Galusha the Magnificent Read online

  CHAPTER II

  And in order to make clear the truth of the statement just made, namely,that Fate had achieved something when it brought Galusha Bangs to thedoor of Martha Phipps' home that rainy night in October--in order toemphasize the truth of that statement it may be well, without waitingfurther, to explain just who Galusha Cabot Bangs was, and who and whathis family was, and how, although the Bangses were all very well intheir way, the Cabots--his mother's family--were "the banking Cabots ofBoston," and were, therefore, very great people indeed.

  "The banking Cabots" must not be confused with any other branch of theCabots, of which there are many in Boston. All Boston Cabots are "nicepeople," many are distinguished in some way or other, and all aredistinctly worth while. But "the banking Cabots" have been deep infinance from the very beginning, from the earliest of colonial times.The salary of the Reverend Cotton Mather was paid to him by a Cabot, andanother Cabot banked whatever portion of it he saved for a rainy day.In the Revolution a certain Galusha Cabot, progenitor of the line ofGalusha Cabots, assisted the struggling patriots of Beacon Hill to paytheir troops in the Continental army. During the Civil War his grandson,the Honorable Galusha Hancock Cabot, one of Boston's most famous bankersand financiers, was of great assistance to his state and nation in thesale of bonds and the floating of loans. His youngest daughter, DorothyHancock Cabot, married--well, she should, of course, have married afinancier or a banker or, at the very least, a millionaire stockbroker.But she did not, she married John Capen Bangs, a thoroughly estimableman, a scholar, author of two or three scholarly books which few readand almost nobody bought, and librarian of the Acropolis, a library thatBostonians and the book world know and revere.

  The engagement came as a shock to the majority of "banking Cabots." JohnBangs was all right, but he was not in the least "financial." He wasrespected and admired, but he was not the husband for Galusha HancockCabot's daughter. She should have married a Kidder or a Higginson orsome one high in the world of gold and securities. But she did not, shefell in love with John Bangs and she married him, and they were happytogether for a time--a time all too brief.

  In the second year of their marriage a baby boy was born. His mothernamed him, her admiring husband being quite convinced that whatever shedid was sure to be exactly the right thing. So, in order to keep up thefamily tradition and honors--"He has a perfect Cabot head. You see it,don't you, John dear"--she named him Galusha Cabot Bangs. And then, butthree years afterward, she died.

  John Capen Bangs remained in Boston until his son was nine. Then hishealth began to fail. Years of pawing and paring over old volumes amidthe dust and close air of book-lined rooms brought on a cough, a coughwhich made physicians who heard it look grave. It was before the daysof Adirondack Mountain sanitariums. They told John Bangs to go South,to Florida. He went there, leaving his son at school in Boston, butthe warm air and sunshine did not help the cough. Then they sent him toColorado, where the boy Galusha joined him. For five years he and theboy lived in Colorado. Then John Capen Bangs died.

  Dorothy Hancock Cabot had a sister, an older sister, Clarissa PeabodyCabot. Clarissa did not marry a librarian as her sister did, nor didshe marry a financier, as was expected of her. This was not her faultexactly; if the right financier had happened along and asked, it isquite probable that he would have been accepted. He did not happenalong; in fact, no one happened along until Clarissa was in her thirtiesand somewhat anxious. Then came Joshua Bute of Chicago, and when wooedshe accepted and married him. More than that, she went with him toChicago, where stood the great establishment which turned out "Bute'sBanner Brand Butterine" and "Bute's Banner Brand Leaf Lard" and "Bute'sBanner Brand Back-Home Sausage" and "Bute's Banner Brand Better BakedBeans." Also there was a magnificent mansion on the Avenue.

  Aunt Clarissa had family and culture and a Boston manner. Uncle Joshuahad a kind heart, a hemispherical waistcoat and a tremendous deal ofmoney. Later on the kind heart stopped beating and Aunt Clarissa wasleft with the money, the mansion and--but of course the "manner" hadbeen all her own all the time.

  So when John Bangs died, Aunt Clarissa Bute sent for the son, talkedwith the latter, and liked him. She wrote to her relative, AugustusAdams Cabot, of Cabot, Bancroft and Cabot, in Boston, who, althoughstill a young man, was already known as a financier, and looked out forher various investments, saying that she found young Galusha "a niceboy, though rather odd, like his father," and that she thought of takinghis rearing and education into her own hands. "I have no children ofmy own, Augustus. What do you think of the idea?" Augustus thought it agood one; at least he wrote that he did. So Aunt Clarissa took charge ofGalusha Bangs.

  The boy was fourteen then, a dreamy, shy youngster, who wore spectaclesand preferred curling up in a corner with a book to playing baseball. Itwas early spring when he came to live with Aunt Clarissa and before thesummer began he had already astonished his relative more than once.On one occasion a visitor, admiring the Bute library, asked how manyvolumes it contained. Aunt Clarissa replied that she did not know. "Ihave added from time to time such books as I desired and have discardedothers. I really have no idea how many there are." Then Galusha, fromthe recess by the window, looked up over the top of the huge firstvolume of Ancient Nineveh and Its Remains which he was reading andobserved: "There were five thousand six hundred and seventeen yesterday,Auntie."

  Aunt Clarissa started so violently that her eyeglasses fell from heraquiline nose to the end of their chain.

  "Good heavens, child! I didn't know you were there. What did you say?"

  "I said there were five thousand six hundred and seventeen books on theshelves here yesterday."

  "How do you know?"

  "I counted them."

  "COUNTED them? Mercy! What for?"

  Galusha's spectacles gleamed. "For fun," he said.

  On another occasion his aunt found him still poring over Ancient Ninevehand Its Remains; it was the fifth volume now, however.

  "Do you LIKE to read that?" she asked.

  "Yes, Auntie. I've read four already and, counting this one, there arefive more to read."

  Now Aunt Clarissa had never read Ancient Nineveh herself. Her booksellerhad assured her that it was a very remarkable set, quite rare andcomplete. "We seldom pick one up nowadays, Mrs. Bute. You should buyit." So Aunt Clarissa bought it, but she had never thought of readingit.

  She looked down over her nephew's shoulder at the broad page with itsdiagram of an ancient temple and its drawings of human-headed bulls inbas-relief.

  "Why do you find it so interesting?" she asked.

  Galusha looked up at her. His eyes were alight with excitement.

  "They dig those things up over there," he said, pointing to one ofthe bulls. "It's all sand and rocks--and everything, but they send anexpedition and the people in it figure out where the city or the templeor whatever it is ought to be, and then they dig and--and find it. Andyou can't tell WHAT you'll find, exactly. And sometimes you don't findmuch of anything."

  "After all the digging and work?"

  "Yes, but that's where the fun comes in. Then you figure all overagain and keep on trying and trying. And when you DO find 'em there aresculptures like this--oh, yards and yards of 'em--and all sort of queer,funny old inscriptions to be studied out. Gee, it must be great! Don'tyou think so, Auntie?"

  Aunt Clarissa's reply was noncommittal. That evening she wrote a letterto Augustus Cabot in Boston. "He is a good boy," she wrote, referring toGalusha, "but queer--oh, dreadfully queer. It's his father's queernesscropping out, of course, but it shouldn't be permitted to develop. Ihave set my heart on his becoming a financier like the other Galushas inour line. Of course he will always be a Bangs--more's the pity--buthis middle name is Cabot and his first IS Galusha. I think he had bestcontinue his schooling in or near Boston where you can influencehim, Augustus. I wish him well grounded in mathematics and--oh, youunderstand, the financial branches. Select a school, the right sort ofschool, for him, to oblige me, will you, Gus?"


  Augustus Cabot chose a school, a select, aristocratic and expensiveschool near the "Hub of the Universe." Thither, in the fall, wentGalusha and there he remained until he was eighteen, when he enteredHarvard. At college, as at school, he plugged away at his studies,and he managed to win sufficiently high marks in mathematics. But hismathematical genius was of a queer twist. In the practical dollars andcents sort of figuring he was almost worthless. Money did not interesthim at all. What interested him was to estimate how many bricks therewere in "Mem" and how many more there might have been if it had beenbuilt a story higher.

  "This room," he said to a classmate, referring to his study in oldThayer, "was built in ----" naming the year. "Now allowing that adifferent fellow lived in it each year, which is fair enough becausethey almost always change, that means that at least so many fellows,"giving the number, "have occupied this room since the beginning. Thatis, provided there was but one fellow living in the room at a time. Nowwe know that, for part of the time, this was a double room, so--"

  "Oh, for the love of Mike, Loosh!" exclaimed the classmate, "cut it out.What do you waste your time doing crazy stunts like that for?"

  "But it's fun. Say, if they had all cut their initials around on thedoor frames and the--ah--mop boards it would be great stuff to puzzle'em out and make a list of 'em, wouldn't it? I wish they had."

  "Well, I don't. It would make the old rat hole look like blazes and itis bad enough as it is. Come on down and watch the practice."

  One of young Bangs' peculiar enjoyments, developed during his senioryear, was to visit every old cemetery in or about the city and examineand copy the ancient epitaphs and inscriptions. Pleasant springafternoons, when normal-minded Harvard men were busy with baseball ortrack or tennis, or the hundred and one activities which help to keepyoung America employed in a great university, Galusha might havebeen, and was, seen hopping about some grass-grown graveyard, likea bespectacled ghoul, making tracings of winged death's-heads orlugubrious tombstone poetry. When they guyed him he merely grinned,blushed, and was silent. To the few--the very few--in whom he confidedhe made explanations which were as curious as their cause.

  "It's great fun," he declared. "It keeps you guessing, that's it. Now,for instance, here's one of those skull jiggers with wings on it. See?I traced this over at Copp's Hill last spring, a year ago. But there aredozens of 'em all about, in all the old graveyards. Nobody ever saw askull with wings; it's a--a--ah--convention, of course. But who made thefirst one? And why did it become a convention? And--and--why do someof 'em have wings like this, and some of 'em crossbones like a pirate'sflag, and some of 'em no wings or bones, and why--"

  "Oh, good Lord! I don't know. Forget it. You make a noise like a hearse,Loosh."

  "Of course you don't know. _I_ don't know. I don't suppose anybodyknows, exactly. But isn't it great fun to study 'em up, and see thedifferent kinds, and think about the old chaps who carved 'em, andwonder about 'em and--"

  "No, I'll be banged if it is! It's crazy nonsense. You've got pigeons inyour loft, Loosh. Come on out and give the birds an airing."

  This was the general opinion of the class of 19--, that old "Loosh hadpigeons in his loft." However, it was agreed that they were harmlessfowl and that Galusha himself was a good old scout, in spite of hisaviary.

  He graduated with high honors in the mathematical branches and inlanguages. Then the no less firm because feminine hand of Aunt Clarissagrasped him, so to speak, by the collar and guided him to the portalsof the banking house of Cabot, Bancroft and Cabot, where "Cousin Gussie"took him in charge with the instructions to make a financier of him.

  "Cousin Gussie," junior member of the firm, then in his early thirties,thrust his hands into the pockets of his smart tweed trousers, tiltedfrom heels to toes of his stylish and very shiny shoes and whistledbeneath his trim mustache. He had met Galusha often before, but thatfact did not make him more optimistic, rather the contrary.

  "So you want to be a banker, do you, Loosh?" he asked.

  Galusha regarded him sadly through the spectacles.

  "Auntie wants me to be one," he said.

  The experiment lasted a trifle over six months. At the end of that timethe junior partner of Cabot, Bancroft and Cabot had another interviewwith his firm's most recent addition to its list of employees.

  "You're simply no good at the job, that's the plain truth," said thebanker, with the candor of exasperation. "You've cost us a thousanddollars more than your salary already by mistakes and forgetfulnessand all the rest of it. You'll never make your salt at this game in amillion years. Don't you know it, yourself?"

  Galusha nodded.

  "Yes," he said, simply.

  "Eh? Oh, you do! Well, that's something."

  "I knew it when I came here."

  "Knew you would be no good at the job?"

  "At this job, yes."

  "Then for heaven's sake why did you take it?"

  "I told you. Aunt Clarissa wanted me to."

  "Well, you can't stay here, that's all. I'm sorry."

  "So am I, for Auntie's sake and yours. I realize I have made you a lotof--ah--trouble."

  "Oh, that's all right, that's all right. Hang it all, I feel like abeast to chuck you out this way, but I have partners, you know. Whatwill you do now?"

  "I don't know."

  Cousin Gussie reflected. "I think perhaps you'd better go back to AuntClarissa," he said. "Possibly she will tell you what to do. Don't youthink she will?"

  "Yes."

  "Humph! You seem to be mighty sure of it. How do you know she will?"

  For the first time a gleam, a very slight and almost pathetic gleam, ofhumor shone behind Galusha's spectacles.

  "Because she always does," he said. And thus ended his connection withthe banking profession.

  Aunt Clarissa was disgusted and disappointed, of course. She expressedher feelings without reservation. However, she laid most of the blameupon heredity.

  "You got it from that impractical librarian," she declared. "Why didDorothy marry him? She might have known what the result would be."

  Galusha was more downcast even than his relative.

  "I'm awfully sorry, Aunt Clarissa," he said. "I realize I am a dreadfuldisappointment to you. I tried, I honestly did, but--"

  And here he coughed, coughed lengthily and in a manner which caused hisaunt to look alarmed and anxious. She had heard John Capen Bangs coughlike that. That very afternoon the Bute family physician saw, questionedand examined Galusha. The following day an eminent specialist did thesame things. And both doctors looked gravely at each other and at theirpatient.

  Within a week Galusha was on his way to an Arizona ranch, a place wherehe was to find sunshine and dry climate. He was to be out of doors asmuch as possible, he was to ride and walk much, he was to do all sortsof distasteful things, but he promised faithfully to do them, for hisaunt's sake. As a matter of fact, he took little interest in the matterfor his own. His was a sensitive spirit, although a quiet, shy and"queer" one, and to find that he was "no good" at any particularemployment, even though he had felt fairly certain of that factbeforehand, hurt more than he acknowledged to others. Galusha went toArizona because his aunt, to whose kindness and generosity he owed somuch, wished him to do so. For himself he did not care where he went orwhat became of him.

  But his feelings changed a few months later, when health began to returnand the cough to diminish in frequency and violence. And then came tothe ranch where he lodged and boarded an expedition from an easternmuseum. It was an expedition sent to explore the near-by canyon fortrace of the ancient "cliff dwellers," to find and, if need be, excavatethe villages of this strange people and to do research work among them.The expedition was in charge of an eminent scientist. Galusha met andtalked with the scientist and liked him at once, a liking which was togrow into adoration as the acquaintanceship between the two warmed intofriendship. The young man was invited to accompany the expedition uponone of its exploring trips. He accepted and, although he did n
ot thenrealize it, upon that trip he discovered, not only an ancient cliffvillage, but the life work of Galusha Cabot Bangs.

  For Galusha was wild with enthusiasm. Scrambling amid the rocks,wading or tumbling into the frigid waters of mountain streams, sleepinganywhere or not sleeping, all these hardships were of no consequencewhatever compared with the thrill which came with the first glimpse of,high up under the bulging brow of an overhanging cliff, a rude wall anda cluster of half ruined dwellings sticking to the side of the precipiceas barn swallows' nests are plastered beneath eaves. Then the climband the glorious burrowing into the homes of these long dead folk, thehallelujahs when a bit of broken pottery was found, and the delightfullyarduous labor of painstakingly uncovering and cleaning a bit of rudecarving. The average man would have tired of it in two days, a week ofit would have bored him to distraction. But the longer it lasted andthe harder the labor, the brighter Galusha's eyes sparkled behind hisspectacles. Years before, when his aunt had asked him concerning hisinterest in the books about ancient Nineveh, he had described to her thework of the explorers and had cried: "Gee, it must be great!" Well,now he was, in a very humble way, helping to do something of the sorthimself, and--gee, it WAS great!

  Such enthusiasm as his and such marked aptitude, amounting almost togenius, could not help but make an impression. The distinguished savantat the head of the expedition returned the young man's liking. Beforereturning East, he said:

  "Bangs, next fall I am planning an expedition to Ecuador. I'd like tohave you go with me. Oh, this isn't offered merely for your sake, it isquite as much for mine. You're worth at least three of the average youngfellows who have trained for this sort of thing. There will be a salaryfor you, of course, but it won't be large. On the other hand, there willbe no personal expense and some experience. Will you go?"

  Would he GO? Why--

  "Yes, I know. But there is your health to be considered. I can't affordto have a sick man along. You stay here for the present and put in yourtime getting absolutely fit."

  "But--but I AM fit."

  "Um--yes; well, then, get fitter."

  Galusha went to Ecuador. Aunt Clarissa protested, scolded, declared himinsane--and capitulated only when she found that he was going anyhow. Hereturned from the expedition higher than ever in favor with his chief.He was offered a position in the archeological department of the museum.He accepted first and then told Aunt Clarissa.

  That was the real beginning. After that the years rolled placidly along.He went to Egypt, under his beloved chief, and there found exactly whathe had dreamed. The desert, the pyramids, the sculptures, the ancientwritings, the buried tombs and temples--all those Galusha saw and took,figuratively speaking, for his own. On his return he settled down tothe study of Egyptology, its writings, its history, its every detail. Hemade another trip to the beloved land and distinguished himself and hismuseum by his discoveries. His chief died and Galusha was offered thepost left vacant. He accepted. Later--some years later--he was called tothe National Institute at Washington.

  When he was thirty-seven his Aunt Clarissa died. She left all herproperty to her nephew. But she left it in trust, in trust with CousinGussie. There was a letter to the latter in the envelope with the will."He is to have only the income, the income, understand--until he isforty-five," Aunt Clarissa had written. "Heaven knows, I am afraideven THAT is too young for a child such as he is in everything exceptpyramids."

  Cousin Gussie, now the dignified and highly respected senior partnerof Cabot, Bancroft and Cabot, took charge of the Bute--now theBangs--property. There was not as much of it as most people hadsupposed; since Uncle Joshua passed on certain investments had gonewrong, but there was income enough to furnish any mortal of ordinarytastes with the means of gratifying them and still have a substantialresidue left. Galusha understood this, in a vague sort of way, but hedid not care. Outside of his beloved profession he had no tastes andno desires. Life for him was, as Cousin Gussie unfeelingly put it, "onedamned mummy after the other." In fact, after the arrival of the firstinstallment of income, he traveled posthaste to the office of his Bostonrelative and entered a protest.

  "You--you mustn't send any more, really you mustn't," he declared,anxiously. "I don't know what to do with it."

  "DO with it? Do with the money, you mean?"

  "Yes--yes, that's it."

  "But don't you need it to live on?"

  "Oh, dear me, no!"

  "What DO you live on?"

  "Why, my salary."

  "How much is your salary, if you don't mind telling us?"

  Galusha did not in the least mind. The figure he named seemed a smallone to his banking relative, used to big sums.

  "Humph!" grunted the latter; "well, that isn't so tremendous. They don'toverpay you mummy-dusters, do they? And you really don't want me to sendyou any more?"

  "No, not if you're sure you don't mind."

  "Oh, I don't mind. Then you want me to keep it and reinvest it for you;is that it?"

  "I--I think so. Yes, reinvest it or--ah--something."

  "But you may need some of it occasionally. If you do you will notify me,of course."

  "Oh, yes; yes, indeed. Thank you very much. It's quite a weight off mymind, really it is."

  Cabot could not help laughing. Then a thought struck him.

  "Did you bring back the check I sent you?" he asked. Galusha lookedsomewhat confused.

  "Why, why, no, I didn't," he admitted. "I had intended to, but yousee--Dear me, dear me, I hope you will feel that I did right. You see,our paleontological department had been hoping to fit out an expeditionto the Wyoming fossil fields, but it was lamentably short of funds,appropriations--ah--and so on. Hambridge and I were talking of thematter. A very adequate man indeed, Hambridge. Possibly you've read someof his writings. He wrote Lesser Reptilian Life in the Jurassio. Are youacquainted with that?"

  Cousin Gussie shook his head. "Never have been introduced," he observed,with a chuckle. Galusha noted the chuckle and smiled.

  "I imagine not," he observed. "I fear it isn't what is calleda--ah--best seller. Well--ah--Dear me, where was I? Oh, yes! Hambridge,poor fellow, was very much upset at the prospect of abandoning hisexpedition and I, knowing from experience what such a disappointmentmeans, sympathized with him. Your check was at that moment lying on mydesk. So--so--It was rather on the spur of the moment, I confess--I--"

  The banker interrupted.

  "Are you trying to tell me," he demanded, "that you handed that checkover to that other--that other--"

  He seemed rather at a loss for the word.

  Galusha nodded.

  "To finance Hambridge's expedition? Yes," he said.

  "ALL of it?"

  "Yes--ah--yes."

  "Well, by George!"

  "Perhaps it was impulsive on my part. But, you see, Hambridge DID needthe money. And of course I didn't. The only thing that troubles me isthe fact that, after all, it was money Aunt Clarissa left to me and Ishould prefer to do what she would have liked with it. I fear she mightnot have liked this."

  Cabot nodded, grimly. He had known Aunt Clarissa very, very well.

  "You bet she wouldn't," he declared.

  "Yes. So don't send me any more, will you? Ah--not unless I ask for it."

  "No, I won't." Then he added, "And not then unless I know WHY you askfor it, you can bet on that."

  Galusha was as grateful as if he had been granted a great favor. As theywalked through the outer office together he endeavored to express hisfeelings.

  "Thank you, thank you very much, Cousin Gussie," he said, earnestly. Hisrelative glanced about at the desks where rows of overjoyed clerks weretrying to suppress delighted grins and pretend not to have heard.

  "You're welcome, Loosh," he said, as they parted at the door, "but don'tyou ever dare call me 'Cousin Gussie' again in public as long as youlive."

  Galusha Bangs returned to his beloved work at the National Instituteand his income was reinvested for him by the senior partner of Cabot,Bancroft an
d Cabot. Occasionally Galusha requested that a portion ofit be sent him, usually for donation to this department or that or toassist in fitting out an expedition of his own, but, generally speaking,he was quite content with his modest salary. He unwrapped his mummiesand deciphered his moldering papyri, living far more in ancient Egyptthan in modern Washington. The Great War and its demands upon the youthof the world left the Institute short-handed and he labored harder thanever, doing the work of two assistants as well as his own. It was theonly thing he could do for his country, the only thing that countrywould permit him to do, but he tried to do that well. Then theHindenburg line was broken, the armistice was signed and the civilizedworld rejoiced.

  But Galusha Bangs did not rejoice, for his health had broken, like theenemy's resistance, and the doctors told him that he was to go away atonce.

  "You must leave all this," commanded the doctor; "forget it. You mustget away, get out of doors and stay out."

  For a moment Galusha was downcast. Then he brightened.

  "There is an expedition from the New York museum about to start forSyria," he said. "I am quite sure I would be permitted to accompany it.I'll write at once and--"

  "Here, here! Wait! You'll do nothing of the sort. I said forget thatsort of thing. You can't go wandering off to dig in the desert; youmight as well stay in this place and dig here. Get away from it all. Gowhere there are people."

  "But, Doctor Raymond, there are people in Syria, a great many of them,and most interesting people. I have--"

  "No. You are to forget Syria and Egypt and your work altogether. Keepout of doors, meet people, exercise--play golf, perhaps. The maintrouble with you just now is nerve weariness and lack of strength. Eat,sleep, rest, build up. Eat regular meals at regular times. Go to bed ata regular hour. I would suggest your going to some resort, either in themountains or at the seashore. Enjoy yourself."

  "But, doctor, I DON'T enjoy myself at such places. I am quite wretched.Really I am."

  "Look here, you must do precisely as I tell you. Your lungs are quiteall right at present, but, as you know, they have a tendency to becomeall wrong with very little provocation. I tell you to go away at once,at once. And STAY away, for a year at least. If you don't, my friend,you are going to die. Is that plain?"

  It was plain, certainly. Galusha took off his spectacles and rubbedthem, absently.

  "Dear me!... Dear me!--ah--Oh, dear!" he observed.

  A resort? Galusha knew precious little about resorts; they were placeshe had hitherto tried to avoid. He asked his stenographer to name aresort where one would be likely to meet--ah--a good many people andfind--ah--air and--ah--that sort of thing. The stenographer suggestedAtlantic City. She had no idea why he asked the question.

  Galusha went to Atlantic City. Atlantic City in August! Two days ofcrowds and noise were sufficient. A crumpled, perspiring wreck, heboarded the train bound for the mountains. The White Mountains were hisdestination. He had never visited them, but he knew them by reputation.

  The White Mountains were not so bad. The crowds at the hotels were notpleasant, but one could get away into the woods and walk, and there wasan occasional old cemetery to be visited. But as the fall season drew onthe crowds grew greater. People persisted in talking to Galusha whenhe did not care to be talked to. They asked questions. And one had todress--or most DID dress--for dinner. He tired of the mountains; therewere too many people there, they made him feel "queerer" than ever.

  On his way from Atlantic City to the mountains he happened upon thediscarded magazine with the advertisement of the Restabit Inn in it.Just why he had torn out that "ad" and kept it he was himself, perhaps,not quite sure. The "rest" and "sea air" and "pleasant people" wereexactly what the doctor had prescribed for him, but that was not thewhole reason for the advertisement's retention. An association of ideaswas the real reason. Just before he found the magazine he had receivedMrs. Hall's postcard with its renewal of the invitation to visit theHall cottage at Wellmouth. And the Restabit Inn was at East Wellmouth.

  His determination to accept the Hall invitation and make the visit wasas sudden as it was belated. The postcard came in August, but it was notuntil October that Galusha made up his mind. His decision was brought toa focus by the help of Mrs. Worth Buckley. Mrs. Buckley's help hadnot been solicited, but was volunteered, and, as a matter of fact, itseffect was the reverse of that which the lady intended. Nevertheless,had it not been for Mrs. Buckley it is doubtful if Galusha would havestarted for Wellmouth.

  She came upon him first one brilliant afternoon when he was sitting upona rock, resting his weary legs--they wearied so easily nowadays--andlooking off at the mountain-side ablaze with autumn coloring. Shewas large and commanding, and she spoke with a manner, a very decidedmanner. She asked him if--he would pardon her for asking, wouldn'the?--but had she, by any chance, the honor of addressing Doctor Bangs,the Egyptologist. Oh, really? How very wonderful! She was quite certainthat it was he. She had heard him deliver a series of lectures--oh,the most WONDERFUL things, they were, really--at the museum someyears before. She had been introduced to him at that time, but he hadforgotten her, of course. Quite natural that he should. "You meet somany people, Doctor Bangs--or should I say 'Professor'?"

  He hoped she would say neither. He had an odd prejudice of his ownagainst titles, and to be called "Mister" Bangs was the short road tohis favor. He tried to tell this woman so, but it was of no use. Ina little while he found it quite as useless to attempt telling heranything. The simplest way, apparently, was silently and patiently toendure while she talked--and talked--and talked.

  Memories of her monologues, if they could have been taken in shorthandfrom Galusha's mind, would have been merely a succession of "I" and"I" and "I" and "Oh, do you really think so, Doctor Bangs?" and "Oh,Professor!" and "wonderful" and "amazing" and "quite thrilling" and muchmore of the same.

  She followed him when he went to walk; that is, apparently she did, forhe was continually encountering her. She came and sat next him on thehotel veranda. She bowed and smiled to him when she swept into thedining room at meal times. Worst of all, she told others, many others,who he was, and he was aware of being stared at, a knowledge which madehim acutely self-conscious and correspondingly miserable. There was aMr. Worth Buckley trotting in her wake, but he was mild and inoffensive.His wife, however--Galusha exclaimed, "Oh, dear me!" inwardly or aloudwhenever he thought of her.

  And she WOULD talk of Egypt. She and her husband had visited Cairo onceupon a time, so she felt herself as familiar with the whole Nile basinas with the goldfish tank in the hotel lounge. To Galusha Egypt was anenchanted land, a sort of paradise to which fortunate explorers mighteventually be permitted to go if they were very, very good. To havethis sacrilegious female patting the Sphinx on the head was more than hecould stand.

  So he determined to stand it no longer; he ran away. One evening Mrs.Buckley informed him that she and a little group--"a really selectgroup, Professor Bangs"--of the hotel inmates were to picnic somewhereor other the following day. "And you are to come with us, Doctor,and tell us about those wonderful temples you and I were discussingyesterday. I have told the others something of what you told me and theyare quite WILD to hear you."

  Galusha was quite wild also. He went to his room and, pawing amid thechaos of his bureau drawer for a clean collar, chanced upon the postcardfrom Mrs. Hall. The postcard reminded him of the advertisement of theRestabit Inn, which was in his pocketbook. Then the idea came to him.He would go to the Hall cottage and make a visit of a day or two. If heliked the Cape and Wellmouth he would take lodgings at the RestabitInn and stay as long as he wished. The suspicion that the inn mightbe closed did not occur to him. The season was at its height in themountains, and Atlantic City, so they had told him there, ran at fullblast all the year. So much he knew, and the rest he did not thinkabout.

  He spent most of that night packing his trunk and his suitcase. He leftword for the former to be sent to him by express and the latter he tookwith him. He tiptoed downstair
s, ate a hasty breakfast, and took theearliest train for Boston, The following afternoon he started upon hisCape Cod pilgrimage, a pilgrimage which was to end in a fainting fitupon the sofa in Miss Martha Phipps' sitting room.