CHAPTER VI--I RUN AFOUL OF COUSIN LEMUEL
Well, to be honest, I felt pretty bad about that billiard room business.I was real sorry for old Ebenezer. Of course Taylor was a skinflint anda thorough-goin' mean man, but Ratty was his son and his pride, and tohave a son play a dog's trick like that on the father that had, atleast, tried to make somethin' out of him, seemed tough enough. And myconscience plagued me. I felt almost as if I was to blame somehow. Iwa'n't, of course, but I felt that way. A feller's conscience is themost unreasonable part of his works; I've noticed it often.
But I needn't have wasted any sympathy on Ebenezer. For the fust littlewhile after his boy went into the pool and sipio business, he was a sorechap. Then, all at once, I noticed that he took to hangin' around the"Parlors" consider'ble and one evenin' I saw him comin' out of there,all smiles. I was standin' on the store platform and as he passed me Ihailed him. We hadn't spoken for a consider'ble spell, but I hadn't anygrudge, for my part.
"Hello!" says I, "what are you so tickled about?"
I didn't know as he wouldn't throw somethin' at me for darin' to hailhim, but no, he was ready to talk to anybody, even me.
"No use," says he, "that boy of mine's a mighty smart feller. He justbeat Tom Baker three games runnin', and spotted him two balls on thelast one. He's a wonder, if I do say it."
I looked at him. This didn't sound much like disinheritin'.
"Three games of what?" says I.
"Why, pool," says he, "of course. And Baker's been countin' himself thebest player in the county. 'Rastus was playin' for the house. Him andPhilander cleared over a hundred dollars in the last month. That ain'tso bad for a young feller just startin' in, is it? I always knew thatboy had the business instinct, if he'd only wake up to it. I've toldfolks so time and again."
He went along, chucklin' to himself, and I stood still and whistled. Andwhen I heard that the old man had taken to callin' theanti-billiard-room crowd bigoted and narrer it didn't surprise me much.I judged that Ebenezer's opinions was like those of others of histribe--dependent on the profit and loss account in the ledger. You canforgive your own kith and kin a lot easier than you can outsiders,especially if your moral scruples are the Taylor kind, to be reckoned indollars and cents.
The carpenters were ready to begin work on our store addition at last,and we started right in to build on. 'Twas an awful job, enough sightworse than movin', but it had to be got through with some way and wewanted to have it finished when the summer season opened for good. Ifthe store had been cluttered up and crowded afore, it was ten timesworse now. The amount of energy and healthy remarks that Jacobs and Iwasted in fallin' over and runnin' into things would have kept asteamer's engines goin' from Boston to Liverpool, I cal'late. I expectedone of us would break our neck sartin sure, but we didn't and, by thefust of July we thought we could see the end.
"There!" says I, "in another week we'll be clear of sawdust, I dobelieve. The painters won't be so bad. And we've got on without anyaccidents, too, which is a miracle."
"You ought to knock wood when you say that, Skipper," says Jim Henry.
"I've knocked enough of it already--with my head," I told him. But Ihadn't. At any rate the accident come, and not by reason of the buildin'on, either. It come right in the way of everyday trade, from where wewa'n't expectin' it. That's the way such things generally happen. Afeller runs under a tree, so's to keep from gettin' rained on andcatchin' cold, and then the tree's struck by lightnin'.
If I'd remembered what old Sylvanus Baxter said when they asked him toprove one of his fish statements, I'd have been a wiser man. Sylvanuswas tellin' how many mack'rel him and his brother caught off SetucketP'int with a hand line, back when Methusalum was a child, or about then.Forty-eight barrels they caught, and it nigh filled the dory. One of theyoung city fellers who was listenin' undertook to doubt the yarn. He gota piece of paper and a pencil and proved that a dory wouldn't hold thatmany fish. Sylvanus shut him up in a hurry.
"Young man," he says, scornful, "where a human bein' is blessed with amemory same as I've got, proof's too unsartin to compare with it."
If I'd borne in mind what Sylvanus said and abided by it I might nothave dropped the barrel of sugar on my starboard foot. I'd have beensatisfied to remember my strength and not try to prove it by liftin' thesaid barrel off the tailboard of our delivery wagon.
However, I did try, and the result was that the barrel slipped when I'dgot it 'most to the ground, and my foot went out of commission with ahurrah, so to speak.
Jim Henry come runnin' and him and the clerk loaded me into the wagonand carted me off to my rooms at the Poquit House. And there I stayed indry dock for three weeks, while the doctor done his best to patch up mybusted trotter and get me off the ways and into active service again.
He done his part all right. I was mendin' so far as the lower end of mewas concerned, but my upper works and temper was gettin' more tangledand snarled every day. Too much company was the trouble. I had too manyfolks runnin' in to ask how I was gettin' on and to talk and talk andtalk. Jim Henry he come, of course, to talk about the store; and MaryBlaisdell, to tell me how the post-office was doin'. I could stand them;fact is, Mary was a sort of soothin' sirup, with her pleasant face andcalm, cheery voice. But the parson he come, to keep the spiritual partof me ready for whatever might happen; and the undertaker, to be sure hegot the other part, if it _did_ happen; and twenty-odd old maids andwidows from sewin'-circle to talk about each other and church squabblesand the dreadful sufferin's and agonizin' deaths of their relations,who'd had accidents similar to mine.
They made me so fidgety and mad that the doctor noticed it. "What'stroublin' you, Cap'n Snow?" he asked. "No new pains, I hope?"
"Humph!" says I. "Your hope's blasted. I've got the meanest pain I'vehad yet."
"Where?" says he, anxious.
"All over," I says. "Tabitha Nickerson's responsible for it. She's beenhere for the last hour and a half, tellin' about how her second cousin,by her uncle's marriage, stuck a nail in his hand and was amputatedtwice and finally died of lingerin' lockjaw. She never missed a groan.Consarn her! _She_ gives me a pain just to look at."
He laughed. "That's the trouble with you old bachelors," he says."You're too popular with the fair sex."
"Fair!" I sung out. "Doc, if you mean to say Tabby Nickerson's fair,then I'm goin' to switch to the homeopaths. _Your_ judgment ain'tdependable."
He laughed again and then he went on. Seems he'd been thinkin' for quitea spell that the Poquit House wasn't the place for me.
"What you need, Cap'n," he says, "is a nice quiet spot where nobody canget at you--that is, nobody but the disagreeable necessities, like me.I've found the place for you to board durin' your convalescence. Do youknow the Deacon house over at South Ostable on the lower road?"
"If you mean Lot Deacon's, I do--yes," says I.
"That's it," says he. "Lot's all alone there, and he'd be mighty glad ofa boarder. The house is as neat as wax, and Lot used to go as cook on aBanks' boat, so you'll be fed well. It's right on the shore, with thewoods back of it. There's a splendid view, the air's fine, and--and--"
"Don't strain yourself, Doc," I put in. "You couldn't think of anythingelse if you thought for a week. Air and view is all there is in thatneighborhood. What on earth have I done to be sentenced to serve a termat Lot Deacon's?"
Well, it was quiet, and I needed quiet. It was restful, and I neededrest. It was too far from civilization for the undertaker or thesewin'-circle to get at me. It was--but there! never mind the rest. Theupshot was that I agreed to board at Lot's till my foot got well enoughto navigate and they carted me down in the delivery wagon, next day.
The Deacon place lived up to specifications all right. Nighest neighborhalf a mile off, woods all round on three sides, and the bay on t'other.Good grub and plenty of it. And no company except the doctor every otherday, and Jim Henry the days between, and Lot--oh, land, yes! Lot, alwaysand forever.
He was a meek little critter, Lot was, a
ccommodatin' and willin' toplease, as good a cook as ever fried a clam, and a great talker on somesubjects. He was a widower, with no relations except an aunt-in-law overto Denboro, and a third cousin up to Boston; and his principal hobby wasspirits and mediums and such. He was as sot on Spiritu'lism as anybodyever you see, and hadn't missed a Spirit'list camp-meetin' in Harnissdurin' the memory of man.
However, Lot and I got along first-rate and he'd set and talk by thehour about the camp-meetin', which was a couple of weeks off, and how hewas goin', and so on. Said I needn't worry about bein' left alone,'cause his wife's Aunt Lucindy from Denboro was comin' to keep house forme durin' the two days he was away.
"Is your Aunt Lucindy given to spirits, too?" I wanted to know.
No, she wasn't. Seems her particular bug was "mind cure." She was awidow whose husband had died of creepin' paralysis. She'd tried everykind of doctorin' and patent medicines on him and, in spite of it, thelast specimen of "Swamp Bitters" or "Thistle Tea" finished him. But,anyhow, Aunt Lucindy had no faith in medicines or doctors after that.She'd tried 'em all and they'd gone back on her. Now she was a"mind-curer."
"She'll prob'bly try to cure your foot with mind, Cap'n Zeb," says Lot,apologetic as usual. "But you mustn't worry about that. She means well."
"I sha'n't worry," I says. "She can put her mind on my foot, if shewants to; unless it's as hefty as that sugar barrel I cal'late 'twon'thurt me much. But say, Lot," I says, "are all your folks taken withsomething special in the line of religion or cures? How about thiscousin--this Lemuel one? What's possessin' _him_?"
Oh, Cousin Lemuel was different. He'd had money left him and was anaristocrat. He never married, but lived in "chambers" up to Boston. Hedidn't have to work, but was a "collector" for the fun of it; collectedpostage stamps and folks' hand-writin's and insects and such. He wasn'tvery well, his nerves was kind of twittery, so Lot said.
"Um-hm," says I. "Well, collectin' insects would make most anybody'snerves twitter, I cal'late. But if Cousin Lemuel likes 'em, I s'pose wehadn't ought to fret. He could pick up a healthy collection ofwood-ticks back here in the pines, if he'd only come after 'em, thoughit ain't likely he will."
But he did, just the same. Not after the ticks, exactly, but, as sure asI'm settin' here, this Cousin Lemuel landed in the house at SouthOstable, bag and baggage. 'Twas three days afore the beginnin' ofcamp-meetin' and two afore Aunt Lucindy was expected over. Lot and mewas settin' in rockin' chairs by the front windows in my room lookin'out over the bay, when all to once we heard the rattle of a wagon fromthe woods abaft the kitchen.
"It's the doctor, I cal'late," says Lot, wakin' up and stretchin'. "Ah,hum, I s'pose I'll have to go down and let him in."
"'Tain't the doctor," says I. "He come yesterday. More likely it's Mr.Jacobs, though I thought he'd gone to Boston and wouldn't be back forthree or four days."
But a minute later we see we was mistaken. Around the house comerattlin' Simeon Wixon's old depot wagon, with the curtains all draweddown--though 'twas hot summer--and the rack astern and the seat in frontpiled up high with trunks and bags and satchels and goodness knows whatall. Sim was drivin' and he had a grin on him like a Chessy cat.
"Whoa!" says he, haulin' in the horses. "Ahoy, Lot! Turn out there! Gota passenger for you."
Lot was so surprised he could hardly believe his ears, though they wasbig enough to be believed. He h'isted up the window screen and lookedout.
"Hey?" he says, bewildered-like. "Did you say a _passenger_?"
"That's what I said. A passenger for you. Come on down."
"A passenger? For _me_?"
"Yes! yes! yes!" Simeon's patience was givin' out, and no wonder. "Don'tstay up there," he snaps, "with your head stuck out of that window likea poll-parrot's out of a cage. And don't keep sayin' things over andover or I'll believe you _are_ a poll-parrot. Come down!" Then, leaningback and hollerin' in behind the carriage curtains, he sung out, "Hi,mister! here we be. You can get out now."
The curtains shook a little mite and then, from behind 'em, sounded avoice, a man's voice, but kind of shrill and high, and with a quiver inthe middle of it.
"Are you sure this is the right place, driver?" it says.
"Sartin sure. This is it."
"But are you certain those animals are perfectly safe? They won't runaway?"
The horses was takin' a nap, the two of 'em. Sim grinned, wider'n ever,and winks up at the window.
"I'll do my best to hold 'em," he says. "If I'd known you was comin' I'dhave fetched an anchor."
The curtains shook some more, as if the feller inside was fidgetin' with'em. Then the voice says again and more excited than ever, "Well, why inHeaven's name don't you unfasten this dreadful door? How am I to getout?"
Simeon stood grinnin', ripped a remark loose under his breath, jumpedfrom the seat, and yanked the door open. There was a full half minuteafore anything happened. Then out from that wagon door popped a blackfelt hat with a brim like a small-sized umbrella. Under the hat was apair of thin, grayish side-whiskers, a long nose, and a pair of specslike full moons. The hat and the rest of it turned towards the horsesand the voice says:
"You're _perfectly_ sure of those creatures you are drivin'? Very good.Where is the step? Oh, dear! where is the _step_?"
Sim reached in, grabbed a little foot with one of them things they calla "gaiter" on it, hauled it down and planted it on the step of thecarriage.
"There!" he snaps. "There 'tis, underneath you. Come on! Here! I'llunload you."
Maybe the passenger would have said somethin' else, but he didn't have achance. Afore he could even think he was jerked out of that depot wagonand stood up on the ground.
"There!" says Simeon. "Now you're safe and no bones broken. Where do youwant your dunnage; in the house?"
I don't know what answer he got. Afore I could hear it there was a gaspand a gurgle from Lot. I turned to him. He was leaning out of the windowstarin' down at the little man under the big hat.
"I believe--" he says, "I--I--_why_, it's Cousin Lemuel!"
Cousin Lemuel looked around him, at the house, at the woods, at the bay,at everything.
"Good heavens!" says he, in a sort of groan.--"Good heavens! what anawful place!"
That's how he made port and that was his first observation afterlandin'. He made consider'ble many more durin' the next few days, butthe drift of 'em was all similar. He was a bird, Cousin Lemuel was. Histwittery nerves had twittered so much durin' the past month or so thathis doctors--he had seven or eight of 'em--had got tired of the chirrup,I cal'late, had held officers' counsel, and decided he must be got ridof somehow. They couldn't kill him, 'cause that was against the law, sothey done the next best and ordered him to the seashore for a completerest; at least, he said the rest was to be for him, but I judge 'twasthe doctors that needed it most. He wouldn't go to a hotel--hotels werehorrible,--but he happened to think of relation Lot down in SouthOstable and headed for there. Whether or not Lot could take him in, orwanted to, didn't trouble him a mite! _He_ wanted to come and that wassufficient! He never even took the trouble to write that he was comin'.When he once made up his mind to do a thing, and got sot on it, he waslike the laws of the Medes and Possums--or whatever they was--inScripture; you couldn't upset him in two thousand years. It got to be a"matter of principle" with him--he was always tellin' about his mattersof principle--and when the "principle" complication struck, that settledit. Oh, Cousin Lemuel was a bird, just as I said.
And Lot, of course, didn't have gumption enough to say he wasn'twelcome. No, indeed; fact is, Lot seemed to consider his comin' a sortof honor, as you might say. If that retired bug-collector had been theQueen of Sheba, he couldn't have had more fuss made over him. Theschooner-load of trunks and satchels was carted aloft to the big roomnext to mine,--Lot's room 'twas, but Lot soared to the attic,--andCousin Lemuel was carted there likewise. He was introduced to me, andabout the first thing he said was, would I mind wearin' a dressin'-robe,or a bath-sack, or somethin' to cover up my game
foot? the sight of thedreadful bandage affected his nerves. I was sort of shy on sacks anddolmans and such, but I done my best to please him with a patchworkcomforter.
I can't begin to tell you the things he did, or had Lot do for him.Changin' the feather bed for a pumped-up air mattress he'd fetchedalong--air mattresses was a matter of principle with him--and firin' therag mats off the floor of his room, 'cause the round-and-round braidsmade whirligigs in his head--and so on. But I sha'n't forget that firstnight in a hurry.
He was in and out of my room no less than fifteen times, rigged out insome sort of blanket dress, fastened with a rope amidships. He wore thatover his nightgown, and a shawl like an old woman's on top of theblanket. His head was tied up in a silk handkerchief; and his feet wasshoved into slippers that flapped up and down when he walked and soundedlike a slack jib in a light breeze. First off he couldn't sleep 'causethe frogs hollered. Next, 'twas the surf that troubled him. Then thewindow blinds creaked. And, at last, I'm blessed if he didn't comeflappin' and rustlin' in at half-past one to ask what made it so quiet.I was desp'rate, and I told him I was subject to nightmare, and had beenknown to cripple folks that come in and woke me sudden that way. Hecleared out and I heard him pilin' chairs and furniture against his dooron the inside. After that I managed to sleep till six o'clock. Then heknocked and asked if I was thoroughly awake, 'cause if I was would Itell him what sort of weather 'twas likely to be, so's he could dressaccordin'. His risin' hour was nine,--more principle, of course,--but heliked to know what to wear when he did get up.
And he was just as bad all that day and the next. I'd have quit and hadthe doctor take me back to the Poquit House, but I didn't like to onLot's account. Poor Lot was all upset and needed some sane person toturn to for comfort. And besides, although he made me mad, I gotconsider'ble fun out of this Lemuel man's doin's. He was such a specimenthat I liked to study him, same as he used to study a new species ofinsect, when he had that particular craze.
He seemed to like me, too, in a way. Anyhow he used to come in and talkto me pretty frequent. He had three words that he used all thetime--"awful" and "dreadful" and "horrible." Everything in theneighborhood fitted to them words, 'cordin' to his notion. And he hadone question that he kept askin' over and over: What should he do? Whatwas there to do in the dreadful place?
"Why don't you keep on collectin'?" I asked him. "We're kind of scurceon postage stamps, and the handwritin' supply is limited; though younever collected anything like Lot's signature, I'll bet a cooky. Butthere's bugs enough, land knows! Why don't you go bug-huntin'?"
Oh, he was tired of insects. Never wanted to see one again!
"Then you'll have to wear blinders when you go past the salt-marsh,"says I. "The moskeeters are so thick there they get in your eyes. Whynot take a swim?"
Horrible! he loathed salt-water. He never bathed in it, as a matter of--
I interrupted quick--"Then take a walk," says I.
Walking was a "bore."
"Well then," I says, "just do what the doctor ordered--set and rest."
But settin' made his nerves worse than ever! "I don't know what is thematter with me, Cap'n Snow," he says. "My physicians seemed to think Ishould find what I needed here, but I don't!--I don't! I am moredepressed and enervated than ever."
"I know what you need," I said emphatic.
"Do you indeed? What, pray?"
"Somethin' to keep you interested," I told him. "Your life's like awharf timber that the worms have been at--there's too many 'bores' init. If you could find somethin' bran-new to interest you, you'd belively enough. I'd risk the depression then--and the enervation, too,whatever that is."
Oh, horrible! How could I joke about a matter of life and death?
Well, so it went for the two days and in the evenin' of the second day,Lot come tiptoein' into my room. He was all nerved up. The next mornin'was the time he'd planned to go to camp-meetin'; and how could he gonow?
"Why not?" says I. "I'll be all right. Your Aunt Lucindy's comin' tokeep house, ain't she?"
"Yes--yes, she's comin'. But how can I leave Cousin Lemuel? He won'twant me to go, I'm sure."
"So'm I," I says; "he'll kick as a matter of principle. But if you'regone afore he knows it, he'll _have_ to like it--or lump it, one ort'other. See here, Lot Deacon; you take my advice and clear outto-morrow early, afore the bug-hunter's nerves twitter loud enough towake him. You can get our breakfast and leave it on the table out herein the hall. I can manage to hobble that far. Afore dinner AuntLucindy'll be on deck."
He brightened up consider'ble. "I might do that," he says. "And anywayAunt Lucindy's likely to be here afore breakfast. She's always terribleprompt. But will Cousin Lemuel forgive me, do you think?"
"I don't know," says I. "But I will, provided you don't say 'terrible'again. Now clear out and don't let me see you till camp-meetin's over.And say," I called after him, "just ask one of your spirit chums what'sgood for nerve twitters."
Next mornin' was sort of dark and cloudy, so probably that accounts formy oversleepin'. Anyhow 'twas after seven o'clock when Cousin Lemuel,blanket and shawl and slippers, full undress uniform, comes flappin'into my room. I woke up and stared at him. He was pale, and tremblin'all over.
"What's the matter now?" says I.
"Hush!" he whispers, fearful. "Hush! somethin' awful has happened. Mycousin Lot is insane."
"_What?_" I sung out, settin' up in bed.
"Hush! hush!" says he. "It is horrible. Insanity is hereditary in ourfamily. What shall we do?"
"Insane--rubbish!" says I, havin' waked up a little more by this time."What makes you think he's insane?"
He held up a shakin' hand. "Listen!" he whispers. "He has been makin'dreadful noises for the past half-hour, and singin'--actuallysingin'--in the strangest voice. Listen!"
I listened. Down below in the kitchen there was a racket of pans anddishes and a stompin' as if a menagerie elephant had broke loose fromits moorin's. Then somebody busts out singin', loud and high:
"There's a land that is fairer than day, And by faith we can see it afar."
"There, there!" says Lemuel. "Don't you hear it? Would a sane man singlike that?"
I rocked back and forth in bed and roared and laughed. "A sane manwouldn't," I says, "but a sane _woman_ might, if she had strong enoughlungs. That ain't Lot. Lot's gone to camp-meetin', to be gone tillto-morrow night. That's his wife's aunt, Lucindy Hammond, from Denboro.She's goin' to keep house for us till he gets back."
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