Digitized by Microsoft® CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY GIFT OF Mrs. J. E. Trevor Digitized by Microsoft® PS 3523.136984"'™™"^ "'""' ^'liiMMiiliMii?''™'-'"''*'''*'*'' by H. M. 3 1924 021 761 022 Digitized by Microsoft® This book was digitized by Microsoft Corporation in cooperation with Corneii University Library, 2008. You may use and print this copy in iimited quantity for your personai purposes, but may not distribute or provide access to it (or modified or partiai versions of it) for revenue-generating or other commerciai purposes. Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS'* Digitized by Microsoft® Books By Joseph C. Lincoln Extricating Ofaadiah Mary-'GuU Thankful's Inheritance Cap's Dan's Daugliter Mr. Pratt's Patients The Rise of Reicoe Pain a KentKnowle8:"Quahaa8" The Postmaster Cap'n Warrea's Wards The Woman-Haten The Depot Master Keziah Coffin OwVilhwe Cr Whittaker's PImo Mr. Prmtt Cap'n Eri Partners of th« Tide Cape Cod Ballads The Old Home House Digitized by Microsoft® Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive;.£r^{d^tails^u31924021761022 Jed was watching Ruth . . . looking off over the water. [Page 38ol Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" A NOVEL BY JOSEPH C. LINCOLN AUTHOR OF "eXTSICATINO OUADIAB," "mAEY-'CUSTA," etc., ElCt ILLUSTRATED BY H.M.BRETT D. APPLETON AND COMPANY NEW YORK LONDON 1919 Digitized by Microsoft® Copyright, 1918, by D. APPLETON AND COMPANY Printed in the United States ot America Digitized by Microsoft® LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS FACING PAGE Jed Was Watching Ruth . . . Looking Off Over THE Water Frontispiece "Jed," She Asked, "Would You Like to be an Aviator?" 50 There Was a Momentary Glimpse of a Brindle Gat With a Mackerel Crosswise in Its Mouth . , 122 "And He Is Going TO Tell?" She Whispered . . 292 Digitized by Microsoft® Digitized by Microsoft® « SHAVINGS" CHAPTER I MR. GABRIEL BEARSE was happy. The promi^ nence given to this statement is not meant to imply that Gabriel was, as a general rule, unhappy. Quite the contrary; Mr. Bearse's disposition was a cheerful one and the cares of this world had not rounded his plump shoulders. But Captain Sam Hunniwell had once said, and Orham publip opinion agreed with him, that Gabe Bearse was never happy unless he was talking. Now here was Gabriel, not talking, but walking briskly along the Orham main road, and yet so distinctly happy that the happiness showed in his gait, his manner and in the excited glitter of his watery eye. Truly an astonishing condition of things and tending, one would say, to prove that Captain Sam's didactic remark, so long locally accepted and quoted as gospel truth, had a flaw in its wisdom somewhere. And yet the flaw was but a small one and the explanation simple. Gabriel was not talking at that moment, it is true, but he was expecting to talk very soon, to talk a great deal. He had just come into possession of an item of news which would furnish his ,vocal machine gun with ammunition sufficient for wordy volley after volley. Ga- briel was joyfully contemplating peppering all Orham with that bit of gossip. No wonder he was happy; no wonder he hurried along the main road like a battery gal- loping eagerly into action. Digitized by Kicrosoft® "SHAVINGS" He was on his way to the post office, always the gossip- sharpshooters' first line trench, when, turning the corner where Nickerson's Lane enters the main road, he saw something which caused him to pause, alter his battle-mad walk to a slower one, then to a saunter, and finally to a halt altogether. This something was a toy windmill fas- tened to a white picket fence and clattering cheerfully as its arms spun in the brisk, pleasant summer breeze. The little windmill was one of a dozen, all fastened to the top rail of that fence and all whirling. Behind the fence, on posts, were other and larger windmills; behind these, others larger still. Interspersed among the mills were little wooden sailors swinging paddles ; weather vanes in the shapes of wooden whales, swordfish, ducks, crows, seagulls; circles of little wooden profile sailboats, made to chase each other 'round and 'round a central post. All of these were painted in gay colors, or in black and white, and all were in motion. The mills spun, the boats sailed 'round and 'round, the sailors did vigorous Indian club exercises with their paddles. The grass in the little yard and the tall hollyhocks in the beds at its sides swayed and bowed and nodded. Beyond, seen over the edge of the bluff and stretching to the horizon, the blue and white waves leaped and danced and sparkled. As a picture of movement and color and joyful bustle the scene was inspir- itag; children, viewing it for the first time, almost invariably danced and waved their arms in sympathy. Summer visitors, loitering idly by, suddenly became fired with the desire to set about doing something, something energetic. Gabriel Bearse was not a summer visitor, but a "native," that is, an all-the-yearrround resident of Orham, and, as his fellow natives would have cheerfully testified, it took much more than windmills to' arpu*e'te energy. He had not halted to look at the mills. He had stopped because Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" the sight of them recalled to his mind the fact that the maker of these mills was a friend of one of the men most concerned in his brand new news item. It was possible, barely possible, that here was an opportunity to learn just a little more, to obtain an additional clip of cartridges be- fore opening fire on the crowd at the post office. Certainly it might be worth trying, particularly as the afternoon mail would not be ready for another hour, even if the train was on time. At the rear of the little yard, and situated perhaps fifty feet from the edge of the high sand bluff leading down precipitously to the beach, was a shingled building, white- washed, and with a door, painted green, and four win- dows on the side toward the road. A clamshell walk led from the gate to the doors. Over the door was a sign, very neatly lettered, as follows : "J. EDGAR W. WINSLOW. MILLS FOR SALE." In the lot next to that, where the little shop stood, was a small, old-fashioned gtory-and-a-half Cape Cod house, painted a speckless white, with vivid green blinds. The blinds were shut now, for the house was unoccupied. House and shop and both yards were neat and clean as a New England kitchen. Gabriel Bearse, after a moment's reflection, opened the gafe in the picket fence and walked along the clamshell walk to the shop door. Opening the door, he entered, a bell attached to the top of the door jingling as he did so. The room which Mr. Bearse entered was crowded from floor to ceiling, save for a narrow passage, with hit-or- miss stacks of the wooden toys evidently finished and ready for shipment. Threading his way between the heaps of sailors, mills, vanes and boats, Gabriel came to a door evidently leading to another room. There was a agn tacked to this door, which read, "PRIVATE," bat Mr. Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" Bearse did not let that trouble him. He pushed the door open. The second room was evidently the work-shop. There were a circular saw and a turning lathe, with the needful belts, and a small electric motor to furnish power. Also there were piles of lumber, shelves of paint pots and brushes, many shavings and muck sawdust. And, standing beside a dilapidated chair from which he had evidently risen at the sound of the door bell, with a dripping paint brush in one hand and a wooden sailor in the other, there was a man. When he saw who his visitor was he sat down again. He was a tall man and, as the chair he sat in was a low one and the heels of his large shoes were hooked over its lower rounds, his knees and shoulders were close together when he bent over his work. He was a thin man and his trousers hung about his ankles like a loose sail on a yard. His hair was thick and plentiful, a brown sprinkled with gray at the temples. His face was smooth-shaven, with wrinkles at the comers of the eyes and mouth." He wore spectacles perched at the very end of his nose, and looked down over rather than through them as he dipped the brush in the can of paint beside him on the floor. "Hello, Shavin's," hailed Mr. Bearse, blithely. The tall man applied the brush to the nude pine legs of the wooden sailor. One side of those legs were modestly covered forthwith by a pair of sky-blue breeches. The artist regarded the breeches dreamily. Then he said : "Hello, Gab." His rpice was a drawl, yery deliberate, very quiet, J-ather soft and pleasant But Mr. Bearse was not pleased. "Don't call me that," he snapped. The brush was again flipped in the paint pot and the rear Digitized by Microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" elevation of the pine sailor became sky-blue like the other side of him. Then the tall man asked : "Call you what?" "Gab. That's a divil of a name to call anybody. Last time I was in here Cap'n Sam Hunniwell heard you call me that and I cal'lated he'd die laughin'. Seemed to cal'late there was somethin' specially dum funny about it. / don't call it funny. Say, speakin' of Cap'n Sam, have you heard the news about him ?" He asked the question eagerly, because it was a part of what he came there to ask. His eagerness was not con- tagious. The man on the chair put down the blue brush, took up a fresh one, dipped it in another paint pot and proceeded to garb another section of his sailor in a spot- less white shirt, Mr. Bearse grew impatient. "Have you heard the news about Cap'n Sam?" he re- peated. "Say, Shavin's, have you?" The painting went serenely on, but the painter answered. "Well, Gab," he drawled, "I " "Don't call me Gab, I tell you. 'Tain't my name." "Sho! Ain't it?" "You know well enough 'tain't. My name's Gabriel. Call me that — or Gabe. I don't like to be called out of my name. But say, Shavin's " "Well, Gab, say it." "Look here, Jed Winslow, do you hear me?" "Yes, hear you fust rate, Gabe — now." Mr. Bearse's understanding was not easily penetrated; a hint usually glanced from it like a piece of soap from a slanting cellar door, but this time the speaker's tone and the emphasis on the "now" made a slight dent. Gabriel's eyes opened. "Huh ?" he grunted in astonishment, as if the possibility Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" had never until that moment occured to him. "Why, say, Jed, don't you Hke to be called 'Shavin's' ?" No answer. A blue collar was added to the white shirt of the sailor. "Don't you, Jed ?" repeated Gabe. Mr. Winslow's gaze was lifted from his work and his eyes turned momentarily in the direction of his caller. "Gabe," he drawled, "did you ever hear about the feller that was born stone deef and the Doxology?" "Eh? What No, I never heard it." The eyes turned back to the wooden sailor and Mr. Win- slow chose another brush. "Neither did he," he observed, and began to whistle what sounded like a dirge. Mr. Bearse stared at him for at least a minute. Then he shook his head. "Well, by Judas!" he exclaimed. "I— I— I snum if I don't think you be crazy, same as some folks say you are! What in the nation has — has your name got to do with a deef man and the Doxology?" "Eh? ... Oh, nothin'." "Then what did you bust loose and tell me about 'em for? They wan't any of my business, was they?" "No-o. That's why I spoke of 'em." "What? You spoke of 'em 'cause they wan't any of my business ?" "Ye-es ... I thought maybe " He paused, turned the sailor over in his hand, whistled a few more bars of the dirge and then finished his sentence. "I thought maybe you might like to ask questions about 'em," he concluded. Mr. Bearse stared suspiciously at his companion, swal- lowed several times and, between swallows, started to' speak but each time gave it up. Mr. Winslow appeared quite oblivious of the stare. His brushes gave the wooden sailor Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" 7 'I black hair, eyes and brows, and an engaging crimson smile. When Gabriel did speak it was not concerning names. "Say, Jed," he cried, "have you heard about Cap'n Sam Hunniwell ? 'Bout his bein' put on the Exemption Board ?" His companion went on whistling, but he nodded. "Um-hm," grunted Gabe, grudgingly. "I presumed likely you would hear; he told you himself, I cal'late. Seth Baker said he see him come in here night afore last and I suppose that's when he told you. Didn't say ,nothin' else, did he?" he added, eagerly. Again Mr. Winslow nodded. "Did he? Did he? What else did he say?" The tall man seemed to consider. "Well," he drawled, at length, "seems to me I remember him sayin' — sayin' " "Yes? Yes? What did he say?" "Well — er — seems to me he said good night just afore he went home." The disappointed Gabriel lost patience. "Oh, you divilish fool head!" he exclaimed, disgustedly. "Look here, Jed Winslow, talk sense for a minute, if you can, won't you? I've just heard somethin' that's goin' to make a big row in this town and it's got to do with Cap'n Sam's bein' app'inted on that Gov'ment Exemption Board for drafted folks. If you'd heard Phineas Babbitt goin' on the way I done, I guess likely you'd have been interested." It was plain that, for the first time since his caller in- truded upon his privacy, the maker of mills and sailors was interested. He did not put down his brush, but he turned his head to look and listen. Bearse, pleased with this symp- tom of attention, went on. "I was just into Phineas' store," he said, "and he was there, so I had a chance to talk with him. He's been up to Boston and never got back till this afternoon, so I cal'lated Digitized by Microsoft® 8 "SHAVINGS" maybe he hadn't heard about Cap'n Sam's app'intment. And I knew, too, how he does hate the Cap'n; ain't had nothin' but cuss words and such names for him ever since Sam done him out of gettin' the postmaster's job. Pretty mean trick, some folks call it, but " Mr. Winslow interrupted; his drawl was a trifle less evident. "Congressman Taylor asked Sam for the truth regardin' Phineas and a certain matter," he said. "Sam told the truth, that's all." ' "Well, maybe that's so, but does tellin' the truth about folks make 'em love you? I don't know as it does." Winslow appeared to meditate. "No-o," he observed, thoughtfully, "I don't suppose you do." "No, I ... Eh? What do you mean by that? Look here, Jed Winslow, if " Jed held up a big hand. "There, there, Gabe," he sug- gested, mildly. "Let's hear about Sam and Phin Babbitt. What was Phineas goin' on about when you was in his store?" Mr. Bearse forgot personal grievance in his eagerness to tell the story. "Why," he began, "you see, 'twas like this: 'Twas all on account of Leander. Leander's been drafted. You know that, of course?" Jed nodded. Leander Babbitt was the son of Phineas Babbitt, Orham's dealer in hardware and lumber and a leading political boss. Between Babbitt, Senior, and Captain Sam Hunniwell, the latter President of the Orham National Bank and also a vigorous politician, the dislike had always been strong. Since the affair of the postmastership it had become, on Babbitt's part, an intense hatred. During the week just past young Babbitt's name had been drawn as Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" 9 one of Orham's quota for the new National Anny. The village was still talking of the draft when the news came that Captain Hunniwell had been selected as a member of the Exemption Board for the district, the Board which was to hold its sessions at Ostable and listen to the pleas of those desiring to be excused from service. Not all of Orham knew this as yet. Jed Winslow had heard it, from Captain Sam himself. Gabe Bearse had heard it because he made it his business to hear everything, whether it concerned him or not — ^preferably not. The war had come to Orham with the unbelievable un- reality with which it had come to the great mass of the country. Ever since the news of the descent of von Kluck's hordes upon devoted Belgium, in the fall of 1914, the death grapple in Europe had, of course, been the principal topic of discussion at the post ofifice and around the whist tables at the Setuckit Club, where ancient and retired mariners met and pounded their own and each other's knees while they expressed sulphurous opinions concerning the attitude of the President and Congress. These opinions were, as a usual thing, guided by the fact of their holders' allegiance to one or the other of the great political parties. Captain Sam Hunniwell, a lifelong and ardent Republican, with a temper as peppery as the chile con ca/rne upon which, when commander of a steam freighter trading with Mexico, he had feasted so often — Captain Sam would have hoisted the Stars and Stripes to the masthead the day the Lusitania sank and put to sea in a dory, if need be, and armed only with a shotgun, to avenge that outrage. To hear Captain Sam orate concerning the neglect of duty of which he con- sidered the United States government guilty was an ex- perience, interesting or shocking, according to the drift of one's political oi' religious creed. Phineas Babbitt, on the contrary, had at first upheld the Digitized by Microsoft® lo "SHAVINGS" policy of strict neutrality. "What business is it of ours if them furriners take to slaufhterin' themselves ?" he wanted to know. He hotly declared the Lusitania victims plaguey fools who knew what they were riskin' when they sailed and had got just what was comin' to 'em — ^that is, he was pro- claiming it when Captain Sam heard him; after that the captain issued a proclamation of his own and was proceed- ing to follow words with deeds. The aflfair ended by mutual acquaintances leading Captain Sam from the Babbitt Hardware Company's store, the captain rumbling like a volcano and, to follow up the simile, still emitting verbal brimstone and molten lava, while Mr. Babbitt, entrenched behind his counter, with a monkey wrench in his hand, dared his adversary to lay hands on a law-abiding citizen. When the Kaiser and von Tirpitz issued their final ulti- matum, however, and the President called America to arms, Phineas, in company with others of his breed, appeared to have experienced a change of heart. At all events he kept his anti-war opinions to himself and, except that his hatred for the captain was more virulent than ever since the affair of the postmastership, he found little fault with the war preparations in the village, the organizing of a Home Guard, the raising of funds for a' new flag and flagpole and, the recruiting meeting in the town hall. At that meeting a half dozen of Orham's best young fel- lows had expressed their desire to fight for Uncle Sam. The Orham band — minus its first cornet, who was himself one of the volunteers — ^had serenaded them at the railway station and the Congregational minister and Lawyer Pound- berry of the Board of Selectmen had made speeches. Cap- tain Sam Hunniwell, being called upon to say a few words had said a few — ^perhaps, considering the feelings of the minister and the feminine members of his flock present it is well they were not more numerous. Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" II "Good luck to you, boys," said Captain Sam. "I wish to the Almighty I was young enough to go with you. And say, if you see that Kaiser anywheres afloat or ashore give him particular merry hell for me, will you?" And then, a little later, came the news that the con- scription bill had become a law and that the draft was to be a reality. And with that news the war itself became a little more real. And, suddenly, Phineas Babbitt, realizing that his son, Leander, was twenty-five years old arid, there- fore, within the limits of the draft age, became once more an ardent, if a little more careful, conscientious objector. He discovered that the war was a profiteering enterprise engineered by capital and greed for the exploiting of labor and the common people. Whenever he thought it safe to do so he aired these opinions and, as there were a few of what Captain Hunniwell called "yellow-backed swabs" in Orham or its neighborhood, he occasionally had sympathetic listeners. Phineas, it is only fair to say, had never hereto- fore shown any marked interest in labor except to get as much of it for as little money as possible. If his son, Lean- der, shared his father's opinions, he did not express them. In fact he said very little, working steadily in the store all day and appearing to have som,ething on his mind. Most people liked Leander. Then came the draft and Leander was drafted. He said very little about it, but his father said a great deal. The boy should not go; the affair was an outrage. Leander wasn't strong, anyway; besides, wasn't he his father's principal support? He couldn't be spared, that's all there was about it, and he shouldn't be. There was going to be an Exemption Board, wasn't there? All right— just wait until he, Phineas, went before that board. He hadn't been in politics all these years for nothin'. Sam Hunniwell hadn't got all the pull there was in the county. Digitized by Microsoft® 12 "SHAVINGS" And then Captain Sam was appointed a member of that very board. He had dropped in at the windmill shop the very evening when he decided to accept and told Jed Win- slow all about it. There never were two people more unlike than Sam Hunniwell and Jed Winslow, but they had been fast friends since boyhood. Jed knew that Phineas Babbitt had been on a trip to Boston and, therefore, had not heard of the captain's appointment. Now, according to Gabriel Bearse, he had returned and had heard of it, and ac- cording to Bearse's excited statement he had "gone on" about it. "Leander's been drafted," repeated Gabe. "And that was bad enough for Phineas, he bein' down on the war, any- how. But he's been cal'latin', I cal'late, to use his political pull to get Leander exempted oif. Nine boards out of ten, if they'd had a man from Orham on 'em, would have gone by what that man said in a case like Leander's. And Phineas, he was movin' heavens and earth to get one of his friends put on as the right Orham man. And now— now, by godfreys domino, they've put on the one man that Phin can't influence, that hates Phin worse than a cat hates a swim. Oh, you ought to heard Phineas go on when I told him. He'd just got off the train, as you might say, so nobody'd had a chance to tell him. I was the fust one, you see. So " "Was Leander there?" "No, he wan't. There wan't nobody in the store but Susie Ellis, that keeps the books there now, and Abner Burgess's boy, that runs errands and waits on folks when everybody else is busy. That was a funny thing, too— that about Leander's not bein' there. Susie said she hadn't seen him since just after breakfast time, half past seven o'clock or so, and when she telephoned the Babbitt house it turned Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" 13 out he hadn't been there, neither. Had his breakfast and went out, he did, and that's all his step-ma knew about him. But Phineas, he. ... Eh? Ain't that the bell ? Customer, I presume likely. Want me to go see who 'tis, Shavin's — Jed, I mean?" Digitizecfby Microsoft® CHAPTER II BUT the person who had entered the outer shop saved Mr. Bearse the trouble. He, too, disregarded the "Private" sign on the door of the inner room. Before Gabriel could reach it that door was thrown open and the newcomer entered. He was a big man, gray-mustached, with hair a grizzled red, and with blue eyes set in a florid face. The hand which had opened the door looked big and powerful enough to have knocked a hole in it, if such a pro- cedure had been necessary. And its owner looked quite capable of doing it, if he deemed it necessary, in fact he looked as if he would rather have enjoyed it. H swept into the room like a northwest breeze, and two bundles of wooden strips, cut to the size of mill arijis, clattered to the floor as he did so. "Hello, Jed!" he hailed, in a voice which measured up to the rest of him. Then, noticing Mr. Bearse for the first time, he added: "Hello, Gabe, what are you doin' here?" Gabriel hastened to explain. His habitual desire to please and humor each person he met — each person of consequence, that is; very poor people or village eccentrics like Jed Winslow did not much matter, of course — was in this case augmented by a particular desire to please Captain Sam Hunniwell. Captain Sam, being one of Orham's most in- fluential men, was not, in Mr. Bearse's estimation,, at all the sort of person whom it was advisable to displease. He might — and did — talk disparagingly'of him behind his back, as he did behind the back of every one else, but he smiled humbly and spoke softly in his presence. The conscious- Digitized by microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" 15 ness of having just been talking of him, however, of having visited that shop for the express purpose of talking about him, made the explaining process a trifle embarrassing. "Oh, howd'ye do, howd'ye do, Cap'n Hunniwell?" stam- mered Gabriel. "Nice day, ain't it, sir? Yes, sir, 'tis a nice day. I was just — er — that is, I just run in to see Shavin's here; to make a little call, you know. We was just settin' here talkin', wan't we, Shavin's — ^Jed, I mean?" Mr. Winslow stood his completed sailor man in a rack to dry. "Ya-as," he drawled, solemnly, "that was about it, I guess. Have a chair, Sam, won't you? . . . That was about it, we was sittin' and talkin' ... I was sittin' and Gab — Gabe, I mean — was talkin'." Captain Sam chuckled. As Winslow and Mr. Bearse were occupying the only two chairs in the room he accepted the invitation in its broad sense and, turning an empty box upon end, sat down on that. "So Gabe was talkin', eh?" he repeated. "Well, that's singular. How'd that happen, Gabe?" Mr. Btarse looked rather foolish. "Oh, we was just — just talkin' about— er — this and that," he said, hastily. "Just this and that, nothin' partic'lar. Cal'late I'll have to be runnin' along now, Jed." Jed Winslow selected a new and unpainted sailor from the pile near him. He eyed it dreamily. "Well, Gabe," he observed, "if you must, you must, I suppose. Seems to me you're leavin' at the most interestin' time. We've been talkin' about this and that, same as you say, and now you're leavin' just as 'this' has got here. Maybe if you wait — wait — a " The sentence died away into nothingness. He had taken up the brush which he used for the blue paint. There was Digitized by Microsoft® i6 "SHAVINGS" a loose bristle in it. He pulled this out and one or two more came with it. "Hu-um !" he mused, absently. Captain Sam was tired of waiting. "Come, finish her out, Jedr— finish her out," he urged. "What's the rest of it?" "I cal'late I'll run along now," said Mr. Bearse, nervously moving toward the door. "Hold on a minute," commanded the captain. "Jed hadn't finished what he was sayin' to you He generally talks like one of those continued-in-our-next yarns in the magazines. Give us the September installment, Jed — come." Mr. Winslow smiled, a slow, whimsical smile that lit up his lean, brown face and then passed away as slowly as it had come, lingering for an instant at one ^corner of his mouth. "Oh, I was just tellin' Gabe that the 'this' he was talkin* about was here now," he said, "and that maybe if he waited a space the 'that' would come, too. Seems to me if I was you, Gabe, I'd " But Mr. Bearse had gone. Captain Hunniwell snorted. "Humph!" he said; "I judge likely I'm the 'this' you and that gas bag have been talkin' about. Who's the 'that' ?" His companion was gazing absently at the door through which Gabriel had made his hurried departure. After gaz- ing at it in silence for a moment, he rose from the chair, unfolding section by section like a pocket rule, and, crossing the room, opened the door and took from its other side the lettered sign "Private" which had hung there. Then, with tacks and a hammer, he proceeded to affix the placard to the inner side of the door, that facing the room where he and Captain Sam were. The captain regarded this opera- tion with huge astonishment. Digitized by Microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" 17 "Gracious king!" he exclaimed. "What in thunder are you doin' that for? This is the private room in here, ain't it?" Mr. Winslow, returning to his chalir, nodded. "Ya-as," he admitted, "that's why I'm puttin' the 'Privats' sign on this side of the door." "Yes, but Why, confound it, anybody who sees it there will think it is the other room that's private, won't they?" Jed nodded. "I'm in hopes they will," he said. "You're in hopes they will ! Why?" " 'Cause if Gabe Bearse thinks that room's private and that he don't belong there he'll be sartin sure to go there; then maybe he'll give me a rest." He selected a new brush and went on with his painting. Captain Hunniwell laughed heartily. Then, all at once, his laughter ceased and his face assumed a troubled ex- pression. "Jed," he ordered, "leave off daubin' at that wooden doll baby for a minute, will you? I want to talk to you. I want to ask you what you think I'd better do. I know what Gab Bearse— — Much obliged for that name, Jed; 'Gab's' the best name on earth for that critter — I know what Gab came in here to talk about. 'Twas about me and my bein' put on the Exemption Board, of course. That was it, wan't it ? Um-hm, I knew 'twas. I was the 'this' in his 'this and that.' And Phin Babbitt was the 'that' ; I'll bet on it Am I right?" Winslow nodded. "Sure thing!" continued the captain. "Well, there 'tis. What am I goin' to do ? When they wanted me to take the job in the first place I kind of hesitated. You know I did. Twas bound to be one of those thankless sort of jobs that get a feller into trouble, bound to be. And yet — and yet — Digitized by Microsoft® i8 "SHAVINGS" well, somebody has to take those kind of jabs. And a man hadn't ought to talk all the time about how he wishes he could do somethin' to help his country, and then lay down and quit on the first chance that comes his way, just 'cause that chance ain't— ain't eatin' up all the pie in the state so the Germans can't get it, or somethin' like that. Ain't that so?" "Seems so to me, Sam." "Yes. Well, so I said I'd take my Exemption Board job. But when I said I'd accept it, it didn't run across my mind that Leander Babbitt was liable to be drafted, first crack out of the box. Now he is drafted, and, if I know; Phin Babbitt, the old man will be down on us Board fellers the first thing to get the boy exempted. And, I bein' on the ■ Board and hailin' from his own town, Orham here, it would naturally be to me that he'd come first. Eh ? That's what he'd naturally do, ain't it?" His friend nodded once more. Captain Sam lost pa- tience. "Gracious king !" he exclaimed. "Jed Winslow, for thun- der sakes say somethin' ! Don't set there bobbin' your head up and down like one of those wound-up images in a Christmas-time store window. I ask you if that ain't what Phin Babbitt would do? What would you do if you was in his shoes?" Jed rubbed his chin. "Step out of 'em, I guess likely," he drawled. "Humph! Yes — ^well, any self-respectin' person would do that, even if he had to go barefooted the rest of his life. But, what I'm gettin' at is this: Babbitt'Il come to me orderin' me to get Leander exempted. And what'U I say ?"' ' Winslow turned and looked at him. "Seems to me, Sam," he answered, "that if that thing happened there'd be only one thing to say. You'd just have ■ Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" 19 to tell him that you'd listen to his reasons and if they seemed good enough to let the boy off, for your part you'd vote to let him oflf. If they didn't seem good enough — why — — " "Well— what?" "Why, then Leander'd have to go to war and his dad could go to " "Eh ? Go on. I want to hear you say it. Where could he go?" Jed wiped the surplus paint from his brush on the edge of the can. "To sellin' hardware," he concluded, gravely, but With a twinkle in his eye. ' Captain Sam sniffed, perhaps in disappointment. "His hardware'd melt where I'd tell him to go," he declared. "What you say is all right, Ed. It's an easy doctrine to preach, but, like lots of other preacher's doctrines, it's hard to live up to. Phin loves me Uke a step-brother and I love him the same way. Well, now here he comes to ask me to do a favor for him. If I don't do it, he'll say, and the whole town'll say, that I'm ventin' my spite on him, keepin' on with my grudge, bein' nasty, cussed, every- thing that's mean. If I do do it, if I let Leander off, all hands'll say that I did it because I was afraid of Phineas and the rest would say the other thing. It puts me in a devil of a position. It's all right to say, 'Do your duty/ 'Stand up in your shoes,' 'Do what you thirik's right, never mind whose boy 'tis,' and all that, but I wouldn't have that old skunk goin' around -sayin' I took advantage of my position to rob him of his son for anything on earth. .1 despise him too much to give him that much satisfaction. And yet there I am, and the ca&e'U come up afore me. What'll I do, Jed? Shall I resign? Help me out. I'm about crazy. Shall I heave up the job ? Shall I quit ?" Digitized by Microsoft® 20 "SHAVINGS" Jed put down the brush and the sailor man. He rubbed his chin. "No-o," he drawledj after a moment. "Oh, I shan't, eh? Why not?" "'Cause you don't know how, Sam. It always seemed to me that it took a lot of practice to be a quitter. You never practiced." "Thanks. All right, then, I'm to hang on, I suppose, and take my medicine. If that's all the advice you've got to give me, I might as well have stayed at home. But I tell you this, Jed Winslow: If I'd realized — if I'd thought about the Leander Babbitt case comin' up afore me on that Board I never would have accepted the appointment. When you and I were talkin' here the other night it's queer that neither of us thought of it. ... Eh ? What are you look- in' at me like that for? You don't mean to tell me that you did think of it? Did you?" Winslow nodded. "Yes," he said. "I thought of it." "Yon did! Well, I swear! Then why in thunder didn't you " He was interrupted. The bell attached to the door of the outer shop rang. The maker of windmills rose jerkily to his feet. Captain Sam made a gesture of impatience. "Get rid of your customer and come back here soon as you can," he ordered. Having commanded a steamer be- fore he left the sea and become a banker, the captain usually ordered rather than requested. "Hurry all you can. I ain't half through talkin' with you. For the land sakes, move! Of all the deliberate, slow travelin' " He did not finish his sentence, nor did Winslow, who had started toward the door, have time to reach it. The door was opened and a short, thickset man, with a leathery face and a bristling yellow-white chin beard, burst into Digitized by Microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" 21 the room. At the sight of its occupants he uttered a grunt of satisfaction and his bushy brows were drawn together above his little eyes, the latter a washed-out gray and set very close together. "Humph!" he snarled, vindictively. "So you be here. Gabe Bearse said you was, but I thought probably he was lyin', as usual. Did he lie about the other thing, that's what I've come here to find out? Sam Hunniwell, have you been put on that Draft Exemption Board?" "Yes," he said, curtly, "I have." The man trembled all over. "You have?" he cried, raising his voice almost to a scream. "Yes, I have. What's it matter to you, Phin Babbitt? Seems to have het you up some, that or somethin' else." "Het me up! By " Mr. Phineas Babbitt swore steadily for a full minute. When he stopped for breath Jed Winslow, who had stepped over and was looking out of the window, uttered an observation. "I'm afraid I made a mistake, changin' that sign," he said, musingly. "I cal'Iate I'll make another: 'Prayer meetin's must be held outside.' " "By: — ," began Mr. Babbitt again, but this time it was Captain Sara who interrupted. The captain occasionally swore at other people, but he was not accustomed to be sworn at. He, too, began to "heat up." He- rose to his feet. "That'll do, Babbitt," he commanded. "What's the matter with you? Is it me you're cussin'? Because if it is " The little Babbitt eyes snapped defiance. "If it is, what?" he demanded. But before the captain could reply Winslow, turning away from the window, did so for him. Digitized by Microsoft® 22 "SHAVINGS" "If it is, I should say 'twas a pretty complete job," he drawkd. "I don't know when I've heard fewer things left out. You have reason to be proud, both of you. And now, Phineas," he went on, "what's it all about? What's the matter?" Mr. Babbitt waved his fists again, preparatory to another outburst. Jed laid a big hand on his shoulder. "Don't seem to me time for the benediction yet, Phineas," he said. "Ought to preach your sermon or sing a hymn first, seems so. What did you come here for?" i Phineas Babbitt's hard gray eyes looked up into the big brown ones gazing mildly down upon him. His gaze shifted and his tone when he next spoke was a trifle less savage. "He knows well enough what I came here for," he growled, indicating Hunniwell with a jerk of his thumb. "He knows that just as well as he knows why he had himself put on that Exemption Board." "I didn't have myself put there," declared the captain. "The job was wished on me. Lord knows I didn't want it. I was just tellin' Jed here that very thing." "Wished on you nothin'I You planned to get it and you worked to get it and I know why you did it, too. 'Twas ' to get another crack at me. 'Twas to play another dirty trick on me like the one you played that cheated me out of the post piBce. You knew they'd drafted my boy and you wanted to make sure he didn't get clear. You " "That'll do!" Captain Hunniwell seized him by the shoulder. "That's enough," cried the captain. "Your boy had nothin' to do with it. I never thought of his name bein' drawn when I said I'd accept the job." ^ "You lie!" "What? Why, you little sawed-off, dried-up, sassy son of a sea cook ! I'll " Digitized by Microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" 23 Winslow's lanky form was interposed between the pair; and his slow, gentle drawl made itself heard. "I'm sorry to interrupt the experience meetin'," he said, "but I've got a call to testify and I feel the spirit aWorkin'. Set down again, Sam, will you please. Phineas, you set down over there. Please set down, both of you. Sam, as a favor to me " But the captain was not in a favor-extending mood. He glowered at his adversary and remained standing. "Phin " begged Winslow. But Mr. Babbitt, although a trifle paler than when he entered the shop, was not more yielding. "I'm particular who I set down along' of," he declared. *'rd as soon set down with a — a rattlesnake as I would with some humans." Captain Sam was not pale, far from it. "Skunks are always afraid of snakes, they tell me," he observed, tartly. "A rattlesnake's honest, anyhow, and he ain't afraid to bite. He ain't all bad smell and nothin' else." Babbitt's bristling chin beard quivered with inarticulate hatred. Winslow sighed resignedly. "Well," he asked, "you don't mind the other — er — critter in the menagerie sittin', do you? Now — now — now, just a minute," he pleaded, as his two companions showed symp- toms of speaking simultaneously. "Just a minute; let me say a word. Phineas, I judge the only reason you have for objectin' to the captain's bein' on the Exemption Board is on account of your son, ain't it? It's just on Leander's account ?" But before the furious Mr. Babbitt could answer there came another interruption. The bell attached to the doon of the outer shop rang once more. Jed, who had accepted his own invitation to sit, rose again with a groan. Digitized by Microsoft® 24 "SHAVINGS" "Now I wonder who that is?" he drawled, in mild surprise. Captain Hunniwell's frayed patience, never noted for long endurance, snapped again. "Gracious king! go and find out," he roared. "Whoever 'tis '11 die of old age before you get there." The slow smile drifted over Mr. Winslow's face. "Probably if I wait and give 'em a chance they'll come in here and have apoplexy instead," he said. "That seems to be the J^ashionable disease this afternoon. They won't stay out there and be lonesome ; they'll come in here where it's private and there's a crowd. Eh? Yes, here they come." But the newest visitor did not come, like the others, uninvited into the "private" room. Instead he knocked on its door. When Winslow opened it he saw a small boy with a yellow envelope in his hand. "Hello, Josiah," hailed Jed, genially. "How's the presi- dent of the Western Union these days?" The boy grinned bashfully and opined the magnate just mentioned was "all right." Then he added : "Is Mr. Babbitt here? Mr. Bearse — Mr. Gabe Bearse — ^is over at the office and he said he saw Mr. Babbitt come in here." "Yes, he's here. Want to see him, do you?'* "I've got a telegram for him." Mr. Babbitt himself came forward and took the yellow envelope. After absently turning it over several times, as so many people do when they receive an unexpected letter or message, he tore it open. Winslow and Captain Sam, watching him, saw his face ^to which the color had returned in the last few minutesj grow white again. He staggered a little. Jed stepped toward him. Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" 25 "What is it, Phin?" he asked. "Somebody dead or- Babbitt waved him away. "No," he gasped, chokingly. "No, let me be. I'm— I'm all right." Captain Sam, a little conscience-stricken, came forward. "Are you sick, Phin?" he asked. "Is there anything I can do?" Hiineas glowered at him. "Yes," he snarled between his clenched teeth, "you can mind your own darned busi- ness." Then, turning to the boy who had brought the message, he ordered: "Vou get out of here." The frightened youngster scuttled away and Babbitt, the telegram rattlingf in his shaking hand, followed him. The captain, .hurrying to the window, saw him go down the walk and along the road in the direction of his store. He walked like a man stricken. Captain Sam turned back again. "Now what in time was' in that telegram?" he demanded. Jed, standing with his back toward him and looking out of the window on the side of the shop toward the sea, did not answer. "Do you hear me ?" asked the captain. "That telegram struck him like a shock of paralysis. He went all to pieces. What on earth do you Suppose was in it? Eh? Why don't you say somethin' ? You don't know what was in it, do you ?" Winslow shook his head. "No," he answered. "I don't know's I do." "You don't know as you do? Well, do you guess you do? Jed Winslow, what have you got up your sleeve?" The proprietor of the windmill shop slowly turned and faced him. "I don't know's there's anything there, Sam," he answered, ^'but— but I shouldn't be much surprised if that telegram wa^ fr»m Leander." Digitized by Microsoft® 26 "SHAVINGS" "Leander? Leander Babbitt? What ... Eh? What in thunder do you want ?" The last question was directed toward the window on the street side of the shop. Mr. Gabriel Bearse was standing on the outside of that window, energetically thumping on the glass. "Open her up ! Open her up !" commanded Gabe. "I've got somethin' to tell you." Captain Sam opened the window. Gabriel's face was aglow with excitement. "Say! Say!" he cried. "Did he tell you? Did he tell you?" "Did who tell what?" demanded the captain. "Did^Phin Babbitt tell you what was in that telegram he just got? What did he say when he read it? Did he swear ? I bet he did ! If that telegram wan't some surprise to old Babbitt, then " "Do you know what 'twas — what the telegram was?" "Do I? You bet you I do! And I'm the only one in this town except Phin and Jim Bailey that does know. I was in the telegraph office when Jim took it over the wire. I see Jim was pretty excited. 'Well,' says he, 'if this won't be some jolt to old Phin!' he says. 'What will?' says I. 'Why,' says he " "What was it?" demanded Captain Sam. "You're dyin' to tell us, a blind man could see that. Get it off your chest and save your hfe. What was it?" Mr. Bearse leaned forward and virhispered. There was no real reason why he should whisper, but doing so added a mysterious, confidential tang, so to speak, to the value of his news. "'Twas from Leander — from Phin's own boy, Leander Babbitt, 'twas. 'Twas from him, up in Boston and it went somethin' like this: 'Have enlisted in the infantry. Made up my mind best thing to do. Will not be back. Digitized by Microsoft® •SHAVINGS" 27 Have written particulars.' That was it, or pretty nigh it. Leander's enlisted. Never waited for no Exemption Board nor nothin', but went up and enlisted on his own hook with- out tellin' a soul he was goin' to. That's the way Bailey and me figger it up. Say, ain't that some news ? Godfreys, I must hustle back to the post office and tell the gang afore anybody else gets ahead of me. So long!" He hurried away on his joyful errand. Captain Hunni- well closed the window and turned to face his friend. "Do you suppose that's true, Jed?" he asked. "Do you suppose it can be true ?" Jed nodded. "Shouldn't be surprised," he said. "Good gracious king! Do you mean the boy went off up to Boston on his own hook, as that what's-his-name — Gab — says, and volunteered and got himself enlisted Into the army?" "Shouldn't wonder, Sam." "Well, my gracious king! Why — why — no wonder old Babbitt looked as if the main topsail yard had fell on him. Tut, tut, tut! Well, I declare! Now what do you suppose put him up to doin' that ?" Winslow sat down in his low chair again and picked up the wooden sailor and the paint brush. "Well, Sam," he said, slowly, "Leander's a pretty good boy." "Yes, I suppose he is, but he's Phin Babbitt's son." "I know, but don't it seem to you as if some sorts of fathers was like birthmarks and bow legs ; they come early in life and a feller ain't to blame for havin' 'em? Sam, you ain't sorry the boy's volunteered, are you?" "Sorry! I should say not! For one thing his doin' it makes my job on the Exemption Board a mighty sight easier. There won't be any row there with Phineas now." Digitized by Microsoft® 28 "SHAVINGS" "No-o, I thought 'twould help that. But that wan't the whole reason, Sam." "Reason for what? What do you mean?" "I mean that wan't my whole reason for tellin' Leander he'd better volunteer, better go up to Boston and enlist, same as he did. That was part, but 'twan't all." Captain Sam's eyes and mouth opened. He stared at the speaker in amazement. "You told him to volunteer?" he repeated. "You told him to go to Boston and You did? What on earth?" Jed's brush moved slowly down the wooden legs of his sailor man. "Leander and I are pretty good friends," he explained. "I like him and he — er — ^hum — I'm afraid that paint's kind of thick. Gal'late I'll have to thin it a little." Captain Sam condemned the paint to an eternal blister. "Go on! go on!" he commanded. "What about you and Leander? Finish her out. Can't you see you've got my head whirlin' like one of those windmills of yours ? Finish her out! " Jed looked over his spectacles. "Oh!" he said. "Well, Leander's been comin' in here pretty frequent and we've talked about his affairs a good deal. He's always wanted to enlist ever since the war broke out." '"Rehasf" "Why, sartin. Just the same as you would, or — or I hope I would, if I was young and— and," with a wistful smile, "different, and likely to be any good to Uncle Sam. Yes, Leander's been anxious to go to war, but his dad was so set against it all and kept hollerin' so about the boy's bein' needed in the store, that Leander didn't, hardly know what to do. But then when he was drawn on the draft list he came in here and he and I had a long talk. 'Twas yester^ Digitized by Microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" 29 day, after you'd told me about bein' put on the Board, you know. I could see the trouble there'd be between you and Phineas and — and — well, you see, Sam, I just kind of wanted that boy to volunteer. I — I don't know why, but " He looked up from his work and stared dreamily out of the window. "I guess maybe 'twas because I've been wishin' so that I could go myself — or — do somethin' that was some good. So Leander and I talked and finally he said, 'Well, by George, I will go.' And — and — well, I guess that's all ; he went, you see." The , captain drew a long breath. "He went," he repeated. "And you knew he'd gone ?" "No, I didn't know, but I kind of guessed." "You guessed, and yet all the time I've been here you haven't said a word about it till this minute." "Well, I didn't think 'twas much use sayin' until I knew." "Well, my gracious king, Jed Winslow, you beat all my goin' to sea ! But you've helped Uncle Sam to a good soldier and you've helped me out of a nasty row. For my part I'm everlastin' obliged to you, I am so." Jed looked pleased but very much embarrassed. "Sho, sho," he exclaimed, hastily, " 'twan't anything. Oh, say," hastily changing the subject, "I've got some money 'round here somewheres I thought maybe you'd take to the bank and deposit for me next time you went, if 'twan't too much trouble." "Trouble? Course 'tain't any trouble. Where is it?" Winslow put down his work and began to hunt. From one drawer of his work bench, amid nails, tools and huddles of papers, he produced a small bundle of banknotes ; from another drawer another bundle. These, however, did not seem to satisfy him entirely. At last, after a good deal of very deliberate search, he unearthed more paper currency from the pocket of a dirty pair of overalls hanging on a Digitized by Microsoft® 30 "SHAVINGS" nail, and emptied a heap of silver and coppers from a bat- tered can on the shelf. Captain Hunniwell, muttering to himself, watched the collecting process. When it was completed, he asked: "Is this all?" "Eh? Yes, I guess 'tis. I can't seem -to find any more just now. Maybe another batch'll turn np later. If it does I'll keep it till next time." The captain, suppressing his emotions, hastily counted the money. "Have you any idea how much there is here ?" he asked. "No, I don't know's I have. There's been quite con- sider'ble comin' in last fortni't or so. Summer folks been payin' bills and one thing or 'nother. Might be forty or fifty dollars, I presume likely." "Forty or fifty ! Nearer a hundred and fifty ! And you keep it stuffed around in every junk hole from the roof to the cellar. Wonder to me you don't light your pipe with it. I shouldn't wonder if you did. How many times have I told you to deposit your money every three days anyhow? How many times ?" Mr. Winslow seemed to reflect. "Don't know, Sam," he admitted. "Good many, I will give in. But— but, you see, Sam, if— if I take it to the bank I'm liable to forget I've got it. Long's it's round here somewheres I— why, I know where 'tis and— and it's handy. See, don't you ?" The captain shook his head. "Jed Winslow," he declared, "as I said to you just now you beat all my goin' to sea. I can't make you out. When I see how you act with money and business, and how you let folks take advantage of you, then I think you're a plain dum fool. And yet when you bob up and do some- thin' like gettin' Leander Babbitt to volunteer and D-^tti«' Diaitivf'ri hv Minmsnfm gCLCm Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" 31 me out of that row with his father, then— well, then, I'm ready to swear you're as wise as King Solomon ever was. You're a puzzle to me, Jed. What are you, an3rway — ^the dum fool or King Solomon?" Jed looked meditatively over his spectacles. The slow smile tw'tched the corners of his lips. "Well, Sam," he drawled, "if you put it to vote at town meetin' I cal'late the majority'd be all one way. But, I don't know" — ; he paused, and then added, "I don't know, Sam, but it's just as well as 'tis. A King Solomon down here in Orham would be an awful lonesome cuss." Digitized by Microsoft® CHAPTER III UPON a late September day forty-nine years and some months before that upon which Gabe Bearse came to Jed Winslow's windmill shop in Orhanx withtiie news of Leander Babbitt's enlistment, Miss Floretta Thompson came to that village to teach the "downstairs" school. Miss Thompson was an orphan. Her father had kept a small drug store in a town in western Massachusetts. Her mother had been a clergyman's daughter. Both had died when she was in her 'teens. Now, at twenty, she came to Cape Cod, pale, slim, with a wealth of light brown hair and a pair of large, dreamy brown eyes. Her taste in dress was peculiar, even eccentric, and Orham soon discovered that she, herself, was also somewhat eccentric. As a schoolteacher she was not an unqualified success. The "downstairs" curriculum was not extensive nor very exacting, but it was supposed to impart to the boys and girls of from seven to twelve a rudimentary knowledge of the three R's and of geography. In the first two R's, "read- in' and 'ritin'," Miss Thompson was proficient. She wrote a flowery Spencerian, which was beautifully "shaded" and looked well on the blackboard, and reading was the dis- sipation of her spare moments. The third "R," 'rithmetic, she loathed. Youth, even at the ages of from seven to twelve, is only too proficient in learning to evade hard work. The fact that Teacher took no delight in traveling the prosaic high- ways of addition, multiplication and division, but could be easily lured to wander the flowery lanes of romantic fiction, 32 Digitized by Microsofi® "SHAVINGS" 33 was soon grasped by the downstairs pupils. The hour set for recitation by the first class in arithmetic was often and often monopolized by a hold-over of the first class in reading, while Miss Floretta, artfully spurred by questions asked by the older scholars, rhapsodized on the beauties of James Fenimore Cooper's "Uncas," or Dickens' "Little Nell," or Scott's "Ellen." Some of us antiques, then tow- headed little shavers in the front seats, can still remember Miss Floretta's rendition of the lines: "And Saxon — I am Roderick Dhul" The extremely genteel, not to say ladylike, elocution of the Highland chief and the indescribable rising inflection and emphasis on the "I." These literary rambles had their inevitable effect, an effect noted, after a time, and called to the attention of the school committee by old Captain Lycurgus Batcheldor, whose two grandchildren were among the ramblers. "Say," demanded Captain Lycurgus, "how old does a young-one have tp be afore it's supposed to know how much four times eight is? My Sarah's Nathan is pretty nigh ten and he don't know it. Gave me three answers he did ; first that 'twas forty-eight, then that 'twas eighty-four and then that he'd forgot what 'twas. But I noticed he could tell me a whole string about some feller called Lockintar or Lochinvar or some such outlandish name, and not only his name but where he came from, which was out west somewheres. A poetry piece 'twas ; Nate said the teacher'd been speakin' it to 'em. I ain't got no objection to speakin' pieces, but I do object to bein' told that four times eight is eighty-four, 'specially when I'm buyin' codfish at eight cents a pound. / ain't on the school committee, but if I was " So the committee investigated and when Miss Thompson's year was up and the question arose as to her reengagement, Digitized by Microsoft® 34 "SHAVINGS" there was considerable hesitancy. But tiie situation was relieved in a most unexpected fashion. Thaddeus Winslow, first mate on the clipper ship, "Owner's Favorite," at home from a voyage to the Dutch East Indies, fell in love with Miss Floretta, proposed, was accepted and married her. It was an odd match: Floretta, pale, polite, impractical and intensely romantic; Thad, florid, rough and to the point. Yet the married pair seemed to be happy together. Winslow went to sea on several voyages and, four years after the marriage, remained at home for what, for him, was a long time. During that time a child, a boy, was born. The story of the christening of that child is one of Orham's pet yams even to this day. It seems that there was a marked disagreement concerning the name to be given him. Captain Thad had had an Uncle Edgar, who had been very kind to him when a boy. The captain wished to name his own youngster after this uncle. But Floretta's heart was set upon "Wilfred," her favorite hero of romance being Wilfred of Ivanhoe. The story is that the parents being no nearer an agreement on the great question, Floretta made a proposal of compromise. She proposed that her husband take up his stand by the bedroom window and the first male person he saw passing on the sidewalk below, the name of that person should be given to their offspring; a sporting proposition certainly. But the story goes on to detract a bit from the sporting element by explaining that Mrs. Winslow was expecting a call at that hour from the Baptist minister, and the Baptist minister's Christian name was "Qarence," which, if not quite as romantic as Wil- fred, is by no means common and prosaic. Captain Thad, who had not been informed of the expected ministerial call and was something of a sport himself, assented to the arrangement. -It was solemnly agreed that the name of Digitized by Microsom> ^ "* 'SHAVINGS" 35 the first male passer-by should be the name of the new Winslow. The captain took up his post of observation at the window and waited. i He did not have to wait long. Unfortunately for ro- mance, the Reverend Qarencc was detained at the home of another parishioner a trifle longer than he had planned and the first masculine to pass the Winslow home was old Jedidah Wingate, the fish peddler. Mrs. Diadama Busteed, who was acting as nurse in the family and had been sworn in as witness to the agreement between husband and wife, declared to the day of her death that that death was hastened by the shock to her nervous and moral system caused by Captain Thad's language when old Jedidah hove in sight. He vowed over and over again that he would be everlastingly condemned if he would label a young-one of his with such a crashety-blank-blanked outrage of a name as "Jedidah." "Jedidiah" was bad enough, but there were a few Jedidiahs in Ostable County, whereas there was but one Jedidah. Mrs. Winslow, who did not fancy Jedidah any more than her husband did, wept ; Captain Thad's profanity impregnated the air with brimstone. But they had solemnly sworn to the agreement and Mrs. Busteed had witnessed it, and an oath is an oath. Besides, Mrs. Winslow was inclined to think the whole matter guided by Fate, and, being superstitious as well as romantic, feared dire calamity if Fate was interfered with. It ended in a compromise and, a fortnight later, the Reverend Clarence, keeping his countenance with difficulty, christened a red- faced and pro- testing infant "Jedidah Edgar Wilfred Winslow." Jedidah Edgar Wilfred grew up. At first he was called "Edgar" by his father and "Wilfred" by his mother. His teachers, day school and Sunday school, called him one or the other as suited their individual fancies. But his school- mates and playfellows, knowing that he hated the name Digitized by Microsoft® 36 "SHAVINGS" above all else on earth, gleefully hailed him as "Jedidah." By the time he was ten he was "jed" Winslow beyond hope of recovery. Also it was settled locally that he was "queer" — not "cracked" or "lacking," which would have implied that his brain was aifected — ^but just "queer," which meant that his ways of thinking and acting were different from those of Orham in general. His father. Captain Thaddeus, died when Jed was fifteen, just through the grammar school and ready to enter tlie high. He did not enter; instead, the need of money being pressing, he went to work in one of the local stores, selling behind the counter. If his father had lived he wgoild^ probably, have gone away after finishing high school ari(t perhaps, if by that time the mechanical ability which he possessed had shown itself, he might even have gone to some technical school or college. In that case Jed Win- slow's career might have been very, very different. But instead he went to selling groceries, boots, shoes, dry goods and notions for Mr. Seth Wingate, old Jedidah^s younger brother. As a grocery clerk Jed was not a success, neither did he shine as a clerk in the post oifice, nor as an assistant to the local expressman. In desperation he began to learn the carpenter's trade and, because he liked to handle tools, did pretty well at it. But he continued to be "queer" and his absent-minded dreaminess was in evidence even then. "I snum / don't know what to make of him," declared Mr. Abijah Mullett, who was the youth's "boss." "Never know just what he's goin' to do or just what he's goin' to say. I says to him yesterday: 'Jed,' says I, 'you do pretty well with tools and wood, considerin' what little experience you've had. Did Cap'n Thad teach you some or did you pick it up yourself?' He never answered for a minute or so, seemed to be way off dreamin' in the next Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" 37 county somewheres. Then he looked at me with them big eyes of his and he drawled out : 'Comes natural to me, Mr. Mullett, I guess,' he says. 'There seems to be a sort of family feelin' between my head and a chunk of wood.' Now what kind of an answer was that, I want to know !" Jed worked at carpentering for a number of years, some- times going as far away as Ostable to obtain employment. And then his mother was seized with the illness from which, so she said, she never recovered. It is true that Doctor Parker, the Orham physician, declared that she had recSvered, or might recover if she cared to. Which of the pair was right does not really matter. At all events Mrs. Winslow, whether she recovered or not, never walked abroad again. She was "up and about," as they say in Orham, and did some housework, after a fashion, but she never again set foot across the granite doorstep of the Winslow cottage. Probably the poor woman's mind was slightly affected; it is charitable to hope that it was. It seems the only reasonable excuse for the oddity of her behavior during the last twenty years of her life, for her growing querulousness and selfishness and for the exacting slavery in which she kept her only son. During those twenty years whatever ambition Jedidah Edgar Wilfred may once have had was thoroughly crushed. His mother would not hear of his leaving her to find better work or to obtain promotion. She needed him, she wailed; he was her life, her all ; she should die if he left her. Some hard-hearted townspeople. Captain Hunniwell among them, disgustedly opined that, in view of such a result, Jed should be forcibly kidnaped forthwith for the general better- ment of the community. But Jed himself never rebelled. He cheerfully gave up his youth and early middle age to his mother and waited upon her, ran her errands, sat Digitized by Microsoft® 38 "SHAVINGS" teside her practically every evening and read romance after romance aloud for her benefit. And his "queemess" the ingredients of a possible chowder. "Little mite late for 'longshore chowder picnics, ma'am," he said, "but it's a westerly wind and I cal'late 'twill be pretty balmy in the lee of the pines. Soon's it gets any ways chilly we'll be startin' home. Wish you were goin' along, too." Digitized by Microsoft® 140 "SHAVINGS" Mrs. Armstrong smiled and said she wished it had been possible for her to go, but it was not. She looked pale that morning, so it seemed to Jed, and when she smiled it was with an obvious eifort. "You're not 'going without locking your kitchen door, are you, Mr. Jed?" she asked. Jed looked at her and at the door. "Why," he observed, "I ain't locked that door, have I! I locked the front one, the one to the shop, though. Did you see the sign I tacked on the outside of it?" "No, I didn't." "I didn't know but you might have. I put on it : 'Closed for the day. Inquire at Abijah Thompson's.' You see," he added, his eye twinklihg ever so little, " 'Bije Thompson lives in th^ last house in the village, two mile or more over to the west'ard." "He does ! Then why in the world did you tell people to inquire there?" "Oh, if I didn't they'd be botherin' you, probabtyi and I didn't want 'em doin' that. If they want me enough to travel way over to 'Bijfc's they'll come back here to-morrow, I shouldn't wonder. I guess likely they'd have to; 'Bije don't know anything about me." He rubbed his chin and then added: "Maybe 'twould be a good notion to lock that kitchen door." They were standing at the edge of the bluff. He saun- tered over to the kitchen, closed the door, and then, open- ing the window beside it, reached in through that window and turned the key in the lock of the door. Leaving the key in that lock and the window still open, he came saun- tering back again. "There," he drawled, "I guess everything's safe enough now." Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" 141 Mrs. Armstrong regarded him in amused wonder. "Do you usually lock your door on the inside in that way?" she asked. "Eh? ... Oh, yes'm. If I locked it on the outside I'd have to take the key with me, and I'm such an absent- minded dumb-head, I'd be pretty sure to lose it. Come on. Babbie. All aboard 1" Digitized by Microsoft® CHAPTER IX THE "Araminta," which was the name of Captain Perez's power dory — a name, so the captain invaria- bly explained, "wished onto her" before he bought her — chugged along steadily if not swiftly. The course was always in protected water, inside the outer beaches or through the narrow channels between the sand islands, and so there were no waves to contend with and no dang&r. Jed, in the course of his varied experience afloat and ashore, had picked up a working knowledge of gasoline engines and, anyhow, as he informed his small passenger, the "Ara- minta's" engine didn't need any expert handling. "She runs just like some folks' tongues ; just get her started and she'll clack along all day," he observed, adding philosoph- ically, "and that's a good thing — ^in an engine." "I know whose tongue you're thinking about. Uncle Jed," declared Barbara. "It's Mr. Gabe Bearse's." Jed was much amused; he actually laughed aloud. "Gabe and this engine are different in one way, though," he said. "It's within the bounds of human possibility to stop this engine." They threaded the last winding channel and came out into the bay. Across, on the opposite shore, the new sheds and lumber piles of what was to be the aviation camp loomed raw and yellow in the sunlight. A brisk breeze ruffled the blue water and the pines on the hilltops shook their heads and shrugged their green shoulders. The "Ara- minta" chugged across the bay, rising and falling ever so little on the miniature rollers. Digitized by tijarosoft® "SHAVINGS" 143 "What shall we do, Uncle Jed?" asked Barbara. "Shall we go to see the camp or shall we have our chowder and luncheon first and then go ?" Jed took out his watch, shook it and held it to his ear — a precautionary process rendered necessary because of his habit of forgetting to wind it — ^ther, after a look at the dial, announced that, as it was only half-past ten, perhaps they had better go to the camp first. "You see," he observed, "if we eat now we shan't hardly know whether we're late to breakfast or early to dinner." Barbara was surprised. "Why, Uncle Jed !" she exclaimed, "I had breakfast ever so long ago ! Didn't you ?" "I had it about the same time you did, I cal'late. But my appetite's older than yours and it don't take so much exer- cise; I guess that's the difference. We'll eat pretty soon. Let's go and look the place over fitst." They landed in a little cove on the beach adjoining the Government reservation. Jed declared it a good place to make a fire, as it was sheltered from the wind. He an- chored the boat at the edge of the channel and then, pull- ing up the tops of his long-legged rubber boots, carried his passenger ashore. Another trip or two landed the ket- tle, the materials for the chowder and the lunch baskets. Jed looked at the heap on the beach and then off at the boat. "Now," he said, slowly, "the question is what have I left aboard that I ought to have fetched ashore and what have I fetched here that ought to be left there? . . . Hum. . . . I wonder." "What makes you think you've done anything like that, Uncle Jed?" asked Barbara. "Eh? ... Oh, I don't think it, I know it. I've boarded with myself for fortg^^jji^x?^,^.^ know if there's any- 144 "SHAVINGS" thing I can get cross-eyed I'll do it. Just as likely as not I've made the bucket of clams fast to that rope out yonder and hove it overboard, and pretty soon you'll see me tryin' to make chowder out of the anchor. . . . Ah hum. . . . well. . . . 'As numberless as the sands on the seashore, As numberless as the sands on the shore. Oh, what a sight 'twill be, when the ransomed host we see, As numberless as ' Well, what do you say? Shall we heave aSipad for the place where Uncle Sam's birds are goin' to nest^ — ^his two- legged birds, I mean?" They walked up the beach a little way, then turned in- land, climbed a dune covered with beachgrass and emerged upon the flat meadows which would soon be the flying field. They walked about among the sheds, the frames of the barracks, and inspected the office building from outside. There were gangs of workmen, carpenters, plumbers and shovelers, but almost no uniforms. Barbara was disap- pointed. "But there are soldiers here," she declared. "Mamma said there were, officer soldiers, you know." "I cal'late there ain't very many yet," explained her companion. "Only the few that's in charge, I guess likely. By and by there'll be enough, officers and men both, but now there's only carpenters and such." "But there are some officer ones " insisted Babbie. "I wonder — Oh, see, Uncle Jed, through that window — see, aren't those soldiers ? They've got on soldier clothes." Jed presumed likely that they were. Barbara nodded, sagely. "And they're officers, too," she said, "I'm sure they are because they're in the office. Do they call them ofi&cers because theyo^^|-J^^p,^Jj|Sg^Uncle Jed?" 'SHAVINGS" 145 After an hour's walking about they went back to the place where they had left the boat and Jed set about mak- ing the chowder. Barbara watched him build the fire and open the clams, but then, growing tired of sitting still, she was seized with an idea. "Uncle Jed," she asked, "can't you whittle me a shingle boat? You know you did once at our beach at home. And there's the cunningest little pond to sail it on. Mamma would let me sail it there, I know, 'cause it isn't a bit deep. You come and see. Uncle Jed." The "ponid" was a puddle, perhaps twenty feet across, left by the outgoing tide. Its greatest depth was not more than a foot. Jed absent-mindedly declared the pond to be safe enough but that he could not make a shingle boat, not having the necessary shingle. "Would you if you had one?" persisted the young lady. "Eh ? . • . Oh, yes, sartin, I guess so." "All right. Here is one. I picked it up on top of that little hill. I guess it blew there. It's blowing ever so much harder up there than it is here on the beach." The shingle boat being hurriedly made, its owner begged for a paper sail. "The other one you made me had a paper sail. Uncle Jed." i ^Jed pleaded that he had no paper. "There's some wrapped 'round the lunch," he said, "but it's all butter and such. 'Twouldn't be any good for a sail. Er— er — don't you think we'd better put off makin' the sail till we get home or — or somewheres ? This chowder is sort of on my con- science this minute." Babbie evidently did not think so. She went away on an exploring expedition. In a few minutes she returned, a sheet of paper in her hand. "It was blowing around just where I found the shingle," Digitized by Microsoft® 146 "SHAVINGS" she declared. "It's a real nice place to find things, up on that hill place. Uncle Jed." Jed took the paper, looked at it absently — he had taken off his coat during the fire-building and his glasses were presumably in the coat pocket — ^and then hastily doubled it across, thrust the mast of the "shingle boat" through it at top and bottom, and handed the craft to his small compan- ion. "There!" he observed; "there she is, launched, rigged and all but christened. Call her the — the 'Geranium' — ^the 'Sunflower' — ^what's the name of that doll baby of yours ? Oh, yes, the 'Petunia.' Call her that and set her afloat." But Barbara shook her head. "I think," she said, "if you don't mind. Uncle Jed, I shall call this one 'Ruth,' that's Mamma's name, you know. The other one you made me was named for Petunia, and we wouldn't want to name 'em all for her. It might make her too — ^too Oh, what are those things you make,. Uncle Jed ? In the shop, I mean." "Eh? Windmills?" "No. The others — ^those you tell the wind with. I know —vanes. It might make Petunia too vain. That's what Mamma said I mustn't be when I had my new coat, the one with the fur, you know." She trotted off. Jed busied himself with the chowder. A few minutes later a voice behind him said : "Hi, there !" He turned to see a broad-shouldered stranger, evidently a carpenter or workman of some sort, standing at the top of the sand dune and looking down at him with marked interest. "Hi, there!" repeated the stranger. Jed nodded; his attention was centered on the chowder. "How d'ye do?" he observed, politely. "Nice day, ain't it? . . . Hum. . . . About five minutes more." Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" 147 The workman strode down the bank. "Say," he demanded, "have you seen ansrthing of a plan?" "Eh? . . . Hum. . . . Two plates and two spoons . . . and two tumblers. . . ." "Hey! Wake up! Have you seen anything of a plan, I ask you ?" "Eh? ... A plan? . . . No, I gutss not. . . . No, I ain't What is it?" "What is it ? How do you know you ain't seen it if you don't know what it is?" "Eh? ... I don't, I guess likely.'* "Say, you're a queer duck, it strikes me. What are you up to? What are you doin' here, anyway?" Jed took the cover from the kettle iand stirred the fra- grant, bubbling mass with a long-handled spoon. "About done," he mused, slowly. "Just . . . about . . . done. Give her two minutes more for luck and then . . ." But his visitor was becoming impatient. "Are you deaf or are you tryin' to get my goat ?" he demanded. "Because if you are you're pretty close to doin' it, I'll tell you that. You answer when I ispeak to you; understand? What are you doin' here?" * His tone was so loud and emphatic that even Mr, Win- slow could not help but hear and understand. He looked up, vaguely troubled. "I — I hope you'll excuse me, Mister," he stammered. "I'm afraid I haven't been payin' attention the way I'd ought to. You see, I'm makin' a chowder here and it's just a:bout got to the place where you can't " "Look here, you," began his questioner, but he was in- terrupted in his turn. Over the edge of the bank came a young man in the khaki uniform of the United States Army. He was an officer, ^^lecg^d^but^^nt, and a very young 148 "SHAVINGS'^ and very new second lieutenant at that. His face was white and he seemed much agitated. "What's the matter here?" he demanded. Then, seeing Jed for the first time, he asked: "Who is this man and what is he doing here?" "That's just what I. was askin' him, sir," blustered the workman. "I found him here with this fire goin' and I asked him who he was and what he was doin'. I asked him first if he'd seen the plan " "Had he?" broke in the young officer, eagerly. Then, addressing Jed, he said: "Have you seen anything of the plan?" Jed slowly shook his head. "I don't know's I know what you mean by a plan," he explained. "I ain't been here very long. I just My soul and body!" He snatched the kettle from the fire, took oif the cover, sniffed anxiously, and then added, with a sigh of relief, "Whew ! I declare I thought I smelt it burnin'. Saved it just in time. Whew!" The lieutenant looked at Jed and then at the workman. The latter shook his head. "Don't ask me, sir," he said. "That's the way he's been actin' ever since I struck here. Either he's batty or else he's pretendin' to be, one or the other. Look here, Rube !" he roared at the top of his lungs, "can the cheap talk and answer the lieutenant's questions or you'll get into trouble. D'ye hear?" Jed looked up at him. "I'm pretty nigh sure I should hear if you whispered a little louder," he said, gently. The young officer drew himself up. 'That's enough of this," he ordered. "A plan has been lost here on this res- ervation, a valuable plan, a drawing of — ^well, a drawing that has to do with the laying out of this camp and which might be of value ^^^j^'^^eB^WMotm ^^^^^ get it. It was "SHAVINGS" 149 on my table in the office less than an hour ago. Now it is missing. What we are asking you is whether or not you have seen anything of it. Have you?" Jed shook his head. "I don't think I have," he replied. "You don't think? Don't you know? What is the matter with you? Is it impossible for you to answer yes or no to a question?" "Um — why, yes, I cal'late 'tis — ^to some questions. "Well, by George! You're fresh enough." "Now — ^now, if you please, I wasn't intendin' to be fresh. I just " "Well, you are. Who is this fellow ? How does he hap- pen to be here? Does any one know?" Jed's first interrogator, the big workman, being the only one present beside the speaker and the object of the ques- tion, took it upon himself to answer. "I don't know who he is," he said. "And he won't tell why he's here. Looks mighty suspicious to me. Shouldn't wonder if he was a German spy. They're all around everywheres, so the papers say." This speech had a curious eifect. The stoop in the Win- slow shoulders disappeared. Jed's tall form straightened. When he spoke it was in a tone even more quiet and de- liberate than usual, but there could be no shadow of a doubt that he meant what he said. "Excuse me. Mister," he drawlfed, "but there's one or two names that just now I can't allow anybody to call me. 'German' is one and 'sp/ is another. And you put 'em both together. I guess likely you was only foolin', wasn't you?" The workman looked surprised. Then he laughed. "Shall I call a guard, sir?" he asked, addressing the lieu- tenant. "Better have him searched, I should say. Nine chances to one he's got the plan in his pocket." Digitized by Microsoft® ISO "SHAVINGS" The officer — ^he was very young — ^hesitated. Jed, who had not taken his eyes from the face of the man who had called him a German spy, spoke again. "You haven't answered me yet," he drawled. "You was only foolin' when you said that, wasn't you?" The lieutenant, who may have felt that he had sud- denly become a negligible factor in the situation, essayed to take command of it. "Shut up," he ordered, addressing Winslow. Then to the other, "Yes, call a guard. We'll see if we can't get a straight answer from this fellow. Hurry up." The workman turned to obey. But, to his surprise, his path was blocked by Jed, who quietly stepped in front \of him. "I guess likely, if you wasn't foolin', you'd better take back what you called me," said Jed. They looked at each other. The workman was tall and strong, but Jed, now that he was standing erect, was a little taller. His hands, which hung at his sides, were big and his arms long. And in his mild blue eye there was a look of unshakable determination. The workman saw that look and stood still. "Hurry up!" repeated the lieutenant. Just how the situation might have ended is uncertain. How it did end was in an unexpected manner. From the rear of the trio, from the top of the sandy ridge separat- ing the beach from the meadow, a new voice made itself heard. "Well, Rayburn, what's the trouble?" it asked. The lieutenant turned briskly, so, too, did Mr. Winslow and his vis-a-vis. Standing at the top of the ridge was another officer. He was standing there looking down upon them and, although he was not smiling, Jed somehow con- ceived the idea that he was much amused about something. Digitized by Microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" 151 Now he descended the ridge and walked toward the group by the fire. "Well, Rayburn, what is it?" he asked again. The lieutenant saluted. "Why — ^why, Major Grover," he stammered, "we-^that is I found this man here on the Government property and — and he won't explain what .he's doing here. I — I asked him if he had seen anything of the plan and he worft an- swer. I was just going to put him under arrest as — ^as a suspicious person when you came." Major Grover turned and inspected Jed, and Jed, for his part, inspected the major. He saw a well set-up man of perhaps thirty-five, dark-haired, brown-eyed and with a closely clipped mustache above a pleasant mouth and a firm chin. The inspection lasted a minute or more. Then the major said: "So you're a suspicious character, are you?" Jed's hand moved across his chin in the gesture habitual with him. "I never knew it afore," he drawled. "A suspicious character is an important one, ain't it? I — er — ^I'm flat- tered." "Humph! Well, you realize it now, I suppose?" "Cal'late I'll have to, long's your — er — chummie there says it's so." The expression of horror upon Lieutenant Rayburn's face at hearing himself referred to as "chummie" to his superior ofiicer was worth seeing. "Oh, I say,_sir!" he explained. The major paid no at- tention. "What were you and this man," indicating the big car- penter, "bristling up to each other for?" he inquired. "Well, this guy he " began the workman. Major Grover motioned h^Md^m^m® 152 "SHAVINGS" "I asked the other fellow," he said. Jed rubbed his chin once more. "He said I was a German spy," he replied. "Are you?" "No." The answer was prompt enough and emphatic enough. Major Grover tugged at the corner of his mus- tache. "Well, I — I admit you don't look it," he observed, dryly. "What's your name and who are you?" Jed told his name, his place of residence and his busi- ness. "Is there any one about here who knows you, who could prove you were who you say you are?" Mr. Winslow considered. "Ye-es," he drawled. "Ye-es, I guess so. 'Thoph Mullett and 'Bial Hardy and Georgie T. Nickerson and Squealer Wixon, they're all carpenterin' over here and they're from Orham and know me. Then there's Bluey Batcheldor and Emulous Baker and 'Gawpy' — I mean Freddie G. — and " "There, there! That's quite sufficient, thank you. Do you know any of those men?" he asked, turning to the workman. "Yes, sir, I guess I do." "Very well. Go up and bring two of them here; not more than two, understand." Jed's accuser departed. Major Grover resumed his catechizing. "What were you doing here ?" he asked. "Eh? Me? Oh, I was just picnicin', as you might say, along with a little girl, daughter of a neighbor of mine. She wanted to see where the soldiers was goin' to fly, so I borrowed Perez Ryder's power dory and we came over. 'Twas gettin' along dinner time and I built a fire so as to cook. . . . My soul !8/^i& s^ gaspsfifeconstemation, "I for- •SHAVINGS" 153 got all about that chowder. And now it's got stone cold. Yes, sir!" dropping on his kn^ai^^emoving the cover of the kettle, "stone cold or next dOTr to it. Ain't that a shame !" Lieutenant Rayburn snorted in disgust. His superior of- ficer, however, merely smiled. "Never mind the chowder just now," he said. "So you came over here for a picnic, did you? Little late for pic- nics, isn't it?" "Yes — ^ye-es," drawled Jed, " 'tis kind of late, but 'twas a nice, moderate day and Babbie she wanted to come, so "Babbie? That's the little girl? . . . Oh," with a nod, "I remember now. I saw a man with a little girl wander- ing about among the buildings a little while ago. Was that you?" "Ye-es, yes, that was me. . . . Tut, tut, tut! I'll have to warm this chowder all up again now. That's too bad !" Voices from behind the ridge announced the coming of the carpenter and the two "identifiers." The latter, Mr. Emulous Baker and Mr. "Squealer" Wixon, were on the broad grin. "Yup, that's him," announced Mr. Wixon. "Hello, Shav- in's! Got you took up for a German spy, have they? That's a good one! Haw, haw!" "Do you know him?" asked the major. "Know him?" Mr. Wixon guffawed again. "Known him all my life. He lives over to Orham. Makes windmills and whirlagigs and such for young-ones to play with. He ain't any spy. His name's Jed Winslow, but we always call him 'Shavin's,' 'count of his whittlin' up so much good wood, you understand. Ain't that so, Shavin's? Haw, haw!" Jed regarded Mr. Wixon mournfully. Digitized by Microsoft® 154 "SHAVINGS" "Um-hm," he admitted. "I guess likely you're right, Squealer." ^^ ^f^ "I bet you! Ther?s only one Shavin's in Orham." Jed sighed. "There's consider'ble many squealers," he drawled; "some in sties and some runnin' loose." Major Grover, who had appeared to enjoy this dialogue, interrupted it now. ^j^ "That would seem to settle the spy question," he said. "You may go, all three of you," he added, turning to the carpenters. They departed, Jed's particular enemy mut- tering to himself and Mr. Wixon laughing uproariously. The major once more addressed Jed. f Where is the little girl you were with?" he asked. "Eh? Oh, she's over yonder just 'round the p'int, sailin' a shingle boat I made her. Shall I caj^er?" "No, it isn't necessary. Mr. Win^^^ I'm sorry to have put you to all this trouble and to have cooled your — er — chowder. There is no regulation against visitors to our reservation here just now, although there will be, of course, later on. There is a rule against building fires on the beach, but you broke that in ignorance, I'm sure. The reason why you have been cross-questioned to-day is a special one. A construction plan has been lost, as Lieu- tenant Rayburn here informed you. It was on his desk in the office and it has disappeared. It may have been stolen, of course, or, as both windows were open, it may have blown away. You are sure you haven't seen anything of it ? Haven't seen any papers blowing about?" > "I'm sure it didn't blow away, sir," put in the lieutenant. "I'm positive it was stolen. You see " He did not finish his sentence. The expression upon Jed's face caused him to pause. Mr. Winslow's mouth and eyes were opening wider and wider. ■' '^ Digftized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" 155 "Sho!" muttered Jed. "Sho, now! . . . 'Tain't pos- sible that ... I snum if . -Wth^^ "Well, what is it?" demanded Wh ofiScers, practically in concert. Jed did not reply. Instead he turned his head, put both hands to his mouth and shouted "Babbie!" through them at the top of his lungs. The tl^ shout brought a faint, "Yes, Uncle Jed, I'm coming." "What are you calling her for?" asked Lieutenant Ray- burn, forgetting the presence of his superior officer in his anxious impatience. Jed did not*answer. He was kneeling beside his jacket, which he had thrown upon the sand when he landed, and was fumbling in the pockets. "Dear me! dear me!" he was muttering. "I'm sartin they must be here. I know Iput 'em here because . . . Owl" He was knop^g and holding the coat with one hand while he fumbled in the pockets with the other. Uncon- sciously he had leaned backward until he sat upon his heels. Now, with an odd expression of mingled pain and relief, he reached into the hip pocket of his trousers and produced a pair of spectacles. He smiled his slow, fleet- ing smile. "There !" he observed, "I found 'em my way — ^backwards. Anybody else would have found 'em by looking for 'em; I lost 'em lookin' for 'em and found 'em by sittin' on 'em. . . . Oh, here you are. Babbie! Sakes alive, you're sort of dampish." She was all of that. She had come running in answer to his call and had the shingle boat hugged close to her. The water from it had trickled down the front of her dress. Her shoes and stockings were splashed with wet sand. "Is dinner ready, Uncle Jed ?" she asked, eagerly. Then becoming aware that i-^". two strange gentlemen standing Digitized by Microsoft® iS6 "SHAVINGS » » by the fire were really and truly "ofEcer ones," she looked wide-eyed up at them and uttered an involuntary "Oh!" "babbie," said J^, "let me see that boat of yours a minute, will you ?" Babbie obediently handed it over. Jed inspected it through his spectacles. Then he pulled the paper sail from the sharpened stick — ^the mast — unfolded it, looked at it, and then extended it at arm's length toward Major Grover. "That's your plan thing, ain't it?" he asked, calmly. Both officers reached for the paper, but the younger, remembering in time, drew back. The other took it, gave it a quick glance, and then turned agaiii to Mr. Winslow. "Where did you get this?" he asked, crisply. Jed shook his head. "She gave it to me, this little girl here," he explained. She wanted a sail for that shingle craft I whittled out for her. Course if I'd had on my specs I presume likely I'd have noticed that 'twas an out of the common sort of paper, but — I was wearin' 'em in my pants pocket just then." "Where did you get it?" demanded Raybum, address- ing Barbara. The child looked frightened. Major Grover smiled reassuringly at her and she stammered a rather faint reply. "I found it blowing around up on the little hill there," she said, pointing. "It was blowing real hard and I had to run to catch it before it got to the edge of the water. I'm — I — I'm sorry I gave it to Uncle Jed for a sail. I didn't know — and — and he didn't either," she added, loy- *ally. "That's all right, my dear. Of course you didn't know. Well, Rayburn," turning to the lieutenant, "there's your plan. You see it did blow away after all. 1 think you Digitized by Microsoft® •SHAVINGS" 157 owe this young lady thanks that it is not out in mid-chan- nel by this time. Take it back to the office and see if the holes in it have spoiled its usefulness to any extent." The lieutenant, very red in the face, departed, bearing his precious plan. Jed heaved a sigh of relief. "There!" he exclaimed, "now I presume likely I can attend to my chowder." "The important things of life, eh?" queried Major Grover. "Um-hm. I don't know's there's anything much more important than eatin'. It's a kind of expensive habit, but an awful hard one to swear off of. . . . Hum. . . . Speakin' of important things, was that plan of yours very important, Mr. — I mean Major?" "Rather— yes." "Sho ! . . . And I stuck it on a stick and set it afloat on a shingle. I cal'late if Sam Hunniwell knew of that he'd say 'twas characteristic. . . . Hum. . . . Sho! ... I read once about a feller that found where the great seal of England was hid and he used it to crack nuts with. I guess likely that feller must have been my great, great, great granddad." Major Grover looked surprised. "I've read that story," he said, "but I can't remember where." Jed was stirring his chowder. "Eh?" he said, absently. "Where? Oh, 'twas in — ^the — er — ^"Prince and the Pauper,' you know. Mark Twain wrote it." "That's so; I remember now. So you've read 'The Prince and the Pauper'?" "Um-hm. Read about everything Mark Twain ever wrote, I shouldn't wonder." "Do you read a good deal?" "Some. . . . There ! Now we'll call that chowder done Digitized by Microsoft® 158 "SHAVINGS" for the second time, I guess. Set down and pass your plate, Babbie. You'll set down and have a bite with us, won't you, Mr. — Major — I snum I've forgot your name. You mustn't mind ; I forget my own sometimes." "Grover. I am a major in the Engineers, stationed here for the present to look after this construction work. No, thank you, I should like to stay, but I must go back to my office." "Dear, dear! That's too bad. Babbie and I would like first-rate to have you stay. Wouldn't we. Babbie?" Barbara nodded. "Yes, sir," she said. "And the chowder will be awf'Iy good. Uncle Jed's chowders always are." "I'm sure of it." Major Grover's look of surprise was more evident than ever as he gazed first at Barbara and then at Mr. Winslow. His next question was addressed to the latter. "So you are this young lady's uncle?" he inquired. It was Barbara who answered. "Not my really uncle," she announced. "He's just my make-believe uncle. He says he's my step-uncle 'cause he comes to our back steps so much. But he's almost better than a real uncle," she declared, emphatically. The major laughed heartily and said he was sure of it. He seemed to find the pair hugely entertaining. "Well, good-by," he said. "I hope you and your uncle will visit us again soon. And I hope next time no one will take him for a spy." Jed looked mournfully at the fire. "I've been took for a fool often enough," he observed, "but a spy is a consider'ble worse guess." Grover looked at him. "I'm not so sure," he said. "I imagine both guesses would be equally bad. Well, good- by. Don't forget to come again." ' Digitized by Microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" IS9 "Thank you, thank you. And when you're over to Or- ham drop in some day and see Babbie and me. Anybody — the constable or anybody — will tell you where I live." Their visitor laughed, thanked him, and hurried away. Said Barbara between spoonfuls: "He's a real nice officer one, isn't he. Uncle Jed? Petunia and I like him." During the rest of the afternoon they walked along the beach, picked up shells, inspected "horse-foot" crabs, jelly fish and "sand collars," and enjoyed themselves so thoroughly that it was after four when they started for home. The early October dusk settled down as they en- tered the winding channel between the sand islands and the stretches of beaches. Barbara, wrapped in an old coat of Captain Perez's, which, smelling strongly of fish, had been found in a locker, seemed to be thinking very hard and, for a wonder, saying little. At last she broke the si- lence. "That Mr. Major officer man was 'stonished when I called you 'Uncle Jed,' " she observed. "Why, do you s'pose ?" Jed whistled a few bars and peered over the side at the seaweed marking the border of the narrow, shallow chan- nel. "I cal'late," he drawled, after a moment, "that he hadn't noticed how much we look alike." It was Barbara's turn to be astonished. "But we don't look alike. Uncle Jed," she declared. "Not a single bit." Jed nodded. "No-o," he admitted. "I presume that's why he didn't notice it." This explanation, which other people might have found somewhat unsatisfactory, appeared to satisfy Miss Arm- strong; at any rate s^.^^c§^^t^J^A^hout comment. There i6o "SHAVINGS" was another pause in the conversation. Then she said: "x don't know, after all, as I ought to call you 'Uncle Jed/ Uncle Jed." "Eh? Why not, for the land sakes?" " 'Cause uncles make people cry in our family. I heard Mamma crying last night, after she thought I was asleep. And I know she was crying about Uncle Charlie. She cried when they took him away, you know, and now she cries when he's coming home again. She cried awf'ly when they took him away." "Oh, she did, eh?" "Yes. He used to live with Mamma and me at our house in Middleford. He's awful nice. Uncle Charlie is, and Petunia and I were very fond of him. And then they took him away and we haven't seen him since." "He's been sick, maybe." "Perhaps so. But he must be well again now 'cause he's coming home; Mamma said so." "Um-hm. Well, I guess that was it. Probably he had to go to the — ^the hospital or somewhere and your ma has been worried about him. He's had an operation maybe. Lots of folks have operations nowadays; ifs got to be the fashion, seems so." The child reflected. "Do they have to have policemen come to iake you to the hospital?" she asked. "Eh? . . . Policemen?" "Yes. 'Twas two big policemen took Uncle Charlie away the first time. We were having supper. Mamma and he and I, and Nora went to the door when the bell rang and the big policemen came and Uncle Charlie went away with them. And Mamma cried so. And she wouldn't tell me a bit about . . . Oh! oh! I've told about the police- Digitized by Microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" i6r men ! Mamma said I mustn't ever, ever tell anybody that. And— and I did! I did!" Aghast at her own depravity, she began to sob. Jed tried to comfort her and succeeded, after a fashion, at least she stopped crying, although she was silent most of the way home. And Jed himself was silent also. He shared her feeling of guilt. He felt that he had been told something which neither he nor any outsider should have heard, and his sensitive spirit found little consolation in the fact that the hearing of it had come through no fault of his. Be- sides, he was not so sure that he had been faultless. He had permitted the child's disclosures to go on when, per- haps, he should have stopped them. By the time the "Ara- minta's" nose slid up on the sloping beach at the foot of the bluff before the Winslow place she held two conscience- stricken culprits instead of one. And if Ruth Armstrong slept but little that night, as her daughter said had been the case the night before, she was not the only wakeful person in that part of Orham. She would have been surprised if she had known that her ec- centric neighbor and landlord was also lying awake and that his thoughts were of her and her trouble. For Jed, although he had heard but the barest fragment of the story of "Uncle Charlie," a mere hint dropped from the lips of a child who did not understand the meaning of what she said, had heard enough to make plain to him that the secret which the young widow was hiding from the world was a secret involving sorrow and heartbreak for herself and shame and disgrace for others. The details he did not know, nor did he wish to know them; he was entirely de- void of that sort of curiosity. Possession of the little knowledge which had been given him, or, rather, had been thrust upon him, and which Gabe Bearse would have con- sidered a gossip treasure trove, a promise of greater treas- Digitized by Microsoft® i62 "SHAVINGS" ures to be diligently mined, to Jed was a miserable, culpable thing, like the custody of stolen property. He felt wicked and mean, as if he had been caught peeping under a win- dow shade. Digitized by Microsoft® CHAPTER X THAT night came a sudden shift in the weather and when morning broke the sky was gray and over- cast and the wind blew raw and penetrating from the northeast. Jed, at work in his stock room sorting a variegated shipment of mills and vanes which were to go to a winter resort on the west coast of Florida, was, as he might have expressed it, down at the mouth. He still felt the sense of guilt of the night before, but with it he felt a redoubled realization of his own incompetence. When he had surmised his neighbor and tenant to be in trouble he had felt a strong desire to help her; now that surmise had changed to certainty his desire to help was stronger than ever. He pitied her from the bottom of his heart; she seemed so alone in the world and so young. She needed a sympathetic counselor and advisor. But he could not advise or help because neither he nor any one else in Orham was supposed to know of her trouble and its nature. Even if she knew that he knew, would she accept the counsel of Shavings Winslow? Hardly! No sensible person would. How the townsfolk would laugh if they knew he had even so much as dreamed of offering it. He was too downcast even to sing one of his lugubrious hymns or to whistle. Instead he looked at the letter pinned on a beam beside him and dragged from the various piles one half-dozen crow vanes, one half-dozen guU vanes, one dozen medium-sized mills, one dozen small mills, three sailors, etc., etc., as set forth upon that order, One of the crows fell to the floor and he accidently stepped upon Digitized byLMjcrosoft® i64 "SHAVINGS" it and snapped its head off. He was gazing solemnly down at the wreck when the door behind him opened and a strong blast of damp, cold wind blew in. He turned and found that Mrs. Armstrong had opened the door. She entered and closed it behind her. "Good morning," she said, Jed was surprised to see her at such an early hour; also just at that time her sudden appearance was like a sort of miracle, as if the thoughts in his brain had taken shape, had materialized. For a moment he could not regain presence of mind sufficient to return her greeting. Then, noticing the broken vane on the floor, she exclaimed: "Oh, you have had an accident. Isn't that too bacft When did it happen?" He looked down at the decapitated crow and touched one of the pieces with the toe of his boot, "Just this minute," he answered. "I stepped on it and away she went. Did a pretty neat, clean job, didn't I? . , . Um-hm. ... I wonder if anybody stepped on my head 'twould break like that. Probably not; the wood in it is too green, I cal'late." She smiled, but she made no comment on this character- istic bit of speculation. Instead she asked : "Mr. Winslow, are you very busy this morning? Is your work too im- portant to spare me just a few minutes?" Jed looked surprised; he smiled his one-sided smile. "No, ma'am," he drawled. "I've been pretty busy but 'twan't about anything important. I presume likely," he added, "there ain't anybody in Ostable County that can be so busy as I can be doin' nothin' important," "And you can spare a few minutes? I — I want to talk to you very much. I won't be long, really." - He regarded her intently. Then he walked toward the door leading to the little workroom, "Come right in here, Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" i6s ma'am," he said, gravely; adding, after they had entered the other apartment, "Take that chair. I'll sit over here on the box." He pulled forward the box and turned to find her still standing. "Do sit down," he urged. "That chair ain't very com- fortable, I know. Perhaps I'd better get you another one from my sittin'-room in yonder." He was on his way to carry out the suggestion, but she interrupted him. "Oh, no," she said. "This one will be perfectly comfortable, I'm sure, only " "Yes? Is there somethin' the matter with it?" "Not the matter with it, exactly, but it seems to be — occupied." Jed stepped forward and peered over the workbench at the chair. Its seat was piled high with small pasteboard boxes containing hardware — screws, tacks and metal wash- ers — ^which he used in his mill and vane-making. "Sho !" he exclaimed. "Hum ! Does seem to be taken, as you say. I recollect now ; a lot of that stuff came in by express day before yesterday afternoon and I piled it up there while I was unpackin' it. Here!" apparently ad- dressing the hardware, "you get out of that. That seat's reserved." He stretched a long arm over the workbench, seized the chair by the back and tipped it forward. The pasteboard boxes went to the floor in a clattering rush. One con- taining washers broke open and the little metal rings rolled everywhere. Mr. Winslow did not seem to mind. "There!" he exclaimed, with evident satisfaction; "sit right down, ma'am." The lady sat as requested, her feet amid the hardware boxes and her hands upon the bench before her. She was evidently very nervous, for her fingers gripped each other Digitized by Microsoft® i66 "SHAVINGS" tightly. And, when she next spoke, she did not look at her companion. "Mr. Winslow," she began, "I — I believe — ^that is. Bab- bie tells me that— that last evening, when you and she were on your way back here in the boat, she said something — she told you something concerning our — ^my — family af- fairs which — ^which " She faltered, seeming to find it hard to continue. Jed did not wait. He was by this time at least as nervous as she was and considerably more distressed and embar- rassed. He rose from the box and extended a protest- ing hand. "Now, now, ma'am," he begged. "Now, Mrs. Arm- strong, please — ^please don't say any more. It ain't neces- sary, honest it ain't. She — she— that child she didn't tell me much of anything anyhow, and she didn't mean to tell that. And if you knew how ashamed and — ^and mean I've felt ever since to think I let myself hear that much! I hope — I do hope you don't think I tried to get her to tell me anything. I do hope you don't think that." His agitation was so acute and so obvious that she looked at him in wond(;r for a moment. Then she hastened to reassure him. "Don't distress yourself, Mr. Winslow," she said, smil- ing sadly. "I haven't known you very long but I have already learned enough about you to know that you are an honorable man. If I did not know that I shouldn't be here now. It is true that I did not mean for you or any one here in Orham to learn of my — of our trouble, and if B.abbie had not told you so much I probably should never have spoken to you about it. The poor child's conscience troubled her so last evening that she came crying to me and confessed, and it is because I gathered from her that she had told enough to make you at least guess the truth Digitized by Microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" 167 that I am here now. I prefer that you should hear the story just as it is from me, rather than imagine something which might be worse. Don't you see?" Jed saw, but he was still very much perturbed. "Now, now, Mrs. Armstrong," he begged, "don't tell me anything, please don't. I laid awake about all night thinkin' what I'd ought to do, whether I'd ought to tell you what Babbie said, or just not trouble you at all and try to forget I ever heard it. That's what I decided finally, to forget it ; and I will — I vow and declare I will! Don't you tell me anything, and let me forget this. Now please." But she shook her head, "Things like that are not so easily forgotten," she said; "even when one tries as hard to forget as I am sure you would, Mr. Winslow. No, I want to tell you; I really do. Please don't say any more. Let me go on. . . . Oh," with a sudden burst of feeling, "can't you see that I must talk with some one — I must?" Her clasped fingers^ tightened and the tears sprang to her eyes. Poor Jed's distress was greater than ever. "Now — ^now, Mrs. Armstrong," he stammered, "all I meant to say was that you mustn't feel you've got to tell me. Course if you want to, that's different altogether. What I'm tryin' to say," he added, with a desperate attempt to make his meaning perfectly clear, "is not to pay any at- tention to jM^-at all but do just what you want to, that's all." Even on the verge of tears as she was, she could not forbear smiling a little at this proclamation of complete self-effacement. "I fear I must pay some attention to you," she said, "if I am to confide in you and—and per- haps ask your help, your advice, afterwards. I have reached a point when I must ask some one's advice; I have thouglit mysej^g,^t^,a^,aze^nd I don't know what i68 "SHAVINGS" to do — I don't know what to do. I have no near relatives, no friends here in Orham " Jed held up a protesting hand. "Excuse me, Mrs. Armstrong," he stammered; "I don't know as you recollect, probably it might not have meant as much to you as it did to me; but a spell ago you said somethin' about countin' me as a friend." "I know I did. And I meant it. You have been very kind, and Barbara is so fond of you. . . . Well, perhaps you can advise me, at least you can suggest — or — or; — ^help me to think. Will you?" Jed passed his hand across his chin. It was obvious that her asking his counsel was simply a last resort, a desperate, forlorn hope. She had no real confidence in his ability to help. He would have been the last to blame her for this; her estimate of his capabilities was like his own, that was all. "W-e-e-11," he observed, slowly, "as to givin' my advice, when a man's asked to give away somethin' that's worth nothin' the least he can do is say yes and try to look gen- erous, I cal'late. If I can advise you any, why, I'll feel proud, of course." "Thank you. Mr. Winslow, for the past two years or more I have been in great trouble. I have a brother — ^but you knew that; Babbie told you." "Um-hm. The one she calls 'Uncle Charlie'?" "Yes. He is — ^he is serving his sentence in the Con- necticut State Prison." Jed leaned back upon the box. His head struck smartly against the edge of the handsaw bench, but he did not seem to be aware of the fact. "My Lord above!" he gasped. "Yes, it is true. Surely you must have guessed some- thing of that sort, after Babbie's story of the policemen." Digitized by Microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" 169 "I; — I — well, I did sort of — of presume likely he must have got into some sort of — of difficulty, but I never thought 'twas bad as that. . . . Dear me! . . . Dear me!" "My brother is younger than I; he is scarcely twenty- three years old. He and I are orphans. Our home was in Wisconsin. Father was killed in a railway accident and Mother and my brother Charles and I were left with very little money. We were in a university town and Mother took a few students as lodgers. Doctor Arm- strong was one; I met him there, and before he left the medical college we were engaged to be married. Charlie was only a boy then, of course. Mother died three years later. Meanwhile Seymour — ^Doctor Armstrong — had lo- cated in Middleford, Connecticut, and was practicing medi- cine there. He came on, we were married, and I returned to Middleford with him. We had been married but a few years when he died — of pneumonia. That was the year after Babbie was born. Charles remained in Wisconsin, boarding with a cousin of Mother's, and, after he gradu- ated from high school, entered one of the banks in the town. He was very successful there and the bank people liked him. After Sejrmour — my husband — died, he came East to see me at Middleford. One of Doctor Armstrong's patients, a bond broker in New Haven, took a fancy to him, or we thought he did, and offered him a position. He accepted, gave up his place at the bank in Wisconsin, and took charge of this man's Middleford office, making his home with Babbie and me. He was young, too young I think now, to have such a responsible position, but every one said he had a remarkably keen business mind and that his future was certain to be brilliant. And then " She paused. It was evident that the hard part of her story was coming. After a moment she went on. "Charlie was popular with the young people there in TDigitized by Microsofm 170 "SHAVINGS" Middleford. He was always a favorite, at home, at school, everywhere. Mother idolized him while she lived, so did I, so did Babbie. He was fond of society and the set he was friendly with was made up, for the most part, of older men with much more money than he. He was proud, he would not accept favors without repaying them, he liked a good time, perhaps he was a little fast; not dissipated — I should have known if he were that — ^but — careless — and what you men call a 'good fellow.' At any rate, he " Again she paused. Jed, sitting on the box, clasping his knee between his hands, waited anxiously for her to con- tinue. "Of course you can guess what happened,^' she said, sadly, after a moment. "It was the old story, that is all. Charlie was living beyond his means, got into debt and speculated in stocks, hoping to make money enough to pay tliose debts. The stocks went down and— and — ^well, he took money belonging to his employer to protect his pur- chases." She waited, perhaps expecting her companion to make some comment. He did not and again she spoke. "I know he meant only to borrow it," she declared. "I know it. He isn't bad, Mr. Winslow; I know him better than any one and he isn't bad. If he had only come to me when he got into the trouble ! If he had only confided in me! But he was proud and — ^and he didn't. . . . Well, I won't tell y6u how his — ^his fault was discovered ; it would take a long time and it isn't worth while. They arrested him, he was tried and — and sent to prison for two years." For the first time since she began her story Jed uttered a word. "Sho !" he exclaimed. "Sho, sho! Dear me! The poor young feller!" She looked up at him quickly. "Thank you," she said. Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" 171 gratefully. "Yes, he was sent to ^prison. He was calm and resigned and very brave about it, but to me it was a dreadful shock. You see, he had taken so little money, not much over two thousand dollars. We could have bor- rowed it, I'm sure; he and I could have worked out the debt together. We could have done it; I would have worked at anything, no matter how hard, rather than have my brother branded all his life with the disgrace of having been in prison. But the man for whom he had worked was furiously angry at what he called Charlie's ingrati- tude ; he would teach the young thief a lesson, he said. Our, lawyer went to him; I went to him and begged him not to press the case. Of course Charlie didn't know of my going; he never would have permitted it if he had. But I went and begged and pleaded. It did no good. Why, even the judge at the trial, when he charged the jury, spoke of the defendant's youth and previous good char- acter. . . ." She covered her eyes with her hand. Poor Jed's face was a picture of distress. "Now — now, Mrs. Armstrong," he urged, "don't, please don't. I — I wouldn't tell me any more about it, if I was you. Of course I'm — I'm proud to think yoii believed I was worth while tellin' it to and all that, but— you mustn't. You'll make yourself sick, you know. Just don't tell any more, please." She took her hand away and looked at him bravely. "There isn't any more to tell," she said. "I have told you this because I realized that Barbara had told you enough to make you imagine ever3rthing that was bad con- cerning my brother. And he is not bad, Mr. Winslow. He did a wrong thing, but I know^I know he did not mean deliberately to steal. If that man he worked for had been — ^if he had been But there, he was what he Digitized by Microsoft® 172 "SHAVINGS" was. He said thieves should be punished, and if they were punished when they were young, so much the better, be- cause it might be a warning and keep them honest as they grew older. He told me that, Mr. Winslow, when I pleaded with him not to make Charles' disgrace public and not to wreck the boy's life. That was what he told me then. And they say," she added, bitterly, "that he prides himself upon being a staunch supporter of the church." Jed let go of his knee with one hand in order to rub his chin. "I have queer notions, I cal'late," he drawled. "If they wasn't queer they wouldn't be mine, I suppose. If I was — er — ^as you might say, first mate of all creation I'd put some church folks in jail and a good many jail folks in church. Seems's if the swap would be a help to both sides. . . . I — I hope you don't think I'm — er — unfeelin', jokin', when you're in such worry and trouble," he added, anxiously. "I didn't mean it." His anxiety was wasted. She had heard neither his first remark nor the apology for it. Her thoughts had been far from- the windmill shop and its proprietor. Now, appar- ently awakening to present realities, she rose and turned toward the door. "That was all," she said, wearily. "You know the whole truth now, Mr. Winslow. Of course you will not speak of it to any one else." Then, noticing the hurt look upon his face, she added, "Forgive me. I know you will not. If I had not known it I should not have confided in you. Thank you for listening so patiently." She was going, but he touched her arm. "Excuse me, Mrs. Armstrong," he faltered, "but — ^but wasn't there somethin' else? Somethin' you wanted to ask my advice about — or — or — somethin'?" She smiled fain^,fee'^yjPft,,c/tfeS?^ was," she admitted. 'SHAVINGS" 173 "But I don't know that it is worth while troubling you, after all. It is not likely that you can help me. I don't see how any one can." "Probably you're right. I — I ain't liable to be much help to anybody. But I'm awful willin' to try. And some- times, you know — sometimes surprisin' things happen. 'Twas a — a mouse, or a ground mole, wasn't it, that helped the lion in the story book out of the scrape ? . . . Not that I don't look more like a— er — giraffe than I do like a mouse," he added. Mrs. Armstrong turned and looked at him once more. "You're very kind," she said> "And I know you mean what you say. . . . Why, yes, I'll tell you the rest. Per- haps," with the slight smile, "you can advise me, Mr. Winslow. You see — well, you see, my brother will be freed very shortly. I have received word that he is to be pardoned, his sentence is to be shortened because of what they call his good conduct. He will be free — and then? What shall he do then? What shall we all do? That is my problem." She went on to explain. This was the situation: Her own income was barely sufficient for Barbara and herself to live, in the frugal way they were living, in a country town like Orham. That was why she had decided to re- main there. No one in the village knew her story or the story of her brother's disgrace. But now, almost any day, her brother might be discharged from prison. He would be without emplo)rment and without a home. She would so gladly offer him a home with her — ^they could manage to live, to exist in some way, she said— but she knew he would not be content to have her support him. There was no chance of emplo3rment in Orham; he would therefore be forced to go elsewhere, to go wandering about looking for work. And tha|jS|ie^^^u|^.^not^ear to think of. 174 "SHAVINGS' "You see," she said, "I — ^I feel as if I were the only helper and — well — ^guardian the poor boy has. I can im- agine," smiling wanly, "how he would scorn the idea of his needing a guardian, but I feel as if it were my duty to be with him, to stand by him when every one else has deserted him. Besides," after an instant's hesitation, "I feel — I suppose it is unreasonable, but I feel as if I had neglected my duty befor^ ; as if perhaps I had not watched him as carefully as I should, or encouraged him to con- fide in me ; I can't help feeling that perhaps if I had been more careful in this way the dreadful thing might not have happened. . . . Oh," she added, turning away again, "I don't know why I am telling all these things to you, I'm sure. They can't interest you much, and the telling isn't likely to profit either of us greatly. But I am so alone, and I have brooded over my troubles so much. As I said I have felt as if I must talk with some one. But there — good .morning, Mr. Winslaw." "Just a minute, please, Mrs. Armstrong; just a minute. Hasn't your brother got any friends in Middleford who could help him get some work — a job — you know what I mean? Seems as if he must have, or you must have." "Oh, we have, I supposed We had some good friends there, as well as others whom we thought were friends. But — but I think we both had rather die than go back there; I am sure I should. Think what it would mean to both of us." Jed understood. She might have been surprised to real- ize how clearly he understood. She was proud, and it was plain to see that she had been very proud of her brother. And Middleford had been her home where she and her husband had spent their few precious years to- gether, where her chJ^/afftSylWERiedffibere, after her brother »'SHAVINGS" 175 came, she had watched his rise to success and the appar- ent assurance of a brilliant future. She had begun to be happy once more. Then came the crash, and shame and disgrace instead of pride and confidence. Jed's imagina- tion, the imagination which was quite beyond the com- prehension of those who called him the town crank, grasped it all — or, at least, all its essentials. He nodded slowly. "I see," he said. "Yes, yes, I see. . . . Hum." "Of course, any one must see. And to go away, to some city or town where we are not known — where could we go? What should we live on? And yet we can't stay here ; there is nothing for Charles to do." "Um. ... He was a— rwhat did you say his trade was?" "He was a bond broker, a kind of banker." "Eh? ... A kind of banker. . . . Sho! Did" he work i& a bank?" "Why, yes, I told you he did, in Wisconsin, where he and I used to live." "Hum. . . . Pretty smart at it, too, seems to me you said he was?" "Yes, very capable indeed." "I want to know . . , Hum. . . . Sho !" He muttered one or two more disjointed exclamations and then ceased to speak altogether, staring abstractedly at a crack in the floor. All at once he began to hum a hymn. Mrs. Armstrong, whose nerves were close to the breaking point, lost patience. "Good morning, Mr. Winslow," she said, and opened the door to the outer shop, ^his time Jed did pot detain her. Instead he stared dreamily at, the floor, apparently quite unconscious of her or his surroundings. "Eh?" he drawled. "Oh, yes, good mornin',— good morn- in'. ... Hum, . . . Digitized by Microsoft® 176 "SHAVINGS" There is a fountain filled with blood Drawn from Emmanuel's veins. And sinners plunged de de de de De de di dew dum de.'" His visitor closed the door. Jed still sat there gazing at vacancy and droning, dolefully. Digitized by Microsoft® CHAPTER XI FOR nearly an hour he sat there, scarcely changing his position, and only varying his musical program by whistling hymns instead of singing them. Once, hearing a step in the yard, he looked through the window and saw Gabriel Bearse walking toward the gate from the direction of the shop door instead of in the opposite direction. Evidently he had at first intended to tall and then had changed his mind. Mr. Winslow was duly grate- ful to whoever or whatever had inspired the change. He had no desire to receive a visit from "Gab" Bearse, at this time least of all. Later on he heard another step, and, again glancing through the window, saw Seth Wingate, the vegetable and fruit peddler, walking from the door to the gate, just as Mr. Bearse had done. Apparently Seth had changed his mind also. Jed thought this rather odd, but again he was grateful. He was thinking hard and was quite willing net to be disturbed. But the disturbing came ten minutes after Mr. Wingate's dejparture and came in the nature of. a very distinct dis- turbance. There was a series of thunderous knocks on the front door, that door was thrown violently open, and, before the startled maker of mills could do much more than rise to his feet, the door to the workroom was pulled open also. Captain Hunniwell's bulk filled the opening. Captain Sam was red-faced and seemed excited, "Well, by the gracious king," he roared, "you're here, anyhow! What else is the matter with you?" Digitized bjiMcrosoft® 178 "SHAVINGS" Jed, who, after recognizing his visitor, had seated him- self once more, looked up and nodded. "Hello, Sam," he observed. "Say, I was just thinkin' about you. That's kind of funny, ain't it?" "Funny! Just thinkin' about me! Well, I've been thinkin' about you, I tell you that : Have you been in this shop all the forenoon?" , "Eh? . . . Why, yes. • . . Sartin. . . . I've been right here." "You have? Gracious king! Then why in the Old Harry have you got that sign nailed on your front door out here tellin' all hands you're out for the day and for 'em to ask for you up at Abijah Thompson's ?" Jed looked much surprised. His hand moved slowly across his chin. "Sho !" he drawled. "Sho ! Has that sign been hangin' there all this forenoon?" "Don't ask me. I guess it has from what I've heard. Anyhow it's there now. And what's it there for? That's what I want to know." Jed's face was very solemn, but there was a faint twinkle in his eye. "That explains about Seth Wingate," he mused, "Yes, and Gab Bearse too. . . , Hum. . . . The Lord was better to me than I deserved. They say He takes care of children and drunken men and — er — the critters that most folks think belong to my lodge. . . . Hum. ... To think I forgot to take that sign down ! Sho !" "Forgot to take it down ! What in everlastin' blazes did you ever put it up for?" Jed explained why the placard had been prepared and affixed to the door. "I only meant it for yesterday, though," he added. "I'd intended takin' it down this Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" 179 Captain Sam put back his head and laughed until the shop echoed. "Ho, ho, ho!" he roared, "And you mean to tell me that you put it up there because you was goin' cruisin' to the aviation camp and you didn't want callers disturbin' Mrs. Armstrong?" His friend nodded. "Um-hm," he admitted. "I sent 'em to 'Bije's because he was as far off as anybody I could think of. Pretty good idea, wasn't it ?" The captain grinned. "Great!" he declared. "Fine! Wonderful ! You wait till 'Bije comes to tell you how fine 'twas. He's in bed, laid up with neuralgia, and Emma J., his wife, says that every hour or less yesterday there was somebody bangin' at their door asking about you. Every time they banged she says that 'Bije, his nerves bein' on edge the way they are, wbuld pretty nigh jump the quilts up to the ceilin' and himself along with 'em. And his re- marks got more Ht up every jump* About five o'clock when Sjomebody came poundin' he let out a roar you could hear a mile. 'Tell 'em Shavin's Winslow's gone to the devil,' he bellowed, 'and that I say they can go there too.' And then Emma J. opened the door and 'twan't anybody askiri' about you at all; 'twas the Baptist minister come callin'. I was drivin' past there just now and Emma J. came out to tell me about it. She wanted to know if you'd gone clear crazy instead of part way. I told her I didn't know, but I'd make it my business to find out. Tut, tut, tut ! You are a wonder, Jed." Jed did not dispute the truth of this statement. He looked troubled, however. "Sho!" he said; "I'm sorry if I plagued 'Bijah that way. If I'd known he was sick I wouldn't have done it. I never once thought so many folks as one every hour would want to see me this time Digitized by Microsoft® i8o "SHAVINGS" of year. Dear me ! I'm sorry about 'Bije. Maybe I'd bet- ter go down and kind of explain it to him." Captain Sam chuckled. "I wouldn't," he said. "If I was you I'd explain over the long distance telephone. But, anyhow, I wouldn't worry much. I cal'late Emma J. ex- aggerated affairs some. Probably, if the truth was known, you'd find not more than four folks came there lookin' for you yesterday. Don't worry, Jed." Jed did not answer. The word "worry" had reminded him of his other visitor that morning. He looked so seri- ous that his friend repeated his adjuration. "Don't worry, I tell you," he said, again. "'Tisn't worth it." "All right, I won't. ... I won't. . . . Sam, I was think- in' about you afore you came in. You remember I told you that?" "I remember. What have you got on your mind? Any more money kickin' around this glory-hole that you want me to put to your account ?" "Eh? . . . Oh, yes, I believe there is some somewheres. Seems to me I put about a hundred and ten dollars, checks and bills and such, away day before yesterday for you to take when you came. Maybe I'll remember where I put it before you go. But 'twan't about that I was thinkin'. Sam, how is Barzilla Small's boy. Lute, gettin' along in Gus Howes' job at the bank?" Captain Sam snorted disgust. "Gettin' along!" he repeated. "He's gettin' along the way a squid swims, and that's backwards. And, if you asked me, I'd say the longer he stayed the further back he'd get." "Sho ! then he did turn out to be a leak insljead of an able seaman, eh?" "A leak! Gracio^-^kig^j ^He's Jke a torpedo blow-up "SHAVINGS" i8i under the engine-room. The bank'U sink i£ he stays aboard another month, I do believe. And yet," he added, with a shake of the head, "I don't see but he'll have to stay ; there ain't another available candidate for the job in sight. I 'phoned up to Boston and some of our friends are lookin' around up there, but so far they haven't had any suc- cess. This war is makin' young men scarce, that is young men that are good for much. Pretty soon it'll get so that a healthy young feller who ain't in uniform will feel about as much out of place as a hog in a synagogue. Yes, sir! Ho, ho!" He laughed in huge enjoyment of his own joke. Jed stared dreamily at the adjusting screw on the handsaw. His hands clasped his knee, his foot was lifted from the floor and began to swing back and forth. "Well," queried his friend, "what have you got on your mind? Out with it." "Eh? ... On my mind?" "Yes. When I see you begin to shut yourself together in the middle like a jackknife and start swinging that num- ber eleven of yours I know you're thinkin' hard about somethin' or other. What is it this time?" "Um . . . well . . . er . . . Sam, if you saw a chance to get a real smart young feller in Lute's place in the bank you'd take him, wouldn't you?" "Would I ? Would a cat eat lobster? Only show him to me, that's all!" "Um-hm. . . . Now of course you know I wouldn't do anything to hurt Lute. Not for the world I wouldn't. It's only if you are gpin' to let him go " "If I am. Either he'll have to let go or the bank will, one or t'other. United we sink, divided one of us may float, that's the way I look at it. Lute'U stay till we can locate somebody else to take his job, and no longer." Digitized by MicrosoffSi i82 "SHAVINGS" "Ya-as. . . . Ura-hm. . . . Well, I tell you, Sam: Don't you get anybody else till you and I have another talk. It may be possible that I could find you just the sort of young man you're lookin' for." "Eh? You can find me one? You can? What are you givin' me, Jed ? Who is the young man ; you ?" Jed gravely shook his head. "No-o," he drawled. "I hate to disappoint you, Sam, but it ain't me. It's another — er — smart, lively young feller. He ain't quite so old as I am; there's a little matter of twenty odd years between us, I believe, but otherwise than that he's all right. And he knows the bankin' trade, so I'm told." "Gracious king! Who is he? Where is he?" "That I can't tell you just yet. But maybe I can by and by." "TeU me now." "No-o. No, I just heard about him and it was told to me in secret. All I can say is don't get anybody to fill Lute Small's plage till you and I have another talk." Captain Sam stared keenly into his friend's face. Jed bore the scrutiny calmly; in fact he didn't seem to be aware of it. The captain gave it up. "All right," he said. "No use tryin' to pump you, I know that. When you make up your mind to keep your mouth shut a feller couldn't open it with a cold chisel. I presume likely you'll tell in your own good time. Now if you'll scratch around and find those checks and things you want me to deposit for you I'll take 'em and be goin'. I'm in a little bit of a hurry this mornin'." Jed "scratched around," finally locating the checks and bills in the, coffee pot on the shelf in his little kitchen. "There!" he exclaimed, with satisfaction, "I knew I put 'em somewheres where they'd be safe and where I couldn't forget 'em." Digitized by Microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" 183 "Where you couldn't forget 'em! Why, you did forget 'em, didn't you ?" "Um ... yes ... I cal'late I did this momin', but that's because I didn't make any coffee for breakfast. If I'd made coffee same as I usually do I'd have found 'em." "Why didn't you make coffee this mornin' ?" Jed's eye twinkled. "W-e-e-U," he drawled, "to be honest with you, Sam, 'twas because I couldn't find the coffee pot. After I- took it down to put this money in it I put it back on a different shelf. I just found it now by accident." As the captain was leaving Jed asked one more qiiestion. "Sam," be asked, "about this bank job now ? If you had a chance to get a bright, sma:rt young man with experience in bank work, you'd hire him, wouldn't you ?" Captain Hunniwell's answer was emphatic. "You bet I would !" he declared. "If I liked his looks and his references were good I'd hire him in two minutes. And salary, any reasonable salary, wouldn't part, us, either. ... Eh? What makes you look like that?" For Jed's expression had changed ; his hand moved across his chin. "Eh — er — references?" he repeated. "Why, why, of course. I'd want references from the folks he'd worked for, statin' that he was honest and capable and all that. With those I'd hire him in two minutes, as I said. You fetch him along and see So long, Jed. See you later." He hustled out, stopping to tear from the outer door the placard directing callers to call at Abijah Thompson's. Jed returned to his box and sat down once more to ponder. In his innocence it had not occurred to him that references would be required. That evening, about nine, he crossed the yard and knocked at the back door of the little house. Mrs. Arm- Digitized by Microsoft® i84 "SHAVINGS" strong answered the knock; Barbara, of course, was in bed and asleep. Ruth was surprised to see her landlord at that, for him, late hour. Also, remembering the un- ceremonious way in which he had permitted her to depart at the end of their interview that forenoon, she was not as cordial as usual. She had made him her confidant, why she scarcely knew; then, after expressing great in- terest and sympathy, he had suddenly seemed to lose in- terest in the whole matter. She was acquainted with his eccentricities and fits of absent-mindedness, but neverthe- less she had been hurt and offended. She told herself that she should have expected nothing more from "Shavings" Winslow, the person about whom two-thirds of Orham joked and told stories, but the fact remained that she was disappointed. And she was angry, not so much with him perhaps, as with herself. Why had she been so foolish as to tell any one of their humiliation? So when Jed appeared at the back door she received him rather coldly. He was quite conscious of the change in temperature, but he made no comment and offered no explanation. Instead he told his story, the story of his in- terview with Captain Hunniwell. As he told it her face showed at first interest, then hope, and at the last radiant excitement. She clasped her hands and leaned toward him, her eyes shining. "Oh, Mr. Winslow," she cried, breathlessly, "do you mean it? Do you really believe Captain Hunniwell will give my brother a position in his bank ?" Jed nodded slowly. "Yes," he said, "I think likely he might. Course 'twouldn't be any great of a place, not at first' — nor ever, I cal'late, so far as that goes. 'Tain't a very big bank and wages ain't " But she interrupted. "But that doesn't make any differ- ence," she cried. "Don't you see it doesn't! The salary Digitized by Microsoft® •' "SHAVINGS" i8s and all that won't count — ^now. It will be a start for Charles, an opportunity for him to feel that he is a man again, doing a man's work, an honest man's work. And he will be here where I can be with him, where we can be together, where it won't be so hard for us to be poor and where there will be no one who knows us, who knows our story. Oh, Mr. Winslow, is it really true? If it is, how — how can we ever thank you ? How can I ever show you how grateful I feel?" Her cheeks were flushed, her lips parted and joy shone in her eager eyes. Her voice broke a little as she uttered the words. Jed looked at her and then quickly looked away. "I_I__don't talk so, Mrs. Armstrong," he pleaded, hastily. "It— it ain't anything, it ain't really. It just " "Not anything? Not anything to find my brother the opportunity he and I have been praying for? To give me the opportunity of having him with me? Isn't that any- thing? It is everything. Oh, Mr. Winslow, if you can do this for us " "Shsh! Sshh! Now, Mrs. Armstrong, please. You mustn't say I'm doin' it for you. I'm the one that just happened to think of it, that's all. You could have done it just as well, if you'd thought of it." "Perhaps," with a doubtful smile, "but I should never have thought of it. You did because you were thinking for me — for my brother and me. And— and I thought you didn't care." "Eh? • . . Didn't care?" "Yes. When I left you at the shop this morning after our talk. You were so — so odd. You didn't speak, or offer to advise me as I had asked you to; you didn't even say good-by. You just sat there and let me go. And I didn't understand and " Digitized by Microsoft® i86 "SHAVINGS" Jed put up a hand. His face was a picture of distress, "Dear, dear, dear!" he exclaimed. "Did I do that? I don't remember it, but of course I did if you say so. Now what on earth possessed me to? . , . Eh?" as the idea occurred to him. "Tell me, was I singin' ?" "Why, yes, you were. That is, you were — were " "Makin' a noise as if I'd swallowed a hymn book and one of the tunes was chokin' me to death ? Um-hm, that's the way I sing. And I was singin' when you left me, eh? That means I was thinkin' about somethin'. I told Babbie once, and it's the truth, that thinkin' was a big job with me and when I did it I had to drop everything else, come up into the wind like a schooner, you know, and just lay to and think. . . . Oh, I remember now ! You said some- thin' about your brother's workin' in a bank and that set me thinkin' that Sam must be needin' somebody by this time in Lute Small's place." "You didn't know he needed any one ?" "No-o, not exactly; but I knew Lute, and that amounted to the same thing. Mrs. Armstrong, I do hope you'll for- give me for — for singin' and — and all the rest of my fool- ish actions." "Forgive you! Will you forgive me for misjudging you?" "Land sakes, dont talk that way. But there's one thing I haven't said yet and you may not like it. I guess you and your brother'll have to go to Sam and tell him the whole story." Her expression changed. "The whole story?" she re- peated. "Why, what do you mean ? Tell him that Charles has been in — in prison ? ^ You don't mean that?" "Um-hm," gravely ; "I'm afraid I do. It looks to me as if it was the only way." "But we can't! ^tiMfoy'^iMm. we can't do that." "SHAVINGS" 187 "I know 'twill be awful hard for you. But, when I talked to Sam about my havin' a possible candidate for the bank place, the very last thing he said was that he'd be glad to see him providin' his references was all right. I give you my word I'd never thought of references, not till then." "But if we tell him — ^tell him everything, we shall only make matters worse, shan't we? Of course he won't give him the position then." "There's a chance he won't, that's true. But Sam Hunni- well's a fine feller, there ain't any better, and he likes you and — well, he and I have been cruisin' in company for a long spell. Maybe he'll give your brother a chance to make good. I hope he will." "You only hope? I thought you said you believed." "Well, I do, but of course it ain't sartin. I wish 'twas." She was silent. Jed, watching her, saw the last traces of happiness and elation fade from her face and disap- pointment and discouragement come back to take their places. He pitied her, and he yearned to help her. At last he could stand it no longer. "Now, Mrs. Armstrong," he pleaded, "of course " She interrupted. "No," she said, as if coming to a final decision and speak- ing that decision aloud : "No, I can't do it." "Eh? Can't do— what?" "I can't have Captain Hunniwell know of our trouble. I came here to Orham, where no one knew me, to avoid that very thing. At home there in Middleford I felt as if every person I met was staring at me and saying, 'Her brother is in prison.' I was afraid to have Babbie play with the other children. I was — ^but there, I won't talk about it. I can't. And I cannot have it begin again here. I'll go away first. We will all go away, out West, any- Digitized by Microsoft® i88 "SHAVINGS" where — an3rwhere where we can be — clean — and like other people." Jed was conscious of a cold sensation, like the touch of an icicle, up and down his spine. Going away! She and Babbie going away ! In his mind's eye he saw a vision of the little house closed once more and shuttered tight as it used to be. He gasped. "Now, now, Mrs. Armstrong," he faltered. "Don't talk about goin' away. It — it isn't needful for you to do any- thing like that. Of course it ain't. You — ^you mustn't. I — ^we can't spare you." She drew a long breath. "I would go to the other end of the world," she said, "rather than tell Captain Hunni- well the truth about my brother. I told you because Babbie had told you so much already. . . . Oh," turning swiftly toward him, "you won't tell Captain Hunniwell, will you ?" Before he could answer she stretched out her hand. "Oh, please forgive me," she cried. "I am not myself. I am almost crazy, I think. And when you first told me about the position in the bank I was so happy. Oh, Mr. Winslow, isn't there some way by which Charles could have that chance? Couldn't — couldn't he get it and — and work there for — for a year perhaps, until they all saw what a splendid fellow he was, and then tell them — if it seemed necessary? They would know him then, and like him; they couldn't help it, every one likes him." She b'-ushed the tears from her eyes. Poor Jed, miser- able and most unreasonably conscience-stricken, writhed in his chair. "I — I don't know," he faltered. "I declare I don't see how. Er — er Out in that bank where he used to work, that Wisconsin bank, he — ^you said he did first-rate there?" She started. "Yes, yes," she cried, eagerly. "Oh, he was splendid there! And the man who was the head of that Digitized by Microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" 189 bank when Charles was there is an old friend of ours, of the family; he has retired now but he would help us if he could, I know. I believe ... I wonder if . . . Mr. Winslow, I can't tell any one in Orham of our disgrace and I can't bear to give up that opportunity for my brother. Will you leave it to me for a little while? Will you let me think it over?" Of course Jed said he would and went back to his lit- tle room over the shop. As he was leaving she put out her hand and said, with impulsive earnestness: "Thank you, Mr. Winslow. Whatever comes of this, or if nothing comes of it, I can never thank you enough for your great kindness." Jed gingerly shook the extended hand and fled, his face scarlet. During the following week, although he saw his neigh- bors each day, and several times a day, Mrs. Armstrong did not mention her brother or the chance of his employ- ment in the Orham bank. Jed, very much surprised at her silence, was tempted to ask what her decision was, or even if she had arrived at one. On one occasion he threw out a broad hint, but the hint was not taken, instead the lady changed the subject; in fact, it seemed to him that she made it a point of avoiding that subject and was anxious that he should avoid it, also. He was sure she had not abandoned the idea which, at first, had so excited her in- terest and raised her hopes. She seemed to him to be still under a strong nervous strain, to speak and act as if under repressed excitement; but she had asked him to leave the affair to her, to let her think it over, so of course he could do or say nothing until she had spoken. But he wondered and speculated a good deal and was vaguely troubled. When Captain Sam Hunniwell called he did not again refer to his possible candidate for the position now Digitized by Microsoft® I90 "SHAVINGS" held by Luther Small. And, singularly enough, the cap- tain himself did not mention the subject. But one morning almost two weeks after Jed's discus- sion with the young widow she and Captain Hunniwell came into the windmill shop together. Mrs. Armstrong's air of excitement was very much in evidence. Her cheeks were red, her eyes sparkled, her manner animated. Her landlord had never seen her look so young, or, for that matter, so happy. Captain Sam began the conversation. He, too, seemed to be in high good humor. "Well, Jedidah Wilfred Shavin's'," he observed, face- tiously, "what do you suppose I've got up my sleeve this momin' ?" Jed laid down the chisel he was sharpening. "Your arms, I presume likely," he drawled. "Yes, I've got my arms and there's a fist at the end of each one of 'em. Any more— er — flippity answers like that one and you're liable to think you're struck by lightnin'. This lady and I have got news for you. Do you know what 'tis?" Jed looked at Mrs. Armstrong and then at the speaker. "No-o," he said, slowly. "Well, to begin with it's this : Lute Small is leavin' the Orham National a week from next Saturday by a vote of eight to one. The directors and the cashier and I are the eight and he's the one. Ho, ho ! And who do you suppose comes aboard on the next Monday mornin' to take over what Lute has left of the job? Eh? Who? Why, your own candidate, that's who." Jed started. Again he looked at Mrs. Armstrong and, as if in answer to that look, she spoke. "Yes, Mr. Winslow," she said, quickly, "my brother is coming to Orham and Captain Hunniwell has given him Digitized by Microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" 191 the position. It is really you to whom he owes it all. You thought of it and spoke to the captain and to me." "But why in time," demanded Captain Sam, "didn't you tell me right out that 'twas Mrs. Armstrong's brother you had in mind? Gracious king! if I'd known that I'd have had Lute out a fortni't sooner." Jed made no reply to this. He was still staring at the lady. "But— but— " he faltered, "did you— have you " He stopped in the middle of a word. Ruth was stand- ing behind the captain and he saw the frightened look in her eyes and the swift movement of her finger to her lips. "Oh, yes," she said. "I — I have. I told Captain Hunni- well of Charlie's experience in the bank in Wisconsin. He has written there and the answer is quite satisfactory, or so he seems to think." "Couldn't be better," declared Captain Sam. "Here's the letter from the man that used to be the bank president out there. Read it, Jed, if you want to." Jed took the letter and, with a hand which shook a lit- tle, adjusted his glasses and read. It was merely a note, brief and to the point. It stated simply that while Charles Phillips had been in the employ of their institution as messenger, bookkeeper and assistant teller, he had been found honest, competent, ambitious and thoroughly satis- factory. "And what more do I want than that?" demanded the captain. "Anybody who can climb up that way afore he's twenty-five will do well enough for yours truly. Course he and I haven't met yet, but his sister and I've met, and I'm not worryin' but what I'll like the rest of the family. Besides," he added, with a combination laugh and groan, "it's a case of desperation with us up at the bank. We've got to have somebq5||r^^ ^)^,Jji^ leak you was talkin' 192 "SHAVINGS" about, Jed, and we've got to have 'em immediate, right oif quick, at once, or a little sooner. It's a providence, your brother is to us, Mrs. Armstrong," he declared; "a special providence and no mistake." He hurried off a moment later, affirming that he was late at the bank already. "Course the cashier's there and the rest o£ the help," he added, "but it takes all hands and the cat to keep I,ute from puttin' the kindlin' in the safe and lightin' up the stove with ten dollar bills. So long." After he had gone Jed turned to his remaining visitor. His voice shook a little as he spoke. "You haven't told him!" he faltered, reproachfully. "You — ^you haven't told him!" She shook her head. "I couldn't — ^I couldn't," she de- clared. "Don't look at me like that. Please don't ! I know it is wrong. I feel like a criminal; I feel wicked. But," defiantly, "I should feel more wicked if I had told him and my brother had lost the only opportunity that might have come to him. He will make good, Mr. Winslow. I know he will. He will make them respect him and like him. They can't help it. See !" she cried, her excitement and agi- tation growing; "see how Mr. Reed, the bank president there at home, the one who wrote that letter, see what he did for Charles! He knows, too; he knows the whole story. I — I wrote to him. I wrote that very night when you told me, Mr. Winslow. I explained everything, I begged him — he is an old, old friend of our family— -to do this thing for our sakes. You see, it wasn't asking him to lie, or to do anything wrong. It was just that he tell of Charles and his ability and character as he knew them. It wasn't wrong, was it ?" Jed did not answer. "If it was," she #^fe|84y XSIJ^ l^elp it. I would do "SHAVINGS" 193 it again — for the same reason-^to save him and his future, to save us all. I can't help what you think of me. It doesn't matter. All that does matter is that you keep silent and let my brother have his chance." Jed, leaning forward in his chair by the workbench, put his hand to his forehead. "Don't — don't talk so, Mrs. Armstrong," he begged. "You know — you know I don't think anything you've done is wrong. I ain't got the right to think any such thing as that. And as for keepin' still— why, I — I did hope you wouldn't feel 'twas necessary to ask that." "I don't — I don't. I know you and I trust you. You are the only person in Orham whom I have trusted. You know that." "Why, yes — why, yes, I do know it and — and I'm ever so much obliged to you. More obliged than I can tell you, I am. Now — now would you mind tellin' me just one thing more? About this Mr. What's-his-name out West in the bank there — ^this Mr. Reed — did he write you he thought 'twas all right for him to send Sam the — ^the kind of let- ter he did send him, the one givin' your brother such a good reference?" The color rose in her face and she hesitated before re- plying. "No," she confessed, after a moment. "He did not write me that he thought it right to give Captain Hunniwell such a reference. In fact he wrote that he thought it all wrong, deceitful, bordering on the dishonest. He much preferred having Charles go to the captain and tell the whole truth. On the other hand, however, he said he realized that that might mean the end of the opportunity here and perhaps public scandal and gossip by which we all might suffer. And he said he had absolute confidence that Charles was not a criminal by intent, and he felt quite sure that he Digitized by Microsoft® 194 "SHAVINGS" would never go wrong again. If he were still in active business, he said, he should not hesitate to employ him. Therefore, although he still believed the other course safer and better, he would, if Captain Hunniwell wrote, answer as I had asked. And he did answer in that way. So, you see," she cried, eagerly, "he believes in Charles, just as I do. And just as you will when you know, Mr. Winslow. Oh, won't you try to believe now?" A harder-hearted man than Jed Winslow would have found it difficult to refuse such a plea made in such a way by such a woman. And Jed's heart was an)rthing but hard. "Now, now, Mrs. Armstrong," he stammered, "you don't have to ask me that. Course I believe in the poor young chap. And — and I guess likely everything's goin' to come out all right. That Mr. What's-his-name — er — Wright — ^no. Reed — I got read and write mixed up, I guess — he's a busi- ness man and he'd ought to know about such things better'n I do. I don't doubt it'll come out fine and we won't worry any more about it." "And yve will still be friends ? You know, Mr. Winslow, you are the only real friend I have in Orham. And you have been so loyal." Jed flushed with pleasure. "I — I told you once," he said, "that my friends gen- erally called me 'Jed.' " She laughed. "Very well, I'll call you 'Jed,' she said. "But turn about is fair play and you must call me 'Ruth.' Will you? Oh, there's Babbie calling me. Thank you again, for Charles' sake and my own. Good morning — Jed." "Er — er — ^good mornin', Mrs. Armstrong." "What?" "Er— I mean Mrs. Ruth." The most of that forenoon, that is the hour or so re- Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" 195 maining, was spent by Mr. Winslow in sitting by the workbench and idly scratching upon a board with the point of the chisel. Sometimes his scratches were meaningless, sometimes they spelled a name, a name which he seemed to enjoy spelling. But at intervals during that day, and on other days which followed, he was conscious of an uneasy feeling, a feeling almost of guilt coupled with a dim foreboding, Ruth Armstrong had called him a friend and loyal. But had he been as loyal to an older friend, a friend he had known all his life? Had he been loyal to Captain Sam Hunniwell? That was the feeling of guilt. The foreboding was not as definite, but it was always with him ; he could not shake it off. All his life he had dealt truthfully with the world, had not lied, or evaded, or compromised. Now he had permitted himself to become a silent partner in such a compromise. And some day, somehow, trouble was coming because of it. Digitized by Microsoft® CHAPTER XII BEFORE the end of another week Charles Phillips came to Orham. It was Ruth who told Jed the news. She came into the windmill shop and, stand- ing beside the bench where he was at work, she said : "Mr. Winslow, I have something to tell you." Jed put down the pencil and sheet of paper ~upon which he had been drawing new patterns for the "gull vane" which was to move its wings when the wind blew. This great invention had not progressed very far toward practical per- fection. Its inventor had been busy with other things and had of late rather lost interest in it. But Barbara's interest had not flagged and to please her Jed had promised to think a little more about it during the next day or so. "But can't you make it flap its wings, Uncle Jed?" the child had asked. Jed rubbed his chin. "W-e-e-11," he drawled, "I don't know. I thought I could, but now I ain't so sure. I could make 'em whirl 'round and 'round like a mill or a set of sailor paddles, but to make 'em flap is different. They've got to be put on strong enough so they won't flop off. You see," he added, solemnly, "if they kept floppin' off they wouldn't keep flappin' on. There's all the difference in the world between a flap and flop." He was trying to reconcile that difference when Ruth entered the shop. He looked up at her absently. "Mr. Winslow," she began again, "I " His reproachful bok made her pause and smile slightly m spite of herself. Digitized b^fl^crosoft® "SHAVINGS" 197 "I'm sorry," she said. "Well, then — Jed — ^I have some- thing to tell you. My brother will be here to-morrow." Jed had been expecting to hear this very thing almost any day, but he was a little startled nevertheless. "Sho !" he exclaimed. "You don't tell me !" "Yes. He is coming on the evening train to-morrow. I had word from him this morning." Jed's hand moved to his chin. "Hum . . ." he mused. "I guess likely you'll be pretty glad to see him." "I shall be at least that," with a little break in her voice. "You can imagine what his coming will mean to me. No, I suppose you can't imagine it; no one can." Jed did not say whether he imagined it or not. "I — I'm real glad for you, Mrs. Ruth," he declared. "Mrs. Ruth" was as near as he ever came to fulfilling their agreement concerning names. "I'm sure you are. And for my brother's sake and my own I am very grateful to you. Mr. Winslow — ^Jed, I mean — ^you have done so much for us already ; will you do one thing more ?" Jed's answer was given with no trace of his customary hesitation. "Yes," he said. "This is really for me, perhaps, more than for Charles — or at least as much." Again there was no hesitation in the Winslow reply. "That won't make it any harder," he observed, gravely. "Thank you. It is just this : I have decided not to tell my brother thaf I have told you of his — ^his trouble, of his having been — where he has been, or anything about it. He knows I have not told Captain Hunniwell; I'm sure he will take it for granted that I have told no one. I think it will be so much easier for the poor boy if he can come here to Orham and think that no one knows. And no one Digitized by Microsoft® 198 "SHAVINGS" does know but you. You understand, don't you ?" she added, earnestly. He looked a little troubled, but he nodded. "Yes," he said, slowly. "I understand, I cal'late." "I'm sure you do. 0£ course, if he should ask me point- blank if I had told any one, I should answer truthfully, tell him that I had told you and explain why I did it And some day I shall tell him whether he asks or not. But when he first comes here I want him to be — to be — ^well, as nearly happy as is possible under the circumstances. I want him to meet the people here without the feeling that they know he has been — a convict, any of them. And so, unless he asks, I shall not tell him that even you know; and I am sure you will understand and not — ^not " "Not say anything when he's around that might let the cat out of the bag. Yes, yes, I see. Well, I'll be careful ; you can count on me, Mrs. Ruth." She looked down into his homely, earnest face. "I do," she said, simply, and went out of the room. For several minutes after she had gone Jed sat there gazing after her. Then he sighed, picked up his pencil and turned again to the drawing of the gull. And the following evening young Phillips came. Jed, looking from his shop window, saw the depot-wagon draw up at the gate. Barbara was the first to alight. Philander Hardy came around to the back of the vehicle and would have assisted her, but she jumped doWn without his assist- ance. Then came Ruth and, after her, a slim young fellow carrying a traveling bag. It was dusk and Jed could not see his face plainly, but he fancied that he noticed a resem- blance to his sister in the way he walked and the carriage of his head. The two went into the little house together and Jed returned to his lonely supper. He was a trifle blue that evening, although he probably would not have confessed it Digitized by Microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" 199 Least of all would he have confessed the reason, which was that he was just a little jealous. He did not grudge his tenant her happiness in her brother's return, but he could not help feeling that from that time on she would not be as intimate and confidential with him, Jed Winslow, as she bad been. After this it would be to this brother of hers that she would turn for help and advice. Well, of course, that was what she should do, what any one of sense .would do, but Jed was uncomfortable .all the same. Also, because he was himself, he felt a sense of guilty remorse at being uncomfortable. The next morning he was presented to the new arrival. It was Barbara who made the presentation. She came skipping into the windmill shop leading the young man by the hand. "Uncle Jed," she said, "this is my Uncle Charlie. He's been away and he's come back and he's going to work here always and live in the bank. No, I mean he's going to work in the bank always and live No, I. don't, but you know what I do mean, don't you. Uncle Jed?" Charles Phillips smiled. "If he does he must be a mind- reader. Babbie," he said. Then, extending his hand, he added : "Glad to know you, Mr. Winslow. I've heard a lot about you from Babbie and Sis." Jed might have replied that he had heard a lot about him also, but he did not. Instead he said "How d'ye do," shook the proffered hand, and looked the speaker over. What he saw impressed him favorably. Phillips was a good-looking young fellow, with a pleasant smile, a taking manner and a pair of dark eyes which reminded Mr. Winslow of his sister's. It was easy to believe Ruth's statement that he had been a popular favorite among their acquaintances in Middleford; he vrasd^^Ep j^oS^m^S^ person would like 200 "SHAVINGS" at once, the sort which men become interested in and women spoil. He was rather quiet during this first call. Babbie did two-thirds of the talking. She felt it her duty as an older inhabitant to display "Uncle Jed" and his creations for her relative's benefit. Vanes, sailors, ships and mills were pointed out and commented upon, "He makes every one. Uncle Charlie," she declared sol- emnly. "He's made every one that's here and — oh, lots and lots more. He made the big mill that's up in our garre t You haven't seen it yet. Uncle Charlie ; it's going to be out on our lawn next spring — ^and he gave it to me for a — for a What kind of a present was that mill you gave me. Uncle Jed, that time when Mamma and Petunia and I were going back to Mrs. Smalley's because we thought you didn't want us to have the house any longer?" Jed looked puzzled. "Eh?" he queried. "What kind of a present? I don't know's I understand what you mean." "I mean what kind of a present was it. It wasn't a Christmas present or a birthday present or anything like that, but it must be some kind of one. What kind of pres- ent would you call it. Uncle Jed ?" Jed rubbed his chin. "W-e-e-11," he drawled, "I guess likely you might call it a forget-me-not present, if you had to call it anything." Barbara pondered. "A — a forget-me-not is a kind of flower, isn't it?" she asked. "Um-hm." "But this is a windmill. How can you make a flower out of a windmill. Uncle Jed ?" Jed rubbed his %%,eJW^oM' ^ question." he ad- 'SHAVINGS" 201 mitted. "But you can make flour in a wiridmill, 'cause I've seen it done." More pondering on the young lady's part. Then she gave it up. "You mustn't mind if you don't understand him. Uncle Charlie," she said, in her most confidential and grown-up manner. "He says lots of things Petunia and I don't under- stand at all, but he's awful nice, just the same. Mamma says he's choking — no, I mean joking when he talks that way and that we'll understand the jokes lots better when we're older. She understands them almost always," she added proudly. Phillips laughed. Jed's slow smile appeared and van- ished. "Looks as if facin' my jokes was no child's play, don't it," he observed. "Well, I will give in that gettin' any fun out of 'era is a man's size job/' On the following Monday the young man took up his duties in the bank. Captain Hunniwell interviewed him, liked him, and hired him all in the same forenoon. By the end of the first week of their association as employer and employee the captain liked hiin still better. He dropped in at the windmill shop to crow over the fact. "He takes hold same as an old-time first mate used to take hold of a green crew," he declared. "He had his job jumpin' to the whistle before the second day was over. I declare I hardly dast to wake up momin's for fear I'll find out our havin' such a smart feller is only a dream and that the livin' calamity is Lute Small. And to think," he added, "that you knew about him for the land knows how long and ^ would only hint instead of tellin'. I don't know as you'd have told yet if his sister hadn't told first. Eh? Would you?" Jed deliberately picked a loose bristle from his paint brush. Digitized by Microsoft® 202 "SHAVINGS" "Maybe not," he admitted. "Gracious king ! Well, why not ?" "Oh, I don't know. I'm kind of — er — funny that way. Like to take my own time, I guess likely. Maybe you've noticed it, Sam." "Eh ? Maybe I've noticed it ? A blind cripple that was bom deef and dumb would have noticed that the first time he ran across you. What on earth are you doin' to that paint brush ; tryin' to mesmerize it ?" His friend, who had been staring mournfully at the brush, now laid it down. "I was tryin' to decide," he drawledj "whether it needed hair tonic or a wig. So you like this Charlie Phillips, do you?" "Sartin suie I do! And the customers like him, too. Why, old Melissa Busteed was in yesterday and he waited on her for half an hour, seemed so, and when the agony was over neither one of 'em had got mad enough so any- body outside the buildin' would notice it. And that's a miracle that ain't happened in that bank for more'n one year. Why, I understand Melissa went down street tellin' all hands what a fine young man we'd got workin' for us. . . . Here, what are you laughin' at?" The word was ill-chosen ; Jed seldom laughed, but he had smiled slightly and the captain noticed it. "What are you grinnin' at?" he repeated. Jed's hand moved across his chin. "Gab Bearse was in a spell ago," he replied, "and he was tellin' about what Melissa said." "Welli she said what I just said she said, didn't she?" Mr. Winslow nodded. "Um-hm," he admitted, "she said — er — all of that." "All of it? Was there some more?" " 'Cordin' to Gabe there was. 'Cordin' to him she said Digitized by Microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" 203 . . . she said . . . er . . . Hum! this brush ain't much better'n the other. Seem to be comin' down with the mange, both of 'em." "Gracious king ! Consarn the paint brushes ! - Tell me what Melissa said." "Eh? . . . Oh, yes, yes. . . . Well, 'cordin' to Gabe she said 'twas a comfort to know there was a place in this town where an unprotected female could go and not be insulted." Captain Sam's laligh could have been heard across the road. "Ho, ho!" he roared. "An unprotected female, eh? 'Cordin' to my notion it's the male that needs protection when Melissa's around. I've seen Lute Small standin' in the teller's cage, tongue-tied and with the sweat standin' on his forehead, while Melissa gave him her candid opinion of anybody that would vote to allow alcohol to be sold by doctors in this town. And 'twas ten minutes of twelve Saturday mornin', too, and there was eight men waitin' their turn in line, and nary one of them or Lute either had the spunk to ask Melissa to hurry. Ho, ho! 'unprotected female' is good!" He had his laugh out and then added: "But there's no doubt that Charlie's goin' to be popular with the women. Why, even Maud seems to take a shine to him. Said she was surprised to have me show such good judgment. Course she didn't really mean she was surprised," he hastened to explain, evidently fearing that even an old friend like Jed might think he was criticizing his idolized daughter. "She was just teasin' her old dad, that's all. But I could see that Charlie kind of pleased her. Well, he pleases me and he pleases the cashier and the directors. We agree, all of us, that we're mighty lucky. I gave you some of the credit for jgettin' him for us, Jed," he added DigitizSd by Microsoft® 204 "SHAVINGS" magnanimously. "You don't really deserve much, because you hung back so and wouldn't tell his name, but I gave it to you just the same. What's a little credit between friends, eh? That's what Bluey Batcheldor said the other day when he came in and wanted to borrow a hundred dollars on his personal note. Ho! ho!" Captain Sam's glowing opinion of his paragon was soon echoed by the majority of Orham's population. Charlie Phillips, although quiet and inclined to keep to himself, was liked by almost every one. In the bank and out of it he was polite, considerate and always agreeable. During these first days Jed fancied that he detected in the young man a certain alert dread, a sense of being on guard, a reserve in the presence of strangers, but he was not sure that this was anything more than fancy, a fancy inspired by the fact that he knew the boy's secret and was on the lookout for something of the sort. At all events no one else appeared to notice it and it became more and more evi- dent that Charlie, as nine-tenths of Orham called him within a fortnight, was destined to be the favorite here that, according to his sister, he had been everywhere else. Of course there were a few who did not, or would not, like him. Luther Small, the deposed bank clerk, was bitter in his sneers and caustic in his comments. However, as Lute loudly declared that he was just going to quit any- how, that he wouldn't have worked for old Hunniwell another week if he was paid a million a minute for it, his hatred of his successor seemed rather unaccountable. Barzilla Small, Luther's fond parent, also professed intense dislike for the man now filling his son's position in the bank. "I don't know how 'tis," affirmed Barzilla, "but the fust time I see that young upstart I says to myself: 'Young feller, you ain't my kind.' This remark being repeated to Digitized by Microsoft® ■SHAVINGS" 205 Captain Sam, the latter observed: 'That's gospel truth and thank the Lord for it.' " Another person who refused to accept Phillips favorably was Phineas Babbitt. Phineas's bitterness was not the sort to sweeten over night. He disliked the new bank clerk and he told Jed Winslow why. They met at the post office — Phineas had not visited the windmill shop since the day when he received the telegram notifying him of his son's enlistment — and some one of the group waiting for the mail had happened to speak of Charlie Phillips. "He's a nice obligin' young chap," said the speaker. Captain Jere- miah Burgess. "I like him fust-rate; everybody does, I guess." Mr. Babbitt, standing apart from the group, his bristling chin beard moving as he chewed his eleven o'clock allow- ance of "Sailor's Sweetheart," turned and snarled over his shoulder. "I don't," he snapped. His tone was so sharp and his utterance so unexpected that Captain Jerry jumped. "Land of Goshen! You bark like a dog with a sore Aroat," he exclaimed. "Why don't you like him?" " 'Cause I don't, that's all." "That ain't much of a reason, seems to me. What have you got against him, Phin? You don't know anjrthing to his discredit, do you?" "Never you mind whether I do or not." Captain Jerry grunted but seemed disinclined to press the point further. Every one was surprised therefore when Jed Winslow moved across to where Phineas was standing, and looking mildly down at the little man, asked : "Do you know anything against him, Phin ?" "None of your business. What are you buttirf in' for, Shavin's ?" Digitized by Microsoft® 2o6 "SHAVINGS" "I ain't. I just asked you, that's all. Do you know anything against Charlie Phillips?" "None of your business, I tell you." "I know it ain't. But do you, Phin?" Each repetition of the question had been made in the same mild, monotonous drawl. Captain Jerry and the other loungers burst into a laugh. Mr. Babbitt's always simmer- ing temper boiled over. "No, I don't," he shouted. "But I don't know anything in his favor, neither. He's a pet of Sam Hunniwell and that's enough for me. Sam Hunniwell and every one of his chums can go to the devil. Every one of 'em; do you understand that, Jed Winslow?" Jed rubbed his chin. The solemn expression of his face did not change an atom. "Thank you, Phin," he drawled. "When I'm ready to start I'll get you to give me a letter of introduction." Jed had been fearful that her brother's coming might lessen the intimate quality of Ruth Armstrong's friendship with and dependence upon him. He soon discovered, to his delight, that these fears were groundless. He found that the very fact that Ruth had made him her sole con- fidant provided a common bond which brought them closer together. Ruth's pride in her brother's success at the bank and in the encomiums of the townsfolk had to find expression somewhere. She could express them to her landlord and she did. Almost every day she dropped in at the windmill shop for a moment's call and chat, the subject of that chat always, of course, the same. "I told you he would succeeu, ' she declared, her eyes shining and her face alight. "I told you so, Jed. And he has. Mr. Barber, the cashier, told me yesterday that Charles was the best man they had had in the bank for years. And every tg^/^tfflpSiS/V^tSB^n Hunniwell he stops 'SHAVINGS" 207 to shake hands and congratulates me on having such a brother. And they like him, not' only because he is suc- cessful in the bank, but for himself ; so many people have told me so. Why, for the first time since we came to Orham I begin to feel as if I were becoming acquainted, making friends." Jed nodded. "He's a nice young chap," he said, quietly. "Of course he is. . . . You mustn't mind my shameless family boasting," she added, with a little laugh. "It is only because I am so proud of him, and so glad — so glad for us all." Jed did not mind. It is doubtful if at that moment he was aware of what she was saying. He was thinking how her brother's coming had improved her, how well she was lookinnr, how much more color there was in her cheeks, and how good it was to hear her laugh once more. The windmill shop was a different place when she came. It was a lucky day for him when the Powlesses frightened him into letting Barbara and her mother move into the old house for a month's trial. Of course he did not express these thoughts aloud, in fact he expressed nothing whatever. He thought and thought and, after a time, gradually became aware that there was absolute silence in the shop. He looked at his caller and found that she Tvas regarding him intently, a twinkle in her eye and an amused expression about her mouth. He started and awoke from his day-dream. "Eh?" he exclaimed. "Yes-~yes, I guess so." She shook her head. "You do ?" she said. "Why, I thought your opinion was exactly the opposite." "Eh? Oh, yes, so 'tis, so 'tis." "Of course. And just what did you say about it ?" Jed was confused. He swallow«d hard, hesitated, swal- Digitized by Microsoft® 2o8 "SHAVINGS'^ lowed again and stammered: "I Why, I — ^that is — ; you see " She laughed merrily, "You are a very poor pretender, Jed," she declared. "Confess, you haven't the least idea what opinion I mean." "Well — well, to be right down honest, I — I don't know's I have, Mrs. Ruth." "0£ course, you haven't. There isn't any opinion. You have been sitting there for the last five minutes, staring straight at me and picking that paint brush to pieces. I doubt if you even knew I was here." "Eh ? Oh, yes, I know that, I know that all right. Tut ! tut!" inspecting the damaged brush. "That's a nice mess, ain't it? Now what do you suppose I did that for? I'm scared to death, when I have one of those go-to-sleeptic fits, that I'll pick my head to pieces. Not that that would be as big a loss as a good paint brush," he added, reflectively. His visitor smiled. "I think it would," she said. "Neither Babbie nor I could afford to lose that head ; it and its owner have been too thoughtful and kind. But tell me, what were you thinking about just then ?" The question appeared to embarrass Mr. Winslow a good deal. He colored, fidgeted and stammered. "Nothin', nothin' of any account," he faltered. "My — er — ^my brain was takin' a walk around my attic, I cal'late. There's plenty of room up there for a tramp." "No, tell me ; I want to know." Her expression changed, and sh« added: "You weren't thinking of — of Charles' — his trouble at Middleford? You don't still think me wrong in not telling Captain Hunniwell?" "Eh? . . - Oh, no, no. I wasn't thinkin' that at all." "But you don't answer my question. Well, never mind I am really almost happy for the first time in ever so long and I mean to remain so if I can. I am glad I did not Digitized by Microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" 209 tell — glad. _ And you must agree with me, Mr. Winslow — Jed, I mean — or I shall not run in so often to talk in this confidential way." "Eh? Not run in? Godfreys, Mrs. Ruth, don't talk so ! 'Excuse my strong language, but you scared me, talkin' about not runnin' in." "You deserve to be scared, just a little, for criticizing me in your thoughts. Oh, don't think me frivolous," she pleaded, with another swift change. "I realize it was all wrong. And some time, by and by, after Charles has firmly established himself, after they really know him, I shall go to the bank people, or he will go to them, and tell the whole story. By that time I'm sure — ^I'm sure they will forgive us both. Don't you think so ?" Jed would have forgiven her anything. He nodded. "Sartin sure they will," he said. Then, asking a ques- tion that had been in his thoughts for some time, he said: "How does your brother feel about it himself, Mrs. Ruth?" "At first he thought he should tell everything. He did not want to take the position under false pretenses, he said. But when I explained how he might lose this oppor- tunity and what an opportunity it might be for us all he agreed that perhaps it was best to wait. And I am sure it is best, Jed. But then, I mean to put the whole dreadful business from my mind, if I can, and be happy with my little girl and my brother. And I am happy ; I feel almost like a girl myself. So you mustn't remind me, Jed, and you mustn't criticize me, even though you and I both know you are right. You are my only confidant, you know, and I don't know what in the world I should do without you, so try to bear with me, if you can." Jed observed that he guessed likely there wouldn't be much trouble at his end of the line, providing she could 'manage to worry along with a feller that went to sleep ° DigitizSb by Microsoft® 210 "SHAVINGS" sittin' up, and in the daytime, like an owl. After she had gone, however, he again relapsed into slumber, and his dreams, judging by his expression, must have been pleasant. That afternoon he had an unexpected visit. He had just finished washing his dinner dishes and he and Babbie were in the outer shop together, when the visitor came. Jed was droning "Old Hundred" with improvisations of his own, the said improvising having the effect of slowing down the already extremely deliberate anthem until the re- sult compared to the original was for speed, as an oyster scow compared to an electric launch. This musical crawl he used as an accompaniment to the sorting and piling of various parts of an order just received from a Southern resort. Barbara was helping him, at least she called her activities "helping." When Jed had finished counting a pile of vanes or mill parts she counted them to make sure. Usually her count and his did not agree, so both counted again, getting in each other's way and, as Mr. Winslow expressed it, having a good time generally. And this re- mark, intended to be facetious, was after all pretty close to the literal truth. Certainly Babbie was enjoying herself, and Jed, where an impatient man would have been frantic, was enjoying her enjoyment. Petunia, perched in lop- sided fashion on a heap of mill-sides was, apparently, superintending. "There!" declared Jed, stacking a dozen sailors beside a dozen of what the order called "birdhouses medium knocked down." "There! that's the livin' last one, I do believe. Hi hum! Now we've got to box 'em, haven't we? . . . Ye-es, yes, yes, yes. . . . Hum. , . . "•Di— de— di— de— di— de ' "Where's tiiat hammer? Oh, yes, here 'tis." " 'Di— de— di— de ' Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" 211 Now where on earth have I put that pencil, Babbie? Have I swallowed it? Don't tell me you've seen me swal- low it, 'cause that flavor of lead-pencil never did agree with me." The child burst into a trill of laughter. "Why, Uncle Jed," she exclaimed, "there it is, behind your ear." "Is it? Sho, so 'tis! Now that proves the instinct of dumb animals, don't it? That lead-pencil knew enough to realize that my ear was so big that anything short of a cord-wood stick could hide behind it. Tut, tut! Sur- prisin', surprisin' !" "But, Uncle Jed, a pencil isn't an animal." "Eh ? Ain't it ? Seemed to me I'd read somethin' about the ragin' lead-pencil seekin' whom it might devour. But maybe that was a — er — lion or a clam or somethin'." Babbie looked at him in puzzled fashion for a moment. Then she sagely shook her head and declared : "Uncle Jed, I think you are perfectly scru-she-aking. Petunia and I are convulshed. We " she stopped, listened, and then announced: "Uncle Jed, I think somebody came up the walk." The thought received confirmation immediately in the form of a knock at the door. Jed' looked over his spec- tacles. "Hum," he mused, sadly, "there's no peace for the wicked, Babbie. No sooner get one order all fixed and out of the way than along comes a customer and you have to get another one ready. If I'd known 'twas goin' to be like this I'd never have gone into business, would you? But maybe 'tain't a customer, maybe it's Cap'n Sam or Gabe Bearse or somebody. . . . They wouldn't knock, though, 'tain't likely; anyhow Gabe wouldn't . . . Come in," he called, as the/lBBeekyAWMoFi^^ated. 212 "SHAVINGS" The person who entered the shop was a tall man in uniform. The afternoon was cloudy and the outer shop, piled high with stock and lumber, was shadowy. The man in uniform looked at Jed and Barbara and they looked at him. He spoke first. "Pardon me," he said, "but is your name Winslow?" Jed nodded. "Yes, sir," he replied, deliberately. "I guess likely 'tis." "I have come here to see if you could let me have " Babbie interrupted him. Forgetting her manners in the excitement of the discovery which had just flashed upon her, she uttered an exclamation. "Oh, Uncle Jed!" she exclaimed. Jed, startled, turned toward her. "Yes?" he asked, hastily. "What's the matter?" "Don't you know? He — ^he's the nice officer one." "Eh? The nice what? What are you talkin' about, Babbie?" Babbie, now somewhat abashed and ashamed of her in- voluntary outburst, turned red and hesitated. "I mean," she stammered, "I mean he — ^he's the — officer one that — ^that was nice to us that day." "That day? What day? . . . Just excuse the little girl, won't you?" he added, apologetically, turning to the caller. "She's made a mistake ; she thinks she knows you, I guess." "But I do. Uncle Jed. Don't you remember? Over at the flying place?" The officer himself took a step forward. "Why, of course," he said, pleasantly. "She is quite right. I thought your faces were familiar. You and she were over at the camp that day when one of our construc- tion plans was lost. She found it for us. And Lieutenant Raybum and I have been grateful many times since," he added. Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" 213 Jed recognized him then. "Well, I snum!" he exclaimed. "Of course! Sartin! If it hadn't been for you I'd have lost my life and Babbie'd have lost her clam chowder. That carpenter feller would have had me hung for a spy in ten minutes more. I'm real glad to see you, Colonel — Colonel Wood. That's your name, if I recollect right." "Not exactly. My name is Grover, and I'm not a colonel, worse luck, only a major." "Sho ! Grover, eh? Now how in the nation did I get it Wood? Oh, yes, I cal'late 'twas mixin' up groves and woods. Tut, tut! Wonder I didn't call you 'Pines' or 'Bushes' or somethin'. . . . But there, sit down, sit down. I'm awful glad you dropped in. I'd about given up hopin' you would." He brought forward a chair, unceremoniously dumping two stacks of carefully sorted and counted vanes and sailors from its seat to the floor prior to doing so. Major Grover declined to sit. "I should like to, but I mustn't," he said. "And I shouldn't claim credit for deliberately making you a social call. I came — ^that is, I was sent here on a matter of — er — well, first aid to the injured. I came to see if you would lend me a crank." Jed looked at him. "A— a what?" he asked. "A crank, a crank for my car. I motored over from the camp and stopped at the telegraph office. When I came out my car refused to go; the self-starter appears to have gone on a strike. I had left my crank at the camp and my only hope seemed to be to buy or borrow One. somewhere. I asked the two or three fellows standing about the tele- graph office where I might be likely to find one. No one seemed to know, but just then the old grouch — excuse me, person who keeps i&i^'f^^WS.fe>^S^e came along." 214 "SHAVINGS" "Eh? Phin Babbitt? Little man with the stub of a paint brush growin' on his chin?" "Yes, that's the one. I asked him where I should be likely to find a crank. He said if I came across to this shop I ought to find one." "He did, eh? . . . Hum!" "Yes, he did. So I came." "Hum!" This observation being neither satisfying nor particularly illuminating. Major Grover waited for something more ex- plicit. He waited in vain; Mr. Winslow, his eyes fixed upon the toe of his visitor's military boot, appeared to be mesmerized. "So I came," re'^eated the major, after an interval. "Eh? . . . Oh, yes, yes. So you did, so you did. . . . Hum!" He rose and, walking to the window, peeped about the edge of the shade across and down the road in the direc- tion of the telegraph office. "Phineas," he drawled, musingly, "and Squealer and Lute Small and Bluey. Hu-u-m ! . . . Yes, yes." He turned away from the window and began intoning a hymn. Major Grover seemed to be divided between a desire to laugh and a tendency toward losing patience. "Well," he queried, after another interval, "about that crank? Have you one I might borrow? It may not fit, probably won't, but I should like to try it." Jed sighed. "There's a crank here," he drawled, "but it wouldn't be much use around automobiles, I'm afraid. I'm it." "What? I don't understand." "I say I'm it. My pet name around Orham is town crank. That's why ;F|«^flS),gejl3fc3fSli® to my shop. He said "SHAVINGS" 215 you ought to find a crank here. He was right, I'm 'most generally in." This statement was made quietly, deliberately and with no trace of resentment. Having made it, the speaker be- gan picking up the vanes and sailors he had spilled when he proffered his visitor the chair. Major Grover colored, and frowned. "Do you mean to tell me," he demanded, "that that fel- low sent me over here because — ^because " "Because I'm town crank ? Ye-es, that's what I mean." "Indeed! That is his idea of a joke, is it?" "Seems to be. He's an awful comical critter, Phin Babbitt is — in his own way." "Well, it's not my way. He sends me over here to make an ass of myself and insult you " -^'^"^ "Now, now. Major, excuse me. Phin mdn't have any idea that you'd insult me. You see," with the fleeting smile, "he wouldn't believe anybody could do that." Grover turned sharply to the door. Mr. Winslow spoke his name. "Er— Major Grover," he said, gently, "I wouldn't." The major paused. "Wouldn't what?" he demanded. "Go over there and tell Phin and the rest what you think of 'em. If 'twould do 'em any good I'd say, 'For mercy sakes, go!' But 'twouldn't; they wouldn't believe it." Grover's lips tightened. "Telling it might do me some good," he observed, signifi- cantly. "Yes, I know. But maybe we might get the same good or more in a different way. . . . Hum! . . . What— er — brand of automobile is yours?" The major told him. Jed nodded. "Hum . . . yes," be drawled. "I see. ... I see." Grover laughed. "I'll be hanged if I do !" he observed. Digitized by Microsoft® 2i6 "SHAVINGS" "Eh ! . . . Well, I tell you ; you sit down and let Babbie talk Petunia to you a minute or two. I'll be right back." He hurried into the back shop, closing the door after him. A moment later Grover caught a glimpse of him crossing the back yard and disappearing over the edge of the bluff. "Where in the world has the fellow gone?" he solilo- quized aloud, amused although impatient. Barbara took it upon herself to answer. Uncle Jed had left the caller in her charge and she felt her responsibilities. "He's gone down the shore path," she said. "I don't know where else he's gone, but it's all right, anyway." "Oh, is it? You seem quite sure of it, young lady." "I am. Everything Uncle Jed does is right. Sometimes you don't think so at first, but it turns out that way. Ma,mma says he is petunia — ^no, I mean peculiar but — ^but very — ^re-li-a-ble," the last word conquered after a visible struggle. "She says if you do what he tells you to you will be 'most always glad. / think 'always' without any 'most,' " she added. Major Grover laughed. "That's a reputation for in- fallibility worth having," he observed. Barbara did not know what he meant but she had no intention of betraying that fact. "Yes," she agreed. A moment later she suggested: "Don't you think you'd better sit down ? He told you to, you know." "Great Scott, so he did ! I must obey orders, mustn't I ? But he told you to talk — something or other to me, I think. What was it?" "He told me to talk Petunia to you. There she is — ^up there." The major regarded Petunia, who was seated upon the heap of mill-sides, in a most haphazard and dissipated atti- tude. Digitized by Microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" 217 "She is my oldest daughter," continued Barbara. "She's very advanced for her years." "Dear me!" "Yes. And ... oh, here comes Mamma!" Mrs. Armstrong entered the shop. The major rose. Bar- bara did the honors. "I was just going to come in, Mamma," she explained, "but Uncle Jed asked me to stay and talk to Mr. — I mean Major — Grover till he came back. He's gone out, but he won't be long. Mamma, this is Mr. Major Grover, the one who kept Uncle Jed from being spied, over at the flying place that day when I found the plan paper and he made a shingle boat sail out of it." Ruth came forward. She had been walking along the edge of the bluff, looking out over the tumbled gray and white water, and the late October wind had tossed her hair and brought the color to her cheeks. She put out her hand. "Oh, yes," she said. "How do you do, Major Grover? I have heard a great deal about you since the day of Bab- bie's picnic. I'm sure I owe you an apology for the trouble my small daughter must have caused that day." She and the major shook hands. The latter expressed himself as being very glad to meet Mrs. Armstrong. He looked as if he meant it. "And no apologies are due, not from your side at least," he declared. "If it had not been for your little girl our missing plan might have been missing yet." Fifteen minutes elapsed before the owner of the windmill shop returned. When he did come hurrying up the bluff and in at the back door, heated and out of breath, no one seemed to have missed him greatly. Major Grover, who might reasonably have been expected to show some irrita- tion at his long wait, appeared quite oblivious of the fact that he had waited at all. He and Barbara were seated Digitized by Microsoft® 2i8 "SHAVINGS" side by side upon a packing case, while Ruth occupied the chair. When Jed came panting in it was Babbie who greeted him. "Oh, Uncle Jed !" she exclaimed, "you just ought to have been here. Mr. — I mean Major Grover has been telling Mamma and me about going up in a — in a diggible balloon. It was awf'ly interesting. Wasn't it. Mamma?" Her mother laughingly agreed that it was. Jed, whose hands were full, deposited his burden upon another pack- ing case. The said burden consisted of no less than three motor car cranks. Grover regarded them with surprise. "Where in the world did you get those?" he demanded. "The last I saw of you you were disappearing over that bank, apparently headed out to sea. Do you dig those things up on the flats hereabouts, like clams?" Jed rubbed his chin. "Not's I know of," he replied. "I borrowed these down at Joshua Rogers' garage." "Rogers* garage?" repeated Grover. "That isn't near here, is it?" "It is an eighth of a mile from here," declared Ruth. "And not down by the beach, either. What do you mean, Jed?" Jed was standing by the front window, peeping out. "Um-hm," he said, musingly, "they're still there, the whole lot of 'em, waitin' for you to come out. Major. . . . Hum . . . dear, dear ! And they're all doubled up now laughin' ahead of time. . . . Dear, dear! this is a world of dis- appointment, sure enough." "What are you talking about?" demanded Major Grover. "Jedl" exclaimed Ruth. Barbara said nothing. She was accustomed to her Uncle Jed's vagaries and knew that, in his own good time, an explanation would be forthcoming. It came now. "Why, you see," said Jed, "Phin Babbitt and the rest Digitized by Microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" 210 sendin' you over here to find a crank was their little joke. They're enjoyin' it now. The one thing needed to make 'em happy for life is to see you come out of here empty- handed and so b'ilin' mad that you froth over. If you come out smilin' and with what you came after, why — why, then the cream of their joke has turned a little sour, as you might say. See?" Grover laughed. "Yes, I see that plain enough," he agreed. "And I'm certainly obliged to you. I owed those fellows one. But what I don't see is how you got those cranks by going down to the seashore." "W-e-e-11, if I'd gone straight up the road to Rogers's our jokin' friends would have known that's where the cranks came from. I wanted 'em to think they came from right here. So I went over the bank back of the shop, where they couldn't see me, along the beach till I got abreast of Joshua's and then up across lots. I came back the way I went. I hope those things '11 fit, Major. One of 'em will, I guess likely." The major laughed again. "I certainly am obliged to you, Mr. Winslow," he said. "And I must say you took a lot of trouble on my account." Jed sighed, although there was a little twinkle in his eye. " 'Twan't altogether on your account," he drawled. "/ owed 'em one, same as you did. I was the crank they sent you to." Their visitor bade Barbara and her mother good after- noon, gathered up his cranks and turned to the door. "I'll step over and start the car," he said. "Then I'll come back and return these things." Jed shook his head. "I wouldn't," he said. "You may stop again before you get back to Bayport. Rogers is in no hurry for 'em, he said so. You take 'em along and fetch 'emin next time you're over. I want you to call again any- Digitized by Microsoft® 220 "SHAVINGS" how and these cranks '11 make a good excuse for doin' it," he added. "Oh, I see. Yes, so they will. With that understand- ing I'll take them along. Thanks again and good after- noon." He hastened across the street. The two in the shop watched from the window until the car started and moved out of sight. The group by the telegraph office seemed excited about something; they laughed no longer and there was considerable noisy argument. Jed's lip twitched. " 'The best laid plans of mice — and skunks,'" he quoted, solemnly. "Hm! . . . That Major Grover seems like a good sort of chap." "I think he's awful nice," declared Babbie. Ruth said nothing. Digitized by Microsoft® CHAPTER XIII OCTOBER passed and November came. The very last of the summer cottages were closed. Orham settled down for its regular winter hibernation. This year it was a bit less of a nap than usual because of the activity at the aviation camp at East Harniss. The swarm of carpenters, plumbers and mechanics was larger than ever there now and the buildings were hastening to- ward completion, for the first allotment of aviators, sol- diers ahd recruits was due to arrive in March. Major Grover was a busy and a worried man, but he usually found time to drop in at the windmill shop for a moment or two on each of his brief motor trips to Orham. Some- times he found Jed alone, more often Barbara was there also, and, semi-occasionally, Ruth. The major and Charles Phillips met and appeared to like each other. Charles was still on the rising tide of local popularity. Even Gabe Bearse had a good word to say for him among the many which he said concerning him. Phineas Babbitt, however, continued to express dislike, or, at the most, indifference. "I'm too old a bird," declared the vindictive little hard- ware dealer, "to bow down afore a slick tongue and a good- lookin' figgerhead. He's one of Sam Hunniwell's pets and that's enough for me. Anybody that ties up to Sam Hunni- well must have a rotten plank in 'em somewheres; give it time and 'twill come out." Charles and Jed Winslow were by this time good friends. The young man usually spent at least a few minutes of each day chatting with his eccentric neighbor. They were Digitized b^fUkrosoft® 222 "SHAVINGS" becoming more intimate, at times almost confidential, al- though Phillips, like every other friend or acquaintance of "Shavings" Winslow, was inclined to patronize or con- descend a bit in his relations with the latter. No one took the windmill maker altogether seriously, not even Ruth Armstrong, although she perhaps came nearest to doing so. Charles would drop in at the shop of a morning, in the interval between breakfast and bank opening, and, perching on a pile of stock, or the workbench, would dis- cuss various things. He and Jed were alike in one char- acteristic — each had the habit of absent-mindedness and lapsing into silence in the middle of a conversation. Jed's lapses, of course, were likely to occur in the middle of a sentence, even in the middle of a word; with the younger man the symptoms were not so acute. "Well, Charlie," observed Mr. Winslow, on one occasion, a raw November morning of the week before Thanks- giving, "how's the bank gettin' along?" Charles was a bit more silent that morning than he had been of late. He appeared to be somewhat reflective, even somber. Jed, on the lookout for just such symptoms, was trying to cheer him up. "Oh, all right enough, I guess," was the reply. "Like your work as well as ever, don't you ?" "Yes — oh, yes, I like it, what there is of it. It isn't what you'd call strenuous." "No, I presume likely not, but I shouldn't wonder if they gave you somethin' more responsible some of these days. They know you're up to doin' it; Cap'n Sam's told me so more'n once." Here occurred one of the lapses just mentioned. Phil- lips said nothing for a minute or more. Then he asked: "What sort of a man is Captain Hunniwell?" "Eh? What sort of a man? You ought to know him Digitized by Microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" 223 yourself pretty well by this time. You see more of him every day than I do." "I don't mean as a business man or anything like that. I mean what sort of man is he — er — ^inside ? Is he always as good-natured as he seems? How is he around his own house? With his daughter — or — or things like that? You've known him all your life, you know, and I haven't." "Um — ye-es — yes, I've known Sam for a good many years. He's square all through, Sam is. Honest as the day is long and " Charles stirred uneasily. "I know that, of course," he interrupted. "I wasn't questioning his honesty." Jed's tender conscience registered a pang. The reference to honesty had not been made with any ulterior motive. "Sartin, sartin," he said; "I know you wasn't, Charlie, course I know that. You wanted to know what sort of a man Sam was in bis family and such, I judge. Well, he's a mighty good father — almost too good, I suppose likely some folks would say. He just bows down and wor- ships that daughter of his. Anything Maud wants that he can give her she can have. And she wants a goodjieal, I will give in," he added, with his quiet drawl. His caller did not speak. Jed whistled a lew mournful bars and sharpened a chisel on an oilstone. "If John D. Vanderbilt should come around courtin' Maud," he went on, after a moment, "I don't know as Sam would cal'late he was good enough for her. Anyhow he'd feel that 'twas her that was doin' the favor, not John D. . . . And I guess he'd be right ; I don't know any Vander- bilts, but I've, known Maud since she was a baby. She's a " He paused, inspecting a nick in the chisel edge. Again Phillips shifted in his seat on the edge of the workbench. "Well?" he ^^"^^^oigitized by Microsoft® 224 "SHAVINGS" "Eh?" Jed looked up in mild inquiry. "What is it?" he said. "That's what I want to know — ^what is it? You were talking about Maud Hunniwell. You said you had known her since she was a baby and that she was — something or other ; that was as far as you got." "Sho! . . . Hum. . . . Oh, yes, yes; I was goin' to say she was a mighty nice girl, as nice as she is good-lookin' and lively. There's a dozen young chaps in this county crazy about her this minute, but there ain't any one of 'em good enough for her. . . . Hello, you goin' so soon? 'Tisn't half-past nine yet, is it ?" Phillips did not answer. His somber expression was still in evidence. Jed would have liked to cheer him up, but he did not know how. However he made an attempt by changing the subject. "How is Babbie this mornin' ?" he asked. "She's as lively as a cricket, of course. And full of ex- citement. She's going to school next Monday, you know. You'll rather miss her about the shop here, won't you?" "Miss her ! My land of Goshen ! I ' shouldn't be sur- prised if I foUered her to school myself, like Mary's little lamb. Miss her! Don't talk!" "Well, so long. . . . What is it?" "Eh?" "What is it you want to say? You look as if you wanted to 'say something." "Do I? . . . Hum. . . . Oh, 'twasn't anything special. • . . How's — er — how's your sister this mornin'?" "Oh, she's well. I haven't seen her so well since — ^that is, for a long time. You've made a great hit with Sis, Jed," he added, with a laugh. "She can't say enough good things about you. Says you are her one dependable in Orham, or something like that." Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" 225 jjed's face turned a bright red. "Oh, sho, sho !" he pro- tested, "she mustn't talk that way. I haven't done any- thing." "She says you have. Well, by-by." He went away. It was some time before Jed resume*? his chisel-sharpening. Later, when he came to reflect upon his conversation with young Phillips there were one or two things about it which puzzled him. They were still puzzling him when Maud Hunniwell came into the shop. Maud, in a new fall suit, hat and fur, was a picture, a fact of which she was as well aware as the next person. Jed, as always, was very glad to see her. "Well, well !" he exclaimed. "Talk about angels and — and they fly in, so to speak. Real glad to see you, Maud. Sit down, sit down. There's a chair 'round here some- wheres. Now where ? Oh, yes, I'm sittin' in it. Hum! That's one of the reasons why I didn't see it, I presume likely. You take it and I'll fetch another from the kitchen. No, I won't, I'll sit on the bench. . . . Hum . . . has your pa got any money left in that bank of his?" Miss Hunniwell was, naturally, surprised at the question. "Why, I hope so," she said. "Did you think he hadn't?" "W-e-e-11, I didn't know. That dress of yours, and that new bonnet, must have used up consider'ble, to say nothin' of that woodchuck you've got 'round your neck, 'Tis a woodchuck, ain't it ?" he added, solemnly. "Woodchuck! Well, I like that! If you knew what a silver fox costs and how long I had to coax before I got this one you would be more careful in your language," she declared, with a toss of her head. Jed sighed. "That's the trouble with me," he observed. "I never know enough to pick out the right things — or folks — to be careful with. If I set out to be real toady and Digitized by Microsofi® 226 "SHAVINGS" humble to what I think is a peacock it generally turns out to be a Shanghai rooster. And the same when it's t'other way about. It's a great gift to be able to tell the real — er — what is it ? — ^gold foxes from the woodchucks in this life. I ain't got it and that's one of the two hundred thousand reasons why I ain't rich." He began to hum one of his doleful melodies. Maud laughed. "Mercy, what a long sermon !" she exclaimed. "No won- der you sing a hymn after it." Jed sniffed. "Um . . . ye-es," he drawled. "If I was more worldly-minded I'd take up a collection, probably. Well, how's all the United States Army ; the gold lace part of it, I mean?" His visitor laughed again. "Those that I know seem to be very well and happy," she replied. "Um . . . yes . . . sartin. They'd be happy, naturally. How could they help it, under the circumstances ?" He began picking over an assortment of small hardware, varying his musical accompaniment by whistling instead of singing. His visitor looked at him rather oddly. "Jed," she observed, "you're changed." "Eh? . , . Changed? I ain't changed my clothes, if that's what you mean. Course if I'd know I was goin' to have bankers' daughters with gold — er — muskrats 'round their necks come to see me I'd have dressed up." "Oh, I don't mean your clothes. I mean you — ^yourself — ^you've changed." "I've changed! How, for mercy sakes?" "Oh, lots of ways. You pay the ladies compliments now. You wouldn't have done that a year ago." "Eh? Pay compliments? I'm afraid you're mistaken. Your pa says I'm so absent-minded and forgetful that I don't pay some of my bills till the folks I owe 'em to make Digitized by Microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" 22>' proclamations they're goin' to sue me; and other bills I pay two or three times over." "Don't try to escape by dodging the subject. You have changed in the last few months. I think," holding the tail of the silver fox before her face and regarding him over it, "I think you must be in love." "Eh?" Jed looked positively frightened. "In love!" "Yes. You're blushing now." "Now, now, Maud, that ain't — ^that's sunburn." "No, it's not sunburn. Who is it, Jed?" mischiev- ously. "Is it the pretty widow? Is it Mrs. Armstrong?" A good handful of the hardware fell to the floor. Jed thankfully scrambled down to pick it up. Miss Hunniwell, expressing contrition at being indirectly responsible for the mishap, offered to help him. He declined, of course, but in the little argument which followed the dangerous and embarrassing topic was forgotten. It was not until she was about to leave the shop that Maud again mentioned the Armstrong name. And then, oddly enough, it was she, not Mr. Winslow, who showed embarrassment. "Jed," she said, "what do you suppose I came here for .this morning?" Jed's reply was surprisingly prompt. "To show your new rig-out, of course," he said. " 'Van- ity of vanities, all is vanity.' There, now I can take up a collection, can't I?" His visitor pouted. "If you do I shan't put anything in the box," she declared. "The idea of thinking that I came here just to show off my new thiags. I've a good mind not to invite you at all now." She doubtless expected apologies and questions as to what invitation was meant. They might have been forth- coming had not the windmill maker been engaged just at that moment in gazing abstractedly at the door of the lit- Digitized by Microsoft® 228 "SHAVINGS" tie stove which heated, or was intended to heat, the work- shop. He did not appear to have heard her remark, so the young lady repeated it. Still he paid no attention. Miss Maud, having inherited a goodly share of the Hun- niwell disposition, demanded an explanation. "What in the world is the matter with you?" she asked. "Why are you staring at that stove ?" Jed started and came to life. "Eh?" he exclaimed. "Oh, I was thinkin' what an everlastin' nuisance 'twas — ^the stove, I mean. It needs more wood about every five minutes in the day, seems to — ^needs it now, that's what made me think of it. I was just wonderin' if 'twouldn't be a good notion to set it up out in the yard." "Out in the yard? Put the stove out in the yard? For goodness' sake, what for?" Jed clasped his knee in his hand and swung his foot back and forth. "Oh," he drawled, "if 'twas out in the yard I shouldn't know whether it needed wood or not, so 'twouldn't be all the time botherin' me." However, he rose and replenished the stove. Miss Hun- niwell laughed. Then she said: "Jed, you don't de- serve it, because you didn't hear me when I first dropped the hint, but I came here with an invitation for you. Pa and I expect you to eat your Thanksgiving dinner with us." If she had asked him to eat it in jail Jed could not have been more disturbed. "Now — ^now, Maud," he stammered, "I — I'm ever so much obliged to you, but I — I don't see how " "Nonsense! I see how perfectly well. You always act just this way whenever I invite you to anything. You're not afraid of Pa or me, are you?" "W-e-e-U, well, I ain't afraid of your Pa 's I know of, but of course, when such a fascinatin' young woman as you Digitized by Microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" 229 comes along, all rigged up to kill, why, it's natural that af old single relic like me should get kind of nervous." Maud clasped her hands. "Oh," she cried, "there's an- other compliment ! You have changed, Jed. I'm going to ask Father what it means." This time Jed was really alarmed. "Now, now, now," he protested, "don't go tell your Pa yarns about me. He'll come in here and pester me to death. You know what a tease he is when he gets started. Don't, Maud, don't." She looked hugely delighted at the prospect. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "I certainly shall tell him," she declared, "unless you promise to eat with us on Thanksgiv- ing Day. Oh, come along, don't be so silly. You've eaten at our house hundreds of times." This was a slight exaggeration. Jed had eaten there pos- sibly five times in the last five years. He hesitated. "Ain't goin' to be any other company, is there ?" he asked, after a moment. It was now that Maud showed her first symptoms of embarrassment. "Why," she said, twirling the fox tail and looking at the floor, "there may be one or two more. I thought — I mean Pa and I thought perhaps we might invite Mrs. Armstrong and Babbie. You know them, Jed, so they won't be like strangers. And Pa thinks Mrs. Armstrong is a very nice lady, a real addition to the town; I've heard him say so often," she added, earnestly. Jed was silent. She looked up at him from under the brim of the new hat. "You wouldn't mind them, Jed, would you?" she asked. "They wouldn't be like strangers, you know." Jed rubbed his chin. "I — I don't know's I would," he mused, "always providin' they didn't mind me. But I don't cal'Iate Mrs. Ruth — Mrs. Armstrong, I mean — would want to leave Charlie to home alone on Thanksgivin' Day. If Digitized by Microsoft® 230 "SHAVINGS" she took Babbie, you know, there wouldn't be anybody left to keep him company." Miss Hunniwell twirled the fox tail in an opposite di- rection. "Oh, of course," she said, with elaborate care- lessness, "we should invite Mrs. Armstrong's brother if we invited her. Of course we should have to do that." Jed nodded, but he made no comment. His visitor watched him from beneath the hat brim. "You — ^you haven't any objection to Mr. Phillips, have you?" she queried. "Eh? Objections? To Charlie? Oh, no, no." "You like him, don't you? Father likes him very much." "Yes, indeed ; like him fust-rate. All hands like Charlie, the women- folks especially." There was a perceptible interval before Miss Hunniwell spoke again. "What do you mean by that?" she asked. "Eh? Oh, nothin', except that, accordin' to your dad, he's a 'specially good hand at waitin' on the women and girls up at the bank, polite and nice to 'em, you know. He's even made a hit with old Melissy Busteed, and it takes a regular feller to do that." He would not promise to appear at the Hunniwell home on Thanksgiving, but he did agree to think it over. Maud had to be content with that. However, she declared that she should take his acceptance for granted. "We shall set a place for you," she said. "Of course you'll come. It will be such a nice party, you and Pa and Mrs. Armstrong and I and little Babbie. Oh, we'll have great fun, see if we don't." "And Charlie; you're leavin' out Charlie," Jed reminded her. "Oh, yes, so I was. Well, I suppose he'll come, too. Good-by." She skipped away, waving him a farewell with the^feil Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" 231 of the silver fox. Jed, gazing after her, rubbed his chin reflectively. His indecision concerning the acceptance of the Hunni- well invitation lasted until the day before Thanksgiving. Then Barbara added her persuasions to those of Captain Sam and his daughter and he gave in. "If you don't go. Uncle Jed," asserted Babbie, "we're all goin' to be awfully disappointed, 'specially me and Pe- tunia — and Mamma — and Uncle Charlie." "Oh, then the rest of you folks won't care, I presume likely?" Babbie thought it over. "Why, there aren't any more of us," she said. "Oh, I see ! You're joking again, aren't you. Uncle Jed? 'Most everybody I know laughs when they make jokes, but you don't, you look as if you were going to cry. That's why I don't laugh sometimes right off," she explained, politely. "If you was really feeling so bad it wouldn't be nice to laugh, you know." Jed laughed then, himself. "So Petunia would feel bad if I didn't go to Sam's, would she?" he inquired. "Yes," solemnly. "She told me she shouldn't eat one single thing if you didn't go. She's a very high-strung child." That settled it. Jed argued that Petunia must on no account be strung higher than she was and consented to dine at the Hunniwells'. The day before Thanksgiving brought another visitor to the windmill shop, one as welcome as he was unexpected. Jed, hearing the door to the stock room open, shouted "Come in" from his seat at the workbench in the inner room. When his summons was obeyed he looked up to see a khaki-clad figure advancing with extended hand. "Why, hello. Major!" he exclaimed. "I'm real glad ■' Digitized by Microsoft® 232 "SHAVINGS" to Eh, 'tain't Major Grover, is it? Who Why, Leander Babbitt ! Well, well, well !" Young Babbitt was straight and square-shouldered and brown. Military training and life at Camp Devens had wrought the miracle in his case which it works in so many. Jed found it hard to recognize the stoop-shouldered son of the hardware dealer in the spruce young soldier before him. When he complimented Leander upon the improve- ment the latter disclaimed any credit. "Thank the drill master second and yourself first, Jed," he said. "They'll make a man of a fellow up there at Ayer if he'll give 'em half a chance. Probably I shouldn't have had the chance if it hadn't been for you. You were the one who really put me up to enlisting." Jed refused to listen. "Can't make a man out of a pun- kinhead," he asserted. "If you hadn't had the right stuff in you, Leander, drill masters nor nobody else could have fetched it out. How do you like belongin' to Uncle Sam?" Young Babbitt liked it and said so. "I feel as if I were doing something at last," he said ; "as if I was part of the biggest thing in the world. Course I'm only a mighty lit- tle part, but, after all, it's something." Jed nodded, gravely. "You bet it's somethin'," he ar- gued. "It's a lot, a whole lot. I only wish I was standin' alongside of you in the ranks, Leander. ... I'd be a sight, though, wouldn't I?" he added, his lip twitching in the fleeting smile. "What do you think the Commodore, or General, or whoever 'tis bosses things at the camp, would say when he saw me ? He'd think the flagpole had grown feet, and was walkin' round, I cal'late." He asked his young friend what reception he met with upon his return home. Leander smiled ruefully. "My step-mother seemed glad enough to see me," he said. "She and I had some long talks on the subject and Digitized by Microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" 233 I think she doesn't blame me much for going into the serv- ice. I told her the whole story &,nd, down in her heart, I believe she thinks I did right." Jed nodded. "Don't see how she could help it," he said. "How does your dad take it?" Leander hesitated. "Well," he said, "you know Father. He doesn't change his mind easily. He and I didn't get as close together as I wish we could. And it wasn't my fault that we didn't," he added, earnestly. Jed understood. He had known Phineas Babbitt for many years and he knew the little man's hard, implacable disposition and the violence of his prejudices. "Um-hm," he said. "All the same, Leander, I believe your father thinks more of you than he does of anything else on earth." "I shouldn't wonder if you was right, Jed. But on the other hand I'm afraid he and I will never be the same after I come back from the war — always providing I do come back, of course." "Sshh, sshh ! Don't talk that way. Course you'll come back." "You never can tell. However, if I knew I wasn't go- ing to, it wouldn't make any difference in my feelings about going. I'm glad I enlisted and I'm mighty thankful to you for backing me up in it. I shan't forget it, Jed." "Sho, sho! It's easy to tell other folks what to do. That's how the Kaiser earns his salary; only he gives ad- vice to the Almighty, and I ain't got as far along as that yet." They discussed the war in general and by sections. Just before he left, young Babbitt said: "Jed, there is one thing that worries me a little in con- nection with Father. He was bitter against the war before we went into it and before he and Cap'n Sam Hunniwell Digitized by Microsoft® 234 "SHAVINGS" had their string of rows. Since then and since I enlisted he has been worse than ever. The things he says against the government and against the country make me want to lick him — ^and I'm his own son. I am really scared for fear he'll get himself jailed for being a traitor or some- thing of that sort." Mr. Winslow asked if Phineas' feeling against Captain Hunniwell had softened at all. Leander's reply was a vigorous negative. "Not a bit," he declared. "He hates the cap'n worse than ever, if that's possible, and he'll do him some bad turn some day, if he can, I'm afraid. You must think it's queer my speaking this way of my own father," he added. "Well, I don't to any one else. Somehow a fellow always feels as if he could say just what he thinks to you, Jed Winslow. I feel that way, anyhow." He and Jed shook hands at the door in the early No- vember twilight. Leander was to eat his Thanksgiving din- ner at home and then leave for camp on the afternoon train. "Well, good-by," he said. Jed seemed loath to relinquish the handclasp. "Oh, don't say good-by ; it's just 'See you later,' " he replied. Leander smiled. "Of course. Well, then, see you later, Jed. We'll write once in a while; eh?" Jed promised. The young fellow strode oif into the dusk. Somehow, with his square shoulders and his tanned, resolute country face, he seemed to typify Young America setting cheerfully forth to face — anything — ^that Honor and Decency may still be more than empty words in this world of ours. Digitized by Microsoft® CHAPTER XIV THE Hunniwell Thanksgiving dinner was an entire success. Even Captain Sam himself was forced to admit it, although he professed to do so with re- luctance. "Yes," he said, with an elaborate wink in the direction of his guests, "it's a pretty good dinner, considerin' every- thing. Of course 'tain't what a feller used to get down at Sam Coy's eatin'-house on Atlantic Avenue, but it's pretty good — as I say, when everything's considered." His daughter was highly indignant. "Do you mean to say that this dinner isn't as good as those you used to get at that Boston restaurant. Pa?" she demanded. "Don't you dare say such a thing." Her father tugged at his beard and looked tremendously solemn. "Well," he observed, "as a boy I was brought up to al- ways speak the truth and I've tried to live up to my early trainin'. Speakin' as a truthful man, then, I'm obliged to say that this dinner ain't like those I used to get at Sam Coy's." Ruth put in a word. "Well, then. Captain Hunniwell," she said, "I think the restaurant you refer to must be one of the best in the world." Before the captain could reply, Maud did it for him. "Mrs. Armstrong," she cautioned, "you mustn't take my father too seriously. He dearly loves to catch people with what he hopes is a joke. . For a minute he caught even me this time, but I see through him now. He didn't say the dinner at his precious restaurant was better than this one. Digitized b^3Sicrosoft® 236 "SHAVINGS" he said it wasn't like it, that's all. Which is probably true," she added, with withering scorn. "But what I should like to know is what he means by his 'everything con- sidered.' " Her father's gravity was unshaken. "Well," he said, "all I meant was that this was a pretty good dinner, considerin' who was responsible for gettin' it up." "I see, I see. Mrs. Ellis, our housekeeper, and I are responsible, Mrs. Armstrong, so you understand now who he is shooting at. Very well. Pa," she added, calmly, "the rest of us will have our dessert now. You can get yours at Sam Coy's." The dessert was mince pie and a Boston frozen pudding, the latter an especial favorite of Captain Sam's. He ca- pitulated at once. "'Kamerad! Kamerad!'" he cried, holding up both hands. "That's what the Germans say when they surren- der, ain't it? I give in, Maud. You can shoot me against a stone wall, if you want to, only give me my frozen pud- din' first. It ain't so much that I like the puddin'," he explained to Mrs. Armstrong, "but I never can make out whether it's flavored with tansy or spearmint. Maud won't tell me, but I know it's somethin' old-fashioned and reminds me of my grandmother; or, maybe, it's my grandfather; come to think, I guess likely 'tis." Ruth grasped his meaning later when she tasted the pud- ding and found it flavored with New England rum. After dinner they adjourned to the parlor. Maud, be- ing coaxed by her adoring father, played the piano. Then she sang. Then they all sang, all except Jed and the cap- tain, that is. The latter declared that his voice had mil- dewed in the damp weather they had been having lately, and Jed excused himself on the ground that he had been warned not to sing because it was not healthy. Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" 237 Barbara was surprised and shocked. "Why, Uncle Jed !" she cried. "You sing ever so much. I heard you singing this morning." Jed nodded. "Ye-es," he drawled, "but I was alone then and I'm liable to take chances with my own health. Bluey Batcheldor was in the shop last week, though, when I was tunin' up and it disagreed with him." "I don't believe it. Uncle Jed," with righteous indignation. "How do you know it did ?" " 'Cause he said so. He listened a spell, and then said I made him sick, so I took his word for it." Captain Sam laughed uproariously. "You must be pretty bad then, Jed," he declared. "Anybody who dis- agrees with Bluey Batcheldor must be pretty nigh the limit." Jed nodded. "Um-hm," he said, reflectively, "pretty nigh, but not quite. Always seemed to me the real limit was any- body who agreed with him." So Jed, with Babbie on his knee, sat in the corner of the bay window looking out on the street, while Mrs. Armstrong and her brother and Miss Hunniwell played and sang and the captain applauded vigorously and loudly demanded more. After a time Ruth left the group at the piano and joined Jed and her daughter by the window. Captain Hunniwell came a few minutes later. "Make a good-lookin' couple, don't they?" he whispered, bending down, and with a jerk of his head in the direction of the musicians. "Your brother's a fine-lookin' young chap, Mrs. Armstrong. And he acts as well as he looks. Don't know when I've taken such a shine to a young feller as I have to him. Yes, ma'am, they make a good-lookin' couple, even if one of 'em is my daughter." The speech was made without the slightest thought or suggestion of anythigg,^J ^^jgfefe^dmiration and paren- 238 "SHAVINGS" tal affection. Nevertheless, Ruth, to whom it was made, started slightly, and, turning, regarded the pair at the piano. Maud was fingering the pages of a book of college songs and looking smilingly up into the face of Charles Phillips, who was looking down into hers. There was, apparently, nothing in the picture — a pretty one, by the way — ^to cause Mrs. Armstrong to gaze so fixedly or to bring the slight frown to her forehead. After a moment she turned toward Jed Winslow. Their eyes met and in his she saw the same startled hint of wonder, of possible trouble, she knew he must see in hers. Then they both looked away. Captain Hunniwell prated proudly on, chanting praises of his daughter's capabilities and talents, as he did to any one who would listen, and varying the monotony with oc- casional references to the wonderful manner in which young Phillips had "taken hold" at the bank. Ruth nodded and murmured something from time to time, but to any one less engrossed by his subject than the captain it would have been evident she was paying little attention. Jed, who was be- ing entertained by Babbie and Petunia, was absently pre- tending to be much interested in a fairy story which the former was improvising — she called the process "making up as I go along" — for his benefit. Suddenly he leaned forward and spoke. "Sam," he said, "there's somebody comin' up the walk. I didn't get a good sight of him, but it ain't anybody that lives here in Orham regular." "Eh? That so?" demanded the captain. "How do you know 'tain't if you didn't see him ?" " 'Cause he's comin' to the front door," replied Mr. Win- slow, with unanswerable logic. "There he is now, comin' out from astern of that lilac bush. Soldier, ain't he?" It was Ruth Armstrong who first recognized the visitor. "Why," she exclaimed, "it is Major Grover, isn't it?" Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" 239 The major it was, and a moment later Captain Hunni- ■well ushered him into the room. He had come to Orham on an errand, he explained, and had stopped at the wind- mill shop to see Mr. Winslow. Finding the latter out, he had taken the liberty of following him to the Hunniwell home, "I'm going to stay but a moment, Captain Hunni- well," he went on. "I wanted to talk with Winslow on a — well, on a business matter. Of course I won't do it now' but perhaps we can arrange a time convenient for us both when I can." "Don't cal'late there'll be much trouble about that," ob- served the captain, with a chuckle. "Jed generally has time convenient for 'most everybody; eh, Jed?" Jed nodded. "Um-hm," he drawled, "for everybody but Gab Bearse." "So you and Jed are goin' to talk business, eh?" queried Captain Sam, much amused at the idea. "Figgerin' to have him rig up windmills to drive those flyin' machines of yours. Major?" "Not exactly. My business was of another kind, and probably not very important, at that. I shall probably be over here again on Monday, Winslow. Can you see me then?" Jed rubbed His chin. "Ye-es," he said, "I'll be on private vixhibition to my friends all day. And children half price," he added, giving Babbie a hug. "But say. Major, how in the world did you locate me to-day? How did you know I was over here to Sam's ? I never told you I was comin', I'll swear to that." For some reason or other Major Grover seemed just a little embarrassed. "Why no," he said, stammering a trifle, "you didn't tell me, but some one did. Now, who " Digitized by Microsoft® 240 "SHAVINGS" "I think I told you, Major," put in Ruth Armstrong. "Last evening, when you called to — ^to return Charlie's umbrella. I told you we were to dine here to-day and that Jed — Mr. Winslow — ^was to dine with us. Don't you re- member ?" Grover remembered perfectly then, of course. He has- tened to explain that, having borrowed the umbrella of Charles Phillips the previous week, he had dropped in on his next visit to Orham to return it. Jed grunted. "Humph !" he said, "you never came to see me last night. When you was as close aboard as next door seems's if you might." The major laughed. "Well, you'll have to admit that I came to-day," he said. "Yes," put in Captain Sam, "and, now you are here, you're goin' to stay a spell. Oh, yes, you are, too. Uncle Sam don't need you so hard that he can't let you have an hour or' so off on Thanksgiving Day. Maud, why in time didn't we think to have Major Grover here for dinner along with the rest of the folks? Say, couldn't you eat a plate of frozen puddin' right this minute? We've got some on hand that tastes of my grandfather, and we want to get rid of it." Their caller laughingly declined the frozen pudding, but he was prevailed upon to remain and hear Miss Hunniwell play. So Maud played and Charles turned the music for her, and Major Grover listened and talked with Ruth Arm- strong in the intervals between selections. And Jed and Barbara chatted and Captain Sam beamed good humor upon every one. It was a very pleasant, happy afternoon. War and suffering and heartache and trouble seemed a long, long way off. On the way back to the shop in the chill November dusk Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" 241 Grover told Jed a little of what he had called to discuss with him. If Jed's mind had been of the super-critical type it might have deemed the subject of scarcely sufficient importance to warrant the major's pursuing him to the Hun- niwells'. It was simply the subject of Phineas Babbitt and the latter's anti-war utterances and stirmised disloyalty. "You see," explained Grover, "some one evidently has reported the old chap to the authorities as a suspicious per- son. The government, I imagine, isn't keen on sending a special investigator down here, so they have asked me to look into the matter. I don't know much about Babbitt, but I thought you might. Is he disloyal, do you think?" Jed hesitated. Things the hardware dealer had said had been reported to him, of course; but gossip — ^particularly the Bearse brand of gossip — was not the most reliable of evidence. Then he remembered his own recent conversa- tion with Leander and the latter's expressed fear that his father might get into trouble. Jed determined, for the son's sake, not to bring that trouble nearer. "Well, Major," he answered, "I shouldn't want to say that he was. Phineas talks awful foolish sometimes, but I shouldn't wonder if that was his hot head and bull temper as much as anything else. As to whether he's an)rthing more than foolish or not, course I couldn't say sartin, but I don't think he's too desperate to be runnin' loose. I cal'late he won't put any bombs underneath the town hall or anything of that sort. Phin and his kind remind me some of that new kind of balloon you was tellin' me they'd probably have over to your camp when 'twas done, that — er — er — dirigible; wasn't that what you called it?" "Yes. But why does Babbitt remind you of a dirigible balloon ? I don't see the connection." "Don't you? Well, seems's if I did. Phin fills himself up with the gas he gets from his Anarchist papers and Digitized by Microsoft® 242 "SHAVINGS" magazines — the, 'rich man's war' and all the rest of it — and goes up in the air and when he's up in the air he's kind of hard to handle. That's what you told me about the balloon, if I recollect." Grover laughed heartily. "Then the best thing to do is to keep him on the ground, I should say," he observed. Jed rubbed his chin. "Um-hra," he drawled, "but shut- tin' off his gas supply might help some. I don't think I'd worry about him much, if I was you." They separated at the front gate before the shop, where the rows of empty posts, from which the mills and vanes had all been removed, stood as gaunt reminders of the vanished summer. Major Grover refused Jed's invitation to come in and have a smoke. "No, thank you," he said, "not this evening. I'll wait here a moment and say good-night to the Armstrongs and Phillips and then I must be on my way to the camp. . . , Why, what's the matter? Anything wrong?" His companion was searching in his various pockets. The search completed, he proceeded to look himself over, so to speak, taking off his hat and looking at that, lifting a hand and then a foot and looking at them, and all with a puzzled, far-away expression. When Grover repeated his question he seemed to hear it for the first time and then not very clearly. "Eh?" he drawled. "Oh, why — er — ^yes, there is some- thin' wrong. That is to say, there ain't, and that's the wrong part of it. I don't seem to have forgotten any- thing, that's the trouble." His friend burst out laughing. "I should scarcely call that a trouble," he said. "Shouldn't you? No, I presume likely 3rou wouldn't. But I never go anywhere without forgettin' somethin', for- gettin' to say somethin' or do somethin' or bring somethin'. Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" 243 Never did in all my life. Now here I am home again and I can't remember that I've forgot a single thing. . . . Hum. . . . Well, I declare! I wonder what it means. Maybe, it's a sign somethin's goin' to happen." He said good night absent-mindedly. Grover laughed and walked away to meet Ruth and her brother, who, with Barbara dancing ahead, were coming along the sidewalk. He had gone but a little way when he heard Mr. Win- slow shouting his name. "Major!" shouted Jed. "Major Grover! It's all right. Major, I feel better now. I've found it. 'Twas the key. I left it in the front door lock here when I went away this momin'. I guess there's nothin' unnatural about me, after all ; guess nothin's goin' to happen." But something did and almost immediately. Jed, en- tering the outer shop, closed the door and blundered on through that apartment and the little shop adjoining until he came to his living-room beyond. Then he fumbled about in the darkness for a lamp and matchbox. He found the latter first, on the table where the lamp should have been. Lighting one of the matches, he then found the lamp on a chair directly in front of the door, where he had put it before going away that morning, his idea in so doing being that it would thus be easier to locate when he returned at night. Thanking his lucky stars that he had not upset both chair and lamp in his prowlings, Mr. Winslow lighted the latter. Then, with it in his hand, he turned, to see the very man he and Major Grover had just been discussing seated in the rocker in the corner of the room and glaring at him malevolently. Naturally, Jed was surprised. Naturally, also, being himself, he showed his surprise in his own peculiar way. He did not start violently, nor utter an exclamation. In- Digitizdb'by Microsoft® 244 "SHAVINGS" stead he stood stock still, returning Fhineas Babbitt's glare with a steady, unwinking gaze. It was the hardware dealer who spoke first. And that, by the way, was precisely what he had not meant to do. "Yes," he observed, with caustic sarcasm, "it's me. You needn't stand there blinkin' like a fool any longer, Shav- in's. It's me." Jed set the lamp upon the table. He drew a long breath, apparently of relief. "Why, so 'tis," he said, solemnly. "When I first saw you sittin' there, Phin, I had a suspicion 'twas you, but the longer I looked the more I thought 'twas the President come to call. Do you know," he added, confidentially, "if you didn't have any whiskers and he looked like you you'd be the very image of him." This interesting piece of information was not received with enthusiasm. Mr. Babbitt's sense of humor was not acutely developed. "Never mind the funny business, Shavin's," he snapped. "I didn't come here to be funny to-night. Do you know why I came here to talk to you ?" Jed pulled forward a chair and sat down. "I presume likely you came here because you found the door unlocked, Phin," he said. "I didn't say how I came to come, but why I came. I knew where you was this afternoon. I see you when you left there and I had a good mind to cross over and say what I had to say before the whole crew, Sam Hunniwell, and his stuck-up rattle-head of a daughter, and that Arm- strong bunch that think themselves so uppish, and all of em. Mr. Winslow stirred uneasily in his chair. "Now, Phin," he protested, "seems to me Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" MS But Babbitt was too excited to heed. His little eyes snapped and his bristling beard quivered. "You hold your horses, Shavin's," he ordered. "I didn't come here to listen to you. I came because I, had some- thin' to say and when I've said it I'm goin' and goin' quick. My boy's been home. You knew that, I suppose, didn't you?" Jed nodded. "Yes," he said, "I knew Leander'd come home for Thanksgivin'." "Oh, you did! He came here to this shop to see you, maybe? Humph! I'll bet he did, the poor fool!" Again Jed shifted his position. His hands clasped about his knee and his foot lifted from the floor. "There, there, Phin," he said gently; "after all, he's your only son, you know." "I know it. But he's a fool just the same." "Now, Phin ! The boy'U be goin' to war pretty soon, you know, and " Babbitt sprang to his feet. His chin trembled so that he could scarcely speak. "Shut up !" he snarled. "Don't let me hear you say that again, Jed Winslow. Who sent him to war? Who filled his head full of rubbish about patriotism, and duty to the country, and all the rest of the rotten Wall Street stuflf? Who put my boy up to enlistin', Jed Winslow?" Jed's foot swung slowly back and forth. "Well, Phin," he drawled, "to be real honest, I think he put himself up to it." "You're a liar. You did it." Jed sighed. "Did Leander tell you I did?" he asked. "No," mockingly, "Leander didn't tell me. You and Sam Hunniwell and the rest of the gang have fixed him so he don't come to his father to tell things any longer. But he told his step-mothet>i^imi i^KybrSasman' and she told me. 246 "SHAVINGS" You was the one that advised him to enlist, he said. Good Lord^ think of it! He don't go to his own father for ad- vice; he goes to the town jackass instead, the critter that spends hi§ time whittlin' out young-one's plajrthings. My Lord A'mighty !" He spat on the floor to emphasize his disgust. There was an interval of silence before Jed answered. "Well, Phin," he said, slowly, "you're right, in a way. Leander and I have always been pretty good friends and he's been in the habit of droppin' in here to talk things over with me. When he came to me to ask what he ought to do about enlistin', asked what I'd do if I was he, I told him ; that's all there was to it." Babbitt extended a shaking forefinger. "Yes, and you told him to go to war. Don't lie out of it now ; you know you did." "Um ... yes ... I did." "You did? You did? And you have the cheek to own up to it right afore my face." Jed's hand stroked his chin. "W-e-e-U," he drawled, "you just ordered me not to lie out of it, you know. Leander asked me right up and down if I wouldn't enlist if I was in his position. Naturally, I said I would." "Yes, you did. And you knew all the time how I felt about it, you sneak." Jed's foot slowly sank to the floor and just as slowly he hoisted himself from the chair. "Phin," he said, with deliberate mildness, "is there any- thing else you'd like to ask me? 'Cause if there isn't, maybe you'd better run along." "You sneakin' coward!" "Er — er — now — ^now, Phin, you didn't understand. 1 said 'ask' me, not 'call' me." "No, I didn't coig^/^gs^^^t^P/cft^A^u anything. I came •SHAVINGS" 247 here and waited here so's to be able to tell you somethin'. And that is that I know now that you're responsible for my son — ^my only boy, the boy I'd depended on — and — and " The fierce little man was, for the moment, close to break- ing down. Jed's heart softened ; he felt almost conscience- stricken. "I'm sorry for you, Phineas," he said. "I know how hard it must be for you. Leander realized it, too. He " "Shut up! Shavin's, you listen to me. I don't forget. All my life I've never forgot. And I ain't never missed gettin' square. I can wait, just as I waited here in the dark over an hour so's to say this to you. I'll get square with you just as I'll get square with Sam Hunniwell. . . . That's all. . . . That's all. . . . Damn you!" He stamped from the room and Jed heard him stumbling through the littered darkness of the shops on his way to the front door, kicking at the obstacles he tripped over and swearing and sobbing as he went. It was ridiculous enough, of course, but Jed did not feel like smiling. The bitterness of the little man's final curse was not humorous. Neither was the heartbreak in his tone when he spoke of his boy. Jed felt no self-reproach ; he had advised Leander just as he might have advised his own son had his life been like other men's lives, normal men who had married and possessed sons. He had no sympathy for Phineas Bab- bitt's vindictive hatred of all those more fortunate than he or who opposed him, or for his silly and selfish ideas con- cerning the war. But he did pity him ; he pitied him pro- foundly. Babbitt had left the front door open in his emotional de- parture and Jed followed to close it. Before doing so he stepped out into the yard. Digitized by Microsoft® 248 "SHAVINGS" It was pitch dark now and still. He could hear the foot- steps of his recent visitor pounding up the road, and the splashy grumble of the surf on the bar was jnusually aud- ible. He stood for a moment looking up at the black sky, with the few stars shining between the cloud blotches. Then he turned and looked at the little house next door. The windows of the sitting-rpom were alight and the shades drawn. At one window he saw Charles Phillips' silhouette; he was reading, apparently. Across the other shade Ruth's dainty profile came and went. Jed looked and looked. He saw her turn and speak to some one. Then another shadow crossed the window, the shadpw of Major Grover. Evidently the major had not gone home at once as he had told Jed he intended doing, plainly he had been persuaded to enter the Armstrong house and make Charlie and his sister a short call. This was Jed's estimate of the situation, his sole speculation concerning it and its probabilities. And yet Mr. Gabe Bearse, had he seen the major's shadow upon the Armstrong window curtain, might have speculated much. Digitized by Microsoft® CHAPTER XV THE pity which Jed felt for Phineas Babbitt caused him to keep silent concerning his Thanksgiving eve- ning interview with the hardware dealer. At first he was inclined to tell Major Grover of Babbitt's expressions concerning the war and his soa'^s enlistment. After reflec- tion, however, he decided not to do so. The Winslow char- ity was wide enough to cover a multitude of other people's sins and it tovered those of Phineas. The latter was to be pitied ; as to fearing him, as a consequence of his threat to "get square," Jed never thought of such a thing. H he felt any anxiety at all in the matter it was a trifling uneasi- ness because his friends, the Hunniwells and the Arm- strongs, were included in the threat. But he was inclined to consider Mr. Babbitt's wrath as he had once estimated the speech of a certain Ostable candidate for political office, to be "like a tumbler of plain sody water, mostly fizz and froth and npthin' very substantial or fillin'." He did not tell Grover of the interview in the shop; he told no one, not even Ruth Armstrong. The — ^to him, at least — (ielight^ul friendship and intimacy between himself and his friends and tenants continued. He and Charlie Phillips came to know each other better and better. Charles was now almost as confidential concern- ing his personal affairs as his sister had'b^en and continued to be. "It's surprising how I come in here and tell you all my private business, Jed," he said, laughing. "I don't go about, shouting my joys and trojibles in everybody's ear like this. Why do I do it to you?" * Digitized by^^rosoft® 250 "SHAVINGS" Jed stopped a dismal whistle in the middle of a bar. "W-e-e-lI," he drawled, "I don't know. When I was a young-one I used to like to holler out back of Uncle Laban Ryder's barn so's to hear the echo. When you say so and so, Charlie, I generally agree with you. ■ Maybe you come here to get an echo; eh?" Phillips laughed. "You're not fair to yourself," he said. "I generally find when the echo in here says no after I've said yes it pays me to pay attention to it. Sis says the same thing about you, Jed." Jed made no comment, but his eyes shone. Charles went on. "Don't you get tired of hearing the story of my life?" he asked. "I " He stopped short and the smile faded from his lips. Jed knew why. The story of his life was just what he had not told, what he could not tell. As January slid icily into February Mr. Gabriel Bearse became an unusually busy person. There were so many things to talk about. Among these was one morsel which Gabe rolled succulently beneath his tongue. Charles Phil- lips, "'cordin' to everybody's tell," was keeping company with Maud Hunniwell. "There ain't no doubt of it," declared Mr. Bearse.. "All hands is talkin' about it. Looks's if Cap'n Sam would have a son-in-law on his hands pretty soon. How do you cal'late he'd like the idea, Shaviri's ?" Jed squinted along the edge of the board he was plan- ing. He made no reply. Gabe tried again. "How do you cal'late Cap'n Sam'll like the notion of his pet daughter takin' up with another man?" he queried. Jed was still mute. His caller lost patience. "Say, what ails you?" he demanded. "Can't fou say nothin'?" • Digitized by Microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" 251 Mr. Wins'low put down the board and took up another. "Ye-es," he drawled. "Then why don't you, for thunder sakes?" "Eh? ... Um. ... Oh, I did." "Did what?" "Say nothin'." "Oh, you divilish idioi! Stop tryin' to be funny. I asked you how you thought Cap'n Sam would take the notion of Maud's havin' a steady beau ? She's had a good many after her, but looks as if she was stuck on this one for keeps." Jed sighed and lookad over his spectacles at Mr. Bearse. The latter grew uneasy under the scrutiny. "What in time are you lookin' at me like that for?" he asked, pettishly. The windmill maker sighed again. "Why — er — Gab," he drawled, "I was just thinkin' likely you might be stuck for keeps." • "Eh? Stuck? What are you talkin' about?" "Stuck on that box you're sittin' on. I had the glue pot standin' on that box just afore you came in and . . . er ... it leaks consider'ble." Mr. Bearse raspingly separated his nether garment from the top of the box and departed, expressing profane opinions. Jed's lips twitched for an instant, then he puckered them and began to whistle. But, although he had refused to discuss the matter with Gabriel Bearse, he realized that there was a strong element of probability in .the latter's surmise. It certainly did look as if the spoiled daughter of Orham's bank president had lost her heart to her father's newest employee. Maud had had many admirers ; some very Mirnest and lovelorn swains had hopefully climbed the Huffiiiwell front steps only to sorrowfully descendD/|bB«B/3^S9iaeoftMiss Melissa Busteed 252 "SHAVINGS" and other local scandal scavengers had tartly classified the young lady as the "worst little flirt on the whole Cape," which was not trtie. But Maud was pretty and vivacious and she was not averse to the society and adoration of the male sex in general, although she had never until now shown symptoms of preference for an individual. But Charlie Phillips had come and seen and, judging by appearances, conquered. Since the Thanksgiving dinner the young man had been a frequent visitor at the Hunniwell home. Maud was musical, she played well and had a pleasing voice. Charles' baritone was unusually good. So on many evenings Cap- tain Sam's front parlor rang with melody, while the cap- tain smoked in the big rocker and listened admiringly aijd gazed dotingly. At the moving-picture theater on Wednes- day and Saturday evenings Orham nudged and winked when two Hunniwells and a Phillips came down the aisle. Even at the Congregational church, where Maud sang in the choir, Ae young bank clerk was beginning to be a fairly constant attendant. Captain Eri Hedge declared that that settled it. "When a young feller who ain't been to meetin' for land knows how long," observed Captain Eri, "all of a sudden begins showin' up every Sunday reg'lar as clockwork, you can make up your mind it's owin' to one of two reasons — either he's got religion or a girl. In this case there ain't any revival in town, so " And the captain waved his hand. Jed was not blind and he had seen, perhaps soon^ than any one else, the possibilities in the e^e. And wat he saw distressed him greatly. Captain Sam Hunniwell was his life-long friend. Maud had been his pet since her baby- hood ; she and he had had many confidential c&ats togetbai. over troubles at school, over petty disagreements witi^tr Digitized by Microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" 253 father, over all sorts of minor troubles and joys. Captain Sam had mentioned to him, more than once, the probabil- ity of his daughter's falling in love and marrying some time or other, but they both had treated the idea as vague and far oif, almost as a joke. And now it was no longer far off, the falling in love at least. And as for its being a joke — ^Jed shuddered at the thought. He was very fond of Charlie Phillips; he had made up his mind at first to like him because he was Ruth's brother, but now he liked him for himself. And, had things been other than as they were, he could think of no one to whom he had rather see Maud Hunniwell married. In fact, had Captain Hunniwell known the young man's record, of his slip and its punishment, Jed would have been quite content to see the latter become Maud's husband. A term in prison, especially when, as in this case, he believed it to be an unwarranted punishment, would have counted for nothing in the unworldly mind of the wincjpiill maker. But Captain Sam did not know. He was tremendously proud of his daughter ; in his estimation no man would have been quite good enough for her. What would he say when he learned? What would Maud say when she learned? for it was almost certain that Charles had not told her. These were some of the questions which weighed upon the simple soul of Jedidah Edgar Wilfred Winslow. And heavier still there weighed the thought of Ruth Armstrong. He had given her his word not to mention her brother's secret to a soul, not even to him. And yet, some day or other^ as sure and certain as the daily flowing and ebbing of th^ tides, that secret would become known. Some day Captain Sam Hunniwell would learn it; some day Maud would learn it Better, far better, that they learned it before marriage, or even before the public an- nouncement of their engagement — always provided there Digitized By Microsoft® 254 "SHAVINGS" was to be such aa engagement. In fact, were it not for Ruth herself, no consideration for Charles' feelings would have prevented Jed's taking the matter up with the young man and warning him that, unless he made a dean breast to the captain and Maud, he — ^Jed— would do it for him. . The happiness of two such friends should not be jeopar- dized if he could prevent it. But there was Ruth. She, not her brother, was pri- marily responsible for obtaining for him the bank position and obtaining it under fake pretenses. And she, accord- ing to her own confession to Jed, had urged upon Charles the importance of telling no one. Jed himself would have known nothing, would have had only a vague, indefinite suspicion, had she not taken him into her confidence. And to him that confidence was precious, sacred. If Charlie's secret became known, it was not he alone who would suf- fer ; Ruth, too, would be disgraced. She and Babbie might have to leave Orham, might have to go out of his life for- ever. { ^ No wonder that, as the days passed, and Gabe Bearse's comments and those of Captain Eri Hedge were echoed and reasserted by the majority of Orham tongues, Jed Win- slow's worry and foreboding increased. He watched Charlie Phillips go whistling out of the yard after supper, and sighed as he saw him turn up the road in the direction of the Hunniwell home. He watched Maud's face when he met her and, although the young lady was in better spir- its and prettier than he had ever seen her, these very facts made him miserable, because he accepted them as proofs that the situation was as he feared. He watched Ruth's face also and there, too, he saw, or fancied that he saw, a growing anxiety. She h^d been very well; her spirits, like Maud's, had been light; she had seemed younger and po *nuch happier than when he and she first met. The lit- Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" 255 tie Winslow house was no longer so quiet, with no sound of voices except those of Barbara and her mother. There were Red Cross sewing meetings there occasionally, and callers came. Major Grover was one of the latter. The major's errands in Orham were more numerous than they had been, and his trips thither much more frequent, in con- sequence. And whenever he came he made it a point to drop in, usually at the windmill shop first, and then upon Babbie at the house. Sometimes he brought her home f rony school in his car. He told Jed that he had taken a greaV fancy to the little girl and could not bear to miss an oppor- tunity of seeing her. Which statement Jed, of course, ac' cepted wholeheartedly. But Jed was sure that Ruth had been anxious and troubled of late and he believed the reason to be that which troubled him. He hoped she might speak to him concern- ing her brother. He would have liked to broach the sub- ject himself, but feared she might consider him interfering. One day — it was in late February, the ground was cov- ered with snow and a keen wind was blowing in over a sea gray-green and splashed thickly with white — ^Jed was busy at his turning lathe when Charlie came into the shop.- Business at the bank was not heavy in mid-winter and, al- though it was but- little after three, the young man was through work for the day. He hoisted himself to his ac- customed seat on the edge of the workbench and sat there, swinging his feet and watching his companion turn out the heads and trunks of a batch of wooden sailors. He was unusually silent, for him, merely nodding in response to Jed's cheerful "Hello !" and speaking but a few words in reply to a question concerning the weather. Jed, ab- sorbed in his work and droning a hymn, apparently forgot all about his caller. Suddenly the latteP'SpJfl^^/ 'w/crosoft® 256 "SHAVINGS" "Jed," he said, "when you are undecided about doing or not doing a thing, how do you settle it?" Jed looked up over his spectacles. "Eh?" he asked. "What's that?" "I say when you have a decision to make and your mind is about fifty-fifty on the subject, how do you decide?" Jed's answer was absently given. "W-e-e-11," he drawled, "I generally — er — don't." "But suppose the time comes when you have to, what then?" "Eh? . . . Oh, then, if 'tain't very important I usually leave it to Isaiah." "Isaiah? Isaiah who?" "I don't know his last name, but he's got a whole lot of first ones. That's him, up on that shelf." He pointed to a much battered wooden figure attached to the edge of the shelf upon the wall. The figure was that of a little man holding a set of mill arms In front of him. The said mill arms were painted a robin's-egg blue, and one was tipped with black. "That's Isaiah," continued Jed. "Hum . . . yes . . . that's him. He was the first one of his kind of contrap- tion that I ever made and, bein' as he seemed to bring me luck, I've kept him. He's settled a good many questions for me, Isaiah has." "Why do you call him Isaiah ?" "Eh? , . , Oh, that's just his to-day's name. I called him Isaiah just now 'cause that was the first of the prophet names I could think of. Next time he's just as liable to be Hosea or Ezekiel or Samuel or Jeremiah. He prophe- sies just as well under any one of 'em, don't seem to be particular." Charles smiled slightly — ^he did not appear to be in a Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" 257 laughing mood — and then asked : "You say he settles ques- tions for you ? How ?" "How? . . . Oh. . . . Well, you notice one end of that whiriigig arm he's got is smudged with black ?" "Yes." "That's Hosea's indicator. Suppose I've got somethin' on — on what complimentary folks like you would call my mind. Suppose, same as 'twas yesterday; mornin', I was tryin' to decide whether or not I'd have a piece of steak for supper. I gave — er — Elisha's whirlagig here a spin and when the black end stopped 'twas p'intin' straight up. That meant yes. If it had p'inted down, 'twould have meant no." "Suppose it had pointed across — half way between yes and no?" "That would have meant that — er — ^what's-his-name — er — ^Deuteronomy there didn't know any more than I did about it." This time Phillips did laugh. "So you had the steak," he observed. Jed's lip twitched. "I bought it," he drawled. "I got so far all accordin' to prophecy. And I put it on a plate out in the back room where 'twas cold, intendin' to cook it when supper time came." "Well, didn't you?" "No-o ; you see, 'twas otherwise provided. That ever- lastin' Cherub tomcat of Taylor's must have sneaked in with the boy when he brought the order from the store. When I shut the steak up in the back room I — er — er — hum. . . ." "You did what?" "Eh ? . . . Oh, I shut the cat up with it. I guess likely that's the end of thBi^fiasm,b^mi(^oiiM 2s8 "SHAVINGS" "Pretty nearly, I should say. What did you do to the cat?" "Hum. . . . Why, I let him go. He's a good enough cat, 'cordin' to his lights, I guess. It must have been a treat to him; I doubt if he gets much steak at home. . . . Well, do you want to give Isaiah a whirl on that decision you say you've got to make ?" Charles gave him a^^ quick glance. "I didn't say I had one to make," he replied. "I asked how you settled such a question, that's all." "Um. ... I see. ... I see. Well, the prophet's at your disposal. Help yourself." The young fellow shook his head. "I'm afraid it wouldn't be very satisfactory," he said. "He might say no when I wanted him to say yes, you see." "Um-hm. . . . He's liable to do that< When he does it to me I keep on spinnin' hjm till we agree, that's all." Phillips made no comment on this illuminating statement and there was another interval of silence, broken only by the hum and rasp of the turning lathe. Then he spoke again. "Jed," he said, "seriously now, when a big question comes up to you, and you've got to answer it one way or the other, how do you settle with yourself which way to answer?" Jed sighed. "That's easy, Charlie," he declared. "There don't any big questions ever come up to me. I ain't the kind of feller the big things come to." Charles grunted, impatiently. "Oh, well, admitting all that," he said, "yo^i must have to face questions that are big to you, that seem big, anyhow." Jed could not help wincing, just 'a little. The matter- of-fact way in which his companion accepted the estimate of his insignificance was humiliating. Jed did not blame Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" 259 him, it" was true, of course, but the truth hurt — a little. He was ashamed of himself for feeling the hurt. "Oh," he drawled, "I do have some things — little no- account things — ^to decide every once in a while. Some- times they bother me, too-^although they probably wouldn't anybody with a head instead of a Hubbard squash on his shoulders. The only way I can decide 'em is to set down and open court, put 'em on trial, as you might say." "What do you mean?" "Why, I call in witnesses for both sides, seems so. Here's the reasons why I ought to tell; here's the reasons why I shouldn't. I " "Tell? Ought to tell? What makes you say' that? What have you got to tell ?" He was glaring at the windmill maker with frightened eyes. Jed knew as well as if it had been painted on the shop wall before him the question in the boy's mind, the momentous decision he was trying to niake. And he pit- ied him from the bottom of his heart. "Tell?" he repeated. "Did I say tell? Well, if I did 'twas just a — er — figger of speech, as the book fellers talk about. But the only way to decide a thing, as it seems to me, is to try and figger out what's the right of it, and then do that." Phillips looked gloomily at the floor. "And that's such an easy job," he observed, with sarcasm. "The figgerin' or the doin'?" "Oh, the doing; the figuring is usually easy enough — too easy. But the doing is different. The average fellow is afraid. I don't suppose you would be, Jed. I can imag- ine you doing almost anything if you thought it was right, and hang the consequences." Jed looked aghast. "Who? Me?" he queried. "Good land of love, don't ^hlhM'y^^isQ^^^^''^- ^'™ *^^ ^^^""^^^ 26o "SHAVINGS" critter that lives and the weakest-kneed, too, 'most gener- ally. But — ^but, all the same, I do believe the best thing, and the easiest in the end, not only for you — or me — ^but for all hands, is to take the bull by the horns and heave the critter, if you can. There may be an awful big trouble, but big or little it'll be over and done with. That bull won't be hangin' around all your life and sneakin' up astern to get you — and those you — er — care for. . . . Mercy me, how I do preach ! They'll be callin' me to the Baptist pul- pit, if I don't look out. I understand they're candidatin'," His friend drew a long breath. "There is a poem that I used to read, or hear some one read," he observed, "that fills the bill for any one with your point of view, I should say. Something about a fellow's not being afraid to put all his money on one horse, or the last card — about his not deserving anything if he isn't afraid to risk everything. Wish I could remember it." Jed looked up from the lathe. "'He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small. Who dares not put it to the touch To win or lose it all.' That's somethin' like it, ain't it, Charlie?" he asked. Phillips was amazed. "Well, I declare, Winslow," he exclaimed, "you beat me ! I can't place you at all. Who- ever would have accused you of reading poetry — and quot- mg it. Jed rubbed his chin. "I don't know much, of course," he said, "but there's consider'ble many poetry books up to the library and I like to read 'em sometimes. You're liable to run across a — er — ^poem — ^well, like this one, for instance — that kind of gets hold of you. It fills the bill, you might Digitized by Microsoft® i 'SHAVINGS" 261 say, as nothin' else does. There's another one that's bet- ter still. About — 'Once to every man and nation Comes the moment to decide. Do you know that one?" His visitor did not answer. After a moment he swung himself from the workbench and turned toward the door. " 'He either fears his fate too much,' " he quoted, gloom- ily. "Humph ! I wonder if it ever occurred to that chap that there might be certain kinds of fate that couldn't be feared too much? . . . Well, so long, Jed. Ah hum, you don't know where I can get hold of some money, do you?" Jed was surprised. "Humph!" he grunted. "I should say you had hold of money two-thirds of every day. Fel- ler that works in a bank is supposed to handle some cash." "Yes, of course," with an impatient laugh, "but that is somebody else's money, not mine. I want to get some of my own." "Sho! . . . Well, I cal'late I could let you have ten or twenty dollars right now, if that would be any help to you." "It wouldn't; thank you just the same. If it was five hundred instead of ten, why — perhaps I shouldn't say no." Jed was startled. "Five hundred?" he repeated. "Five hundred dollars? Do you need all that so very bad, Charlie ?" Phillips, his foot upon the threshold of the outer shop, turned and looked at him. "The way I feel now I'd do almost anything to get it," he said, and went out. Jed told no one of this conversation, although his friend's parting remark troubled and puzzled him. In fact it troubled him so much that at a subsequent meeting with Digitized by Microsoft® 262 "SHAVINGS" Charles he hinted to the latter that he should be glad to lend the five hundred himself. "I ought to have that and some more in the bank," he said. "Sam would know whether I had or not. ... Eh? Why, and you would, too, of course. I forgot you know as much about folks' bank accounts as anybody. . . . More'n some of 'em do themselves, bashfulness stoppin' me from namin' any names," he added. Charles looked at him. "Do you mean to tell me, Jed Winslow," he safd, "that you would lend me five hundred dollars without any security or without knowing in the least what I wanted it for?" "Why — ^why, of course. 'Twouldn't be any of my busi- ness what you wanted it for, would it?" "Humph! Have you done much lending of that kind?" "Eh? . . . Urn. . . . Well, I used to do consider'ble, but Sam he kind of put his foot down and said I shouldn't do any more. But I don't have to mind him, you know, al- though I generally do because it's easier — and less noisy," he added, with a twinkle in his eye. "Well, you ought to mind him ; he's dead right, of course. You're a good fellow, Jed, but you need a guardian," Jed shook his head sadly. "I hate to be so unpolite as to call your attention to it," he drawled, "but I've heard somethin' like that afore. Up to now I ain't found any guardian that needs me, that's the trouble. And if I want to lend you five hundred dollars, Charlie, I'm goin' to. Oh, I'm a divil of a feller when I set out to be, desperate and reckless, I am." Charlie laughed, but he put his hand on Jed's shoulder, "You're a brick, I know that," he said, "and I'm a million times obliged to you. But I was only joking ; I don't need any five hundred." "Eh? . . . You don't? . . . Why, you said- " Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" 263 "Oh, I — er— need some new clothes and things and I was talking foolishness, that's all. Don't you worry about me, Jed; I'm all right." But Jed did worry, a little, although his worry concern- ing the young man's need of money was so far over- shadowed by the anxiety caused by his falling in love with Maud Hunniwell that it was almost forgotten. That situa- tion was still as tense as ever. Two-thirds of Orham, so it seemed to Jed, was talking about it, wondering when the engagement would be announced and speculating, as Gabe Bearse had done, on Captain Sam's reception of the news. The principals, Maud and Charles, did not speak of it, of course — ^neither did the captain or Ruth Armstrong. Jed expected Ruth to speak ; he was certain she understood the situation and realized its danger ; she appeared to him anx- ious and very nervous. It was to him, and to him alone — her brother excepted — she could speak, but the days passed and she did not. And it was Captain Hunniwell who spoke first Digitized by Microsoft® CHAPTER XVI CAPTAIN SAM entered the windmill shop about two o'clock one windy afternoon in the first week of March. He was wearing a heavy fur overcoat and a motoring cap. He pulled off the coat, threw it over a pile of boards and sat down. "Whew!" he exclaimed. "It's blowing hard enough to start the bark on a log." Jed looked up. "Did you say log or dog?" he asked, solemnly. The captain grinned. "I said log," he answered. "This gale of wind would blow a dog away, bark and all. Whew ! I'm all out of breath. It's some consider'ble of a drive over from Wapatomac. Comin' across that stretch of marsh road by West Ostable I didn't know but the little flivver would turn herself into a flyin'-machine and go up." Jed stopped in the middle of the first note of a hymn. "What in the world sent you autoin' way over to Wapa- tomac and back this day?" he asked. His friend bit the end from a cigar. "Oh, diggin' up the root of all evil," he said. "I had to collect a note that was due over there." "Humph! I don't know much about such things, but I never mistrusted 'twas necessary for you to go cruisin' like that to collect notes. Seems consider'ble like sendin' the skipper up town to buy onions for the cook. Couldn't the — ^the feller that owed the money send you a check?" Captain Sam chuckled. "He could, I cal'late, but he wouldn't," he observed. " 'Twas old Sylvester Sage, up to Digitized bjzSlprosoft® 'SHAVINGS" 265 South Wapatomac, the 'cranberry king' they call him up there. He owns cranberry bogs from one end of the Cape to the other. You've heard of him, of course." jed rubbed his chin. "Maybe so," he drawled, "but if I have I've forgot him. The only sage I recollect is the sage tea Mother used to make me take when I had a cold some- times. I couldn't forget that." "Well, everybody but you has heard of old Sylvester. He's the biggest crank on earth." "Hum-m. Seems 's if he and I ought to know each other. . . . But maybe he's a different kind of crank; eh?" "He's all kinds. One of his notions is that he won't pay bills by check, if he can possibly help it. He'll travel fifty miles to pay money for a thing sooner than send a check for it. He had this note — fourteen hundred dollars 'twas — comin' due at our bank to-day and he'd sent word if we wanted the cash we must send for it 'cause his lumbago was too bad for him to travel. I wanted to see him any- how, about a little matter of a political appointment up his way, so I decided to take the car and go myself. Well, I've just got back and I had a windy v'yage, too. And cold, don't talk!" "Um . . . yes. . . . Get your money, did you?" "Yes, I got it. It's in my overcoat pocket now. I thought one spell I wasn't goin' to get it, for the old feller was mad about some one of his cranberry buyers failin' up on him and he was as cross-grained as a scrub oak root. He and I had a regular row over the matter of politics I went there to see him about 'special. I told him what he was and he told me where I could go. That's how we parted. Then I came home." "Hum. . . . You'd have had a warmer trip if you'd gone where he sent you, I presume likely. . . . Um. . . . Yes, y^S. . . • Digitized by Microsoft® a66 "SHAVINGS" 'There's a place in this chorus For you and for me, And the theme of it ever And always shall be: Hallelujah, 'tis do- clared. "And the money he gave you was not the money you lost? You're sure of that?" "Course I'm sure of it. In the first place I lost a packet of dean tens and twenties ; this stuff I've got in my pocket now is all sorts, ones and twos and fives and everything. And in the second place " "Pardon me, just a minute. Captain Hunniwell. Where did he get the four hundred to give you, do you think? He Digitized by Microsoft® 3i6 "SHAVINGS" hasn't cashed any large checks at the bank within the last day or two, and he would scarcely have so much on hand in his shop." "Not as much as that — ^no. Although I've known the absent-minded, careless critter to have over two hundred knockin' around among his tools and chips and glue pots. Probably he had some to start with, and he got the rest by gettin' folks around town and over to Harniss to cash his checks. Anthony Hammond over there" asked me a little while ago, when 1 met him down to the wharf, if I thought Shavin's Winslow was good for a hundred and twenty-five. Said Jed had sent over by the telephone man's auto and asked him to cash a check for that much, Ham- mond said he thought 'twas queer he hadn't cashed it at our bank ; that's why he asked me about it." "Humph ! But why should he give his own money away in that fashion? And confess to stealing and all that stuff? I never heard of such a thing." "Neither did anybody else. I've known Jed all my life and I never can tell what loony thing he's liable to do next. But this beats all of 'em, I will give in." "You don't suppose — ^you don't suppose he is doing it to help you, because you are his friend? Because he is afraid the bank — or you — may get into trouble because of — ^well, because of having been so careless ?" Captain Sam laughed once more. "No, no," he said. VGracious king, I hope my reputation's good enough to stand the losin' of four hundred dollars. And Jed knows perfectly well I could put it back myself, if 'twas neces- sary, without runnin' me into the poorhouse. No, 'tain't for me he's doin' it, I ain't the reason." "And you're quite sure his story is all untrue. You don't imagine that he did find the money, your money and Digitized by Microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" 317 then, for some reason or other, change it with smaller bills, and " "Sshh, sshh, Charlie, don't waste your breath. I told you I knew he hadn't found the four hundred dollars I lost, didn't I ? Well, I do know it and for the very best of rea- sons; in fact, my stoppin' into his shop just now was to tell him what I'd heard. You see, Charlie, old Sylvester Sage has got back from Boston and opened up his house again. And he telephoned me at two o'clock to say that the four hundred dollar packet was layin' on his sittin'- room table just where I left it when he and I parted com- pany four days or so ago. That's how I know Jed didn't find it." From the shadowy corner where Ruth Armstrong sat came a little gasp and an exclamation. Charles whistled. "Well, by George !" he exclaimed. "That certainly puts a crimp in Jed's confession." "Sartin sure it does. When Sylvester and I parted we was both pretty hot under the collar, havin' called each other's politics about every mean name we could think of. I grabbed up my gloves, and what I thought was my money from the table and slammed out of the house. Seems all I grabbed was the two five hundred packages; the four hundred one was shoved under some papers and magazines and there it stayed till Sylvester got back from his Boston cruise. "But that don't answer my riddle," he added, impa- tiently. "What made Jed act the way he did? Got the answer, Charlie?" The young man shook his head. "No, by George, 1 haven't!" he replied. "How about you, Mrs. Armstrong? Can you help us out?" Ruth's answer was brief. "No, I'm afraid not," she Digitized by Microsoft® 318 "SHAVINGS" said. There was a queer note in her voice which caused her brother to glance at her, but Captain Hunniwell did not notice. He turned to go. "Well," he said, "I wish you'd think it over and see if you can spy land an3rwheres ahead. I need a pilot. This course is too crooked for me. I'm goin' home to ask Maud ; maybe she can see a light. So long." He went out. When Charles returned, having accom- panied his employer as far as the door, he found Ruth standing by her chair and looking at him. A glance at her face caused him to stop short and look at her. "Why, Ruth," he asked, "what is it?" She was pale and trembling. ■ There were tears in her eyes. "Oh, Charlie," she cried, "can't you see? He — ^he did it for you." "Did it for me ? Did what ? Who ? What are you talk- ing about. Sis?" "Jed. Jed Winslow. Don't you see, Charlie? He pre- tended to have found the money and to have stolen it just to save you. He thought you — ^he thought you had taken it." "What? Thought I had taken it? /had? Why in the devil should he think " He stopped. When he next spoke it was in a different tpne. "Sis," he asked, slowly, "do you mean that he thought I took this money because he knew I had — had done that thing at Middleford? Does he know — about that?" The tears were streaming down her cheeks. "Yes, Char- lie," she said, "he knows. He found it out, partly by ac- cident, before you came here. And — and think how loyal, how wonderful he has been! It was through him that you got your opportunity there at the bank. And now — ^now he has done this to save you. Oh, Charlie!" Digitized by Microsoft® CHAPTER XIX THE clock in the steeple of the Methodist church boomed eleven times and still the lights shone from the sitting-room windows of the little Winslow house and from those of Jed's living quarters behind his windmill shop. At that time of year and at that time of night there were few windows alight in Orham, and Mr. Gabe Bearse, had he been astir at such an hour, might have wondered why the Armstrongs and "Shavings" were "set- tin' up." Fortunately for every one except him, Gabe was in bed and asleep, otherwise he might have peeped under Jed's kitchen window sha4e — he had been accused of doing such things — and had he done so he would have seen Jed and Charlie Phillips in deep and earnest conversation. Neither would have wished to be seen just then; their inter- view was far too intimate and serious for that. They had been talking since eight. Charles and his sister had had a long conversation following Captain Hun- niwell's visit and then, after a pretense at supper — a pre- tense made largely on Babbie's account — the young man had come straight to the shop and to Jed. He had found the latter in a state of extreme dejection. He was sitting before the little writing table in his living-room, his elbows on the desk and his head in his hands. The drawer of the table was open and Jed was,^ apparently, gazing intently at something within. When Phillips entered the room he started, hastily slammed the drawer shut, and raised a pale and distressed face to his visitor. "Eh?" he exclaimed. "Oh, it's you> Charlie, ain't it? I — I— -er — good mornin*. It's — it's a nice day." Digitized bwlj^rosoft® 320 "SHAVINGS" Charles smiled slightly and shook his head. "You're a little mixed on the time, aren't you, Jed?" he observed. "It was a nice day, but it is a nice evening now." "Eh? Is it? Land sakes, I presume likely 'tis. Must be after supper time, I shouldn't wonder." "Supper time ! Why, it's after eight o'clock. Didn't you know it?" "No-o. No, I guess not. I — I kind of lost run of the time, seems so." "Haven't you had any supper?" "No-o. I didn't seem to care about supper, somehow." "But haven't you eaten anything?" "No. I did make myself a cup of tea, but twan't what you'd call a success. ... I forgot to put the tea in it. . . . But it don't make any difference; I ain't hungry — or thirsty, either." Phillips leaned forward and laid a hand on the older man's shoulder. "Jed," he said gently,. "I know why you're not hungry. Oh, Jed, what in the world made you do it?" Jed started back so violently that his chair almost upset. He raised a hand with the gesture of one warding off a blow. "Do?" he gasped. "Do what?" "Why, what you did about that money that Captain Hunniwell lost. What made you do it, Jed?" Jed's eyes closed momentarily. Then he opened them and, without looking at his visitor, rose slowly to his feet. "So Sam told you," he said, with a sigh; "I — I didn't hardly think he'd do that. . . . Course 'twas all right for him to tell," he added hastily. "I didn't ask him not to, but — ^but, he and I havin' been — er — chums, as you might say, for so long, I — I sort of thought . . . Well, it don't Digitized by Microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" 321 make any dif3ference, I guess. Did he tell your — your sis- ter? Did he tell her how I — ^how I stole the money?" Charles shook his head. "No," he said quietly. "No, he didn't tell either of us that. He told us that you had tried to make him believe you took the money, but that he knew you were not telling the truth. He knew you didn't take it." "Eh? Now . . . now, Charlie, that ain't so." Jed was even more disturbed and distressed than before. "I — I told Sam I took it and — and kept it. I told him I did. What more does he want ? What's he goin' around tellin' folks I didn't for? What " "Hush, Jed! He knows you didn't take it. He knew it all the time you were telling him you did. In fact he came into your shop this afternoon to tell you that the Sage man over at Wapatomac had found the four hundred dollars on the table in his sitting-room just where the cap- tain left it. Sage had just 'phoned him that very thirfg. He would have told you that, but you didn't give him the chance. Jed, I " But Jed interrupted. His expression as he listened had been changing like the sky on a windy day in April. "Here, here!" he cried wildly. "What— what kind of talk's that? Do — do you mean to tell me that Sam Hunni- well never lost that money at all ? That all he did was leave it over at Wapatomac?" "Yes, that's just what I mean." "Then— then all the time when I was— was givin' him the— the other money and tellin' him how I found it and— and all^-he knew " "Certainly he knew. I've just told you that he knew." Jed sat heavily down in the chair once more. He passed his hand slowly across his chin. "He knew !" he repeated. "He knew ! . . ." Then, with Digitized by Microsoft® 322 "SHAVINGS*' a sudden gasp as the full significance of the thought came to him, he cried : "Why, if — if the money wasn't ever lost you couldn't — you " Charles shook his head : "No, Jed," he said, "I couldn't have taken it. And I didn't take it." Jed gasped again. He stretched out a hand imploringly. "Oh, Lord," he exclaimed, "I never meant to say that. I — I " "It's all right, Jed. I don't blame you for thinking I might have taken it. Knowing what you did about — ^well, about my past record, it is not very astonishing that you should think almost anything."" Jed's agonized contrition was acute. "Don't talk so, Charlie!" he pleaded. "Don't! I— I'd ought to be ashamed of myself. I am — ^mercy knows I am ! But ... Eh? Why, how did you know I knew about— that?" "Ruth told me just now. After Captain Hunniwell had gone, she told me the whole thing. About how Babbie let the cat out of the bag and how she told you for fear you might suspect something even worse than the truth; although," he added, "that was quite bad enough. Yes, she told me everything. You've been a brick all through, Jed. And now " "Wait, Charlie, wait. I — I don't know what to say to you. I don't know what you must think of me for ever — ever once suspectin' you. If you hadn't said to me only such a little spell ago that you needed money so bad and would do most anything to get five hundred dollars — if you hadn't said that, I don't think the notion would ever have crossed my mind." ' Phillips whistled. "Well, by George !" he exclaimed. "I had forgotten that. No wonder you thought I had gone crooked again. Humph! . , . Well, I'll tell you why I Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" 323 wanted that money. You see, I've been trying to pay back to the man in Middleford the money of his which — ^which I took before. It is two thousand dollars and," with a shrug, "that looks a good deal bigger sum to me now than it used to, you can bet on that. I had a few hundred in a New York savings hank before I — well, before they shut me up» No one knew about it, not even Sis. I didn't tell her be- cause — well, I wish I could say it was because I was in- tending to use it to pay back what I had taken, but that wasn't the real reason why I kept still about it. To tell you the truth, Jed, I didn't feel — n®, I don't feel yet any too forgiving or kindly toward that chap who had me put in prison. I'm not shirking blame ; I was a fool and a scamp and all that ; but he is — ^he's a hard man, Jed." Jed nodded. "Seems to me Ru your sister said he was a consider'ble of a professer," he observed. "Professor? Why no, he was a bond broker." "I mean that he professed religion a good deal. Called himself a Christian and such kind of names." Phillips smiled bitterly. "If he is a Christian I prefer to be a heathen," he observed. "Um-hm. Well, maybe he ain't one. You could teach a parrot to holler 'Praise the Lord,' I cal'late, and the more crackers he got by it the louder he'd holler. So you never said anything about the four hundred you had put by, Charlie." "No. I felt that I had been treated badly and — ^why,, Jed, the man used to urge me to dress better than I could afford, to belong to the most expensive club and all that sort of thing. He knew I was in with a set sporting ten times the money I could muster, and spending it, too, but he seemed to like to have me associate with them. Said it was good for the business." "Sartin ! More crackers for Polly. Go on." Digitized by Microsoft® 324 "SHAVINGS" "I intended that he should never have that money, but after I came here, after I had been here for a time, I changed my mind. I saw things in a different light. I wrote him a letter, told him I meant to pay back every cent of the two thousand I had taken and enclosed my check for the seven hundred and fifty I had put by. Since then I have paid him two hundred and fifty more, goodness knows how. I have squeezed every penny from my salary that I could spare. I have paid him half of the two thousand and, if everything had gone on well, some day or othefl would have paid the other half." Jed laid a hand on his companion's knee. "Good boy, Charlie," he said. "And how did the — er — professin' poll parrot act about your payin' it back?" Charles smiled faintly. "Just before I talked with you that day, Jed," he said, "I received a letter from him stating that he did not feel I was paying as rapidly as I could and that, if he did not receive another five hundred shortly he should feel it his duty to communicate with my present em- ployers. Do you wonder I said I would do almost anything to get the money?" Jed's hand patted the knee sympathetically. "Sho, sho, sho!" he exclaimed. "Have you heard from him since?" "No, I wrote him that I was paying as fast as I could and that if he communicated with my employers that would end any chances of his ever getting more. He hasn't writ- ten since ; afraid of stopping the golden egg supply, I pre- sume. . . . But there," he added, "that's enough of that. Jed, how could you do it — just for me? Of course I had come to realize that your heart was as big as a bushel basket, and that you and I were friends. But when a fellow gives up four hundred dollars of his own money, and, not only does that, but deliberately confesses himself a thief — ^when Digitized by Microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" 325 he does that to save some one else who, as he knew, had really been a thief and who he was pretty sure must have stolen again — why, Jed, it is unbelievable. Why did you do it ? What can I say to you ?" Jed held up a protesting hand. "Don't say anything," he stammered. "Don't ! It's — it's all foolishness, anyhow." "Foolishness! It's — oh, I don't know what it is! And to sacrifice your reputation and your character and your friendship with Captain Hunniwell, all for me! I can't understand it." "Now — now^ — now, Charlie, don't try to. If I can't un- derstand myself more'n half the time, what's the use of your strainin' your brains ? I — I just took a notion, that's all. I " "But, Jed, why did you do it — for me? I have heard of men doing such things for — for women, sacrificing themselves to save a woman they were in love with. You read of that in books and — ^yes, I think I can understand that. But for you to do it — for me!" Jed waved both hands this time. "Sshh ! sshh !" he cried, in frantii, protest. His face was a brilliant crimson and his embarrassment and confusion were so acute as to be laugh- able, although Phillips was far from laughing. "Sshh, sshh, Charlie," pleaded Jed. "You — you don't know what you're talkin' about. You're makin' an awful fuss about nothin'. Sshh! Yes, you are, too. I didn't have any notion of tellin' Sam I stole that four hundred when I first gave it to him. I was goin' to tell him I found it, that's all. That would keep him bottled up, I figgered, and satisfied and then — ^then you and I'd have a talk and I'd tell you what I'd done and — well, some day maybe you could pay me back the money; don't you see? I do hope," he added anxiously, "you won't hold it against me, for thinkin' Digitized by Microsoft® 326 "SHAVINGS" maybe you had taken it. Course I'd ought to have known better. I would have known better if I'd been anybody but Shavin's Winslow. He ain't responsible." "Hush, Jed, hush! But why did you say you had — kept it?" "Eh? Oh, that was Sam's doin's. He commenced to ask questions, and, the first thing I knew, he had me on the spider fryin' over a hot fire. The more I sizzled and sputtered and tried to get out of that spider, the more he poked up the fire. I declare, I never knew lyin' was such a job ! When I see how easy and natural it comes to some folks I feel kind of ashamed to think what a poor show I made at it. Well, Sam kept pokin' the fire and heatin' me up till I got desperate and swore I stole the money instead of findin' it. And that was hoppin' out of the fryin' pan into the fire," he drawled reflectively. Charles smiled. "Captain Sam said you told him you took the money to buy a suit of clothes with," he suggested. "Eh? Did I? Shof That was a real bright idea of mine, wasn't it? A suit of clothes. Humph! Wonder I didn't say I bought shoe laces or collar buttons or some- thin'. . . . Sho! . . . Dear, dear! Well, they say George Washin'ton couldn't tell a lie and I've proved I can't either ; only I've tried to tell one and I don't recollect that he ever did that. . . . Humph! ... A suit of clothes. . . . Four hundred dollars. . . . Solomon in all his glory would have looked like a calico shirt and a pair of overalls alongside of me, eh ? . . . Humph !" Phillips shook his head. "Nevertheless, Jed," he de- clared, "I can't understand why you did it and I never — never shall forget it. Neither will Ruth. She will tell you so to-morrow." Jed was frightened. "No, no, no, she mustn't," he cried, quickly. "I — I don't want her to talk about it. I — I Digitized by Microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" 327 don't want anybody to talk about it. Please tell her not to, Charlie! Please! It's— it's all such foolishness anyhow. Let's forget it." "It isn't the sort of thing one forgets easily. But we won't talk of it any more just now, if that pleases you bet- ter. I have some other things to talk about and I must talk about them with some one. I must — I've got to." Jed looked at him. The words reminded him forcibly of Ruth's on that day when she had come to the windmill shop to tell him her brother's story and to discuss the question of his coming to Orham. She, too, had said that she must talk with some one — she must. "Have — you talked 'em over with — ^with your sister ?" he asked. "Yes. But she and I don't agree completely in the mat- ter. You see, Ruth thinks the world of me, she always did, a great deal more than I deserve, ever have deserved or ever will. And in this matter she thinks first of all of me — what will become of me provided — well, provided things don't go as I should like to have them. That isn't the way I want to face the question. I want to know what is best for every one, for. her, for me and — and for some one else — most of all for some one else, I guess," he added. Jed nodded slowly. "For Maud," he said. Charles looked at him. "How on earth ?" he de- manded. "What in blazes are you — a clairvoyant?" "No-o. No. But it don't need a spirit medium to see through a window pane, Charlie ; that is, the average win- dow pane," he added, with a glance at his own, which were in need of washing just then. "You want to know," he continued, "what you'd ought to do now that will be the right thing, or the nighest to the right thing, for your sister and Babbie and yourself — ^and Maud." "Yes, I do. It isn't any new questiori for me. I've been Digitized by Microsoft® 328 "SHAVINGS" putting it up to myself for a long time, for months; by George, it seems years." "I know. I know. Well, Charlie, I've been puttin' it up to myself, too. Have you got any answer ?" "No, none that exactly suits me. Have you ?" "I don't know's I have — exactly," "Exactly? Well, have you any, exact or otherwise?" "Um. . . . Well, I've got one, but . . . but perhaps it ain't an answer. Perhaps it wouldn't do at all. Perhaps . . . perhaps . . ." "Never mind the perhapses. What is it ?" "Um. . . . Suppose we let it wait a little spell and talk f the situation over just a little mite. You've been talkin' with your sister, you say, and she don't entirely agree with you." "No. I say things can't go on as they've been going. They can't." "Um-hm. Meanin' — ^what things?" "Everything. Jed, do you remember that day when you and I had the talk about poetry and all that? When you quoted that poem about a chap's fe.aring his fate too much? Well, I've been fearing my fate ever since I began to realize what a mess I was getting into here in Orham. When I first came I saw, of course, that I was skating on thin ice, and it was likely to break under me at any time. I knew perfectly well that some day the Middle- ford business was bound to come out and that my accepting the bank offer without telling Captain Hunniwell or any one was a mighty risky, not to say mean, business. But Ruth was so very anxious that I should accept and kept begging me not to tell, at least until they had had a chance to learn that I was worth something, that I gave in and ... I say, Je4"^^^^put^m^.breaWng his own sentence 'SHAVINGS" 329 in the middle, "don't think I'm trying to shove the blame over on to Sis. It's not that." Jed nodded. "Sho, sho, Charlie," he said, "course 'tain't. I understand." "No, I'll take the blame. I was old enough to have a mind of my own. Well, as I was saying, I realized it all, but I didn't care so much. If the smash did come, I fig- ured, it might not come until I had established myself at the bank, until they might have found me valuable enough to keep on in spite of it. And I worked mighty hard to make them like me. Then— then— well, then Maud and I became friends and — ^and — oh, confound it, you see what I mean! You must see." The Winslow knee was clasped between the Winslow hands and the Winslow foot was swinging. Jed nodded again. "I see, Charlie," he said. "And — and here I am. The smash has come, in a way, already. Babbitt, so Ruth tells me, knows the whole story and was threatening to tell, but she says Grover assures her that he won't tell, that he, the major, has a club over the old fellow which will prevent his telling. Do you think that's true?" "I shouldn't be surprised. Major Grover sartinly did seem to put the fear of the Lord into Phin this afternoon. . . . And that's no one-horse miracle," he drawled, "when you consider that all the ministers in Orham haven't been able to do it for forty odd years. . . . Um. . . . Yes, I kind of cal'late Phin'll keep his hatches shut. He may bust his b'iler and blow up with spite, but he won't talk about you, Charlie, I honestly believe. And we can all thank the major for that." "I shall thank him, for one!" "Mercv on us! No, no. He doesn't know your story ■ ■ ■' Digitized by Microsoft® 330 "SHAVINGS" at all. He just thinks Babbitt was circulatin' lies about Ruth — about your sister. You mustn't mention the Mid- dleford — er — mess to Major Grover." "Humph ! Well, unless I'm greatly mistaken, Ruth " "Eh? Ruth— what?" "Oh, nothing. Never mind that now. And allowing that Babbitt will, as you say, keep his mouth shut, admitting that the situation is just what it was before Captain Hunni- well lost the money or Babbitt came into the affair at all, still I've made up my mind that things can't go on as they are. Jed, I — it's a mighty hard thing to say to another man, but — the world — ^my world — just begins and ends with — ^with her." His fists clenched and his jaw set as he said it. Jed bowed his head. "With Maud, ydu mean," he said. "Yes. I — I don't care for anything else or anybody else. . . . Oh, of course I don't mean just that, you know. I do care for Sis and Babbie. But — they're different." "I understand, Charlie." "No, you don't. How can you? Nobody can under- stand, least of all a set old crank like you, Jed, and a con- firmed bachelor besides. Beg pardon for contradicting you, but you don't understand, you can't." Jed gazed soberly at the floor. "Maybe I can understand a little, Charlie," he drawled gently. "Well, all right. Let it go at that. The fact is that I'm at a crisis." "Just a half minute, now. Have you said anything to Maud about — about how you feel?" "Of course I haven't," indignantly. "How could I, with- out telling her everything?"' "That's right, that's right. Course you couldn't, and be Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" -331 fair and honorable. . . . Hum. . . . Then you don't know whether or not she — er — feels the same way about — ^about you?" Charles hesitated. "No-o," he hesitated. "No, I don't know, of course. But I — I feel — I " "You feel that that part of the situation ain't what you'd call hopeless, eh? . . . Um. . . . Well, judgin' from what I've heard, I shouldn't call it that, either. Would it sur- prise you to know, Charlie, that her dad and I had a little talk on this very subject not so very long ago?" Evidently it did surprise him. Charles gasped a,nd turned red. "Captain Hunniwell !" he exclaimed. "Did Captain Hun- niwell talk with you about — about Maud and — and me?" "Yes." "Well, by George! Then he suspected— .he guessed that That's strange." Jed relinquished the grip of one hand upon- his knee long enough to stroke his chin. "Um . . . yes," he drawled drily. "It's worse than strange, it's — er— -paralyzin'. More clairvoyants in Orham than you thought there was; eh, Charlie?" "But why should he talk with you on that subject; about anything so — er---personal and confidential as that? With you, you know !" Jed's slow smile drifted into sight and vanished again. He permitted himself the luxury of a retort. "Well," he observed musingly, "as to that I can't say for certain. Maybe he did it for the same reason you're doin' it now, Charlie." The young man evidently had not thought of it in just that light. He looked surprised and still more puzzled. "Why, yes," he admitted. "So I am, of course. And I' do talk to you about things I never would think of men- Digitized by Microsoft® 332 "SHAVINGS" tioning to other people. And Ruth says she does. That's queer, too. But we are— er — neighbors of yours and — ^and^ tenants, you know. We've known you ever since we came to Orham." "Ye-es. And Sam's known me ever since / came. Any- how he talked with me about you and Maud. I don't think I shall be sayin' more'n I ought to if I tell you that he likes you, Charlie." "Does he?" eagerly. "By George, I'm glad of that!! But, oh, well," with a sigh, "he doesn't know. If he did know my record he might not like me so well. And as. for my marrying his daughter — good night!" with hopeless emphasis. "No, not good night by any means. Maybe it's oniy good mornin*. Go on and tell me what you mean by bein' at a crisis, as you said a minute ago." "I mean just that. The time has come when I must speak to Maud. 1 must find out if — find out how she feels about me. And I can't speak to her, honorably, without telling her everything. And suppose she should care enough for me to — to — suppose she should care in spite of everything, there's her father. She is his only daughter; he wor- ships the ground she steps on. Suppose I tell him I've been," bitterly, "a crook and a jailbird ; what will he think of me — as a son-in-law? And now suppose he was fool enough to consent — ^which isn't supposable — how could I stay here, working for him, sponging a living from him, with this thing hanging over us all? No, I can't — ^I can't. Whatever else happens I can't do that. And I can't go on as I am — or I won't. Now what am I going to do ?" He had risen and was pacing the floor. Jed asked a ques- tion. . "What does your sister want you to do?" he asked. Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" 333 "Ruth ? Oh, as I told you, she thinks of no one but me. How dreadful it would be for me to tell of my Middle- ford record ! How jwful if I lost my position in the bank ! Suppose they discharged me and the town learned why! I've tried to make her see that, compared to the question of Maud, nothing else matters at all, but I'm afraid she doesn't see it as I do. She only sees — me." "Her brother. Um . . . yes, I know." "Yes. Well, we talked and talked, but we got no- where. So at last I said I was coming out to thank you for what you did to save me, Jed. I could hardly believe it then; I can scarcely believe it now. It was too much for any man to do for another. And she said to talk the whole puzzle out with you. She seems to have all the confidence on earth in your judgment, Jed. She is as willing to leave a decision to you, apparently, as you profess to be to leave one to your wooden prophet up on the shelf there ; what's- his-name — er — Isaiah." Jed looked greatly pleased, but he shook his head. "I'm afraid her confidence ain't founded on a rock, like the feller's house in the Bible," he drawled. "My decisions are liable to stick half way betwixt and between, same as-— er — Jeremiah's do. But," he added, gravely, "I have been thinkin' pretty seriously about you and your particular puzzle, Charlie, and— and I ain't sure that I don't see one way out of the fog. It may be a hard way, and it may turn out wrong, and it may not be anything you'll agree to. But " "What is it? If it's an)rthing even half way satisfac- tory I'll believe you're the wisest man on earth, Jed Win- slow." "Well, if I thought you was liable to beUeve that I'd tell you to send your believer to the blacksmith's 'cause Digitized by Microsoft® 334 "SHAVINGS" there was somethin' wrong with it. No, I ain't wise, far from it. But, Charlie, I think you're dead right about what you say concernin' Maud and her father and you. You can't tell her without tellin' him. For your own sake you mustn't tell him without tellin' her. And you shouldn't, as a straight up and down, honorable man keep on workin' for Sam when you ask him, under these circumstances, to give you his daughter. You can't afford to have her say 'yes' because she pities you, nor to have him give in to her because she begs him to. No, you want to be independent, to go to both of 'em and say: 'Here's my story and here am I. You know now what I did and you know, too, what I've been and how I've behaved since I've been with yoU.' You want to say to Maud : 'Do you care enough for me to marry me in spite of what I've done and where I've been ?' And to Sam : 'Providin' your daughter does care for me, I mean to marry her some day or other. And you can't be on his pay roll when you say that, as I see it." Phillips stopped in his stride. "You've put it just as it is," he declared emphatically. "There's the situation — what then? For I tell you now, Jed Winslow, I won't give her up until she tells me to." "Course not, Charlie, course not. But there's one thing more — or two things, rather. There's your sister and Bab- bie. Suppose you do haul up stakes and quit workin' for Sam at the bank; can they get along without your sup- port ? Without the money you earn ?" The young man nodded thoughtfully. . "Yes," he replied, "I see no reason why they can't. They did before I came, you know. Ruth has a little money of her own, enough to keep her and Barbara in the way they live here in Or- ham. She couldn't support me as a loafer, of course, and you can bet I should never let her try, but she could get Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" 335 on quite well without me. . . . Besides, I am not so sure that . . ." "Eh? What was you goin' to say, Charlie?" "Oh, nothing, nothing. I have had a feeling, a slight suspicion, recently, that But never mind that; I have no right to even hint at such a thing. What are you try- ing to get at, Jed?" "Get at?" "Yes. Why did you ask that question about Ruth and Barbara ? You don't mean that you see a way out for me, do you?" "W-e-e-U, I ... er ... I don't cal'late I'd want to go so far as to say that, hardly, No-o, I don't know's it's a way out — quite. But, as I've told you I've been thinkin' about you and Maud a pretty good deal lately and . . . er . . . hum . . ." "For heaven's sake, hurry up! Don't go to sleep now, man, of all times. Tell me, what do you mean ? What can I do?" Jed's foot dropped to the floor. He sat erect and re- garded his companion intently over his spectacles. His face was very grave. "There's one thing you can do, Charlie," he said. "What is it? Tell me, quick." "Just a minute. Doin' it won't mean necessarily that you're out of your worries and troubles. It won't mean that you mustn't make a clean breast of everything to Mkud and to Sam. That you must do and I know, from what you've said to me, that you feel you must. And it won't mean that your doin' this thing will necessarily make either Maud or Sam say yes to the question you want to ask 'em. That question they'll answer themselves, of course. But, as I see it, if you do this thing you'll be free and independent, a man doin' a man's job and ready to Digitized by Microsoft® 336 "SHAVINGS" speak to Sam Hunniwell or anybody else like a man. And that's somethin'." "Something! By George, it's everything! What is this man's job? Tell me, quick." And Jed told him. Digitized by Microsoft® CHAPTER XX MR. GABE BEARSE lost another opportunity the next morning. The late bird misses the early worm and, as Gabriel was still slumbering peace- fully at six A. M., he missed seeing Ruth Armstrong and her brother emerge from the door of the Winslow house at that hour and walk to the gate together. Charles was carrying a small traveling bag, Ruth's face was white and her eyes were suspiciously damp, but she was evidently trying hard to appear calm and cheerful. As they stood talking by the gate, Jed Winslow emerged from the wind- mill shop and, crossing the lawn, joined them. The three talked for a moment and then Charles held out his hand. "Well, so long, Jed," he said. "If all goes well I shall be back here to-morrow. Wish me luck." "I'll be wishin' it for you, Charlie, all day and all night with double time after hours and no allowance for meals," replied Jed earnestly. "You think Sam'll get your note all right?" "Yes, I shall tuck it under the bank door as I go by. If he should ask what the business was which called me to Boston so suddenly, just dodge the question as well as you can, won't you, Jed ?" "Sartin sure. He'll think he's dealin' with that colored man that sticks his head through the sheet over to the Ostable fair, the one the boys heave baseballs at. No, he won't get anything out of me, Charlie. And the other letter; that'll get to— to her?" Digitized bywicrosoft® 338 "SHAVINGS" The young man nodded gravely. "I shall mail it at the post-office now," he said. "Don't talk about it, please. Well, Sis, good-by — until to-morrow." Jed turned his head. When he looked again Phillips was walking rapidly away along the sidewalk. Ruth, lean- ing over the fence, watched him as long as he was in sight. And Jed watched her anxiously. When she turned he ventured to speak. "Don't worry," he begged. "Don't. He's doin' the right thing. I know he is." She wiped her eyes. "Oh, perhaps he is," she said sadly. "I hope he is." "I know he is. I only wish I could do it, too. ... I would," he drawled, solemnly, "only for nineteen br twenty reasons, the first one of 'em bein' that they wouldn't let me. She made no comment on this observation. They walked together back to\Vard the house. "Jed," she said, after a moment, "it has come at last, hasn't it, the day we have foreseen and that I have dreaded so? Poor Charlie! Think what this means to him." Jed nodded. "He's puttin' it to the touch, to win or lose it all," he agreed^ "same as was in the poem he and I talked about that time. Well, I honestly believe he feels better now that he's made up his mind to do it, better than he has for many a long day." "Yes, I suppose he does. And he is doing, too, what he has wanted to do ever since he came here. He told me so when he came in from his long interview with you last night. He and I talked until it was almost day and we told each other — many things," She paused. Jed, looking up, caugh^ her eye. To his; surprise she colored and seemed slightly confused. "He had not said anything before," she went on rather Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" V 339 hurriedly, "because he thought I would feel so terribly to have him do it. So I should, and so I do, of course — in one way, but iti another I am glad. Glad, and very proud." "Sartin. He'll make us all proud of him, or I miss my guess. And, as for the rest of it, the big question that counts most of all to him, I hope— yes, I think that's comin' out all right, too. Ruth," he added, "you remember what I told you about Sam's talk with me that afternoon when he came back from Wapatomac. If Maud cares for him as much as all that she ain't goin' to throw him over on account of what happened iil_ Middleford." i "No — no, not if she really cares. But does she care — enough ?" "I hope so. I guess so. But if she doesn't it's better for him to know it, and know it now. . . . Dear, dear!" he added, "how I do fire off opinions, don't I ? A body'd think I was loaded up with wisdom same as onfe of those ma- chine guns is with cartridges. About all I'm loaded with is blanks, I cal'late." She was not paying attention to this outburst, but, stand- ing with one hand upon the latch of the kitchen door, she seemed to be thinking deeply. "I think you are right," she said slowly. "Yes, I think you are right. It is better to know. . . . Jed, suppose — suppose you cared for some one, would the fact that her brother had been in prison make any difference in — in your feeling?" Jed actually staggered. She was not looking at him, nor did she look at him now. "Eh?" he cried. "Why— why, Ruth, what— what- ?" She smiled faintly. "And that was a foolish question, top," she said. "Foolish to ask you, of all men. . . . Well, I must go on and get Babbie's breakfast. Poor child, she is going to miss her Uncle Charlie. We shall all miss him. Digitized by Microsoft® 340 "SHAVINGS" . . . But there, I promised him I would be brave. Good morning, Jed." "But— but, Ruth, what— what ?" She had not heard him. The door closed. Jed stood staring at it for some minutes. Then he crossed the lawn to his own little kitchen. The performances he went through during the next hour would have confirmed the opinion of Mr. Bearse and his coterie that "Shavings" Winslow was "next door to loony." He cooked a breakfast, but how he cooked it. or of what it consisted he could not have told. The next day he found the stove-lid lifter on a plate in the ice chest. Whatever became of the left-over pork chop which should have been there he had no idea. .Babbie came dancing in at noon, on her way home from school. She found, her Uncle Jed in a curious mood, a mood which seemed to be a compound of absent-minded- ness and silence broken by sudden fits of song and hilarity. He was sitting by the bench when she entered and was holding an oily rag in one hand and a piece of emery paper in the other. He was looking neither at paper nor rag, nor at anything else in particular so far as she could see, and he did not notice her presence at all. Suddenly he began to rub the paper and the rag together and to sing at the top of his voice: " 'He's my lily of the valley. My bright and mornin' star; He's the fairest of ten thousand to my soul — ^Hallelujah! He's my di-dum-du-dum-di-dum — Di '•' Barbara burst out laughing. Mr. Winslbw's hallelujah chorus stopped in the middle and he turned. "Eh?" he exclaimed, looking over his spectacles. "Oh, it's you! Sakes alive, child, how do you get around so Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" 341 quiet? Haven't borrowed the cat's feet to walk on, have you?" Babbie laughed again and replied that she guessed the cat wouldn't lend her feet. "She would want 'em herself, prob'ly. Uncle Jed," she added. "Don't you think so?" Jed appeared to consider. "Well," he drawled, "she might, I presume likely, be as selfish and unreasonable as all that. But then again she might . . . hum . . . what was it the cat walked on in that story you and I was readin' together a spell ago ? That — er — Sure Enough story — ^you know. By Kipling, 'twas." "Oh, I know! It wasn't a Sure Enough story; it was a 'Just So' story. And the name of it was 'The Cat Who Walked by His Wild Lone.' " Jed looked deeply disappointed. "Sho!" he sighed. "I thought 'twas on his wild lone he walked. I was thinkin' that maybe he'd gone walkin' on that for a spell and had lent you his feet. . . . Hum. . . . Dear, dear ! "'Oh, trust and obey, For there's no other way ! To be de-de-de-di-dum — But to trust and obey.' " Here he relapsed into another daydream. After wait- ing for a moment. Babbie ventured to arouse him. "Uncle Jed," she asked, "what were you doing with those things in your hand — ^when I came in, you know? That cloth and that piece of paper. You looked so funny, rubbing them together, that I couldn't help laughing." Jed regarded her solemnly. "It's emery paper," he said ; "like fine sandpaper, you know. And the cloth's got ile in it. I'm cleanin' the rust off this screwdriver. I Digitized by Microsoft® 342 "SHAVINGS" hadn't used it for more'n a fortni't and it got pretty rusty this damp weather." The child looked at him wonderingly* "But, Uncle Jed," she said, "there isn't any screwdriver. Anyhow I don't see any. You were just rubbing the sand- paper- and the cloth together and singing. That's why it looked so funny." — Jed inspected first one hand and then the other. "Hum!" he drawled. "Hu-um! . . . Well, I declare! . . . Now you mention it, there don't seem to be any screw- driver, does there ? . . . Here 'tis on the bench. . . . And I was rubbin' the sandpaper with ile, or ilin' the sandpaper with the rag, whichever you like. . . . Hum, ye-es, I should think it might have looked funny. . . ■. Babbie, if you see me walkin' around without any head some mornin' don't be scared. You'll know that that part of me ain't got out of bed yet, that's all." Barbara leaned her chin on both small fists and gazed at him. "Uncle Jed," she said, "you've been thinking about something, haven't you?" "Eh? . . . Why, yes, I — I guess likely maybe I have. How did you know ?" "Oh, 'cause I did. Petunia and I know you ever and ever so well now and we're used to — ^to the way you do. Mamma says things like forgetting the screwdriver are your ex-eccen-tricks. Is this what you've been thinking about a nice eccen-trick or the other kind?" Jed slowly shook his head. "I — I don't know," he groaned. "I dasn't believe— — There, there ! That's enough of my tricks. How's Petunia's hair curlin' this mornin'?" After the child left him he tried to prepare his dinner, but it was as unsatisfactory a meal as breakfast had been. He couldn't eat, he couldn't work. He could only think, and thinking meant alternate periods of delirious hope and Digitized by Microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" 343 black depression. He sat down before the little table in his living-room and, opening the drawer, saw Ruth Arm- strong's pictured face looking up at him. "Jed! Oh, Jed!" It was Maud Hunniwell's voice. She had entefed the shop and the living-room without his hearing her and now she was standing behind him with her hand upon his shoulder. He started, turned and looked up into her face. And one glance caused him to forget himself and even the pictured face in the drawer for the time and to think only of her. "Maud!" he exclaimed. "Maud!" Her hair, usually so carefully arranged, was disordered; her hat was not adjusted at its usual exact angle; and as for the silver fox, it hung limply backside front. Her eyes were red and she held a handkerchief in one hand and a letter in the other. "Oh, Jed!" she cried. Jed put out his hands. "There, there, Maud!" he said. "There, there, little girl." They had been confidants since her babyhood, these two. She came to him now, and putting her head upon his shoulder, burst into a storm of weeping. Jed stroked her hair. "There, there, Maud," he said gently. "Don't, girlie, don't. It's goin' to be all. right, I know it. . . . And so you came tojue, did you ? I'm awful glad you did, I am so." "He asked me to come," she sobbed. "He wrote it— in — in the letter." Jed led her over to a chair. "Sit down, girlie," he said, "and tell me all about it. You got the letter, then?" She nodded. "Yes," she said, chokingly; "it— it just came. Oh, I am so glad Father did not come home to din- Digitized by Microsoft® 344 "SHAVINGS" ner to-day. He would have — ^have seen me and — and— ■ oh, why did he do it, Jed? Why?" Jed shook his head. "He had to do it, Maud," he an- swered. "He wanted to do the right thing and the honor- able thing. And you would rather have had him do tjiat, wouldn't you?" "Oh — oh, I don't know. But why didn't he come to me and tell me? Why did he go away and — and write me he had gone to enlist? Why didn't he come to me first? Oh. . . . Oh, Jed, how could he treat me so?" She was sobbing again. Jed took her hand and patted it with his own big one. "Didn't he tell you in the letter why?" he asked. "Yes— yes, but " "Then let me tell you what he told me, Maud. He and I talked for up'ards of three solid hours last night and I cal'late I understood him pretty well when he finished. Now let me tell you what he said to me." He told her the substance of his long interview with Phillips. He told ilso of Charles' coming to Orham, of why and how he took the position in the bank, of his other talks with him — Winslow. "And so," said Jed, in conclusion, "you see, Maud, what a dreadful load the poor young feller's been carryin' ever since he came and especially since he — well, since he found out how much he was carin' for you. Just stop for a minute and think what a load 'twas. His conscience was troublin' him all the time for keepin' the bank job, for sailin' under false colors in your eyes and your dad's. He was workin' and pinchin' to pay the two thousand to the man in Middleford. He had hangin' over him every minute the practical certainty that some day — some day sure — a person was comin' along who knew his story and then the fat would all be in the fire. And when it went into that Digitized by Microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" 345 fire he wouldn't be the only one to be burnt; there would be his sister and Babbie — and you; most of all, you." She nodded. "Yes, yes, I know," she cried. "But why — oh, why didn't he come to me and tell me? Why did he go without a word? He must have known I would forgive him, no matter what he had done. It wouldn't have made any difference, his having been in— in prison. And now — now he may be — oh, Jed, he may be killed 1" She was sobbing again. Jed patted her hand. "We won't talk about his bein' killed," he said stoutly. "I know he won't be ; I feel it in my bones. But, Maud, can't you see why he didn't come and tell you before he went to enlist? Suppose he had. If you care for him so much — as much as I judge you do " She interrupted. "Care fbr him!" she repeated. "Oh, Jed!" "Yes, yes, dearie, I know. Well, then, carin' for him like that, you'd have told him just what you told me then ; that about his havin' done what he did and havin' been where he's been not makin' any difference. And you'd have begged and coaxed him to stay right along in the bank, maybe? Eh?" "Yes," defiantly. "Of course I would. Why not?" "And your father, would you have told him?" She hesitated. "I don't know," she said, but with less assurance. "Perhaps so, later on. It had all been kept a secret so far, all the whole dreadful thing, why not a lit- tle longer? Besides — ^besides. Father knows how much Charlie means to me. Father and I had a long talk about him one night and I — I think he knows. And he is very fond of Charlie himself ; he has said so so many times. He would have forgiven him, too, if I had asked him. He al- ways does what I ask." "Yes, ye-es, I cal'late that's so. But, to be real honest Digitized by Microsoft® 346 "SHAVINGS" now, Maud, would you have been satisfied to have it that way? Would you have felt that it was the honorable thing for Charlie to do? Isn't what he has done better? He's undertakin' the biggest and finest job a man can do in this world to-day, as I see it. It's the job he'd have taken on months ago if he'd felt 'twas right to leave Ruth — Mrs. Armstrong — so soon after — after bein' separated from her so long. He's taken on this big job, this man's job, and he says to you : 'Here I am. You know me now. Do you care for me still? If you do will you wait till I come back?' And to your dad, to Sam, he says: 'I ain't workin' for you now. I ain't on your payroll and so I can speak out free and independent. If your daughtef'll have me I mean to marry her some day.' Ain't that the better way, Maud? Ain't that how you'd rather have him feel — and do?" She sighed and shook her head. "I — I suppose so," she admitted. "Oh, I suppose that you and he are right. In his letter he says just that. Would you like to see it ; that part of it, I mean?" Jed took the crumpled and tear-stained letter from her hand. "I think I ought to tell you, Maud," he said, "that writin' this was his own idea. It was me that suggested his en- listin', although I found he'd been thinkin' of it all along, but I was for havin' him go and enlist and then come back and tell you and Sam. But he says, 'No. I'll tell her in a letter and then when I come back she'll have had time to think it over. She won't say *yes' then simply because she pities me or because she doesn't realize what it means. No, I'll write her and then when I come back after enlistin' and go to her for my answer, I'll know it's given deliber- ate.' " She nodded. "He says that there," ^e said chokingly. Digitized by Microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" 347 "But he— he must have known. Oh, Jed, how can I let him go — ^to war?" That portion of the letter which Jed was permitted to read was straightforward and honest and manly. There were no appeals for pity or sympathy. The writer stated his case and left the rest to her, that was all. And Jed, reading between the lines, respected Charles Phillips more than ever. He and Maud talked for a long time after that. And, at last, they reached a point which Jed had tried his best to avoid. Maud mentioned it first. She had been speaking of his friendship for her lover and for herself. "I don't see what we should have done without your help, Jed," she said. "And when I think what you have done for Charlie! Why, yes — and now I know why you pretended to have found the four hundred dollars Father thought he had lost. Pa left it at Wapatomac, after all; you knew that ?" Jed stirred uneasily. He was standing by the window, looking out into the yard. "Yes, yes," he said hastily, "I know. Don't talk about it, Maud. It makes me feel more like a fool than usual and . . . er . . . don't seem as if that was hardly neces- sary, does it?" "But I shall talk about it. When Father came home that night he couldn't talk of anything else. He called it the prize puzzle of the century. You had given him four hun- dred dollars of your own money and pretended it was his and that you had — had stolen it, Jed. He burst out laugh- ing when he told me that and so did I. The idea of your stealing anything ! You !" Jed smiled, feebly. " 'Twas silly enough, I give in," he admitted. "You see," he added, in an apologetic drawl, "nine-tenths of this town Digitized by Microsoft® 348 "SHAVINGS" think I'm a prize idiot and sometimes I feel it's my duty lo live up — or down — ^to my reputation. This was one of the times, that's all. I'm awful glad Sam got his own money back, though." "The money didn't amount to anything. But what you did was the wonderful thing. For now 1 understand why you did it. You thought — ^you thought Charlie had taken it to — ^to pay that horrid man in Middleford. That is what you thought and you " Jed broke in. "Don't! Don't put me in mind of it, Maud," he begged. "I'm so ashamed I don't know what to do. You see — ^you see, Charlie had said how much he needed about that much money and — ^and so, bein' a — a. woodenhead, I naturally " "Oh, don't! Please don't! It was wonderful of you, Jed. You not only gave up your own money, but you were willing to sacrifice your good name; to have Father, your best friend, think you a thief. And you did it all to save Charlie from exposure. How could you, Jed?" Jed didn't answer. He did not appear to have heard her. He was gazing steadily out into the yard. "How could you, Jed?" repeated Maud. "It was won- derful! I can't understand. I " She stopped at the beginning of the sentence. She was standing beside the little writing-table and the drawer was open. She looked down and there, in that drawer, she saw the framed photograph of Ruth Armstrong. She re- membered that Jed had been sitting at that desk and gaz- ing down into that drawer when she entered the room. She looked at him now. He was standing by the window peer- ing out into the yard. Ruth had come from the back door of the little Winslow house and was standing on the step looking up the road, evidently waiting for Barbara to Digitized by Microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" 349 come from school. And Jed was watching her. Maud saw the look upon his face — and she understood. A few moments later she and Ruth met. Maud had tried to avoid that meeting by leaving Jed's premises by the front door, the door of the outer shop. But Ruth had walked to the gate to see if Babbie was coming and, as Maud emerged from the shop, the two women came face to face. For an instant they did not speak. Maud, ex- cited and overwrought by her experience with the letter and her interview with Jed, was still struggling for self- control, and Ruth, knowing that the other must by this time have received that letter and learned her brother's secret, was inclined to be coldly defiant. She was the first to break the silence. She said "Good afternoon" and passed on. But Maud, after another instant of hesita- tion, turned back. "Oh, Mrs. Armstrong," she faltered, "may I speak with you just — ^just for a few minutes?" And now Ruth hesitated. Whu was it the girl wished to speak about? If it was to reproach her or her brother, or to demand further explanations or Apologies, the inter- view had far better not take place. She was in no mood to listen to reproaches. Charles was, in her eyes, a martyr and a hero and now, largely because of this girl, he was going away to certain danger, perhaps to death. She had tried, for his sake, not to blame Maud Hunniwell because Charles had fallen in love with her, but she was not, just then, inclined toward extreme forbearance. So she hesi- tated, and Maud spoke again. "May I speak with j'ou for just a few minutes?" she pleaded. "I have just got his letter and— oh, may I?" Ruth silently led the way to the door of the little house. "Come in," she said. Digitized by Microsoft® 3SO "SHAVINGS" Together they entered the sitting-room. Ruth asked her caller to be seated, but Maud paid no attention. "I have just got his letter," she faltered. "I — I wanted you to know — to know that it doesn't make any difference. I — I don't care. If he loves me, and — ^and he says he does — I don't care for an)rthing else. . . . Oh, please be nice to me," she begged, holding out her hands. "You are his sister and — ^and I love him so! And he is going away from both of us." So Ruth's coldness melted like a fall of snow in early April, and the April showers followed it. She and Maud wept in each other's arms and were femininely happy ac- cordingly. And for at least a half hour thereafter they discussed the surpassing excellenc|bs of Charlie Phillips, the certainty that Captain Hunniwefi would forgive him be- cause he could not help it and a variety of kindred and satisfying subjects. And at last Jed Winslow drifted into the conversation. "And so you have b.en talking it over with Jed," ob- served Ruth. "Isn't it odd how we all go to him when we are in trouble or need advice or anything? I always do and Charlie did, and you say that you do, too." Maud nodded. "He and I have been what Pa calls 'chummies' ever since I can remember," she said simply. "I don't know why I feel that I can confide in him to such an extent. Somehow I always have. And, do you know, his advice is almost always good? If I had taken it from the first we might, all of us, have avoided a deal of trouble. I have cause to think of Jed Winslow as some- thing sure and safe and trustworthy. Like a nice, kindly old watch dog, you know. A' queer one and a funny one, but awfully nice. Babbie idolizes him." Maud nodded again. She was regarding her companion with an odd expression. Digitized by Microsoft® 'SHAVINGS" 351 "And when I think," continued Ruth, "of how he was willing to sacrifice his character and his honor and even to risk losing your father's friendship — how he proclaimed himself a thief to save Charlie! When I think of that I scarcely know whether to laugh or cry. I want to do both, of course. It was perfectly characteristic and perfectly adorable— and so absolutely absurd. I love him for it, and as yet I haven't dared thank him for fear I shall cry again, as I did when Captain Hunniwell told us. Yet, when I think of his declaring he took the money to buy a suit of clothes, I feel like laughing. Oh, he is a dear, isn't he ?" Now, ordinarily, Maud would have found nothing in this speech to arouse resentment. There was the very slight, and in this case quite unintentional, note of patronage in it that every one used v/hen referring to Jed Winslow. She herself almost invariably used that note when speaking of him or even to him. But now her emotions were so deeply stirred and the memories of her recent interview with J^d, of his understanding and his sympathy, were so vivid. And, too, she had just had that glimpse into his most secret soul. So her tone, as she replied to Ruth's speech, was almost sharp. "He didn't do it for Charlie," she declared. "That is, of course he did, but that wasn't the real reason." "Why, what do you mean?" "Don't you know what I mean? Don't you really know?" "Why, of course I don't. What are you talking about? Didn't do it for Charlie? Didn't say that he was a thief and give your father his own money, do you mean? Do you mean he didn't do that for Charlie?" "Yes. He did it for you." "Forme? For me f" "Yes. . . . Oh, can't you understand? It's absurd and Digitized by Microsoft® 352 "SHAVINGS" foolish and silly and ever3rthing, but I know it's true. Jed Winslow is in love with you, Mrs. Armstrong." Ruth leaned back in her chair and stared at her as if she thought her insane. "In love with me?" she repeated, "Jed Winslow ! Maud, don't!" "It's true, I tell you. I didn't know until just now, al- though if it had been amy one but Jed I should have sus- pected for some time. But to-day when I went in there I saw him sitting before his desk looking down into an open drawer there. He has your photograiph in that drawer. And, later on, when you came out into the yard, I saw him watching you; I saw his face and that was enough. . . . Oh, don't you seef" impatiently. "It ex- plains everything. You couldn't understand, nor could I, why he should sacrifice himself so for Charlie. But be- cause Charlie was your brother — that is another thing. Think, just think! You and I would have guessed it be- fore if he had been any one else except just Jed. Yes, he is in love with you. . . . It's crazy and it's ridiculous and — and all that, of course it is. But," with a sudden burst of temper, "if you — ^if you dare to laugh I'll never speak to you again." But Ruth was not laughing. It was a cloudy day and Jed's living-room was almost dark when Ruth entered it. ,Jed, who had been sitting by the desk, rose when she came in. "Land sakes, Ruth," he exclaimed, "it's you, ain't it? Let me light a lamp. I was settin' here in the dark like a . . . like a hen gone to roost. ... Eh? Why, it's 'most supper time, ain't it? Didn't realize 'twas so late. I'll have a light for you in a jiffy." He was on his way to the kitchen, but she stopped him. Digitized by Microsoft® "SHAVINGS" 353 "No," she said quickly. "Don't get a light. I'd rather not, please. And sit down again, Jed; just as you were. There, by the desk; that's it. You see," she added, "I— I— well, I have something to tell you, and— and I can tell it better in the dark, I think." Jed looked at her in surprise. He could not see her face plainly, but she seemed oddly confused and embarrassed, "Sho!" he drawled. "Well, I'm sure I ain't anxious about the light, myself. You know, I've always had a feelin' that the dark was more becomin' to my style of beauty. Take me about twelve o'clock in a foggy night, in a cellar, with the lamp out, and I look pretty nigh hand- some — ^to a blind man. . , . Um-hm." She made no comment on this confession. Jed, after waiting an instant for her to Speak, ventured a reminder. "Don't mind my talkin' foolishness," he said, apologetic- ally. "I'm feelin' a little more like myself than I have for — for a week or so, and when I feel that way I'm bound to be foolish. Just gettin' back to nature, as the magazine folks tell about, I cal'late 'tis." She leaned forward and laid a hand on his sliieye. "Don't !" she begged. "Don't talk about yourself in that way, Jed. When I think what a friend you have been to me and mine I — I can't bear to hear you say such things. I have never thanked you for what you did to save my brother when you thought he had gone wrong again. I can't thank you now— I can't." Her voice broke. Jed twisted in his seat. "Now — now, Ruth," he pleaded, "do let's forget that. I've made a fool of myself a good many times in my life — more gettin' back to nature, you seie — but I hope I never made myself out quite such a blitherin' numbskull as I did that time. Don't talk about it, don't. I ain't exactly what you'd call proud of it." Digitized by Microsoft® 354 "SHAVINGS" "But I am. And so is Charlie. But I won't talk of it if you prefer I shouldn't.