Part 12 (1/2)

VI

The heavy tread of Abner Nott echoed in the pa.s.sage. Confused and embarra.s.sed, Renshaw remained standing at the door that had closed upon Rosey as her father entered the cabin. Providence, which always fostered Mr. Nott's characteristic misconceptions, left that perspicacious parent but one interpretation of the situation. Rosey had evidently just informed Mr. Renshaw that she loved another!

”I was just saying 'good-by' to Miss Nott,” said Renshaw, hastily regaining his composure with an effort. ”I am going to Sacramento to-night, and will not return. I--”

”In course, in course,” interrupted Nott, soothingly; ”that's wot you say now, and that's what you allow to do. That's wot they allus do.”

”I mean,” said Renshaw, reddening at what he conceived to be an allusion to the absconding propensities of Nott's previous tenants,--”I mean that you shall keep the advance to cover any loss you might suffer through my giving up the rooms.”

”Certingly,” said Nott, laying his hand with a large sympathy on Renshaw's shoulder; ”but we'll drop that just now. We won't swap hosses in the middle of the river. We'll square up accounts in your room,” he added, raising his voice that Rosey might overhear him, after a preliminary wink at the young man. ”Yes, sir, we'll just square up and settle in there. Come along, Mr. Renshaw.” Pus.h.i.+ng him with paternal gentleness from the cabin, with his hand still upon his shoulder, he followed him into the pa.s.sage. Half annoyed at his familiarity, yet not altogether displeased by this ill.u.s.tration of Rosey's belief of his preference, Renshaw wonderingly accompanied him.

Nott closed the door, and pus.h.i.+ng the young man into a chair, deliberately seated himself at the table opposite. ”It's just as well that Rosey reckons that you and me is settlin' our accounts,” he began, cunningly, ”and mebbee it's just ez well ez she should reckon you're goin' away.”

”But I AM going,” interrupted Renshaw, impatiently. ”I leave to-night.”

”Surely, surely,” said Nott, gently, ”that's wot you kalkilate to do; that's just nat'ral in a young feller. That's about what I reckon I'D hev done to her mother if anythin' like this hed ever cropped up, which it didn't. Not but what Almiry Jane had young fellers enough round her, but, 'cept ole Judge Peter, ez was lamed in the War of 1812, there ain't no similarity ez I kin see,” he added, musingly.

”I am afraid I can't see any similarity either, Mr. Nott,” said Renshaw, struggling between a dawning sense of some impending absurdity and his growing pa.s.sion for Rosey. ”For Heaven's sake speak out if you've got anything to say.”

Mr. Nott leaned forward, and placed his large hand on the young man's shoulder. ”That's it. That's what I sed to myself when I seed how things were pintin'. 'Speak out,' sez I, 'Abner! Speak out if you've got anything to say. You kin trust this yer Mr. Renshaw. He ain't the kind of man to creep into the bosom of a man's s.h.i.+p for pupposes of his own. He ain't a man that would hunt round until he discovered a poor man's treasure, and then try to rob--'”

”Stop!” said Renshaw, with a set face and darkening eyes. ”WHAT treasure? WHAT man are you speaking of?”

”Why Rosey and Mr. Ferrers,” returned Nott, simply.

Renshaw sank into his seat again. But the expression of relief which here pa.s.sed swiftly over his face gave way to one of uneasy interest as Nott went on.

”P'r'aps it's a little highfalutin talkin' of Rosey ez a treasure. But, considerin', Mr. Renshaw, ez she's the only prop'ty I've kept by me for seventeen years ez hez paid interest and increased in valooe, it ain't sayin' too much to call her so. And ez Ferrers knows this, he oughter been content with gougin' me in that horse-hair spec, without goin' for Rosey. P'r'aps yer surprised at hearing me speak o' my own flesh and blood ez if I was talkin' hoss-trade, but you and me is bus'ness men, Mr. Renshaw, and we discusses ez such. We ain't goin' to slosh round and slop over in po'try and sentiment,” continued Nott, with a tremulous voice, and a hand that slightly shook on Renshaw's shoulder.

”We ain't goin' to git up and sing, 'Thou'st larned to love another thou'st broken every vow we've parted from each other and my bozom's lonely now oh is it well to sever such hearts as ourn for ever kin I forget thee never farewell farewell farewell.' Ye never happen'd to hear Jim Baker sing that at the moosic hall on Dupont Street, Mr.

Renshaw,” continued Mr. Nott, enthusiastically, when he had recovered from that complete absence of punctuation which alone suggested verse to his intellect. ”He sorter struck water down here,” indicating his heart, ”every time.”

”But what has Miss Nott to do with M. de Ferrieres?” asked Renshaw, with a faint smile.

Mr. Nott regarded him with dumb, round, astonished eyes. ”Hezn't she told yer?”

”Certainly not.”

”And she didn't let on anythin' about him?” he continued, feebly.

”She said she'd liked to know where--” He stopped, with the reflection that he was betraying her confidences.

A dim foreboding of some new form of deceit, to which even the man before him was a consenting party, almost paralyzed Nott's faculties.

”Then she didn't tell yer that she and Ferrers was sparkin' and keepin'

kimpany together; that she and him was engaged, and was kalkilatin' to run away to furrin parts; that she cottoned to him more than to the s.h.i.+p or her father?”

”She certainly did not, and I shouldn't believe it,” said Renshaw, quickly.

Nott smiled. He was amused; he astutely recognized the usual trustfulness of love and youth. There was clearly no deceit here!

Renshaw's attentive eyes saw the smile, and his brow darkened.

”I like to hear yer say that, Mr. Renshaw,” said Nott, ”and it's no more than Rosey deserves, ez it's suthing onnat'ral and spell-like that's come over her through Ferrers. It ain't my Rosey. But it's Gospel truth, whether she's bewitched or not; whether it's them d.a.m.n fool stories she reads--and it's like ez not he's just the kind o'

snipe to write 'em hisself, and sorter advertise hisself, don't yer see--she's allus stuck up for him. They've had clandesent interviews, and when I taxed him with it he ez much ez allowed it was so, and reckoned he must leave, so ez he could run her off, you know--kinder stampede her with 'honor.' Them's his very words.”