Part 25 (2/2)
”Wonder what poor devil of a pirate is going to have his bones turned over this trip?” said the station-agent to Mr. Donovan, who, among others on the station platform, watched the drab anchor as it clanked jerkily upward to the bows, leaving a swivel and a boil on the waters which had released it so grudgingly.
”I guess it ain't goin' t' be any ol' pirate this time,” replied Mr.
Donovan, with a pleasurable squeeze of the pocket-book over his heart.
”Well, I hope he finds what he's going after,” generously. ”He is the mainstay of this old one-horse town. Say, she's a beauty, isn't she?
Why, man, that anchor alone is worth more than we make in four months.
And think of the good things to eat and drink. If I had a million, no pirates or b.u.t.terflies for mine. I'd hie me to Monte Carlo and bat the tiger all over the place.”
Mr. Donovan knew nothing definite about Monte Carlo, but he would have liked to back up against some of those New York contractors on their own grounds.
”Hi! There she goes. Good luck!” cried the station-agent, swinging his hat with gusto.
The yacht swam out gracefully. There was a freshening blow from the southwest, but it would take the yacht half an hour to reach the deep-sea swells outside. Her whistle blew cheerily and was answered by the single tug-boat moored to the railroad wharf. And after that the villagers straggled back to their various daily concerns. Even the landlord of Swan's Hotel sighed as he balanced up his books. Business would be slack for some days to come.
The voyagers were gathered about the stern-rail and a handkerchief or two fluttered in the wind. For an hour they tarried there, keeping in view the green-wooded hills and the white cottages nestling at their base. And turn by turn there were glimpses of the n.o.ble old house at the top of the hill. And some looked upon it for the last time.
”I've had a jolly time up there,” said Fitzgerald. The gulls swooped, as they crossed and recrossed the milky wake. ”Better time than I deserved.”
”Are you still worried about that adventure?” Laura demanded. ”Dismiss it from your mind and let it be as if we had known each other for many years.”
”Do you really mean that?”
”To be sure I do,” promptly. ”I have stepped to the time of convention so much that a lapse once in a while is a positive luxury. But Mrs.
Coldfield had given me a guaranty before I addressed you, so the adventure was only a make-believe one after all.”
There never was a girl quite like this one. He purloined a sidelong glance at her which embraced her wholly, from the chic gray cap on the top of her shapely head to the sensible little boots on her feet. She wore a heavy, plaid coat, with deep pockets into which her hands were snugly buried; and she stood braced against the swell and the wind which was turning out strong and cold. The rich pigment in the blood mantled her cheeks and in her eyes there was still a bit of captive suns.h.i.+ne. He knew now that what had been only a possibility was an a.s.sured fact. Never before had he cursed his father's friends, but he did so now, silently and earnestly; for their pilfering fingers and their plausible lies had robbed his father's son of a fine inheritance.
Money. Never had he desired it so keenly. A few weeks ago it had meant the wherewithal to pay his club-dues and to support a decent table when he traveled. Now it was everything; for without it he never could dare lift his eyes seriously to this lovely picture so close to him, let alone dream of winning her. He recalled Cathewe's light warning about the bones of ducal hopes. What earthly chance had he?
Unconsciously he shrugged.
”You are shrugging!” she cried, noting the expression; for, if he was secretly observing her, she was surrept.i.tiously contemplating his own advantages.
”Did I shrug?”
”You certainly did.”
”Well,” candidly, ”it was the thought of money that made me do it.”
”I detest it, too.”
”Good heavens, I didn't say I detested it! What I shrugged about was my own dreary lack of it.”
”Bachelors do not require much.”
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