Part 12 (1/2)

”Oh, Sally Brown was a bright mulatter, Way, oh, roll and go!

She drinks rum and chews terbacker, Spend my money on Sally Brown.

Whee--_yip_!”

Miss Elvira's thin figure stiffened to an exclamation point of disapproval. Captain Kendrick turned uneasily in the direction of the singer. Mrs. Chase, aware that something was going on and not wis.h.i.+ng to miss it, cupped her ear with her hand. And Judah began the second verse.

”Oh, Sally Brown, I'll surely miss you, Way, oh, roll and go!

How I'd love to hug and kiss you!

Spend my money on Sally Brown.

Whee--_yip_!”

”Judah!” roared the captain, who was suffering acute apprehension.

”Judah!”

”Oh, Sally Brown----”

”_Judah!”_

”Eh? What is it, Cap'n Sears?”

”Shut up.”

”Eh! Shut up what? What's open?”

”Stop that noise.”

”What noise?”

”That noise of yours. That singin'.”

”Eh? Oh, all right, sir. Aye, aye, Cap'n, just as you say.”

Captain Sears, relieved, turned again to his visitors. But the visitors were rapidly retreating along the path, the lines of Miss Elvira's back indicating disgust and outraged gentility. Mrs. Chase, however, looked back. Obviously she still did not know what it was all about.

Sears, although he chuckled a good deal over the affair, was a trifle annoyed, nevertheless. It was a good joke, of course, and he certainly cared little for the approval or disapproval of Miss Elvira Snowden. But when he considered what the prim spinster's version of the happening was likely to be and the reputation her story was sure to confer, inside the Fair Harbor fences at least, upon him and his household companion, he was tempted to wish that that companion's musical talent had been hidden under a napkin, or, better still, a feather bed. He--Kendrick--was to live, for a time indefinite, next door to the Fair Harborites, and it is always pleasant to be on good terms with one's neighbors. True, those neighbors might be, the majority of them, what Mr. Cahoon called them--which was whatever term of approbrium he happened to think of at the moment, ”pack of old hens” being the mildest--but the captain knew that one, at least, was not an ”old hen.” ”That Berry girl,” which was his way of thinking of her, was attractive and kind and a lady. They had met but once, it is true, but she had made a most favorable impression upon him. He had caught glimpses of her on two occasions, in the Fair Harbor grounds, and once she had waved a greeting. She was a nice girl, he was sure of it. If she thought at all of the cripple next door he would like her to think of him in a kindly way, as a decent sort of hulk, so to speak. It was provoking to feel that she would next hear of him as a dissipated ruffian, friend and defender of another ruffian who howled ribald songs in the presence--or at least in the hearing--of ladies.

He questioned Judah concerning the Fair Harbor, its founder and the dwellers within its gates. Judah told him what he knew of the story, which was very little more than the captain already knew, his knowledge gained from his sister's letters. Captain Sylva.n.u.s Seymour had had but one child, his daughter Lobelia. At his death she, of course, inherited all his property. According to Bayport gossip, as reported by Mr.

Cahoon, the old man had died worth anywhere from one half a million to three or five millions. ”Richer'n dock mud, I cal'late he was,” declared Judah. ”Made a lot of money out of his Boston s.h.i.+ppin' business and a lot more out of stocks and city real estate and one thing or 'nother.”

For years after Captain Sylva.n.u.s died Lobelia lived alone in the big house. Then she had married. Judah could tell little about the man she married.

”He was a music teacher that come to town here one winter, that's about all I can swear to,” said Judah. ”Down here for his health, so he said, and taught singin' school while he was gittin' healthy. His last name was Phillips, which is all right, but he had the craziest fust name ever _I_ heard. Egbert 'twas. Hoppin', creepin' Henry! Did you ever _hear_ such a name? _Egbert!_ Jumpin' prophets! Boys round town, they tell me, used to call him 'Eg' behind his back. Some of 'em, them that didn't like him, called him 'Soft biled.' Haw, haw! See what they meant, don't you, Cap'n Sears? Egbert, you know, that's 'Eg' for short, and then 'Soft biled' meanin' a soft biled egg.... Hey? Yes, I cal'lated you'd see it, you're pretty sharp at a joke, Cap'n, but there _has_ been them I've told that to that never.... Hey? Aye, aye, sir, I was just goin' to tell the rest of it.”

According to Judah's report, which was a second or third hand report of course, Egbert Phillips had not been too popular among the males in Bayport. But with the females--ah, there it was different.

”He was one of them kind, they tell me,” said Judah. ”One of them smooth, slick, b.u.t.tery kind of fellers that draws womenfolks same as mola.s.ses draws flies. Hailed from Philadelphy he did. I used to know a good many Philadelphy folks myself once. Why, one time----”

The captain broke in to head off the Philadelphia reminiscence. Brought back to Bayport and Egbert and Lobelia, Judah went on to tell what more he knew of the Fair Harbor beginnings. Sears gathered that after the marriage Egbert who, it seemed, was not in love with the Cape as a place of residence, would have liked his wife to sell the old house and move away. But there was a clause in the will of Captain Sylva.n.u.s which prevented this. Under that will the property could not be sold while his daughter lived. It was then that Lobelia was seized with her great idea.

She, a mariner's daughter, had--until the Providential appearance of the peerless Egbert--faced a lonely old age. But she had at least a comfortable home. There were so many women--sea-captains' widows and sisters--who faced their lonely future without a home. Why not turn the Seymour property into a home for them--a limited number of them?