"And THIS is what it's come to; after all the airs and frills and the goin' to Europe and I don't know what all. Here she is keepin' an eatin' house. An eatin' house--just THINK of it! If that ain't a comedown! Wouldn't you think she'd be ashamed, 'Rena?"
Miss Mullet drooped a weary eyelid and sighed a hopeless sigh.
"Oh, Mother," she drawled, in deep disgust, "CAN'T you stop calling me by that outlandish name? I was christened Irene, I believe.
PLEASE remember it."
"All right, 'Re--all right, Irene; I won't forget again. Oh, there's Mary-'Gusta, now! Showin' herself out here with all these city folks, when she's nothin' but a hired help--a table girl, as you might say! I shan't notice her, anyway. I may buy her tea and stuff, but I-- Who's that runnin' up to her and--and kissin' her--and--mercy on us! You'd think they was sisters, if you didn't know.
Who is it? Looks kind of common, she does to me. Don't you think so, 'Rena--Irene, I mean?"
Irene sniffed.
"That," she said with cutting emphasis, "is Barbara Howe. Her people are building that big summer house at Osterville and her father is a millionaire, so they say. And her people wouldn't let her come to the school you sent me to because they thought it wasn't good enough for her. That's how common SHE is. I met her once, but she doesn't know me now, although she is perfectly crazy over that Mary Lathrop. I--Oh, there's Father drinking out of his saucer again! For heaven's sake, let's go home!"
And just then Barbara was enthusiastically hugging her former schoolmate and exclaiming:
"You did it! I knew you would if you would only try. I said it required a knack or a genius or something and that I was certain you had it. It's the dearest place of the kind I've ever seen, my dear, and if every single person I know who is in this vicinity doesn't come here at least once a week and spend lots and lots of money I'll never speak to them again. I'm going to turn myself into a walking phonograph, my dear, with just one record: 'If you love me visit the For'ard Lookout.' And of course everyone loves me--how can they help it? So--well, just wait and see what happens."
So far as spreading abroad the praises of the new tea-room was concerned, she was as good as her word. In August the patronage was so great and continuous that Mary found it necessary to hire three more waitresses and a salesgirl for the gift shop. She spent more of her own time there, leaving the care of the store to Shadrach, Simeon Crocker and a new clerk, who had been hired to help with the summer custom. When early September brought the beginning of the season's end the books of both the Lookout and of Hamilton and Company showed a substantial profit.
While all this was going on Zoeth was steadily gaining in health and strength. In July he was sitting in the sunshine upon the front porch. In August he was able to climb to the buggy seat and be driven up to the store, where day after day he sat in his armchair behind the counter, watching what was going on, listening to his partner's happy chatter--for Shadrach was in high spirits now--and occasionally saying a word or two himself. On pleasant Sundays he was driven to church and the Captain and Mary accompanied him. He was white and frail and thin, but the doctor assured them that, so far as he could see, there was no reason to expect anything but a complete recovery.
It did seem to Captain Shad, however, that his partner had something on his mind. He seemed often to be thinking deeply and at times to be troubled and disturbed. The Captain had never asked, never attempted by questioning to learn what the cause of the trouble--provided there was any--might be. He had been told often enough that the patient must not be excited, so he meant to take no risks, but Zoeth's long silences and the expression on his face as he sat there in the chair, evidently thinking deeply, puzzled and worried his friend and partner. He noticed the same expression at times when Mary was in the room. Zoeth's eyes would follow her as she moved about and in them was the look the Captain could not understand.
Shadrach had told his friend of Mary's sending young Smith away.
Zoeth had asked concerning Crawford almost as soon as he was permitted to take part in a lengthy conversation. He appeared greatly interested, even eager.
"But, Shadrach," he said, "are you sure she sent him away because she didn't care for him? Are you sure that was the reason?"
"What other reason could there be?" demanded the Captain. "She as much as told me that was it, herself. I was some surprised, of course, for I'd rather cal'lated 'twas as good as settled between 'em, but it turned out that I didn't know what I was talkin' about.
That HAS happened afore in my life, strange as it may seem," he added dryly.
Zoeth sighed. "I wish--" he said slowly, "I wish I knew--"
"What do you wish you knew?"
"Eh? Oh, nothin'. If--if I was only a little mite stronger I'd try to talk with Mary-'Gusta myself. I'd like--I'd like to have her tell me about it."
"Meanin' you don't believe me, eh? There, there, shipmate, it's all right. I was only jokin'. But I wouldn't ask Mary-'Gusta about that, if I was you. Course I know she cares as much or more for her Uncle Zoeth than for anybody on earth, and she'd tell him anything if he asked her; but I don't believe-- Well, I wouldn't ask, if I was you. You understand?"
"Yes, yes, Shadrach, I think I understand. You mean she felt bad to have to say--what she did say--to that young man and she wouldn't want to be reminded of it?"
"That's about it, Zoeth."
Silence for some minutes. Both partners were occupied with their thoughts. Then Zoeth said:
"Shadrach, I--I--"
He did not finish the sentence. The Captain ventured to remind him.
"Yes, Zoeth, what is it?" he asked.
"Nothin'. I--I can't tell you now. By and by, if the good Lord gives me strength again, I'll-- Never mind, now. Don't ask me, please."
So Shadrach did not ask, but he was puzzled and a little anxious.
What was it his partner had to tell and found the telling so difficult?
