Back Aa

Flood Tide

<h3> CHAPTER V </h3> <h3> AN APPARITION </h3> The next morning, after loitering uneasily about the workshop a sufficiently long time for Janoah Eldridge to make his appearance and finding that his crony did not make his appearance, Willie reluctantly took his worn visor cap down from the peg and drew it over his brows, with the remark: "Looks like Jan ain't headed this way to-day, either." He cast a troubled glance through the dusty, multi-paned window of the shed. "Much as I'm longin' to go ahead with this model, Bob, before I go farther I've simply got to step over to the Eldridges an' straighten him out. There's no help fur it." "All right. Go ahead, Sir," reassuringly returned Bob. "I'll work while you're gone. Things won't be at a complete standstill." "I know that," Willie replied with a pleasant smile. "'Tain't that that's frettin' me. It's just that I don't relish the notion of shovin' my job onto your shoulders. 'Tain't as if you'd come to Wilton to spend your time workin'. Celestina hinted last evenin' she was afraid you bid fair to get but mighty little rest out of your vacation. 'Twas unlucky, she thought, that you hove into port just when I happened to be kitched with a bigger idee than common." "Nonsense!" Bob protested heartily. "Don't you and Aunt Tiny give yourselves any uneasiness about me. I'm happy. I enjoy fussing round the shop with you, Mr. Spence. I'd far rather you took me into what you're doing than left me out. Besides, I don't intend to work every minute while I'm here. Some fine day I mean to steal off by myself and explore Wilton. I may even take a day's fishing." "That's right, youngster, that's right!" ejaculated Willie. "That's the proper spirit. If you'll just feel free to pull out when you please it will take a load off my mind, an' I shall turn to tinkerin' with a clear conscience." "I will, I promise you." "Then that's settled," sighed the inventor with relief. "I must say you're about the best feller ever was to come a-visitin', Bob. You ain't a mite of trouble to anybody." With eyes still fastened on the bench with its chaos of tools, the old man moved unwillingly toward the door; but on the threshold he paused. "I'll be back quick's I can," he called. "Likely I'll bring Jan in tow. I'd full as lief not tell him what we're doin' 'til next week if I had my choice; still, things bein' as they are, mebbe it's as well not to shut him out any longer. He gets miffed easy an' I wouldn't have his feelin's hurt fur a pot of lobsters." With a gentle smile he waved his hand and was gone. Left alone in the long, low-studded room, Bob rolled up his sleeves and to a brisk whistle began to plane down some pieces of thin board. The bench at which he worked stood opposite a broad window from which, framed in a wreath of grapevine, he could see the bay and the shelving dunes beyond it. A catboat, with sails close-hauled, was making her way out of the channel, a wake of snowy foam churning behind her in the blue water. Through the door of the shed swept a breeze that rustled the shavings on the floor and blended the fragrance of newly cut wood with the warm perfume of sweet fern from the adjoining meadow. For all its untidiness and confusion, its litter of boards, tools and battered paint pots, the shop was unquestionably one of the most homey corners of the Spence cottage. Its rough, unsheathed walls, mellowed to a dull buff tone, were here and there adorned with prints culled by Willie from magazines and newspapers. Likenesses of Lincoln and Roosevelt flanked the windows with an American flag above them, and a series of battleships and army scenes beneath. The inventor's taste, however, had not run entirely to patriotic subjects, for scattered along the walls, where shelves sagged with their burden of oilcans, putty, nails and fishing tackle, were a variety of nautical reproductions in color—a prize yacht heeling in the wind; a reach of rough sea whose giant combers swirled about a wreck; glimpses of marsh and dune typical of the land of the Cape dweller. An air-tight stove, the solitary defence against cold and storm, stood in the corner, and before its rusty hearth a rickety chair and an overturned soap box were suggestively placed. But perhaps what told an observer more about Willie Spence than did anything else was a bunch of rarely beautiful sabbatia blooming in a pickle bottle and a wee black kitten who disported herself unmolested among the tools cluttering the deeply scarred workbench. She was a mischievous kitten, a spoiled kitten; one who vented her caprice on everything that had motion. Did a curl of shavings drop to the ground, instantly Jezebel was at hand to catch it up in her diminutive paws; toss it from her; steal up and fall upon it again; and dragging it between her feet, roll over and over with it in a mad orgy of delight. A shadow, a string, a flicker of metal was the signal for a frolic. Let one's mood be austere as a monk's, with a single twist of her absurdly tiny body this small creature shattered its gravity to atoms. There was no such thing as dignity in Jezebel's presence. Already three times Bob Morton had lifted the mite off the table and three times back she had come, leaping in the path of his gleaming plane as if its metallic whir and glimmering reflections were designed solely for her amusement. In spite of his annoyance the man had laughed and now, stooping, he caught up the tormentor and held her aloft. "You minx!" he cried, shaking the sprite gently. "What do you think I am here for—to play with you?" The kitten blinked at him out of her round blue eyes. "You'll be getting your fur mittens cut off the next thing you know," went on Bob severely. "Scamper out of here!" He set the little creature on the floor, aimed her toward the doorway and gave her a stimulating push. With a coquettish leap headlong into the sunshine darted Jezebel, only to come suddenly into collision with a stranger who had crossed the grass and was at that instant about to enter the workshop. The newcomer was a girl, tall and slender, with lustrous masses of dark hair that swept her cheek in wind-tossed ringlets. She had a complexion vivid with health, an undignified little nose and a mouth whose short upper lip lent to her face a half childish, half pouting expression. But it was in her eyes that one forgot all else,—eyes large, brown, and softly deep, with a quality that held the glance compellingly. Her gown of thin pink material dampened by the sea air clung to her figure in folds that accentuated her lithe youthfulness, and as she stumbled over the kitten in full flight she broke into a delicious laugh that showed two rows of pretty, white teeth and lured from hiding an alluring dimple. "You ridiculous little thing!" she exclaimed, snatching up the fleeing culprit before she could make her escape and placing her in the warm curve of her neck. "Do you know you almost tripped me up? Where are your manners?" Jezebel merely stared. So did Robert Morton. The girl and the kitten were too disconcerting a spectacle. By herself Jezebel was tantalizing enough; but in combination with the creature who stood laughing on the threshold, the sight was so bewildering that it not only overwhelmed but intoxicated. It was evident the visitor was unconscious of his presence, for instead of addressing him, she continued to toy with the wisp of animation snuggled against her cheek. "I do believe, Willie," she observed, without glancing up, "that Jezebel grows more fascinating every time I see her." Bob did not answer. He was in no mood to discuss Jezebel. If he thought of her at all it was to contrast her inky fur with the white throat against which she nestled and speculate as to whether she sensed what a thrice-blessed kitten she was. It did flash through his mind as he stood there that the two possessed a bewitching, irresistible something in common, a something he was at a loss to characterize. It did not matter, however, for he could not have defined even the simplest thing at the moment, and this attribute of the kitten's and the girl's was very complex. Perhaps it was the silence that at last caused the visitor to raise her eyes and look at him inquiringly. Then he saw a tremor of surprise sweep over her, and a wave of crimson surge into her face. "I beg your pardon," she gasped. "I thought Willie was here." "Mr. Spence has stepped over to the Eldredges'. I'm expecting him back every instant," Bob returned. The girl's lashes fell. They were long and very beautiful as they lay in a fringe against her cheek, yet exquisite as they were he longed to see her eyes again. "I'm Miss Morton's nephew from Indiana," the young man managed to stammer, feeling some explanation might bridge the gulf of embarrassment. "I am visiting here." "Oh!" Persistently she studied the toe of her shoe. If Bob had thought her appealing before, now, demure against the background of budding apple trees, with a shaft of sunlight on her hair, and the kitten cuddled against her breast, she put to rout the few intelligent ideas remaining to the young man. Wonderingly, helplessly, he watched while she continued to caress the minute creature in her arms. "Are you staying here long?" she asked at length, gaining courage to look up. "I—eh—yes; that is—I hope so," Bob answered with sudden fervor. "You like Wilton then." "Tremendously!" "Most strangers think the place has great beauty," observed his guest innocently. "There's more beauty here in Wilton than I ever saw before in all my life," burst out Bob, then stopped suddenly and blushed. His listener dimpled. "Really?" she remarked, raising her delicately arched brows. "You are enthusiastic about the Cape, aren't you!" "Some parts of it." "Where else have you been?" The question came with disturbing directness. "Oh—why—Middleboro, Tremont, Buzzard's Bay and Harwich," answered the man hurriedly. As he named the list he was conscious that it smacked rather too suggestively of a brakeman's, and he saw she thought so too, for she turned aside to hide a smile. "You might sit down; won't you?" he suggested, eager that she should not depart. Flecking the dust from the soap box with his handkerchief, he dragged it forward and placed it near the workbench. As she bent her head to accept the crude throne with a queen's graciousness, Jezebel, roused into playful humor, thrust forth her claws and, encountering Bob as he rose from his stooping posture, fixed them with random firmness in his necktie. Now it chanced that the tie was a four-in-hand of raw silk, very choice in color but of a fatally loose oriental weave; and once entangled in its meshes the task of extricating its delicate threads from the clutch that gripped them seemed hopeless. It apparently failed to dawn on either of the young persons brought into such embarrassingly close contact by the dilemma that the kitten could be handed over to Bob; or that the tie might be removed. Instead they drew together, trying vainly to liberate the struggling Jezebel from her imprisonment. It was not a simple undertaking and to add to its difficulties the ungrateful beast, irritated by their endeavors, began to protest violently. "She'll tear your tie all to pieces," cried the stranger. "No matter. I don't mind, if she doesn't scratch you." "Oh, I am not afraid of her. If you can hold her a second longer, I think I can free the last claw." As the girl toiled at her precarious mission, Bob could feel her warm breath fan his cheek and could catch the fragrant perfume of her hair. So far as he was concerned, Jezebel might retain her hold on his necktie forever. But, alas, the slim, white fingers were too deft and he heard at last a triumphant: "There!" At the same instant the offending kitten was placed on the floor. "You little monkey!" cried the man, smiling down at the furry object at his feet. "Isn't she!" echoed the visitor sympathetically. "There she goes, the imp! What is left of your tie? Let me look at it." "It's all right, thank you." "There is just one thread ruffed up. I could fix it if I had a pin." From her gown she produced one, but as she did so a spray of wild roses slipped to the ground. "You've dropped your flowers," said Bob, picking them up. "Have I? Thank you. They are withered, anyway, I'm afraid." Tossing the rosebuds on the bench, she began to draw into smoothness the silken loop that defaced the tie. "There!" she exclaimed, glancing up into his eyes and tilting her head critically to one side. "That is ever so much better. You would hardly notice it. Now I really must go. I have bothered you quite enough." "You have not bothered me at all," contradicted Bob emphatically. "But I know I must have," she protested. "I've certainly delayed you. Besides, it doesn't look as if Willie was coming back." "Isn't there something I can do for you?" "No, thank you. It was nothing important. In fact, it doesn't matter at all. I just came to see if he could fix the clasp of my belt buckle. It is broken, and he is so clever at mending things that I thought perhaps he could mend this." "Let me see it." "Oh, I couldn't think of troubling you." "But I should be glad to fix it if I could. If not, I could at least hand it over to Willie's superior skill." She laughed. "I'm not certain whether Willie's skill is superior," was her arch retort. "Why not make a test case and find out?" Still she hesitated. "You're afraid to trust your property to me," Bob said, piqued by her indecision. "No, I'm not," was the quick response. "See? Here is the belt." She drew from her pocket a narrow strip of white leather to which a handsome silver buckle was attached and placed it in his hand. He took it, inspected its fastening and looked with beating pulse at the girdle's slender span. "Do you think it can be mended?" she inquired anxiously. "Of course it can." "Oh, I'm so glad!" "Give me a few days and you shall have it back as good as new." "That will be splendid!" Her eyes shone with starry brightness. "You see," she went on, "it was given me on my birthday by my—my—by some one I care a great deal for—by my—" she stopped, embarrassed. Robert Morton was too well mannered to put into words the interrogation that trembled on his lips, but he might as well have done so, so transparent was the questioning glance that traveled to her left hand in search of the telltale solitaire. Even though his search was not rewarded, he felt certain that the hand concealed in the folds of her dress wore the fatal ring. Of course, mused he, with a shrug, he might have guessed it. No such beauty as this was wandering unclaimed about the world. Well, her fianc�, whoever he might be, was a lucky devil! Without doubt, confound his impudence, his arm had traveled the pathway of that band of leather scores of times. One couldn't blame the dog! For want of a better vent for his irritation, Bob took up the belt and again examined it. He had been quite safe in boasting that the bauble should be returned to its owner as good as new, for although he did not confess it, on its silver clasp he had discovered the manufacturer's name. If the buckle could not be repaired, another of similar pattern should replace it. Unquestionably he was a fool to go to this trouble and expense for nothing. Yet was it quite for nothing? Was it not worth while to win even a smile from this creature whose approval gave one the sense of being knighted? True, titles meant but little in these days of democracy but when bestowed by such royalty— She broke in on his reverie by extending her hand. "Good-by," she said. "You have been very kind, Mr.—" "My name is Morton—Bob Morton." "Why! Then you must be the son of Aunt Tiny's brother?" "Aunt Tiny!" As she laughed he saw again the ravishing dimple and her even, white teeth. "Oh, she isn't my real aunt," she explained. "I just call her that because I am so fond of her. I adore both her and Willie." "Who is takin' my name in vain?" called a cheery voice, as the little inventor rounded the corner of the shed and entered the room. "Delight—as I live! I might 'a' known it was you. Well, well, dear child, if I'm not glad to see you." He placed his hands on her shoulders and beamed into her blushing face while she bent and spread the loops of his soft tie out beneath his chin. "How nice of you, Willie dear, to come back before I had gone!" she said, arranging the bow with exaggerated care. "Bless your heart, I'd 'a' come back sooner had I known you were here," declared he affectionately. "What brings you, little lady?" She pointed to the trinket dangling from Robert Morton's grasp. "I snapped the clasp of my belt buckle, Willie—that lovely silver buckle Zenas Henry gave me," she confessed with contrition. "How do you suppose I could have been so careless? I have been heart-broken ever since." "Nonsense! Nonsense!" cried the old man, patting her hand. "Don't go grievin' over a little thing like that. 'Tain't worth it. Break all the buckles ever was made, but not your precious heart, my dear. Like as not the thing can be mended." "Mr. Morton says it can." "If Bob says so, it's as good as done already," replied Willie reassuringly. "He's a great one with tools. Why, if he was to stay in Wilton, he'd be cuttin' me all out. So you an' he have been gettin' acquainted, eh, while I was gone? That's right. I want he should know what nice folks we've got in Wilton 'cause it's his first visit to the Cape, an' if he don't like us mebbe he'll never come again." "I thought Mr. Morton had visited other places on Cape Cod," observed Delight, darting a mischievous glance at the abashed young man opposite. "No, indeed!" blundered Willie. "He ain't been nowheres. Somebody's got to show him all the sights. Mebbe if you get time you'll take a hand in helpin' educate him." "I should be glad to!" Notwithstanding the prim response and her unsmiling lips, the young man had a discomfited presentiment that she was laughing at him, and even the farewell she flashed to him over her shoulder had a hectoring quality in it that did not altogether restore his self-esteem. "Who is she?" he gasped, when he had watched her out of sight. "That girl? Do you mean to say you don't know—an' you a-talkin' to her half the mornin'?" demanded the old man with amazement. "Why, it never dawned on me to introduce you to her. I thought of course you knew already who she was. Everybody in town knows Delight Hathaway, an' loves her, too," he added softly. "She's Zenas Henry's daughter, the one he brought ashore from the Michleen an' adopted." "Oh!" A light began to break in on Bob's understanding. "It's Zenas Henry's motor-boat we're tinkerin' with now," went on Willie. "I see!" He waited eagerly for further information, but evidently his host considered he had furnished all the data necessary, for instead of enlarging on the subject he approached the bench and began to inspect the model. "I s'pose, with her bein' here, you didn't get ahead much while I was gone," he ventured, an inflection of disappointment in his tone. "No, I didn't." "I didn't accomplish nothin', either," the little old man went on. "Jan warn't to home; he'd gone fishin'." His companion did not reply at once. "I don't quite get my soundin's on Jan," he at length ruminated aloud. "Somethin's wrong with him. I feel it in my bones." "Perhaps not." "There is, I tell you. I know Janoah Eldridge from crown to heel, an' it ain't like him to go off fishin' by himself." "I shouldn't fret about it if I were you," Bob said in an attempt to comfort the disquieted inventor. "I'm sure he'll turn up all right." Had the conversation been of a three-master in a gale; of buried treasure; or of the ultimate salvation of the damned, the speaker would at that moment have been equally optimistic. The universe had suddenly become too radiant a place to harbor calamity. Wilton was a paradise like the first Eden—a garden of smiles, of dimples, of blushing cheeks—and of silver buckles. He began to whistle softly to himself; then, sensing that Willie was still unconvinced by his sanguine prediction, he added: "And even if Mr. Eldridge shouldn't come back, I guess you and I could manage without him." "That's all very well up to a certain point, youngster," was the retort. "But who's goin' to see me through this job after you've taken wing?" He pointed tragically to the beginnings of the model. "Maybe I shan't take wing," announced Bob, looking absently at the cluster of withered roses in his hand. "You—you see," he went on, endeavoring to speak in off-hand fashion, "I've been thinking things over and—and—I've about come to the conclusion—" "Yes," interrupted Willie eagerly. "That it is perhaps better for me to stay here until we get the invention completed." "You don't mean until the thing's done!" "If it doesn't take too long, yes." "Hurray!" shouted his host. "That's prime!" he rubbed his hands together. "Under those conditions we'll pitch right in an' scurry the work along fast as ever we can." Robert Morton looked chagrined. "I don't know that we need break our necks to rush the thing through at a pace like that," he said, fumbling awkwardly with the flowers. "A few weeks more or less wouldn't make any great difference." "But I thought you said it was absolutely necessary for you to go home—that you had important business in New York—that—" the old man broke off dumbfounded. Bob shook his head. "Oh, no, I think my affairs can be arranged," was the sanguine response. "A piece of work like this would give me lots of valuable experience, and I'm not sure but it is my duty to—" The little old inventor scanned the speaker's flushed cheeks, his averted eye and the drooping blossoms in his hand; then his brow cleared and he smiled broadly: "Duty ain't to be shunned," announced he with solemnity. "An' as for experience, take it by an' large, I ain't sure but what you'll get a heap of it by lingerin' on here—more, mebbe, than you realize." <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2

Update Required To play the media you will need to either update your browser to a recent version or update your Flash plugin.