Cap'n Dan's Daughter Part 65

"I'm through. Oh, by the way, what did Labe say in your letter? I've told you what he wrote me, but I forgot that he wrote you, too."

Mrs. Ginn looked troubled. "I don't know what to do with that man," she declared. "I expect any minute to get word that he's been put in the lock-up. If that house of yours ain't rented or sold pretty quick, so he can get to sea again, he will be. Do you know what he's done to that Hungerford critter?"

"DONE to him! What do you mean? He hasn't seen him, has he?"

"No, he ain't seen him, thank goodness, but Labe is so wrought up over what that Hapgood thief told him, about your precious cousin stealin'

your telegrams and so on, that he and Hapgood have gone in cahoots to play a trick on Mr. Percy. Labe says Hapgood told him that Percy was keepin' company now with another woman there in Scarford, a young woman with money, of course--he wouldn't chase any other kind. Well, Hapgood--he's a healthy specimen for my husband to be in with, he is--Hapgood knows a lot about Hungerford and his goin's on in the past, and he's got a lot of the Percy man's old letters from other girls.

Don't ask ME how he got 'em; stole 'em, I suppose, same as he stole that telegram from John. Anyhow, Labe and Hapgood have sent those letters to the present young woman's pa."

Daniel whistled. "Whew!" he exclaimed. "That's interestin'."

"Ain't it, now! Laban says the old commodore--meanin' the pa, I suppose--is a holy terror and sets more store by his daughter than he does by his hopes of salvation, enough sight. Good reason, too, I presume likely; he's toler'ble sure of the daughter. Well, anyhow, the letters are gone and Labe says he's willin' to bet that Cousin Percy'll be GOIN'--out of the window and out of Scarford--when papa gets after him. Nice mess, ain't it!"

Captain Dan whistled again. "Well, Zuba," he observed, "we can't help it, as I see. What's done's done and chickens do come home to roost, don't they?"

"Humph! I wish my husband would come home and roost where I can keep my eye on him. He says he's gettin' sick of bein' a land lubber. He'll be aboard some s.h.i.+p and off again afore long, that's some comfort. The only time I know that man is safe is when he's a thousand miles from dry land."

CHAPTER XVI

Serena and Daniel were together in the parlor. It was past dinner time, but Azuba, for some reason or other, had not gotten dinner ready. This was unusual for, if there was one thing upon which the housekeeper prided herself, it was in being "prompt at meal times." She was setting the table now, however, and they could hear her rattling the knives and forks and singing, actually singing.

"Azuba is in good spirits, isn't she," observed Serena. "I haven't heard her sing before for a long time. I suppose, like the rest of us, she has been too troubled to sing."

Captain Dan listened to the singing, shook his head, and remarked whimsically, "There's some comfort to be got out of trouble, then. Say, the 'Sweet By and By' would turn sour if it could hear her sing about it, wouldn't it?"

"Hush, Daniel, don't be irreverent. Why don't you light the lamp, or let me light it? It's getting so dark I can hardly see you."

"Never mind; let's sit in the dark a spell. Gertie comin' down pretty soon, is she?"

"Yes. She's changing her dress, because you asked her to. Why did you ask her? Why should she dress up just for you and me?"

"Oh, just a notion of mine. I like that red dress of hers, anyway; the one with the fringe trimmin's along the upper riggin'."

"That dress isn't red, it's pink."

"I don't care. I thought 'twas about the color of my nose, and if that's pink then I'm losin' my complexion."

"Daniel!" with a laugh, "how you do talk and act to-day! At luncheon you were as queer as could be and now you're worse. I never saw you so fidgety and excited. What IS going to happen? Something, I know. You wouldn't tell me this noon; will you tell me now?"

"Pretty soon, Serena; pretty soon. Now let's talk about somethin'

interestin'; about ourselves, for instance. How do you like bein' back here in Trumet? Ain't gettin' tired of it, are you? The old town doesn't seem stupid; hey?"

"No, indeed! Don't speak that way, Daniel."

"Well, I just mentioned it, that's all. Soon as you do get tired and want to see somethin' new, we'll take that cruise to Was.h.i.+n'ton or the Falls or somewheres. Never mind the price. Way I feel now I'd go to the moon if 'twould please you. Say the word and I'll hire the balloon to-morrow--or Monday, anyway; no business done in Trumet on Sunday."

Serena laughed again. "I shan't say it for a long while," she declared.

"I am having such a good time. The house seems so snug and homey. And all our old friends and neighbors have been so kind. They seemed so glad to see us when we came, as if they were real friends, not the make-believe sort."

"Not the Annette kind, you mean. That particular breed of cats is scarce on the Cape--at least I hope it is."

"So do I. I never want to see her again. I am so glad they have sold their cottage here, and that the Fenholtzes have bought it--if they have bought it, as you say you heard. You always liked the Fenholtzes, Daniel. I did, too, or I should if Annette hadn't told me--"

"I know, I know. Some day that woman will tell the truth by accident and the Ladies of Honor crowd'll be mournin' a leadin' light that went out sudden. But never mind her. The folks here HAVE been nice to us, haven't they?"

"Indeed they have! And so thoughtful! Why, Sophronia Smalley even came to ask me if I wouldn't consider taking my old place as president of Trumet Chapter. She is president now, but she declared she would resign in a minute in my favor."

For an instant Captain Dan's exuberant spirits were dashed.

"She did!" he cried. "Well, if that woman ain't.... Humph! Are you thinkin' of lettin' her resign, Serena?"

"No."

"I--I wouldn't stand in your way if you did, you know. I mustn't be selfish. Trumet ain't Scarford, and if you want to--"

"I don't, I don't. I may attend a meeting once in a while, later on, but I never shall hold office again. I have had all the 'advancement' I want."

"Advancin' backwards, some folks would call what you're doin' now, Serena, I cal'late. There! I've said 'cal'late' again. I haven't said it before for a long time. This Cape sand has got into my grammar, I guess.

I must be careful."

"You needn't be. Say 'cal'late' if you want to, I am not going to fret you about your grammar any more, Daniel. I've got over that, too. I'd rather have you, just as you are, than any other man in the world, grammar or no grammar."

"Whew! Hold on, old lady! If you talk that way I'll get so puffed up I'll bust into smoke when you touch me, like a dry toadstool. I--h.e.l.lo!

what was that? The train whistle, was it?"

"Yes. Here is the night train in; it is almost mail time, and no dinner yet. What IS the matter with Azuba? I'll speak to her."

She was rising to go to the dining-room, but her husband detained her.

"No, you wait; no, you mustn't," he said, hastily. "Sit right down, Serena. Speakin' of dinners, this talk of ours is like that everlastin'

long meal that you and I went to at Barney Black's house just after we landed in Scarford. You remember it took half an hour to get to anything solid in that dinner, don't you? Yes, well, I'm just gettin' to the meat of my talk. And I want Gertie to come in on that course. She is on her way downstairs now; I hear her. Hi! Gertie! come in here, won't you!"

Gertrude entered the room.

"Where are you, Daddy?" she asked.

"Here I am, over here by the window."

"But why haven't you lighted the lamp? Why are you sitting here in the dark?"

Serena answered. "Goodness knows," she replied. "Your father would insist on it. I think he is going crazy; he has acted that way ever since lunch."

The demented one chuckled.

"You see, Gertie," he explained, "'twas on account of my bashfulness.