The Woman-Haters Read online

  CHAPTER VI

  THE PICNIC

  Seth was true to his promise concerning Job. The next afternoon thatremarkable canine was decoyed, by the usual bone, into the box in whichhe had arrived. Being in, the cover was securely renailed above him.Brown and the light-keeper lifted the box into the back part of the"open wagon," and Atkins drove triumphantly away, the pup's agonizedprotests against the journey serving as spurs to urge Joshua fasteralong the road to the village. When, about six o'clock, Seth reenteredthe yard, he was grinning broadly.

  "Well," inquired Brown, "did he take him back willingly?"

  "Who? Henry G.? I don't know about the willin' part, but he'll take himback. I attended to that."

  "What did he say? Did he think you ungrateful for refusing to accept hispresent?"

  Atkins laughed aloud. "He didn't say nothin'," he declared. "He didn'tknow it when I left Eastboro. I wa'n't such a fool as to cart thatcritter to the store, where all the gang 'round the store could hollerand make fun. Not much! I drove way round the other way, up the backroad, and unloaded him at Henry's house. I cal'lated to leave him withAunt Olive--that's Henry's sister, keepin' house for him--but she'd goneout to sewin' circle, and there wa'n't nobody to home. The side door wasunlocked, so I lugged that box into the settin' room and left it there.Pretty nigh broke my back; and that everlastin' Job hollered so Ithought the whole town would hear him and come runnin' to stop themurderin' that they'd cal'late was bein' done. But there ain't no nighneighbors, and those that are nighest ain't on speakin' terms withHenry; ruther have him murdered than not, I shouldn't wonder. So I leftJob in his box in the settin' room and cleared out."

  The substitute assistant smiled delightedly.

  "Good enough!" he exclaimed. "What a pleasant surprise for friend Henryor his housekeeper."

  "Ho, ho! ain't it! I rather guess 'twill be Henry himself that'ssurprised fust. Aunt Olive never leaves sewin' circle till the last bitof supper's eat up--she's got some of her brother's stinginess in hermake-up--so I cal'late Henry'll get home afore she does. I shouldn'twonder," with an exuberant chuckle, "if that settin' room' was somestirred up when he sees it. The pup had loosened the box cover afore Ileft. Ho, ho!"

  "But won't he send the dog back here again?"

  "No, he won't. I left a note for him on the table. There wasconsider'ble ginger in every line of it. No, Job won't be sent here,no matter what becomes of him. And if anything SHOULD be broke in thatsettin' room--well, there was SOME damage done to our kitchen. No, Iguess Henry G. and me are square. He won't make any fuss; he wants tokeep our trade, you see."

  It was a true prophecy. The storekeeper made no trouble, and Jobremained at Eastboro until a foray on a neighbor's chickens resultedin his removal from this vale of tears. Neither the lightkeeper norhis helper ever saw him again, and when Seth next visited the storeand solicitously inquired concerning the pup's health, Henry G. merelylooked foolish and changed the subject.

  But the dog's short sojourn at the Twin-Lights had served to solve onemystery, that of Atkins's daily excursions to Pounddug Slough. Hewent there to work on the old schooner, the Daisy M. Seth made no moredisclosures concerning his past life--that remained a secret--but he didsuggest his helper's going to inspect the schooner. "Just walk acrossand look her over," he said. "I'd like to know what you think of her.See if I ain't makin' a pretty good job out of nothin'. FOR nothin', ofcourse," he added, gloomily; "but it keeps me from thinkin' too much. Goand see her, that's a good feller."

  So the young man did go. He climbed aboard the stranded craft--a forlornpicture she made, lying on her side in the mud--and was surprised tofind how much had been manufactured "out of nothing." Her seams, thosewhich the sun had opened, were caulked neatly; her deck was clean andwhite; she was partially rigged, with new and old canvas and ropes; andto his landsman's eyes she looked almost fit for sea. But when he saidas much to Seth, the latter laughed scornfully.

  "Fit for nothin'," scoffed the lightkeeper. "I could make her fit,maybe, if I wanted to spend money enough, but I don't. I can't get ather starboard side, that's down in the mud, and I cal'late she'd leaklike a skimmer. She's only got a fores'l and a jib, and the jib's onlya little one that used to belong to a thirty-foot sloop. Her anchor'sgone, and I wouldn't trust her main topmast to carry anything bigger'n ahandkerchief, nor that in a breeze no more powerful than a canary bird'sbreath. And, as I told you, it would take a tide like a flood to floather. No, she's no good, and never will be; but," with a sigh, "I get alittle fun fussin' over her."

  "Er--by the way," he added, a little later, "of course you won't mentionto nobody what I told you about--about my bein' a fishin' skipperonce. Not that anybody ever comes here for you to mention it to, but Iwouldn't want . . . You see, nobody in Eastboro or anywheres on the Capeknows where I come from, and so . . . Oh, all right, all right. I knowyou ain't the kind to talk. Mind our own business, that's the motto youand me cruise under, hey?"

  Yet, although the conversation in the substitute assistant's room wasnot again referred to by either, it had the effect of making the oddlyassorted pair a bit closer in their companionship. The mutual trustwas strengthened by the lightkeeper's half confidence and Brown'ssympathetic reception of it. Each was lonely, each had moments whenhe felt he must express his hidden feelings to some one, and, thoughneither recognized the fact, it was certain that the time was comingwhen all mysteries would be mysteries no longer. And one day occurred aseries of ridiculous happenings which, bidding fair at first to end ina quarrel the relationship between the two, instead revealed in both akindred trait that removed the last barrier.

  At a little before ten on this particular morning, Brown, busy inthe kitchen, heard vigorous language outside. It was Atkins who wasspeaking, and the assistant wondered who on earth he could be talkingto. A glance around the doorpost showed that he was, apparently, talkingto himself--at least, there was no other human being to be seen. He heldin his hand a battered pair of marine glasses and occasionally he peeredthrough them. Each time he did so his soliloquy became more animated andprofane.

  "What's the matter?" demanded Brown, emerging from the house.

  "Matter?" repeated Seth. "Matter enough! Here! take a squint throughthem glasses and tell me who's in that buggy comin' yonder?"

  The buggy, a black dot far down the sandy road leading from the village,was rocking and dipping over the dunes. The assistant took the glasses,adjusted them, and looked as directed.

  "Why!" he said slowly, "there are three people in that buggy. Aman--and--"

  "And two women; that's what I thought. Dum idiots comin' over to picnicand spend the day, sure's taxes. And they'll want to be showed round thelights and everywheres, and they'll ask more'n forty million questions.Consarn the luck!"

  Brown looked troubled. He had no desire to meet strangers.

  "How do you know they're coming here?" he asked. The answer wasconclusive.

  "Because," snarled Seth, "as I should think you'd know by this time,there ain't no other place round here they COULD come to."

  A moment later, he added, "Well, you'll have to show 'em round."

  "I will?"

  "Sartin. That's part of the assistant keeper's job."

  He chuckled as he said it. That chuckle grated on the young man'snerves.

  "I'm not the assistant," he declared cheerfully.

  "You ain't? What are you then?"

  "Oh, just a helper. I don't get any wages. You've told me yourself, overand over, that I have no regular standing here. And, according tothe government rules, those you've got posted in the kitchen, thelightkeeper is obliged to show visitors about. I wouldn't break therules for the world. Good morning. Think I'll go down to the beach."

  He stalked away whistling. Atkins, his face flaming, roared after him aprofane opinion concerning his actions. Then he went into the kitchen,slamming the door with a bang.

  Some twenty minutes later the helper heard his name shouted from the topof the bluff.

  "Mr. Brown! I s
ay! Ahoy there, Mr. Brown! Come up here a minute, won'tye?"

  Brown clambered up the path. A little man, with grey throat whiskers,and wearing an antiquated straw hat, the edge of the brim trimmed withblack braid, was standing waiting for him.

  "Sorry to trouble you, Mr. Brown," stammered the little man, "but you beMr. Brown, ain't you?"

  "I am. Yes."

  "Well, I cal'lated you was. My name's Stover, Abijah Stover. I live overto Trumet. Me and my wife drove over for a sort of picnic like. We'vegot her cousin, Mrs. Sophia Hains, along. Sophi's a widow from Boston,and she ain't never seen a lighthouse afore. I know Seth Atkinsslightly, and I was cal'latin' he'd show us around, but bein' as he's sosick--"

  "Sick? Is Mr. Atkins sick?"

  "Why, yes. Didn't you know it? He's in the bedroom there groanin'somethin' terrible. He told me not to say nothin' to the women folks,but to hail you, and you'd look out for us. Didn't you know he was laidup? Why, he--"

  Brown did not wait to hear more. He strode to the house, with Mr. Stoverat his heels. On his way he caught a glimpse of the buggy, the horsedozing between the shafts. On the seat of the buggy were two women, oneplump and round-faced, the other thin and gaunt.

  Mr. Stover panted behind him.

  "Say, Mr. Brown," he whispered, as they entered the kitchen; "don't tellmy wife nor Sophi about Seth's bein' sick. Better not say a word to themabout it."

  The tone in which this was spoken made the substitute assistant curious.

  "Why not?" he asked.

  "'Cause--well, 'cause Hannah's hobby is sick folks, as you might say. Ifthere's a cat in the neighborhood that's ailin' she's always dosin' ofit up and fixin' medicine for it, and the like of that. And Sophi's oneof them 'New Thoughters' and don't believe anybody's got any right to besick. The two of 'em ain't done nothin' but argue and row over diseasesand imagination and medicines ever since Sophi got here. If they knewSeth was laid up, I honestly believe they'd drop picnic and everythin'and start fightin' over whether he was really sick or just thought hewas. And I sort of figgered on havin' a quiet day off."

  Brown found the lightkeeper stretched on the bed in his room. He wasdressed, with the exception of coat and boots, and when the young manentered he groaned feebly.

  "What's the matter?" demanded the alarmed helper.

  "Oh, my!" groaned Seth. "Oh, my!"

  "Are you in pain? What is it? Shall I 'phone for the doctor?"

  "No, no. No use gettin' the doctor. I'll be all right by and by. It'sone of my attacks. I have 'em every once in a while. Just let me alone,and let me lay here without bein' disturbed; then I'll get better, Iguess."

  "But it's so sudden!"

  "I know. They always come on that way. Now run along, like a goodfeller, and leave me to my suff'rin's. O-oh, dear!"

  Much troubled, Brown turned to the door. As he was going out he happenedto look back. The dresser stood against the wall beyond the bed, andin its mirror he caught a glimpse of the face of the sick man. On thatface, which should have been distorted with agony, was a broad grin.

  Brown found the little Stover man waiting for him in the kitchen.

  "Be you ready?" he asked.

  "Ready?" repeated Brown, absently. "Ready for what?"

  "Why, to show us round the lights. Sophi, she ain't never seen oneafore. Atkins said that, bein' as he wasn't able to leave his bed, you'dshow us around."

  "He did, hey?"

  "Yes. He said you'd be glad to."

  "Hum!" Mr. Brown's tone was that of one upon whom, out of darkness, alight has suddenly burst. "I see," he mused, thoughtfully. "Yes, yes. Isee."

  For a minute he stood still, evidently pondering. Then, with a twinklein his eye, he strode out of the house and walked briskly across to thebuggy.

  "Good morning, ladies," he said, removing the new cap which Seth hadrecently purchased for him in Eastboro. "Mr. Stover tells me you wish tobe shown the lights."

  The plump woman answered. "Yes," she said, briskly, "we do. Are you anew keeper? Where's Mr. Atkins?"

  "Mr. Atkins, I regret to say," began Brown, "is ill. He--"

  Stover, standing at his elbow, interrupted nervously.

  "Mr. Brown here'll show us around," he said quickly. "Seth said hewould."

  "I shall be happy," concurred that young gentleman. "You must excuse meif I seem rather worried. Mr. Atkins, my chief--I believe you know him,Mrs. Stover--has been taken suddenly ill, and is, apparently, sufferingmuch pain. The attack was very sudden, and I--"

  "Sick?" The plump woman seemed actually to prick up her ears, like asleepy cat at the sound of the dinner bell. "Is Seth sick? And you allalone with him here? Can't I do anything to help?"

  "All he wants is to be left alone," put in her husband anxiously. "Hesaid so himself."

  "Do you know what's the matter? Have you got any medicine for him?" Mrs.Stover was already climbing out of the buggy.

  "No," replied Brown. "I haven't. That is, I haven't given him any yet."

  The slim woman, Mrs. Hains of Boston, now broke into the conversation.

  "Good thing!" she snapped. "Most medicine's nothing but opium andalcohol. Fill the poor creature full of drugs and--"

  "I s'pose you'd set and preach New Thought at him!" snapped Mrs. Stover."As if a body could be cured by hot air! I believe I'll go right in andsee him. Don't you s'pose I could help, Mr. Brown?"

  Mr. Brown seemed pleased, but reluctant. "It's awfully good of you," hesaid. "I couldn't think of troubling you when you've come so far on apleasure excursion. But I am at my wit s end."

  "Don't say another word!" Mrs. Stover's bulky figure was already on theway to the door of the house. "I'm only too glad to do what I can. And,if I do say it, that shouldn't, I'm always real handy in a sick room.'Bijah, be quiet; I don't care if we ARE on a picnic; no human bein'shall suffer while I set around and do nothin'."

  Mrs. Hains was at her cousin's heels.

  "You'll worry him to death," she declared. "You'll tell him how sickhe is, and that he's goin' to die, and such stuff. What he needs ischeerful conversation and mental uplift. It's too bad! Well, you sha'n'thave your own way with him, anyhow. Mr. Brown, where is he?"

  "You two goin' to march right into his BEDROOM?" screamed the irateAbijah. The women answered not. They were already in the kitchen. Brownhastened after them.

  "It's all right, ladies," he said. "Right this way, please."

  He led the way to the chamber of the sick man. Mr. Atkins turned on hisbed of pain, caught a glimpse of the visitors, and sat up.

  "What in time?" he roared.

  "Seth," said Brown, benignly, "this is Mrs. Stover of Eastboro. I thinkyou know her. And Mrs. Hains of Boston. These ladies have heard of yoursickness, and, having had experience in such cases, have kindly offeredto stay with you and help in any way they can. Mrs. Stover, I will leavehim in your hands. Please call me if I can be of any assistance."

  Without waiting for further comment from the patient, whose face was apicture, he hastened to the kitchen, choking as he went. Mr. Stover methim at the outer door.

  "Now you've done it!" wailed the little man. "NOW you've done it! Didn'tI tell you? Oh, this'll be a hell of a picnic!"

  He stalked away, righteous indignation overcoming him. Brown sat down ina rocking chair and shook with emotion. From the direction of the sickroom came the sounds of three voices, each trying to outscream theother. The substitute assistant listened to this for a while, and, as hedid so, a new thought struck him. He remembered a story he had read in amagazine years before. He crossed to the pantry, found an empty bottle,rinsed it at the sink, stepped again to the pantry, and, entering it,closed the door behind him. There he busied himself with the molassesjug, the soft-soap bucket, the oil can, the pepper shaker, and a fewother utensils and their contents. Footsteps in the kitchen caused himto hurriedly reenter that apartment. Mrs. Stover was standing by therange, her face red.

  "Oh, there you are, Mr. Brown!" she exclaimed. "I wondered where you'dgone to."

&n
bsp; "How is he?" inquired Brown, the keenest anxiety in his utterance.

  "H'm! he'd do well enough if he had the right treatment. I cal'late he'sbetter now, even as 'tis; but, when a person has to lay and hear overand over again that what ails 'em is nothin' but imagination, it ain'tto be wondered at that they get mad. What he needs is some sort ofsoothin' medicine, and I only wish 'twan't so fur over to home. I've gotjust what he needs there."

  "I was thinking--" began Brown.

  "What was you thinkin'?"

  "I was wondering if some of my 'Stomach Balm' wouldn't help him. It'san old family receipt, handed down from the Indians, I believe. I alwayshave a bottle with me and . . . Still, I wouldn't prescribe, not knowingthe disease."

  Mrs. Stover's eyes sparkled. Patent medicines were her hobby.

  "Hum!" she said. "'Stomach Balm' sounds good. And he says his trouble isprincipally stomach. Some of them Indian medicines are mighty powerful.Have you--did you say you had a bottle with you, Mr. Brown?"

  The young man went again to the pantry and returned with the bottle hehad so recently found there. Now, however, it was two thirds full ofa black sticky mixture. Mrs. Stover removed the cork and took aninvestigating sniff.

  "It smells powerful," she said, hopefully.

  "It is. Would you like to taste it?" handing her a tablespoon. Hewatched as she swallowed a spoonful.

  "Ugh! oh!" she gasped; even her long suffering palate rebelled at THATtaste. "It--I should think that OUGHT to help him."

  "I should think so. It may be the very thing he needs. At any rate, itcan't hurt him. It's quite harmless."

  Mrs. Stover's face was still twisted, under the influence of the "Balm";but her mind was made up.

  "I'm goin' to try it," she declared. "I don't care if every NewThoughter in creation says no. He needs medicine and needs it rightaway."

  "The dose," said Mr. Brown, gravely, "is two tablespoonfuls everyfifteen minutes. I do hope it will help him. Give him my sympathy--mydeepest sympathy, Mrs. Stover, please."

  The plump lady disappeared in the direction of the sick room. Thesubstitute assistant lingered and listened. He heard a shrill pow-wowof feminine voices. Evidently "New Thought" and the practice of medicinehad once more clashed. The argument waxed and waned. Followed the clickof a spoon against glass. And then came a gasp, a gurgle, a chokingyell; and high upon the salty air enveloping Eastboro Twin-Lights rosethe voice of Mr. Seth Atkins, expressing his opinion of the "StomachBalm" and those who administered it.

  John Brown darted out of the kitchen, dodged around the corner ofthe house, tiptoed past the bench by the bluff, where Mr. Stover satgloomily meditating, and ran lightly down the path to the creek andthe wharf. The boathouse at the end of the wharf offered a convenientrefuge. Into the building he darted, closed the door behind him, andcollapsed upon a heap of fish nets.

  At three-thirty that afternoon, Mr. Atkins, apparently quite recovered,was sitting in the kitchen rocker, reading a last week's newspaper, oneof a number procured on his most recent trip to the village. The Stoversand their guest had departed. Their buggy was out of sight beyond thedunes. A slight noise startled the lightkeeper, and he looked up. Hishelper was standing in the doorway, upon his face an expression ofintense and delighted surprise.

  "What?" exclaimed Mr. Brown. "What? Is it really you?"

  Seth put down the paper and nodded.

  "Um-hm," he observed drily, "it's really me."

  "Up? and WELL?" queried Brown.

  "Um-hm. Pretty well, considerin', thank you. Been for a stroll upWashin'ton Street, have you? Or a little walk on the Common, maybe?"

  The elaborate sarcasm of these questions was intended to be withering.Mr. Brown, however, did not wither. Neither did he blush.

  "I have been," he said, "down at the boathouse. I knew you were in safehands and well looked after, so I went away. I couldn't remain here andhear you suffer."

  "Hum! HEAR me suffer, hey? Much obliged, I'm sure. What have you beendoin' there all this time? I hoped you was--that is, I begun to beafraid you was dead. Thought your sympathy for me had been too much foryou, maybe."

  Brown mournfully shook his head. "It was--almost," he said, solemnly. "Ithink I dropped asleep. I was quite overcome."

  "Hum! Better take a dose of that 'Stomach Balm,' hadn't you? That'llliven you up, I'll guarantee."

  "No, thank you. The sight of you, well and strong again, is all themedicine I need. We must keep the 'Balm' in case you have anotherattack. By the way, I notice the dinner dishes haven't been washed. I'lldo them at once. I know you must be tired, after your illness--and theexertion of showing your guests about the lights."

  Atkins did not answer, although he seemed to want to very much. However,he made no objection when his helper, rolling up his sleeves, turned tothe sink and the dish washing.

  Seth was silent all the rest of the afternoon and during supper. Butthat evening, as Brown sat on the bench outside, Atkins joined him.

  "Hello!" said Seth, as cheerfully as if nothing had happened.

  "Hello!" replied the assistant, shortly. He had been thinking once more,and his thoughts were not pleasant.

  "I s'pose you cal'late," began Atkins, "that maybe I've got a grudgeagainst you on account of this mornin' and that 'Balm' and such. Iain't."

  "That's good. I'm glad to hear it."

  "Yes. After the fust dose of that stuff--for thunder sakes WHAT did youput in it?--I was about ready to murder you, but I've got over that. Idon't blame you for gettin' even. We are even, you know."

  "I'm satisfied, if you are."

  "I be. But what I don't understand is why you didn't want to show themfolks around."

  "Oh, I don't know. I had my reasons, such as they were. Why didn't youwant to do it yourself?"

  Seth crossed his legs and was silent for a moment or two. Then he spokefirmly and as if his mind was made up.

  "Young feller," he said, "I don't know whether you realize it or not,and perhaps I shouldn't be the one to mention it--but you're under someobligations to me."

  His companion nodded. "I realize that," he said.

  "Yes, but maybe you don't realize the amount of the obligations. I'mriskin' my job keepin' you here. If it wa'n't for the superintendentbein' such a friend of mine, there'd have been a reg'lar assistantkeeper app'inted long ago. The gov'ment don't pick up its lightkeeperssame as you would farm hands. There's civil service to be gone through,and the like of that. But you wanted to stay, and I've kept you, riskin'my own job, as I said. And now I cal'late we'd better have a plainunderstandin'. You've got to know just what your job is. I'm goin' totell you."

  He stopped, as if to let this sink in. Brown nodded again. "All right,"he observed, carelessly; "go on and tell me; I'm listening."

  "Your job around the lights you know already, part of it. But there'ssomethin' else. Whenever men folks come here, I'll do my shareof showin' the place off. But when women come--women, youunderstand--you've got to be guide. I'll forgive you to-day's doin's. Itried to play a joke on you, and you evened it up with a better one onme. That's all right. But, after this, showin' the lights to females isyour job, and you've got to do it--or get out. No hard feelin's at all,and I'd really hate to lose you, but THAT'S got to be as I say."

  He rose, evidently considering the affair settled. Brown caught his coatand pulled him back to the bench.

  "Wait, Atkins," he said. "I'm grateful to you for your kindness, I likeyou and I'd like to please you; but if what you say is final, then--asthey used to say in some play or other--'I guess you'll have to hireanother boy.'"

  "What? You mean you'll quit?"

  "Rather than do that--yes."

  "But why?"

  "For reasons, as I told you. By the way, you haven't told me why youobject to acting as guide to--females."

  "Because they are females. They're women, darn 'em!"

  Before his helper could comment on this declaration, it was repeated.The lightkeeper shook both his big fists in the air.

 
; "Darn 'em! Darn all the women!" shouted Seth Atkins.

  "Amen," said John Brown, devoutly.

  Seth's fists dropped into his lap. "What?" he cried; "what did you say?"

  "I said Amen."

  "But--but . . . why . . . you didn't mean it!"

  "Didn't I?" bitterly. "Humph!"

  Seth breathed heavily, started to speak once more, closed his lips onthe words, rose, walked away a few paces, returned, and sat down.

  "John Brown," he said, solemnly, "if you're jokin', the powers forgiveyou, for I won't. If you ain't, I--I . . . See here, do you rememberwhat you asked me that night when you struck me for the assistantkeeper's job? You asked me if I was married?"

  Brown assented wonderingly. "Why, yes," he said, "I believe I did."

  "You did. And I ain't been so shook up for many a day. Young feller,I'm goin' to tell you what no other man in Ostable County knows. I AMmarried. I've got a wife livin'."