find
something in his sermons that isn't orthodox, and then, there is to be a
church trial! That was what I didn't want to tell you for fear you
wouldn't understand, but you didn't suggest anything for me to do, and I
had to tell you. Can't you get Mr. McGowan to be careful what he puts in
his sermons?"
"Am I to tell him whose orders they be?"
"Indeed, not!"
"A heap of good it will do, then, for me to say anything. He'd take it
as a banter for a fight. Cal'late we'll have to trust to luck that he'll
stick to the old chart."
Elizabeth slid from the roof of the cabin to the deck. She walked to the
railing and looked over into the water. The Captain, thinking she was
ready to go ashore, followed. She swung about, and stamped her foot,
angrily.
"Why don't you men know how to act! Why doesn't he know how to behave
himself!"
She turned back and looked out across the Sound. The mainland showed dim
through the haze of the Indian Summer morning.
"Beth, I hate to see you worrying like this," said the Captain, a tremor
in his voice. "I wish I could help you, I sartin wish I could."
She came to him, and laying her hand lightly on his sleeve, looked
eagerly into his eyes.
"You dear old Uncle! Please, forgive me for telling you all I have. I am
worried, dreadfully worried, about Father. He is so different of late.
He takes everything so seriously where Mr. McGowan is concerned. He is
not at all like himself. I'm afraid something dreadful will happen to
him if things do not right themselves very soon."
"Now, don't you worry, Beth. Just you be patient. I cal'late there is
something wrong, but there ain't no channel so long that it ain't got an
outlet of some sort, and the rougher 'tis, the shorter it's li'ble to
be. We're going to get out, you bank on that, and when we do, your daddy
is going to be aboard."
"Thank you, Uncle Josiah. I'm ready now to go ashore."
The look of relief on her beautiful face, as the tears of gratitude
filled her eyes, caused the Captain to swallow very hard, and to draw
the back of his hand across his eyes, remarking that the smoke was
getting into them. He was unmindful that his pipe had gone out long
ago.
On his way home the skipper became uncomfortably aware of the
seriousness of his promise to the Elder's daughter. He had pledged
himself and his support indirectly to Jim Fox! What that might mean he
could not foresee. He remembered what Elizabeth had told him concerning
her father's condition, and this set a new train of thought going
through his brain. He recalled that there had always been times since
Jim Fox had first come to Little River when he had seemed dejected and
melancholy. Could it be possible that there had been some physical
disease working all these years in the Elder's body, and might that not
be an explanation for the mental state into which he seemed to be
heading? Might that not be the reason for his strange actions against
the minister and himself?
Captain Pott entered the dining-room just as Miss Pipkin emerged from
the minister's study. She was carrying a large crock. The seaman looked
intently at the bowl.
"There was a mite too much pepper in that basin, Josiah. I was that
excited about his ankle that I didn't notice how much I was putting in.
It'll soon be better, now, for I was bathing it in this cream that Mrs.
Beaver give me."
"Bathing his foot in--what?"
"Cream. It takes the soreness out."
"Clemmie, you're a wonder! But if that cream come from Eadie's I
cal'late it won't be none too healing."
"I've been talking to the minister about the services," she said,
placing the crock on the table. "The Ladies' Aid meets this afternoon.
I'm going."
"You'd best get a life-preserver on."
"Josiah, you shouldn't talk like that. They do a lot of good. I ain't
been to one for years. It's so Christian and nice to do things for
others. That's what Aid means, aiding some one else."
"If I ain't 'way off, most of the aiding business runs to the tongues of
them present. Most women lean to tongue, excepting you, Clemmie."
"Josiah, you ain't fit for the minister to live with! You shouldn't talk
like that about the business of the Lord."
"Cal'late I am sort of a heathen. But I'll wager that you'll find them
there aiders interested in some things aside the business of the Lord."
Miss Pipkin left him and hurried into the kitchen for broom and duster.
It was late in the afternoon when she had finished her house-cleaning,
and sailed forth in the direction of the church. The Captain was
sitting on the front steps of the chapel, and rose to meet her as she
turned in at the gate.
"I hope the meeting ain't over," she said, breathless.
"Just got her off the ways, I'd say," he commented, jerking his head
toward an open window through which came the sound of many voices.
"You'd best tell 'em where you're staying, Clemmie, or you're li'ble to
hear some things not intended for your ears."
She bridled past him and swept into the church. There was a brief pause
in the buzz, but the hubbub that followed was doubled in intensity.
That evening while Miss Pipkin was placing the food on the table she
appeared worried. She inquired solicitously concerning the minister's
ankle, but there was a distant polite tone in her voice. After supper
she asked the Captain to dry the dishes for her, and went to the
kitchen. The seaman took his place at the sink only to have the cloth
snatched from his hand.
"Josiah,"--she whispered,--"close that door to the dining-room, I've got
something to ask you."
"Ain't you going to let me dry them dishes for you?"
"Of course not."
The door was closed, and the Captain came back to the sink.
"What's wrong with Mr. McGowan?"
"Too much red pepper, I cal'late."
"Don't be silly. You know what I mean. There is something awfully wrong.
I can't help noticing it."
"What makes you think that, Clemmie?"
"What I heard this afternoon.... And, you know, the most of 'em knew me,
but none excepting Mrs. Beaver knew where I was staying, and she didn't
tell. She come over and set down by me, different from what she used to
be, quiet and real refined."
"Eadie Beaver quiet, you say? Well, I cal'late the million is coming,
sartin sure."
"Millennium or no millennium, that's the truth. I was kind of 'feared at
first that she wasn't real well."
"She'd be a real cur'osity in this here new state of hers," mused the
Captain.
"Well, I begun to hear things about him,"--she pointed toward the closed
door,--"and Mrs. Beaver was that indignant that she didn't know what to
do. From all I heard, it seems the minister has been doing things he has
no right to do, fighting and the like. Then, too,"--came in an awed
tone,--"he ain't orthodox. He's preaching all sorts of new-fangled ideas
that he shouldn't mention in the pulpit, and though you don't know it,
Josiah, that is hairsay! That is worse than killing a man, because it
sends their souls to hell."
"If I was you, Clemmie, I'd wait and judge his preaching for myself. You
ain't heard him yet."
Miss Pipkin agreed to the fairness of the Captain's proposition, but she
was still troubled.
"Josiah, there's going to be some sort of meeting next Sunday night
after the regular service, and there is going to be something done to
get Mr. McGowan out of his church. Of course, if he ain't orthodox, I'd
hate to see the meeting interfered with, but----"
"Clemmie, I ain't up on this hairsay and orthodox stuff, and I ain't
sartin I want to be. It all sounds like mighty dry picking to me. But
I've been thinking, and I've decided that whatever them things are they
ain't real religion. And I've decided that the Lord ain't been sitting
in on them church meetings for quite a spell. I cal'late I'll be on hand
next Sunday night with a special invitation for Him to cut the pack for
this new deal."
Miss Pipkin looked as though she expected him to be struck dead. But he
was not. This fact decided her in favor of being present to witness the
thing which the Captain intended to do.
CHAPTER VIII
On Sunday evening the chapel was packed. It was evident that many were
there, not for the service, but for what promised to be a sensational
after-meeting. Members of the Athletic Club were scattered through the
room, and the same dogged determination was on their faces as on the
night of the boxing affair.
Mr. McGowan hobbled up the pulpit stair. He announced his text: "Launch
out into the deep and let down your nets." Captain Pott felt Elizabeth,
who was sitting beside him, stiffen. Miss Pipkin leaned forward in her
eagerness to catch every word, and as the minister proceeded her
expression changed from perplexity and doubt to one of deep respect.
There were others who followed the thought of the sermon with keen
interest. Elder Fox was present, for the first time in weeks.
Occasionally, he would write something on a pad, and then lean back to
pull at his silky chops.
Throughout the sermon Mr. McGowan spoke with tense earnestness.
"The time has come when the church must cut the shore lines that have
been binding us to the past. If a man persists in dragging the shore
line he may get a few good fish, but that does not set aside the fact
that he is either a poor fisherman or a coward. He must know the habits
of the fish, and go where they are.... The same thing may be said of the
church. We may produce a few fair Christians by dragging shore lines of
church doctrine, but our success will be due more to luck than to a
knowledge of the working of God's laws.... We have been long-shore
Christians for a good many centuries; the day has come for us to break
away from the surf of man-made ideas, and launch out till we can feel
the swell of a boundless love, a love not confined to the letter of
denominational law or creed. We must get into us the spirit of
Christianity. We must recognize the fact that the spirit is not a thing
that we can confine to sand-lined beaches of narrow conceptions of
faith and salvation that now exist in our churches....
"Here in Little River we have been an excellent example of what I mean.
We have been admiring ourselves,--and not without just cause,--while the
world we ought to be serving is forced to take its stand on the outside,
ofttimes with ideals greater than our own.... We have substituted
doctrine for Christianity, the letter of the law for the spirit of
freedom. We have slavishly worshipped our beliefs about God, instead of
worshipping God.... And what is the result? We have shut our doors to
many who hold a greater faith than our own; or we have forced them out
with no faith because of our own selfish religious intoxication. Of this
very thing, this church has been guilty....
"We must admit blame for many conditions that exist in our town. Let us
purge ourselves before we seek to cleanse others. Let us first launch
out before we call to others to follow. Let us learn the laws by which
God works, and then shall we have no trouble to fill our nets."
After Mr. McGowan had finished, he stood looking out over his
congregation. The Captain whispered to Elizabeth, "Ain't he the
finest-looking specimen of human natur' you ever see, six foot of him
standing up there reading the riot act to 'em! And I got all he said,
too. I cal'late there's some here to-night that feel like they'd been
overhauled and set adrift."
Without announcing the usual closing hymn, Mr. McGowan very quietly
pronounced the benediction, and left the church by the rear door.
The only move that followed his leaving was made by the members of the
Athletic Club. They filed out one by one, but reconvened beneath the
window where the Captain sat inside. Captain Pott was plainly nervous
when Mr. Fox rose and went forward. He opened the window slightly as
though in need of fresh air.
The Elder clapped loudly for order, and the boys beneath the Captain's
window joined in so heartily that the Elder was forced to shout for
order.
"This meeting has been called for the members of this church, _only_!"
he shouted. "Will those who are not members in regular standing adjourn
to the rooms below to complete their visiting?"
Few heard, none obeyed. Instead, all began to take seats as near
the front as possible. Mr. Fox grew red in the face, and dark of
countenance. But he preserved his dignity.
"Must I repeat that this meeting has been called for the members of the
church. Will the others kindly leave us to ourselves?"
It became evident that there was no intention on the part of any to
leave the room, and so the Elder called the mixed crowd to order.
The first half-hour proved so tame that some who had remained to see
trouble, got up and went home. At last Mr. Beaver rose, and the audience
caught its breath. He poised himself on one foot, and began to pump,
blink, whistle, and finally to stutter.
"M-M-Mr. Ch-ch-ch-chairman!" he called in a high excited voice.
Elder Fox declared that Mr. Beaver had the floor, and Mr. Beaver
proceeded to take it, at least a good part of the section round which he
was hopping. People moved back and gave him room, for he needed plenty
of space in which to make himself understood.
"The p-p-parish c-committee h-h-has d-decided that M-Mr. McGowan is not
the m-m-man for our ch-ch-church. Elder F-F-Fox has the report of the
c-c-committee. I m-m-move we h-h-h-hear him now!"
Mr. Fox mounted the platform and came forward to the edge. He looked
into the faces of those before him with deep sadness in his own.
"Friends, this is one of the saddest moments of my life," he began, his
voice shaking with feeling. "Some--er--have come to love our young
brother who has been called to our church. And he has many very
estimable qualities. For that reason I feel very keenly what I am about
to say. The committee feels that Mr. McGowan holds ideas that are too
far advanced for our humble little church. We must not overlook the fact
that we hold sacred some of the things to which he flippantly referred
to-night, and it is our duty to protect--er--the sacred doctrines which
have been handed down to us from the more sacred memory of our fathers
and martyrs of the past.
"Our minister does not believe in the divine inspiration of the Bible.
The question was put to him by one of the members of this committee, and
he replied--er--that even if every jot and tittle were personally
dictated by God--which he doubted--the Bible would remain a sealed book
unless it inspired those who read it. It is evident from this answer
that he does not believe in--er--our sacred doctrine of the verbal
inspiration of Scripture.
"You have heard him to-night, asking us--er--in the common slang of the
dock to rid ourselves of all these doctrines on which the church has
been founded. What he said proves that he does not believe in the
fundamentals of Christian faith.
"I need not go back of this sermon so fresh in our minds to prove to
your intelligence that Mr. McGowan is not orthodox. I could call to
your attention many unfortunate statements, but I feel that it is not
necessary. Your committee has gone over every detail--er--prayerfully
and thoughtfully. Truly, it gives me a pain----"
"Get a bottle of Watkins' Relief!" piped a shrill voice through the
partially opened window.
Taken by surprise, and with his mouth open, the Elder lost every
expression of dignity as he gazed in the direction whence the advice had
come. Before he could again gather up the threads of his closing remarks
several men were demanding the floor. The Elder scanned the faces of
all, in order to place friend and foe. He then fixed his glance on some
one at the rear of the room. In answer to the Elder's nod a heavy basso
pealed forth.
Every head turned about, and as the buzz of comment broke from the
astonished crowd the Elder rapped for order. The Reverend Mr. Means of
New York City moved ponderously forward.
The faces of the sympathetic ones in the audience became exceedingly
serious as each looked into the face of the city clergyman. Certainly,
this meeting must be of tremendous importance to lead so great a man to
leave his metropolitan pulpit to attend a gathering in so small a
church.
"We must have better order!" cried Mr. Fox, smiling a welcome to the
visiting minister. "We have the unexpected pleasure of a visit
from--er--our much-loved friend and brother. Shall we dispense with the
business of the hour and hear what the Reverend Mr. Means may have on
his heart?"
Mr. Means took his position near the moderator. With a long sympathetic
look he searched the invisible among the shadows of the ceiling. He was
calm, too calm, thought the Captain. He drew his frock coat about him,
and plunged the fingers of his right hand in between the two buttons
over his heart. That attitude, as of one weary with the struggles of men
and yet tolerant because of long-suffering kindness, had an immediate
effect on part of the audience. From somewhere near the center of the
room applause started, and soon swelled to a moderate ovation. He
acknowledged the respect shown him by bringing his eyes down to the
level of his audience.
"Brethren,"--his voice trembled as he began to speak,--"I have no
special message for you to-night; my heart is too sore from the things I
have just seen and heard. I have been in the rear of this room during
your entire service. I have listened to the unfortunate sermon which
your bright young minister was so unwise as to preach. I do not marvel
that you are like a flock of sheep having no shepherd; that sermon was
enough to confuse even me, and I have been in the ministry a great many
years. I feel I must say something, but I earnestly pray that it may not
influence you in this matter which is yours to decide. I do not intend
to even suggest what action you ought to take on the report of your
parish committee. You must remember that what you do to-night may affect
the future of our young brother, and you must not wreck that future. Mr.
McGowan and I do not agree on matters of theology, but that fact does
not prevent me from admiring some of his fine qualities to which your
senior Elder referred to-night. Time may cool the ardor of his youth
into sane and safe ideas.
"But,"--he lifted his hands toward heaven and his voice toward the
people,--"what your parish committee chairman has told you in his report
is true, only too true. We cannot afford to permit our churches to
suffer from such teachings as those given you to-night, and I dare say,
which have been given you many times past. Brethren, as great as is our
love for this young minister, it is as nothing in comparison with the
devotion that should be ours where the doctrines of our church are
concerned. I opposed the ordination of Mr. McGowan in the New York
Presbytery a year ago on the ground that he was not sound in doctrine,
but when my brethren passed him over my protest I acquiesced as a
Christian must always do when the voice of the majority speaks. But I
must say that I greatly deplored the action taken at that time. Not that
I hold any personal feelings against the young man, but because I am
opposed to unorthodox men being called to our pulpits.
"Now, brethren, I should gladly waive all this," he continued, dropping
his voice to a soothing whisper, "but theological differences are not
all that stand between the young man and a faithful church. You've heard
him suggest that the church which should be the house of God, and which
Scripture calls the house of prayer, be turned into a playhouse for the
community. I cannot imagine any man with a passion to save souls holding
to an idea that he can accomplish this by desecrating the place of
Divine Worship by turning it into a gymnasium. The only explanation
possible is that Mr. McGowan has not been reared under the influences of
our best families. Not that this is anything against his character, but
fact is fact."
The room became quiet with interest in anticipation of what might
follow. It was true that their minister had come to them as an unknown
man, and they were certainly entitled to any disclosure of his past that
the city man might wish to give. But there was nothing more said on the
subject, and a murmur of disapproval ran over the audience.
"I have finished, except to say that I honor your Elder for the firm
stand he has taken. Mr. Fox, you are to be congratulated on your
courage, and although I repeat that I would not think of influencing the
action of this assembly, I hope that every man and woman present may see
fit to support you."
Captain Pott had grown more and more restless as time went on, and now
as the city minister began to move from the platform the Captain began
to move toward the open window.
"I am ready to entertain any motion which you care to make," announced
the chairman.
Mr. Beaver rose. With the first hiss from his lips, the Captain dropped
his hand over the sill and tapped the outside of the casing. Shouts went
up from the boys who stood beneath the window. These were answered by
cries of fire from various parts of town. The clang of the gong at the
fire-house broke through the stillness of the crowded room. Distant
alarms were rung with steady regularity. The meeting adjourned in a
body.
The seaman had kept his promise, and "Providence had cut the pack for
the new deal."
CHAPTER IX
In an incredibly short time the church was emptied. Each one in the
crowd was shouting wild conjectures as to whose place was on fire as
they ran in the direction of the blaze. It was a strange sight that met
the gaze of the excited people as they came in full view of Dan Trelaw's
place. He was busily engaged pouring oil on unburned sections of his
hen-coops! Dan's hen-houses were located at the rear of his property,
and had been built from a collection of dry-goods boxes. They had been
the pride of his life, and as the crowd watched him pour on more oil,
some one declared that Dan must have gone out of his senses. Nor would
he permit the fire company to play their chemical hose.
"It's come to a purty pass," Dan stated to the onlookers, "when a man
can't burn down his own coops to get rid of the mites without the whole
blame town turning out to interfere. If the very last one of you don't
clear out, I'll use my office as constable of this town to run the lot
of you in!"
Hank Simpson was the chief of the volunteer corps, and Dan was chief of
the Little River police system. The two chiefs argued as to the rights
of the respective offices. Hank declared it was his official duty to put
the fire out. Dan as emphatically declared it was his official duty to
disperse the crowd. Finally, Hank admitted that Dan had a right to burn
his own property so long as the property of others was not endangered.
Some say that the chief of police answered the chief of the fire corps
with a slow and deliberate wink.
"Now, all of you clear out and leave me to my fire," demanded Dan, as he
poured on more oil.
Mr. McGowan had gone directly home after the preaching service. But he
did not sleep that night. It was very early on Monday morning when he
entered the kitchen. Miss Pipkin was already busy with the preparations
for breakfast.
"Good morning, Mr. McGowan," greeted Miss Pipkin, cheerily. "Are you
all right this morning?"
"Yes, thank you, Miss Pipkin."
"I was afraid you'd be sick after last night. I didn't sleep none, I was
that excited when I got home. I've always been used to quiet meetings,
and that last night after you left was a disgrace. But you wasn't to
blame, no siree!" she finished with a vigorous shake of her head.
"I am not so sure that you would find very many to agree with you."
"Lan' sakes! How you do talk, Mr. McGowan! Don't you think I know what
it's all about? I ain't blind, and what I couldn't see through, Josiah
helped me with last night. You've got him to thank that they didn't vote
you out of your position."
"Miss Pipkin, do you mean that the Captain spoke up in meeting?"
"Well, he didn't exactly talk, but he stopped others from talking, and
that's about the same thing."
"How?" asked the minister eagerly.
"He kind of made me promise not to tell a soul, but I don't think he
meant you. Anyhow, you should know. You see, he was setting by a window,
and some of the boys from your club was on the outside, waiting. He
h'isted the window a little so's to get his hand through. Hank Simpson
and some others was at the fire-house, and when Josiah give them beneath
the window some sort of signal, they all shouted '_Fire_.' That was the
sign for others scattered round town, and they begun to shout, too.
Then, those at the fire-house got the cart out and rung the bells. It
was real funny, but don't tell Josiah I said so, because he was all
puffed up last night. He gave his signal just as Mr. Beaver got up to
make a motion to have you put out. Things was pretty strong against you
after Reverend Mr. Means spoke."
"Mr. Means!"
"Um-hm. He was there as big as life and sad as Job. He talked so
tearful-like that everybody was upset, but they didn't get to take a
vote, and that was a good thing, for there were some there that would
have voted against you, being so worked up, who wouldn't think of it in
their right senses. Mr. McGowan, them boys down to the Inn ain't going
to let you go from the town if they can keep you here. Them boys with
Josiah got up that fire scare last night."
"But it was more than a scare, I saw the fire."
"Course you did. 'Twas old Dan Trelaw's hen-house that was burned down.
The mites was bothering him, and he wanted the insurance to build a
better one."
"He burned his hen-house to collect insurance?"
"That's what Josiah said."
"That's absurd. There isn't an insurance company in Suffolk County that
would write a policy on such junk, and if they did he could never
collect a cent if it is known he burned it on purpose."
"Josiah said it wasn't a regular company, just local. I guess he'll get
his money, all right. Are you ready for your breakfast?"
A boyish grin slowly lighted the minister's face as the truth of what
had happened dawned on him.
"Do you mean----"
"I ain't saying right out just what I mean," she broke in as she paused
on the kitchen threshold. "If you're real bright on guessing, you'll be
able to figure that out for yourself. The thing that's most interesting
to me is that the Lord is wonderful in the performing of all His works,
and we ain't to question how He brings 'em to pass. I wasn't much in
favor of the way Josiah done last night when he first told me, but the
more I think about it, the more it seems all right to me. It didn't seem
dignified and nice to break up even a bad meeting that way, but what
else was he to do? You've got to stay here, that's plain, and if He
ain't got saints enough to keep you He'll use the heathen.... Go right
in and set down."
"I'm not sure that it will bring Providence or any one else much glory
if I stay here," said the minister, with a faint smile.
Miss Pipkin returned with a steaming pot of coffee. She took her place
at the table and for some time eyed the minister in silence. She was a
thoroughgoing mystic in her religious faith, but her mysticism was
tempered with such a practical turn of mind that it was wholesome and
inspiring.
"Mr. McGowan, it is the will of God that you stay right here in this
town. If we do His will we ain't to worry about the glory part," she
emphatically affirmed. She placed the cups and saucers beside the
coffee-pot and filled them. "You hit 'em hard last night, and that is
exactly what's ailing them. You've been hitting 'em too hard for
comfort. The shoe's pinching and they're not able to keep from showing
how it hurts. You hit me, too," she observed, looking earnestly into the
minister's eyes.
"I'm sorry."
"You needn't be, 'cause it wasn't you speaking. It was God speaking
through you. Them words you used for your text rung in my ears all night
long. I could hear 'em plainer than when you spoke 'em from the pulpit:
'Launch out into the deep.' Mr. McGowan, do you believe there is any
forgiveness for the unpardonable sin?"
Evidently knowing that a minister of the Presbyterian faith could
entertain but one answer and remain a moral man, she did not wait for a
reply.
"It was years ago when I first heard them words. They were just as
plain to me then as they was last night, but I refused to obey 'em. I
didn't think I could stand the ocean. You know the way I was coming
over from Riverhead. Well, I'm always sick on the water, and so I said
right out that I wouldn't set sail as a seaman's wife. I was young and
strong-headed then, and didn't understand. The man I said 'No' to went
off, and I never heard from him but three times since. Some said he
was drowned at sea, but I know he wasn't. I've been true to him all
these years, trying to atone for my sin of disobedience. If he'd
come back now, I'd go with him though he'd slay me."
Mr. McGowan wanted to smile at the mixed figure, but the serious face
before him prevented him. "Did you say you never heard from him?" he
asked, sympathetically.
"No. I didn't say that." She spoke sharply, but immediately her face
and tone softened. "I didn't mean to speak cross, but I ain't spoke of
this for years, and it upsets me when I think of what I done."
"We'll not speak of it, then."
"It won't disturb me the least bit. It sort of helps to talk about it.
I'm thinking all the time about him, how brave he was. He was so manly,
too, was my Adoniah."
"Adoniah?" questioned the minister, sitting up with a suddenness that
astonished Miss Pipkin.
"Adoniah was his first name. I ain't spoke it out loud for years. It
does sound sort of queer, doesn't it? I didn't think so then." She
sighed deeply. "The spirit of the Lord seemed to go away from me when
Adoniah did. If only he'd come back."
"He has not left you. God is not a hard master, leaving people alone for
their shortcomings."
"Do you think He'll send him back to me?"
"He is here now. He has never left you."
Miss Pipkin looked dazed, then puzzled, and finally provoked. "I didn't
think you'd trifle, or I'd never told you."
"Indeed, I'm not trifling."
"Then, what happened last night has gone to your head, poor thing! I'd
ought to have known better than to have troubled you with my sorrows.
You've got all you ought to carry. Poor thing!"
She slowly pushed her chair from the table, eyeing the minister as
though expecting signs of an outbreak. But he motioned her back into her
chair with a calmness that reassured her.
"I don't quite understand your meaning, I guess," she said.
"And it is quite apparent that I didn't understand yours. You were
speaking of the Spirit of God leaving you, and I said He was right here
with you----"
"Now, ain't I a caution to saints!" broke in Miss Pipkin. "I did mix you
up awful, didn't I? What I was asking you about was if you thought God
would send back my Adoniah Phillips. He----Why, Mr. McGowan, what's the
matter now?"
The minister had risen and was looking oddly at the housekeeper.
"What on earth have I said this time?" she implored.
"You say your lover's name was Phillips, Adoniah Phillips?"
Miss Pipkin did not reply, but looked at him fixedly.
"Please, don't look at me like that, it makes me feel like I've been
guilty of something," he said, trying hard to smile.
"You sure you ain't sick?"
"Of course, I'm not ill. I'm slightly interested in that peculiar name.
I've heard it just once before, and I'm wondering if there is a chance
of its being the same man."
"You've heard of him?"
"Well, I have heard his name."
"There ain't likely to be another name like his."
"Have you any idea where he is at present? You said a bit ago that you
did not think he had been drowned at sea."
"No," she answered curtly.
"Can you so much as guess?"
"I don't know if he's living at all, so of course I ain't got no idea
where he is," was her snappy reply. "Has he been telling you about me
and him?" she asked, nodding toward the up-stairs where the Captain was
presumably asleep.
"He hasn't said anything to me, but----"
"You'll promise not to repeat one word to him of what I just told you?"
she begged, again jerking her head toward the stair.
"I promise to say nothing about what you have told me. But I have my
reasons for wanting to know something about this man Phillips."
"What are your reasons?"
"I should not have said reasons, for I guess it is nothing but my
curiosity that prompts me to ask. If you could tell me more of the facts
I might be able to help you locate him."
"You mean you have an idea that he is still living?"
"I can't say as to that, but if you'll only help me I am certain that we
shall find out something interesting."
Miss Pipkin drew the corner of her apron across the corner of her eyes,
disappointment written deeply in every line and wrinkle of her face.
"There ain't much more to tell. Adoniah went to sea. I got a letter from
him once from Australia. I wrote back saying I'd take back what I'd
said. He answered it, but didn't say nothing about what I said to him.
He spoke of meeting up with some one he knew, saying they was going in
business together. I ain't never told anybody about that, not even
Josiah, and I ain't going to tell you, for I don't think he was square
with Adoniah, but I can't prove it."
The thud of heavy boots on the rear stair checked further comment she
seemed inclined to make, and she dried out the tears that stood in her
eyes with short quick dabs as she hurried to the kitchen.
"Lan' of mercy!" she exclaimed, returning with a smoking waffle-iron. "I
clean forgot these, and they're burned to ashes. Here, don't you drink
that cold coffee, I'll heat it up again," she said, taking the cup.
Leaning closely to his ear, she whispered, "Mind, you ain't to tell a
living soul about what I said, and him above all others."
The minister nodded.
Miss Pipkin entered the kitchen just as the Captain opened the
stair-door. He sniffed the air as he greeted the two with a hearty "Good
morning."
"Purty nigh never woke up. You'd otter have come up and tumbled me out,
Mack."
"Rest well, did you?"
"Just tolerable. Clemmie," he called, "I seem to smell something
burning. There ain't nothing, be there?"
"We was busy talking, and them irons got too hot."
"Talking, be you? Don't 'pear to have agreed with neither of you more
than it did with those irons."
"You didn't pass a mirror on the way down this morning, or you'd not be
crowing so loud, Josiah."
"No, that's a fact I didn't. You see, Eadie busted mine during that
cleaning raid, and I can't afford a new one."
"You must have hit your funny-bone, or something," hinted Miss Pipkin as
she poured a cup of the reheated coffee.
"Now, don't get mad, Clemmie. I was just fooling. Mack understands me
purty well, and he'll tell you that I didn't mean nothing by what I
said."
"Josiah Pott! You're that disrespectful that I've a good mind to scold
you."
"What's up now, Clemmie?"
"The very idea! You calling the minister by his first name."
"I've done it ever since I knowed him, and he wouldn't like me to change
now. Hey, Mr. McGowan?"
"Call me by my first name, Cap'n. Too much dignity doesn't sit well on
your shoulders. You needn't mind, Miss Pipkin, for that is a habit that
was formed before I became a minister, and there is no disrespect, I
assure you."
"You mean you two knowed each other before you come here?"
"You see, Mack come to me one summer when I was starting on a cruise,
and he was such a good sailor that we spent four seasons together after
that."
"You never told me that," said Miss Pipkin.
"I didn't think to, Clemmie. Mack, have some more of these waffles.
They're mighty tasty. It takes Clemmie to cook 'em to a turn."
"Just listen to that!" rejoined the housekeeper. "He ain't had none
yet."
The minister did the unheard-of thing: he refused the offer of waffles!
"Mack, you ain't going to let them hypocrites and wolves in sheep's
clothing come right up and steal your appetite out of your mouth, be
you?"
Mr. McGowan assured him that he had no such intention.
"You don't know what you're missing," declared the Captain, smacking his
lips to make the waffles appear more appetizing. "Have just one. Maybe
your appetite is one of them coming kind, and I'll swan if 'tis that one
taste of these would bring it with a gallop."
"Don't urge him if he don't want 'em, Josiah."
"Cal'late your talking must have gone to his stomach, hey, Clemmie?"
"Josiah!" she exclaimed, coloring. "He'll soon forget all I said to
him."
"You sartin give it to 'em good last night, Mack. It was the best I ever
heard. Got most of 'em where they lived, and you took 'em out into the
deep beyond their wading-line, too. How about you, Clemmie?"
Miss Pipkin had important business in the kitchen.
"Yes, Mack, that sure was a ringer," continued the Captain as he helped
himself to another layer of waffles. "Wonder if Clemmie took what you
said about launching out as literal?"
Miss Pipkin returned with a plate of smoking waffles and placed them at
the Captain's side.
"Thanks, Clemmie. I was 'feared you'd be setting out to sea in my dory
after hearing that sermon last night," he said banteringly, with a
twinkle in his eyes. "You'd best explain that your meaning was
figur'tive, Mack. I looked up that word once and it means----"
"Josiah Pott! How can you be so cruel!"
With a sob that rose from the depths, Miss Pipkin fled, slamming the
kitchen door after her.
"I'll swear, if she ain't crying!" exclaimed the surprised seaman. "What
in tarnation do you suppose is up, Mack? You don't cal'late she thought
I was relating to her for earnest, do you?"
He rose and started toward the door. Mr. McGowan laid a hand on his
friend's sleeve.
"You'd better leave her alone."
"But I never meant nothing. She'd otter know that. I'm going to tell
her," he said, pulling away from the minister, and trying the closed
door. "Clemmie, be sensible, and come out of there. I didn't mean
nothing, honest, I didn't."
But Miss Pipkin did not come out. She did not so much as answer his
importunings. When the men were out of the dining-room she went
up-stairs, not to appear again that day.
It was afternoon when Mr. McGowan hobbled out of his study, ate a light
lunch, put a few sandwiches in his pocket, and started in the direction
of the peninsula road that led to the beach.
CHAPTER X
Mr. McGowan left the highway a little beyond the Fox estate, and
followed a crooked, narrow old footpath across-lots. The path dipped and
rose with the contour of the land till at last it lost itself in the
white level stretch of sandy beach. He walked on and on, so deeply
absorbed in his thoughts that he was unmindful of the blistered foot. It
was only when hunger pains conspired with the irritation of his foot
that he dropped on a log. He drew the sandwiches from his pocket, and
proceeded to devour them with genuine relish. For hours after he had
finished his lunch, he sat with his back to the warming rays of the
afternoon sun, and gazed vacantly across the wide stretches of
sand-dunes.
The chill of the evening air roused him at length to the fact that he
must be going home. But when he tried to rise, he discovered that his
long walk had produced an ill effect on Miss Pipkin's remedy for
sprained ankles. He dropped back again on the log, pondering on how he
was to retrace his steps. The sun slipped into the misty haze that hung
low above the horizon of the autumn sky. The shadows crept slowly up out
of the waters and over the landscape. A thin cloud drifted in over the
Sound, through which a pale moon pushed a silvery edge. With the
gathering darkness there came a deep mystery over land and sea which
seemed to creep round and envelop him.
Suddenly, the chill of the evening air was filled with a glowing warmth,
as when one senses the presence of a friend. He stared about him. He
listened intently. Could it be possible that this sudden change was only
a mental fancy? He hobbled a short way up the beach, and as he rounded a
promontory his weakened ankle turned on a loose stone. With an
exclamation he settled down on the sand.
A figure near the water's edge rose as though startled. She paused,
ready for flight. Then with an involuntary cry came toward the man
huddled up on the sand.
"O dear, you are hurt!" she cried, as he attempted to rise.
"Elizabeth!" He spoke her name without thought of what he did, even as
she had unknowingly used the word of endearment in her exclamation of
surprise and concern.
"You should not have walked so far," she said, her tone cordial, but her
eyes holding a smoldering fire. She helped him to a near-by stone, and
sat down beside him.
"I somehow felt that you were near."
"You thought--what?"
"No, I did not think it, I just sensed it."
"You certainly have a very fertile imagination."
"Yes. It has been both my blessing and curse."
"But how did you come to feel I was about here?"
"I don't know. It does seem strange, doesn't it?" he mused. "But I was
certain----"
"Perhaps you were thinking----" She stopped abruptly.
"Of you," he finished for her. "I was. I was feeling quite lonely, and
couldn't help wishing I could talk with you."
"I heard to-day that you are thinking of leaving Little River," she
suggested, tactfully changing what she considered a dangerous subject.
"You heard that I intend to leave? Pray, tell----"
"Then you're not going?"
"Quite to the contrary, I intend to fight this thing through if it takes
a whole year."
"I'm so glad!" There was deep relief in her voice. She hesitated before
continuing. "I had a terrible quarrel with Father this evening."
"Why did you do that?"
"I was very angry, and left him to come out here. It is the first time
we have ever really fallen out. I've thought over some of the unkind
things I said to him, and I am ashamed. I was about to go back to him
when you fell on those stones and hurt yourself."
"You are right, Miss Fox. Go back to him. He will see differently, too,
now that he has had time to think it all over."
"That is what worries me. He won't see differently, though I know he is
in the wrong. I'm afraid we'll quarrel again."
"Then, I should wait. He will come to you in time."
"Father will never do that," she said, sorrowfully. "I hurt him more
than I had any right." Searching the minister's face under the dim
light, she concluded: "Please, Mr. McGowan, don't blame Father too
severely for what happened last night! He is not himself."
"Miss--Elizabeth! Did you quarrel with your father about me?" His heart
gave a bound into his throat.
She nodded, looking for the world like a child grown tall. Her eyes did
not waver as they met the hungry look in his own.
"About me?" he repeated incredulously.
"Yes."
A wild passion swept through him as he listened to the quiet affirmative.
"It began about you and the Athletic Club. Father does not understand
about your work among the boys. It ended about you and the action of
the church last night."
"But that action was not voted through."
"I know. But the end is not yet."
"Do you think that my relations with the Boys' Club is all that was
behind the abortive action last night?"
"I----"
"Would you advise me to give that work up for a while till all this
blows over?"
"No, indeed!" she declared strongly. "I think----Well, he says that you
are not orthodox. Do you need to preach like that?"
"If my theology is of poor quality, I can't help it. I can preach only
what is truth and reality to me."
"But couldn't you be more careful how you do it? Couldn't you be less
frank, or something? Should you antagonize your people so?"
"I'm sorry if I have really antagonized any one by what I say. Do you
find anything unorthodox in my sermons?"
"That isn't a fair question to ask me. I'm not familiar with such
things. I thought you might preach less openly what you believe so
strenuously. Coat the pills so they'll go down with the taste of
orthodoxy." She smiled faintly. "I hate to see you putting weapons in
their hands."
"And do you honestly think I'd be dealing fair with myself or with those
to whom I preach to sugar-coat my thoughts with something that looks
like poison to me?"
She did not reply, but with a quick look she flashed from her wonderful
eyes a message he could not fail to catch even in the semi-darkness. She
dropped her hand lightly on his sleeve, and his fingers quickly closed
over hers. She drew nearer. He could feel the straying wisps of fair
hair against his hot cheek. His emotions taxed all his powers of
self-control.
"We must be going," she said, rising. "Oh, I forgot your foot! You must
wait here till I send the trap for you along the beach."
"Don't do that. I'll get on very well, if you'll help me a little."
"Please, wait till I send Debbs. You'll hurt yourself."
"Your father might object to my riding in his carriage," he remarked,
with a light laugh.
"Mr. McGowan, you must not talk like that. I know you don't like him,
but he is really the best father in all the world!"
"Forgive me, Miss Fox. I didn't mean to be rude. I'm afraid I was just
trying to be funny. As a matter of fact, I do like your father, but
there has been no opportunity----"
"Have you tried very hard to find an opportunity? You've stayed away
from our house pretty consistently, and have not asked him one thing
about the church work."
"I stayed away because I was requested to."
"That was only for the time he was ill."
"I'd be glad----"
"Why will you grown men act like children sometimes?"
"Miss Fox, please be seated again," requested the minister, a note of
authority in his voice. "I have something important to say to you, and
the time may not come again."
The girl obeyed, taking her place close beside him on the stone.
"I see you do not understand what has brought this trouble between your
father and me. Neither do I, but I don't think that it's a matter of
doctrine. Nor do I believe that it's the work I've been doing down at
the Inn with the boys. Some cause strikes deeper than both. They are
merely excuses. You remember that he made no objection to me in the
beginning along these lines, and I preached no less strenuously then, as
you call it, than I do now. In fact, had it not been for your father I
doubt very much if the installation had gone through last summer. Behind
the scenes there is another man, and he is pulling the strings while he
directs the play. When I was ordained to the ministry in the New York
Presbytery, that man fought me desperately, while he raised no
objections to others who were ordained at the same time, and who held
views far more radical than mine. That man was at the installation.
When your father told me that he was coming, I made no protest, for I
saw that there was a fast friendship between the two. You know what that
man tried to do at the installation. You doubtless know, too, that he
has been much with your father of late. You also saw him at the meeting
last night.
"Miss Fox, if we knew all the facts, we should be able to lay the blame
for this trouble and your father's condition right where it belongs."
"You refer to Mr. Means?"
"I do. What it is----"
"Mr. McGowan, if you think any man can influence my father, you do not
know him. I dislike Mr. Means, maybe because he is so preachy. But he
cannot influence Father."
"I wish I could believe that!"
"You must believe it. You are letting your imagination color your
judgment."
"I should like to believe anything you tell me, but I can't believe
anything else than that Mr. Means stands behind this whole mess. Just
why, I don't know, but it looks very much as though there is a skeleton
concealed in his closet, and he's afraid that I'm going to let it
out."
"Why did you say that?"
"I don't know. I can't see what connection I could possibly have with
the man."
"You are talking nonsense!"
"Perhaps, but truth sometimes masquerades in the garb of the court
fool."
"Just what do you mean?"
"I wish to heaven I knew!"
"Do you think----" She paused. She searched his face, which was dimly
and fitfully lighted by the moonbeams as they broke through the
phantom-like clouds that were beginning to sweep the heavens. "Tell me,
please, just what it is you are thinking."
"I dare not. But there is some reason not yet come to light, and it is
sheltered in the mind of Mr. Means."
"Perhaps he knew you before you entered the ministry?" she half
suggested, half questioned.
"I have no recollection of even so much as meeting him before coming
before the ordaining Presbytery of which he was a member. So far as the
history of my life is concerned, he may find out the whole of it, if he
so wishes. It wouldn't make very interesting reading, though. Miss
Fox,"--his voice took on the quality of his earnestness,--"if you have
any way of finding out what the actual cause is for the conditions in my
church, I shall do all in my power to make amends, providing the fault
is mine."
"Why don't you go to him? He might be reasonable, and listen to you."
"Didn't I go to him? Didn't I try to find out what I had done till you
and the doctor forbid my coming again?"
"I don't mean Father. Why don't you go to Mr. Means?"
"Would you, if you were in my position?"
She shook her head decidedly. "But I don't like him."
"Perhaps that may be my reason, too."
"But I thought all ministers had to love everybody."
"We might love the man, but not his ways."
"There's no merit in saying a thing like that when a man and his ways
are one and the same thing, as is the case with Mr. Means."
"I'm honest when I say I have nothing against Mr. Means. I don't know
the man well enough for that. I suppose he can't help his ways."
"There, you've gone and spoiled it. I was beginning to think that you
are like other men."
"Like other men?"
"Men who love and hate. I suppose you'll be telling me next that you are
really fond of that man who fought you at the Inn."
"He was a good boxer," was the enthusiastic reply.
"And you like him?"
"I might if I knew him."
"Can you fight everybody like that, and still have love for them?"
"Self-control is the better word. Unless a man can learn that, he had
better stay out of the ring. What is true in boxing, is just as true in
life."
"But, when there are those who threaten to wreck your whole life and
your work, what are you going to do?"
"That is the time when one needs to summon every ounce of self-control
he possesses. It is when the other man is seeking to land a knock-out
blow that one needs to keep his head the coolest, for unless he does he
can't make his best calculations."
"Oh, Mr. McGowan! You'll keep that way in this trouble, and not let any
of them get in that kind of blow?"
"Yes, if you will only help me."
"I help you? But I can't!"
"No one else can."
"Oh!" cried the girl, beginning to take in the meaning of his words.
"Elizabeth----"
"Don't say it, please!" Her fingers went to her lips in a hurt gesture.
"You may spoil everything."
"I must speak. I love you! I have loved you from the first day beneath
that old elm-tree on the Captain's place."
"Oh!"--she sprang to her feet and faced him,--"now, you have made it
impossible for me to help you, where before I might have done
something!"
"Only if you say so."
"I did so want to help you! You seem so alone in this trouble! I thought
you were going to give me an opportunity. I thought you would tell me
how!" Her mobile lips puckered as the shadow of pain flitted across the
light of her eyes.
"Elizabeth!" he called, holding out his hand.
"Why did you say that to me?" she cried, her youthful face deeply
furrowed as though she had grown suddenly very tired.
"Because I could not help it. I've known so little of love in my life
that since this has come to me it hurts like the turning of a knife.
I've never been accustomed to human care like other men. Had I been, I
should have been able to hide my feelings behind the screen of pretense.
You asked me a while ago why I do not love and hate like other men. I do
love, and I hate! I have been schooled all my life to hide my hates, but
experience neglected me with the other. Elizabeth----"
She drew farther from him.
"I don't think I understand you," she said, her eyes widening in the
light of the moon till they appeared like two shining orbs. "Have I
given you any reason to think of me like that?"
"No. But I thought----"
She drew into the shadows that he might not see the rapid rise and fall
of her bosom. "Forgive me, if I have!"
"I'm the one to be forgiven. I've never had much instruction concerning
social custom. I was reared where they were little known. In school I
was too busy to bother about them. I'm crude. But, Elizabeth, I love
you. I see now that I've no right to tell you, but I couldn't help it.
I've been driven to desperation. I have been like a caged animal for
weeks past. I've been wild for just a little love and understanding in
the midst of all I've gone through. But you don't love me!" His breath
was coming hard. He trembled as he rose. "You will love me some day! God
will not let a man love as I do and give nothing in return!"
Stirred with pity, Elizabeth came to him from out the darkness.
"Forgive me," he said as she came nearer. "I had no idea it would be
like this."
She did not take the hand he extended, but folding her arms behind her,
she stood quite still and stared. "I'm so sorry! But I don't understand
you at all."
"You need not try. I don't understand myself. I have never been through
anything like this in all my life. I thought instinct would lead you
right to me. I never questioned but that you would understand. But don't
try, for I can't explain. This afternoon I had just one thought: to tell
you how I love you. I thought it would make me happy. Happy!" He laughed
bitterly. "I didn't stop to reason. It seems I have no reason."
"Mr. McGowan, please stop! You frighten me," cried the girl, drawing
away again as he limped a step in her direction.
"Hate!" That one word was like the sharp sudden sting of a whip. "I hate
this age of social position, where money stands above the man. I hate
the shell of so-called good families, as if lineage made the man,
instead of man making the lineage. I hate----"
"You must stop! Love that gives such torment as you have been describing
to me is apt to turn out as nothing more than infatuation. I care for
you, but in no such way as you have indicated to me. I want you for a
friend. Don't spoil that!"
He hobbled off down the beach as rapidly as his limping foot could
travel. The girl came to his side and slipped her arm through his. "Lean
on me just as heavily as you like," she urged. "I know you think me
unkind and cruel, but I do so want to help you." Her voice broke
unsteadily.
"I don't think you unkind, Miss Fox," replied the minister as he
accepted her proffered assistance. "The cruel thing is this that has
been burning within like fire. If you only knew----"
"Mr. McGowan,"--she interrupted kindly,--"I cannot tell you as to the
height of esteem in which I hold you. Nothing can ever harm that. But
even if I cared for you as you ask of me, don't you see how impossible
it would be for me to go back on Father? I can't help but think there
must be some real reason for the attitude he has taken against you."
"Do you honestly believe what you have just said?"
"Is there any reason why I should not believe it?"
"I suppose not," he replied, heavy fatigue in his voice.
She saw from his averted face that her question had pained him. She
wanted to speak, to soften her question, but no words came to her dry
lips.
The way home was traveled in silence. They reached the pile of stones
below her father's place, and Elizabeth released her aching arm. In
silence they watched the strangely mottled effect where the moonlight
fell in patches across the water as the clouds flitted past. A patter of
rain, accompanied by a sharp whistle of wind, warned them of coming
storm.
"I'll go up the path with you, and go home by the road," volunteered the
minister.
"No, indeed. It will be much easier walking for you along the beach, and
you'll not need to climb any hill. I'll call to you from the back gate,
and you'll know I'm safe." She turned toward him once more. "Harold came
home to-day, and Father has been worse since that. Harold found out
something about the man he went over to Australia to look up. He must
have told Father about it to-day. Since then he has been in a terrible
state of mind. It seems that Harold found out something about you,
too."
Mr. McGowan was too surprised to reply.
"Against you, Father says. I was not going to tell you this, but you
have compelled me to do it by what you said to me. I know nothing of
your past life."
"Miss Fox, will you be kind enough to explain?"
"I have nothing to explain. All I know is that from the way Father acted
it must not be to your credit."
He looked his amazement.
"Good night," she said, extending her hand. "You will not forget what
you said about the way one should do in boxing, will you?"
He smiled faintly.
"Mr. McGowan, you are not going to disappoint me, are you?"
"Would it make much difference? You seem to have already formed your
opinion from the things you have heard."
"If you are going to give up like that it will make no difference what
you do. I thought you were more of a man than that."
She turned and ran up the path. At the top of the pile of stones she
stopped, her slim outline silhouetted in clear-cut lines against a patch
of moonlight, and her loosened hair giving the suggestion of a halo as
the mellow light played through. She lifted her hand as she declared,
"And you are more of a man. I do not believe that whatever Father thinks
he has found out can harm you in the least. That is what we really
quarreled about to-day. Does that tell you how much I care? 'Now is the
time when you need to summon every ounce of self-control you possess.
When other men are seeking to land the knock-out blow you should keep
your head the coolest, for unless you do you cannot make your best
calculations.' You see, I have not forgotten, and neither must you. And
in everything, Mack," she finished, hurriedly.
The rear gate clicked, and she sent him a light trill.
The minister went to his study as soon as he reached home. For hours he
sat, his mind a blank. He was roused at last by the opening of his study
door. He looked up into the face of his old friend. The blue eyes,
usually clear and steady, had a faded look as though the fire in them
had suddenly gone out.
CHAPTER XI
"I've been shut up with the most onreasonable feller I ever see in all
my life," said the Captain to the unasked question in the minister's
eyes. "I cal'late I'll keep my thoughts to myself to-night, Mack, and
sleep on them. The way I feel wouldn't be conducive to prayer-meeting
language. Good night, son."
It was scarcely daylight when Miss Pipkin began work in the kitchen on
the following morning. Shortly afterward the Captain descended.
"Morning, Clemmie." He held the kitchen door ajar, and his voice wavered
as he spoke.
Miss Pipkin did not reply. The Captain, to reinforce his courage,
stepped back into the dining-room. Miss Pipkin walked over and closed
the door. This spurred the seaman to action. He cautiously pushed the
door open again, and peeped through a narrow crack.
"Clemmie, be you in there?"
"Where else do you think I'd be, down the well?"
"Can't I talk to you, Clemmie?"
"No. I don't want you to come sneaking into my kitchen at this hour in
the morning. You ought to be in bed."
A note of friendliness in her voice led him to open the door a little
wider.
"You're up too early, Clemmie."
"I've got a lot of work to do."
"If you ain't too busy, I'd like awful well to speak to you about
something."
"Well, I am busy, leastwise too busy to be bothered with your
nonsense."
"It ain't foolishness this time."
Something in his tone made her look up into the face framed in the crack
of the door.
"Josiah!" she cried at sight of the drawn features.
He threw open the door and entered.
"Mr. McGowan ain't sick this morning, is he?" she asked.
"No. Leastwise he wa'n't when I passed the time of night or early
morning with him on my way to bed."
"Are you sick, Josiah?"
"What I got might be called that, Clemmie. I'm sick of the hull damn
round of life," he said, despondently.
"Josiah Pott! How you do talk! What do you mean by it, anyhow?"
"Purty much as I say. I'm always bungling things of late. I--well----"
"Now, you set down in that chair, and stop staring at me for all the
world like an old wood-owl, 'most scaring the wits out of me. One would
think you'd gone clean out of your head. I never heard you talk so in
all my born days. If you ain't sick, you're in a heap of trouble. Now,
do as I tell you and set down. Tell me what's wrong, that is if that's
what you come down for."
"That's why I come down, Clemmie," he said, slouching into one of the
kitchen chairs. "I heerd you come down-stairs, and I just had to follow.
Fust of all, I want to tell you how bad I feel about them things I said
yesterday morning that hurt your feelings so."
"For the lan' sakes! Be that what's ailing you? I thought it was
something that amounted to something," she declared, the color rising
into her faded cheeks.
"That does amount to something. It means a lot to me. That ain't all,
but I wanted to get it off my chest fust. I was never intending less to
hurt nobody than when I said that to you. I thought 'twould cheer you
and Mack up a little; you was both looking a mite blue. You're a good
woman, Clemmie, and any man that'd insult you would have me to settle
with purty tolerable quick. You know how much I think of you."
"Be you beginning to propose again?" she asked, her arms akimbo. "If
that's what's ailing you, and you're asking my pardon just to get ready
to ask me----"
"Don't get mad, Clemmie. No, I ain't going to get down on my old
prayer-bones, they're a mite too squeaky, though I'd be willing enough
to do it if I thought it would do any good. I ain't going to pester you
any more about that. You know your mind, and it ain't right for me to be
disturbing it at my time of life."
"Then, Josiah, if you ain't love-sick, what is it?"
"Maybe that's a part of what's ailing me. But what I want you to say
this morning is that you ain't got nothing against me for what I said
yesterday about you taking to sea in my dory."
"Josiah, that was awful foolish in me. You'd best forgive me, too, for
the way I acted."
"Thanks, Clemmie. You've sartinly done me many a good turn, and it would
be a wonder if I wa'n't in love with you. You've always been mighty good
and kind to me. But, there, don't you get excited again, I ain't going
to say nothing more about it."
"Tell me about your trouble, Josiah."
The old seaman pulled hard at the ends of his ragged moustache, and his
voice grew husky. "I felt just like I had to tell somebody. I was going
to tell Mack last night when I see a light in his study, but when I went
in I see he had all he could tote, so I just went on up to my room
without telling him.... You know I've been out of a job for quite a
spell."
"It has been long for you," nodded Miss Pipkin as she drew another chair
opposite. "But you've got the church to look after."
"That ain't my trade, and it comes hard. I feel all the time like I'd
clumb onto the wrong deck. I'd hoped to get a ship afore now. Jim
promised me one, and----"
"Do you mean you've been expecting to get a ship through Jim Fox? Why,
Josiah Pott! He'd not give you a splinter to hang on if you was
drowning. Depending on him! Pooh! I thought you had more sense than
that."
"But I ain't. I'm just what I've told you afore, an old fool. I cal'late
I know how you feel about Jim. I'd always felt that way, too, till he
come honeying round me this spring. You called me once an old fool with
good intentions. I cal'late you ain't far off in your soundings."
"I never said that!" she rejoined. "Anyhow, I didn't mean it like
that."
"You don't need to excuse what you said. It's God's truth. That's
exactly what I be."
"You ain't, neither, and I don't see why you want to talk that way. What
I don't see, neither, is why you want to go hanging round, waiting for
that man to give you a ship. There's plenty of others that would be glad
to get you."
"I ain't sartin 'bout that last p'int. You see, I ain't so young no
more. I'm getting up in years, and ship-owners ain't hiring none but
young men."
"Nonsense! There you go again. As long as you think and talk like
Methuselah there ain't no owner going to take a chance on you for fear
you'd forget the name of the port he'd ordered you to. You get that idea
out of your head along with the notion that Jim Fox is going to help
you, and you'll get a ship. The very best there is afloat, too."
"It's mighty kind of you to say that, Clemmie. I cal'late the notion
about Jim is purty well shook out. That's one thing I wanted to talk to
you about. You know the old place here had been sort of run down for a
good many year. I'd always held to the idea that some day I'd come back
here after I'd got rich, remodel the home, and get the best woman in all
the world to ship side by side with me as best mate. I've told you all
that afore, many the time, Clemmie."
Miss Pipkin barely nodded. The suggestion of moisture gathered in her
eyes as she gazed at the tragic face before her.
"Well, I'm back, and it looks like it was for good and all, but I ain't
got no money, and I don't see no way to get any unless I rob somebody.
And the law won't let me do that. The trouble is that I'm up to my
gunwales in debt."
"In debt!" To Miss Pipkin's mind there was no greater calamity in the
world than to be in debt. She, too, had suffered a like fate many years
ago.
"Yes. In bad, too. Jim come up to my house last spring just afore the
minister took up his new quarters here, and he says to me: 'Here's some
money to repair your place with. There'll be no interest on it. It's
because of my civic pride in the affairs of Little River that I make
you this liberal offer.' Well, it did look too good to be true, but I
couldn't see nothing wrong, and he pro
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