Flood Tide Page 7

  CHAPTER VII

  A SECOND SPIRIT APPEARS

  Days came and went, days golden and blue, until a week had passed, andalthough Robert Morton haunted the post-office, nothing was heard fromthe jeweler to whom he had sent the silver buckle. Neither did theeager young man catch even a fleeting glimpse of its owner. It was, hetold himself, unlikely that she would come to the Spence house again.When her property was repaired she probably would expect some oneeither to let her know, or bring it to her. It was to the latteralternative that Bob was pinning his hopes. The errand would provide aperfectly natural excuse for him to go to the Brewster home, and oncethere he would meet the girl's family and perhaps be asked to comeagain. Until the trinket came back from Boston, therefore, he mustbide his time with patience.

  Nevertheless the logic of these arguments did not prevent him fromturning sharply toward the door of the workshop whenever there was afootfall on the grass. Any day, any hour, any moment the lady of hisdreams might appear once more. Had not Willie said that she sometimestrimmed bonnets for Tiny? And was it not possible, yea, even likelythat his aunt might be needing a bonnet right away. Women were alwaysneeding bonnets, argued the young man vaguely; at least, both hismother and sister were, and he had not yet lived long enough in hisaunt's household to realize that with Tiny Morton the purchase of abonnet was not an equally casual enterprise. He even had the temerityto ask Celestina when he saw her arrayed for the grange one afternoonwhy she did not have a hat with pink in it and was chagrined to receivethe reply that she did not like pink; and that anyway her hat was wellenough as it was, and she shouldn't have another for a good couple ofyears.

  "I don't go throwin' money away on new hats like you city folks do,"she said somewhat tartly. "A hat has to do me three seasons for bestan' a fourth for common. I've too much to do to go chasin' after thefashions. I leave that to Bart Coffin's wife."

  "Who is Bart Coffin?" inquired Bob, amused by her show of spirit.

  "You ain't met Bart?"

  "Not yet."

  "Well, you will. He's the one who always used to stow all his catch offish in the bow of the boat 'cause he said it was easier to rowdownhill. He ain't no heavyweight for brains as you can see, an' yearsago he married a wife feather-headed as himself. He did it out ofwhole cloth, too, so he's got no one to blame if he don't like hisbargain. At the time of the weddin' he was terrible stuck up about hisbride, an' he gave her a black satin dress that outdid anything thetown had ever laid eyes on. It was loaded down with ruffles, an' jet,an' lace, an' fitted her like as if she was poured into it. Folks saidit was made in Brockton, but whether it was or not there's no way ofknowin'. Anyhow, back she pranced to Wilton in that gown an' for ayear or more, whenever there was a church fair, or a meetin' of theEastern Star, or a funeral, you'd be certain of seein' Minnie Coffinthere in her black satin. There wasn't a lay-out in town could touchit, an' by an' by it got so that it set the mark on every gatherin'that was held, those where Minnie's satin didn't appear bein' rated asof no account." Celestina paused, and her mouth took an upward curve,as if some pleasant reverie engrossed her. "But after a while," shepresently went on, "there came an upheaval in the styles; sleeves gotsmaller, an' skirts began to be nipped in. Minnie's dress warn't worea particle but it looked as out-of-date as Joseph's coat would look onWillie. The women sorter nudged one another an' said that now Mis'Bartley Coffin would have to step down a peg an' stop bein' leader ofthe fashions."

  Celestina ceased rocking and leaned forward impressively.

  "But did she?" declaimed she with oratorical eloquence. "Did she? Nota bit of it. Minnie got pictures an' patterns from Boston; scanted theskirt; took in the sleeves; made a wide girdle with the breadths shetook out of the front--an' there she was again, high-steppin' as ever!"

  Robert Morton laughed with appreciation.

  "Since then," continued Celestina, "for at least fifteen years she'sbeen makin' that dress over an' over. Now she'll get a new breadth ofgoods or a couple of breadths, turn the others upside down or cut 'emover, an' by keepin' everlastingly at it she contrives to look like thepictures in the papers most of the time. It's maddenin' to the rest ofus. Abbie Brewster knows Minnie well an' somewhere in a book she's gotset down the gyrations of that dress. I wouldn't be bothered recordin'it but Abbie always was a methodical soul. She could give you the dateof every inch of satin in the whole thing. Just now there's 1914sleeves; the front breadths are 1918; the back ones 1911. Most of thewaist is January, 1912, with a June, 1913, vest. Half the girdle ismade out of 1910 satin, an' half out of 1919. Of course there's lightswhen the blacks don't all look the same; still, unless you got close upyou wouldn't notice it, an' Minnie Coffin keeps on settin' the stylesfor the town like she always has."

  The narrator paused for breath.

  "She's makin' it over again right now," she announced, rising from herchair and moving toward the pantry. "You can always tell when she is'cause she pulls down all her front curtains an' won't come to the doorwhen folks knock. The shades was down when Abbie an' me drove by therelast week an' to make sure Abbie got out an' tapped to' see ifanybody'd come to let us in, but nobody did. We said then: '_Minnie'sresurrectin' the black satin_.' You mark my words she'll be in churchin it Sunday. It generally takes her about ten days to get it done. Iwas expectin' she'd give it another overhauling, for she ain't donenothin' to it for three months at least an' the styles have changedquite a little in that time. Sometimes I tell Willie I believe we'lllive to see her laid out in that dress yet."

  "You can bet Bart would draw a sigh of relief if we did," chimed in theinventor. "Why, the money that woman's spent pullin' that durn thingto pieces an' puttin' it together again is a caution. Bart said you'dbe dumbfounded if you could know what he's paid out. If the coffin lidwas once clamped down on the pest he'd raise a hallelujah, poor feller."

  "Willie!" gasped the horrified Celestina.

  "Oh, I ain't sayin' he'd be glad to see Minnie goin'," the little oldman protested. "But that black satin has been a bone of contentionever since the day it was bought. To begin with, it cost about tentimes what Bart calculated 'twould; he told me that himself. An' it'sbeen runnin' up in money ever since. When he got it he kinder figgered'twould be an investment somethin' like one of them twenty-yearendowments, an' that for nigh onto a quarter of a century Minniewouldn't need much of anything else. But his reckonin' was agog. It'sbeen nothin' but that black satin all his married life. Let alone theprice of continually reenforcin' it, the wear an' tear on Minnie'snerves when she's tinkerin' with it is somethin' awful. Bart says thatdress ain't never out of her mind. She's rasped an' peevish all thetime plannin' how she can fit the pieces in to look like the pictures.It's worse than fussin' over the cut-up puzzles folks do. Sometimes atnight she'll wake him out of a sound sleep to tell him she's justthought how she can eke new sleeves out of the side panels, or make apleated front for the waist out of the girdle. I guess Bart don't getmuch rest durin' makin'-over spells. I saw him yesterday at thepost-office an' he was glum as an oyster; an' when I asked him was hesick all he said was he hoped there'd be no black satins in heaven."

  "I told you she was fixin' it over!" cried Celestina triumphantly. "Soyou was at the store, was you, Willie? You didn't say nothin' aboutit."

  "I forgot I went," confessed the little man. "Lemme see! I believe'twas more nails took me down."

  "Did you get any mail?"

  "No--yes--I dunno. 'Pears like I did get somethin'. If I did, it's inthe pocket of my other coat."

  Going into the hall he returned with a small white package which hegave to Celestina.

  "It ain't for me," said she, after she had examined the address. "It'sBob's."

  "Bob's, eh?" queried the inventor. "I didn't notice, not havin' on myreadin' glasses. So it's Bob's, is it?"

  "Yes," answered Celestina, eyeing the neat parcel curiously."Whoever's sendin' you a bundle all tied up with white paper an' pinkstring, Bob? It looks
like it was jewelry."

  Quickly Willie sprang to the rescue.

  "Oh, Bob's been gettin' some repairin' done for the Brewsters,"explained he. "Delight's buckle was broke an' knowin' the best placeto send it, he mailed it up to town."

  "Oh," responded Celestina, glancing from one to the other with a halfsatisfied air.

  "Let's have the thing out an' see how it looks, Bob," Willie went on.

  Blushingly Robert Morton undid the box.

  Yes, there amid wrappings of tissue paper, on a bed of blue cottonwool, rested the buckle of silver, its burnished surface sparkling inthe light.

  He took it out and inspected it carefully.

  "It is all O. K.," observed he, with an attempt at indifference. "Seewhat a fine piece of work they made of it."

  The old man took from the table drawer a long leather case, drew outanother pair of spectacles which he exchanged for the ones he wasalready wearing, and after scrutinizing the buckle and scowling at itfor an interval he carried it to the window.

  "What's the matter?" Bob demanded, instantly alert. "Isn't therepairing properly done?"

  "'Tain't the repairin' I'm lookin' at," Willie returned slowly. "I'veno quarrel with that."

  Still he continued to twist and turn the disc of silver, now holding itat arm's length, now bringing it close to his eye with a puzzledintentness.

  Robert Morton could stand the suspense no longer.

  "What's wrong with it?" he at last burst out.

  Willie did not look up but evidently he caught the note of impatiencein the younger man's tone, for he drawled quizzically:

  "Don't it strike you as a mite peculiar that a buckle should go toBoston with D. L. H. on it an' come home marked C. L. G.?"

  "_What_!"

  "That's what's on it--C. L. G. See for yourself."

  "It can't be."

  "Come an' have a look."

  The inventor placed the trinket in Robert Morton's hand.

  "C. L. G.," repeated he, as he deciphered the intertwined letters ofthe monogram. "You are right, sure as fate! Jove!"

  "They've sent you the wrong girl," remarked Willie. "It's clear as abell on a still night. There must have been two girls an' two buckles,an' the jeweler's mixed 'em up; you've got the other lady's."

  "That's a nice mess!" Bob ejaculated irritably. "Why, I'd rather havegiven a hundred dollars than have this happen. I'll wring that man'sneck!"

  "Easy, youngster! Easy!" cautioned Willie. "Don't go heavin' all yourcargo overboard 'till you find you're really sinkin'. 'Tain't likelyMiss C. L. G. will care a row of pins for Miss D. L. H.'s buckle.She'll be sendin' out an S. O. S. for her own an' will be ready to joinyou in flayin' the jeweler. Give the poor varmint time, an' he'llshift things round all right."

  "But Miss Hathaway--"

  "Delight's lived the best part of two weeks without that buckle, an'she don't look none the worse for not havin' it. I saw her in thepost-office only yesterday an'--"

  "Did you?" cried Bob eagerly, then stopped short, flushed, and bit hislip.

  "Yes, she was there," Willie returned serenely, without appearing tohave noticed his guest's agitation. "Young Farwell from Cambridge--theone that has all the money--was talkin' to her, an' she had thatHarvard professor who boards at the Brewsters' along too; Carlton hisname is, Jasper Carlton. He's a mighty good-lookin' chap." He stole aglance at the face that glowered out of the window. "Had you chose tostroll down to the store with me like I asked you to, you might 'a'seen her yourself."

  "Oh, I--I--didn't need to see her," stammered Bob.

  "Mebbe not," was the tranquil answer. "An' she didn't need to see you,neither, judgin' from the way she was talkin' an' laughin' with themother fellers. Still a young man is never the worse for chattin' witha nice girl. Now, son, if I was you, I wouldn't get stirred up overthis jewelry business. We'll get a rise out of Miss C. L. G. prettysoon an' when she comes to the surface--"

  "Who's that at the gate, Willie?" called Celestina from the kitchen.

  "What?"

  "There's somebody at the gate in a big red automobile. She's comin'in. You go an' see what she wants, 'cause my apron ain't fresh.Likely she's lost her way or else is huntin' board."

  Although Willie shuffled obediently into the hall he was not in time toprevent the sonorous peal of the bell.

  "Yes, he's here," they heard him say. "Of course you can speak to him.He's just inside. Won't you step in?"

  Then without further ado, and with utter disregard of Celestina'srumpled apron, the door opened and the little inventor ushered into thestring-entangled sitting room a dainty, city-bred girl in a sport suitof white serge. She was not only pretty but she was perfectly groomedand was possessed of a fascinating vivacity and charm. Everythingabout her was vivid: the gloss of her brown hair, the sparkle of hereyes, her color, her smile, her immaculate clothes--all were dazzling.She carried her splendor with an air of complete sureness as if she wasaccustomed to the supremacy it won for her and expected it. Yet theaudacity of her pose had in it a certain fitness and was piquant ratherthan offensive.

  The instant she crossed the threshold, Robert Morton leaped to meet herwith outstretched hands.

  "Cynthia Galbraith!" he cried. "How ever came you here?"

  A ripple of teasing laughter came from the girl.

  "You are surprised then; I thought you would be."

  "Surprised? I can't believe it."

  "If you'd written as you should have done, you wouldn't have been atall amazed to see me," answered the newcomer severely.

  "I meant to write," the culprit asserted uneasily.

  "Maybe you will inform me what you are doing on Cape Cod," went on thelady in an accusing tone.

  "How did you know I was here?"

  "You can't guess?"

  "No, I haven't a glimmer."

  From the pocket of her shell-pink sweater she drew forth a small whitebox of startlingly familiar appearance.

  "Does this belong to you?" demanded she.

  Beneath the mockery of her eyes Robert Morton could feel the colormount to his temples.

  "Well, well!" he said, with a ghastly attempt at gaiety, "So you wereC. L. G."

  "Naturally. Didn't the initials suggest the possibility?"

  "No--eh--yes; that is, I hadn't thought about it," he floundered."It's funny how things come about sometimes, isn't it? I want you tomeet my aunt, Miss Morton, and my friend Mr. Spence. I am visitinghere."

  Immediately the dainty Miss Cynthia was all smiles.

  "So it is relatives that bring you to the Cape!" said she.

  Robert Morton nodded. She seemed mollified.

  "Didn't Roger write you that we had taken a house at Belleport for theseason?" she asked.

  "No," replied Bob. "I haven't heard from him for weeks."

  "He's a brute. Yes, we came down in May just after I got back fromCalifornia. We are crazy over the place. The family will be wild whenI tell them you are here. My brother," she went on, turning with apretty graciousness toward Celestina, "was Bob's roommate at Harvard.In that way we came to know him very well and have always kept up theacquaintance."

  "Do you come from the West, same as my nephew does?" questionedCelestina when there was a pause.

  The little lady raised her eyebrows deprecatingly.

  "No, indeed! The East is quite good enough for us. We are from NewYork. The boys, however, were always visiting back and forth," sheadded with haste, "so we have quite an affection for Indiana even if wedon't live there." She shot a conciliatory smile in Robert Morton'sdirection. "Couldn't you go back with me in the car, Bob," she askedturning toward him, "and spring a surprise on the household? Dad'sdown, Mother's here, and also Grandmother Lee; and the mighty andillustrious Roger, fresh from his law office on Fifth Avenue, isexpected Friday. Do come."

  "I am afraid I can't to-day," Bob answered.

  "Why, Bob, there ain't the least reason in the world you shouldn't go,"put in Celestina
.

  The young man fingered the package in his hand nervously.

  "I really couldn't, Cynthia," he repeated, ignoring the interruption."I'd like immensely to come another day, though. But to-day Mr. Spenceand I have a piece of work on hand--"

  He paused, discomfited at meeting the astonished gaze of Willie's mildblue eyes.

  "Of course you know best," Cynthia replied, drawing in her chin withsome hauteur. "I shouldn't think of urging you."

  "I'd be bully glad to come another day," reiterated Robert Morton,fully conscious he had offended his fair guest, yet determined to standhis ground. "Tell the affluent Roger to slide over in his racersometime when he has nothing better to do and get me."

  "He will probably only be here for the week-end," retorted Cynthiacoldly.

  "Sunday, then; why not Sunday? Mr. Spence and I do not work Sundays."

  "All right, if you positively won't come to-day. But I don't see whyyou can't come now and Sunday, too."

  "I couldn't do it, dear lady."

  "Well, Sunday then, if that is the earliest you can make it."

  She smiled an adieu to Willie and Celestina, and with her little headproudly set preceded Bob to her car. But although the great enginethrobbed and purred, it was some time before it left the gate andflashed its way down the high road toward Belleport.

  After it had gone and Bob was once more in the house, Celestina had ascore of questions with which to greet him. How remarkable it was thatthe owner of the missing jewelry should be some one he knew! TheGalbraiths must be well-to-do. What was the brother like? Did hefavor his sister?

  These and numberless other inquiries like them furnished Celestina withconversation for the rest of the day. Willie, on the contrary, waspeculiarly silent, and although his furtive glance traveled at frequentintervals over his young friend's face, he made no comment concerningMiss Cynthia L. Galbraith and her silver buckle.