Part 58 (1/2)
”Will I? I don't believe I shall. That is very odd, I know, but I think it is true. I have been thinking about it a great deal of late and--ah--I--well, you know, I am very sure I shall be lonely.”
”Lonely? You! Lonesome over in Egypt, after all you've told me about your lovin' it so, Mr. Bangs! Lonesome for what, for mercy sakes?”
”Why, for--for the Cape, you know; and this house and this pleasant room and--and the kindness which has been shown me here.”
”Don't. What do what you call kindnesses amount to--the little things Primmie and I have been able to do for you--what do they amount to compared to what you did for me? I shouldn't be in this house, I shouldn't own it, if it wasn't for the interest you took and the trouble you went to. Lonesome! I think I'M goin' to be the real lonesome one this winter. Since you've been livin' here, Mr. Bangs, I've had a chance to talk of somethin' beside the little two-for-a-cent things that most of us Gould's Bluffs people have to talk about from December to June. I've had the chance to talk about somethin' besides Primmie's foolishness or Cap'n Jethro's 'spirits,' or the post office gossip. It has been wonderful for me. When father was alive no gale that ever blew could keep him from trampin' up to the office after his mornin' paper.
He used to say that readin' the paper was the only way he could keep enough canvas drawing to pull him out of the doldrums. More of his sea talk, that was, of course, but you understand what he meant.”
Galusha understood. ”We all have our--ah--doldrums,” he observed.
”Yes, seems as if we did. But, there!” briskly picking up her knitting, ”I don't know as it does us much good to sit and talk about 'em. Primmie had a book around here last week, an old thing, one of Mrs. Southworth's it was; Primmie borrowed it somewhere. I looked it over one afternoon, that was as much as I wanted to do with it, and I remember there was an old woman in it who seemed to spend most of her time dreamin' of her 'vanished past.' She seemed to worry over that vanished past a good deal, but, so far as I could see, she didn't gain much by it. She might have done some plain sewin' and gained more. I can't see that you and I gain much by sittin' here and frettin' about next winter, Mr. Bangs. I suppose when winter is really here you will be trottin' around Egypt on a camel, or some sort of menagerie animal, and I shall be sweepin' and dustin' and makin' pies. And we both will be too busy to remember we're lonesome at all. I--Yes, Primmie, what is it?”
Miss Cash's head and shoulders appeared between the door and the jamb.
”Miss Martha,” she whispered, hoa.r.s.ely, ”there's somebody come to see you.”
”Come to see me? Who is it; Cap'n Jethro?”
”No'm. It's Raish--I mean Mr. Pulcifer. And,” confidentially, ”he won't tell what he's come for, neither.”
”And I presume likely you asked him that very thing. Well, bring him into the dinin' room and tell him I'll be right there. Humph!” she added, after Primmie had departed, ”I wonder what Raish Pulcifer wants to see me about. I can't imagine, but I guess it isn't likely to be very important. I'll be back in a few minutes, Mr. Bangs.”
It was, however, a full half hour before she re-entered the sitting room, and when she did so there was a puzzled expression on her face.
”Now, that's funny,” she observed, musingly; ”that certainly is funny.
What is he drivin' at, I wonder?”
”Mr. Pulcifer?” inquired Galusha.
”Why, yes. He didn't say so in so many words; in fact, he didn't really say much of anything right out. He wouldn't be Raish Pulcifer if he was straight and plain. He talked about the weather and how he hadn't seen me for some time and just thought he'd call, and so on. That was just greasin' the ways for the launchin', as father would have said. He edged around and edged around and finally brought up the thing I'm pretty sure he came to see me about, my two hundred and fifty shares of Wellmouth Development Company stock.”
Galusha caught his breath. ”Eh?” he exclaimed.
”Yes; I think he came to see me about just those shares. Of course, he thinks I've still got them. He talked about his own shares and about the company in general and how it wasn't likely to amount to much and--oh, well, never mind; he talked a mile before he gained a foot. But I think, Mr. Bangs, I THINK he came to see if I would sell him that stock of mine, and, if I would, what I would sell it for. Considerin' that only a little while ago he told you he wouldn't touch the Wellmouth Development stock with a ten-foot pole, that's kind of funny, isn't it?”
CHAPTER XVII
Galusha had some difficulty in falling asleep that night. The habit of dropping into a peaceful and dreamless slumber within five minutes after blowing out his lamp, a habit which had been his for the past month, was broken. He had almost succeeded in forgetting the Wellmouth Development Company. His distress of mind and conscience concerning his dealings with it had very nearly vanished also. He had been forced into deceit to save Martha Phipps from great trouble, and the end justified the means.
Having reached that conclusion in his thinking, he had firmly resolved to put the whole matter from his mind.
His one plunge into the pool of finance he had come to believe destined never to be revealed. No one had mentioned the Development Company or its stock for weeks. It was, apparently, dead and satisfactorily buried, and the Bangs' secret was entombed with it.
And now, if Martha's surmise was correct, here was a ”resurrection man,”
in the person of Mr. Horatio Pulcifer, hanging about the cemetery. The capacity for hating was not in Galusha's make-up. He found it difficult to dislike any one strongly. But he could come nearer to disliking Raish Pulcifer than any one else, and now to dislike was added resentment.
Why in the world should this Pulcifer person interfere with his peace of mind?
In the morning, and with the bright September suns.h.i.+ne streaming into the room, his disquietude of the previous night seemed rather foolish.