The Woman-Haters

by Joseph Crosby Lincoln

  CHAPTER IX

  THE BUNGALOW GIRL

  During the following day the occupants of the lightkeeper's dwelling sawlittle or nothing of the newcomers at the bungalow. Brown, his foreheadresembling a section of a relief map of the Rocky Mountains, remainedindoors as much as possible, working when there was anything to do, andreading back-number magazines when there was not. Seth went, as usual,to his room soon after noon. His slumbers must, however, have beenfitful ones, for several times the substitute assistant, turningquickly, saw the bedroom door swing silently shut. The third time thatthis happened he ran to the door and threw it open in season to catchMr. Atkins in an undignified dive for the bed. A tremendous snorefollowed the dive. The young man regarded him in silence for a fewmoments, during which the snores continued. Then he shook his head.

  "Humph!" he soliloquized; "I must 'phone for the doctor at once. Eitherthe doctor or the superintendent. If he has developed that habit, heisn't fit for this job."

  He turned away. The slumberer stirred uneasily, rolled over, opened oneeye, and sat up.

  "Hi!" he called. "Come back here! Where you goin'?"

  Brown returned, looking surprised and anxious.

  "Oh!" he exclaimed, "are you awake?"

  "Course I'm awake! What a fool question that is. Think I'm settin' uphere and talkin' in my sleep?"

  "Well, I didn't know."

  "Why didn't you know? And, see here! what did you mean by sayin' you wasgoin' to 'phone the doctor or the superintendent, one or t'other? Yes,you said it. I heard you."

  "Oh, no! you didn't."

  "Tell you I did. Heard you with my own ears."

  "But how could you? You weren't awake."

  "Course I was awake! Couldn't have heard you unless I was, could I? Whatails you? Them stings go clear through to your brains, did they?"

  Again Brown shook his head.

  "This is dreadful!" he murmured. "He walks in his sleep, and snores whenhe's awake. I MUST call the doctor."

  "What--what--" The lightkeeper's wrath was interfering with hisutterance. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sputteredincoherently.

  "Be calm, Atkins," coaxed the assistant. "Don't complicate your diseasesby adding heart trouble. Three times today I've caught you peeping at methrough the crack of that door. Within fifteen seconds of the last peepI find you snoring. Therefore, I say--"

  "Aw, belay! I was only--only just lookin' out to see what time it was."

  "But you must have done it in your sleep, because--"

  "I never. I was wide awake as you be."

  "But why did you snore? You couldn't have fallen asleep between the doorand the bed. And you hadn't quite reached the bed when I got here."

  "I--I--I--Aw, shut up!"

  Brown smiled blandly. "I will," he said, "provided you promise to keepthis door shut and don't do any more spying."

  "Spyin'? What do you mean by that?"

  "Just what I said. You and I had a discussion concerning that samepractice when I fell over the bank at the Slough a while ago. I was notspying then, but you thought I was, and you didn't like it. Now I thinkyou are, and I don't like it."

  "Wh--what--what would I be spyin' on you for? Wh--what reason would Ihave for doin' it?"

  "No good reason; because I have no intention of visiting our newneighbors--none whatever. That being understood, perhaps you'll shut thedoor and keep it shut."

  Seth looked sheepish and guilty.

  "Well," he said, after a moment's reflection, "I beg your pardon. ButI couldn't help feelin' kind of uneasy. I--I ought to know better, Is'pose; but, with a young, good-lookin' girl landed unexpected rightnext to us, I--I--"

  "How did you know she was good-looking? I didn't mention her looks."

  "No, you didn't, but--but . . . John Brown, I've been young myself, andI know that at your age most ANY girl's good-lookin'. There!"

  He delivered this bit of wisdom with emphasis and a savage nod of thehead. Brown had no answer ready, that is, no relevant answer.

  "You go to bed and shut the door," he repeated, turning to go.

  "All right, I will. But don't you forget our agreement."

  "I have no intention of forgetting it."

  "What ARE you goin' to do?"

  "Do? What do you mean?"

  "I mean what are you goin' to do now that things down here's changed,and you and me ain't alone, same as we was?"

  "I don't know. I'm not sure that I sha'n't leave--clear out."

  "What? Clear out? Run away and leave me alone to--to . . . By time! Ididn't think you was a deserter."

  The substitute assistant laughed bitterly. "You needn't worry," he said."I couldn't go far, even if I wanted to. I haven't any money."

  "That's so." Seth was evidently relieved. "All right," he observed;"don't you worry. 'Twon't be but a couple of months anyway, and we'llfight it through together. But ain't it a shame! Ain't it an everlastin'shame that this had to happen just as we'd come to understand each otherand was so contented and friendly! Well, there's only one thing to do;that's to make the best of it for us and the worst for them. We'll keepto ourselves and pay no attention to em no more'n if they wa'n'tthere. We'll forget 'em altogether; hey? . . . I say we'll forget 'emaltogether, won't we?"

  Brown's answer was short and sharp.

  "Yes," he said, and slammed the door behind him. Seth slowly shook hishead before he laid it on the pillow. He was not entirely easy in hismind, even yet.

  However, there was no more spying, and the lightkeeper did not mentionthe bungalow tenants when he appeared at supper time. After the mealhe bolted to the lights, and was on watch in the tower when his helperretired.

  Early the next afternoon Brown descended the path to the boathouse. Hehad omitted his swim the day before. Now, however, he intended to haveit. Simply because those female nuisances had seen fit to intrude wherethey had no business was no reason why he should resign all pleasure. Hegave a quick glance upward at the opposite bank as he reached the wharf.There was no sign of life about the bungalow.

  He entered the boathouse, undressed, and donned his bathing suit. In afew minutes he was ready, and, emerging upon the wharf, walked brisklyback along the shore of the creek to where it widened into the cove.There he plunged in, and was soon luxuriating in the cool, clear water.

  He swam with long, confident strokes, those of a practiced swimmer. Thiswas worth while. It was the one place where he could forget that hewas no longer the only son of a wealthy father, heir to a respectedname--which was NOT Brown--a young man with all sorts of brilliantprospects; could forget that he was now a disinherited vagabond, aloafer who had been unable to secure a respectable position, an outcast.He swam and dove and splashed, rejoicing in his strength and youth andthe freedom of all outdoors.

  Then, as he lay lazily paddling in deep water, he heard the rattle ofgravel on the steep bank of the other side of the cove. Looking up,he saw, to his huge disgust, a female figure in a trim bathing suitdescending the bluff from the bungalow. It was the girl who had lefthim to fight the wasps. Her dark hair was covered with a jauntily tiedcolored handkerchief, and, against the yellow sand of the bluff, shemade a very pretty picture. Not that Brown was interested, but she did,nevertheless.

  She saw him and waved a hand. "Good morning," she called. "Beautiful dayfor a swim, isn't it?"

  "Yes," growled the young man, brusquely. He turned and began to swim inthe opposite direction, up the cove. The girl looked after him, raised apuzzled eyebrow, and then, with a shrug, waded into the water. The nexttime the assistant looked at her, she was swimming with long, sweepingstrokes down the narrow creek to the bend and the deep hole at the endof the wharf. Round that bend and through that hole the tide whirled,like a rapid, out into the miniature bay behind Black Man's Point. Itwas against that tide that Seth Atkins had warned him.

  And the girl was swimming directly toward the dangerous narrows. Browngrowled an exclamation of disgust. He had no mind to continue theacquaintance, and yet he could
n't permit her to do that.

  "Miss Graham!" he called. "Oh, Miss Graham!"

  She heard him, but did not stop.

  "Yes?" she called in answer, continuing to swim. "What is it?"

  "You mustn't--" shouted Brown. Then he remembered that he must notshout. Shouting might awaken the lightkeeper, and the latter wouldmisunderstand the situation, of course. So he cut his warning to oneword.

  "Wait!" he called, and began swimming toward her. She did not come tomeet him, but merely ceased swimming and turned on her back to float.And, floating, the tide would carry her on almost as rapidly as if sheassisted it. That tide did not need any assistance. Brown swung on hisside and settled into the racing stroke, the stroke which had won himcups at the athletic club.

  He reached her in a time so short that she was surprised into anadmiring comment.

  "Oh!" she exclaimed, "you CAN swim!"

  He did not thank her for the compliment. There was no time for that,even if he had felt like it.

  "You shouldn't be here," he said sharply.

  She looked at him.

  "Why, what do you mean?" she demanded.

  "It isn't safe. A little farther, and the tide would carry you out tosea. Come back, back up to the cove at once."

  He expected her to ask more questions, but she did not. Instead sheturned and struck out in silence. Against the tide, even there, the pullwas tremendous.

  "Shall I help you?" he asked.

  "No, I can make it."

  And she did. It was his turn to be surprised into admiration.

  "By Jove!" he panted, as they swung into the quiet water of the cove andstood erect in the shallows, "that was great! You are a good swimmer."

  "Thank you," she answered, breathlessly. "It WAS a tug, wasn't it? Thankyou for warning me. Now tell me about the dangerous places, please."

  He told her, repeating Seth's tales of the tide's strength.

  "But it is safe enough here?" she asked.

  "Oh, yes! perfectly safe anywhere this side of the narrow part--thecreek."

  "I'm so glad. This water is glorious, and I began to be afraid I shouldhave to give it up."

  "The creek, and even the bay itself are safe enough at flood," he wenton. "I often go there then. When the tide is coming in it is all righteven for--"

  He paused. She finished the sentence for him. "Even for a girl, you weregoing to say." She waded forward to where the shoal ended and the deeperpart began. There she turned to look at him over her shoulder.

  "I'm going to that beach over there," she said, pointing across thecove. "Do you want to race?"

  Without waiting to see whether he did or not, she struck out for thebeach. And, without stopping to consider why he did it, the young manfollowed her.

  The race was not so one-sided. Brown won it by some yards, but he had towork hard. His competitor did not give up when she found herself fallingbehind, but was game to the end.

  "Well," she gasped, "you beat me, didn't you? I never could get thatside stroke, and it's ever so much faster."

  "It's simple enough. Just a knack. I'll teach you if you like."

  "Will you? That's splendid."

  "You are the strongest swimmer, Miss Graham, for a girl, that I eversaw. You must have practiced a great deal."

  "Yes, Horace--my brother--taught me. He is a splendid swimmer, one ofthe very best."

  "Horace Graham? Why, you don't mean Horace Graham of the HarvardAthletic?"

  "Yes, I do. He is my brother. But how . . . Do you know him?"

  The surprise in her tone was evident. Brown bit his lip. He rememberedthat Cape Cod lightkeepers' helpers were not, as a usual thing, supposedto be widely acquainted in college athletic circles.

  "I have met him," he stammered.

  "But where--" she began; and then, "why, of course! you met him here. Iforgot that he has been your neighbor for three summers."

  The assistant had forgotten it, too, but he was thankful for thereminder.

  "Yes. Yes, certainly," he said. She regarded him with a puzzled look.

  "It's odd he didn't mention you," she observed. "He has told me a greatdeal about the bungalow, and the sea views, and the loneliness and thequaintness of it all. That was what made me wish to spend a monthdown here and experience it myself. And he has often spoken," with anirrepressible smile, "of your--of the lightkeeper, Mr. Atkins. That ishis name, isn't it?"

  "Yes."

  "I want to meet him. Horace said he was--well, rather odd, but, when youknew him, a fine fellow and full of dry humor. I'm sure I should likehim."

  Brown smiled, also--and broadly. He mentally pictured Seth's receptionof the news that he was "liked" by the young lady across the cove. Andthen it occurred to him, with startling suddenness, that he had beenconversing very familiarly with that young lady, notwithstanding thesolemn interchange of vows between the lightkeeper and himself.

  "I must be going," he said hastily; "good morning, Miss Graham."

  He waded to the shore and strode rapidly back toward the boathouse. Hiscompanion called after him.

  "I shall expect you to-morrow afternoon," she said. "You've promised toteach me that side stroke, remember."

  Brown dressed in a great hurry and climbed the path to the lights at thedouble quick. All was safe and serene in the house, and he breathed morefreely. Atkins was sound asleep, really asleep, in the bedroom, and whenhe emerged he was evidently quite unaware of his helper's unpremeditatedtreason. Brown's conscience pricked him, however, and he went tobed that night vowing over and over that he would be more carefulthereafter. He would take care not to meet the Graham girl again. Havingreached this decision, there remained nothing but to put her out of hismind entirely; which he succeeded in doing at a quarter after eleven,when he fell asleep. Even then she was not entirely absent, for hedreamed a ridiculous dream about her.

  Next day he did not go for a swim, but remained in the house. Seth, atsupper, demanded to know what ailed him.

  "You're as mum as the oldest inhabitant of a deaf and dumb asylum," wasthe lightkeeper's comment. "And ugly as a bull in fly time. What ailsyou?"

  "Nothing."

  "Humph! better take somethin' for it, seems to me. Little 'StomachBalm,' hey? No? Well, GO to bed! Your room's enough sight better'n yourcompany just now."

  The helper's ill nature was in evidence again at breakfast time. Sethendeavored to joke him out of it, but, not succeeding, and findinghis best jokes received with groans instead of laughter, gave it up indisgust and retired. The young man cleared the table, piled the dishesin the sink, heated a kettleful of water and began the day's drudgery,drudgery which he once thought was fun.

  Why had he had the ill luck to fall overboard from that steamer. Orwhy didn't he drown when he did fall overboard? Then he would have beencomfortably dead, at all events. Why hadn't he stayed in New York orBoston or somewhere and kept on trying for a position, for work--anykind of work? He might have starved while trying, but people who werestarving were self-respecting, and when they met other people--forinstance, sisters of fellows they used to know--had nothing to beashamed of and needn't lie--unless they wanted to. He was a commonloafer, under a false name, down on a sandheap washing dishes. At thispoint he dropped one of the dishes--a plate--and broke it.

  "D--n!" observed John Brown, under his breath, but with enthusiasm.

  He stooped to pick up the fragments of the plate, and, rising once moreto an erect position, found himself facing Miss Ruth Graham. She wasstanding in the doorway.

  "Don't mind me, please," she said. "No doubt I should feel the same wayif it were my plate."

  The young man's first move, after recovery, was to make sure that thedoor between the kitchen and the hall leading to the lightkeeper'sbedroom was shut. It was, fortunately. The young lady watched him insilence, though her eyes were shining.

  "Good morning, Mr. Brown," she observed, gravely.

  The assistant murmured a good morning, from force of habit.

  "There's another p
iece you haven't picked up," continued the visitor,pointing.

  Brown picked up the piece.

  "Is Mr. Atkins in?" inquired the girl.

  "Yes, he's--he's in."

  "May I see him, please?"

  "I--I--"

  "If he's busy, I can wait." She seated herself in a chair. "Don't let meinterrupt you," she continued. "You were busy, too, weren't you?"

  "I was washing dishes," declared Brown, savagely.

  "Oh!"

  "Yes. Washing and sweeping and doing scrubwoman's work are my regularemployments."

  "Indeed! Then I'm just in time to help. Is this the dish towel?"regarding it dubiously.

  "It is, but I don't need any help, thank you."

  "Of course you do. Everyone is glad to be helped at doing dishes. I mayas well make myself useful while I'm waiting for Mr. Atkins."

  She picked up a platter and proceeded to wipe it, quite as a matter ofcourse. Brown, swearing inwardly, turned fiercely to the suds.

  "Did you wish to see Atkins on particular business?" he asked, a momentlater.

  "Oh, no; I wanted to make his acquaintance, that's all. Horace told meso many interesting things about him. By the way, was it last summer, orthe summer before, that you met my brother here?"

  No answer. Miss Graham repeated her question. "Was it last summer or thesummer before?" she asked.

  "Oh--er--I don't remember. Last summer, I think."

  "Why, you must remember. How could any one forget anything that happeneddown here? So few things do happen, I should say. So you met him lastsummer?"

  "Yes."

  "Hum! that's odd."

  "Shall I call Atkins? He's in his room."

  "I say it is odd, because, when Mrs. Bascom and I first met you, youtold us this was your first summer here."

  There wasn't any answer to this; at least the assistant could think ofnone at the moment.

  "Do you wish me to call Atkins?" he asked, sharply. "He's asleep, but Ican wake him."

  "Oh! he's asleep. Now I understand why you whisper even when yousw--that is, when you break a plate. You were afraid of waking him. Howconsiderate you are."

  Brown put down the dishcloth. "It isn't altogether consideration forhim--or for myself," he said grimly. "I didn't care to wake him unlessyou took the responsibility."

  "Why?"

  "Because, Miss Graham, Seth Atkins took the position of lightkeeper herealmost for the sole reason that no women ever came here. Mr. Atkins is awoman-hater of the most rabid type. I'll wake him up if you wish, but Iwon't be responsible for the consequences."

  The young lady stared at him in surprise, delighted surprise apparently,judging by the expression of her face.

  "A woman-hater?" she repeated. "Is he really?"

  "He is." Mr. Brown neglected to add that he also had declared himself amember of the same fraternity. Perhaps he thought it was not necessary.

  "A woman-hater!" Miss Graham fairly bubbled with mischievous joy. "Oh,jolly! now I'm CRAZY to meet him!"

  The assistant moved toward the hall door. "Very good!" he observed withgrim determination. "I think he'll cure your lunacy."

  His hand was outstretched toward the latch, when the young lady spokeagain.

  "Wait a minute," she said. "Perhaps I had better not wake him now."

  "Just as you say. The pleasure is--or will be--entirely mine, I assureyou."

  "No--o. On the whole, I think I'll wait until later. I may call again.Good morning."

  She moved across the threshold. Then, standing on the mica slab whichwas the step to the kitchen door, she turned to say:

  "You didn't swim yesterday."

  "No--o. I--I was busy."

  "I see."

  She paused, as if expecting him to say something further on the subject.He was silent. Her manner changed.

  "Good morning," she said, coldly, and walked off. The assistant watchedher as she descended the path to the cove, but she did not once lookback. Brown threw himself into a chair. He had never hated anyone asthoroughly as he hated himself at the moment.

  "What a cheerful liar she must think I am," he reflected. "She caught mein that fool yarn about meeting her brother here last summer; and now,after deliberately promising to teach her that stroke, I don't go nearher. What a miserable liar she must think I am! And I guess I am. ByGeorge, I can't be such a cad. I've got to make good somehow. I mustgive her ONE lesson. I must."

  The tide served for bathing about three that afternoon. At ten minutesbefore that hour the substitute assistant keeper of Eastboro Twin-Lightstiptoed silently to the bedroom of his superior and peeped in. Seth wassnoring peacefully. Brown stealthily withdrew. At three, precisely, heemerged from the boathouse on the wharf, clad in his bathing suit.

  Fifteen minutes after three, Seth Atkins, in his stocking feet and withsuspicion in his eye, crept along the path to the edge of the bluff.Crouching behind a convenient sand dune he raised his head and peeredover it.

  Below him was the cove, its pleasant waters a smooth, deep blue,streaked and bordered with pale green. But the water itself did notinterest Seth. In that water was his helper, John Brown, of nowhere inparticular, John Brown, the hater of females, busily engaged in teachinga young woman to swim.

  Atkins watched this animated picture for some minutes. Then, carefullycrawling back up to the path until he was well out of possible sightfrom the cove, he rose to his feet, raised both hands, and shook theirclenched fists above his head.

  "The liar!" grated Mr. Atkins, between his teeth. "The traitor! Theyoung blackguard! After tellin' me that he . . . And after my doin'everything for him that . . . Oh, by Judas, wait! only wait till hecomes back! I'LL l'arn him! I'LL show him! Oh, by jiminy crimps!"

  He strode toward the doorway of the kitchen. There he stopped short.A woman was seated in the kitchen rocker; a stout woman, with her backtoward him. The room, in contrast to the bright sunshine without, wasshadowy, and Seth, for an instant, could see her but indistinctly.However, he knew who she must be--the housekeeper at thebungalow--"Basket" or "Biscuit" his helper had said was her name, asnear as he could remember it. The lightkeeper ground his teeth. Anotherfemale! Well, he would teach this one a few things!

  He stepped across the threshold.

  "Ma'am," he began, sharply, "perhaps you'll tell me what you--"

  He stopped. The stout woman had, at the sound of his step, risen fromthe chair, and turned to face him. And now she was staring at him, herface almost as white as the stone-china cups and saucers on the table.

  "Why . . . why . . . SETH!" she gasped.

  The lightkeeper staggered back until his shoulders struck the doorpost.

  "Good Lord!" he cried; "good . . . LORD! Why--why--EMELINE!"

  For over a minute the pair stared at each other, white and speechless.Then Mrs. Bascom hurried to the door, darted out, and fled along thepath around the cove to the bungalow. Atkins did not follow her; he didnot even look in the direction she had taken. Instead, he collapsed inthe rocking-chair and put both hands to his head.