Читать книгу Captain Pott's Minister - Francis L. Cooper - Страница 7

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“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, 74 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 75 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.

76

“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 77 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.”

78

“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, 79 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? 80 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 81 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 82 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 83 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, 84 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 85 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 86 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 87 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, 88 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 89 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.