The Woman-Haters

by Joseph Crosby Lincoln

  CHAPTER III

  MR. BROWN PUTS IN AN APPLICATION

  At half past five the lightkeeper opened the bedroom door and peepedout. The kitchen was empty. There was no sign of Mr. Brown. It took Sethjust four minutes to climb into the garments he had discarded and reachthe open air. His guest was seated on the bench beside the house, one ofthe clay pipes in his hand. He was looking out to sea. He spoke first:

  "Hello!" he said. "You're up ahead of time, aren't you? It isn't sixyet."

  Atkins grinned. "No," he answered, "'tain't! not quite. But sence Ezrycleared out I've been a kind of human alarm clock, as you might say.Feelin' all right, are you?"

  "Yes, thank you. I say," holding up the pipe and regarding itrespectfully, "is this tobacco of yours furnished by the government?"

  "No. Some I bought myself last time I was over to the Center. Why,what's the matter with it? Ain't it good?"

  "Perhaps so."

  "Then what made you ask? Ain't it strong enough?"

  "Strong enough! You're disposed to be sarcastic. It's stronger than Iam. What do they flavor it with--tar?"

  "Say, let's see that plug. THAT ain't smokin' tobacco."

  "What is it, then--asphalt?"

  "Why, haw! haw! That's a piece of Ezry's chewin'. Some he left when hewent away. It's 'Honest Friend.' 'TIS flavored up consider'ble. And youtried to smoke it! Ho! ho!"

  The young man joined in the laugh.

  "That explains why it bubbled so," he said. "I used twenty-two matches,by actual count, and then gave it up. Bah!" he smacked his lipsdisgustedly and made a face: "'Honest Friend'--is that the name of it?Meaning that it'll stick to you through life, I presume. Water has noeffect on the taste; I've tried it."

  "Maybe some supper might help. I'll wash the dinner dishes and startgettin' it. All there seems to be to this job of mine just now iswashin' dishes. And how I hate it!"

  He reentered the kitchen. Then he uttered an exclamation:

  "Why, what's become of the dishes?" he demanded. "I left 'em here on thetable."

  Brown arose from the bench and sauntered to the door.

  "I washed them," he said. "I judged that you would have to if I didn't,and it seemed the least I could do, everything considered."

  "Sho! You washed the dishes, hey? Where'd you put 'em?"

  "In the closet there. That's where they belong, isn't it?"

  Seth went to the closet, took a plate from the pile and inspected it.

  "Um!" he grunted, turning the plate over, "that ain't such a bad job.Not so all-fired bad, for a green hand. What did you wash 'em with?"

  "A cloth I found hanging by the sink."

  "I see. Yes, yes. And you wiped 'em on--what?"

  "Well, to tell you the truth, I didn't see any towels in sight, exceptthat one on the door; and, for various reasons, I judged that wasn't adish towel."

  "Good judgment. 'Tisn't. Go on."

  "So I hunted around, and in the closet in the parlor, or living room, orwhatever you call it, I found a whole stack of things that looked liketowels; so I used one of those."

  "Is this it?" Seth picked up a damp and bedraggled cloth from the table.

  "That's it. I should have hung it up somewhere, I suppose. I'll lose myjob if I don't look out."

  "Um! Well, I'm much obliged to you, only--"

  "Only?"

  "Only you washed them dishes with the sink cloth and wiped 'em with apiller case."

  The volunteer dishwasher's mouth opened.

  "NO!" he gasped.

  "Ya-as."

  "A pillow case! Well, by George!"

  "Um-hm. I jedge you ain't washed many dishes in your lifetime."

  "Not so very many. No."

  They looked at each other and burst into a roar of laughter. Brown wasthe first to recover.

  "Well," he observed, "I guess it's up to me. If you'll kindly put menext to a genuine cloth, or sponge, or whatever is the proper caper fordish-washing, I'll undertake to do them over again. And, for heaven'ssake, lock up the pillow cases."

  Seth protested, declaring that the dishes need not be rewashed that veryminute, and that when he got a chance he would do them himself. But theyoung man was firm, and, at last, the lightkeeper yielded.

  "It's real kind of you," he declared, "and bein' as I've consider'bleto do, I don't know but I'll let you. Here's a couple of dishcloths, andthere's the towels. I'm goin' out to see to the lights, and I'll be backpretty soon and get supper."

  Later in the evening, after supper, the housework done, they sat againon the bench beside the door, each with a pipe, filled, this time,with genuine smoking tobacco. Before and below them was the quiet sea,rolling lazily under the stars. Overhead the big lanterns in the towersthrust their parallel lances of light afar into the darkness. Theonly sounds were the low wash of the surf and the hum of the eagermosquitoes. Brown was silent, alternately puffing at the pipe andslapping at the insects, which latter, apparently finding his skineasier to puncture than that of the tanned and leathery Atkins, weremaking the most of their opportunity.

  Seth, whose curiosity had been checked but not smothered by hiscompanion's evident desire to say nothing concerning himself, was busythinking of various guileful schemes with which to entrap the castawayinto the disclosure of his identity. Having prepared his bait, heproceeded to get over a line.

  "Mr. Brown," he said, "I ain't mentioned it to you afore, 'count of yourneedin' rest and grub and all after your fallin' overboard last night.But tomorrer you'll be feelin' fustrate again, and I cal'late you'll bewantin' to get word to your folks. Now we can telephone to the Eastborodepot, where there's a telegraph, and the depot master'll send adispatch to your people, lettin' 'em know you're all safe and sound. Ifyou'll just give me the address and what you want to say, I'll 'tendto it myself. The depot master's a good friend of mine, and he'll risksending the dispatch 'collect' if I tell him to."

  "Thank you," replied Brown, shortly.

  "Oh, don't mention it. Now who'll I send it to?"

  "You needn't send it. I couldn't think of putting you to furthertrouble."

  "Trouble! 'Tain't no trouble to telephone. Land sakes, I do it four orfive times a day. Now who'll I send it to?"

  "You needn't send it."

  "Oh, well, of course, if you'd ruther send it yourself--"

  "I sha'n't send it. It really isn't worth while 'phoning or telegraphingeither. I didn't drown, and I'm very comfortable, thank you--or shouldbe if it weren't for these mosquitoes."

  "Comf'table! Yes, you're comf'table, but how about your folks? Won'tthey learn, soon's that steamer gets into--into Portland--or--or--NewYork or Boston--or . . . Hey?"

  "I didn't speak."

  Seth swallowed hard and continued. "Well, wherever she was bound," hesnapped. "Won't they learn that you sot sail in her and never got there?Then they'll know that you MUST have fell overboard."

  John Brown drew a mouthful of smoke through the stem of the pipe andblew it spitefully among the mosquitoes.

  "I don't see how they'll learn it," he replied.

  "Why, the steamer folks'll wire em right off."

  "They'll have to find them first."

  "That'll be easy enough. There'll be your name, 'John Brown,' of suchand such a place, written right on the purser's book, won't it."

  "No," drawled Mr. Brown, "it won't."

  The lightkeeper felt very much as if this particular road to the truthhad ended suddenly in a blind alley. He pulled viciously at his chinwhiskers. His companion shifted his position on the bench. Silence fellagain, as much silence as the mosquitoes would permit.

  Suddenly Brown seemed to reach a determination.

  "Atkins," he said briskly, and with considerable bitterness in his tone,"don't you worry about my people. They don't know where I am, and--well,some of them, at least, don't care. Maybe I'm a rolling stone--at anyrate, I haven't gathered any moss, any financial moss. I'm broke. Ihaven't any friends, any that I wish to remember; I haven't any job.I am what you might cal
l down and out. If I had drowned when I felloverboard last night, it might have been a good thing--or it might not.We won't argue the question, because just now I'm ready to take eitherside. But let's talk about yourself. You're lightkeeper here?"

  "I be, yes."

  "And these particular lights seem to be a good way from everywhere andeverybody."

  "Five mile from Eastboro Center, sixteen from Denboro, and two from thenighest life savin' station. Why?"

  "Oh, just for instance. No neighbors, you said?"

  "Nary one."

  "I noticed a bungalow just across the brook here. It seems to be shutup. Who owns it?"

  "Bunga--which? Oh, that cottage over on t'other side the crick? Thatb'longs to a couple of paintin' fellers from up Boston way. Not housepainters, you understand, but fellers that put in their time paintin'pictures of the water and the beach and the like of that. Seems a prettysilly job for grown-up men, but they're real pleasant and folksy. Don'tput on no airs nor nothin.' They're most gen'rally here every June andJuly and August, but I understand they ain't comin' this year, so thecottage'll be shut up. I'll miss 'em, kind of. One of 'em's name isGraham and t'other's Hamilton."

  "I see. Many visitors to the lights?"

  "Not many. Once in a while a picnic comes over in a livery four-seater,but not often. The same gang never comes twice. Road's too bad, and theycomplain like fury about the moskeeters."

  "Do they? How peevish! Atkins, you're not married?"

  It was an innocent question, but it had an astonishing effect. Thelightkeeper bounced on the bench as if someone had kicked it violentlyfrom beneath.

  "What?" he quavered shrilly. "Wha--what's that?"

  Brown was surprised. "I asked if you were married, that's all," he said."I can't see--"

  "Stop!" Seth's voice shook, and he bent down to glare through thedarkness at his companion's face. "Stop!" he ordered. "You asked me if Iwas--married?"

  "Yes. Why shouldn't I?"

  "Why shouldn't you? See here, young feller, you--you--what made you askthat?"

  "What made me?"

  "Stop sayin' my words after me. Are you a man or a poll-parrot? Can'tyou understand plain United States language? What made you? Or WHO madeyou? Who told you to ask me that question?"

  He pounded the bench with his fist. The pair stared at each other for amoment; then Brown leaned back and began to whistle. Seth seized him bythe shoulders.

  "Quit that foolishness, d'you hear?" he snarled. "Quit it, and answerme!"

  The answer was prefaced by a pitying shake of the head.

  "It's the mosquitoes," observed the young man, musingly. "They getthrough and puncture the brain after a time, I presume. I'm notsurprised exactly, but," with a sigh, "I'm very sorry."

  "What are you talkin' about," demanded Atkins. "Be you crazy?"

  "No-o. I'M not."

  "YOU'RE not! Do you mean that I am?"

  "Well," slowly, "I'm not an expert in such cases, but when a perfectlysimple, commonplace question sets a chap to pounding and screaming andoffering violence, then--well, it's either insanity or an attempt atinsult, one or the other. I've given you the benefit of the doubt."

  He scratched a match on his heel and relit his pipe. The lightkeeperstill stared, suspicious and puzzled. Then he drew a long breath.

  "I--I didn't mean to insult you," he stammered.

  "Glad to hear it, I'm sure. If I were you, however, I should see adoctor for the other trouble."

  "And I ain't crazy, neither. I beg your pardon for hollerin' andgrabbin' hold of you."

  "Granted."

  "Thank ye. Now," hesitatingly, "would you mind tellin' me why you askedme if I was married?"

  "Not in the least. I asked merely because it occurred to me that youmight be. Of course, I had seen nothing of your wife, but it wasbarely possible that she was away on a visit, or somewhere. There is noregulation forbidding lightkeepers marrying--at least, I never heard ofany--and so I asked; that's all."

  Seth nodded. "I see," he said, slowly; "yes, yes, I see. So you didn'thave no special reason."

  "I did not. Of course, if I had realized that you were subjectto--er--fits, I should have been more careful."

  "Hum! . . . Well, I--I beg your pardon again. I--I am kind of touchy onsome p'ints. Didn't I tell you no women came here? Married! A wife! Do Ilook like a dum fool?"

  "Not now."

  "Well, then! And I've apologized for bein' one a few minutes ago, ain'tI."

  "Yes, you have. No grudge on my part, I assure you. Let's forget it andtalk of something else."

  They did, but the dialogue was rather jerky. Brown was thinking, andAtkins seemed moody and disinclined to talk. After a time he announcedthat it was getting late and he cal'lated he would go up to the lightroom. "You'd better turn in," he added, rising.

  "Just a minute," said the young man. "Wait just a minute. Atkins,suppose I asked you another question--would you become violent at once?or merely by degrees?"

  Seth frowned. The suspicious look returned to his face.

  "Humph!" he grunted. "Depended on what you asked me, maybe."

  "Yes. Well, this one is harmless--at least, I hope it is. I thought theother was, also, but I . . . There! there! be calm. Sit down again andlisten. This question is nothing like that. It's about that assistant ofyours, the chap who left a day or two before I drifted in. What were hisduties? What did he have to do when he was here?"

  "Wa-al," drawled Seth with sarcasm, resuming his seat on the bench; "hewas SUPPOSED to do consider'ble many things. Stand watch and watchwith me, and scrub brass and clean up around, and sweep and wash dishesand--and--well, make himself gen'rally useful. Them was the duties hewas supposed to have. What he done was diff'rent. Pesky loafer! Why?"

  "That's what I'm going to tell you. Have they appointed his successoryet? Have you got any one to take his place?"

  "No. Fact is, I'd ought to have telegraphed right off to the Board, butI ain't. I was so glad to see the last of him that I kept puttin' itoff. I'll do it tomorrer."

  "Perhaps you won't need to."

  "Course I'll need to! Why not? Got to have somebody to help. That'srules and regulations; and, besides, I can't keep awake day and night,too. What makes you think I won't need to?"

  The young man knocked the ashes from his pipe. Rising, he laid a hand onhis companion's shoulder.

  "Because you've got an assistant right here on the premises," he said."Delivered by the Atlantic express right at your door. Far be it fromme to toot my horn, Mr. Atkins, or to proclaim my merits from thehousetops. But, speaking as one discerning person to another, when itcomes to an A1, first chop lightkeeper's assistant, I ask: 'What's thematter with yours truly, John Brown?'"

  Seth's reply was not in words. The hand holding his pipe fell limp uponhis lap, and he stared at the speaker. The latter, entirely unabashed,waved an airy gesture, and continued.

  "I repeat," he said, "'What's the matter with John Brown?' And echoanswers, 'He's all right!' I am a candidate for the position ofassistant keeper at Eastboro Twin-Lights."

  "YOU?"

  "Me."

  "But--but--aw, go on! You're foolin'."

  "Not a fool. I mean it. I am here. I'm green, but in the sunshine ofyour experience I agree to ripen rapidly. I can wash dishes--you've seenme. I believe I could scrub brass and sweep."

  "You wantin' to be assistant at a place like this! YOU! an edicated,able young chap, that's been used to valets and servants and--"

  "Why do you say that? How do you know I've been used to those things?"

  "'Cause, as I hinted to you a spell ago, I ain't altogether a dum fool.I can put two and two together and make four, without having the exampledone for me on a blackboard. You're a rich man's son; you've been usedto sassiety and city ways and good clothes. YOU wantin' to put in yourdays and nights in a forsaken hole like this! Nonsense! Get out!"

  But Mr. Brown refused to get out.

  "No nonsense about it," he declared. "It is the hand of Fate. With
thewhole broadside of Cape Cod to land upon, why was I washed ashore justat this particular spot? Answer:--Because at this spot, at this time,Eastboro Twin-Lights needed an assistant keeper. I like the spot. Itis beautiful. 'Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife.' With yourpermission, I'll stay here. The leopard may or may not change hisspots, but I sha'n't. I like this one and here I stay. Yes, I mean it. Istay--as your assistant. Come, what do you say? Is it a go?"

  The lightkeeper rose once more. "I'm goin' on watch," he said withdecision. "You turn in. You'll feel better in the mornin'."

  He started towards the tower. But John Brown sprang from the bench andfollowed him.

  "Not until you've answered my question," he declared. "AM I to be yourassistant?"

  "No, course you ain't. It's dum foolishness. Besides, I ain't got thesay; the government hires its own keepers."

  "But you can square the government. That will be easy. Why," with amodest gesture, "look what the government is getting. It will jump atthe chance. Atkins, you must say yes."

  "I sha'n't, neither. Let go of my arm. It's blame foolishness, I tellyou. Why," impatiently, "course it's foolishness! I don't know the firstthing about you."

  "What of it? I don't know anything about you, either."

  Again the lightkeeper seemed unaccountably agitated. He stopped in hisstride and whirled to face his companion.

  "What do you mean by that?" he demanded fiercely. Before the young mancould reply, he turned again, strode to the door of the light, flungit open, and disappeared within. The door closed behind him with athunderous bang.

  John Brown gazed after him in bewilderment. Then he shrugged hisshoulders and returned to the bench.

  The surf at the foot of the bluff grumbled and chuckled wickedly, as ifit knew all of poor humanity's secrets and found a cynic's enjoyment inthe knowledge.