troublin' her is what ails me."
"But what is it? Why don't you tell me?"
"I'm goin' to tell you, Keziah. That's what I come here for. I--"
"Sit down, can't you? Don't stand up there like a lighthouse, shuttin'out the whole broadside of the room. You are the BIGGEST thing!"
Captain Hammond selected the most substantial chair in the apartment andsat down upon it. He looked at his friend and shook his head.
"No use, Keziah," he said. "If I was as deep down in the blues as thebottom of the Whale Deep, a look at that face of yours would pull me tothe top again. You're a good woman!"
"Thanks! When I have spare time on my hands I'll practice tryin' tobelieve that. But what is the trouble, Nat? Out with it."
"Well, Keziah, it's trouble enough. Dad and I have had a fallin' out."
Mrs. Coffin's mouth and eyes opened.
"What?" she cried, in utter astonishment.
"Yes. It's true. We had what was next door to a real quarrel afterdinner to-day. It would have been a real one if I hadn't walked off andleft him. He's as set as the rock of Gibraltar, and--"
"And your foundations ain't given to slippin' much. Nat Hammond, I'msurprised at you! What was it all about? Religion?"
"No, not a sliver of religion in it. If 'twas that, I could dodge, orhaul down my colors, if I had to. But it's somethin' worse, enough sightworse. Somethin' I can't do--even for dad--and won't either. Keziah,he's dead set on my marryin' Grace. Says if I don't he'll know thatI don't really care a tin nickel for him, or for his wishes, or whatbecomes of the girl after he's gone."
"Nat!"
"It's a fact. You see, dad realizes, better'n I thought he did, that hishealth is pretty shaky and that he is likely to founder 'most any time.He says that don't worry him; if he knew Grace and I were provided forhe'd slip his cable with a clean manifest. But the dream of his life, hesays, has been that we should marry. And he wants to see it done."
Keziah was silent for a moment. Then she said slowly:
"And Grace herself? How does she feel about it? Has he spoken to her?"
"I don't know. I guess likely he has. Perhaps that's why she's been sosort of mournful lately. But never mind whether he has or not; I won'tdo it and I told him so. He got red hot in a jiffy. I was ungrateful andstubborn and all sorts of things. And I, bein' a Hammond, with some ofthe Hammond balkiness in me, I set my foot down as hard as his. And wehad it until--until--well, until I saw him stagger and tremble so that Iactually got scared and feared he was goin' to keel over where he stood.
"'Why can't you?' he kept sayin'. 'But WHY can't you? Ain't she a girlanyone would be proud to have for a wife?' 'Course there was no answerto that but yes. Then back he comes again with 'Then why can't you?' Atlast, bein' frightened, as I said, that he might have another shock orsomethin', I said I'd think it over and come away and left him. And Icome straight to you. Keziah, what shall I do? What can you say to helpme?"
Keziah was silent. She was looking, not at her companion, but at thecarpet center of one of the braided rugs on the floor. Her face was verygrave and the lines about her mouth seemed to deepen. Her hands, claspedin her lap, tightened one upon the other. But her voice was calm when,at last, she spoke.
"Nat," she said, "there's only one thing I can say. And that's what yourfather said: Why can't you?"
The captain sprang from his chair.
"What?" he cried incredulously. "What are you sayin'?"
"Just what your father said, Nat. Why can't you marry Grace? She's adear, good girl and--"
"That be--keelhauled! Keziah Coffin, you sit there and ask me why Ican't marry her! YOU do?"
"Yes, Nat."
"Keziah, you're crazy! Don't talk to me like that. We're not jokin' now.You know why I can't marry her, nor anyone else in this round world butyou."
"Nat, I can't marry you."
"I know, I know. You're always sayin' that. But you don't mean it. Youcan't mean it. Why, you and me have been picked out for each other bythe Almighty, Keziah. I swear I believe just that. We went together whenwe were boy and girl, to parties and such. We was promised when I firstwent to sea. If it hadn't been for that fool row we had--and 'twas allmy fault and I know it--you never would have let that da--that miserableAnse Coffin come near you. And when 'twas too late and you'd marriedhim, the mean, drunken, cruel--"
"Hush, Nat! hush! Stop it!"
"He was, and you know he was. Yes, and worse besides. Runnin' off andleavin' a wife like you to--Oh, my God! when I think I might have beenyour husband to look out for you and take care of you! That youmight have been with me on board my ships. That, when I come down thecompanion on stormy nights I might have found you there to comfort meand--O Keziah! we aren't young any more. What's the use of foolin'? Iwant you. I'm goin' to have you. Coffin is dead these ten years. When Iheard he was drowned off there in Singapore, all I could say was: 'Servehim right!' And I say it now. I come home then more determined to getyou. Say yes, and let's be happy. Do!"
"I can't, Nat."
"Why not? For Heaven sakes! why not? Don't you care for me? You've letme think--well, at any rate, I have thought you did. You used to. Don'tyou?"
"Nat, I--I care for you more than anybody else on earth. But I can'tmarry you. Oh, don't keep askin' it! Please don't. I can't marry you,Nat. No!"
"Well, not now, maybe. Not this month, or even this year, perhaps, butsome day--"
"No, Nat. You must listen. There's no use of this goin' on any longer. Imean it. I can't marry you."
"You won't, you mean."
"Well, if you wish to think so. Then I won't."
"But by and by--"
"No, not by and by. Never, Nat. Never."
He drew his hand across his forehead.
"Never!" he repeated, more to himself than to her.
"Never. Yes, Nat."
"Then, by the everlastin'! I'll do somethin'--"
"No, no, you won't. Nat Hammond, I know you. You're a great big,brave-hearted, sensible man. You won't be foolish. You'll do--yes, Ithink you'd better do just what your father asks you to do. Marry Grace,if she wants you and will have you. She'll make you a good wife; you'lllearn to care for her, and I know she'll have the best husband that agirl could hope for. And you and I will be friends, just as we've alwaysbeen, and--"
"Keziah, stop that! Stop it, do you hear! I don't want to listen to suchstuff. I tell you I'm past soft soap, and I didn't think you'd give itto me."
"Nat!"
"Oh, yes, 'Nat'! A lot you care for 'Nat'! Not a reason on God'sfootstool why you won't have me--except one, and that one that you don'twant me."
"Please, Nat! I can hardly believe this is you. This trouble with yourfather has upset you. You don't mean what you say. You're not talkin'like yourself and--"
"Stop it, I tell you. I don't feel like myself. I banked on you, Keziah.I've lived for you. And now--O Keziah, take it back! Give me a littlehope, just enough to keep my head above water."
"I'd like to, Nat. I only wish I could. But 'twouldn't be any use. Ican't do it."
He snatched his hat from the table and strode to the door. Turning, helooked at her.
"All right," he said chokingly. "All right. Good-by."
His steps sounded on the oilcloth of the kitchen. Then the back doorslammed. He was gone.
Keziah started, as if the slam of the door had been an electric shock.During the interview she had been pale and grave but outwardly calm. Nowshe sank wearily down in the chair from which she had risen and herhead dropped forward upon her arms on the table. The letter she had beenreading before Captain Nat's arrival fell from her waist to the floorand lay there, its badly spelled and blotted lines showing blackand fateful against the white paper. And she cried, tears of utterloneliness and despair.
The clouds thickened as the afternoon passed. The setting sun washidden behind them; over the horizon of ocean and bay the fog banks wererolling in tumbled, crumpled masses. The shadows in the lonely sittingroom deepened. There came a knock at
the dining-room door.
Keziah sprang from her chair, smoothed her hair, hastily wiped her eyes,picked up the dropped letter and went to admit the
Keziah Coffin Page 29