Part 53 (1/2)

So that ended it, and ended also what had been a happy period for Sears Kendrick. He made no more informal daily visits to the Fair Harbor.

Twice a week, at stated times, he and Elizabeth met in the office and conferred concerning bills, letters and accounts. She was calm and impersonal during these interviews, and he tried to be so. There was no reference to other matters and no more cheerful and delightful chats, no more confidences between them. It did seem to him that she was more absent-minded, less alert and attentive to the business details than she had been, and at times he thought that she looked troubled and careworn.

Perhaps, however, this was but his imagining, a sort of reflection of his own misery. For he was miserable--miserable, pessimistic and pretty thoroughly disgusted with life. His health and strength were gaining always, but he found little consolation in this. He could not go to sea just yet. He had promised Judge Knowles to stick it out and stick he would. But he longed--oh, how he longed!--for the blue water and a deck beneath his feet. Perhaps, a thousand miles from land, with a gale blowing and a s.h.i.+p to handle, as a real deep-sea skipper he could forget--forget a face and a voice and a succession of silly fancies which could not, apparently, be wholly forgotten by the middle-aged skipper of an old women's home.

One morning, after a troubled night, on his way to a conference with Elizabeth at the Fair Harbor office, he met Mr. Egbert Phillips. The latter, serene, benign, elegant, was entering at the gateway beneath the swinging sign which proclaimed to the other world that within the Harbor all was peace. Of late Captain Kendrick had found a certain flavor of irony in the wording of that sign.

Kendrick and Phillips reached the gate at the same moment. They exchanged good mornings. Egbert's was sweetly and condescendingly gracious, the captain's rather short and brusque. Since the encounter in the office where, in the presence of Elizabeth, Phillips' polite inuendoes had goaded Sears into an indiscreet revelation of his real feeling toward the elegant widower--since that day relations between the two had been maintained on a basis of armed neutrality. They bowed, they smiled, they even spoke, although seldom at length. Kendrick had made up his mind not to lose his temper again. His adversary should not have that advantage over him.

But this morning to save his life he could not have appeared as unruffled as usual. The night had been uncomfortable, his waking thoughts disturbing. His position was a hard one, he was feeling rebellious against Fate and even against Judge Knowles, who, as Fate's agent, had gotten him into that position. And the sight of the tall figure, genteelly swinging its cane and beaming patronage upon the world in general, was a little too much for him. So his good morning was more of a grunt than a greeting.

It may be that Egbert noticed this. Or it may be that with his triumph so closely approaching a certainty he could not resist a slight gloat.

At all events he paused for an instant, a demure gleam in his eye and the corner of his lip beneath the drooping mustache lifting in an amused smile.

”A beautiful day, Captain,” he said.

Kendrick admitted the day's beauty. He would have pa.s.sed through the gateway, but Mr. Phillips' figure and Mr. Phillips' cane blocked the way.

”It seems to me that we do not see as much of you here at the Harbor as we used, Captain Kendrick,” observed Egbert. ”Or is that my fancy merely?”

The captain's answer was noncommittal. Again he attempted to pa.s.s and again the Phillips' walking-stick casually prevented.

”I trust that nothing serious has occurred to deprive us of your society, Captain?” queried the owner of the stick, solicitously. ”No accident, no further accident, or anything of that sort?”

”No.”

”And you are quite well? Pardon me, but I fancied that you looked--ah--shall I say disturbed--or worried, perhaps?”

”No. I'm all right.”

”I am so glad to hear it. I gathered--that is, I feared that perhaps the cares incidental to your--” again the slight smile--”your labors as general supervisor of the Harbor might be undermining your health. I am charmed to have you tell me that that is not the case.”

”Thanks.”

”Of course--” Mr. Phillips drew a geometrical figure with the cane in the earth of the flower bed by the path--”of course,” he said, ”speaking as one who has had some sad experience with illness and that sort of thing, it has always seemed to me that one should not take chances with one's health. If the cares of a particular avocation--situation--position--whatever it may be--if the cares and--ah--disappointments incidental to it are affecting one's physical condition it has always seemed to me wiser to sacrifice the first for the second. And make the sacrifice in time. You see what I mean?”

Kendrick, standing by the post of the gateway, looked at him.

”Why, no,” he said, slowly, ”I don't know that I do. What do you mean?”

The cane was drawn through the first figure in the flower bed and began to trace another. Again Mr. Phillips smiled.

”Why, nothing in particular, my dear sir,” he replied. ”Perhaps nothing at all.... I had heard--mere rumor, no doubt--that you contemplated giving up your position as superintendent here. I trust it is not true?”

”It isn't.”

”I am delighted to hear you say so. We--we of the Harbor--should miss you greatly.”

”Thanks. Do you mind telling me who told you I was goin' to give up the superintendent's position?”

”Why, I don't remember. It came to my ears, it seemed to be a sort of general impression. Of course, now that you tell me it is not true I shall take pains to deny it. And permit me to express my gratification.”