The Merryweathers Part 15

"Mr. Belleville, you dropped that oar on purpose!" she said, quietly.

"How can you suspect me of such a thing?" replied Mr. Belleville, laughing. "But, _quand meme_! would it have been wholly unjustifiable if I had done so?"

"Wholly, to my mind!" said Margaret. "In fact, I cannot imagine such a thing being done by any one who--" she checked herself.

"By any one who is related to these dear people?" said Mr. Belleville, lightly. "Ah! Miss Montfort, a bond of blood does not always mean a bond of sympathy. These dear people bore me, and I bore them. Believe me, it is reciprocal. But do you yourself never tire of this everlasting childishness, these _jeux d'enfance_, on the part of persons who, after all, are mostly beyond the nursery?"

"I do not!" said Margaret, concisely. "If you will take in the anchor, Mr. Belleville, I think I should like to go ash.o.r.e, if you please."

"I have offended you!" cried Claud Belleville. "You, to whom from the first instant I have felt so irresistibly drawn. I am unfortunate, indeed. But you cannot be seriously angry. Give me a chance to redeem myself, I implore you, Miss Montfort. See what a charming little cove opens yonder, just opposite. Delightful to drift and dream for an hour, in the company of one who understands--oh, very, very, very."

"I do not understand," said Margaret, "and I have no desire to do so, Mr. Belleville. I beg you to take me ash.o.r.e at once,--this moment."

"And if I were bold enough to delay obedience for a few moments? If I felt confident that I could overcome this stern--"

"Gertrude," called Margaret, as the owner of the victorious _Jollyc.u.mpop_ pa.s.sed them with a triumphant greeting, "can you give us a tow?"

"Certainly," said Gertrude. "Anything wrong?"

"On the contrary, dear cousin," said Claud, "I challenge you to a race."

And with a glance at Margaret, half reproachful, half mocking, he bent to his oars, with the first sign of energy he had shown since his arrival.

CHAPTER X.

PUPPY PLAY

"BELL, may I speak to you a moment?" said Margaret.

Bell looked up from a critical inspection of the _Tintinnabula_, which had been somewhat injured in the race. "Certainly, May Margaret!" she said. "Do you want to know why my poor boatie did not win? I have just found out." Then, looking up, and seeing Margaret's disturbed face, she rose instantly.

"Something is wrong?" she said, quickly. "Come this way, under the trees, where it is quiet. You have had no bad news, dear?"

"Oh, no!" said Margaret. "But--Bell, I have something very disagreeable to tell you. It seems terrible to say anything that may make trouble, but nothing makes so much trouble as untruth, and I do think you ought to know this. I don't think the _Jollyc.u.mpop_ really won the race!"

"My dear Margaret! she came in well ahead; didn't you see--"

"Listen, Bell!" and Margaret told in a few words the story of the dropped oar.

Bell listened with keen attention, and when Margaret had finished, whistled two bars of the Siegfried _motif_ very correctly before she spoke.

"The little animal!" she said at last. "Well, Margaret, do you know, the best thing to do, in my opinion, is--to say nothing about it, at present."

"But--Bell! Gerald really won!"

"I know! but, even as it is, Jerry can hardly keep his hands off Claud.

My one prayer is that we may be able to get the boy off to-morrow without an open quarrel breaking out. You see, Margaret, when they were little, it was all right for Jerry to thrash him. He did it punctually and thoroughly, every time they met, and it was very good for the boy; but now of course it is out of the question."

"Why did he come here?" inquired Margaret. "Did ever any one manage to make so much trouble in so short a time? the very air seems changed."

Bell shrugged her shoulders. "His mother made him come, probably," she said. "He is really devoted to his mother; when you see him with her, you forgive a great deal. She is very fond of my father, and is always hoping that he may be able to influence Claud, and to appreciate him.

After all, the boy has no father, and he has been systematically spoiled ever since he was born. I wish to-morrow were over."

"Then," said Margaret, slowly, "I am to say nothing about this matter."

"Please not!" said her friend. "My dear, I see you are troubled, because you saw the horrid thing done; and you don't think it right to conceal the truth, even for a time. I am just as angry as you, but remember, there is 'a time to speak and a time to be silent.' This is a time to be silent, I am very sure; if we were to tell the boys now, it would be a match thrown into a powder-magazine. To-morrow, when Claud is safely off to his Dunderblincks, we will tell them; there will be an explosion then, but it will do no harm; and in a day or two the two boats can have a race by themselves, and that will decide the case. Are you convinced, Just.i.tia?"

"Entirely!" said Margaret. "You are very wise, Bell; I suppose I was too angry to see clearly; I have never been so angry in my life. As you say, I suppose it is because I saw it; and it _was_ a horrid thing to see. I too wish to-morrow were over."

The morrow came, and the morning pa.s.sed peacefully enough. The wagon was ordered which was to carry the visitor to the evening train. The elders began to breathe freely, and it was with a mind comparatively at rest that Mr. Merryweather strolled down to the float after dinner, to inspect a boat which had been hauled up for repairs. The other "menfolks" of the family followed him, and all stood round after the fas.h.i.+on of their kind, saying little, but enjoying themselves in their own way.

"I'd caulk her a bit, Jerry," said the Chief; "and then give her a couple of coats of sh.e.l.lac. She'll do then for the rest of the season."

"All right, Pater!" said Jerry.

"And if it be possible," his father went on, "so far as in you lies, do not spill the sh.e.l.lac about. Sh.e.l.lac is an excellent thing in its place, but I don't like it on the seat of my chair, where I found it this morning, nor sprinkled over the new 'Century,' as it was last night. And it isn't as if there were any to spare; the can is very low."

"I know!" said Gerald, penitently. "I am awfully sorry, Pater. I threw a cus.h.i.+on at Fergs, and it upset the can. I sc.r.a.ped up as much as I could; I think there is enough left for this job. If not, would that varnish do?"

"Varnish--" said Mr. Merryweather; and he plunged into a dissertation upon the abominations of most varnishes and the iniquities of their makers. Gerald replied, defending certain kinds for certain purposes; the others chimed in, and a heated discussion was going on, when Claud Belleville joined the party. In spotless gray tweeds, with a white Manila hat and a lavender necktie, he made a singular contrast to the campers in their flannel s.h.i.+rts and dingy corduroys.

At his appearance, Gerald rose from his squatting posture at the stern of the boat, while Phil and Jack amiably made way for the newcomer at the edge of the wharf, where, for some unexplained reason, men always like to stand. Claud, finding himself between Gerald and his father, turned toward the latter with an air of cheerful benevolence.

"Cousin Miles," he said, "you must promise me, you really must, to come to us at Bar Harbor before the end of the summer. I gave my word to Mamma that I would induce you to come. She longs to see you."

"I should like very much to see her," said Mr. Merryweather. "We were always very good friends, your mother and I. Give her my love, and tell her that some time when she is in New York I shall run on to see her; possibly this autumn, before you sail. It would not be possible for me to leave here now."

"Oh, but yes!" cried Mr. Belleville, airily. "It could be possible, Cousin Miles. Here are the boys, absolutely _au fait_ in bog-trotting of every description; in fact, suited to the life--in all its aspects." He swept Gerald with a comprehensive glance, from his mop of red hair, tanned into rust-color, to his feet, clad in superannuated "sneakers."

"They can do all the honors of the place as they should be done," he added. "But you, Cousin Miles, you must positively come to Bar Harbor.

You live too much the life of the fields. Mamma is constantly deploring it. We will show you a little life, Mamma and I. I will put you up at my Club, and take you out in my new auto; in a week, you will not know yourself, I give you my word. Oh, very, very, very!"

As the speaker stood beaming benevolence at Mr. Merryweather, and diffusing contempt among the rest of the party, two hands were laid on his shoulders; hands which gripped like steel, and propelled him forward with irresistible force. He staggered, struggled to save himself--and the next instant disappeared with a loud splash beneath the water.

Gerald confronted his father with a face of white fire.

"I told him, sir, plainly and distinctly, that if he patronized you I should duck him!" he said. "He has had fair warning: this has gone on long enough."

"Gerald," said Mr. Merryweather, gravely, "you are behaving like a foolish and ill-tempered child. I am fully able to take care of myself.

We will talk of this later. Meantime you will apologize to your cousin."

"Oh, certainly, sir! I intended to, of course."