"Humph!" he muttered. "So 'Bije was deep in that business, was he?""He was. Very deep indeed, I found out afterwards. And, Ideclare, I almost pitied him at the time. He acted as if his whole fortune was staked on the gamble. His hands shook, and the perspiration stood on his forehead as he talked. I felt as if Ihad been the means of ruining him. But of course, I hadn't. He lived for some time after that, and, I understand, died a rich man.""Yes. He left what I'd call a heap of money. My nephew and niece don't seem to think so, but I do.""So you see, Captain, why I stopped calling on the Warrens, and why I did not accept Miss Warren's invitation.""I see . . . I see . . . And yet I don't know. 'Bije may have took to you for business reasons, but the children didn't. They liked you for yourself. Caroline as much as said so. And their father never told 'em a word about the row, neither. Of course you couldn't have called when he was alive, but he's gone, and I'm--well, I'm sort of temporary skipper there now. And _I_ want you to come.""But if Miss Warren did know? She should know, I think.""I ain't sure that she should. I guess there's consider'ble in her pa's life she ain't acquainted with. And she's as straight and honest and upright as a schooner's fo'mast. You did nothin' to be 'shamed of. It's the other way 'round, 'cordin' to my notion. But leave her out of it now. I've sacrificed some few things to take the job I've got at present, but I can't afford to sacrifice my friends. I count on you as a friend, and I want you to come and see ME. Will you?""I don't know, Captain Warren. I must think it over a while, Iguess."
"All right--think. But the invitation stands--MY invitation. And, if you want to shift responsibility, shift it on to me. Some day, if it'll make you feel better, I'll tell Caroline and Stevie the whole story. But I want them to know you and the world--and me--a little better first. 'Cordin' to my notion, they need education just along that line. They've got teachers in other branches, but . . . There! I've GOT to be goin'. There's the dinner bell now."The string of Japanese gongs, hung in the lower hall, sounded sonorously. Captain Elisha reached for his coat and hat, but Pearson caught his arm.
"No, you don't!" he declared. "You're going to stay and have lunch with me--here. If you say no, I shall believe it is because you are afraid of a boarding-house meal."His guest protested, but the protests were overruled, and he and his host went down to the dining room. The captain whispered as they entered, "Land sakes, Jim, this takes me back home. It's pretty nigh a twin to the dinin' room at the Centre House in South Denboro."All boarding-house dining rooms bear a family likeness, so the comment was not far wrong. A long table, rows of chairs on each side, ancient and honorable pictures on the walls, the landlady presiding majestically over the teapot, the boarders' napkins in rings--all the familiar landmarks were present.
Most of the male "regulars" were in business about the city and therefore lunched elsewhere, but the females were in evidence.
Pearson introduced his guest. The captain met Mrs. Hepton, the landlady, plump, gray-haired, and graciously hospitable. She did not look at all like a business woman, but appearances are not always to be trusted; Mrs. Hepton had learned not to trust them--also delinquent boarders, too far. He met Miss Sherborne, whose coiffure did not match in spots, but whose voice, so he learned afterward, had been "cultivated abroad." Miss Sherborne gave music lessons. Mrs. Van Winkle Ruggles also claimed his attention and held it, principally because of the faded richness of her apparel.
Mrs. Ruggles was a widow, suffering from financial reverses; the contrast between her present mode of living and the grandeur of the past formed her principal topic of conversation.
There were half a dozen others, including an artist whose aversion to barbers was proclaimed by the luxuriant length of his locks, a quiet old gentleman who kept the second-hand book store two doors below; his wife, a neat, trim little body; and Mr. and Mrs. C.
Dickens, no less.
Mr. Dickens was bald, an affliction which he tried to conceal by brushing the hair at the sides of his head across the desert at the top. He shaved his cheeks and wore a beard and mustache. Mrs.