The Woman-Haters

by Joseph Crosby Lincoln

  CHAPTER IV

  THE COMING OF JOB

  The next morning Seth was gloomy and uncommunicative. At the breakfasttable, when Brown glanced up from his plate, he several times caughtthe lightkeeper looking intently at him with the distrustful,half-suspicious gaze of the night before. Though quite aware of thisscrutiny, he made no comment upon it until the meal was nearly over;then he observed suddenly:

  "It's all right; you needn't."

  "Needn't what?" demanded Atkins, in astonishment.

  "Look at me as if you expected me to explode at any minute. I sha'n't.I'm not loaded."

  Seth colored, under his coat of sunburn, and seemed embarrassed.

  "I don't know what you're talkin' about," he stammered. "Have themoskeeters affected YOUR brains?"

  "No. My brains, such as they are, are all right, and I want to keep themso. That's why I request you not to look at me in that way."

  "How was I lookin' at you? I don't know what you mean."

  "Yes, you do. You are wondering how much I know. I don't know anythingand I'm not curious. That's the truth. Now why not let it go at that?"

  "See here, young feller, I--"

  "No; you see here. I'm not an Old Sleuth; I haven't any ambitions thatway. I don't know anything about you--what you've been, what you'vedone--"

  "Done!" Seth leaned across the table so suddenly that he upset hischair. "Done?" he cried; "what do you mean by that? Who said I'd doneanything? It's a lie."

  "What is a lie?"

  "Why--why--er--whatever they said!"

  "Who said?"

  "Why, the ones that--that said what you said they said."

  "I didn't say anyone had said anything."

  "Then what do you mean by--by hintin'? Hey? What do you mean by it?"

  He brandished a clenched fist over the breakfast dishes. Brown leanedback in his chair and closed his eyes.

  "Call me when the patient recovers his senses," he drawled wearily."This delirium is painful to a sensitive nature."

  Atkins's fist wavered in mid-air, opened, and was drawn across itsowner's forehead.

  "Well, by jiminy!" exclaimed the lightkeeper with emphasis, "thisis--is-- . . . I guess I BE crazy. If I ain't, you are. Would you mindtellin' me what in time you mean by THAT?"

  "It is not the mosquitoes," continued his companion, in apparentsoliloquy; "there are no mosquitoes at present. It must be the otherthing, of course. But so early in the morning, and so violent. Alcoholis--"

  "SHUT UP!" It was not a request, but an order. Brown opened his eyes.

  "You were addressing me?" he asked, blandly. "Yes?"

  "Addressin' you! For thunder sakes, who else would I be ad-- . . .There! there! Now I cal'late you're hintin' that I'm drunk. I ain't."

  "Indeed?"

  "Yes, indeed. And I ain't out of my head--not yet; though keepin'company with a Bedlamite may have some effect, I shouldn't wonder. Mr.John Brown--if that's your name, which I doubt--you listen to me."

  "Very well, Mr. Seth Atkins--if that is your name, which I neither doubtnor believe, not being particularly interested--I'm listening. Proceed."

  "You told me last night that you wanted the job of assistant keeper hereat these lights. Course you didn't mean it."

  "I did."

  "You DID! . . . Well, YOU must be drunk or loony."

  "I'm neither. And I meant it. I want the job."

  Seth looked at him, and he looked at Seth. At length the lightkeeperspoke again.

  "Well," he said, slowly, "I don't understand it at all, but never mind.Whatever happens, we've got to understand each other. Mind I don't saythe job's yours, even if we do; but we can't even think of it unless weunderstand each other plain. To begin with, I want to tell you that Iain't done nothin' that's crooked, nor wicked, nor nothin' but what Ithink is right and what I'd do over again. Do you believe that?"

  "Certainly. As I told you, I'm not interested, but I'll believe it withpleasure if you wish me to."

  "I don't wish nothin'. You've GOT to believe it. And whether you stayhere ten minutes or ten years you've got to mind your own business. Iwon't have any hints or questions about me--from you nor nobody else.'Mind your own business,' that's the motto of Eastboro Twin-Lights,while I'm boss of 'em. If you don't like it--well, the village is onlyfive mile off, and I'll p'int out the road to you."

  He delivered this ultimatum with extraordinary energy. Then he reachedfor his overturned chair, set it on its legs, and threw himself into it."Well," he demanded, after a moment; "what do you say to that?"

  "Hurrah!" replied Mr. Brown cheerfully.

  "Hurrah? For the land sakes! . . . Say, CAN'T you talk sensible, if youtry real hard and set your mind to it? What is there to hurrah about?"

  "Everything. The whole situation. Atkins," Brown leaned forward now andspoke with earnestness, "I like your motto. It suits me. 'Mind your ownbusiness' suits me down to the ground. It proves that you and I weremade to work together in a place just like this."

  "Does, hey? I want to know!"

  "You do know. Why, just think: each of us has pleaded 'not guilty.'We've done nothing--we're entirely innocent--and we want to forget it.I agree not to ask you how old you are, nor why you wear your brand ofwhiskers, nor how you like them, nor--nor anything. I agree not to askquestions at all."

  "Humph! but you asked some last night."

  "Purely by accident. You didn't answer them. You asked me some, also,if you will remember, and I didn't answer them, either. Good! We forgeteverything and agree not to do it again."

  "Ugh! I tell you I ain't done nothin'."

  "I know. Neither have I. Let the dead past be its own undertaker, sofar as we are concerned. I'm honest, Atkins, and tolerably straight. Ibelieve you are; I really do. But we don't care to talk about ourselves,that's all. And, fortunately, kind Providence has brought us together ina place where there's no one else TO talk. I like you, I credit you withgood taste; therefore, you must like me."

  "Hey? Ho, ho!" Seth laughed, in spite of himself. "Young man," heobserved, "you ain't cultivated your modesty under glass, have you?"

  Brown smiled. "Joking aside," he said, "I don't see why I shouldn't, intime, make an ideal assistant lightkeeper. Give me a trial, at any rate.I need an employer; you need a helper. Here we both are. Come; it is abargain, isn't it? Any brass to be scrubbed--boss?"

  Of course, had Eastboro Twin-Lights been an important station, thepossibility of John Brown's remaining there would have been nonexistent.If it had been winter, or even early spring or fall, a regular assistantwould have been appointed at once, and the castaway given his walkingpapers. If Seth Atkins had not been Seth Atkins, particular friend ofthe district superintendent, matters might have been different. But theEastboro lights were unimportant, merely a half-way mark between Orhamon the one hand and the powerful Seaboard Heights beacon on the other.It was the beginning of summer, when wrecks almost never occurred. Andthe superintendent liked Seth, and Seth liked him. So, although Mr.Atkins still scoffed at his guest's becoming a permanent fixture at thelights, and merely consented, after more parley, to see if he couldn'tarrange for him to "hang around and help a spell until somebody else wassent," the conversation with the superintendent over the long distance'phone resulted more favorably for Brown than that nonchalant younggentleman had a reasonable right to expect.

  "The Lord knows who I can send you now, Atkins!" said thesuperintendent. "I can't think of a man anywhere that can be spared. Ifyou can get on for a day or two longer, I'll try to get a helper down!but where he's coming from I don't see."

  Then Seth sprung the news that he had a "sort of helper" already. "He'sa likely young chap enough," admitted the lightkeeper, whispering thewords into the transmitter, in order that the "likely young chap" mightnot hear; "but he's purty green yet. He wants the reg'lar job and, giveme time enough, I cal'late I can break him in. Yes, I'm pretty sureI can. And it's the off season, so there really ain't no danger. In amonth he'd be doin' fust-rate."

  "
Who is he? Where did he come from?" asked the superintendent.

  "Name's Brown. He come from--from off here a ways," was the strictlytruthful answer. "He used to be on a steamboat."

  "All right. If you'll take a share of the responsibility, I'll take therest. And, as soon as I can, I'll send you a regular man."

  "I can't pay you no steady wages," Seth explained to his new helper."Salaries come from the gov'ment, and, until they say so, I ain't gotno right to do it. And I can't let you monkey with the lights, exceptto clean up around and such. If you want to stay a spell, until anassistant's app'inted, I'll undertake to be responsible for your keep.And if you need some new shoes or stockin's or a cap, or the like ofthat, I'll see you get 'em. Further'n that I can't go yet. It's a prettypoor job for a fellow like you, and if I was you I wouldn't take it."

  "Oh, yes, you would," replied Brown, with conviction. "If you were I,you would take it with bells on. Others may yearn for the strenuouslife, but not your humble servant. As for me, I stay here and 'clean uparound.'"

  And stay he did, performing the cleaning up and other duties withunexpected success and zeal. Atkins, for the first day or two, watchedhim intently, being still a trifle suspicious and fearful of his"substitute assistant." But as time passed and the latter asked no morequestions, seemed not in the least curious concerning his superior, andremained the same cool, easy-going, cheerful individual whom Seth hadfound asleep on the beach, the lightkeeper's suspicions were ended. Itwas true that Brown was as mysterious and secretive as ever concerninghis own past, but that had been a part of their bargain. Atkins, whoprided himself on being a judge of human nature, decided that his helperwas a young gentleman in trouble, but that the trouble, whateverit might be, involved nothing criminal or dishonest. That he was agentleman, he was sure--his bearing and manner proved that; but he wasa gentleman who did not "put on airs." Not that there was any reason whyhe should put on airs, but, so far as that was concerned, there was noapparent reason for the monumental conceit and condescension of someof the inflated city boarders in the village. Brown was not like thosepeople at all.

  Seth had taken a fancy to him at their first meeting. Now his likingsteadily increased. Companionship in a lonely spot like EastboroTwin-Lights is a test of a man's temper. Brown stood the test well. Ifhe made mistakes in the work--and he did make some ridiculous ones--hecheerfully undid them when they were pointed out to him. He was, for themost part, good-natured and willing to talk, though there were periodswhen he seemed depressed and wandered off by himself along the beach orsat by the edge of the bluff, staring out to sea. The lightkeeper madeno comment on this trait in his character. It helped to confirm his ownjudgment concerning the young fellow's trouble. People in trouble weresubject to fits of the "blues," and during these fits they liked to bealone. Seth knew this from his own experience. There were times when he,too, sought solitude.

  He trusted his helper more and more. He did not, of course, permithim to take the night watch in the lights, but he did trust him to theextent of leaving him alone for a whole afternoon while he drove the oldhorse, attached to the antique "open wagon"--both steed and vehicle apart of the government property--over to Eastboro to purchase tobaccoand newspapers at the store. On his return he found everything as itshould be, and this test led him to make others, each of which wassuccessful in proving John Brown faithful over a few things and,therefore, in time, to be intrusted with many and more important ones.

  Brown, on his part, liked Seth. He had professed to like him during theconversation at the breakfast table which resulted in his remaining atthe lights, but then he was not entirely serious. He was, of course,grateful for the kindness shown him by the odd longshoreman and enjoyedthe latter's society and droll remarks as he would have enjoyed anythingout of the ordinary and quaintly amusing. But now he really likedthe man. Seth Atkins was a countryman, and a marked contrast to anyindividual Brown had ever met, but he was far from being a fool. Hepossessed a fund of dry common sense, and his comments on people andhappenings in the world--a knowledge of which he derived from thenewspapers and magazines obtained on his trips to Eastboro--were aconstant delight. And, more than all, he respected his companion'sdesire to remain a mystery. Brown decided that Atkins was, as he hadjokingly called him, a man with a past. What that past might be, he didnot know or try to learn. "Mind your own business," Seth had declared tobe the motto of Eastboro Twin-Lights, and that motto suited both partiesto the agreement.

  The lightkeeper stood watch in the tower at night. During most of theday he slept; but, after the first week was over, and his trust in hishelper became more firm, he developed the habit of rising at two in theafternoon, eating a breakfast--or dinner, or whatever the meal might becalled--and wandering off along the crooked road leading south and inthe direction of Pounddug Slough. The road, little used and grass grown,twisted and turned amid the dunes until it disappeared in a distantgrove of scrub oaks and pitch pines. Each afternoon--except on Sundaysand on the occasions of his excursions to the village--Atkins would risefrom the table, saunter to the door to look at the weather, and then,without excuse or explanation, start slowly down the road. For the firsthundred yards he sauntered, then the saunter became a brisk walk, andwhen he reached the edge of the grove he was hurrying almost at a dogtrot. Sometimes he carried a burden with him, a brown paper parcelbrought from Eastboro, a hammer, a saw, or a coil of rope. Once hedescended to the boathouse at the foot of the bluff by the inlet andemerged bearing a big bundle of canvas, apparently an old sail; thishe arranged, with some difficulty, on his shoulder and stumbled up theslope, past the corner of the house and away toward the grove. Brownwatched him wonderingly. Where was he going, and why? What was themysterious destination of all these tools and old junk? Where didSeth spend his afternoons and why, when he returned, did his hands andclothes smell of tar? The substitute assistant was puzzled, but he askedno questions. And Seth volunteered no solution of the puzzle.

  Yet the solution came, and in an unexpected way. Seth drove to thevillage one afternoon and returned with literature, smoking materialsand an announcement. The latter he made during supper.

  "I tried to buy that fly paper we wanted today," he observed, as apreliminary. "Couldn't get none. All out."

  "But will have some in very shortly, I presume," suggested theassistant, who knew the idiosyncrasies of country stores.

  "Oh, yes, sartin! Expectin' it every minute. That store's got aconsider'ble sight more expectations in it than it has anything else.They're always six months ahead of the season or behind it in thatstore. When it's so cold that the snow birds get chilblains they'll havethe shelves chuck full of fly paper. Now, when it's hotter than a kittleof pepper tea, the bulk of their stock is ice picks and mittens. Bah!However, they're goin' to send the fly paper over when it comes, alongwith the dog."

  "The dog?" repeated Brown in amazement.

  "Yup. That's what I was goin' to tell you--about the dog. I ordered adog today. Didn't pay nothin' for him, you understand. Henry G., thestorekeeper, gave him to me. The boy'll fetch him down when he fetchesthe fly paper."

  "A dog? We're--you're going to keep a dog--here?"

  "Sure thing. Why not? Got room enough to keep a whole zoologicalmenagerie if we wanted to, ain't we? Besides, a dog'll be handy to havearound. Bill Foster, the life saver, told me that somebody busted intothe station henhouse one night a week ago and got away with four oftheir likeliest pullets. He cal'lates 'twas tramps or boys. We don'tkeep hens, but there's some stuff in that boathouse I wouldn't wantstole, and, bein' as there's no lock on the door, a dog would be a sortof protection, as you might say."

  "But thieves would never come way down here."

  "Why not? 'Tain't any further away from the rest of creation than thelife savin' station, is it? Anyhow, Henry G. give the dog to me free fornothin', and that's a miracle of itself. You'd say so, too, if youknew Henry. I was so surprised that I said I'd take it right off; felt'twould be flyin' in the face of Providence not to. A miracle--jumpin'
Judas! I never knew Henry to give anybody anything afore--unless 'twasthe smallpox, and then 'twan't a genuine case, nothin' but varioloid."

  "But what kind of a dog is it?"

  "I don't know. Henry used to own the mother of it, and she was onequarter mastiff and the rest assorted varieties. This one he's givin'me ain't a whole dog, you see; just a half-grown pup. The varioloidall over again--hey? Ho, ho! I didn't really take him for sartin, youunderstand; just on trial. If we like him, we'll keep him, that's all."

  The third afternoon following this announcement, Brown was alone inthe kitchen, and busy. Seth had departed on one of his mysteriousexcursions, carrying a coil of rope, a pulley and a gallon can of paint.Before leaving the house he had given his helper some instructionsconcerning supper.

  "Might's well have a lobster tonight," he said. "Ever cook a lobster,did you?"

  No, Mr. Brown had never cooked a lobster.

  "Well, it's simple enough. All you've got to do is bile him. Bile him inhot water till he's done."

  "I see." The substitute assistant was not enthusiastic. Cooking he didnot love.

  "Humph!" he grunted. "I imagined if he was boiled at all, it was be inhot water, not cold."

  Atkins chuckled. "I mean you want to have the water bilin' hot when youput him in," he explained. "Wait till she biles up good and then sousehim; see?"

  "I guess so. How do you know when he's done?"

  "Oh--er--I can't tell you. You'll have to trust to your instinct, Ical'late. When he looks done, he IS done, most gen'rally speakin'."

  "Dear me! how clear you make it. Would you mind hintin' as to how helooks when he's done?"

  "Why--why, DONE, of course."

  "Yes, of course. How stupid of me! He is done when he looks done, andwhen he looks done he is done. Any child could follow those directions.HOW is he done--brown?"

  "No. Brown! the idea! Red, of course. He's green when you put him inthe kittle, and when you take him out, he's red. That's one way you cantell."

  "Yes, that will help some. All right, I'll boil him till he's red, youneedn't worry about that."

  "Oh, I sha'n't worry. So long. I'll be back about six or so. Put him inwhen the water's good and hot, and you'll come out all right."

  "Thank you. I hope HE will, but I have my doubts. Where is he?"

  "Who? the lobster? There's dozens down in the car by the wharf. Lift thecover and fish one out with the dip net. Pick out the biggest one youcan find, 'cause I'm likely to be hungry when I get back, and yourappetite ain't a hummin' bird's. There! I've got to go if I want to getanything done afore-- . . . Humph! never mind. So long."

  He hurried away, as if conscious that he had said more than he intended.At the corner of the house he turned to call:

  "I say! Brown! be kind of careful when you dip him out. None of 'em areplugged."

  "What?"

  "I say none of them lobsters' claws are plugged. I didn't have time toplug the last lot I got from my pots, so you want to handle 'em carefullike, else they'll nip you. Tote the one you pick out up to the house inthe dip-net; then you'll be all right."

  Evidently considering this warning sufficient to prevent any possibletrouble, he departed. John Brown seated himself in the armchair by thedoor and gazed at the sea. He gazed and thought until he could bear tothink no longer; then he rose and entered the kitchen, where he kindleda fire in the range and filled a kettle with water. Having thus madeready the sacrificial altar, he took the long-handled dip-net from itsnail and descended the bluff to the wharf.

  The lobster car, a good-sized affair of laths with a hinged coverclosing the opening in its upper surface, was floating under the wharf,to which it was attached by a rope. Brown knelt on the string-pieceand peered down at it. It floated deep in the water, the tide ripplingstrongly through it, between the laths. The cover was fastened with awooden button.

  The substitute assistant, after a deal of futile and exasperating pokingwith the handle of the net, managed to turn the button and throw backthe leather-hinged cover. Through the square opening the water beneathlooked darkly green. There was much seaweed in the car, and occasionallythis weed was stirred by living things which moved sluggishly.

  John Brown reversed the net, and, lying flat on the wharf, gingerlythrust the business end of the contrivance through the opening and intothe dark, weed-streaked water. Then he began feeling for his prey.

  He could feel it. Apparently the car was alive with lobsters. As hemoved the net through the water there was always one just before it orbehind it; but at least ten minutes elapsed before he managed to getone in it. At length, when his arms were weary and his patience almostexhausted, the submerged net became heavy, and the handle shook in hisgrasp. He shortened his hold and began to pull in hand over hand. He hada lobster, a big lobster.

  He could see a pair of claws opening and shutting wickedly. He raisedthe creature through the opening, balanced the net on its edge, rose onone knee, tried to stand erect, stumbled, lost his hold on the handleand shot the lobster neatly out of the meshes, over the edge of the car,and into the free waters of the channel. Then he expressed his feelingsaloud and with emphasis.

  Five minutes later he got another, but it was too small to be of use. Intwenty minutes he netted three more, two of which got away. The third,however, he dragged pantingly to the wharf and sat beside it, gloating.It was his for keeps, and it was a big one, the great-grandaddy oflobsters. Its claws clashed and snapped at the twine of the net like apair of giant nut crackers.

  Carrying it as far from his body as its weight at the end of the handlewould permit, he bore it in triumph to the kitchen. To boil a lobsteralive had seemed a mean trick, and cruel, when Seth Atkins first orderedhim to do it. Now he didn't mind; it would serve the thing right forbeing so hard to catch. Entering the kitchen, he balanced the net acrossa chair and stepped to the range to see if the water was boiling. It wasnot, and for a very good reason--the fire had gone out. Again Mr. Brownexpressed his feelings.

  The fire, newly kindled, had burned to the last ash. If he had beenthere to add more coal in season, it would have survived; but he hadbeen otherwise engaged. There was nothing to be done except rake out theashes and begin anew. This he did. When he removed the kettle he decidedat once that it was much too small for the purpose required of it. Toboil a lobster of that size in a kettle of that size would necessitateboiling one end at a time, and that, both for the victim and himself,would be troublesome and agonizing. He hunted about for a larger kettleand, finding none, seized in desperation upon the wash boiler, filledit, and lifted it to the top of the stove above the flickering new fire.

  The fire burned slowly, and he sat down to rest and wait. As he sankinto the chair--not that across which the netted lobster was balanced,but another--he became aware of curious sounds from without. Distantsounds they were, far off and faint, but growing steadily louder; wailsand long-drawn howls, mournful and despairing.

  "A-a-oo-ow! Aa-ow-ooo!"

  "What in the world?" muttered Brown, and ran out of the kitchen andaround the corner of the house.

  There was nothing in sight, nothing strange or unusual, that is. Joshua,Seth's old horse, picketted to a post in the back yard and grazing, ortrying to graze, on the stubby beach grass, was the only living exhibit.But the sounds continued and grew louder.

  "Aa-ow-ooo! Ow-oo-ow-ooo!"

  Over the rise of a dune, a hundred yards off, where the road to Eastborovillage dipped towards a swampy hollow, appeared a horse's head andthe top of a covered wagon. A moment later the driver became visible,a freckled faced boy grinning like a pumpkin lantern. The horse trottedthrough the sand up to the lights. Joshua whinnied as if he enjoyed theprospect of company. From the back of the wagon, somewhere beneath theshade of the cover, arose a heartrending wail, reeking of sorrow andagony.

  "Aa-ow-OOO! Ooo-aa-OW!"

  "For heaven's sake," exclaimed the lightkeeper's helper, running to meetthe vehicle, "what is the matter?"

  The boy grinned more expansive
ly than ever. "Whoa!" he shouted, to thehorse he was driving. The animal stopped in his tracks, evidently gladof the opportunity. Another howl burst from the covered depths of thewagon.

  "I've got him," said the boy, with a triumphant nod and a jerk of histhumb over his shoulder. "He's in there."

  "He? Who? What?"

  "Job. He's in there. Hear him? He's been goin' on like that ever sincehe finished his bone, and that was over two mile back. Say," admiringly,"he's some singer, ain't he! Hear that, will ye?"

  Another wail arose from the wagon. Brown hastened to the rear of thevehicle, on the canvas side of which were painted the words "Henry G.Goodspeed, Groceries, Dry and Fancy Goods and Notions, Eastboro," andpeered in over the tailboard. The interior of the wagon was well nighfilled by a big box with strips of board nailed across its top. Frombetween these strips a tawny nose was uplifted. As the helper staredwonderingly at the box and the nose, the boy sprang from his seat andjoined him.

  "That's him," declared the boy. "Hi, there, Job, tune up now! What's thematter with ye?"

  His answer was an unearthly howl from the box, accompanied by a mightyscratching. The boy laughed delightedly.

  "Ain't he a wonder?" he demanded. "Ought to be in church choir, hadn'the."

  Brown stepped on the hub of a rear wheel, and, clinging to the post ofthe wagon cover, looked down into the box. The creature inside was aboutthe size of a month old calf.

  "It's a--it's a dog," he exclaimed. "A dog, isn't it?"

  "Sure, it's a dog. Or he'll be a dog when he grows up. Nothin' but a pupnow, he ain't. Where's Seth?"

  "Seth? Oh, Mr. Atkins; he's not here."

  "Ain't he? Where's he gone?"

  "I don't know."

  "Don't ye? When's he comin' back? HUSH UP!" This last was a command tothe prisoner in the box, who paid absolutely no attention to it.

  "I don't know when he'll be back. Do you want to see him personally?Won't I do? I'm in charge here till he returns."

  "Be ye? Oh, you're the new assistant from Boston. You'll do. All I wantto do is unload him--Job, I mean--and leave a couple bundles of flypaper Seth ordered. Here!" lowering the tailboard and climbing into thewagon, "you catch aholt of t'other end of the box, and I'll shove on thisone. Hush up, Job! Nobody's goin' to eat ye--'less it's the moskeeters.Now, then, mister, here he comes."

  He began pushing the box toward the open end of the wagon. The dog'swhines and screams and scratchings furnished an accompaniment almostdeafening.

  "Wait! Stop! For heaven's sake, wait!" shouted Brown. "What are youputting that brute off here for? I don't want him."

  "Yes, you do. Seth does, anyhow. Henry G. made him a present of Job lasttime Seth was over to the store. Didn't he tell ye?"

  Then the substitute assistant remembered. This was the "half-grown pup"Atkins had said was to be brought over by the grocery boy. This was thecreature they were to accept "on trial."

  "Well, by George!" he exclaimed in disgust.

  "Didn't Seth tell ye?" asked the boy again.

  "Yes. . . . Yes, I believe he did. But--"

  "Then stand by while I unload him. Here he comes now. H'ist him downeasy as you can."

  That was not too easy, for the end of the box slid from the tail-boardto the ground with a thump that shook the breath from the prisonerwithin. But the breath came back again and furnished motive power formore and worse howls and whines. Joshua pricked up his ears and trottedto the further end of his halter.

  "There!" said Henry G.'s boy, jumping to the ground beside the box,"that's off my hands, thank the mercy! Here's your fly paper. Five dozensheets. You must have pretty nigh as many flies down here as you havemoskeeters. Well, so long. I got to be goin'."

  "Wait a minute," pleaded Brown. "What shall I do with this--er--blesseddog? Is he savage? Why did you bring him in a crate--like a piano?"

  "'Cause 'twas the easiest way. You couldn't tie him up, not in a cart nobigger'n this. Might's well tie up an elephant. Besides, he won't staytied up nowheres. Busted more clotheslines than I've got fingers andtoes, that pup has. He needs a chain cable to keep him to his moorin's.Don't ye, Job, you old earthquake? Hey?"

  He pounded on the box, and the earthquake obliged with a renewed seriesof shocks and shakings.

  The lightkeeper's assistant smiled in spite of himself.

  "Who named him Job?" he asked.

  "Henry G.'s cousin from Boston. He said he seemed to be always sufferin'and fillin' the land with roarin's, like Job in the Bible. So, bein' ashe hadn't no name except cuss words, that one stuck. I cal'late HenryG.'s glad enough to get rid of him. Ho! ho!"

  "Did Mr. Atkins see his--this--did he see his present before he acceptedit?"

  "No. That's the best part of the joke. Well," clambering to his seatand picking up the reins, "I've got five mile of sand and moskeeters tonavigate, so I've got to be joggin'. Oh, say! goin' to leave him in thebox there, be ye?"

  "I guess so, for the present."

  "Well, I wouldn't leave him too long. He's stronger'n Samson and thePhilippines rolled together, and he's humped up his back so much on theway acrost that he's started most of the nails in them slats over top ofhim. I tell ye what you do: Give him a bone or a chunk of tough meat tochaw on. Then he'll rest easy for a spell. Goodbye. I wish I couldstay and see Seth when he looks at his present, but I can't. Gid-dap,January."

  The grocery wagon rolled out of the yard. The forsaken Job sent aroar of regret after him. Also, he "humped us his back," and the nailsholding the slats in place started and gave alarmingly. John Brownhastened to the house in quest of a bone.