Part 19 (1/2)

”I never liked that hat myself,” he observed, dryly.

Again their glances met and this time he smiled. Martha gave it up.

”Oh, dear!” she exclaimed, with a laugh. ”You know what they say about children and--other folks, Mr. Bangs. Primmie, if you say another word while we're at this table I'll--I don't know what I'll do to you. STOP!

You've said plenty and plenty more, as father used to say. Truly, Mr.

Bangs, it wasn't as bad as it sounds. I honestly DIDN'T think the hat was becomin', that's all.”

”Neither did I, Miss Phipps. I didn't think so when I bought it.”

”You didn't? Then for mercy sakes why did you buy it?”

”Well, the man said it was just the hat for me and--ah--I didn't wish to argue, that's all. Besides, I thought perhaps he knew best; selling hats was his--ah--profession, you see.”

”Yes, SELLIN' 'em was. Do you always let folks like that pick out what they want to sell you?”

”No-o, not always. Often I do. It saves--ah--conversation, don't you think?”

He said nothing concerning his meeting with Miss Hallett and the South Wellmouth station agent, but he did mention encountering Captain Jethro and Mr. Pulcifer. Martha seemed much interested.

”Humph!” she exclaimed. ”I wonder what possessed Cap'n Jeth to go over to the cemetery in the mornin'. He almost always goes there Sunday afternoons--his wife's buried there--but he generally goes to church in the mornin'.”

Galusha remembered having heard the light keeper refer to the exchange of preachers. Miss Phipps nodded.

”Oh, yes,” she said, ”that explains it, of course. He's down on the Wapatomac minister because he preaches against spiritualism. But what was Raish Pulcifer doin' in that cemetery? He didn't have anybody's grave to go to, and he wouldn't go to it if he had. There's precious little chance of doin' business with a person after he's buried.”

”But I think it was business which brought Mr. Pulcifer there,” said Galusha. ”He and--ah--Captain Hallett, is it? Yes--ah--thank you. He and the captain seemed to be having a lengthy argument about--about--well, I'm not exactly certain what it was about. You see, I was examining a--ah--tomb”--here Primmie s.h.i.+vered--”and paid little attention. It seemed to be something about some--ah--stock they both owned. Mr.

Pulcifer wished to sell and Captain Hallett did not care to buy.”

Martha's interest increased. ”Stock?” she repeated. ”What sort of stock was it, Mr. Bangs?”

”I didn't catch the name. And yet, as I remember, I did catch some portion of it. Ah--let me see--Could there be such a thing as a--ah--'ornamenting' stock? A Wellmouth ornamenting or decorating stock, you know?”

Miss Phipps leaned forward. ”Was it Wellmouth Development Company stock?” she asked.

”Eh? Oh, yes--yes, I'm quite certain that was it. Yes, I think it was, really.”

”And Raish wanted Cap'n Jeth to buy some of it?”

”That was what I gathered, Miss Phipps. As I say, I was more interested at the time in my--ah--pet tomb.”

Primmie s.h.i.+vered again. Miss Martha looked very serious. She was preoccupied during the rest of the dinner and, immediately afterward, went, as has been told, over to the Hallett house, leaving her guest the alternative of loneliness or Primmie.

At first he chose the loneliness. As a matter of fact, his morning's exercise had fatigued him somewhat and he went up to his room with the intention of taking a nap. But, before lying down, he seated himself in the rocker by the window and looked out over the prospect of hills and hollows, the little village, the pine groves, the s.h.i.+mmering, tumbling sea, and the blue sky with its swiftly moving white clouds, the latter like bunches of cotton fluff. The landscape was bare enough, perhaps, but somehow it appealed to him. It seemed characteristically plain and substantial and essential, like--well, like the old Cape Cod captains of bygone days who had spent the dry land portion of their lives there and had loved to call it home. It was American, as they were, American in the old-fas.h.i.+oned meaning of the word, bluff, honest, rugged, real.

Galusha Bangs had traveled much, he loved the out of the way, the unusual. It surprised him therefore to find how strongly this commonplace, 'longsh.o.r.e spot appealed to his imagination. He liked it and wondered why.

Of course the liking might come from the contrast between the rest and freedom he was now experiencing and the fevered chase led him at the mountain hotel where Mrs. Worth Buckley and her lion-hunting sisters had their habitat. Thought of the pestilential Buckley female set him to contrasting her affectations with the kind-hearted and wholehearted simplicity of his present hostess, Miss Martha Phipps. It was something of a contrast. Mrs. Buckley was rich and sophisticated and--in her own opinion--cultured to the highest degree. Now Miss Phipps was, in all probability, not rich and she would not claim wide culture. As to her sophistication--well, Galusha gave little thought to that, in most worldly matters he himself was unsophisticated. However, he was sure that he liked Miss Phipps and that he loathed Mrs. Buckley. And he liked East Wellmouth, bareness and bleakness and lonesomeness and all.

He rather wished he were going to stay there for a long time--weeks perhaps, months it might be; that is, of course, provided he could occupy his present quarters and eat at the Phipps' table. If he could do that why--why... humph!

Instead of lying down he sat by that window for more than half an hour thinking. He came out of his reverie slowly, gradually becoming conscious of a high-pitched conversation carried on downstairs. He had left his chamber door open and fragments of this conversation came up the staircase. It was Primmie's voice which he heard most frequently and whatever words he caught were hers. There was a masculine grumble at intervals but this was not understandable on the second floor.