Part 25 (1/2)

”Eh? Oh! Aye, aye, Cap'n.”

He swung his former skipper to the seat of the truck-wagon. The captain spoke but little during the short trip home. What he did say, however, was to the point.

”Judah,” he ordered, ”the next time you sing anywhere within speakin'-trumpet distance of that Fair Harbor place, don't you dare sing anything but psalms.”

”Eh? But which?”

”Never mind. What in everlastin' blazes do you mean by sittin' up aloft here and bellowin' about--rum and women?”

”Hold on, now, Cap'n Sears! Ho-ld on! That wan't no rum and woman song, that was the old 'Whisky, Johnny' chantey. Why, I've heard that song aboard your own vessels mo-ore times, Cap'n Sears. Why----”

”All right. But don't let me ever hear it sung near the Fair Harbor again. If you must sing, when you're over there sing--oh, sing the doxology.”

Judah did not speak for a minute or two. Then he stirred rebelliously.

”What's that?” asked the captain. ”What are you mumblin' about?”

”Eh? I wan't mumblin'. I was just sayin' I didn't have much time to learn new-fangled songs, that's all.... Whoa, you--you walrus! Don't you know enough to come up into the wind when you git to your moorin's?”

As his boarder took his lamp from the kitchen table, preparatory to going to his room, Mr. Cahoon spoke again.

”George Kent was over there, wan't he?” he observed.

”Eh? Oh ... yes.”

”Um-hm. I cal-lated he would be. This is his night--one of 'em. Comes twice a week, Tuesdays and Fridays, they tell me, and then heaves in a Sunday every little spell, for good measure. Gettin' to be kind of settled thing between them two, so all hands are cal'latin'.... Hey?

Turnin' in already, be you, Cap'n? Well, good night.”

Sears Kendrick found it hard to fall asleep that night. He tossed and tumbled and thought and thought and thought. At intervals he cursed himself for a fool and resolved to think no more, along those lines at least, but to forget the foolishness and get the rest he needed. And each time he was s.n.a.t.c.hed back from the brink of that rest by a vision of George Kent, tall, young, good-looking, vigorous, with all the world, its opportunities and rewards, before him, and of himself almost on the verge of middle age, a legless, worthless, hopeless piece of wreckage.

He liked Kent, George was a fine young fellow, he had fancied him when they first met. Every one liked him and prophesied his success in life and in the legal profession. Then why in heaven's name shouldn't he call twice a week at the Fair Harbor if he wished to? He should, of course.

That was logic, but logic has so little to do with these matters, and, having arrived at the logical conclusion, Captain Sears Kendrick found himself still fiercely resenting that conclusion, envying young Kent his youth and his hopes and his future, and as stubbornly rebellious against destiny as at the beginning.

Nevertheless--and he swore it more than once before that wretched night was over--no one but he should know of that envy and rebellion, least of all the cause of it. From then on he would, he vowed, take especial pains to be nice to George Kent and to help or befriend him in every possible way.

CHAPTER VIII

It was Kent himself who put this vow to the test. He called at the Minot place the very next evening. It was early, only seven o'clock; Judah, having begged permission to serve an early supper because it was ”lodge night,” had departed for Liberty Hall, where the local branch of the Odd Fellows met; and Sears Kendrick was sitting on the settee in the back yard, beneath the locust tree, smoking. Kent came swinging in at the gate and again the captain felt that twinge of envy and rebellion against fate as he saw the active figure come striding toward him.

But, and doubly so because of that very twinge, his welcome was br.i.m.m.i.n.g with cordiality. Kent explained that his call must be a brief one, as he must hurry back to his room at the Macombers' to study. It was part of his agreement with Eliphalet Ba.s.sett that his duties as bookkeeper at the latter's store should end at six o'clock each night.

Sears asked how he was getting on with his law study. He replied that he seemed to be getting on pretty well, but missed Judge Knowles' help and advice very much indeed.

”I read with Lawyer Bradley over at Harniss now,” he said. ”Go over two evenings a week, Mondays and Thursdays. The other evenings--most of them--I put in by myself, digging away at _Smith on Torts_ and _Chitty on Bills_, and stuff of that kind. I suppose that sounds like pretty dull music to you, Cap'n Kendrick.”

The captain shook his head. ”I don't know about the music part,” he observed. ”It's a tune I never could learn to play--or sing, either, I'm sure of that. But you miss the judge's help, do you?”

”Miss it like blazes. He could do more in five minutes to make me see a point than Bradley can in an hour. Bradley's a pretty good lawyer, as the average run of small lawyers go, but Judge Knowles is away above the average. Bradley will hem and haw and 'rather think' this and 'it would seem as if' that, but the judge will say a hundred words, and two of 'em swear words, and there is the answer, complete, plain and demonstrated.

I do like Judge Knowles. I only hope he likes me half as well.”