Home > Authors Index > Joseph Crosby Lincoln > Cap'n Warren's Wards > This page
Cap'n Warren's Wards, a novel by Joseph Crosby Lincoln |
||
Chapter 14 |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER XIV Stephen, the "man of the family," was the only member of the household, servants excepted, who slept soundly that night. Conscious of having done his duty in the affair with Pearson and his guardian, and somewhat fatigued by the disagreeable task of soothing his hysterical sister, he was slumbering peacefully at nine the next morning when awakened by a series of raps on his bedroom door. "Ah! What? Well, what is it?" he demanded, testily opening his eyes. "Edwards, is that you? What the devil do you mean by making such a row?" The voice which answered was not the butler's, but Caroline's. "Steve! Oh, Steve!" she cried. "Do get up and come out! Come, quick!" "What's the matter?" inquired the young man, sitting up in bed. "Is the house afire?" "No, no! But do come! I want you. Something has happened." "Happened? What is it?" "I can't tell you here. Please dress and come to me as quick as you can." Stephen, wondering and somewhat alarmed, dressed with unusual promptitude and obeyed. He found his sister standing by the library window, a letter in her hand. She looked troubled and anxious. "Well, Caro," observed the boy, "here I am. What in the world's up now?" She turned. "Oh, Steve!" she exclaimed, "he's gone!" "Gone? Who?" "Captain Warren. He's gone." "Gone? Gone where? Caro, you don't mean he's--_dead_?" "No, he's gone--gone and left us." Her brother's expression changed to incredulous joy. "What?" he shouted. "You mean he's quit? Cleared out? Left here for good?" "Yes." "Hurrah! Excuse me while I gloat! Hurrah! We got it through his skull at last! Is it possible? But--but hold on! Perhaps it's too good to be true. Are you sure? How do you know?" "He says so. See." She handed him the letter. It was addressed to "My dear Caroline" and in it Captain Elisha stated his intentions succinctly. After the plain speaking of the previous evening he should not, of course, burden them with his society any longer. He was leaving that morning, and, as soon as he "located permanent moorings somewhere else" would notify his niece and nephew of his whereabouts. "ELISHA WARREN."
"The nerve!" he exclaimed. "He seems to think I'm a sailor on one of his ships, to be ordered around as he sees fit. I'll go back to college when I'm good and ready--not before." Caroline shook her head. "Oh, no!" she said. "You must go to-day. He's right, Steve; it's the thing for you to do. He and I were agreed as to that. And you wouldn't stay and make it harder for me, would you, dear?" He growled a reluctant assent. "I suppose I shall have to go," he said, sullenly. "My allowance is too beastly small to have him cutting it; and the old shark would do that very thing; he'd take delight in doing it, confound him! Well, he knows what we think of him, that's some comfort." She did not answer. He looked at her curiously. "Why, hang it all, Caro!" he exclaimed in disgust; "what ails you? Blessed if I sha'n't begin to believe you're sorry he's gone. You act as if you were." "No, I'm not. Of course I'm not. I'm--I'm glad. He couldn't stay, of course. But I'm afraid--I can't help feeling that you and I were too harsh last night. We said things--dreadful things--" "Be hanged! We didn't say half enough. Oh, don't be a fool, Caro! I was just beginning to be proud of your grit. And now you want to take it all back. Honestly, girls are the limit! You don't know your own minds for twelve consecutive hours. Answer me now! _Are_ you sorry he's gone?" "No. No, I'm not, really. But I--I feel somehow as if--as if everything was on my shoulders. You're going away, and he's gone, and--What is it, Edwards?" The butler entered, with a small parcel in his hand. "I beg your pardon, Miss Caroline," he said. "I should have given you this last evening. It was by your place at the table. I think Captain Warren put it there, miss." Caroline took the parcel and looked at it wonderingly. "For me?" she repeated. "Yes, Miss Caroline. It is marked with your name. And breakfast is served, when you and Mr. Stephen are ready." He bowed and retired. The girl sat turning the little white box in her hands. "_He_ left it for me," she said. "What can it be?" Her brother snatched it impatiently. "Why don't you open it and find out?" he demanded. "Perhaps it's his latch key. Here! I'll do it myself." He cut the cord and removed the cover of the little box. Inside was the jeweler's leather case. He took it out and pressed the spring. The cover flew up. "Whew!" he whistled. "It's a present. And rather a decent one, too, by gad! Look, Caro!" He handed her the open case. She looked at the chain, spread carefully on the white satin lining. Inside the cover was fitted a card. She turned it over and read: "To my niece, Caroline. With wishes for many happy returns, and much love, from her Uncle Elisha Warren." She sat gazing at the card. Stephen bent down, read the inscription, and then looked up into her face. "_What_?" he cried. "I believe--You're not _crying_! Well, I'll be hanged! Sis, you _are_ a fool!" * * * * * The weather that morning was fine and clear. James Pearson, standing by the window of his rooms at the boarding house, looking out at the snow-covered roofs sparkling in the sun, was miserable. When he retired the night before it was with a solemn oath to forget Caroline Warren altogether; to put her and her father and the young cad, her brother, utterly from his mind, never to be thought of again. As a preliminary step in this direction, he began, the moment his head touched the pillow, to review, for the fiftieth time, the humiliating scene in the library, to think of things he should have said, and--worse than all--to recall, word for word, the things she had said to him. In this cheerful occupation he passed hours before falling asleep. And, when he woke, it was to begin all over again. Why--_why_ had he been so weak as to yield to Captain Elisha's advice? Why had he not acted like a sensible, self-respecting man, done what he knew was right, and persisted in his refusal to visit the Warrens? Why? Because he was an idiot, of course--a hopeless idiot, who had got exactly what he deserved! Which bit of philosophy did not help make his reflections less bitter. He went down to breakfast when the bell rang, but his appetite was missing, and he replied only in monosyllables to the remarks addressed to him by his fellow boarders. Mrs. Hepton, the landlady, noticed the change. "You not ill, Mr. Pearson, I hope?" she queried. "I do hope you haven't got cold, sleeping with your windows wide open, as you say you do. Fresh air is a good thing, in moderation, but one should be careful. Don't you think so, Mr. Carson?" Mr. Carson was a thin little man, a bachelor, who occupied the smallest room on the third story. He was a clerk in a department store, and his board was generally in arrears. Therefore, when Mrs. Hepton expressed an opinion he made it a point to agree with her. In this instance, however, he merely grunted. "I say fresh air in one's sleeping room is a good thing in moderation. Don't you think so, Mr. Carson?" repeated the landlady. Mr. Carson rolled up his napkin and inserted it in the ring. His board, as it happened, was paid in full to date. Also, although he had not yet declared his intention, he intended changing lodgings at the end of the week. "Humph!" he sniffed, with sarcasm, "it may be. I couldn't get none in _my_ room if I wanted it, so I can't say sure. Morning." He departed hurriedly. Mrs. Hepton looked disconcerted. Mrs. Van Winkle Ruggles smiled meaningly across the table at Miss Sherborne, who smiled back. Mr. Ludlow, the bookseller, quietly observed that he hoped Mr. Pearson had not gotten cold. Colds were prevalent at this time of the year. "'These are the days when the Genius of the weather sits in mournful meditation on the threshold,' as Mr. Dickens tells us," he added. "I presume he sits on the sills of open windows, also." The wife of the Mr. Dickens there present pricked up her ears. "When did you write that, 'C.' dear?" she asked, turning to her husband. "I remember it perfectly, of course, but I have forgotten, for the moment, in which of your writings it appears." The illustrious one's mouth being occupied with a section of scorching hot waffle, he was spared the necessity of confession. "Pardon me," said Mr. Ludlow. "I was not quoting our Mr. Dickens this time, but his famous namesake." The great "C." drowned the waffle with a swallow of water. "Maria," he snapped, "don't be so foolish. Ludlow quotes from--er--'Bleak House.' I have written some things--er--similar, but not that. Why don't you pass the syrup?" The bookseller, who was under the impression that he had quoted from the "Christmas Carol," merely smiled and remained silent. "My father, the Senator," began Mrs. Van Winkle Ruggles, "was troubled with colds during his political career. I remember his saying that the Senate Chamber at the Capitol was extremely draughty. Possibly Mr. Pearson's ailment does come from sleeping in a draught. Not that father was accustomed to _sleep_ during the sessions--Oh, dear, no! not that, of course. How absurd!" She laughed gayly. Pearson, who seemed to think it time to say something, declared that, so far as he knew, he had no cold or any symptoms of one. "Well," said Mrs. Hepton, with conviction, "something ails you, I know. We can all see it; can't we?" turning to the rest of the company. "Why, you've scarcely spoken since you sat down at the table. And you've eaten next to nothing. Perhaps there is some trouble, something on your mind which is worrying you. Oh, I _hope_ not!" "No doubt it is the preoccupation of genius," remarked Mrs. Dickens. "I'm sure it must be that. When 'C.' is engaged with some particularly trying literary problem he frequently loses all his appetite and does not speak for hours together. Isn't it so, dear?" "C.," who was painfully conscious that he might have made a miscue in the matter of the quotation, answered sharply. "No," he said. "Not at all. Don't be silly, Maria." Miss Sherborne clasped her hands. "_I_ know!" she exclaimed in mock rapture; "Mr. Pearson is in love!" This suggestion was received with applause and hilarity. Pearson pushed back his chair and rose. "I'm much obliged for this outburst of sympathy," he observed, dryly. "But, as I say, I'm perfectly well, and the other diagnoses are too flattering to be true. Good morning." Back in his room he seated himself at his desk, took the manuscript of his novel from the drawer, and sat moodily staring at it. He was in no mood for work. The very sight of the typewritten page disgusted him. As he now felt, the months spent on the story were time wasted. It was ridiculous for him to attempt such a thing; or to believe that he could carry it through successfully; or to dream that he would ever be anything better than a literary hack, a cheap edition of "C." Dickens, minus the latter's colossal self-satisfaction. He was still sitting there, twirling an idle pencil between his fingers, when he heard steps outside his door. Someone knocked. "Well, what is it?" he asked. His landlady answered. "Mr. Pearson," she said, "may I see you?" He threw down the pencil and, rising, walked to the door and opened it. Mrs. Hepton was waiting in the hall. She seemed excited. "Mr. Pearson," she said, "will you step downstairs with me for a moment? I have a surprise for you." "A surprise? What sort of a surprise?" "Oh, a pleasant one. At least I think it is going to be pleasant for all of us. But I'm not going to tell you what it is. You must come down and see for yourself." She led the way downstairs, the young man following her, wondering what the surprise might be, and fairly certain it, nor anything else, could be pleasant on that day. He supposed, of course, that he must descend to the parlor to reach the solution of the mystery, but he was mistaken. On the second floor Mrs. Hepton stopped and pointed. "It's in there," she said, pointing. "There" was the room formerly occupied by Mr. Saks, the long-haired artist. Since his departure it had been vacant. Pearson looked at the closed door and then at the lady. "A surprise for me in _there_?" he repeated. "What's the joke, Mrs. Hepton?" By way of answer she took him by the arm, and, leading him to the door, threw the latter open. "Here he is!" she said. "Hello, Jim!" hailed Captain Elisha Warren, cheerfully. "Ship ahoy! Glad to see you." He was standing in the middle of the room, his hat on the table and his hands in his pockets. Pearson was surprised; there was no doubt of that--not so much at the sight of his friend--he had expected to see or hear from the captain before the day was over--as at seeing him in that room. He could not understand what he was doing there. Captain Elisha noted his bewildered expression, and chuckled. "Come aboard, Jim!" he commanded. "Come in and inspect. I'll see you later, Mrs. Hepton," he added, "and give you my final word. I want to hold officer's council with Mr. Pearson here fust." The landlady accepted the broad hint and turned to go. "Very well," she said, "but I do hope for all our sakes that word will be _yes_, Mr. Warren--Excuse me, it is Captain Warren, isn't it?" "It used to be, yes, ma'am. And at home it is yet. 'Round here I've learned to be like a barroom poll-parrot, ready to answer to most everything. There!" as the door closed after her; "now we can be more private. Set down, Jim! How are you, anyway?" Pearson sat down mechanically. "I'm well enough--everything considered," he replied, slowly. "But what--what are you in here for? I don't understand." "You will in a minute. What do you think of this--er--saloon cabin?" with a comprehensive sweep of his arm. The room was of fair size, furnished in a nondescript, boarding-house fashion, and with two windows overlooking the little back yard of the house and those of the other adjoining it. Each yard contained an assortment of ash cans, and there was an astonishing number of clothes lines, each fluttering a variety of garments peculiarly personal to their respective owners. "Pretty snug, ain't it?" continued the captain. "Not exactly up to that I've been luxuriatin' in lately, but more fittin' to my build and class than that was, I shouldn't wonder. No Corot paintin's nor five thousand dollar tintypes of dory codders; but I can manage to worry along without them, if I try hard. Neat but not gaudy, I call it--as the architect feller said about his plans for the addition to the county jail at Ostable. Hey? Ho! Ho!" Pearson began to get a clue to the situation. "Captain Warren," he demanded, "have you--Do you mean to say you've taken this room to _live_ in?" "No, I ain't said all that yet. I wanted to talk with you a little afore I said it. But that was my idea, if you and I agreed on sartin matters." "You've come here to live! You've left your--your niece's house?" "Ya-as, I've left. That is, I left the way the Irishman left the stable where they kept the mule. He said there was all out doors in front of him and only two feet behind. That's about the way 'twas with me." "Have your nephew and niece--" "Um-hm. They hinted that my room was better than my company, and, take it by and large, I guess they was right for the present, anyhow. I set up till three o'clock thinkin' it over, and then I decided to get out afore breakfast this mornin'. I didn't wait for any good-bys. They'd been said, or all I cared to hear"--Captain Elisha's smile disappeared for an instant--"last evenin'. The dose was sort of bitter, but it had the necessary effect. At any rate, I didn't hanker for another one. I remembered what your landlady told me when I was here afore, about this stateroom bein' vacated, and I come down to look at it. It suits me well enough; seems like a decent moorin's for an old salt water derelict like me; the price is reasonable, and I guess likely I'll take it. I _guess_ I will." "Why do you guess? By George, I hope you will!" "Do you? I'm much obliged. I didn't know but after last night, after the scrape I got you into, you might feel--well, sort of as if you'd seen enough of me." The young man smiled bitterly. "It wasn't your fault," he said. "It was mine entirely. I'm quite old enough to decide matters for myself, and I should have decided as my reason, and not my inclinations, told me. You weren't to blame." "Yes, I was. If you're old enough, I'm _too_ old, I cal'late. But I did think--However, there's no use goin' over that. I ask your pardon, Jim. And you don't hold any grudge?" "Indeed I don't. I may be a fool--I guess I am--but not that kind." "Thanks. Well, there's one objection out of the way, then, only I don't want you to think that I've hove overboard that 'responsibility' I was so easy and fresh about takin' on my shoulders. It's there yet; and I'll see you squared with Caroline afore this v'yage is over, if I live." His friend frowned. "You needn't mind," he said. "I prefer that you drop the whole miserable business." "Well, maybe, but--Jim, you've taken hold of these electric batteries that doctors have sometimes? It's awful easy to grab the handles of one of those contraptions, but when you want to drop 'em you can't. They don't drop easy. I took hold of the handles of 'Bije's affairs, and, though it might be pleasanter to drop 'em, I can't--or I won't." "Then you're leaving your nephew and niece doesn't mean that you've given up the guardianship?" Captain Elisha's jaw set squarely. "I don't remember sayin' that it did," he answered, with decision. Then, his good-nature returning, he added, "And now, Jim, I'd like your opinion of these new quarters that I may take. What do you think of 'em? Come to the window and take a look at the scenery." Pearson joined him at the window. The captain waved toward the clothes-lines and grinned. "Looks as if there was some kind of jubilee, don't it," he observed. "Every craft in sight has strung the colors." Pearson laughed. Then he said: "Captain, I think the room will do. It isn't palatial, but one can live in worse quarters, as I know from experience." "Yup. Well, Jim, there's just one thing more. Have I disgraced you a good deal, bein' around with you and chummin' in with you the way I have? That is, do you _think_ I've disgraced you? Are you ashamed of me?" "I? Ashamed of _you_? You're joking!" "No, I'm serious. Understand now, I'm not apologizin'. My ways are my ways, and I think they're just as good as the next feller's, whether he's from South Denboro or--well, Broad Street. I've got a habit of thinkin' for myself and actin' for myself, and when I take off my hat it's to a bigger _man_ than I am and not to a more stylish hat. But, since I've lived here in New York, I've learned that, with a whole lot of folks, hats themselves count more than what's underneath 'em. I haven't changed mine, and I ain't goin' to. Now, with that plain and understood, do you want me to live here, in the same house with you? I ain't fishin' for compliments. I want an honest answer." He got it. Pearson looked him squarely in the eye. "I do," he said. "I like you, and I don't care a damn about your hat. Is that plain?" Captain Elisha's reply was delivered over the balusters in the hall. "Hi!" he called. "Hi, Mrs. Hepton." The landlady had been anxiously waiting. She ran from the dining room to the foot of the stairs. "Yes?" she cried. "What is it?" "It's a bargain," said the captain. "I'm ready to engage passage." _ |
||