Part 68 (2/2)

”Yes.”

”But I can't understand.... Did--Cap'n Kendrick, did you borrow it for me?”

”No. I talked things over with your--er--side-partner and he decided to give it back.”

”To give it back! Mr. Phillips did, you mean? But he wouldn't give it to me. I begged him to. I should have been satisfied with half of it--my sister's half. Indeed I should! But he said he couldn't give it to me, he didn't have it to give. And--and you got him to give me the whole!

Cap'n Kendrick, I--I can't understand.”

”You don't have to. There's your sixteen hundred. Now take it, and before you turn in this night you get ready to send your brother-in-law his half, and the papers that go with it, on the first mail. That's all I ask of you, George.”

”I'll have it in the post office as soon as it opens to-morrow morning.

You bet I will!”

”That's what I want to be able to bet. You send a money-order, that's safest. And--well, yes, George, you might show me the receipt.”

”I'll show it to you. You can keep it for me, if you want to.”

”Seein' it will do. And one thing more: you promise me now, on your word of honor, not to take any more of those stock market fliers for--well, for ten years, anyhow.”

Kent promised; he would have promised anything. His color had come back, his spirits were now as high as they had been low, and he was striding up and down the room like a mad thing.

”But how did you get it for me?” he kept demanding. The captain bade him stop.

”Never mind how I got it,” he declared. ”I got it, and you've got it, and you'll have to be satisfied with that. Don't ask me again, George.”

”I won't, but--but I can't understand Mr. Phillips giving it back. He didn't have to, you know. Say, I think it was mighty generous of him, after all. Don't you?”

Sears's lip twitched. ”It looks as if somebody was generous,” he observed. ”Now run along, George, and fix up that letter to your brother-in-law.”

”I'm going to. I'm going now. But, Cap'n Kendrick, I don't know what to say to you. I--why, great Scott, I can't begin to tell you how I feel about what you've done! I'd cut off my head for you; honest I would.”

”Cuttin' off your own head would be consider'ble of a job. Better keep your head on, George.... And use it once in a while.”

”You know what this means to me, Cap'n Kendrick. To my future and--and maybe some one else's future, too. Why, _now_ I can go--I can say---- Oh, great Scott!”

Kendrick opened the bedroom door. ”Come now, George,” he said. ”Good night--and good luck.”

Kent would have said more, much more, even though Judah Cahoon was sitting, with ears and mouth open, in the kitchen. But the captain would not let him linger or speak. He helped him on with his coat and hat, and, with a slap on the back, literally pushed him out into the yard.

Then he turned on his heel and striding again through the kitchen reentered the spare stateroom and closed the door behind him. Judah shouted something about its being ”not much more'n two bells”--meaning nine o'clock--but he received no answer.

Judah did not retire until nearly eleven that night, but when, at last, he did go to his own room, there was a light still s.h.i.+ning under the door of the spare stateroom and he could hear the captain's footsteps moving back and forth, back and forth, within. For two hours he had so heard them. Obviously the ”old man” was pacing the deck, a pretty sure sign of rough weather present or expected. Mr. Cahoon was troubled, also disappointed. He would have liked to talk interminably concerning the sensational news of Miss Snowden's inheritance; he had not begun to exhaust the possibilities of that subject. Then, too, he was very anxious to learn where Captain Sears had been all day, and why. He tried in various ways to secure attention. But when, after singing eight verses of the most doleful ditty in his repertoire, he was not ordered to ”shut up,” was in fact ignored altogether, he quit disgusted. But, as he closed the door of his own bedchamber, he could still hear the regular footfalls in the spare stateroom.

Had he listened for another hour or more he would have heard them. Sears Kendrick was tramping back and forth, his hands jammed in his pockets, and upon his spirit the blackest and deepest and densest of clouds. It was the reaction, of course. He was tired physically, but more tired mentally. All day long he had been under a sharp strain, now he was experiencing the let-down. But there was more than that. His campaign against Egbert Phillips had kept him interested. Now the fight was over and, although superficially he was the victor, in reality it was a question which side had won. He had saved George Kent's money and his good name. And Cordelia Berry's future was safe, too, although her two thousand dollars might be, and probably were, lost. But, after all, his was a poor sort of victory. Egbert was, doubtless, congratulating himself and chuckling over the outcome of the battle; with thirty thousand dollars and ease and comfort for the rest of his life, he could afford to chuckle. Kent's happiness was sure. He could go to Elizabeth now with clean hands and youth and hope. Perhaps he had gone to her already. That very evening he and she might be together once more.

And for the man who had made this possible, what remained? Where were those silly hopes with which, at one time, he had deluded himself? He had dared to dream romance. Where was that romance now? Face to face with reality, what was to be _his_ future? More days and weeks and years of puttering with the penny-paring finances of a home for old women?

He dressed next morning with a mind made up. He had dallied and deliberated and wished long enough. Now he _knew_. His stay in Bayport was practically ended. Give him a little time and luck enough to find a competent manager for the Fair Harbor, one with whom he believed Judge Knowles would have been satisfied, and he was through for good. He must play fair with the judge and then--then for the s.h.i.+pping offices of Boston or New York and a berth at sea. His health was almost normal; his battered limbs were nearly as sound as ever. He could handle a s.h.i.+p and he could handle men. His fights and sacrifices for others were finished, over and done with. Now he would fight for himself.

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