Читать книгу The Portygee - Joseph Crosby Lincoln - Страница 7

“To you, beautiful lady,

I raise my eyes.

My heart, beautiful lady,

To your heart cries:

Come, come, beautiful lady,

To Par-a-dise,

As the sweet, sweet—'”

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

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

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

Now to be laughed at by an attractive young lady is disturbing and unpleasant. It is particularly so when the laughter is from the provinces and the laughee—so to speak—a dignified and sophisticated city man. Albert summoned the said dignity and sophistication to his rescue, knocked the ashes from his cigarette and said, haughtily:

“I beg your pardon?”

“Is Mr. Keeler here?” repeated the girl.

“No, he is out.”

“Will he be back soon, do you think?”

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

“Is Issy—I mean Mr. Price, busy?”

“He's out in the yard there somewhere, I believe. Would you like to have me call him?”

“Why, yes—if you please—sir.”

The “sir” was flattering, if it was sincere. He glanced at her. The expression of the mouth was as grave as ever, but he was still uncertain about those eyes. However, he was disposed to give her the benefit of the doubt, so, stepping to the side door of the office—that leading to the yards—he opened it and shouted: “Price! . . . Hey, Price!”

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

“Price!” he shouted, again. “Pri-i-ce!”

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

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

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

“Hey?”

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

“What for?”

“I don't know.”

“Well, find out, can't ye? I'm busy.”

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

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

“I wanted to buy something.”

“She wants to buy something,” repeated Albert, shouting.

“Hey?”

“She wants to—BUY—something.” It was humiliating to have to scream in this way.

“Buy? Buy what?”

“What do you want to buy?”

“A hook, that's all. A hook for our kitchen door. Would you mind asking him to hurry? I haven't much time.”

“She wants a hook.”

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

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

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

The head disappeared behind the “two by fours.” Its face was red, but no redder than Mr. Speranza's at that moment.

“Fool rube!” he snorted, disgustedly.

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

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

His caller looked at it and then at him.

“I'd pick it up, if I were you,” she said. “Cap'n Snow HATES cigarettes.”

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

“Does he, honest?” he asked.

“Yes. He hates them worse than anything.”

The cigarette stump was hastily picked up by its owner.

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

“Why don't you—Oh, don't put it in your pocket! It will set you on fire. Put it in the stove, quick.”

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

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

“I'll try. I don't know anything about the confounded things.”

“Oh!” innocently. “Don't you?”

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

“Aren't you working here?”

“Here? Work HERE? ME? Well, I—should—say—NOT!”

“Oh, excuse me. I thought you must be a new bookkeeper, or—or a new partner, or something.”

Albert regarded her intently and suspiciously for some seconds before making another remark. She was as demurely grave as ever, but his suspicions were again aroused. However, she WAS pretty, there could be no doubt about that.

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

“Oh, thank you ever so much,” gratefully. “It's VERY kind of you to take so much trouble.”

“Oh,” airily, “that's all right. Come on; perhaps we can find it together.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Albert shivered. The girl with the dark blue eyes flashed a quick glance at him. “I think perhaps someone went by the window when it was open just now,” she suggested. “Perhaps they were smoking and the smoke blew in.”

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

“Speranza,” replied the owner of the name.

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

Albert and Miss Kendall shook hands.

“Thanks,” said the former, gratefully and significantly.

The young lady smiled.

“Oh, you're welcome,” she said. “I knew who you were all the time—or I guessed who you must be. Cap'n Snow told me you were coming.”

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

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

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

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

“Sit down, Al,” he said, motioning toward a chair. When his grandson had seated himself Captain Zelotes tilted back his own desk chair upon its springs and looked at him.

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

“Think of it? I don't know exactly what—”

“Of the place here. Shop, yards, the whole business. Z. Snow and Company—what do you think of it?”

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

His grandfather nodded. “Thanks,” he observed, dryly. “Glad you find it that way. Well, then, changin' the subject for a minute or two, what do you think about yourself?”

“About myself? About me? I don't understand?”

“No, I don't suppose you do. That's what I got you over here this mornin' for, so as we could understand—you and me. Al, have you given any thought to what you're goin' to do from this on? How you're goin' to live?”

Albert looked at him uncomprehendingly.

“How I'm going to live?” he repeated. “Why—why, I thought—I supposed I was going to live with you—with you and Grandmother.”

“Um-hm, I see.”

“I just kind of took that for granted, I guess. You sent for me to come here. You took me away from school, you know.”

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

“No, I—I guess I DON'T, exactly. I thought—I supposed it was because you didn't want me to go there any more.”

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

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

“It is one of the best schools in this country,” he declared. “My father said so.”

Captain Zelotes picked up a pencil on his desk and tapped his chin lightly with the blunt end. “Um,” he mused. “Well, I presume likely he knew all about it.”

“He knew as much as—most people,” with a slight but significant hesitation before the “most.”

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

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

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

“No. I knew he had plenty of money always. He was one of the most famous singers in this country.”

“Maybe so.”

“It WAS so,” hotly. “And he was paid enough in one week to buy this whole town—or almost. Why, my father—”

“Sshh! Sssh!”

“No, I'm not going to hush. I'm proud of my father. He was a—a great man. And—and I'm not going to stand here and have you—”

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

“I'm not going to have you or anyone else talk about him that way,” he concluded, fiercely.

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

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

“Yes, you are. You hated him. Anybody could see you hated him.”

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

“Well,” he said, after a moment, “I don't know as I ought to deny that. I don't know as I can deny it and be honest. Years ago he took away from me what amounted to three-quarters of everything that made my life worth while. Some day you'll know more about it than you do now, and maybe you'll understand my p'int of view better. No, I didn't like your father—Eh? What was you sayin'?”

Albert, who had muttered something, was rather confused. However, he did not attempt to equivocate. “I said I guessed that didn't make much difference to Father,” he answered, sullenly.

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

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

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

Albert gasped. “Do you mean—do you mean I've got to be a—a sailor?” he stammered.

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

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

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

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

He stopped. Albert was silent. His thoughts were confused, but out of their dismayed confusion two or three fixed ideas reared themselves like crags from a whirlpool. He was to live in South Hamiss always—always; he was to keep books—Heavens, how he hated mathematics, detail work of any kind!—for drunken old Keeler; he was to “heave lumber” with Issy Price. He—Oh, it was dreadful! It was horrible. He couldn't! He wouldn't! He—

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

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

“Yes.”

“Understood, did you?”

“Yes—sir.”

“Well?”

Albert was clutching at straws. “I—I don't know how to keep books,” he faltered.

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

“I—I guess so.”

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

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

“Don't you want to work?” he demanded.

“Why, yes, I—I suppose I do. I—I hadn't thought much about it.”

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

“I was going to college.”

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

“I wasn't sure. I thought I might do something with my music. I can play a little. I can't sing—that is, not well enough. If I could,” wistfully, “I should have liked to be in opera, as father was, of course.”

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

“I had thought of writing—writing books and poems, you know. I've written quite a good deal for the school magazine. And I think I should like to be an actor, perhaps. I—”

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

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

Poor Albert looked and felt anything but glad just then. Captain Zelotes, his hands in his pockets, stood regarding him. He, too, did not look particularly happy.

“You'll remember,” he observed, “or perhaps you don't know, that when your father asked us to look out for you—”

Albert interrupted. “Did—did father ask you to take care of me?” he cried, in surprise.

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

The boy drew a long breath. “Well, then,” he said, hopelessly, “I'll—I'll try.”

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

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

“A play actor or a poetry writer!” he exclaimed. “Tut, tut, tut! No use talkin', blood will tell!”

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

“Eh?” he queried.

“Nothin',” said Captain Lote.

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

A disinterested person might have decided that the interview which had just taken place and which Captain Zelotes hopefully told his wife that morning would probably result in “a clear, comf'table understandin' between the boy and me”—such a disinterested person might have decided that it had resulted in exactly the opposite. In calculating the results to be obtained from that interview the captain had not taken into consideration two elements, one his own and the other his grandson's. These elements were prejudice and temperament.